CAMERA。 your boyfriend is no match for your new lip gloss.
585 ⋆˚✿ ―― 𝑓.reader ❝ kissing skinship physics reader is a menace
REBLOGS ⓘ KISSES
every time you went over to jake’s to study, it always ended up with his lips against yours.
his excuse every single time? that your lip glosses taste so good and he wanted to know what flavor you were wearing that day.
you always had to push him away with a pout on your lips and a smack on his shoulder as you whined his name in frustration.
he looks at you with a grin full of sunshine, and cheeks dusted with red.
“do it again,” he tells you.
“do what?”
“say my name like that.”
“wouldn’t you like that, loverboy,” you retort trying to focus on your physics notes instead.
jake just hums, undeterred, making it his personal mission to annoy you into whining in frustration once again just so he could hear his name on your melodious voice.
he leans in again, hand cupping your face to peck your lips once more. leading you to trying to shove him away, again, but instead, his fingers move to interlace with yours and pull your hand away, arm wrapping around your waist as he leans in for another kiss.
“i just wanna know what lip gloss you’re wearing today,” he lies breathily.
“it’s the strawberry cheesecake one,” you tell him with a frown. “can you not? we have to study for our test tomorrow!”
“okay, fine,” he hums, but his arm still tugs you closer as his plush lips press against yours. “just one more taste,” he whispers into your mouth as you sigh in defeat.
you wrangle yourself out of his hold when he finally pulls away to gasp for air, stalking to his bathroom to reapply your gloss.
as you ransack your purse, your hand wraps around the new plumping gloss you bought when you went shopping with your older sister last night, and a smirk forms on your lips.
you put on a layer of gloss with the help of the bathroom mirror, a devilish smile dancing on your lips as the burn spreads across the plush tissue, now tinted a glossy blush pink.
needless to say, jake tackles you down onto his bed the second he sets his eyes on you.
“let me get a taste?” he asks, going in for a kiss.
this time you let him without hesitation, allowing yourself to melt into the feeling of his lips stroking yours in reverence, knowing that you’ll be able to study in peace when you pull away.
you giggle when jake pulls away from you with a yelp, hands flying to his lips as he fanned them with a betrayed look in his big puppy eyes.
“what the fuck?” he questions loudly, wiping the gloss off his lips with his sleeve. “why does it burn?”
you laugh a little bit louder at how pathetic he looks as he eyes you the same way a wounded animal would.
“it’s plumping gloss, babe,” you explain, rolling over to your notes as you try to lock in. “it’s meant to burn. it makes your lips plumper.”
“does that mean it’ll burn every time i kiss you?” he asks, dramatically petrified for the answer.
“yes, it does,” you confirm mercilessly, sentencing him to no kisses for the rest of what had not started as a study session.
safe to say, you had to deal with a pouting puppy wrapped around you the entire day as he reluctantly used his smart brain to help you study for the physics test the two of you had tomorrow.
브리 : omg i love this man sm i want to kiss him sb like efnrughte >< anw this was inspired by me after trying on my friend's plumping gloss
✦ taglist open (comment/send ask) ; nets! @k-films @k-records
pairings: hyunjin x afab!reader, non idoal au, strangers to lovers
synopsis: after flunking a test her friend persuades her to get her mind off it with stuff. instead of getting high with the substance, she gets high on the seller.
warnings: suggestive, crack, candy (don't do drugs)
a/n: heyyy babes! im partially back, but i just did this to overcome my block. i am better ofc but now im busy catching up on what i missed in my real world so...ill be back, enjoyyy, if you have extra eyes for errors no you dont
You.
The sweetheart with the pressed skirts and the highlighters neatly lined up on your desk. You had a planner for every semester, color-coded tabs, sticky notes filled with quotes about hard work and ambition. Scholarship student. Honor roll. Volunteer work on weekends. You were the kind of girl professors remembered—the kind who made the alumni board smile and shake hands a little tighter.
And baby, you wore that pressure like a second skin.
Because being "good" wasn’t just for you. It was for your family back home who had scraped together every dream they could just to send you here. It was for the neighbors who pointed at you like a success story. It was for the little girl you used to be—the one who promised she would make it out and make it matter.
You stayed away from parties.
You stayed away from boys.
You stayed away from trouble.
You had to.
---
The campus library was cold.
Not just in temperature, the fluorescent lights buzzed like dying flies overhead, casting everything in that weird sterile glow, like a hospital for broken dreams. You stared down at the crumpled paper in your hands. Big red letters slashed across it like fresh wounds.
D+.
You blinked at it. Once. Twice. Maybe if you blinked hard enough, it would change. Maybe it would rearrange itself into a B...a C...Anything but what it was.
You had studied so damn hard. Flashcards, mock tests, late-night cramming sessions until your eyes burned. You drank the coffee, you skipped the parties, you wore yourself thin because you knew the stakes. And still, here you were.
A failure.
You felt the heat rising behind your eyes before you could even stop it.
"Y/N!"
Your best friend's voice came soft, careful, like she already knew you were teetering on the edge of something dangerous. She rushed over, dropping her own books with a thud, her brows knitted in concern.
She crouched beside you at the study table, laying a hand gently on your shoulder.
"Hey... hey, it's okay. It's just one test, darling. It's not the end of the world—" You yanked your shoulder away before she could finish, your whole-body stiff and trembling.
"Don't—!"
The word came out sharper than you meant, jagged and raw, and your friend's eyes widened slightly. But you were past the point of caring. Your voice cracked as you stood up too fast, the chair screeching backward obnoxiously loud.
"I did everything right," you choked out. "Everything. I worked my ass off. I did everything they told me to do, and it still wasn't enough! It’s never enough!" You felt it break then your anger giving way to the helpless sob sitting stubbornly in your chest. Your throat burned. Your hands trembled.
"Y/N..."
She caught you this time when you stumbled, gathering you into a hug as the dam finally burst. You shook in her arms, silent tears leaking down your cheeks, your body going limp with exhaustion. She rubbed soothing circles on your back, whispering soft nothings like "it's okay" and "you’re not alone," but the words barely registered over the static screaming in your mind.
When you finally pulled away, she tucked your hair gently behind your ear, giving you a look that was all understanding and mischief tangled into one.
"You need to blow off some steam," she said, her tone shifting into something lighter, coaxing a weak, watery laugh from you.
"I mean it. You're gonna combust if you don’t. Listen—there’s this party happening Saturday. Off-campus. Lowkey but... not really. I know some people who could seriously help you forget this week ever happened."
You sniffed, wiping at your eyes like a kid caught crying in the playground.
"A party?" you muttered, half-horrified, half-tempted.
It wasn’t like you.
But God, wasn’t that the point?
Your best friend smirked a little, knowing she had you halfway convinced already. She leaned closer, dropping her voice into a conspiratorial whisper.
"I’ll introduce you to my guy friends. They're... cool. Different. You'll like them."
You hesitated. Your heart hammered at the idea of stepping even one foot off the carefully paved road you’d spent years walking. But sitting here, broken and tired and humiliated, you realized—
The road hadn’t saved you. Maybe it was time to step off it. You wiped your hands over your face, took a deep, shaky breath, and finally, finally nodded.
"Fine," you mumbled.
"One night."
Your friend grinned like she’d just won a bet.
"Atta girl."
---
You stood stiffly in front of the mirror, your hands clenching the hem of your skirt so tightly it crinkled. The reflection staring back at you didn’t even feel like you. Your friend was crouched in front of you, lipstick in one hand, a determined glint in her eyes.
"Stop moving," she said, grinning. "You’re gonna look so hot, it’s criminal."
You tried to smile. It came out weak, strained at the edges.
The outfit she chose for you was way outside your comfort zone—tiny black skirt, strappy crop top, leather jacket thrown over your shoulders to "ease you into it" (her words).
Your makeup was bolder than anything you ever dared to wear.
Smoky eyes, glossy lips. A version of you that looked ready to set the night on fire, even though inside, you felt more like soggy wood.
Your legs shifted nervously in place, the heels feeling foreign, unsteady. "Are you sure this isn’t... too much?" you asked, biting your lip. You stared at yourself again, trying to reconcile the you you knew with the you you were pretending to be.
Your best friend stood up, placing both hands firmly on your shoulders.
She leaned in, locking eyes with you in the mirror.
"Y/N," she said firmly, "you are gorgeous. You just don’t let yourself see it most days. Trust me tonight, okay?"
You hesitated, the weight of your nerves thick in your chest.
Then you nodded.
A tiny, scared nod, but a nod nonetheless.
"Atta girl," she smiled, bumping her forehead lightly against yours.
She grabbed her keys, swinging them around her finger with a casual confidence you could only dream of, and tossed you a wink.
"Let’s go blow some minds."
The drive to the party felt both too long and too short. The city lights blurred past the windows, all neon and chaotic, matching the buzz under your skin. Your friend sang along softly to the music she put on something bass-heavy and lazy, like it didn’t care who it seduced.
You twisted your fingers together in your lap, trying not to think too hard.
As she pulled onto a quieter street, you saw the house in the distance.
Already, there were people spilling out onto the lawn, solo cups in hand, voices raised in wild laughter. Music thudded from inside low and thick, a heartbeat you could feel in your ribs.
Your stomach twisted.
At the red light before the turn, your friend reached over and squeezed your hand.
"Hey," she said, voice soft now. "Listen to me. You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to, okay? One wrong vibe, you say the word, and we’re out. No questions, no guilt trips. Pinky promise."
She held up her pinky, wiggling it in front of your face. You smiled for real this time—small, grateful—and hooked your pinky with hers. It was stupid and childish but somehow exactly what you needed.
"Thanks," you whispered. "Always, baby girl," she grinned, letting go as the light turned green. The car rolled up toward the house, headlights catching flashes of students you recognized and a whole lot you didn’t. Somebody was already half-passed out on the front porch. You swallowed hard. This wasn’t your scene. This wasn’t your world. But tonight, for just a little while you were stepping off the road. Your friend parked a little ways down, turning off the ignition and turning to you with a wicked smirk.
"Ready to get a little stupid?"
You laughed, nerves and adrenaline tangling in your chest.
"Not really," you said honestly.
She bumped her shoulder against yours. "Perfect. That’s when the best shit happens." You both climbed out into the night, heels clicking on the pavement, leather jacket heavy across your shoulders. You tugged it tighter around yourself like armor.
Inside, the house pulsed with life.
The door swung open before you could knock, laughter and smoke curling out like welcoming arms. The house swallowed you whole the moment you stepped inside.
It wasn’t just noise it was living. The bass of the music slammed into your chest like a second heartbeat, making your ribs vibrate. Everywhere you looked, there were people draped across furniture, spilling drinks onto worn hardwood floors, laughing too loudly, moving in rhythms half a beat too slow or too fast. The air was thick, syrupy sweet, tainted with something almost electric.
A haze clung near the ceiling—smoke from god-knows-what—and the sharp bite of cheap alcohol hung in every breath.
The lighting was low, a chaotic mess of fairy lights strung carelessly along the walls, some blinking, some dead altogether.
It threw the whole room into this weird, half-lit dream where nothing looked quite real.
You clutched your jacket tighter around yourself, swallowing hard. God, you already felt out of place. Like a sore thumb dipped in glitter. But your best friend—beautiful, fearless, reckless—grabbed your hand and tugged you deeper into the crowd with a grin.
"C'mon, meet my people," she said, practically yelling over the music. You followed, weaving through bodies until you landed in a somewhat less suffocating corner where a group was huddled around a sagging couch. There were introductions you barely caught names flung casually into the smoke, faces blurred by the strobe of some dying LED light. Someone handed you a drink (you didn't ask what it was, and you weren’t sure you wanted to know), and for a while—surprisingly—you almost relaxed. The laughter was contagious, the jokes easy, the chatter flowing like warm river water.
You even laughed once. A real laugh, the kind that caught you off guard.
It felt... good. Foreign, but good.
You started thinking, Maybe this isn’t so bad. Maybe I needed this.
Until—
"Hey," your best friend's voice cut through the fog, soft and careful, right by your ear.
You turned to find her smiling at you—a little too sweetly. Immediate alarm bells.
"What," you said flatly, narrowing your eyes. She rocked back on her heels, trying to play it casual. "Okay, so... I didn’t just bring you here to, you know, socialize." You stared at her. Her grin widened sheepishly.
"Oh no," you said immediately, taking a step back.
"No. Whatever it is, no."
"Wait, wait!" she laughed, grabbing your arm to steady you.
"You’ve been so stressed lately, baby, I just—listen, there’s this new candy going around."
Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "It’s not like the usual shit. It’s different. Good different. Like—light, clean, almost makes you feel like you're floating."
You recoiled like she’d just offered you a live grenade.
"Candy?" you echoed, disbelief painting every syllable.
She nodded eagerly, her eyes sparkling.
"Yeah, yeah! It's like—flavored now too. Blue raspberry, strawberry, mango... You barely taste the chemical. It’s honestly amazing."
You shook your head, hard. "I’m not trying any—anything," you hissed.
"Especially not from a party full of strangers who can't even stand up straight."
She pouted dramatically. You crossed your arms. "Even if I wanted to," you said, voice dripping sarcasm, "which I don’t—who here would even have it?" That’s when her expression changed.
Just a flicker. The tiniest, guiltiest little smirk pulling at her lips.
Your stomach dropped. "No," you said instantly, hands coming up like you could physically push the idea away.
"No. No. Hell no—absolutely not—"
She laughed, biting her lip to keep from laughing harder, and leaned in closer like she was about to tell you the world’s worst-kept secret.
"I know a guy," she whispered.
You stared at her like she’d grown a second head.
"A guy?" you repeated, deadpan.
She nodded, looking way too pleased with herself. "He’s here tonight," she added, voice sing-song. " You’ll know him when you see him." You glared at her, heart hammering against your ribs.
"I hate you," you muttered.
"You love me," she winked, already tugging you by the sleeve toward the deeper part of the house, where the lights were darker and the music hit heavier. "And trust me," she called over her shoulder, voice lilting, teasing, almost daring—
"Once you meet him, you’re gonna thank me."
"You’re insane," you hissed, your hand locked around your best friend’s wrist as she dragged you through the crowd. She didn’t even look back. Her smile was wide, wild, laced with that glint she always got when she was about to ruin your life “for fun.”
"You’ll live," she sang, tossing her hair over her shoulder like this was some kind of spa retreat instead of a warehouse party that smelled like sweat and sins.
“I don’t want to do this—” you started.
“—But you will,” she interrupted sweetly, spinning around just enough to walk backward in front of you. Her grin widened. “Because deep down, you’re curious.”
You scoffed, crossing your arms. “Curious about death?”
“No, baby. Curious about him.”
That shut you up. Just long enough for her to find the host—tall, tatted, and shirtless with a joint tucked behind one ear.
She leaned in, whispered something into his ear, and you saw the shift immediately.
He looked at you. Then looked away. Then nodded, jerking his thumb toward the staircase like it was some kind of sacred passage. Your heart thudded. You weren’t sure if it was nerves or instinct or maybe some chemical floating in the air that was already getting to you. The host didn’t say much. He just started walking.
You followed. Up the narrow stairs, the music from below muffled with every step, swallowed by thick carpet and the weight of something else something unspoken.
The second floor was nothing like the first. It was quieter. Cooler. Dimmer. The walls were bathed in low amber light, shadows kissing the corners of the ceiling. The smell of weed still lingered but it was cleaner here. No bodies pressed up on you. Just tension. You and your bestie stopped in front of a plain beige door except there was nothing plain about it. Not the way the host stood before it, like he was entering a goddamn chapel. Not the way your pulse surged in your ears.
He knocked in a rhythm.
Tap. Tap-tap. Tap.
Three beats. Deliberate. You barely had time to ask what the hell that meant before the door creaked open.
And then—
There he was. Hwang Hyunjin. Not a man. Not a boy. A myth standing in flesh, leaning into the doorframe like sin was second nature. Thick black sunglasses hid his eyes, but you felt them.
Watching you. Eating you alive. A leather jacket hung off one shoulder, worn and heavy, the collar dipped low enough to show the soft stretch of his collarbone beneath an army-green tee.
There were rings on nearly every finger—silver, heavy, clicking softly as he tapped one against the wood of the door.
The campus knew of him long before they knew him.
Hwang Hyunjin—the name alone carried this weighty, smoky air like a legend passed around in dorm rooms and late-night parties. No one really knew where he came from exactly; transfer student, runaway, trust fund rebel—every rumor had a different flavor, but they all agreed on one thing:
He was untouchable.
Hyunjin rolled through campus like a storm dressed in leather and silver. White hair buzzed, gold chains, heavy rings, combat boots that thudded against the marble floors. And those sunglasses... indoors, at night, during exams—no one questioned it anymore. Because Hyunjin wasn’t just a student.
He was the Candyman.
If you needed something to survive a brutal week—pills to stay awake, smoke to mellow out, a little powder to blur the edges of a rough night—Hyunjin was the one you found. Or, more accurately, he found you. It wasn’t about the money for him, not really. He had it. It wasn’t even about power, even though the campus bent and buzzed around him like bees to honey.
It was about control. About being the one thing everyone secretly needed but no one dared to claim in the daylight.
His lips curled into a lazy smirk. That type of smirk. The kind that says, I already know what you’re gonna ask… and I already know you’ll beg for it.
"Yoo," he greeted your bestie casually, voice low and smooth as dark honey.
He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her cheek like it was tradition. Like she was just another regular in his church of temptation. Your stomach twisted. He hadn’t even looked at you yet. Your friend tilted her head toward you.
"This is my girl," she said, smiling like this was some kind of glorious gift she was offering him.
"She’s curious."
That made him move.
His head turned—slow, precise.
And then—finally—his eyes landed on you.
Even behind the glasses, you felt it. The shift. The sting. The trap. He didn’t speak. Didn’t smile. Just looked at you like you were something breakable and delicious all at once. You felt your heart stumble. The hallway air seemed to thicken, weighed down by his silence, by the way he looked at you. Slowly, he stepped aside. Just enough to let the door open wider.
He didn’t ask your name. Didn’t ask what you wanted.
Just said, quietly,
"Come in."
When you stepped past the threshold, it hits you like a velvet slap. The smell. It’s thick. Heavy. A mix of sweet syrupy grape-flavored smoke, musk, and something spicy like cinnamon gum and danger. Not the kind of weed scent that clings to a hoodie after a backyard sesh. No, this is premium, imported, rolled by hands that know rituals better than religion.
And the room? It’s a vibe. The lighting’s low and moody—just a few red LED strips curling along the corners of the ceiling like blood vessels, and a neon pink sign over the bed that reads:
SWEET TOOTH.
There’s no overhead light. Just shadows dancing in corners. A king-sized bed with deep wine-colored silk sheets lies untouched, perfectly made like it hasn’t been used yet tonight but the couch, the couch is war-torn. It’s low to the ground, plush, velvet, L-shaped, and crowded.
Four people lounge across it—two girls, legs tangled, laughing with their heads thrown back like everything’s funny when you’re high enough. One guy with dyed blue hair lazily exhaling smoke from a rose gold vape pen, letting it curl around the room like a spell.
And another guy with locs and a septum ring sitting shirtless on the floor in front of them, nodding to the bass playing low from a speaker tucked into the shelf—some underground R&B that makes you feel drunk just listening.
There’s a low glass table in the center. On it? Everything from edibles shaped like gummy bears to powdered "candy" in sleek, silver tins. A tray with perfectly rolled joints stacked like cigars. A black lighter shaped like a skull. Half-drunk wine glasses and three bottles of expensive vodka with the caps missing. It’s organized chaos. It’s the kind of place where secrets are currency. Where loyalty is shown in silence. Where rules are only suggestions…unless Hyunjin makes them.
And he?
He glides in like he owns the air itself. His buzzcut looks almost metallic under the light—white-blond and razor-sharp, adding edge to the smoothness of his presence. He doesn’t say much. Doesn’t need to. He snaps his fingers once—not loud, just casual—and someone tosses him a joint. He catches it one-handed, lights it with that skull lighter, then turns to your bestie with a smirk that says this ain’t her first trip.
Your friend? She slides right in. She throws herself onto the couch, instantly welcomed like a sister of the smoke. One of the girls lifts her legs for her to sit, then plops them right back in her lap. The guys dap her up. One even kisses her hand.
She fits here. Like velvet to velvet. She’s already laughing, already high, already home.
And you? You’re standing at the door like a wide-eyed lamb in a room full of predators with perfect cheekbones. Hyunjin notices. Of course he does. He walks past you—not looking, not touching, but his presence brushes against you like a breath of hot air.
He leans down by the table, grabs a tin of candy, and offers it to your best friend without a word.
She pops one into her mouth, hums, and turns to you.
"Still nervous, baby?" she teases, licking her bottom lip. "You don’t have to do anything. Just… feel it. Try it. Or don’t. But you gotta breathe."
You’re about to respond when Hyunjin finally speaks. Soft. Lazy. Velvet-over-glass. “You brought her to the garden,” he says, eyes still not on you.
“She can pick the fruit if she wants to.” And now? Now he turns. Finally looks at you, jawline clenched slightly from the drag of the joint between his fingers. His voice is lower this time, smoky.
"What's your name, angel?"
You tell him your name. It comes out soft, stuck somewhere between your lips and the tightness in your chest. He hums it. Slowly. Like he's letting it melt on his tongue.
“Pretty,” he says, letting the word linger in the low fog between you. And then he leans in.
Closer.
He’s not even touching you, not really, but somehow his heat is crawling up your spine like your nervous system has been hijacked. He cocks his head, eyes half-lidded but locked in, and asks,
"So… why’d you come here?" Your throat closes up.
You blink—once, twice—trying to form a sentence that doesn’t sound like “because you look like sin and salvation at the same time.”
Instead, your voice comes out breathy.
“I-I didn’t plan to… My friend, she—she said— I mean I wasn’t gonna—”
Hyunjin grins.
Not mocking. Not smug. But slow and warm like he finds your panic endearing. He raises an eyebrow and taps the side of the tin in his hand.
“You ever tried any before?”
You shake your head quickly. “No. Never.”
“Mmm,” he murmurs. “Then we’ll start with something light.”
He reaches into the tin. Fingers poised. And just before he picks, you blurt it out—
“No—wait!”
Your voice cracks, a little too loud for the hush in the room.
Some heads turn but your bestie just watches, wide-eyed and hopeful like she’s seeing you shed skin for the first time. Hyunjin freezes. His eyes flick up.
You swallow hard.
“I don’t want light,” you whisper. “I want to forget. I want to forget what happened. Please.” It slips out of you, ragged and raw—like someone tore the band aid without warning. Hyunjin stares at you for a long moment. The music fades into background haze. Then he exhales smoke through his nose, slow and thoughtful.
“…Are you sure? Whatever happened can’t be that bad?” Your best friend chuckles from the couch “Yes, yes it was.” And even though your lungs tighten and your stomach flips, you nod.
“Yeah.”
He holds your gaze for a beat longer. Something unreadable flickers in his expression. He doesn’t smile this time. Instead, he reaches into the tin and pulls out a candy glossy, smooth, faintly lavender in color.
“Okay,” he says. “This one’s special.”
You take it with trembling fingers. Place it on your tongue. Let it melt. The taste hits slow at first—floral, citrusy… like honey and thunderstorms.
And then—
Your body begins to slip.
The floor becomes the sky. The air is liquid silk sliding against your skin.
Everything feels warm not hot. Not burning. Just… comfortable. Like slipping into a tub the exact temperature of your soul. Your head lolls back, and a lazy giggle escapes before you can catch it.
“I feel like... like the air is... hugging me,” you slur, your voice soft and half-lidded. “Hugging... hugging real tight.” Hyunjin’s beside you now, arm supporting your back before you even realize your knees started to give. You fall into him. And he lets you. His hand finds your hip like it was made to sit there. The other one gently cups the back of your head, guiding it to rest against his chest. His shirt smells like smoke and sandalwood and something lemony, something fresh.
“You’re okay, angel,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to the crown of your head. Your hands clutch his shirt like it’s the only solid thing left in this world. Your words spill like syrup.
“I—mm, I thought you’d be mean... like cold and scary, you know? But you’re... you’re like... warm. Like toast." Hyunjin chuckles. Soft. “Toast, huh?”
“Mmhm. Fancy toast. Like... croissants.”
He laughs again, low and fond, and something about that sound sends goosebumps all down your spine. Meanwhile, your best friend is squealing half-laughing, half-sniffling.
"Look at her! Oh my god, she’s so gone—finally! It’s what she needed."
But Hyunjin doesn’t let you fall apart in public. He gently lifts you, one arm around your waist, the other keeping your head steady against his shoulder.
“Come on,” he says, mostly to himself. “Let’s sit somewhere quieter.”
He guides you to a corner of the room just far enough from the noise. Still low light, but more cushion. A loveseat covered in faux fur and velvet pillows. He settles down, pulling you gently into his lap like it’s instinct. You curl into him, face hidden in his neck. And his arms stay locked around you, firm but not suffocating. Like he’s not going to let you drift too far.
You sigh into his skin.
“Your heart's loud... I can hear it...” Your fingers rest on his chest.
And Hyunjin? He doesn’t say anything. He just lets you listen.
Your body’s loose.
Your thoughts, liquid. You’re sprawled in his lap like he was made to catch you, and maybe he was because he hasn’t let go of you since the second you melted into him. You’re safe here. You know that. But your lips still ache. And your fingers start to wander first curling into the cotton of his tee, then trailing up his chest, brushing the silver chain around his neck. Absent-minded. Delirious.
And then—
You tilt your head up, eyelids heavy, gaze glazed and pleading.
“Hyunjin…”
He hums, low in his throat, not quite a word. His hands rub slow circles into your back. You lick your lips.
“I wanna kiss you.”
Hyunjin goes still. The air changes—like the music pulled back, the shadows leaned in. He clears his throat. “You’re high,” he says softly. “You don’t want that. You just think you do.”
“I do want it,” you mumble. “Been wanting it since you said my name.” He sighs through his nose. “You don’t mean that.”
“Do too,” you pout, slurring. Your fingers slide up to his jaw, tracing the sharp edge of it. “You’re so pretty. You’re like—like an angel that smokes weed and paints with blood.” That pulls a laugh out of him. Raspy, reluctant. But real.
“Jesus,” he mutters, and tries to look away—
But your hand tugs his chin back to face you. “Can I?” Your voice drops into a whisper.
“Can I kiss you? Just a little?” His jaw tightens.
He’s quiet. And you can see it in his eyes—the war. The part of him that wants to be good. Respectful. Safe. But also the part that’s been dying to know what you taste like since you first sat across from him. “You’re not thinking straight,” he murmurs, but it’s not a no. You hear it—the edge in his voice. Like it’s costing him everything to stay still.
“Please, Jinnie…”
The way you say his name? He flinches. Almost imperceptible. But his hand clenches the velvet cushion behind you. You lean in. Close. Lips brushing his cheek, then trailing toward his jaw.
“I just wanna feel something real,” you whisper. “And you feel… real.”
And that’s when he breaks. A breath. Shaky. Shattered. His hand slides to the back of your head. The other curls around your waist like instinct.
“…Just one,” he warns, his voice gravel, threaded with restraint. “Just one and we stop.”
But you’re already leaning in, lips parted—
And when they touch his? Everything stops. The kiss is supposed to be soft. Chaste. But it isn’t. Not when your mouth still tastes like that candy sweet, citrusy, dizzying. Not when your lips part for him so easily. Not when you moan his name into the kiss like you’ve been holding it back for days. Hyunjin groans low in his throat, like the taste is hitting him. The drug lingers on your tongue magnetic, devastating. And it messes with his head.
His grip tightens. The kiss deepens. Your hands find his chest, sliding up his neck to tug at the back of his buzzed hair, and his lips open wider, tongue slipping into your mouth like a man starved. It’s not careful anymore. It’s hungry. You shift in his lap, thighs sliding over his hips, and he lets out a hiss between kisses, one hand falling to your hip to steady you. (But God, he doesn’t want you to stop moving.)
“Shit,” he gasps against your lips. “We shouldn’t—fuck, we shouldn’t—”
But he doesn’t stop. His mouth finds yours again, sloppier this time. Open. Wet. Wanting. You’re gasping now soft, whimpering sounds between kisses, hands all over him like your body’s trying to memorize every ridge of him before the high fades.
Hyunjin is losing it. Your taste, your voice, the way your thighs bracket him so carelessly it’s driving him insane. He pulls back for a second, breath heaving, eyes wild.
“God, you’re gonna ruin me,” he says, voice wrecked.
You smile, dazed and drunk on more than the drug.
His lips are flushed.
Yours are glossy. The air around you is thick with weed smoke and tension, the kind that clings to skin and sinks into your lungs. Music thumps in the background, the kind of rhythm you feel in your chest more than your ears. Someone’s laughing on the other side of the room, but it sounds miles away.
Because all you can focus on is him.
Hyunjin. Eyes gleaming under the hazy lights. Hands warm around your waist. Lips still wet from the last kiss you gave him like he was air and you were drowning.
You giggle against his jaw, all dazed and mischievous.
“You taste like peach gum.” Hyunjin huffs a breathy laugh, cheeks pink, eyes dangerously soft.
“You taste like trouble,” he murmurs.
“And you like trouble, don’t you?” you tease, tilting your head so your lips graze under his jaw dangerously close to that pulse that jumps beneath his skin. He opens his mouth to respond, but you don’t give him the chance.
You kiss him again. Harder this time. Your hands tangle behind his neck, and you press your chest to his like your body already knows exactly where it belongs. His head tips back slightly, letting you take the lead—inviting it, even. Hyunjin’s hands have found your thighs now, gripping gently, but tight enough to let you know he’s still hanging on.
Barely. You move your mouth to his neck, and the second your lips latch onto that soft patch of skin under his ear? He chokes on a breath. His fingers dig in just a little. You start to suck.
Hyunjin swallows hard. “Y/N… f-fuck…” His voice is so wrecked you barely register the click of a phone camera a few feet away. But your best friend sees it all.
Her eyes widen. She zooms. She snaps the picture. And then—
Finally, your bestie calls your name loud.
“Y/N!”
You blink, half-lidded and high, and lazily pull back from Hyunjin’s neck. “Huh?” She points at you from across the room, phone still in hand. “Get off of him! You’re embarrassing yourself, babe!”
You pout like she just took away your favorite toy.
“No…” you murmur, nuzzling back into Hyunjin’s neck. “I wanna stay with him. He’s warm…”
Hyunjin laughs under his breath, half flustered, half wrecked. “You’re really not making this easy, you know that?” You wrap your arms tighter around his neck like a koala. “Don’t wanna be easy.” Hyunjin bites his lip. “Oh my god,” your best friend groans, stomping toward you. “Get your lips off his neck before I come drag you!” You glance at her then back at Hyunjin.
And with the most impish grin?
You go right back in. Hyunjin makes a noise—somewhere between a groan and a laugh—his hands now trying to gently push you off. “Okay, okay, hold on—wait—nope, not the neck again, that one’s still—oh god—Y/N!”
But he’s laughing. He’s loving it. Your lips drag against his throat, pressing open-mouthed kisses as you giggle, high and loose.
Until—
“GIRL, I SWEAR—”
You’re yanked off of him by the arms. “NOOO!” you whine, kicking gently as your best friend pulls you away like an angry mom removing her child from a boy at the playground.
“Let me goooo, I was gonna kiss him again!” Hyunjin leans back on the couch, dazed, buzz a dissarranged mess, neck marked and shining, smiling so wide you’d think he just won the lottery. “You’re insane,” your best friend hisses. “She’s cute,” Hyunjin says with a wink, his fingers brushing the hickey you gave him. “Kinda possessive though.” You reach out for him again like a drunk kitten. “Hyunjinnnnn—”
And he just laughs, shaking his head as he watches your best friend drag you off knowing damn well the second, she lets go? You’ll probably come running back. Hyunjin stands now, eyes low, playful smirk still tugging at his lips as he walks over and tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear. You stare up at him like you’ve just a god.
“One more kiss?” you whisper, voice barely there.
Hyunjin pauses—like he’s considering, fighting every bit of logic in his head—but then he sees your pout. Your hands on his chest. The way your high has made you all gooey and clingy and sweet.
He sighs softly, then tilts your chin up.
“Alright. One more.”
He kisses you gently—slower this time. Less rushed. Less high, more… lingering. His fingers slip into your coat pocket mid-kiss, sliding in something small and smooth. Then—
He leans in again, lips barely brushing your ear.
“Call me when you’re sober. I want to know what you’re like when you remember everything.”
Your breath catches. Your body reacts before your brain can even register it. Goosebumps. Heart hiccuping. He pulls back just enough to see your fluttery expression, then smirks. Your best friend, holding another little bag of candy, gives Hyunjin a nod. “Thanks for the hospitality. She’s gonna be crying about you the entire way home, just so you know.”
He only shrugs, eyes locked on you. “Let her.”
---
You’re slumped in the back seat, head against the window, glossy eyes staring out at the blur of streetlights. The city looks like a dream—golden, liquid, not quite real. Kinda like how your lips still feel. Like he’s still kissing you.
Your best friend glances back at you. “You good?”
You sniffle. “No.”
She sighs. “What now?”
“I miss him…” you whisper dramatically, eyes welling up again. “He was so… perfect. Did you see his lips? Did you feel his voice? Why did you make me leave? Why did you do that to me?!”
Your best friend can’t help it. She laughs. “You’re gonna be so embarrassed tomorrow.”
“I don’t care,” you sniff, pouting. “I wanna call him. I’m gonna call him and tell him I love him.”
“You don’t love him, baby, you’re just high.”
You sit up, teary-eyed and passionate. “No. I love him. And his buzzcut. And his pants. And his hands. And—and the way he whispered in my ear like he meant it!” Your best friend grabs your phone before you can unlock it. “Nooope. You’re not drunk texting a man named Hyunjin at 2am while still tripping.”
“But he put his number in my pocket like a movie, girl…”
“Exactly why you’re not texting him.”
You sniff again, quiet for a beat… then—
“I’m gonna marry him.”
“Oh my god—”
“I’m gonna marry him and we’re gonna have a cat named Bento and he’s gonna kiss me like that every morning—”
“Lord have mercy.”
You curl into the seat, hugging yourself, eyes glassy but soft. “He was so sweet, though… and so pretty…”
And back in the party? Hyunjin’s still sitting on the couch, head tilted back, lips still tingling. Smiling to himself. Your gloss is still on his mouth.
And he doesn’t wipe it off.
---
The second you stumble into the dorm, the scent of Hyunjin—cologne, weed, and that warm skin-sweetness—follows you in like a ghost. You barely make it two steps before your best friend gently tugs on your arm and sets the mini first aid bag she keeps (because she’s that kind of responsible) on the kitchen counter.
“Alright,” she says, flipping the light switch, “before you go all ‘oh-my-god-he’s-the-love-of-my-life’ again, take this.”
You blink down at the painkiller and water bottle she hands you, pouting like she just asked you to eat your vegetables. “Whyyyy?”
“Because your body isn’t used to being blitzed, princess,” she sighs, brushing your hair back, “and tomorrow morning I’m not waking up to you crying in the toilet because your brain feels like scrambled eggs.” You groan dramatically but take it anyway—tossing the pill back and gulping the water down. Then you just stand there, slightly dazed, like you forgot what your body was supposed to do next. Your best friend nudges you toward your bedroom. “Go. Shower. You smell like a party and desperation.”
You scoff, wobbling off with a muttered, “Jealousy doesn’t suit you, bitch…”
You undress slowly, the cool air hitting your flushed skin. Every movement makes your brain feel like it’s lagging, but the moment the hot water hits your back?
He’s there.
Hyunjin. That smirk. That voice. Those lips.
Your fingers brush over your own mouth and you swear you can still feel him. Taste him. It’s like the water only wakes up the memories instead of washing them away. You press your forehead to the wall and groan. “God… I kissed the hottest man alive… and then moaned on his lap like a freakin’ drugged-up romance novel…”
And you didn’t regret a single second. You pad out into your room, towel still wrapped around you, head dizzy—not just from the drugs wearing off, but from something more dangerous: anticipation. You yank open your closet, tug on your oversized sleep shirt with trembling fingers, and then pause… eyes locked on your jacket hanging from the chair.
You rush over and plunge your hand into the pocket like it’s hiding treasure—because it is.
And there it is. Folded. A little crumpled. But still carrying the ghost of his fingers. Hyunjin’s number. Written in quick, slanted handwriting. With a small arrow. And a dumb little smiley face. Like he knew you’d be freaking out about it.
You grab your phone with sweaty hands, unlock it, and type his number in so fast your thumbs trip over themselves. Then you just stare at the message box. What do you even say to a man who kissed you while you were high and whispered the softest threat of obsession into your ear?
Eventually, you settle on something simple. Soft. Just barely flirty.
Y/N: “I’m home. Don’t think I’ll forget your face anytime soon.”
Then you hit send. And drop your phone like it’s radioactive. You climb into bed, sheets cool against your skin, body still thrumming. Every time you close your eyes, he’s there. Every time you breathe, it feels like he’s still on your lips.
You turn over. Then again. Then back. Still nothing. You reach over and check your phone. No reply yet. You groan and throw it on the pillow beside you.
“Hyunjin…” you whisper into the dark, cheeks flushed. “Please don’t ghost me, you beautiful demon…”
And that’s the last thing you remember before the painkiller kicks in, your lashes flutter shut, and you drift off…
Dreaming of slow kisses and smirks that should come with a warning label.
---
The light bleeding through your window is offensive. Aggressive. Your eyes crack open with the kind of regret that clings to your bones. Mouth dry. Muscles sore. Thoughts? Scattered like your dignity at that party. You try to sit up—bad idea. The world does a cute little somersault. You flop back down like a Victorian woman mid-faint.
“…am I dying?” you croak, your voice sounding like a gremlin’s first words.
Your phone buzzes somewhere beside you. You fish around, knock it off the bed, cuss dramatically, then finally snatch it up like a beast reclaiming its prey.
Your screen lights up with two notifications:
Hyunjin: Couldn’t forget you if I tried. Let me know when you wanna kiss me while sober.
Crazy AHH: 4 Attachments. Caption: MY GIRL WAS GONEEEEEE LMAOOO
Your soul leaves your body. Ascends. Then crash-lands straight back into your chest with a painful thump. You open the photos. And boom—there you are.
—Straddling Hyunjin’s lap.
—Your hand in his buzzcut.
—Your face halfway eaten by his.
—One pic is blurry because you’re literally giving him a hickey with enthusiasm.
You let out the most horrified gasp known to man. “I WAS A MENACE.” You don’t bother changing. You don't brush your teeth. You're marching down the hall like a woman on a mission—shirt askew, socks mismatched, your hair doing post-apocalyptic things.
You throw open your best friend's door like you pay rent for it. “WHAT. THE. FUCK.” She’s sitting cross-legged, happily eating dry cereal out the box. Doesn’t even flinch. “Good morning, slut.”
“DELETE. THOSE. PHOTOS.”
She squints, pops another Frosted Flake into her mouth. “Hmm... no.”
“YOU TOOK A PICTURE OF ME TONGUING A STRANGER—”
“Technically not a stranger. Technically a drug-dealing, underground-party-hosting, buzzcut-having, Greek-god-lookin’ legend.” She grabs her phone and waves it. “And technically? I took four.”
You groan and faceplant into her bed. Your muffled voice whines, “I gave him a hickey… I think I begged him to kiss me…”
“Oh, you begged all right,” she hums proudly. “Full-on ‘please daddy I need it’—like a champ.”
“Kill me.”
“Can’t. You’re finally interesting now.”
You roll over, dazed. “God… I barely remember anything. It’s like flashes. Warm hands. Cold couch. His mouth…” She sits beside you, patting your thigh. “I gotchu. Here's the SparkNotes version: You showed up, shy. He showed up, hot. You tasted one slightly rebellious candy drug and then proceeded to fall in lust like a Disney princess on molly.”
You groan again, pulling a pillow over your face. “I have to apologize. Like, actually. To his face. I was so embarrassing—he probably thinks I’m a psycho.” She gives you a look. “Babe… you kissed him like the rent was due.”
“EXACTLY. I need to apologize or die trying.”
“Well, good luck with that,” she chirps, hopping up. “You’ll probably never see him again. Hyunjin doesn’t do public appearances like that. Man’s like the final boss of a video game. Rare sightings only.”
You blink. “Wait… seriously?”
She shrugs. “I’ve only seen him four times. And once was in a dream. Whenever he’s doing transactions and stuff he’s rarely the one delivering by himself.” You sit there, pillow clutched to your chest, brain slowly rebooting. You want to laugh. Cry. Apologize to the ghost of your sober self. Then you grab your phone again and reread his message.
Couldn’t forget you if I tried. Let me know when you wanna kiss me while sober. Your heart does a little somersault.
You whisper, almost reverently, “Maybe… just maybe... I’m his glitch.”
Your best friend throws a sock at you.
“Get your high ass up and drink some water, Romeo.”
Back in your room, the walls feel too quiet. Like they’re watching you. Judging you. Whispering behind your back like, “That’s the girl who turned into a Greek tragedy over a man with cheekbones.”
You shut the door and lean your forehead against it. You exhale.
“…okay,” you murmur to yourself. “Okay. Breathe. Be normal. Apologize. Then die.”
You shuffle over to your bed, plop down like you’re made of wet laundry, and snatch your phone again. Hyunjin’s message is still glowing on the screen like a taunt:
Couldn’t forget you if I tried. Let me know when you wanna kiss me while sober.
Your thumbs hover.
You type:
Hey, I'm so sorry—
Backspace.
Hi, I really didn’t mean to—
Backspace.
This is embarrassing but—
Delete.
You sigh, fingers shaking like you’re defusing a bomb. Then you finally send:
Hey. I’m so sorry for last night. I was out of it. Like... a lot. I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable or weird you out. I never do that. I’m not even the type to go out like that. I literally came for candy and my best friend.
You watch the little “Delivered” icon appear. Then panic sets in. So you send another.
Like, I’ve never even smoked anything before. Not even cigarettes. Or like… cinnamon sticks. Okay that’s not a drug but you get what I mean.
Another.
The point is I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be a mess. You were really sweet and I probably acted like a drunk toddler and I kissed you without permission even though I begged and like—
You don’t stop.
—you probably think I’m crazy now but I promise I’m not I just had a lot on my mind and I kinda wanted to forget everything and you were there and you were really hot and then your lips tasted like strawberry sin and I kind of malfunctioned—
Before you can finish another unhinged paragraph, your phone buzzes violently.
Incoming Call: Hyunjin
You stare at it like it’s a mirage. Then, after a full 3 seconds of panic-screaming into your pillow, you pick up.
“H-Hello?”
There’s a chuckle. Low. Warm. Smooth like velvet soaked in caffeine.
“Damn, angel. Did your thumb get possessed or something?”
You groan, already facepalming. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. That was a spiral. I spiraled. I tunneled. I backflipped into hell.” “Yeah, I could tell,” he laughs. “I was trying to respond, but you were texting like your life depended on it.”
“It did!!” you cry dramatically. “I defiled you in public and now I’m gonna get banned from every party within a five-mile radius.”
“Oh please,” he snorts. “If anything, you just made the party memorable. And gave me a free neck tattoo.” You whimper. “You moaned, didn’t you?”
“…A gentleman never confirms nor denies such things.”
You groan again and flop backward on the bed, phone against your cheek.
Then, quieter, “I just… I really didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’ve never been that out of it before.” His voice softens. “You didn’t make me uncomfortable. I was just trying to be careful with you.”
A pause. “Did you mean what you said? About trying to forget something?” You swallow. “Yeah. I just had a rough week. And for a second, when I was with you, it felt like none of it mattered.”
The line goes quiet. Then he murmurs, “Well… for the record? I liked holding you. You talk a lot when you’re high. But it was cute.”
“…I talk a lot when I’m sober too,” you mumble, a bit shy now.
“I know,” he says smugly. “I read your entire novel in real-time.”
You both laugh, and the sound makes your chest warm. Then he hums, voice deepening just a touch. “So… you still wanna kiss me while sober?”
Your breath catches.
“…maybe.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
You’re curled up on your bed, tangled in your sheets like some post-drama princess, phone still pressed to your ear like it’s a lifeline. Hyunjin’s chuckling softly on the other end, and your cheeks are still warm from the way he said “I’ll take that as a yes.” Like it was obvious. Like you were already his.
You roll your eyes, trying not to smile too wide.
Then he drops it, real casual:
“So… when can I take you out?”
You blink. “Wait, what?”
“A date, babe,” he says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “You, me, daylight. I wear a shirt with sleeves. We eat food. Talk without the scent of questionable choices in the air.”
You sit up a little. “…You wanna take me out.”
“Mhm.”
You frown, trying to piece together the logic. “But… I’ve never seen you on campus. Like ever. You just—appear at parties like the final boss of temptation and then vanish.” You hear his breath hitch in a laugh. “The final boss of temptation, huh? That’s a new one.”
You shoot back, “Don’t dodge it. Seriously. Why now? Why start showing up now?” There’s a pause. A short one. Then he exhales through his nose.
“I don’t really hang out on campus unless I have to. Most of my classes are online this semester, and… I guess I just keep to my space. Fewer people, less noise.”
He adds after a beat, “I’m not… sketchy. No offense taken. I get why you’d think that. I just know when I’m in the right place, with the right people, and when I’m not.”
You stay quiet. Processing.
“And about last night,” he continues, voice steady. “That wasn’t me out of control. I don’t take anything unless I know I can handle it. There’s always someone there I trust, and I don’t make it a habit. No addiction. No spiraling. Just sometimes… I need a little quiet in my head too. You get that?”
You do. God, you do.
“So…” he says again, soft and sweet like caramel left too long in the sun. “Give me a chance. Let me show up. No candy, no smoke, just me. Sober. Present. And I promise you—”
You hear the smile in his voice.
“—the sober kiss will be worth it.”
You groan, flopping back against your pillows with your arm thrown over your face. “You’re so annoyingly smooth.”
“I really am,” he agrees smugly.
You exhale. Your heart’s doing that annoying thing again thudding way too fast for someone who was just whining into her pillow about this man twenty minutes ago. But then you smile, teeth sinking into your bottom lip.
“…Okay.”
“Yeah?”
You roll your eyes. “Yes, Hyunjin. You can take me out.”
He exhales dramatically. “Thank God. I was one dramatic inner monologue away from begging.”
You snort. “I was already there last night.” “I remember,” he teases. “Vividly.” You’re already regretting this. And also looking forward to it way too much.
---
Parked just outside the gates of your dorm area, it’s warm in the backseat of Hyunjin’s car. Not temperature warm, energy warm. Like the windows are fogged with heat they didn’t even notice rising. Your fingers are tangled in the lapels of his jacket, your lips still tingling from the last breathless kiss, and Hyunjin’s hands are at your waist, thumb tracing soft, unconscious circles against your top. You both pause, lips inches apart, breathing each other in, and then he laughs. Quiet. Airy. Disbelieving.
“How did we even get here?” he mutters, forehead brushing yours.
You grin, leaning back just enough to raise a brow.
“Oh, I’ll tell you how,” you say, poking his chest, and he watches you like you’re a slideshow of every one of his favorite moments.
Earlier That Night
It started at that art café you never knew existed—dim lights, jazz playing low, the scent of coffee and paint lingering in the air. Hyunjin had booked one of the private studio pods in the back. You raised a brow when you walked in and saw the two canvases and all the paint.
“Don’t tell me we’re painting each other,” you teased.
“I was gonna say your soul,” he replied dramatically. “But sure, your face works.”
You both ended up painting… chaos. He painted a cartoon version of you with exaggerated lips and a crown of Cheetos, and you drew a sad pigeon with his hairstyle. You laughed so hard your stomach cramped, and Hyunjin got paint on your nose—on purpose. Then he wiped it off with his sleeve like a gentleman, only to accidentally smear green on your cheek.
Afterward, he took you for tacos. Not a fancy restaurant. A literal taco truck parked near the river with plastic chairs and napkins that flew if you didn’t hold them down.
“I like it simple,” he said with a shrug, handing you a bottle of Jarritos. “Besides, the best dates end with oil stains on your shirt.”
“Bold of you to assume this is one of the best,” you teased.
He tilted his head, smiled lazily. “It is.”
You tried not to blush. Failed. He noticed.
Then came the riverside walk. He didn't rush it. You talked about favorite movies, bad habits, weird childhood dreams. You found out he used to write poetry. He found out you used to pretend you were on a reality show whenever you were alone in your kitchen.
“I still do,” you admitted, and he laughed so hard he tripped over a pebble.
The stars came out. You leaned into his side.
And now—backseat of his car. Lips swollen. Breath short.
“So yeah,” you whisper now, fingers tugging gently at his jacket. “That’s how we got here. From pigeons to tacos to… tongue.”
Hyunjin grins, gaze flicking to your lips. “What a cinematic journey.” You hum, thumb brushing over his cheek. “Can we go back to making out now?” His grin turns slow and sinful. “Sure thing, baby.” You slap his chest. “Don’t—call me that.”
He leans closer. “Why not, baby?” You whine, actually whine, and smash your lips to his.
The kiss that follows is messier than the last. Greedier. No pauses this time. His hands find your thighs, your fingers curl in his hair, and he moans quietly into your mouth when your teeth graze his bottom lip.
It’s intoxicating—the way you fit, the way the tension coils tighter with each touch. His jacket ends up discarded somewhere between the seats, and your lipstick is absolutely wrecked. He doesn’t care. Neither do you.
And when he pulls away for breath, pupils blown and lips swollen, he smirks.
“We should get lost more often.”
The windows of Hyunjin’s car are fogged over, the air thick with warmth and echoes of every kiss traded like secrets. Now, your head rests on his shoulder, your fingers curled lightly into the folds of his sleeve, and his arm is slung lazily around your waist like he couldn’t let go even if he tried.
It’s silent for a while.
Not awkward—comfortable. Like the universe finally stopped spinning for just the two of you.
You sigh, tilting your head slightly to look at him. “Can I ask you something?” Hyunjin turns his gaze down to you, that soft half-smile forming again. “You already are, aren’t you?”
You flick his chest gently. “I’m serious.”
“Okay,” he chuckles, shifting so he’s facing you a little more, one leg folded up on the seat. “What’s on your mind, pretty?” You play with the hem of his hoodie for a second, then look up. “How’d you get into… all this? The candy. The job. Everything.”
His smile dims—not in a sad way, more in a way that says he wasn’t expecting that, but he’s not running from it either. He looks away for a beat, his thumb still stroking circles into your side.
“It started with my cousin,” he says after a moment. “He was older. Got into the wrong crowd, dragged me along when I was still trying to figure out what the hell to do with my life. First time I ever touched anything was at a house party with him. I hated it.”
You glance up at him. “Really?”
“Yeah.” He nods. “I hated how it made me feel like I wasn’t in control. But then… life kept hitting. My parents got divorced. I flunked out of a program I didn’t even care about. Everyone expected me to be something I wasn’t, and—” he sighs, resting his head back against the seat. “Taking just the right amount? Made me feel like I had room to breathe again.”
You nod slowly, your hand finding his and holding it. “Do you take it often now?”
“Not really.” He looks at you again. “I know my limit. I help people who don’t. I only ever take it when I’m sure of myself. When I’m in control.” You study his profile. He looks so different in the dark. Less cool. More real. More Hyunjin, less the mystery boy with perfect lips and a car too nice for a college kid.
You lean your head on his chest. “What would you be doing if you weren’t in that world?”
His voice is quiet, but honest. “I’d be painting.” You blink. “Painting?”
“Yeah.” He chuckles softly. “I actually got a partial scholarship to an art school. Didn’t take it. Thought it was stupid. Thought I was stupid.”
“You’re not,” you say immediately, looking up at him. “I think you’re—actually… you’re kind of amazing.” He lets that settle between you two for a second, then smiles—one of those real ones, the ones that tug at the corner of his lips slowly and warm his entire face.
“You think so, huh?”
You nod, cheeks heating. “Mhm.”
“Even after I gave you that sneaky light candy?”
You gasp in betrayal. “You lied to me?!”
“I saved you from passing out,” he laughs, nudging you with his shoulder. You’re both still giggling when you check your watch and—shit.
“Crap,” you sit up straighter, reaching for your phone. “I didn’t realize it’s so late. I have a lecture at eight, and if I show up hungover from sugar and spit-swapping, my professor will literally murder me.” Hyunjin chuckles, adjusting his seat so you can climb out more easily. “You sure you have to go?”
You look at him, biting your lip. “I really want to stay.”
He shrugs, running a hand through his hair. “Then make me your reward for surviving class.” You roll your eyes. “Wow. Humble.”
“But honest.” You lean forward, kiss his cheek. “Thanks for tonight.”
He tugs your wrist gently before you go, pressing one last kiss to your lips, softer than the others. “Sweet dreams, pretty. Text me when you get to your room, yeah?”
You smile. “I will.” And as you step out into the night, the cold biting against your skin, you swear you feel a little warmer than before.
---
The next morning, Hyunjin’s car still smelled like her.
Faint traces of her perfume clung to the back seat—warm, soft, something expensive-smelling but chaotic, like her. Like a scent that didn’t belong to one person, but to a thousand moments all tangled up together. The memory of her fingers curled in his shirt, the whimper she made when he bit her lip too gently, of her voice whispering “Can we go back to making out now?”—
Yeah. He was doomed. Hyunjin leaned back in the driver’s seat, now parked outside his place, staring at the ceiling like it might give him answers. His phone buzzed beside him. Not a notification. Not even a new text. Just the screen lighting up every few minutes from him checking it over and over again.
No new messages yet.
She’d made it back to her dorm. Texted him that she was in. Sent a sleepy, slurred voice note that said something like “Tell your backseat I said thanks for the ride, and your lips, too.”
God, he’d replayed it three times.
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. She’s unhinged. He liked it. More than liked it. There was something wild about her. Something he couldn’t predict, couldn’t label. One minute she was pressing kisses down his neck like she owned him, the next she was asking him about his past with eyes full of genuine curiosity—not pity. Not judgment.
Real. She was real. In a way nothing else in his life had been for a long time. Most people flirted with him because they liked the thrill of his mystery, the edge of danger that came with his name. But not her. Not Y/N. She didn’t want the high. She wanted him. She asked him about his cousin. His art. His stupid dreams. Stuff no one ever cared about unless they were trying to get something.
She wasn’t trying to get anything.
Except maybe another kiss. He groaned, grinning at nothing. He hated being soft. He despised it.
And yet…
The softest he’d ever been was last night—his hands running down her spine as she giggled against his lips, her voice sleepy in his car, her smile tucked into his chest like it belonged there.
He grabbed his phone again. Opened her contact. No message yet. He typed something out. Deleted it. Tried again. Deleted that too. Eventually, he just saved her contact name as Backseat Bandit and laughed to himself. God, he was so gone.
Hyunjin turned the engine off, leaning forward to rest his head on the wheel. “What am I doing?”
Then his phone buzzed. A new message.
From her.
[YN]: Hey. Made it to class. Barely. I blame you. Also my lips still tingle. I think I hate you. But not really. Just a little. Okay bye.
Hyunjin smiled down at the screen like a complete fool.
Then typed out his reply:
[Hyunjin]: Still thinking about last night? Same. Hope your lecture’s boring so you think about me more. Also—I miss your lip gloss. And your mouth. In that order.
Send. He tossed his phone onto the passenger seat, smirking.
Let the chaos begin.
the picture did a number on me and i don't care if its edited.
The first thing you feel is warmth—Jay’s arms wrapped snugly around your waist, his chest pressed against your back, his steady breathing in sync with yours. The second thing you feel is his lips, soft and warm, pressing lazily against your shoulder. Then another kiss, this time against the back of your neck.
You hum sleepily, shifting slightly in his arms. “Jay…”
“Mm?” His voice is husky, still thick with sleep, but he doesn’t stop—his lips move to your jaw, then your temple, then your cheek.
You smile, eyes still closed. “What are you doing?”
“Kissing you,” he murmurs simply, his lips grazing your skin between every word. “Why? You want me to stop?”
You shake your head, turning to face him. The soft morning light filters through the curtains, painting golden hues over his messy hair and sleepy eyes. He looks so warm, so safe, so yours.
Jay grins at the sight of your sleepy pout and leans in again—first, a kiss to your forehead, then the tip of your nose, then, finally, your lips. It’s slow, unhurried, like he has all the time in the world to kiss you like this.
You sigh into it, hands lazily finding their way to his chest. “You’re clingy in the mornings.”
He chuckles, his lips brushing against yours. “Only in the mornings?” He sneaks in another kiss. Then another. And another.
You giggle, trying (and failing) to push him away. “Jay!”
“What?” he mumbles, kissing your chin this time. “I’m making up for all the hours I didn’t get to kiss you while we were sleeping.”
You roll your eyes, but your heart melts anyway. Instead of answering, you pull him back in, meeting his lips in a kiss that lingers just a little longer.
Jay hums in satisfaction. “See? You like my clinginess.”
You sigh dramatically, snuggling closer to him. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t stop.”
He smirks, resting his forehead against yours before pressing one last lingering kiss to your lips. “I wasn’t planning on it.”
And with that, he keeps his promise—kissing you over and over again, until the world outside the two of you no longer matters.
"ain't there something I can give you
in exchange for everything you give to me? read my mind and make me feel just fine,
when I think my peace of mind is out
of reach.."
giving you the best that i got - anita baker
c/w: none very fluff very in love
✩ ₊˚
to everyone else, this was your normal saturday night. but to you, this night of all nights, felt like a blessing.
no calls, no obligations, just you, and your husband.
you're in your robe, fuzzy socks sliding across the tile as you stir the pot on the stove, humming along to the anita baker vinyl he bought you months ago, as the scent of garlic and rosemary fills the air.
jay leans against the counter, tank top on and arms doing entirely too much, but that's a subject for later.
he watches you like you're the only thing that ever mattered. he's been quiet for the past few minutes, earning a side-eye from you.
"aren't you supposed to be cutting vegetables?" you giggle, still stirring.
jay smirks. "you're too beautiful not to look at."
you can't deny the way he makes your heart flutter even after so many years. "flattery doesn't get you out of cutting veggies, jay." you say, pointing the spoon at him.
he walks over anyway, arms looping around your waist, lips brushing your shoulder. "i'm serious. you could wear a trash bag and still make me lose my mind."
you're about to respond, but he sways you gently, pulling you into a slow dance. you giggle as he clumsily spins you, your cheek pressed against his chest.
"you're so annoying," you mumble into his skin, smilling to yourself.
"and you still married me." he kisses the top of your head. "which i thank the universe for everyday."
his hands slide a little lower, over your hips, pulling you flush against him. you feel the air shift.
"you tryna start something?" you ask softly, looking up at him through your lashes.
Heeseung is the kind of husband who never leaves for work without pressing a soft kiss to your forehead even if you’re deep in sleep, bundled up in your dreams. It's become muscle memory, instinct. On the rare days he forgets, his whole morning feels a little off, like he left something precious behind. He secretly keeps track of your period in his phone, never mentioning it out loud—not to be nosy, but so he knows exactly when to stock up on the snacks you crave, switch out the pain meds in the cabinet, or simply hold you closer on days you’re quieter than usual.
He’s the type to fix the squeaky drawer, change the dead lightbulb, refill the water filter—all without a word. And if you try to help, he’ll gently shoo you away with a soft frown and a mutter under his breath about how you should be resting instead. He does it not to prove anything, but because caring for you brings him peace. Sometimes, without warning, he comes home with little gifts tucked behind his back—a book you mentioned in passing, your favorite strawberry milk, a plushie from a claw machine he secretly spent way too much time on. No occasion, no reason. Just because he saw it and thought, “She’d love this.”
PARK JONGSEONG ! (박종성)
Jay is the kind of husband who’ll pull your chair out before every meal—whether you’re at a fancy restaurant or just having takeout at the kitchen counter in your pajamas. He opens the car door like it's second nature, always muttering something half-cheesy, half-serious like, “My wife isn’t touching the struggle today.” And he means it. He lives for couple cooking nights—not just because he enjoys the food, but because it’s one of his favorite kinds of quality time. He plays it cool, of course, tossing compliments and challenges in the same breath.
He’s the type who scolds you when you skip a meal—not harshly, but with that low, serious tone that means he’s worried. “Don’t do that. You don’t have to prove anything by going hungry.” It’s not just about nutrition — it’s because he knows the quiet battles you fight with your reflection, and he wishes you could see yourself through his eyes. The last thing he wants is for you to feel unworthy, when to him, you're everything.
You don’t even realize until much later that the ring he slipped onto your finger—the one you haven’t stopped staring at—wasn’t something he just picked out. He designed it himself. Chose every detail. Every curve, every stone, every engraving hidden on the inner band. But when you find out, he shrugs like it’s nothing. “You deserved something that felt like you. I didn’t think it was a big deal.” As if you aren’t standing there with your heart falling all over again.
SIM JAEYUN ! (심재윤)
With Jake as your husband, every day would feel like a sleepover with your favorite person in the world. He lets you choose the movies for every movie marathon night, even though your taste is the complete opposite of his—not because he enjoys them (he secretly finds them confusing), but because he enjoys you. Your commentary. Your reactions. The way you look at the screen and lean into him when something dramatic happens. He lives for physical affection—he’s that guy. The one who slides behind you when you’re doing the dishes and wraps his arms around your waist like it’s second nature. The one who presses warm kisses to your temple just because you walked by.
Jake would hand you his hoodies without a second thought, always smiling when he sees how comically big they look on you. He’d give you his passwords not out of necessity—but because he genuinely can’t remember them and he trusts you more than he trusts his own brain. And he overshares about you. Constantly. His friends don’t even flinch anymore when Jake starts another sentence with, “You know what my wife did yesterday? She’s literally the best—” They’ve all just accepted that Jake Sim is hopelessly, incurably in love with you.
PARK SUNGHOON ! (박성훈)
To be fair, being married to Sunghoon wasn’t always easy. Because sometimes, it felt like he hated your guts. You’d glance at him across the room, and he’d look away like eye contact with you might end his bloodline. He’d scoff when you asked if he missed you, roll his eyes when you called him cute, and mumble sarcastic things like, “Yeah, I just live to be around you.” But then he’d do things—quiet, deliberate things—that made your heart trip over itself. Like warming up your socks in front of the heater before handing them to you wordlessly. Like always handing you the first bite of his food, no matter how hungry he was. Like getting your coffee order exactly right, every single time, even if he had to stand in line for half an hour.
He'd be the type of husband who wouldn’t say “I love you” often. In fact, most days he wouldn’t say it at all. But somehow, he still made you feel it in the way he noticed everything about you—even the parts you never mentioned out loud. And oh, he got jealous. Easily. Hated it too. He’d try to play it cool, rolling his eyes, arms crossed, acting like he couldn’t care less. “I’m not jealous,” he’d grumble as he watched you talk to someone else for a little too long. But his jaw would clench, and his hand would find yours a little tighter than usual on the walk home.
KIM SUNOO ! (김선우)
Sunoo is the kind of husband who treats pampering like a love language—both giving and receiving. He buys face masks in bulk, not because he needs them all, but because “Wednesday night is skincare night” is a sacred tradition in your home. There’s a playlist, a scented candle, and a whole skincare lineup he curated just for you. He’ll wear matching headbands—ears and all—and take it very seriously. He’s also brutally honest. Almost painfully so. If your outfit isn’t working, he won’t sugarcoat it. “Babe. That shirt? Burn it. Immediately.” And he expects the same from you—it’s all part of the deal. Fashion advice isn’t love unless it comes with a little gasp and a dramatic hand wave.
The two of you fight like you’re on stage. Voices raised, hands flailing, one of you walking dramatically into the other room—but neither of you ever goes too far. Because the makeups are just as dramatic. Tearful apologies, long hugs in the kitchen, and kisses so passionate they turn the air electric. He’s the type who can’t stand hearing you say bad things about yourself. The moment you call yourself ugly—even as a joke—his entire energy shifts. “Do not disrespect my wife like that,” he’ll snap, crossing his arms. “Because she’s literally the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, and you’re being rude to her right now.” His tone is so indignant, it makes you giggle through your sniffles.
YANG JUNGWON ! (양정원)
Jungwon is the kind of husband who quietly takes over the parts of life you’ve always struggled to manage—finances, scheduling, bills—not because he doesn’t think you can, but because he never wants you to have to. He’ll check the fine print on every contract, ask the questions you’re too polite to, and step in without hesitation if someone’s trying to take advantage of you. “Talk to me instead,” he’ll say, hand gently on your back, voice firm, eyes steady.
He’s always responsible. Always two steps ahead. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel deeply—in fact, he’s the type who notices even the tiniest shift in your mood. Even if he’s swamped, drowning in deadlines, his eyes still flick to you the moment you go quiet. He’ll close his laptop mid-report, pour you a warm cup of tea, and guide you to the couch with gentle hands and softer words. “Talk to me. I can finish work later. You come first.”
He’s a domestic dreamer—the kind who wants a modest backyard, not for himself, but because he pictures tiny shoes in the grass. He wants a golden retriever sprawled on the patio, kids running around with juice-sticky fingers, and you sitting beside him while he peels oranges for everyone to share. He doesn’t say it often, but he thinks about it more than he should. About growing old with you. About quiet Sundays and sleepy mornings and the slow, beautiful life he wants to build—with you at the center of it all.
NISHIMURA RIKI ! (西村力)
Niki isn’t the kind of husband who jumps out of bed to grab you water at 3 AM just because you’re married now. In fact, he’ll probably groan, pull the blanket over his head, and mumble, “You have legs, babe.” But two hours later, he’s waking you up with your favorite boba in his hand and a sheepish expression—because he feels bad, he just doesn’t know how to say it out loud yet. He messes up the laundry more times than he’ll admit, turns your white shirt pink, shrinks his own hoodie—but always follows it up with a guilty grin and a small bouquet of flowers, plucked from the vendor he passes on the way home. It’s not perfect love. But it’s his love. And it’s real.
Ni-ki’s stubborn. He’ll argue, roll his eyes, and pretend like he’s standing his ground… only to cave an hour later and do exactly what you wanted in the first place. Because watching you smile? That’s a hill he’s more than willing to die on. Your bonding time is sacred. It’s quiet nights, two controllers, legs tangled under a blanket, the glow of the screen reflecting off your faces. And snacks—the ultimate symbol of love. He shares his chips with you freely, even though his friends still talk about the time he bit someone’s hand for trying to take one.
baby … it’s that time of the month! — enhypen 🌷͙֒ᰔ
summary. you started your period this morning and your boyfriend is here to save the day. genre. fluff, a little crack, with slight smut (mentions of period sex) themes. established!relationship. author’s note. period’s suck. #motionkiller.
warnings: lowercase intended, not proofread so there may be minor typos, mentions of food in jay's drabble
a/n: I want them all to be my boyfriends now, they are so cute!
a/n (2): I also have a txt and zb1 version if you're interested to see that too
🖇️ — 양정원 ; JUNGWON !
↳ linking your pinky with his
this had been a small little habit jungwon developed whenever he felt too shy to hold your hand in public and you found it adorable
he always thought your little pinky was adorable and linking his with yours felt like he was also making some sort of pinky promise to you
you had both been walking around the amusement park looking for a new ride to try but as the day went by it was becoming more conjested with people
linking your pinkies together to avoid losing you in the crowd of people, jungwon then continued walking as you tried to look for something else to try
"Baby there's the ferris wheel! Let's go there!" your boyfriend excitedly says as he pulls you along
still with your pinky in his, he swayed your arms back and forth as you waited in line for the ride
you found this pinky thing endearing and cute as along the way his shyness would disappear and he would hold your whole hand in his without realising
pulling you closer to him, jungwon leaned his head on yours as you both enjoyed the view of the city from the ferris wheel
🖇️ — 이희승 ; HEESEUNG !
↳ kissing your forehead/nose
heeseung would cup your face, carefully bending down before giving your cheeks, nose, forehead and lastly your lips all a peck
despite loving to show you affection with little kisses here and there, he mostly enjoyed giving you forehead and nose kisses because of how flustered you would become afterwards
"Good morning my angel, how did you sleep?" he asks making his way to you giving your nose a little kiss as you brushed your hair
"Wonderful since I was with you." you say to him giving his nose a kiss too before kissing his lips
because of your boyfriend, you had also grown accustomed to kissing his nose and sometimes his forehead too (if you are a taller s/o)
he loved smothering you in his affection but because he couldn't always kiss you directly whenever you were in public
heeseung settled on just kissing your forehead and nose
he had been doing it everyday since you both started going out that on days that he didn't, you would even think something was wrong
"I think you're forgetting something sir." you playfully tease as he laughs in understanding
he would soon cup your face making sure to leave a kiss on both cheeks, your lips and ofcourse your favourite, your nose and forehead
🖇️ — 박종성 ; JAY !
↳ cooking together
"How does the sauce taste, I think it could be missing something." you ask your boyfriend as he tasted the sauce and momentarily thought before nodding
"Mhm, this is pretty good darling. Good job." jay praises giving you a kiss on the cheek going back to cooking his part of the meal
cooking with jay was a great bonding experience for the both of you
you both loved cooking and being able to do it together only made it better and far more memorable and enjoyable
if you weren't cooking together then jay was most definitely cooking for you because he knew you loved his cooking
cooking became a love language in your relationship where cooking for or with you was just jay's way of expressing his love and appreciation
"I was thinking we could try something Italian for dinner next week?" he suggests with his head in your lap as you both relaxed watching a show together
"That sounds perfect to me."
🖇️ — 심재윤 ; JAKE !
↳ laying his head on your shoulder
jake had always been a pda and physically affectionate person
he absolutely loved being around you, he would glue himself to you if he could
but because glueing isn't an option, he simply opts for wrapping his arms around your waist and laying his head on your shoulder
he especially enjoys doing this to look over your shoulder whenever you're busy with something
"Hi baby, what're you up to?" your boyfriend asks curiously as you continue cutting up the fruit on the cutting board
"Just making a little snack, here you go," you tell him, feeding him a piece of strawberry
he sweetly thanks you before leaving a chaste kiss on the crook of your neck as he swayed the both of you
simply staying in that position, you continued making your food with your boyfriend wrapped around you
"Jake, you can let go now sweetie." you tell him to which he declined making you laugh softly
🖇️ — 박성훈 ; SUNGHOON !
↳ fixing your clothes
sunghoon was a rather diligent and observant person, perfectionist too
helping to adjust certain accessories or pieces of clothing you wore had always been a habit he had which soon grew with you
he found it cute how you would sometimes have the small things out of place and he would be able to 'touch it up' for you
you would both be taking a stroll and your boyfriend would halt in his steps to kneel down and tie your loose shoelaces
it made your heart skip a beat seeing how sunghoon would notice these small things you sometimes didn't either
here you both were at the ice rink skating around and sunghoon quickly paused his movements to adjust your scarf around your neck before he kissed your forehead
"I don't want my sweetheart getting cold." he says warmly as he held your hand to continue skating
without fail, sunghoon knew how to make you fall utterly more in love with him
🖇️ — 김선우 ; SUNOO !
↳ doing skincare together
"Okay, which sheet mask should we go with, the sanrio character ones or plain?" sunoo asks lifting up both packets
"Definitely sanrio." you answer as he nods sitting across from you to help put the mask on your face as you did his
this was a tradition between the both of you where every weekend, or ones which were free, were for skincare and movie nights
it became a habit after sunoo had suggested it and you thought it was really cute
your boyfriend would always help you with your skincare such as applying the products and sometimes even giving you massages
if anything he probably needed them the most with how stressful his work was but sunoo was just happy to see you relaxed
you both would always share tips and tricks from tiktok you would see and were always trying new brands
the couple who's face card never declines, you both have flawless and glowing skin (I'm jealous)
"There you go, let's take a few selfies now." he suggests after getting the masks on
he quickly gives your little nose a kiss and grabs his phone ready to capture the memories
🖇️ — 西村 力 ; NI-KI !
↳ falling asleep over a call
it was 2 am and after falling asleep whilst face timing your boyfriend, you notice the call was still on and he too was peacefully asleep from the screen
having to deal with a busy schedule, the most riki got to talk to you was at the end of his work days right before bed
this is where he soon started falling asleep over your calls during his especially busier days
you obviously didn't mind this seeing as you found it cute how peaceful he looked whenever he was sleeping
and that he was comfortable enough to fall asleep on a call with you
you would both just be talking about the most random things for hours and after a few yawns left his mouth
you convinced him to go sleep but he said he wouldn't end the call
riki instead fell asleep and soon you followed whilst your facetime was ongoing
whispering a soft good night, you ended your call with riki and went back to sleep
“when our children ask us how did we meet, i’m tellin’ them, ‘gen z luv,’ ‘fyp love,’ ‘ig love.’”
pairings ⟢ down bad tiktoker! sunghoon x fem! reader
contains ⟢ profanity, crack/humour, fluff, frank ocean mentioned, one shot!
୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ this is a behind of like a tattoo! sunghoon (my ongoing heeseung smau) <3 you can read jake’s behind here!
read sunghoon’s PART 2 here!
⟢ while scrolling on tiktok, you decide to comment under a random guy's viral thirst trap video – completely unaware that you just became the love of his life.
─────────────────────
author's note: i laughed so hard editing sunghoon’s tik tok, ANYWAYS LOL just a little drabble i hope u enjoyed reading it!! if you liked sunghoon’s character check out my smau like a tattoo here! 😸 also this song makes me crack tf up SO BADDDD😭😭
꒰ details ꒱ — boyfriend texts with your loving annoying bodyguard (boyfriend).
Ი︵𐑼 ⌗ MORE JAY ⋮ ꩜ bf!jay x f!rea → fake texts. fluff, pet names (baby, pretty, angel) banter between two people in a couple, kinda suggestive
coco’s notes .. hey so jay is heavy on my mind of you couldn’t tell ^o^ also in slide 13 there is an error i mean “saw” instead of “say” please ignore it i would fix it but i would’ve had to rewrite it all so 😄. likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated.
hiiiiii everyone <3 i´m back with a part 3 of the enha texts!!!!!!
part 1 and 2 are below if you wanna check it out :)
send me an ask if you want to be added to a taglist for this text series thing lol :))
hope you enjoy them :p
prev. | m.list. | next.
based on this ask.
pairings: ot7!enhypen x 8th member f!reader
summary: what happens when their dear sunshine y/n gets involved in a dating rumor?
tags: fake texts, crack, humor (or at least an attempt lmfao), strong language, enha being down BAD for y/n, jealous enha, they’re all insane, BND jaehyun mentioned, use of the word twink lmfao, kind of implied that y/n is around ni-ki’s age (im sorryyy i hate doing very specific traits for a y/n reader, don’t kill me >.<) allusions to a nude pic, profanities, 18+ (i think that's it, if not lmk pls lol)
disclaimer: this is a work of pure fiction. i am not claiming that this depicts enhypen or anyone involved in real life.
♡ my requests are open if anyone wants me to make a specific scenario :p ♡
༺♡༻ ༺♡༻ ༺♡༻ ༺♡༻ ༺♡༻
༺♡༻ ༺♡༻ ༺♡༻ ༺♡༻ ༺♡༻
༺♡༻ ༺♡༻ ༺♡༻ ༺♡༻ ༺♡༻
༺♡༻ ༺♡༻ ༺♡༻ ༺♡༻ ༺♡༻
a/n: i hope u all enjoyed this part 3. the people have spoken and i uploaded it today instead of tomorrow lol. this one was a bit of a longer one :p i feel beyond grateful for the amount of support and love I’ve received for this mini series thing. i love you all, your comments really make me so happy you have no idea :’)
if you want more of these lmk, my requests are open heheh :) or if i should stop pls lmk too lmaoooooo
➙ random daily stories you’ve posted of your best friend sunoo
pairing: kim sunoo x gn!reader
genre: a good mixture of fluff and crack lolol
warnings: some cussing from reader a bit, not proofread, lowercase intended
a/n (edit): hi everyone! I’m slowly getting into more of these insta story sort of content so please do lmk if you like them too! REBLOGS HIGHLY APPRECIATED!
in which best friend!yeonjun sends a ridiculous amount of flirty texts.
pairings: yeonjun x gn!reader
genre: text au, fluff, humor, slightly suggestive
warnings: yeonjun’s flirting is outta pocket but we do we expect 🤷🏻♀️ pet names, mentions of pimple puss (??), mentions of death (jokingly ofc), mentions of needles, suggestive remarks.
rea’s 💌 — no bc thinking of flirty best friend yeonjun is so 😵💫 these turned out to be more unhinged than i thought lmaoo. as always, thank you for reading ⋆˙⟡♡
[ 🖋️ ] @onedreamnet
please do not translate, modify or repost on other platforms.
