☆.ㅤ SYN. ㅤ ㅤ──ㅤㅤ your usually shy boyfriend gets drunk for the first time and becomes way too clingy.
ᯓ ࣪ ˖ ִ ★ pairing ── eom seonghyeon , f reader.
needy seonghyeon (?) ⋆.˚
wc: 1,5k
a/n : heyyy guys, this was in my drafts for a while but whatever <𝟑 .ᐟ also keep in mind that i do not support or encourage underage drinking, it may reflect situations that many teenagers are familiar with in real life, but here they are only used for storytelling purposes and should not be taken as encouragement or promotion. thanks. kisses >⩊<
Your room was warm and quiet, lit only by the small lamp beside your bed while the rest of the apartment stayed dark and still around you. You had been half asleep for almost twenty minutes already, curled comfortably under your blanket with your phone abandoned somewhere near your pillow, your eyes barely able to stay open anymore.
Then suddenly, loud knocking echoed through the apartment.
You flinched awake immediately, heart jumping as the sound repeated again, louder this time. For a second you just stared at the ceiling in confusion before slowly pushing the blanket off yourself and getting out of bed.
Who even knocks like that this late at night?
You dragged your feet toward the door sleepily, fixing your oversized shirt a little before unlocking it.
The moment the door opened, Martin almost stumbled inside first.
“Oh thank god,” he sighed dramatically.
Then you saw Seonghyeon beside him.
And immediately froze.
His hair was completely messy, falling over his eyes unevenly like someone had been running their hands through it all night, and his hoodie hung off one shoulder slightly while he stood there swaying just enough for you to notice. His cheeks were flushed pink, eyes half lidded and unfocused, and the second he looked at you, his entire expression softened instantly.
You blinked in surprise. “Is he drunk?”
“Very,” Martin answered instantly.
Seonghyeon frowned slightly beside him. “I’m not that drunk.”
“You almost cried because they changed the music,” Martin deadpanned.
“I liked that song.”
Martin rolled his eyes before looking back at you.
“He would not shut up about wanting to come see you.” He pointed toward Seonghyeon with complete exhaustion. “Like genuinely. Every five seconds it was your name over and over again.”
Your eyes moved back to Seonghyeon automatically and he just stared at you quietly, blinking slowly.
“He missed you,” Martin added teasingly.
Seonghyeon immediately hid part of his face inside his sleeve and you could not help smiling a little.
Martin sighed dramatically again before carefully grabbing Seonghyeon by the shoulders and moving him toward you.
“Here. He’s your problem now.”
The second Seonghyeon reached you, he leaned against you almost instantly, his weight warm and heavy against your shoulder.
Martin pointed at him seriously.
“Do not let him drink again because he’s either gonna ruin the party or start confessing his feelings to random furniture.”
“I was not talking to furniture,” Seonghyeon mumbled.
“You thanked a lamp.”
“That’s because it looked nice.”
You laughed quietly before Martin started walking backward toward the elevator again.
“Good luck,” he called out. “And seriously, keep him alive.”
Then he disappeared.
Leaving you alone with your extremely drunk boyfriend clinging to your shoulder.
For a moment Seonghyeon just stayed there quietly, arms loosely around your waist while his forehead rested against the side of your head.
“You smell nice,” he murmured suddenly.
You smiled despite yourself. “Thank you.”
His grip tightened slightly like he was making sure you were real.
“Missed you.”
The words came out so soft and honest that your chest hurt a little.
“You saw me this morning,” you whispered.
“Still missed you.”
God.
You carefully guided him inside before closing the door behind you, and the second you did, he immediately followed you around the apartment like a lost puppy while you prepared things for him.
You grabbed comfortable clothes from your drawer, placing them neatly inside the bathroom before turning the shower on slightly so the water could warm up.
“You need to shower first,” you told him gently.
Seonghyeon stood beside the sink watching you quietly, looking impossibly tired and clingy at the same time.
Then suddenly he moved closer.
Enough that you had to tilt your head up to look at him properly because of the obvious height difference between you two. Even drunk, he somehow still carried that naturally soft presence around you, except now it felt less controlled.
Needier.
His arms slid around your waist slowly before he leaned down and rested his chin on your shoulder, practically folding himself against you.
You immediately wrapped your arms around the back of his neck carefully, fingers brushing softly through the messy hair at the nape of it.
“It’s okay, babe,” you whispered. “You’re okay.”
He made a quiet sound against your shoulder, almost like a hum.
You smiled slightly. “Was this your first time drinking?”
After a small pause, he nodded.
That made your smile grow instantly.
Of course it was.
Everything suddenly made sense now. The clinginess. The nonstop honesty.
You gently rubbed circles against the back of his neck while he stayed there holding you silently.
Then after a few seconds, he spoke again.
“Babe.”
“Hm?”
He lifted his head slightly just enough to look at you properly, eyes heavy and unfocused but still impossibly soft.
“I love you so much.”
Your heart almost stopped.
Before you could even answer, he leaned down and kissed you.
Harder than usual.
Desperate in a way that completely caught you off guard because Seonghyeon was normally shy with affection, always hesitating before kisses, always getting embarrassed after holding your hand for too long.
But now he kissed you like he could not help himself.
Like every thought in his head had disappeared except you.
You could taste the alcohol faintly against his lips, sweet and bitter at the same time, but you barely noticed because of how tightly he held you.
One of his hands moved up your back slowly while he kissed you again, deeper this time, and your fingers tightened instinctively behind his neck as your breathing started getting uneven.
When he finally pulled back slightly for air, his forehead rested against yours for barely a second before he leaned in again immediately.
Another kiss.
Then another.
Your brain felt completely scrambled by the sudden affection.
“Babe,” you murmured breathlessly against his lips, barely managing to speak between kisses. “Calm down.”
The second the words left your mouth, he stopped immediately.
His eyes widened slightly like he just realized what he was doing.
“Sorry,” he whispered instantly.
You blinked up at him, still breathless.
He looked genuinely flustered now despite being drunk, his cheeks flushed deeper pink than before.
“You just…” He swallowed softly. “You drive me crazy.”
Your stomach flipped painfully.
A small laugh escaped you before you could stop it and you shook your head slightly, still holding onto him.
“I think you’re really drunk.”
“I know.”
But he clearly did not care.
Instead he just hugged you closer again, hiding his face against your shoulder like he suddenly got shy all over again after saying too much.
Which somehow made the whole thing even cuter.
Eventually, after a lot of convincing and helping him not trip over literally nothing, you managed to get him showered and into clean clothes.
By the time you both finally crawled into bed, the apartment had gone completely silent again.
Seonghyeon immediately moved toward you the second he laid down, arms wrapping around your waist while he pulled you close against his chest like he physically could not sleep otherwise.
His face buried itself into your neck comfortably, warm breaths brushing softly against your skin while one of his legs tangled lazily with yours under the blanket.
You smiled quietly in the darkness, fingers brushing gently through his damp hair.
“Better?” you whispered.
He nodded sleepily against your shoulder.
Then after a few seconds, his voice came out soft and tired.
“Still love you.”
Your chest hurt again in the best way possible.
You pressed a small kiss against his forehead before cuddling closer into him, listening to his breathing slowly even out as exhaustion finally took over both of you.
◞ ʚɞ cw college au , switch dynamics , oral , penetration , p in v , fingering , cunnilingus , sungho is a huge loser + in a band , major praise kink , voyuerism kink , marking
Honest to god, he questions everyday how you fell for him. The lead singer of the band, who happens to be a huge loser outside of that. Though he still never denies your love towards him, not when he always melts under your loving gaze while he’s deep inside of you, muttering out a string of praise.
Ngl, would have a huge thing for being heard while having sex. He just wants people know he treats you well, especially in bed, just like now he wants people to hear how good of a singer he is on stage.
When his roommates are home he’ll fuck you harder, drinking in your heightened noises. Though, he gets shy when they scold him for it.
Nothing turns him on more than his girl in the crowd at his gig, looking absolutely gorgeous in a black outfit and makeup on. After the show is over, he doesn’t even wait until you both get to his apartment. He’ll finger you real good in the backseat of his beat up truck, whispering compliments into your ear until you fully melt into his touch.
Huge song writer, so there’s a lot of songs his band plays that are about you, usually sexual ones. He shows all of his songs to you early, always. Sungho watches as you bite your lip when you realize who he’s singing about, he doesn’t fail to notice the lust in your eye.
Sungho who doesn’t like quickies when it comes to your pleasure, but absolutely adores it when it comes to him, especially before a show. His lips part as you sink to your knees as he presses himself against the sink behind him. He groans as you bob your head up and down on his length at a fast pace, taking him in so well.
He’s also a huge yapper, especially if he’s fucked out. You’re riding him, and he’s absolutely in heaven approaching his third orgasm. He can only babble about how in love he is with you, or how he doesn’t deserve you. Shut him up with a kiss and call him “pretty” while you’re at it, he’ll get real silent.
Study sessions where he’s trying to focus on the math in front of him, but he can’t when you’re brushing hair behind his ear, your fingers trailing down to his jaw, then his neck, and settling on his shoulder, suddenly he’s hard asf even after a few simple touches from you.
Hickeys are also a huge thing he’s into, mark him up before a gig when he’s wearing a low cut top, showcasing his bruised neck and collarbone.
Boy failure Sungho who will do it ANYWHERE with you, he doesn’t care as long as you’re feeling good and your pleasure is guaranteed.
Heavy makeout sessions where either you or Sungho end up with a bloody lip because someone bit down a little too hard, neither of you mind, he says it makes you both look badass.
Sungho who’s really good with his words too, and knows the words to make your knees absolutely buckle. If he wants you, he will always let you know, of course with his hands under your shirt, teasingly rubbing shapes below your breast line.
He loves when you come over to his place after a stressful day of exams, and he’s able to eat you out until you can’t think straight anymore. Not only does he love your taste, he loves the dazed look on your face, your eyelids droopy.
Sungho who still blushes and stutters whenever you compliment him, he is such a loser but the cutest ever. (You want to tear his pants off.)
But under all of that, he can be rough when he’s stressed (with your consent as well!), and lord does he have your eyes rolling in the back of your head. Always has you bent over, ramming into you from behind with a pace that makes you grab onto anything to ground yourself. (Bonus points if you’re in front of a mirror because he’ll force you to watch as he fucks you silly.)
Very sweet aftercare always, smoothing other your bare skin, pressing sweet kisses to the bruises he littered across your neck. He loves showering with you after as well!
Sungho who lets you do his makeup before a gig, a smoky eye, some dark lip gloss, guy liner and some blush. Somehow always cries it off after shows! It can’t be you pumping his cock so well, your lips hot against his waist line.
Sungho who is a major loser, but you love him anyway. (Him being good in bed is just a bonus.)
a/n : that picture of sungho jst does smth to me I swear, band vocalist sungho SAVE MEE
Can you write about boynextdoor w a virgin reader? Btw I love the way you write!🤍
.ೃ࿔*:･ paring: boynextdoor x fem!reader
⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ warnings: virgin!reader, first time sex, light dom/sub dynamics, overstimulation, oral (f receiving), fingering, soft!dom, praise, a bit of degradation (woonhak + riwoo), teasing, creampie implied, reader cries from intensity (leehan), grinding, cockwarming (taesan), lots of consent checks, dirty talk, some possessive language, boyfriend!au || word count: 900~ || m.list
sungho: he’s all about the slow build. lots of kissing, lots of heavy petting, lots of murmured “you okay?” against your lips while his fingers ghost over your thighs. the second you breathe out “i want you, for real,” he still pauses. not because he’s unsure, but because he wants you to say it again, to mean it through the haze. and when you do, he holds you by the waist and rocks into you inch by inch, kissing away every whimper. the stretch makes your legs tremble, but sungho doesn’t stop looking at you. soft praise the whole time. s: "you’re doing so good, baby. feels okay, yeah? god, you're perfect like this." and when you come? he bites down on his own lip to keep from finishing too fast, just because he wants to make you do it again.
riwoo: he’s trying so hard to be patient. really. but you keep squirming under him in that tiny skirt, keep whispering “you’re my first,” and he swears he’s gonna lose it. the second he gets you alone, he’s all twitchy fingers and shaky groans, cock twitching just from grinding against your soaked panties. he eats you out like a man starved first, lets you grind on his face til you're crying. r: "you’re already this wet and i haven’t even- fuck, you’re gonna kill me." he lines himself up with a curse, goes slow even though he wants to split you open, holding your thighs apart so he can watch the way you suck him in inch by inch. he doesn’t stop teasing. not even when you beg. r: "can’t help it. you're too cute like this. you’re mine now, right?"
jaehyun: he’s cocky. like really cocky. but the second you whisper that you’ve never done this before, he stills completely. eyes wide, hands soft. "you sure?" and when you nod, he kisses your forehead and flips the switch. suddenly the teasing stops. jaehyun becomes insanely attentive, sliding in slow with deep eye contact, stroking your hair while your body adjusts. j: "i got you. don’t worry, baby, just keep holding me like that." he mutters every filthy thing he’s ever thought about you into your neck while gently fucking you full. your nails dig into his back and he groans, so proud of himself for being your first. j: "no one else gets to do this to you. just me. i’m gonna make it so fucking good, you’ll never forget it."
taesan: he makes it feel like something out of a dream. dim lighting, music playing low, his hoodie still half on as he presses soft kisses down your chest. t: "if anything hurts, just tell me, okay?" and the second you nod, he slides a hand between your thighs and starts working you open with two fingers, whispering praise the entire time. he lets you get used to the idea of him first, teasing your entrance with the blunt tip of his cock, breathing just as heavy as you are. when he finally sinks in, it’s slow, aching, the stretch making your legs twitch. but he holds you there, pressed close, giving you time. t: "fuck, you feel so good. just relax, sweetheart. you’re taking me so well." he doesn’t fuck you hard, but god, it’s deep. you’ll feel it for days.
leehan: he’s nervous. and it’s kinda hot. how his hands tremble when he pushes your panties down, how he keeps kissing your inner thighs like he’s trying to calm himself down. l: "you’re sure? i don’t wanna rush you, i swear." the second you nod, he exhales real slow and pulls you into his lap, letting you straddle him as he guides himself inside you inch by inch. the eye contact is insane. he watches every twitch, every breathy moan, stroking your back while your pussy clenches around him. l: "you’re doing so good, fuck- feels like heaven, baby." he holds still once he’s in all the way, lets you grind slow while he keeps whispering sweet things, tells you you’re beautiful even when you cry from how intense it feels.
woonhak: this mf will not stop teasing. he finds out you're a virgin and suddenly he’s smirking through every kiss, touching you like it’s a game. w: "so this is all mine, huh? nobody’s touched you like this before?" and when you nod? feral. he takes so long just eating you out, dragging it out til you’re shaking and begging to be filled. he lines up his cock and circles your clit instead, watching your thighs shake. when he finally slides in, he’s loud. groaning through his teeth, biting at your neck, whispering how tight and warm you are. w: "fuck- i'm your first and your best, huh? say it, baby. say i ruined you." he’ll make you say it every time after that too.
★ a/n: hi guys... blond sungho! who cheered? i saw the pic above and just knew i had to write something... ilysungho writing a full fic WHO CHEERED!
✩ contains: guitarist dom!sungho x sub!reader, childhood friends w/ benefits to lovers?, sungho just got his heart broken, blond!sungho, sungho is sort of a player? but not really, porn with little plot, messy sex, making out, implied cum eating, marking, pussy biting (just once), orgasm denial, restraining, cunnilingus, thigh fucking, penetration (p in v), implied overstimulation, breeding kink/creampie, let me know if i missed anything! (1.9k words)
✩ dividers by: animated lines & pattern on red by @cafekitsune, moodboard pics by @parfajt, guitar picks by @redroud1
calloused fingers and a broken heart begging to be mended with at least a poor wrapping of gauze.
that’s all sungho needs at the moment as his bandaided fingertips type your name in his contact list. and within minutes, you show up to his apartment, messy and dark on the inside unlike it’s usual cleanliness.
“you’re here,” is all he can say, sitting on the edge of his bed with his pants unzipped, belt unbuckled, and shirt thrown to the side as his hair shines gold under the city lights filtering in through the windows. he knows how to rile you up and uses it to his advantage as you get closer, the scent of you spreading through his small place.
standing between his spread apart legs, you can only wonder what is up. it must’ve been another breakup of the short relationship he’s had for a couple weeks. but you don’t bother to ask, bending your body to take his lips in yours.
he had no doubt in what he needed tonight, and you knew, just like every time, that this is what it is. his hands reach to grab your waist, pulling you to him as you straddle his lap. he wastes no time in turning you over, your back on the mattress as he picks up the momentum. the place where both your heats meet build up a fiery arousal too, begging to be released from the confines of clothes. but that’s what excites you both at the same time.
his domination is rough, fueled with sadness and frustration. sungho’s never been one to take many things to heart, but when love strikes him, he makes sure that it stays for as long as possible. but every relationship gets cut short, his focus on being his band’s lead guitarist hindering growth in every other aspect of his life. but at least there’s you, his friend since childhood and everything else he needs you to be, perhaps except for a lover.
he knows you inside out, and also knows that you’re only one message away. neither of you have ever taken steps to be more than what you are now, but that just might change with how sungho’s hands grip your waist like an animal as his teeth mark you as his for the night and upcoming days until their disappearances. bruises upon bruises form from the endless sucking around your neck and chest, him having ripped off your top when you had kissed before.
no one stops him from doing as he pleases with you too, his phone’s familiar ringtone playing as he just turns it off mid ringing, not caring to hear about taesan’s disappointment at tonight’s show. he was bound to mess up anyways, having just gone through a break up the night before.
but you’re here now, under him as his lips reach lower, marking endlessly until you can feel how your body is gonna be shades of reds and purples when you wake up in the morning. you don’t stop him though, happy to be his doll he can vent his feelings out to, whether it be through words or actions.
he doesn’t utter a single word, simply tugging at your pants until they’re off of you, you lifting your hips to help. it’s odd that he lets your panties stay, since he usually removes them too, but you gasp right away as he bites your pussy over the cloth. your hands entangle in his hair as you try to push him off, but he mutters a sorry before gathering his saliva to let it drip down to where your clit would be beneath.
tongue coming out right after, he licks where his spit landed, sucking you over what you wore. your legs wrapped around his neck, thighs threatening to suffocate him, but with how he’s feeling, he wouldn’t mind that. he wouldn’t mind anything; he just wants to feel something.
each lick, each suck, each kiss leads you closer as you let out all the desperate moans you feel. he can tell that you’re close too, with how your thighs now clench around his neck, and how you’ve arched your back off the bed with ludicrous sounds echoing off the walls of his tiny studio apartment. but he doesn’t let you come, sitting up as your chest heaves below from almost orgasming. almost.
“i need this, please.”
sungho’s tone matched the desperation in his eyes as he discarded everything that covered him up, taking his belt to tie around your wrists. his behavior is too unusual, past sessions always opting to be short to release his stress before he goes back to picking up his guitar to practice the numerous songs taesan and jaehyun come up with weekly for shows as you watch from your place on the bed if you hadn’t left already. in contrast, he’s much slower this time, his knot precise and tight as you watch how his mouth glistens with spit and maybe some of your arousal from eating you out. his eyes scream how tired he is, red from probably crying the past 24 hours. and then, he gets back into his desired place between your legs, with you still below him, colored the same shades as his guitar on the side.
his left arm keeps your limbs in place, throwing them over one of his shoulder suddenly as your throat lets out an involuntary yelp in surprise. he doesn’t mind it though, simply positioning himself in between the gap your plush thighs form. he wished he would’ve continued his marks lower, casting the different shades his mouth makes onto the skin he starts thrusting between.
he’s slow at first, pushing in until he feels the air kiss his tip from the other side, and then pulling back out as his eyes wander around your body and face. he focuses on a different part with each thrust, making sure you can feel him despite the barrier that is your underwear. “tell me when you’re close,” he puts out in a low voice, almost a whisper to not disrupt the moment he’s created as his free hand fans over the sides of your torso.
feather-like touches across your body tingle throughout as his pace crescendos, both in rhythm and in sound. and as if like the strings on his guitar, his covered fingers pretend to pluck at your skin. he’s imagining the melodies your voice creates as chords on his instrument, every pitch pushing you further along as his eyes land on yours. and he stares long and hard, waiting for you to finally utter the words he wants to hear.
“sungho, i’m–”
that was his cue to let go, pausing your arousal from releasing once again as he pulls out and clenches your jaw open. he positioned himself right above your face then, rubbing along his girthy length before he finally came with a grunt into your open mouth, pushing the head inside after to make sure you gulp down everything he just gave you.
his movement was stifling, constantly leading you on until you said something, pulling back at the last moment before letting you get satisfied. maybe they matched how he’s been with everyone else in his past, not letting people get too close to him, always pushing them away at the last moment. you don’t know why he always did that to himself, but you could only hope that he doesn’t do the same with you, tongue flicking over his slit as you drank his seed.
pulling out after a couple minutes of staying still, sungho ran his hand through his hair, unsticking his newly blond dyed hair from the sweat that accumulated on his forehead. the slicked back look suited him, but he wasn’t done with you yet, going back down to kneeling between before your aching core as he removed his belt, examining the marks left on your wrists after.
kissing the lines formed, he guided them around his neck, as if securing his place in your life. you couldn’t help but pull him in, once again letting his soft lips meet yours after ages of not doing so.
something about this one felt electric, like how the pegs on a guitar’s head twist to tune, tightening the strings just right. he shuddered in your touch, with you treating him like he’s fragile and glasslike, like he would break with the wrong move. he appreciated that, hugging your body close to his as his body language shifted to something softer. he let your actions affect him now, inching closer to you, as if your bodies could fuse together and become one so he could feel all of you more than ever before.
his hand went down slowly as the kisses continued, fingers pulling the practically useless fabric to the side as he entered you at last. the moment felt nothing short of romantic, despite there having never been such feelings shared between you both. yet, the two of you let it be, his hips meeting yours as your walls also kissed his length. he could stay like this, he thought, just savoring the closeness as the action between your mouths deepened.
letting go for a brief moment for air, a string of saliva kept you both connected as he opened his eyes to look at you–cheeks red, lips swelling, mouth agape, eyes fluttering open. but before you could fully look back at him, he took you in once again. and this time, his tongue went into yours, tugging at you to do the same.
it was a dance sungho knew too well, but it felt so new this time, sucking on the muscle as you followed him to do the same. the slick sounds you both made had him feel his cock hardening within you, stretching you wider as he swallowed every moan escaping your mouth. he pushed in some more then, bones hitting as he willed into you.
and then he pulled out, pushing back in immediately. he didn’t want to leave you empty for too long, especially not when you sound like you need him more than ever. after blocking you from coming twice, it’s the least he can do now as his thumb swirls around your clit at the same time.
with how hard he pulled on your panties, the fabric began ripping, but neither of you both cared as every sound and connection filled your senses with an urge like never before. he needs you, and you need him too, pulling him closer as you could feel your arousal build up way faster from the previous denials.
you were so close to coming, your string being tightened too hard until it finally snapped, your moan this time louder than the others, turning into a whine as he eats that up too. sungho could feel how you dampened his movement, your arousal coating him as the slapping of his intrusions increased in pace. he was close too, sensitivity reeling over him from his past orgasms as he pulled out another one to give to you: a gift for being beside him.
grunting at his release, he pulled out to finger anything that could come out back into you. it’s just… his awareness now, breaking the kiss at last as you both take deep breaths together, grounding yourselves with each other as he moved to sleep next to where you lay.
you both take some time to stare at the ceiling, the circular motions of the fan dizzying your brain as your eyes follow it. sungho’s arm still stayed under your hip, using that to pull you closer to him as his eyes stayed fixed above. the closeness felt so intimate, his mind racing with thoughts he’s never had before, thinking about how tonight shifted a lot of things for him, mostly his feelings towards you. he can’t help but mutter to himself, half hoping you don’t hear him.
“i think you’re the only one i could ever see myself loving for a long time.”
thank you for reading! please like + reblog to show support, and feel free to leave feedback and comments through rb tags, anon messages, or dms! want more? check out the masterlist! want to be notified when something drops? join taglist here!
a/n: hi guys <3 i might make this into a full fic buttttt it depends on what the people want teehee just a little something to gift to you guys on my bday <3 i hope it's good!
˖◛⁺⑅♡ mini !! -> contains: soft dom!sungho x sub!reader, reader has a gag reflex, size training, blowjob, switching to hard dom sungho implied at the end, lmk if i missed anything!
"yes... just like that..."
you barely took in 1 inch of sungho's length, but he was ever supportive, holding your cheeks as he stared at you lovingly. the smile on his face was soft, and it never faltered as he encouraged you to take your time. but you were impatient, wanting to already take him fully into your mouth to give him the pleasure you've always wanted to.
"it's ok to be slow baby, i know you're still getting used to it," he said, already noticing you trying to choke back tears as you feel your gag reflex flare up. it's always been bad, but you wanted to work on it for him. what better way to do so than to practice on him yourself?
despite the saliva pooling in your mouth, you pushed more of him in, taking a deep breath as you felt the additional inch fill your mouth even more than before. squeezing your eyes shut, sungho kept talking you through it, telling you how well you’re doing, but also saying that you don’t have to keep going if you can’t.
you shake your head at his concern, pulling out with saliva messily dripping down your chin. “please. i want to sungho. just help me. i want to make you feel good.”
your eyes are determined as sungho’s soften up, his fingers tracing your jaw before his thumb wipes away your drool. he then leads his hand back up to your hair, holding your head so as to guide you.
“alright then. go on.”
after biting your lips as you nod, you go back to taking in 2 inches immediately, trying your best to breathe in and out as practiced. your eyes fluttered as your hands clutched onto his seated thighs, even trying to use your tongue (but failing). so instead, you push in half an inch more, and then some until you felt him hit the back of your throat.
it was too much at once as you gag and let him fill your mouth completely, but even if you tried to let go, sungho’s hold on your head tightened as you grip harder on his bare skin. he’s not letting you go, and you just open your eyes barely enough to look up at him as he keeps the same smile on his face. except now, it looks more calculated rather than loving.
“let me take over now hm?”
thank you for reading! please like + reblog to show support, and feel free to leave feedback and comments through rb tags, anon messages, or dms! want more? check out the masterlist! want to be notified when something drops? join taglist here!
📂 synopsis. sanghyeok’s a quiet, awkward paralegal in the office—always shuffling paperwork, eating alone, and dodging eye contact. but one late night, you catch him smoothly delivering legal advice that could win a multi-million-dollar case. turns out, he’s been silently shaping the firm’s biggest wins behind the scenes—and now, yours too. his brilliance was hidden behind file folders and sticky notes, in red-inked margins and late-night whispers. but as your connection deepens and the firm starts watching, you're forced to wonder: how much of your success is really yours—and how far are you willing to go for someone who was never supposed to step into the spotlight?
📂 word count. 9.5k
📂 warnings. kissing , cursing lots n lots of inaccurate legal jargon (unfortunately a warning)
📂 notes. heyy... !! sorry this took me so long 😭 it isn't a min fic if not procrastinated until the very last possible moment.... this is part two of my ongoing don't debate it, just litigate it ! series ! if you're interested, feel free to check out the rest / comment , dm , or send in an ask to be added to the series taglist !!
The coffee in front of you had long gone cold—untouched—sitting like a forgotten grudge on the break room table. You weren’t sure when it stopped steaming—maybe ten minutes ago, maybe twenty— but it didn’t matter. The ceramic felt heavy in your hand, like it had something to say. Maybe it did. Maybe everything did, lately.
“Whatever that cup of coffee did wrong, I’m sure you can forgive it.”
The voice cut through your haze, light and teasing. You blinked out of the trance and lifted your gaze to see Sally–third-year, sharp-tongued, impossible to not like—crouching in front of the mini-fridge in search of non-dairy creamer. Her smile was faint but warm.
“Huh?” Your voice cracked as it left your throat, the first sound you’d made in what felt like an hour.
She gave you a look, then nodded toward your mug. “Your cup. You’ve been staring at it like it owes you child support.”
A breath slipped out of you—halfway between a laugh and a sigh. You hadn’t even realized how tightly you’d been holding it until your fingers unclenched from the handle. “It’s nothing,” you muttered, rubbing at your eyes. “Just… the Carroway case.”
Sally poured her coffee, leaned back against the counter, and cradled her mug in both hands. “Oof. That mess.”
You nodded once, slow. “Morgan pulled me in.”
“That tracks.” She rolled her eyes, almost affectionately. “Man’s a menace to work with, but if he’s picked you for that case, you’ve clearly done something right.”
“Or horribly wrong,” you murmured. “Not sure which yet.”
She let out a small laugh, the kind that said been there, and took a sip of her drink. “It’s hell, but it’s the kind of hell that makes your resume look sexy. Think of it as… trauma bonding with a paycheck.”
Before you could answer, the break room door hissed open.
You didn’t need to look to know who it was. The air shifted—quiet, low-pressure, like someone had slipped into the room without wanting to take up space. And then there he was.
Lee Sanghyeok.
The paralegal. The quiet one. Shirt too big, slacks too long, face half-shadowed by the file he was reading. His silhouette was so withdrawn you could’ve mistaken him for a ghost if not for the soft clink of his mug hitting the corner of the counter.
Sally smiled, all warmth and ease. Not liking Sally was equivalent to not liking bunny rabbits and rainbows. “Morning, Sanghyeok!”
He glanced up just enough to acknowledge her—and maybe you—but his voice was barely above a whisper. “Morning.”
Then he returned to the file. One hand poured the coffee; the other kept a grip on his reading. Focused. Disconnected. Almost invisible, if not for how specifically he seemed to avoid your eyes.
Sally tried again. “I heard you’re on the Carroway case, too?”
He blinked once. “Morgan asked me,” he said simply.
There was a beat. His gaze flickered in your direction. Just for a second. Then it was gone.
You and Sally watched as he walked out the same way he came in—quiet, unobtrusive, like he’d only been there to refill the silence.
The door whispered shut behind him.
You exhaled, thumbing the rim of your coffee cup. “He’s just so…”
Sally raised a brow, amused. “Oh?”
“Not like that.” You shot her a look. “I barely have time to eat, let alone date someone.”
“Mhm,” she hummed, unconvinced.
You rolled your eyes, but the thought lingered. That quiet glance. The way he never quite looked startled, just… tired. Focused. Like he was carrying something you weren’t meant to see.
“Anyway,” Sally stood, nudging your arm as she passed. “Maybe you two can bond over Carroway. Stranger things have happened.”
You didn’t answer.
Not until the door shut again and you were alone with the silence and the memory of him, hunched over his file like the paper itself had confided in him.
The elevator dinged with a tired sigh before its chrome doors slid open to reveal the 32nd floor, cloaked in fluorescent silence. Only a handful of lights were still burning—the late-night loyalists, the rookies, and the desperate.
Unfortunately, tonight, you were all three.
Your heels clicked softly against the tile, echoing between cubicles dimly lit by screen glow and the occasional forgotten desk lamp. It was nearly midnight, and the office smelled like burnt coffee and anxiety, just like it always did after 10 p.m.
You moved on autopilot, the Carroway file clutched to your chest like it might slip out of your hands and shatter. You’ve read it backwards, forwards, sideways, and it still made as much sense as ancient Greek.
But then—
A light. Tucked behind the copy machines. The records alcove.
You paused.
The door was slightly ajar, just enough for light to spill out in a warm, humming stripe. A voice drifted through the crack—low, smooth, not frantic like the rest of the office always sounded. Controlled.
“... No, you can’t cite Everson, it was overturned in ‘09. What you can do is apply the tax-loss harvesting clause under Section 1211(b), but only if you build it into the offshore account structure by quarter-end. Otherwise, the audit window kicks in.”
A beat.
Then, a soft laugh. “Yeah, well if Maxwell actually read his own footnotes, I wouldn’t be needed at all.”
You inched closer. Leaned toward the door frame.
Inside, Sanghyeok sat slouched against a filing cabinet, sleeves rolled past his elbows, shirt wrinkled in that way that always made him look like he’d slept under his desk. He was elbow-deep in folders, a legal pad resting on his knee, half-filled with notes you couldn’t make sense of even if you tried. He held a dictaphone to his mouth with one hand, jotting something down like it was muscle memory.
You blinked.
He was handling Morgan’s case.
Partner Morgan. Who wouldn’t even look at your email if it wasn’t filtered through two secretaries and a senior associate—and Sanghyeok, who’d once spent an entire morning labeling binder spines in silence, was lecturing him on how to litigate the firm’s biggest tax case?
No. That couldn’t be right.
You stepped back too quickly and bumped into the copier behind you. The machine jolted, flashing awake with a sharp beep and a mechanical shriek.
Inside the records room, Sanghyeok turned his head.
No flinch. No surprise. Just a long, slow blink like he was expecting you all along. He set the recording device down without a word and stepped out into the hallway—where you were half-pretending to be deeply interested in the expired toner box—his expression unreadable, his shirt rumpled and oversized in the same quiet way he always was.
“You should sleep,” he said mildly.
You swallowed. “Was that… are you working on the Carroway case?”
He tilted his head slightly. “Just some personal insight.”
“You—personal insight? That was Carroway. You were talking legal strategy.”
He blinked once, almost apologetically. “It’s late. You’re tired.”
“You talked about the offshore clause. The loopholes.”
He looked at the file still clenched in your hands. His gaze moved back up to your face. “You’re stuck on that part, right?”
You didn’t respond.
“It’s just two loopholes,” he explained gently. “Not three. You’re looking for too much.”
“...How do you know that?”
Then he turned. Walked back into the alcove without another word, disappearing behind the stacks of files like nothing had happened.
You stared after him, heart climbing into your throat as you gripped at the brief that had just been rendered useless by a paralegal with no law degree and too much silence to his name. The Carroway case had felt impossible for days—and yet he’d untangled it in two sentences, barely blinking.
You read the Carroway case again. And again. And again until the pages started to lose shape, the words slipping out of meaning like they were written in water. Offshore holding structures, tax-loss harvesting, the Section 1211(b) clause Sanghyeok had mentioned—you plugged it into your memo draft and backspaced just as quickly.
You stared at your screen like it might somehow give you a different answer if you just looked at it long enough.
The legal memo due in two days? You were supposed to write that.
The one Sanghyeok had half-dictated offhandedly into a dictaphone while propped against a filing cabinet like it was nothing?
Yeah. That one.
You tried not to think about it, but you heard his voice echoing in your mind with obnoxious clarity:
“It’s two loopholes. Not three. You’re looking for too much.”
You ran his phrasing back. You checked the clause. Then you checked again.
…Damn it. He was right.
You applied what he said. Shifted your structure. Rewrote the analysis. Let his language bleed into your own. It was cleaner now—still legalese, still dense, but it actually flowed. Your cursor blinked beside the final sentence like it was waiting for applause.
You sat back in your chair, unsure of whether you felt proud or exposed.
Because you didn’t come up with any of that.
You just… listened. Remembered. Repackaged.
And maybe that’s what good lawyers did, but it didn’t feel like enough.
The next morning, you came in early. Too early.
The sun wasn’t even awake yet. The bullpen lights flickered on above you like they were still half-asleep too. You sipped your coffee and rehearsed excuses for why your memo was two hours early, half-stolen, and full of terms you barely understood.
You kept your head down for the duration of the morning. You weren’t even sure you wanted to be seen.
Which is why, when Morgan showed up at your cubicle later in the day, you actually flinched.
“[Name].”
You looked up, startled. He was standing there in his usual tailored charcoal suit, tie only slightly loosened at the neck, mug of coffee in hand. His expression was unreadable. You were half-expecting him to ream you for some formatting mistake or tell you the memo was so bad it got flagged by Complianc.
Instead, he set the mug on your desk and said, “This is good.”
You blinked. “Sorry—what?”
“The memo. Strong analysis, concise argumentation. The 1211(b) clause breakdown was especially sharp. That was your insight?”
You froze. Said nothing for a beat too long.
“Yes,” you lie. Quietly.
Morgan nodded. “Keep writing like that, you won’t stay a first-year for long.”
And with that, he took his mug and disappeared down the hall like he didn’t just tip your entire sense of self on its side.
You sat there, blinking.
Morgan liked your memo. No—Sanghyeok’s memo. The one he stitched together in the dark like it was a throwaway thought. You felt the heat creep into your cheeks as the guilt and confusion twisted inside your chest.
You looked across the bullpen, into his office. His desk was empty. Of course it was.
Of course he was already buried somewhere in the records room or drafting something you’ll never get to see.
You spun back toward your monitor and stared at your inbox, wondering if you should say something. Thank him. Ask why he didn’t just write the damn memo himself.
You didn’t know how someone like him learned how to write like that without a JD or a title. But you did know one thing:
You just stepped into a world Sanghyeok has been quietly running from the shadows all along. And now that you’ve had a glimpse, you weren’t sure if you were terrified or in awe.
Maybe both.
You started seeing him everywhere.
Not in the obvious sense—not in a rom-com montage kind of way. He didn’t appear in your path like fate. He was just… there. Quiet and constant.
In the kitchenette, you caught him refilling the sugar packets that somehow always runs out before 10 a.m. His sleeves were rolled up and there was a small ink stain on the side of his thumb. He didn’t notice you at first, and you didn’t say anything, but you watched the way he arranged everything with such unconscious precision—like order was something he could impose on chaos, one paper packet at a time.
In the hallway, you passed him with a stack of folders so tall it swayed with every step. His head was tilted just slightly, chin tucked in so the top file didn’t slip. You wondered if anyone offered to help. You wondered if he would’ve accepted it if they did.
In the elevator, you shared the kind of silence that settled between strangers and something less than that—something not quite friends, but no longer unfamiliar. He watched the glowing numbers. You fidgeted with the strap of your bag. The ride was only thirty seconds long but felt like a held breath. He stepped off first, and you couldn’t even remember what floor it was.
And still… no one seemed to notice him but you.
The office was dead silent when it hit 11:43 p.m. The kind that didn’t feel peaceful—just heavy. Everyone else had gone home. The overhead fluorescents hummed above you like they were getting tired, too.
You stared at your screen for what might’ve been the fourth—or fortieth—hour.
You were supposed to be drafting a memorandum for the Peterson hearing next week, analyzing whether the plaintiff could impose a constructive trust over the disputed funds, and whether the court was willing to pierce the corporate veil to reach the personal assets of the holding company’s shareholders.
You had read five cases and three articles. You’ve already drafted two paragraphs. You were on your third cup of coffee.
And still, none of it was clicking. The logic spun in circles, the language felt like a foreign dialect spoken by judges and ghosts, and the longer you stared at the screen, the less human the words seemed.
You rubbed your eyes, pressing the heels of your palms into your sockets until colors bloomed behind your lids.
“Not to interrupt your breakdown,” a quiet voice said beside you, “but you’re starting your analysis from the wrong end.”
You jolted. Like, actually flinched.
Sanghyeok stood at the side of your cubicle, holding a paper cup in one hand that curled with faint steam. It smelled like Earl Grey. His sleeves were, again, rolled past his elbows. There was a small red mark on his wrist like he leaned against a binder clip for too long.
You blinked at him. “How—how long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough to see you reread the same sentence four times,” he replied without looking at you. His eyes skimmed your screen instead. “You’re framing the constructive trust like it’s punitive. But the court isn’t trying to punish anyone. It’s equitable. They just want to make sure the money ends up where it ‘ought to be,’ even if that’s a little murky.”
You didn’t say anything. Partially because you were tired. Mostly because he was right.
He nodded towards the next paragraph, slow and deliberate. “Start with the fiduciary relationship. Build it from there. The ‘veil’ only matters if you can establish knowledge or intent.”
You stared at him. He didn’t flinch under the attention.
“You’re not supposed to be this helpful,” you mumbled. “You’re supposed to silently suffer in the shadows like the rest of us.”
He shrugged. “Bad at following instructions.”
You huffed a laugh. “No kidding.”
There was a beat of silence between you. A familiar one, but charged now. You took him in—up close again. The faint sheen of tiredness behind his eyes. The faint curl of steam from his drink. The way his tie was looped loosely around his neck like he gave up halfway through taking it off.
“Do you always drink Earl Grey?” you asked.
“It’s the only thing left that doesn’t taste like printer ink.”
You laughed again—soft and genuine. Then you glanced back at your screen and felt the exhaustion settle heavier in your limbs.
Sanghyeok watched you for a beat. “You’ll figure it out,” he said, so simply it disarmed you. “You’re close.”
You looked up, surprised at the certainty in his voice. “How do you know?”
He held your gaze, unreadable. Then: “Because you’re not asking the wrong questions. Just not the right ones yet.”
And with that, he nodded once and started to walk away.
“Sanghyeok.”
He stopped.
You almost didn’t say it. Almost let him disappear again into whatever filing cabinet or records room he’ll haunt next. But—
“Thank you.”
He looked over his shoulder, eyes meeting yours beneath the dim office lights. Something flickered across his face—something unreadable and soft and maybe even amused.
“Try chamomile next time,” he said.
Then he was gone. And somehow, the screen in front of you finally started to make sense.
It started to happen more often after that night.
At first, you chalked it up to coincidence.
A sticky note appeared on your desk one morning, tucked discreetly beneath your mouse pad. “Zoning memo due Friday at 3. Not Monday. See revised court calendar.” The deadline was circled twice. You didn’t remember writing that.
A few days later, you stepped away from your desk to get a coffee—your fourth of the morning—and when you returned, your memo was still on the screen… but it wasn’t how you left it. Paragraph three had been rearranged. A misplaced citation was corrected. The confusing sentence you were sweating over now read so smoothly it made you blink. There were no traces of edits—just… improvement. Like someone had picked the thoughts from your skull and untangled them while you were gone.
One week, your zoning analysis came back from review.
Except, it wasn’t your draft. Not exactly.
It was your name on the cover page, your structure, your voice––but there were lines you didn’t remember writing. Sentences so clean they read like glass. Annotated in narrow handwriting, the kind you had seen before on margin notes and court transcriptions. You held the packet in your hands and felt something turn over in your chest.
That same afternoon, you opened your redweld to review a case file—only to find another Post-it, pale yellow and quietly tucked between the pages.
“Pg. 17 is your strongest argument. Lead with it.”
There was no signature. No initials. But you knew.
And you didn’t say anything. You didn’t call him out in the kitchenette. You didn’t ask him how he knew your docket better than your own supervising attorney. You didn’t ask how someone without a law degree could diagram your entire strategy better than you could after six years of legal education.
Instead… you started bringing tea.
You didn’t say it was for him. Not out loud.
But your coffee cup came with a second one now—Earl Grey, one sugar, no milk. And a doughnut, warm and sweet, with iced glazing that hadn’t fully hardened. You left them on the corner of your desk around the same time every morning. And you pretended not to notice when, at some point before lunch, they quietly disappeared.
In return, he started to linger.
He never stopped moving, never stayed long—always under the guise of stapling court notices, sorting stray mail, delivering a motion to the wrong cubicle by accident—but his eyes flickered to your screen more often than not. Sometimes you saw the way his gaze paused, subtle, as if mentally reshaping a sentence before it left your keyboard.
One night, long after everyone else had gone home and you were too tired to double-check your citations, you slid a draft deposition outline into your redweld and left it on your chair before heading to the restroom.
When you came back, it was still there—but it wasn’t the same.
Your printed outline had been lightly marked. Nothing dramatic—no red ink or slashes. Just pencil marks in the margins: gentle rearrangements of bullet points, soft nudges of phrasing. One paragraph was bracketed and annotated: “Reframe this. Less defense-oriented. You’re leading; act like it.”
He never signed his name. He never said it was him.
But one morning, you brought an extra doughnut—chocolate glaze, this time—and when he passed your desk on the way to the filing cabinet, you wordlessly slid it toward the edge.
He paused. He didn’t say anything at first.
Then, under his breath, almost too soft to catch:
“You keep feeding me like this, and I’m going to start charging you for edits.”
You bit back a smile without looking up from your screen. “You’re assuming you’re worth more than a doughnut.”
A beat of silence.
“True,” he conceded. “I’m definitely worth at least two.”
You glanced up.
He was watching you. Not directly, not boldly, but in that sideways, unassuming way of his. There was the ghost of something soft on his face. You didn’t know what to do with it.
So you said nothing. Just nudged the extra croissant half an inch closer to him with your finger.
He took it with a quiet hum, unwrapping the wax paper carefully like it was something precious.
And as he walked away, you found yourself watching the crease of his shoulder, the fold of his sleeves, the way he tucked the boxed doughnut under his arm like a secret.
The firm was a graveyard after 10 p.m. Fluorescent lights buzzing in only a few scattered pockets, the echo of your heels swallowed by the dense hush of carpet and exhaustion. Outside, the city pressed against the windows like static; yellow cabs crawling, streetlights bleeding out across the skyline like ink.
You were hunched over the conference table in Sanghyeok’s office, surrounded by boxes of files that felt more like coffins. The discovery request for the McAllister case was due in less than twenty-four hours, and the partners had decided—generously, of course—that the two of you were the best candidates to “knock it out”.
Which, in firm speak, meant: everyone else passed the buck, and here you were, drowning in interrogatories and document requests, elbow-deep in privilege logs and production charts that made you want to walk straight into traffic.
You leaned forward with a groan, forehead dropping to the cool surface of the mahogany table. “I swear this document is rewriting itself just to spite me. These objections make zero sense, and this citation might as well be in Aramaic.”
“Not Aramaic,” Sanghyeok offered, glancing at the page in front of you. “Just Delaware civil procedure.”
“Same thing,” you muttered into the woodgrain. “My brain is melting. It’s actually bubbling. Do you hear that? That’s me turning into soup.”
A moment of silence before you heard a low, amused exhale from across the table. “You’d be a very dramatic soup.”
You raised your head just enough to squint at him. He was still perfectly composed in his own messy way—sleeves rolled up to his forearms, hair falling slightly into his eyes, that same plain oversized white button-down slightly rumpled from the day’s wear. There was a paper cup near his elbow. Earl Grey, obviously.
“How are you not losing your mind? you asked, genuinely. “We’ve been at this for hours.”
He shrugged lightly. “I think I lost mine back in September. I’ve just been pretending ever since.”
You snorted. “Is that your secret? You’re just coasting on insanity?”
“It’s surprisingly efficient,” he said, and his eyes flickered toward yours, the corner of his mouth tilting up. “Also, you’re not supposed to highlight the entire page. That kind of defeats the point.”
You looked down. The entire paragraph on your discovery checklist was painted neon yellow.
“Shut up,” you mumbled, reaching to throw your pen at him, but he caught it mid-air with infuriating ease and tucked it behind his ear.
The silence settled again—comfortable, weighted, the kind that blooms only in the presence of shared exhaustion. It wasn't awkward or waiting to be filled. It simply was. The kind of quiet that wraps itself around your bones after midnight, when the city outside hums soft and low, and the overhead fluorescents stop feeling clinical and start to feel like moonlight.
You leaned back in your chair, the tension in your shoulders finally unraveling—just slightly. Your neck ached. Your eyes burned. The papers in front of you blurred until the numbers on the discovery checklist started folding into each other. You let your head fall back, eyes closing for a second too long—maybe two. Just enough for the moment to stretch.
And he didn’t say anything.
No teasing. No startled reminder to stay awake. Just the quiet shift of his body across from you, the sound of his pen clicking closed, the whisper of a page turning beneath his hand. He didn’t look away from his notes, but you could feel him. Like gravity. Like something constant.
You blinked back into consciousness slowly, head still tilted to the ceiling. And when your eyes found him again—his sleeves rolled, collar undone, a soft curl falling across his forehead—you wondered if he could feel it too.
“You should take a break,” Sanghyeok said quietly. “Just five minutes.”
“I can’t. This needs to be done by morning and my brain is already made of overcooked noodles.”
There was a beat.
Then, his voice—softer now. “You can let someone else help carry it. You know that, right?”
You opened your eyes.
He wasn’t looking at the files. He wasn’t pretending to staple anything or skim your screen. He was just… looking at you. There was something steady in his gaze. Something that made your pulse stutter before it found its rhythm again.
“I’m trying,” you said, your voice quieter than before. “It’s just hard.”
“I know,” he said simply. And he meant it. You could tell.
Sanghyeok stood slowly and stepped around the table, crouching beside your chair. He didn’t touch you—not yet—but the closeness was enough. His shoulder brushed yours lightly, his presence warm and ground, like something you didn’t realize you needed until it was right there.
Your hands clenched in your lap, and he glanced down at them.
“May I?” he asked.
You blinked, unsure of what he meant. But you nodded anyway.
He gently unclasped your fingers, one at a time, his touch featherlight. Then he turned your hand palm-up and placed the still warm paper cup of Earl Grey into it.
You stared down at it.
“It’s not much, he said. “But sometimes holding something warm helps.”
You swallowed hard. The cup wasn’t what made your chest ache.
It was the way he said it. Like he knew exactly what kind of night you were having. Like he’d lived it, too.
You turned slightly, your knees brushing his.
“Why do you do it?” you asked.
His brow furrowed. “Do what?”
“This. The sticky notes. The edits. The late-night tea and Post-its with goldmine insights and—you just… help. Silently. Like some weird legal vigilante.”
Sanghyeok blinked slowly. Then looked away, his lips quirking into a ghost of a smile.
“I guess I like watching you realize how brilliant you are,” he murmured.
Your heart tripped over itself.
And then he added, quietly, “Besides… I like being near you.”
It was barely a whisper.
But it lingered.
You didn’t respond—not yet. You just held the tea in both hands, letting its warmth seep into your bones and settle as he sat beside you on the carpeted floor, shoulder against yours, as the night wrapped itself around the two of you like a secret.
And for the first time since you’d joined the firm, discovery documents didn’t feel quite so unbearable.
Not when he was next to you.
The invitation came out too fast.
You were holed up in the employee lounge on the 42nd floor—a space that looked more like a boutique hotel lobby than a break room. Soft leather seating in muted earth tones, marble countertops that gleamed under dim, recessed lighting, and an espresso machine that probably cost more than your entire law school tuition.
You and Sanghyeok sat shoulder to shoulder, hunched over a deposition transcript that looked like it had been dictated mid-stroke—paragraphs running together, punctuation abandoned in favor of stream-of-consciousness chaos. You squinted at a sentence that seemed to start in English and end in hieroglyphics.
Without a word, Sanghyeok nudged a paper cup across the coffee table in your direction. You looked down.
Green tea. Still warm. Steam curled from the lid like something gentle and careful.
You took it automatically, your hands wrapping around the cup as if your palms knew what to do before your mind caught up. “Thanks,” you murmured, voice quieter than it should’ve been.
He didn’t respond—just hummed under his breath, pen tapping once against the edge of the page. His focus hadn’t shifted from the chaos in front of him. But something in the air had. You felt it.
And then—before you could stop yourself, before your brain had time to pass the idea through logic or consequence—you said it.
“We should get drinks sometime.”
It landed soft, but heavy. Like dropping a stone into still water. The ripple of it spread before you even realized what you’d done.
His pen stilled.
He looked up—not startled, exactly, but still. His eyes flicked toward you, slow and unreadable, like he wasn’t entirely sure he’d heard right. “Drinks?”
Your heart kicked once against your ribs. You tried to sound light, casual, like you were just filling the silence and not throwing a wrench into the fragile rhythm you’d built over weeks of stolen glances and quiet edits.
“Yeah,” you said, gesturing faintly toward the fluorescent exit sign. “Out there. Away from… all this.”
Sanghyeok didn’t laugh. Didn’t deflect. He just looked at you for a moment longer, the kind of look that felt like a door slowly unlocking from the inside. Normally, this was the part where he politely rerouted the conversation—where you both pretended like the line hadn’t been crossed, like it hadn’t even been drawn in the first place.
No hesitation. No confusion. Just that.
You blinked, lips parting like you were about to say something else, but he was already turning back to the transcript. Like it hadn’t meant anything. Like it had meant everything.
And maybe it hadn’t. Maybe you’d wake up tomorrow and pretend it hadn’t happened.
Still—something shifted. Quietly, irreversibly. You could feel it settling in your chest like a secret.
The bar was nothing to write home about.
The kind of place you might walk past a dozen times and never notice unless you were looking for it. The sign outside had a letter burned out, so it read _alcony, like the word had given up halfway through. Inside, the floorboards creaked, and the tables wobbled unless you pressed a napkin under one leg. The lighting was dim and unforgiving, flickering amber from dusty wall sconces, and the chalkboard menu above the bar had been erased and rewritten so many times the chalk had started to stain the wood.
But the booths were mostly empty. The music was low—some lo-fi jazz playlist that softened the air around you. And the wine came in tall, delicate glasses that tilted slightly to one side if you set them down too hard.
You were nursing your second glass when Sanghyeok leaned back in the booth, his body relaxing for the first time all day. He held his glass by the stem, twirling it slowly between his fingers like he wasn’t even aware he was doing it.
“I never liked courtrooms,” he said.
You looked up. His voice had dropped a register. He wasn’t whispering—just speaking more inward than out. Like the thought had arrived uninvited and decided to stay.
“Too loud,” he added. “Too much theater. Everyone trying to out-talk each other. No one actually listening. Just... performing.”
You tilted your head, letting your cheek rest against your palm. “That’s why you didn’t go to law school?”
His mouth curved, a flicker of amusement—though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “That, and money. Mostly money.”
You smiled, but it faded at the edges. “Still. You would’ve been good at it.”
He looked at you then. Fully.
No more sidelong glances or flickers of eye contact you had to chase.
Just steady, unguarded attention, like he was trying to figure out what made you say that so easily when no one else ever did.
“You already are,” you said, quieter this time, “good at it.”
The air between you stretched, full and fragile.
“You’re the only one who says that,” he said finally, voice soft like fabric pulled between fingers.
You shrugged, eyes dropping to your glass. “Then everyone else is wrong.”
You didn’t remember most of the walk home. Just the sound of your boots against the sidewalk, the flutter of the city air that had a crisp bite, hinting at an early spring. Your cheeks were flushed—not just from the wine (though that was part of it)—but from the way his arm kept brushing yours with every step.
Light touches.
Unspoken things.
He didn’t pull away. Not once.
When you reached your street, you slowed reluctantly. “I’m fine, really,” you said, smiling over your shoulder. “You didn’t have to walk me all the way.”
He stopped beside you. Tilted his head, like he was seeing something you hadn’t meant to reveal.
“You say that like I didn’t want to.”
The breath caught in your throat. Just for a second.
The wind picked up, threading through your hair. He didn’t seem to notice it at all. He just looked at you—steady, quiet, with that same unfathomable calm he always carried. But now it felt personal, like it belonged to this moment.
To you.
“I had a good time,” you said, softer than before.
“Me too.”
You hesitated. Your hands were cold, but you didn’t want to put them in your pockets. You didn’t want to move at all.
And so—you leaned in.
It wasn’t a decision, really. Just something that happened. A slow, careful tilt of gravity, your lips hovering a breath away from his, waiting for a sign. A breath. A heartbeat.
And he gave it. He closed the distance.
Slow. Deliberate. Like he was afraid the moment might startle and run. His mouth brushed yours with the lightest pressure—warm and hesitant, the taste of plum wine still on his lips. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his coat, grounding yourself, because suddenly your legs didn’t feel like they belonged to you.
He kissed you like he didn’t want to assume. Like he’d been waiting for you to change your mind.
You didn’t.
When you pulled back, your face still inches from his, he looked at you like he hadn’t meant to—but didn’t regret it either. His gaze lingered. Curious. Cautious.
You opened your mouth to say something, anything—
But he just gave a small nod. “Good night.”
And turned away before you could ruin it.
The next morning, nothing changed.
You passed him in the hallway, and he gave you that same faint nod like he always did—like your mouths hadn’t met under the streetlights and secrecy of the moonlight less than twelve hours ago.
You told yourself not to overthink it. You tried.
But every time you found a new sticky note on your desk in his clean, careful handwriting, your heart did the same quiet leap it had done the night before.
Something had shifted. Not loudly. Not dramatically. But it was there—a new weight in the air between you, soft and charged.
He started lingering longer.
Once, he stood at your desk, pretending to sort files while his eyes slid sideways to your screen. When you caught him, he didn’t look away.
“Your comma placement is aggressive,” he deadpanned.
You threw a paperclip at him.
Another time, passing in the hallway, teas in hand, he leaned in just enough to whisper, “You used the wrong ‘there’ in that email.”
You stopped mid-step. “Excuse me?!”
He didn’t even slow down. “You’re lucky I fixed it before Morgan saw.”
Sally looked up from the copy machine with a raised brow. “Since when did you two flirt in the hallway?”
“We don’t flirt,” you said—too fast, too sharp.
Sally just shrugged. “Sure. And I don’t do tequila shots at firm parties.”
One morning, you found your zoning memo back on your desk with the top corner folded neatly. Inside, scrawled in his handwriting:
This is your cleanest argument. You buried it in the middle. Open with it next time. Also, great work. Don’t let anyone make you doubt it.
You sat there staring at the page, your chest swelling with something that ached in the way grief sometimes does—because you didn’t know if you were about to cry or laugh.
You picked up your phone and typed:
you can’t just be silently brilliant and soft all the time. it’s very rude.
The typing dots appeared.
Then disappeared.
Then:
get used to it.
You smiled.
No one else seemed to notice the way you were circling each other now. But you did.
And you were starting to think—so did he.
It started with a whisper—how most things at the firm seemed to.
Not a rumor, exactly. Just a shift in the air. A closed-door meeting on the executive floor. A discreet ping from HR. A softly worded email about “transparency in cross-departmental contribution.”
Then the war room lights came on, and people started printing emails like they were evidence.
The audit didn’t come in loud. It came surgical. Clean. Like a scalpel’s edge right beneath your ribs.
At first, you thought it had nothing to do with you. You were a junior associate. Invisible in the way people were when they’re still learning to keep their head down and their billable hours up. You weren’t the type they came for. You just showed up on time and bled into your keyboard.
Until one afternoon, Morgan paused at your desk, his voice even, unreadable.
“You’ll be meeting with Compliance tomorrow,” he said, sliding a manila folder toward you with two fingers. “Carroway attribution review.”
Your fingers went still on the keys. “Inconsistencies?”
“You know how it goes. When things go too well, someone always wants to know why.”
Then he walked away, leaving only the scent of his cologne and the sharp sting of implication.
You knew what they were implying. It wasn’t just about your work.
It was what they’d find when they started peeling things back.
Not just your memos—the flawless ones in a way that should’ve taken more time, more revisions, more hands.
But the edits in margins, in handwriting that wasn’t yours. The logic you couldn’t fully explain. The zoning memo that had been a mess of disconnected statutes until it wasn’t—until Sanghyeok glanced at it over your shoulder and said quietly, “It’s too vertical. Flatten it out. Follow the line of precedent, not the court’s posture.”
He never took credit. Never asked. Never lingered longer than he had to—except when he did.
A coffee appearing beside yours. His voice in your ear, low and wry, as he passed by your desk: “Your comma placement’s criminal again.” The ghost of a smile when you threw a pen cap at his back.
You weren’t dating. But you weren’t nothing either.
And someone had finally noticed.
You met with Compliance in a room so sterile it makes your teeth itch. The partner across from you was one of the sharp ones. Hartley. Cold eyes, surgical tone. You’ve seen him fire someone mid-conversation before.
“Walk me through the evolution of the Carroway memo,” he said, sliding the stapled packet across the glass table. “From the initial draft to final.”
You tried. God, you tried.
Your voice was steady, your timeline airtight. But they weren’t listening for what you said.
They were listening for what you didn’t.
You left out the notations in narrow black ink. The legal theory you hadn’t been able to articulate until someone whispered it to you on the elevator. The moment your brain had short-circuited in week 37 of burnout, and a second draft had been emailed to your inbox—wordless, precise, and perfect.
You couldn’t name him.
Because if you did, it would be over.
And if you answered truthfully—if you said that you had fallen for a paralegal who read the law like it was poetry and carried your work like it was fragile glass—then your entire career would crack wide open.
He wasn’t a lawyer. Wasn’t permitted to draft. Wasn’t allowed to work this closely with you, on this case, in this way. And if they looked too hard, they’d see everything you’d worked for collapse under the weight of what you never had the nerve to say aloud.
It was late by the time you made it back to the twenty-fourth floor. Your heels clicked softly against the marble, your badge scan a whisper at the glass doors. And there he was—waiting.
He didn’t sit. Just leaned against your desk like it was nothing. Like the ground wasn’t shifting underneath you.
“I heard,” he said quietly.
The world had dulled around the edges. You could still feel the burn of fluorescent lights, the taste of too much breath held too long.
“They’re going to tear through everything,” you said, setting your bag down with trembling hands. “The logs, the metadata, the drafts. Anything with your name. Or mine.”
“I know.”
“You should stop,” you said. “Whatever this is. You shouldn’t… you shouldn’t keep helping me.”
For a second, nothing moved.
Then he looked up at you, and it wasn’t soft. It wasn’t amusement. It wasn’t anything you were used to seeing from him.
It was pain.
“You think I’m doing this for you?” he asked.
You blinked, throat thick.
“I didn’t help because you asked. I helped because you were drowning. And because no one else cared that you were.”
That was the thing about Sanghyeok. He never asked for credit. Never even looked like he wanted it. But when he finally did speak, it was like you had been waiting months to hear him say the truth out loud.
And now that he had, it shattered something within you.
“I never asked you to save me,” you said, softer than before.
“I know,” he murmured. “But I would have anyway.”
His voice didn’t rise. It didn’t have to. The truth in it left a bruise.
You didn’t know what to say to that.
So he left—quiet as always, a rustle of his coat sleeve and nothing more.
And you sat, frozen.
Because the question had already arrived, no matter how hard you tried to keep it out.
How much of your success was really yours?
And when it came down to it—when the walls closed in and the lights turned cold—who would carry you through it?
You already knew the answer.
And it terrified you.
The records alcove had always been your hiding place. It was where the overworked disappeared and the overachievers were born. It smelled like toner and dust and secrets. Tonight, it held another one.
You heard the door click shut before you saw him.
“Sanghyeok,” you exhaled, spine straightening like it knew something was coming.
He stepped into view, shoulders tense beneath a charcoal coat, eyes unreadable. There was a manila envelope in his hand. Labeled. Signed.
Your stomach dropped to the deepest pits of hell at the sight.
“No,” you said immediately. “Whatever that is, no.”
“I’m turning myself in,” he said calmly. Too calmly.
“You’re what?”
He set the envelope down on the cabinet between you and leaned against it. “I already typed up the resignation letter. I’ll hand it in tomorrow. It’ll clear your name.”
“You can’t be serious.” You moved to grab the envelope, but he blocked you with one hand.
“I’m dead serious,” he said quietly.
Then something in you snapped.
“You worked your entire life for this job,” you hissed. “You clawed your way into a seat at the table without even having a seat, and you’re just going to—what? Throw it all away? For me?”
“It’s not throwing it away if it was never mine to begin with.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“You’re under investigation, [Name],” he said, louder now, stepping toward you. “They’re questioning your integrity. Your career. And you still have a chance to make it out clean. But not if I keep dragging you down with me.”
“You’re not dragging me down.” Your voice cracked. “You’ve done nothing but save me since the day we started working on the Carroway case.”
He shook his head, jaw tight. “Not enough.”
“You’re being a coward.”
His eyes flashed.
You shouldn’t have said it. But the fear was turning into anger, and you were shaking, and he was standing too close, and you didn’t know how else to keep him from detonating your entire world.
“You think this is easy for me?” he snapped. “You think I want to walk away? I love this field. I love my job. I love—” He stopped himself.
You froze. “What?”
He swallowed, hard. Then,
“You.”
The room stilled.
He said it like it had been caught in his throat for months. Like it was the only truth he had ever known and it was clawing its way out now, messy and inevitable.
“I love you,” he said again, breath trembling. “And I don’t care if I lose my job as long as I don’t lose you.”
You couldn’t breathe. Your body was frozen but your heart was sprinting—wild, reckless, and desperate.
He looked at you, and there was so much in his eyes it nearly knocked you back. Longing. Fury. Fear. Love.
And then, he closed the distance.
And it wasn’t tentative. It wasn’t shy. It was a storm.
His hand found your jaw, the other gripping your waist as he pulled you in, crashing his mouth against yours like it was the only thing tethering him to this earth. You gasped into it, fingers curling in his coat. He kissed you like you were a question he had been dying to answer, like you were the final line of a brief that had been haunting him since the beginning.
You responded with every part of yourself. Weeks—months—of things left unsaid poured out of you all at once. Your back hit the shelves and you barely registered the rustle of paper and files spilling onto the floor.
His mouth broke away only to whisper against your lips, “You drive me insane.”
“You’re impossible,” you whispered back, breathless.
“Tell me to stop.”
You didn’t.
You just pulled him closer.
His hands trailed down your sides like he was memorizing every inch, like he was finally letting himself touch what he thought he could only admire from afar. You ran your fingers through his hair, tugging lightly, and he exhaled something that sounded suspiciously like a whimper.
The kiss turned softer then—slower, deeper—like you were both afraid it would end. He rested his forehead against yours, chests heaving. And for a second, everything was quiet again.
“I’m scared,” you admitted, voice small.
“Me too,” he said. “But I’d rather burn with you than pretend none of this matters.”
You closed your eyes, letting the weight of him, the warmth, the everything sink into you.
Because the truth was: he already mattered. He always had.
And no audit, no resignation letter, no unforgiving law firm policy could erase what had just happened here, between filing cabinets and spilled affidavits, where you both finally stopped pretending.
You didn’t sleep.
Not really.
Not with his voice still echoing in the hollow behind your sternum. Not with the memory of his breath curling against your cheek, the press of his mouth against yours, or the quiet rasp of “I love you” flaring like a struck match between filing cabinets and fluorescent lights.
You arrived at the firm at 7:02 a.m.—makeup half-done, shirt buttoned wrong, heart not done at all.
He wasn’t there.
Not in the usual alcove where he lingered with your morning coffee. Not near the copier where he sometimes left scribbled case notes like breadcrumbs. Not in the break room, where the sugar packets sat uneven, like someone had started organizing them and then walked away.
Your cubicle was cold. Too clean.
But there was something beneath your keyboard. Folded once. Slipped like a secret.
You unfolded it slowly.
If they ask, I acted alone.
Your chest twisted. The kind of ache that didn’t scream. Just pressed—dull and insistent—like grief trying to make itself small.
You didn’t need a signature. You knew his handwriting like you knew your own. A goodbye in twelve words or less.
You crumpled the note and shoved it into your drawer like maybe if you didn’t look at it, it wouldn’t be real.
But by noon, it was already unraveling.
A whisper near the elevator. A hushed conversation behind a closed door. Words like paralegal under investigation, unauthorized access, and internal breach drifting like smoke down the hall.
Your name followed shortly after.
By three, a partner you barely knew—impeccably dressed, perfectly cold—appeared by your cubicle.
“We’ll need to speak with you soon. Audit protocol.”
He didn’t sit. Didn’t blink. Just issued the sentence and vanished, like so many others in this building—sharp enough to cut without bleeding.
Your hands were shaking before he was even fully out of your view.
So you took the back hallway to the records room just to breathe. Just to feel something that wasn’t panic clawing up your throat. It still smelled faintly like him—Earl Grey and ink and the ghost of something steady.
You leaned your forehead against a cabinet drawer and closed your eyes.
Your ribs felt too tight. Your throat, worse.
He said he loved you.
And now, he was disappearing.
And maybe that was what love did to people like you—turned you reckless. Turned you into a liability. A whisper. A cautionary tale.
But he wasn’t going to vanish quietly.
You weren’t going to let him.
You didn’t go home that night. Instead, instinct carried you toward him, though you couldn’t have retraced the steps if someone asked; it was less decision than inevitability, the kind of pull that happens when everything else has burned down and all that remains is the one person who feels like air.
You found him on a bench near Bryant Park, coat pulled tight against the winter, a dented thermos clasped in both hands as though it were the only tether keeping him from drifting away.
You stopped in front of him, arms crossed, chest still heaving from the cold and the sprint over, words spilling out before you could second-guess them. “You’re not leaving.”
His head lifted slowly. His eyes were rimmed with fatigue, lips parted as though he’d been waiting for you, though he didn’t know how to ask you to come. “You shouldn’t be here,” he murmured.
“You’re not resigning,” you repeated, sharper this time, your breath curling in the air like a vow. “I won’t let you.”
“I already did.”
“No,” you shot back, sinking onto the bench beside him, close enough to feel the heat of him against your chilled skin. “You wrote a letter. That’s not the same.”
He turned away, the city lights catching faintly on the curve of his jaw. “You’re under review because of me.”
“I’m under review,” you said, your voice hard but trembling, “because this firm would rather eat its own than admit it survives on the backs of people like you.”
His grip on the thermos tightened, knuckles blanching. “I never asked for credit,” he muttered.
“And I never asked you to protect me,” you shot back, sharper than you meant to, the words landing like a slap between you. “But here we are.”
The silence that followed wasn’t empty; it pressed down with a weight that neither of you could name.
“You shouldn’t have to lose everything,” you said at last, your tone softer now, the sharp edges dulled by exhaustion. “Not for this. Not for me.”
“I’m not losing anything.” He turned to face you fully, and for the first time that night there was no hesitation, only truth burning low and steady in his gaze. “You are everything.”
For a heartbeat, you forgot how to breathe. He hadn’t said it like a confession. He said it like a fact, like gravity, like something that had always been true even before either of you could bear to name it.
“Sanghyeok…”
“I meant it. In the records room. I love you. And I’d walk away from all of this if it meant you’d be okay.”
You couldn’t answer, not with words. Instead, you reached for his hand, fingers trembling until his met yours, strong and unflinching. His grip was tight—almost painful in its urgency—and you let your forehead fall against his shoulder, the city fading around you, the cold dissolving into the fragile warmth that lived only in the space between you.
The day the audit closed was unnervingly unceremonious.
No dramatic announcement. No exoneration speech. Just an email stamped with the firm’s insignia at 5:43 p.m., wedged between an office-wide birthday invite and an update on copier maintenance. You stared at the screen, rereading the final line over and over again:
No further action will be taken.
Your name was cleared. On paper, anyway.
But the weight in your chest wasn’t lifted.
It just shifted.
Because the damage has already been done—scuffed reputation, tighter scrutiny, more eyes on you than ever before. The kind that lingered too long. The kind that remembered whispers louder than they remembered facts.
And Sanghyeok…
Sanghyeok’s desk was still empty. Still cold. Still untouched since the morning he handed in his resignation letter and walked out of the only place he’d ever had to prove himself in.
The firm got to stay pristine but he didn’t.
You sat with that for a while.
You sat with the knowledge that you fought so hard to protect him, only for him to be the one who bled for you.
And then you started drafting your own resignation letter.
You found him again two days later, tucked into the quiet corner of an East Village café that smelled faintly of bergamot and printer ink, his shoulders hunched over a laptop, the table scattered with half-drunk cups of tea and legal pads scribbled to the very margins with notes only he could untangle. The sun was dipping behind the buildings, carving sharp orange streaks across his pages, his hair falling into disarray in a way that told you he had been here for hours, lost in work.
He didn’t notice you at first—he never did, not until you slid into the chair across from him and placed a cream envelope on the table, its corners firm-stamped with the insignia of the firm, your name printed across the front, still carrying the faint sterile scent of toner.
His eyes lifted then, snapping immediately to the envelope. The moment he registered it, his shoulders went rigid. “Tell me that’s not—”
“It is,” you said, steady.
His jaw clenched, a shadow crossing his face. “Why?”
You leaned back into your chair, your posture looser than it had been in months, exhaustion melting into something that almost felt like freedom. “Because I’m tired. Because I’m done working for a system that never once defended you. Because—” your throat tightened before you pushed the words through—“because I love you.”
For a second, nothing. Then a single blink, a hitch of his breath so subtle it might have gone unnoticed by anyone else. But not by you.
“I didn’t say it that night,” you went on, softer now. “You said it first, and I just let you kiss me like that was enough—like I could hold onto it without admitting what it really meant.”
You reached into your bag, drew out a thick folder, and slid it across the table. He frowned, pulling it open.
Inside were business plans. Startup models. Licensing checklists. And on the last page, a blank logo sketched in pencil, your initials scrawled beside a second name—Sanghyeok Lee.
“I’m opening a firm,” you said, pulse rushing in your ears. “My name. My terms. And I want you with me.”
He stared down at the folder, then back at you, disbelief flickering across his features. “You don’t have to do this for me.”
“I’m not doing it for you,” you answered quickly, your voice carrying more certainty than you’d felt in weeks. “I’m doing it with you. If you’ll say yes.”
His hand hovered over the folder, fingers grazing its edge like it might vanish if he touched it too firmly. “I don’t have a JD,” he murmured.
“You don’t need one,” you said, leaning forward now. “You have something better—you have me. And I’ve seen you rewrite the rules before. I just want you beside me when I break them.”
The café hummed around you with the easy rhythm of ordinary life—cups clinking, spoons stirring, low music threading through the air, the outside world spinning on as if nothing were changing—while your heart lodged itself in your throat, waiting.
And then, slowly, he nodded. Just once. But it was enough to steal the breath from your lungs.
“You’re serious,” he whispered, as if the words themselves were too fragile to survive.
You smiled faintly. “You used to leave me annotated case files. This is only fair.”
A laugh slipped out of him, soft and disbelieving, the kind that crinkled the corners of his eyes and made your chest ache in the particular way only he could.
“I’m not good at being public,” he said after a beat, voice hesitant. “I’m not loud. I don’t know how to schmooze investors or throw launch parties.”
You reached across the table, sliding your hand into his. “That’s okay,” you murmured. “I’m loud enough for the both of us.”
His fingers curled tightly over yours.
A breath. A beat.
“I still can’t believe you chose me,” he said, wonder heavy in his voice.
Your smile softened. “I didn’t choose you, Sanghyeok. I recognized you.”
And when his gaze held yours—really held it—you saw him clearly: the man who had once pressed a sticky note into your palm instead of a love letter, who had carried your brilliance as though it were something fragile and sacred, who had never once asked to be seen, and yet never looked away.
And this time, neither did you.
ᰋ liked this ? consider liking, reblogging, or providing feedback !
ᰋ want more ? send in an ask to be added to my permanent taglist / series taglist !
ARE YOU GONNA MARRY, KISS OR KILL ME? ˚₊‧꒰ა ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
۶ৎ ALTERNATIVE : boynextdoor as high school tropes
۶ৎ PAIRING : boynextdoor x f!reader ۶ৎ GENRE(S) : highschool au, fluff, comfort, mutual pining, grumpy x sunshine in Taesan's~ ۶ৎ WARNING(S) : academic burnout in Sungho's, mentions of overworking in Sungho's and Jaehyun's, mild illness in Taesan's ۶ৎ WORD COUNT : 1.0k - 1.3k words / member
۶ৎ A/N : got inspo after seeing a certain tweet on X,,, and I just miss Boynextdoor... (っ- ‸ - ς)
SUNGHO ⋆⑅˚₊
˖➴ PAIRING : class president!sungho x burnout academic!reader
Park Sungho has always had that quiet kind of magnetism, the kind that comes from genuinely caring. You’ve watched him from across classrooms and crowded hallways for months now. The way he remembers people’s names without effort, asks about their sick grandparents like it matters (because it does to him), and somehow makes even the most reserved students feel heard during class discussions.
He's untouchable in the way that good people often are, golden and warm like late afternoon sunlight streaming through classroom windows, which is why you can't quite believe he's sitting across from you in your carefully chosen corner of the library, two cups of coffee steaming between you.
"You know the library closes in an hour, right?" His voice is soft and hesitant, as if he's unsure of his welcome here in your sanctuary of solitude.
You glance up from your chemistry notes, blinking away the blur of exhaustion that's become your constant companion. The numbers and formulas swim on the page like they're underwater. "I know what time it is."
"When's the last time you went home before 8pm?"
The question settles between you with uncomfortable weight. You honestly can't remember. Home has become nothing more than a place to collapse for a few hours before the cycle begins again, classes, college prep courses, extracurriculars that look good on applications but drain your soul. The pursuit of perfection that everyone expects from you, that you've learned to expect from yourself.
Sungho pushes one of the coffees towards you, his fingers brushing the table near yours. "Vanilla latte. Extra shot, no whip. I noticed you always get that one from the machine by the gym."
The fact that he's noticed, that he's paid attention to something so mundane about you, sends an unexpected flutter through your chest. Park Sungho notices everything about everyone, it's what makes him such a natural leader, so beloved by teachers and students alike. But you never thought his careful attention would extend to you, the girl who sits in the back and keeps her head down.
"Don't you have student council stuff to do?" you ask, wrapping your hands around the warm cup. The vanilla scent is comforting, familiar. "Important presidential duties?"
A soft laugh escapes him, and you're struck by how different he seems here in the quiet library light. Less polished, more human. "Meeting ended an hour ago. We were planning the winter formal, if you must know." He pauses, opening his own textbooks with deliberate slowness. "Besides, I'm worried about you."
The admission hangs in the air between you, honest and vulnerable in a way that makes your heart skip. "I'm fine."
"You fell asleep in calculus yesterday." His voice is gentle, no judgment in it. "Mrs. Kim had to wake you up three times. And you haven't been eating lunch, I've seen you in the library instead, every day this week."
Heat creeps up your neck, embarrassment blooming across your cheeks. You thought no one had seen, thought you'd been invisible in your struggle. "I was just—"
"Exhausted," Sungho finishes. "You're burning yourself out, and I can't just sit back and watch anymore."
The crack in your carefully constructed facade widens at his words. You've been running on caffeine and stubbornness for weeks, pushing yourself harder and harder because that's what's expected. Because perfect grades and perfect applications to perfect colleges are supposed to guarantee a perfect future. Because everyone thinks you have it all figured out.
"I have to keep up," you whisper, and your voice sounds small even to your own ears. "Everyone thinks I'm this perfect student, but I'm barely hanging on. If I slow down, if I let myself slip even a little..."
"The world won't end," Sungho says quietly. "Your worth isn't determined by your GPA."
You look up at him then, and find his dark eyes fixed on you with an intensity that makes your breath catch. There's an evident concern shown on his face, and it makes your heart race despite your exhaustion.
"You don't have to be perfect for everyone else," he continues, leaning forward slightly. "And you definitely don't have to be perfect for me."
The words hit deep in your chest, some buried part of you that's been aching to hear them. When did his opinion start mattering so much? When did Park Sungho become more than just the golden boy class president you admired from afar?
"How about this," he says, opening his physics textbook with careful precision. "We study together. I'll make sure you actually take breaks, eat something that isn't from a vending machine, and get out of here at a reasonable time. Consider it my presidential duty to look after my constituents."
There's a teasing note in his voice that makes you smile despite everything. "You don't have to babysit me."
"I'm not babysitting you." Pink colours his cheeks, and he looks younger suddenly, less like the composed leader everyone knows and more like a boy with a crush. "I like spending time with you. Even if it's just sitting here doing homework. Especially if it's sitting here doing homework."
Your heart beats faster in your chest, a flutter of possibility that you've been too tired to acknowledge until now. Park Sungho, who could be anywhere, with anyone, who probably has dozens of people vying for his attention, wants to sit in the quiet library with you, wants to drink coffee, share conversations and study together, with you.
"Okay," you say quietly, and the word feels like stepping off a cliff. "But I'm buying the coffee next time."
His smile is radiant, transforming his entire face. "Deal. Though I should warn you, I take my coffee very seriously. Two sugars, splash of cream, and it has to be from the good machine in the student lounge."
"Noted, Mr. President."
"Just Sungho," he says, he glances at you, then away, as if trying to build the courage in silence. "When it's just us, just call me Sungho."
As he starts explaining a physics concept you've been struggling with, his voice patient and encouraging, you find yourself studying more than just the diagrams he's sketching. The way his brow furrows when he concentrates, how he bites his lip when he's thinking, the gentle way his hand moves across the paper.
"You're not paying attention," he says suddenly, catching you staring.
"Sorry, I—"
"Don't apologize." His smile is soft, almost fond. "I was starting to think you saw right through me."
"Through you?"
"I've been looking for an excuse to talk to you for months," he admits, his honesty catching you off guard. "Every time I'd work up the courage, you'd disappear before I could say anything. The library was the only place I knew I'd find you."
The confession settles over you like a warm blanket, chasing away some of the cold exhaustion that's been your constant companion. "You've been looking for me?"
"Every day." He reaches across the table, his fingers barely brushing yours. "I know you think you have to keep going, but you’re allowed to fall apart too. Let me be there when you do."
For a second, you forget how to breathe.
No one’s ever said that to you. You don't say anything right away. You’re afraid if you do, your voice might crack open too much, so you just nod, acknowledging his words.
"Same time tomorrow?" Sungho asks as you finally pack up your books, the library growing quiet around you.
"Tomorrow," you agree. For the first time in weeks, you're looking forward to something that isn't an exam or an assignment.
You're looking forward to him.
RIWOO ⋆⑅˚₊
˖➴ PAIRING : quiet artist!riwoo x theater kid!reader
Lee Sanghyeok is poetry in motion, even when he thinks no one is watching.
You discover this quite by accident on a Thursday evening when you're rushing back to the theater for your forgotten script. The performing arts wing should be empty by now, all the after-school activities long finished, but as you pass the dance studio, music bleeds through the heavy doors, and you catch a glimpse of movement that steals your breath.
He dances like he's having a conversation with the music itself, every gesture deliberate yet effortless. His hair falls across his forehead as he moves, and there's an ethereal quality to the way he flows from one position to the next, as if gravity affects him differently than the rest of the world. You've seen him around school, of course, the quiet boy who sits in the back of art class, who walks the halls with his head down and his sketchbook clutched close to his chest. But this is like seeing a secret part of his soul.
You shouldn't be watching. But you can't seem to make yourself move, can't tear your eyes away from the graceful arch of his spine, the precise angles of his arms cutting through the air. He's beautiful in the way that demands him to be witnessed, even in solitude.
The music ends, and he comes to a stop in the centre of the room, chest rising and falling with quiet breaths. That's when he sees you through the window, and you watch his eyes widen in what looks like panic.
You should run, perhaps pretend this never happened, let him keep his secret sanctuary. Instead, you find yourself pushing open the studio door, stepping into his world uninvited.
"I'm sorry," you say quickly, holding up your hands in surrender. "I was just—my script—I didn't mean to spy, I just—"
"It's okay." His voice is softer than you expected, barely above a whisper. He reaches for a towel draped over the barre, not quite meeting your eyes. "I thought everyone had gone home."
"That was..." You struggle for words that won't sound empty or inadequate. "You're incredible."
Pink blooms across his cheeks, and he ducks his head in that shy way you've noticed in class. "It's nothing special. Just how I unwind."
"Nothing special?" You can't keep the disbelief out of your voice. "Sanghyeok, that was—it was like watching art come alive."
He glances up at you, vulnerability flickering in his dark eyes. "You know my name."
The question catches you off guard. "Of course I know your name. We've had classes together since sophomore year."
"You never..." He trails off, shaking his head. "Most people don't really see me."
There's heartbreak in the way he says it, as if invisibility is just another part of his daily routine. You want to tell him that he's wrong, that people are just too intimidated by his quiet intensity to approach. That half the girls in your grade have whispered about his mysterious appeal, wondered what it would be like to be noticed by Lee Sanghyeok.
"Well, I've always seen you," you say instead, and the words come out more earnest than you intended.
He musters up the courage to look at you in the eyes, and you feel the air between you shift. The studio suddenly feels smaller, more intimate, filled with possibilities you hadn't considered before this moment.
"What were you working on?" you ask, partly to break the tension and partly because you genuinely want to know. "The dance—is it for a specific performance?"
"Just... expressing what I couldn't put into words." He gestures vaguely at the mirror. "Movement says what words can't."
You understand that feeling more than he knows. It's why you act, why you lose yourself in characters and scripts and the magic of becoming someone else for a few hours. "I get that. That's what theater is for me, finding ways to say the things that are too big for regular conversation."
Recognition sparks in his eyes, a shared understanding passing between you. "You're in the drama program."
"Guilty. Though I'm probably not very good at it." You laugh, suddenly self-conscious. "I saw you at our last production. You were there opening night, sitting in the back row."
"You noticed me in the audience?"
"I notice you everywhere," you admit, and immediately want to take it back. However, Sanghyeok doesn't look uncomfortable, if anything, he seems surprised, pleased even.
"I wanted to tell you afterwards that you were amazing," he says quietly. "But I didn't know how to approach you. You always seem so confident on stage, so sure of yourself."
"That's just acting," you tell him with a rueful smile. "Real me is significantly less put-together."
"I doubt that." He takes a step closer, close enough that you can see the fine sheen of sweat on his skin, smell the faint scent of his cologne mixed with exertion. "You want to try dancing?"
"Try what?"
"Dancing. With me." He extends a hand, palm up, waiting. "If you want. You don't have to—"
"Yes." The word comes out before you can second-guess yourself. "I mean, I'm not very good—"
"Neither was I when I started." His smile is small but genuine as you place your hand in his. "Just follow my lead."
He starts the music again. His hand settles on your waist, warm even through your sweater, and you try not to think about how perfectly you seem to fit together.
"Just feel the music," he murmurs, close enough that his breath tickles your ear. "Don't think about the steps. Just move."
It should be awkward, you've never been much of a dancer, more comfortable with scripted movements and blocked staging. But there's a quality to the way he guides you that makes it feel natural. When you stumble, he steadies you with gentle hands. When you get self-conscious, he distracts you with observations about rhythm and flow that make you forget to be nervous.
"See?" he says as the song winds down, and you realize you've been moving together without conscious thought, following the music and each other in equal measure. "You're a natural."
You're standing closer than you started, his hands still on your waist and yours having found their way to his shoulders. The studio is quiet except for your slightly uneven breathing, and you can see yourself reflected in his dark eyes.
"This is nice," you whisper, not wanting to break whatever spell has settled over you both.
"Yeah," he agrees, voice barely audible. "Really nice."
"Could we..." You bite your lip, suddenly nervous. "Could we do this again? I mean, if you don't mind sharing your space. I know this is your sanctuary—"
"I'd like that." He smiles, the kind that transforms his entire face, makes him look less mysterious and more like a boy your age who's just been asked on a date.
As you finally step apart, gathering your forgotten script and preparing to leave him to his private world, you can't help but feel like the foundation of your reality has shifted. Like you've been let into a secret world that few people ever get to see.
"I'll see you tomorrow?" Sanghyeok asks as you reach the door, and there's hope in his voice that makes your heart skip.
"Tomorrow," you confirm, and you're already counting the hours until you can watch him dance again, until you can be part of his quiet magic once more.
Lee Sanghyeok has shown you a new way of expressing what words cannot capture, and you think you're falling for both the art and the artist.
JAEHYUN ⋆⑅˚₊
˖➴ PAIRING : energetic senior!jaehyun x chaotic junior!reader
The first time Myung Jaehyun and you interacted, you were arguing with a folding table.
Not just struggling with it, actively engaged in what appeared to be a heated philosophical debate about its structural integrity while half the student council watched in fascination. You'd arrived twenty minutes late to the festival planning meeting, knocked over three chairs in your haste to find a seat, and now stood toe-to-toe with an inanimate object like it had personally offended your entire bloodline.
"I think you're supposed to lift the latch first," Jaehyun offered as he approached. His voice carried that familiar teasing lilt that made teachers simultaneously want to throttle him and nominate him for student of the year.
You whirled around, cheeks flushed with embarrassment and indignation. "I know how tables work, thank you very much."
"Do you, though?" He tilted his head, studying you with barely concealed amusement. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're losing."
The committee head, a stern-faced senior who treated festival planning like military strategy, cleared her throat pointedly. "As I was saying before the interruption, we need volunteers for setup crew. Since our newest member seems so... enthusiastic about furniture arrangement, she can assist Jaehyun with decorations."
Your mouth fell open in protest, but Jaehyun was already grinning, that infuriatingly smug expression that made your pulse quicken for reasons you refused to examine too closely.
"Looks like you're stuck with me, rookie."
The days into what you'd mentally dubbed "Festival Prep Hell," you'd learned several crucial facts about Myung Jaehyun :
First, he had an uncanny ability to appear whenever you were about to do anything remotely dangerous, stupid, or both. Second, his definition of "helping" involved a lot of commentary and very little actual assistance. Third, he had appointed himself your personal supervisor despite you never asking for, wanting, or needing one.
"You realize you're holding those scissors wrong," he observed from his perch on the art room windowsill, watching you cut paper streamers with the intensity of a nature documentarian studying an exotic species.
"I realize you're supposed to be helping instead of providing color commentary," you shot back, snipping another length of crepe paper with unnecessary force.
"I am helping. I'm preventing you from injuring yourself or others." He hopped down, sauntering over to peer at your work. "Besides, someone needs to make sure you eat. Speaking of which—"
He produced a triangle kimbap from his backpack, setting it on the desk beside your elbow with practiced ease. You'd stopped questioning where he acquired these snacks or why he'd decided feeding you was his responsibility. The alternative was admitting that his quiet attentiveness made your chest feel warm and fluttery, which was absolutely not happening.
"I'm not hungry," you lied, stomach choosing that exact moment to growl audibly.
"Uh-huh." Jaehyun's eyes crinkled with suppressed laughter. "And I'm not devastatingly handsome."
"Correct on both counts."
"Ouch." He pressed a hand to his heart in mock wounded. "You wound me, rookie. Here I am, generously sharing my food with an ungrateful underclassman—"
"Generously?" You finally looked up from your streamers, eyebrow raised. "You literally stole that from Sungho's lunch."
"Borrowed. There's a difference."
"The difference being that stealing implies you plan to return it?"
"Exactly." His grin widened. "See? You're learning."
Despite yourself, you found your lips twitching upward. This was the problem with Jaehyun, just when you'd worked up a proper head of indignation, he'd do or say something that made you want to laugh instead. It was infuriating and endearing in equal measure.
"Eat," he said, his voice gentler now. "You've been working for three hours straight."
"I'm fine."
"You're dead on your feet." Before you could protest, his hand was on your forehead, checking for fever with the casual intimacy of someone who'd been doing it for years instead of days. "When's the last time you slept? Not whatever you call that thing you do where you close your eyes for twenty minutes between assignments."
Heat crept up your neck at the contact, at the unexpected tenderness in his voice. "I sleep plenty."
"Rookie." The nickname sounded different this time, more affectionate than teasing. "You know you don't have to prove anything to anyone, right?"
Your hands stilled on the scissors. "I don't know what you mean."
"Sure you don't." He settled into the chair beside you, close enough that you could smell his cologne. "You've been running yourself ragged trying to show the committee you belong here. News flash : you already do."
"I'm a freshman who can't even set up a table correctly."
"You're a freshman who told the head of the planning committee that her colour scheme looked like a unicorn had a violent encounter with a rainbow." His shoulders shook with suppressed laughter. "Do you have any idea how long I've wanted to say that?"
You ducked your head, fighting a smile. "It did look like that, though."
"It absolutely did. And you had the guts to say it." His finger hooked under your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. "That's not something to be ashamed of, rookie. That's something to be proud of."
The art room fell quiet except for the distant sounds of other students in the hallway. Jaehyun's thumb brushed across your cheek, when had he gotten so close?—and you forgot how to breathe properly.
"Besides," he continued, voice dropping to a murmur, "I happen to like chaos. Keeps things interesting."
"I'm not chaotic," you whispered. "I'm just... enthusiastic."
"Is that what we're calling it?" His eyes were warm, crinkled at the corners with genuine fondness. "In that case, I'm enthusiastic about you being enthusiastic."
Before you could process what he meant by that, he was pulling back, ruffling your hair with practiced ease. "Good job today, rookie. But next time, eat the kimbap when I give it to you, yeah?"
You watched him gather his things, movements unhurried and confident. At the door, he paused, glancing back with that familiar grin.
"Oh, and for the record? Tomorrow we're bribing the janitor to let us use the good ladder for hanging decorations. I've got hot packs and chocolate milk."
"You can't just bribe people to make your life easier!"
"Watch me."
He was gone before you could formulate a proper response, leaving you alone with your paper streamers and the lingering scent of his cologne. You touched your cheek where his thumb had been, heart hammering against your ribs.
Myung Jaehyun was going to be the death of you.
TAESAN ⋆⑅˚₊
˖➴ PAIRING : grumpy musician!taesan x sunshine class rep!reader
Every morning began the same : the classroom door sliding open at precisely 7:45am, followed by your sunshine-bright voice cutting through pre-class murmurs.
"Good morning, everyone! Good morning, Tae-Tae!"
And every morning, Dongmin, known to most as Taesan, would respond with the same carefully calibrated grunt, eyes never lifting from the composition in his worn music notebook.
Today was no different. You placed your bag down before making a deliberate detour to his back corner desk, where he sat with headphones covering one ear.
"Here's the chemistry handout you missed yesterday," you announced, placing the paper atop his notebook. "And the college application deadline got moved up, it's on the second page."
His response was a barely perceptible nod, fingers continuing to sketch musical notations.
Most students would have retreated. But three years as class representative had taught you to recognize the difference between genuine hostility and practiced indifference. With Dongmin, the distance was carefully constructed.
"There's a faculty meeting fourth period, so we're having study hall," you continued. "Perfect timing for that history essay due Friday. Which you haven't started yet, have you?"
His pencil paused. "How do you know what I have or haven't started?"
You smiled triumphantly. "You always touch your left ear when you're behind on assignments."
His hand jerked away from his ear where his fingers had been tugging at his earring. The betrayal of his unconscious gesture sparked annoyance across his features.
"Don't you have morning announcements to obsess over?"
"All prepared! I even included your band's show this weekend."
Surprise quickly disguised as indifference flickered on his face. "You didn't have to do that."
"I wanted to. That's what friends do."
Before he could protest the label, you spun away, leaving him staring after you with bewildered frustration.
The cafeteria buzzed with lunchtime chaos when you spotted Dongmin at his usual corner table, guitar case beside him, music sheets spread as both creative outlet and social barrier.
You set your tray down across from him without asking permission.
"Not hungry again?" you asked, noticing his empty table.
He shrugged. "Forgot."
You sighed before producing a second lunch box from your bag. "Good thing I remembered for you."
His eyes narrowed. "You packed me lunch?"
"Just rice and kimchi. And those octopus sausages that were on sale." You pushed the container toward him. "Consider it payment for helping with the festival sound check."
"That was weeks ago."
"I'm very thorough with my debts."
He stared at the lunch box with frozen incomprehension before reluctantly pulling it towards himself.
"The vitamin C packet is in the side," you added. "You've been coughing since Tuesday."
"I don't need—"
"Just take it, Tae-Tae. Being grumpy is your personality, being sick is just inconvenient."
A passing classmate nearly stumbled at your audacity. Everyone knew Dongmin allowed only close friends to use his stage name Taesan. The diminutive "Tae-Tae" should have earned immediate banishment.
Yet somehow, you remained unexiled.
He unwrapped the chopsticks, mumbling what might have been "thank you."
When the bell rang, he had finished everything, even the vitamin drink.
"You didn't have to wait," he said, noticing you'd barely touched your own food while chatting.
You shrugged. "I like talking to you."
"Why?" The question escaped before he could contain it.
You tilted your head with unusual seriousness. "Because I think you're nice. Even if you pretend you're not."
The words hit him like an unexpected chord change. Emotions rippled through his features, confusion, denial, then fleeting tenderness that disappeared before you could place it.
He turned away abruptly. "You're delusional."
"Probably," you agreed cheerfully. "See you in math!"
As you walked away, you missed his fingers tracing the empty container's edge, or how his eyes followed you with an expression his bandmates would have recognized as panic.
Days later, you arrived at school with a slight fever and significantly less energy. Your morning greeting lacked volume, and you forgot the fire drill reminder.
During literature, you rested your head on your arms, closing eyes against too-bright fluorescent lights. When the lunch bell rang, you remained seated.
"You're sick."
You looked up to find Dongmin beside you, his perpetual frown deepened with suspicious concern.
"Just tired," you insisted.
"Your face is red. And you didn't harass me about the math assignment."
"You didn't turn in the—" You stopped, recognizing the trap. "You did turn it in."
His mouth twitched. "You're slipping, Class Rep."
He placed a bottle on your desk, cold green tea, your favourite brand.
"Drink this instead of that sugary coffee."
You stared at the bottle, then at him, uncharacteristically speechless.
"It's just tea," he muttered. "Don't make it weird."
"Did you... buy this for me?"
"You gave me vitamin C." He said it like the connection was obvious.
A smile spread across your face despite fatigue. "Tae-Tae, that's so sweet."
"Stop calling me that," he grumbled with notably less irritation.
"Never."
He sighed, resigned. "You should go home if you're sick."
"Can't. Student council meeting after school."
He observed you before reaching a decision. "Give me your phone."
Too tired to argue, you unlocked and handed it over. He typed quickly before returning it. On screen, you saw he'd added his contact information.
"Text me after your meeting. I'll walk you home."
Your eyebrows rose. "Really?"
"You'll probably pass out on the subway otherwise," he said defensively. "And then I'd have to listen to everyone talk about how the perfect class rep collapsed. It would be annoying."
"Can't have you annoyed," you agreed solemnly, though your smile betrayed understanding.
True to his word, Dongmin waited outside the student council room. When you emerged looking exhausted, he wordlessly took your backpack.
On the crowded train, he positioned himself beside you, one arm braced overhead, body angled to shield you from pressing commuters.
"This is my home," you said, stopping before your apartment building.
He returned your backpack. For a moment, he seemed on the verge of saying something, hands shoved in pockets.
"Thank you for walking me home."
"It's nothing," he responded, then reconsidered. "You should rest tomorrow. The class can survive one day without your excessive enthusiasm."
You smiled weakly. "Is that your grumpy way of saying you'd miss me?"
He scoffed but didn't deny it. "Just take care of yourself for once instead of everyone else."
You missed the next day, fever worsening. Your phone filled with messages from classmates, and among them, a single text from Dongmin : Did you eat?
You replied : Soup. You?
His response came quickly : Yes.
Then : The classroom is too quiet.
The admission warmed you more than your fever.
When you returned, you found a small package on your desk : throat lozenges, vitamin C, and a handwritten note with music recommendations labelled "Songs for Recovery."
You glanced at Dongmin, who sat pretending to read, ears betrayingly pink. When your eyes met, he quickly looked away, but not before you caught his relieved expression.
"Good morning, Tae-Tae," you called, voice still hoarse.
His response, though quiet, was distinctly more than his usual grunt :
"Morning."
As much as he'd hate to admit it, he'd been waiting for his sunshine to return.
LEEHAN ⋆⑅˚₊
˖➴ PAIRING : popular pretty boy!leehan x shy science nerd!reader
Kim Donghyun is the kind of beautiful that makes people stop mid-sentence when he walks into a room. All sharp jawlines and soft eyes, with an effortless grace that makes even the most mundane activities look like they belong in a magazine spread. So when Ms Chen announces that he's your lab partner for the semester-long marine biology project, you nearly choke on your own saliva.
"Looks like we're stuck with each other," he says, sliding into the seat next to you with that easy smile that's probably launched a thousand crushes. Up close, he's even more devastating, long lashes, perfect skin, the kind of natural beauty that should be illegal in high school settings.
You manage a squeaky "yeah" in response, already mentally preparing for a semester of doing all the work while he coasts by on his looks and charm. It's not fair to assume, but you've been burned by pretty partners before.
"So, marine ecosystems," Donghyun continues, pulling out a notebook that's surprisingly well-organized. "I was thinking we could focus on coral reef symbiosis? The relationship between clownfish and sea anemones is fascinating from both a biological and chemical perspective."
You blink at him, certain you've misheard. "You... want to study clownfish?"
"Well, the broader ecosystem, but yeah. Did you know that clownfish aren't actually immune to anemone stings? They build up immunity gradually by carefully exposing themselves to the mucus." His eyes light up as he talks, and there's genuine excitement in his voice that catches you completely off guard. "It's this incredible example of mutualistic symbiosis that most people think is just cute fish living in pretty flowers."
"You know about marine biology?"
He laughs, and the sound is warm and genuine. "I know I don't look like the type, but I've been obsessed with aquatic ecosystems since I was ten. I have three saltwater tanks at home and volunteer at the aquarium downtown on weekends."
This revelation is so far from what you expected that you actually stare at him for a moment. Kim Donghyun, who you've seen being voted for homecoming court and having lunch surrounded by the most popular kids in school, spends his free time cleaning fish tanks?
"That's... actually really cool," you admit, and his smile grows wider.
"Right? Most people think it's weird. My friends are always trying to drag me to parties when I'd rather be home watching my corydoras or reading about new conservation efforts." He leans forward conspiratorially. "Don't tell anyone, but I have names for all my fish. My runny nose tetra is called Professor Bubbles because he's very serious and intellectual-looking."
The giggle that escapes you is involuntary, and Donghyun's expression brightens like he's just won a prize.
"See, I knew you'd get it. You're always reading those marine conservation articles before class starts. I've been wanting to ask you about that paper on coral bleaching you were annotating last week."
"You noticed that?"
"I notice a lot of things, like how you light up during the ecology units, or how you always have the best questions during lab discussions. I was actually excited when Ms Chen paired us up."
Your brain struggles to process this information. Kim Donghyun, noticed you? Was excited to work with you? "But you could have anyone as a partner. People were literally volunteering to switch—"
"Why would I want to work with people who see this as an easy A when I could work with someone who actually cares about the subject?" He starts sketching out ideas for your project, his handwriting neat and precise. "Besides, I have a confession. I may know about marine life, but I'm terrible at the statistical analysis part. I was hoping you could help me with that side of things."
"You want my help?"
"Partnership means playing to each other's strengths, right?" He grins, and there's genuine warmth in it that makes your chest flutter. "I'll handle the biological research and species identification, you handle the data analysis and statistical modeling. Together we'll probably ace this thing."
Over the next few weeks, you discover that Donghyun is nothing like what you expected. He shows up to every study session with homemade flashcards and detailed notes, gets genuinely excited about discussing nitrogen cycles and pH levels, and has an encyclopedic knowledge of fish behaviour that rivals your textbooks.
He's also surprisingly goofy, making terrible fish puns that shouldn't be funny but somehow are, doing silly voices when he reads scientific papers aloud, and getting distracted by every aquarium they pass when you visit the marine centre for research.
"Oh my god, look at that parrotfish," he whispers during one of your field research trips, pressing close to the glass with the wonder of a five year old. "Look at those colours! And the way it's reorganizing the substrate—they're such meticulous little architects."
You find yourself watching him more than the fish, charmed by his unguarded enthusiasm. This is so different from the cool, collected version of himself he presents at school, and you realize you might be seeing the Kim Donghyun who cares more about marine conservation than maintaining his image.
"You're really passionate about this," you observe as he takes detailed notes on fish behavior patterns.
"My dream is to study marine biology in college, maybe work in conservation someday." He looks almost embarrassed by the admission. "I know it's not what people expect from me."
"Why do you care what people expect?"
The question seems to catch him off guard. He's quiet for a moment, watching a school of tropical fish swim in perfect synchronization. "I guess I've gotten used to being what people want me to be. The pretty face, the popular guy, the one who makes everything look effortless." He glances at you sideways. "But it's exhausting pretending you don't care about things just because it's not cool to be passionate."
"For what it's worth, I think passion is attractive. The way you talk about marine ecosystems... it's like watching you come alive."
Pink creeps across his cheeks, and he ducks his head with a shy smile that's entirely different from his usual confident grin. "Really?"
"Really. I've learned more from you in three weeks than I did in the entire first semester."
"Same here. You make the statistical analysis actually make sense instead of just being numbers on a page." He bumps your shoulder gently. "Plus, you're the only person who doesn't tune out when I start rambling about symbiotic relationships."
"I like your rambling."
"I like that you like it," he says quietly.
Two months into your partnership, you're not sure when exactly Donghyun stopped being your intimidatingly beautiful lab partner and became simply the boy who brings you coffee during long research sessions, who texts you pictures of his fish with increasingly ridiculous captions, who stays after class to debate conservation policies with the same intensity other guys bring to sports.
"We should celebrate," he says after you receive your project grades, an A+ with a note from Ms Chen praising your thorough research and innovative analysis.
"Celebrate how?"
"The aquarium is having a night dive program this weekend. Would you want to go? As partners in academic crime?" His smile is hopeful, nervous in a way that's endearingly human. "I promise I'll try to control my excitement about seeing nocturnal feeding behaviours."
"I'd love to," you say, and the way his face lights up makes you realize that you've fallen for Donghyun, not the popular pretty boy everyone else sees, but the passionate, goofy, genuine person he trusts you enough to be.
"Perfect. It's a date." He pauses, seeming to realize what he's said. "I mean, if you want it to be. A date, that is. It could just be a friendly educational outing between lab partners who happen to—"
"Donghyun."
"Yeah?"
"I'd love for it to be a date."
WOONHAK ⋆⑅˚₊
˖➴ PAIRING : protective basketball athlete!woonhak x transfer student!reader
Whispers stirred through homeroom like a breeze before a storm, and Ms Park’s usual monotone took on a rare edge of anticipation as she cleared her throat and said, “Class, please welcome our new transfer student.”
You stood beside her desk, clutching your schedule with white knuckles, eyes fixed on a mysterious scuff mark on the linoleum floor. The classroom felt cavernous, thirty pairs of eyes burning into you like searchlights.
"Would you like to introduce yourself?" Ms Park prompted gently.
You mumbled your name, hometown, and a forgettable fact about yourself before sliding into the only empty desk available.
That's when you felt a gaze so persistent it practically warmed your skin. You glanced up to find a boy with tousled dark hair and a smile that could power a small city staring directly at you. His uniform tie hung slightly crooked, but everything else about him radiated perfection.
He waved. At 8:17am in the morning. Who does that?
You offered a tentative half-smile before returning your attention to unpacking your notebook. But the intensity of his attention lingered like perfume.
When class ended, he materialized beside your desk with supernatural speed.
"I'm Woonhak," he announced, as if introducing a celebrity. "Kim Woonhak. I'm the class representative and captain of the basketball team." His enthusiasm bordered on excessive for this ungodly hour of morning. "You picked a great day to transfer, the cafeteria's serving tteokbokki today."
You blinked at him. "That's... useful information."
"I can show you around if you want. The school's layout makes zero sense."
“I think I can manage," you replied, but with less ice than intended.
Woonhak's smile never faltered. "Cool, cool. Offer stands. See you at lunch?"
Before you could respond that you hadn't agreed to any lunch plans, he'd bounced away to high-five someone across the room.
Your plan had been to eat alone, to blend into the scenery until you found your footing. But when you entered the cafeteria, Woonhak spotted you instantly as if he'd been watching the door, and waved with such vigor you worried he might dislocate something.
"Saved you a seat!" he called out, drawing attention from nearby tables.
You considered pretending not to hear him, but that would require explaining yourself tomorrow, which seemed more exhausting than just surrendering to his relentless friendliness.
"You didn't have to do that," you said, sliding onto the bench opposite him.
"I know." He pushed a small carton of banana milk towards you. "They always run out, so I grabbed an extra."
You stared at the carton, unsure how to process this random act of kindness. "Thanks."
Lunch with Woonhak meant meeting his entire social circle, which appeared to encompass half the student body. He introduced you to everyone who passed, pronouncing your name with such pride you'd think he'd invented it himself.
"How do you know so many people?" you asked when the parade of introductions finally paused.
He shrugged, mouth full of rice. After swallowing, he said, "I've lived in this neighbourhood my whole life. It's impossible not to know everyone eventually."
His popularity seemed effortless, yet he chose to spend lunch with the new girl. "You don't have to babysit me, you know."
His eyebrows shot up. "Babysit? Is that what you think this is?"
"I don't know what this is."
His expression softened. "This is me making a friend. Unless you'd rather be left alone? I can respect boundaries, my mom says I come on too strong sometimes."
The naked honesty in his voice disarmed you. "No, it's...fine. I'm just not used to people being so..."
"Charming? Devastatingly handsome?"
You rolled your eyes, but couldn't suppress a smile. "I was going to say 'persistent.'"
His laughter rang clear and genuine. "Fair enough."
Days blurred into weeks. Woonhak's morning greetings became as reliable as sunrise. He started walking you to classes even when they weren't on his route, claiming he "needed the exercise" despite his obviously athletic physique.
"Everyone's staring at us," you whispered as you entered the gymnasium where Woonhak's basketball team was practicing. You'd agreed, against better judgment, to watch.
"They're just not used to seeing me with such an intimidating person," he whispered back.
"Intimidating? Me?"
"Absolutely. You've got that mysterious transfer student aura. Very exclusive."
You snorted. "You're ridiculous."
"Part of my charm."
You settled on the bleachers while Woonhak jogged to join his teammates. Watching him transform from goofy hallway companion to focused athlete was fascinating. His movements became precise, calculated, as if he'd shed a layer of himself when stepping onto the court.
After practice, you waited by the gym doors, scrolling through your phone. You didn't notice the approach of three players until their shadows fell across your screen.
"You're the new girl, right?" The tallest one asked. His hair was still damp from the showers, his uniform shirt unbuttoned at the collar.
You nodded.
"I'm Minje. Team vice-captain." His smile carried confidence that bordered on arrogance. "We're heading to get bubble tea. Wanna join?"
Before you could answer, Woonhak appeared beside you, gym bag slung over his shoulder. His usual smile seemed different, tight around the edges.
"She can't," he said, voice unusually firm. "We have plans."
Minje's eyebrows rose. "Do you? Or are you just saying that?"
"We're working on her literature assignment," Woonhak replied smoothly, though this was news to you.
"I didn't know you two were so... close," Minje said, looking between you with renewed interest.
"We're not—" you began.
"Running late," Woonhak interrupted, gently tugging your sleeve. "See you guys tomorrow."
Once outside, you pulled your arm free. "What was that about? We don't have plans."
His cheeks flushed pink. "Sorry. Those guys are my friends, but they can be... I just thought you might not want to..."
Understanding dawned. "Are you jealous?"
"What? No! I'm just..." He ran a hand through his hair, mussing it further. "Protective."
"I don't need protection, Woonhak."
"I know that." His voice softened. "Trust me, I know how capable you are. But Minje collects phone numbers like Pokémon cards.”
"We could get bubble tea," you suggested. "If you want."
His face brightened immediately. "Really?"
"Don't make a big deal about it."
"I would never," he said, already bouncing slightly on his toes. "Except it is kind of a big deal because this is the first time you've initiated plans with me, which means you officially consider me a friend now, which is a significant milestone in our—"
"I'm rethinking this already."
He laughed, falling into step beside you. "No take-backs."
having sexual tension with both leehan and taesan? so when everyone leaves except us three, shits happening 😩
YOU DID NOT WHATTHEACTUALFUCKKKK. not you making me write about my two favourite boys in bnd only for me to get even more crazy over them but thanks! (i'm literally giggling rn)
you were not dumb. not the slightest bit. so when your boyfriend jaehyun had to leave town for two days and his friends taesan and leehan dropped by your house, you knew it.
partly, you were not surprised by the fact that those two wanted to pay you a visit, even though they knew their friend was not home, just to make sure you were doing okay.
a call would've done it.
not to mention the way they looked at you, with so much hunger that it was soooo obvious that they would mess you up of they could. they would always make those "inoffensive" comments on how good you looked, how lucky was the man who managed to pull you.
jaehyun laughed at all of their jokes, loving the way his friends complimented his girl but totally missing their point when they would just laugh along and look at each other with that mischievous glow in their eyes.
jaehyun was so dumb.
but it was always like that, always the same absurb tension that would make you feel that weird feeling in your stomach, making your pussy throbb and you feeling so suffocated it was nonsense; like if you had a hand around your neck pressing with so much force you could faint.
they were both hot, they were both sexually appealing and you couldn't deny that you would love to have them between your legs. but they were your boyfriend's friends, you would never want to go that far with them, right? it was all jokes.
sure thing, whatever you say.
"y/n, aren't you hungry?" leehan asked you when he sat down in your side, the sofa shrinking a bit with his weight, you stopped looking at your phone to face him. "i didn't see you eating anything earlier"
"i'm good, i ate a lot at lunch so i'm not really hungry" you smiled back, feeling his gaze down your face before he moved it to your chest, picking at the skin he could see through the fabric of your pajamas "where's taesan anyways?" you tried to distract, looking around while leehan just kept getting closer to you.
"he's getting something" he just grinned at you, reaching your shirt with his fingers and playing a little bit with the fabric around your boobs, getting closer to your face before adding "this is such a soft material, where did you get it?"
"i got it when i went shopping with jaeyhun" you mentioned, backing up a bit. "i think it was on that cute store in the corner of the mall- what are you doing!?"
"i'm just touching it, can't i?" his voice was so low that it made you shiver, cursing a little bit in your mind when your nipples responded to it. "huh, it doesn't seems like you hate it though"
"shut it, it's kinda cold" he laughed at you when his fingers grazed your hard nipple and you jumped a little "yo, stop that"
"you don't like it?" but before you could answer his eyes dropped to your shorts, passing his tongue over his lips when he looked at your thighs "that short looks comfy, ain't it?"
"leehan, you have to quit it"
"can i touch it?" at this point you didn't knew what he meant, but being for real, you knew. and even though your morality was rotting your head and your hands started to shake a little bit, the thought of your boyfriend peeking out for a second before you heard a soft mumble on your ear, leehan making you rest your head on his arm and your thighs tensing when he finally ghosted his fingers close to your clothed pussy, softly pressing down on the flesh and looking at your face for confirmation when he said "do you mind?"
"no, i- you can"
and you didn't need to say it again when his fingers moved your shorts aside, finally feeling the wet patch in your panties when he touched them. you felt a little bit ashamed about it but the way his dick poked your thigh make you understand how hot it was for him too.
of course it was.
two of his fingers kept pressing down on your mount, still over your underwear, giving soft massages in that place and his face moving to kiss your left cheek with a warm kiss, his nose brushing against your face before he left a low moan out, his hips humping your thigh a little bit.
"you are so wet, y/n, why didn't you say anything? i could've helped you" he would whisper against your ear, leaving a soft bite afterwards and palming your pussy twice, making you flinch a bit before laughing. "so sensitive and yet so quiet"
"i don't know what you mean" you said back, you were not gonna admit he got you leaking by just getting close to you. never in a million years.
"you know exactly what i mean" and then his middle finger pressed against your folds, right in the middle, moving just enough to cause some friction between your underwear and your clit. "you love this, don't you? no need to hide it"
but color left your face when the door was opened, your hands holding leehan's arm and trying to pull him away from your clothed cunt but failing when he just laughed in your face, and dammit, his smile was so pretty that it even got you hotter, your pussy throbbing under his touch and your cheeks flushing when you say the third person entering the room.
"taesan"
you almost breathed out in relieve. well, for a second because then you remembered the situation you were on, you were just so grateful that it wasn't jaehyun that you forgot about it for a second.
"i thought we were playing with her together" he said in exchange, his eyes glued to the place where the younger male's fingers were.
"sorry, hyung, i couldn't help it. it's not like she opposed a lot either" he softly smiled "didn't even put up a fight"
you just watched the two boys in confusion, your hands loosening their grab on leehan's arm when taesan got closer, letting a plastic bag in the coffee table of the living room before taking place contrary to leehan on your side.
he looked at you a little bit differently than the younger male did, his eyes being somewhat sharper but his intentions not feeling so aggressive as leehan's. his right hand cupped your face and he licked his lips before leaning closer, barely touching the skin of your cheeks before pressing his forehead against the side of your face.
"can i kiss you, y/n?" he softly asked, leehan gulping on your side and restarting the movement of his finger against your pussy. taesan looked for your eyes when you went silent, trying to understand what your look supposed to mean. "you don't want me to-"
"i do, please"
taesan was never much of a talker, so he just laughed a lil bit at you saying 'please' when he was two seconds away from begging you. his lips crashing against yours right away and your chest lifting up and down a little bit fast due to the different feelings you were having, taesan's lips and tongue playing with yours and leehan's fingers making you grind down his hand, moaning into taesan's mouth when you felt both of them humping each one of your thighs.
"fuck, you're so hot" this time was leehan who talked, his finger finally breaking the barrier of your clothes and fully touching your soaked pussy. "goddamn it"
but you grew anxious when you felt that he left your side, almost breaking your kiss with taesan but the boy holding your face in place and stopping you from detaching his lips.
and you had your reasons to be nervous when your short got pulled down your legs with your panties and leehan was suddenly between both of your legs, his head so close to your pussy you actually felt his breath twitch before he finally left a long lick in your clit. your legs trembled and they both loved it, taesan's right hand going for leehan's hair and pressing the younger one against your cunt.
he left your lips to look at leehan eat you out, licking his own lips before saying "he looks so cute, doesn't he?" you had to hold in a whine when leehan mumbled in your pussy and sent some vibrations "such a pretty boy eating your cunt, don't you like him?"
"i do" was all you said, your eyes shut closed and your thighs on leehan's shoulders while he furiously lapped on your clit, flicking his tongue a little bit before placing wet open-mouthed there, gulping and taking that bulge of nerves between his teeth, gracing it and making your legs tremble. he was so good, so messy "fuck, stop, that's- oh my god"
"why do you want him to stop if you are feeling so good, y/n?" taesan was the one who spoke now, his fingers still tangled on leehan's hair but his eyes were looking at you, his lips so close to your ear that you could feel his breath when he talked. "do you like it like that?"
but at this point you couldn't even answer properly, just slowly moving your hips and riding leehan's face, being easy since taesan kept him pressed there with his hand. it was so hot, so dirty yet so wrong.
was it that bad if it felt so good? probably yes, but this time you wouldn't mind. just this time.
taesan took your lack of words as a signal that it was going good, and it was, so he could take care of himself now. he left your side met leehan between your legs, sharing a small grin with the younger before holding your legs up so they could both eat you out.
he was not gonna miss eating your cunt just because leehan was there, sharing some saliva with the other male and the sounds being so obscene it made you shake, trying to close your legs when it got too much.
both tongues playing with your pussy, taesan's middle finger knuckle deep inside your cunt and flicking up like a mad beast, leehan's soft moans sending vibrations to your wet folds and it was just too much.
"guys, stop, please i'm- please" but your hands went to hold their heads in place, your fingers tangling in their hair and you just feeling how the laughed "oh my god"
and just like that you came, right into their tongues, with a whine moan making you feel so ashamed before you felt the warmth of their faces abandon your cunt, taesan's finger slipping out and making you feel empty.
"you good?" leehan would ask, licking his lips with a smirk that just made your legs weak, the fact that taesan licked the finger that was previously inside of you didn't help either. "you have such a sweet pussy, baby. could eat you out three times a day"
"you are seriously mental" taesan laughed and fixed leehan's hair before facing you one more time. "but he's right tho"
"you both are insane" was all you could mumbled, your legs still shaking when you tried to cover your pussy by pulling your shorts up.
"what do you think you're doing?" your eyes pawned to leehan's and your ears could pick up the tingling metal sound of their belts being unbuckled, putting your shorts on anyways. "have you taken two at the same time before?"
"guys, i- i don't think we should do this. go this far, you know" both boys just kinda laughed, still undoing their pants and making you gulp when you noticed how hard they were for what you could peek before they lowered their trousers when you spoke again "i'm being serious"
"are you?" this time taesan spoke and before you could add he continued "that's not what your body and eyes are saying"
"i shouldn't"
"but you want to, and to be honest, we are already halfway there, y/n"
"you guys are not going to say anything, right? you know how he is and this would make him feel awful and i-"
"we won't say a thing" leehan reassured you and you quickly nodded. seeing how they started to lower their jeans made you get up and hold both of their hands.
"not here"
so they followed you upstairs, staring at your ass shamelessly and standing at the door when you guided them to a room, both of them looked at you with lifted eyebrows and you had to explain that it wasn't the one you shared with jaehyun, this one was a separate one you guys had with your old stuff that you brought when you left your parents house.
"good thing you brought your bed" joked leehan, finally walking into the room and taesan closing the door behind them.
he grabbed your face and finally stamped his lips on yours, his kisses were messier than taesan's but lighter and not that warm nor deep, his tongue brushed against yours and you jumped a little when taesan held your hips from behind, kissing your neck and softly moving his hands to the front of your shirt, caressing your already hard nipples through the fabric.
leehan's hands were divided, one cupping your face and the other one holding the hem of your shorts, threatening with pulling it down every once in a while. they were both driving you crazy, the feelings being too good and them being so hot.
you felt taesan's lips leaving your neck with an audible pop and immediately felt leehan pulling away too, both of them dragging you to the bed before taesan took his jeans off and layed down, pulling you to this lap and slowly moaning when he made you grind down on his hard dick, lifting you up enough remove his underwear and for you to remove your shorts.
"fuck" you heard him say when his naked dick finally brushed your cunt, seeing him bite his lip for a bit "leehan, i left the condoms and the stuff on the coffee table below, can you get them?"
"on my way"
"i'm sorry about that, pretty, but we need them" he explained before holding your nape and bringing you down so he could kiss you in the meantime "we're gonna fuck you so good"
so when leehan finally got back, everything started to move fast, the way taesan took the condom and ripped the package with his teeth, putting it on and immediately dropping you on top of his throbbing length, the way he moaned so sweetly yet low when you took it all the way in, biting your own lip and putting your hands on his chest.
you started to move on him, first rocking your hips from the front to the back a little bit and then starting to lift and drop, up and down, a good rhythm being found almost immediately when his hands held your hips and his own hips started to thrust up.
but what startled you was the cold feeling in your ass when leehan's lips attached to your ear, softly whispering "let me get you ready, hm?"
and suddenly he started to circle your hole, playing with the rim of nerves and slowly peeking his finger inside, getting enough lub so that it won't hurt you. taesan also helped, caressing your legs and pulling you in for a kiss while leehan worked you up.
one finger was in and you tensed, a second one got in after a few seconds and you were truly not as nervous as you were five minutes ago. in fact, it felt kinda good now.
so leehan finally picked up a pace and fucked two fingers in and out of your ass, the way taesan's cock was still hard and inside of your pussy creating a delicious friction that made you laugh and roll your eyes.
that was about enough. so leehan finally took his pants off and took place behind you, aligning his dick with your ass after putting the condom on and pushing in without even saying anything, going all the way and making even taesan moan because of the friction.
and then the pace started again, but this time with both of them, taesan fucking your pussy and leehan your ass, both of them doing it fast and deep, leehan's hand around your neck and his arm around your chest to keep you up, taesan playing with your hard nipples.
it was all too good, too perfect, too exquisite. it was driving you crazy.
"oh god, yes, please" you kept repeating, one of your own hands going to your clit to play with it and furiously rub it. you were so overwhelmed that you knew you were going to come at any moment. "you feel so good. you both fuck me so well"
and they just kept pushing, desperately looking for release and finding it when taesan came first, your warm and wet walls bringing him to the edge. also, watching you from below while leehan also fucked you, held your neck with his hand and both of you moaning?? taesan was a visual and audio man, that was too much.
but leehan, on the other side, is a man of feelings. so when he felt your pussy throbbing around taesan's dick after he came, causing you to cum too and tense your ass walls, he couldn't hold it either, giving you a deep and sharp thrust before finishing.
"goddamn" was all the younger male said, letting his grab on you go and you falling on taesan's chest, immediately being held on a hug by him and feeling your cheeks being kissed. "that was crazy good"
"it was" you confirmed and taesan just mumbled in agreement, hiding his face in the crook of your neck before you felt leehan pulling out. "are you guys staying for dinner?"
"i thought you said you weren't hungry" leehan started with some fun on his voice. "although the way your pussy and ass ate our cocks says otherwise"
but you just didn't have the strength to fight him back this time, just lazily laughing against taesan's skin and closing your eyes to rest, leehan went to lay down with you both and took a sheet to cover your naked bodies.
taesan held you close but made you lay on the bed, between him and leehan, you still having his cock inside your pussy tho. just laying there, being hugged by the two boys and comfortably falling asleep on their arms.
jaehyun was not coming home until the day after tomorrow so you will have time to do this again and then talk it out with the pillow to not feel so bad about it.
but c'mon, what were you supposed to do? he was out of town and his two friends were soooooo hot.
okay as much as i love sub!bnd i do wanna yap abt dom!bnd too mwuahahaha
soooo....let's talk older bf!sungho?! perchance?!
him being the first guy to actually care about your orgasm, aka...him being the first guy to make you cum before he does !!
i can totally see him taking time to learn what gets your legs shaking... eating you out and carefully circling his tongue over your clit, letting the warmth of his mouth heat up the ball of pleasure inside of you before slipping a careful finger in
"i won't move until you tell me," he'd promise, waiting for you to nod your head and that's when the real magic starts 😈😈😈😈😈
you knew sungho used his fingers a lot, from playing guitar to typing at his corporate job....but ZAAAMNNNN 😛😋🤤
he'd start off gentle, curling his finger upwards to stretch you out just enough, making you even wetter so that he can slide another in. with two fingers, finding your g-spot is an easy task-- at least for sungho, because all the other losers you've been with have never hit it as quickly as he has.
i can see him pumping his fingers up and down, or in and out (all depending on how you like it hehe) as he reconnects his mouth with your dripping cunt, not caring how much of a mess you're making on his sheets as he teases your clit while looking up at you
the way you're tits are perked up and your hips are wiggling against his fingers as you work towards an orgasm is pleasurable enough for him <333
older bf sungho can find the fuck out of a clit ~ 🍈
genre: doctor au, smut
summary: in which you help your husband out at his workplace
warnings: smut (mdni) language, pet names (good girl, good boy), oral (f and m receiving), unprotected sex, passionate sex, rough sex, dirty talk, definitely forgot something
pairing: doctor!leehan x fem!reader
wc: 2.5k
a/n: the hold doctor leehan has on me…😩 (also bare with me as this is my first smut fic)
nets: @blossomnet @onedoornet @chrimatanet @k-labels @k-films
Your phone buzzed in your hand, the screen lighting up with a message from Leehan. You glanced at it quickly, your heart skipping a beat as you saw his name. The text was short and to the point: "Need help. Can't focus. Need you here."
You frowned, tapping out a quick reply. "What's going on? Is everything okay?"
His response came almost immediately. "Not like that. I need... relief. Can't take care of this myself. I've tried, please come."
Your cheeks flushed as you read the message again. This wasn't like him. Leehan was always so composed, so professional. But here he was, practically begging for help in the middle of his workday. You bit your lip, considering your options. Showing up at the hospital unannounced would be strange, to say the least. But then again, this was your husband asking for your help.
"I can't just show up without a reason, Lee," you typed back, trying to keep your tone casual even though your pulse was racing.
"Come in for a checkup," he replied. "Say you've been feeling ill. I'll handle it personally."
A wave of heat washed over you as you imagined the scenario. You'd be lying, but the thought of being alone with Leehan in a hospital room, where anything could happen, was intoxicating. You swallowed hard, typing back a simple, "Okay."
The drive to the hospital was a blur. You parked in the visitor lot and made your way inside, your heart pounding in your chest. The sterile smell of antiseptic hit you as soon as you walked through the doors, and you took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what was to come.
Leehan had texted you directions to the examination room he'd be using. You followed them, your footsteps echoing down the empty hallway. When you finally reached the door, you hesitated for a moment before pushing it open.
The room was dimly lit, the only light coming from the small lamp on the side table. Leehan stood by the exam table, his white coat hanging open to reveal the crisp blue shirt beneath. He looked up as you entered, his eyes dark with desire.
"Thanks for coming," he said, his voice low and husky. "I wasn't sure if you'd actually do it."
You closed the door behind you, leaning against it as you met his gaze. "You asked for my help, Lee. How could I say no?"
He stepped closer, his hands reaching out to pull you into his arms. You melted against him, your body reacting to his touch even as your mind tried to process the absurdity of the situation. Here you were, making out with your husband in a hospital room, while he was supposed to be working.
Leehan's hands roamed over your back, slipping under your shirt to caress your skin. You gasped, arching into his touch as he continued to kiss you, his tongue exploring your mouth with a hunger that left you breathless.
"Take off your coat," he murmured against your lips, his fingers already unbuttoning your blouse.
You complied, shrugging out of your jacket and letting it fall to the floor. Leehan's hands moved lower, unfastening your pants and slipping them down your hips. You kicked them off, standing there in nothing but your bra and panties, feeling exposed and exhilarated all at once.
Leehan's eyes darkened as he took in the sight of you. "Beautiful," he whispered, lifting you onto the exam table. "Spread your legs for me."
Your breath caught in your throat as you obeyed, parting your thighs and leaning back on your elbows. The cold surface of the table pressed against your bare skin, sending a shiver down your spine. You watched as Leehan slipped off his shoes and climbed onto the table between your legs, his gaze never leaving yours.
"Keep your panties on," he ordered, his voice firm. "I want you desperate for me."
You nodded, your breath hitching as he traced a finger along the lace crotch of your underwear. The sensation sent a jolt of electricity through you, making you squirm in anticipation.
"Good girl," he praised, his finger dipping beneath the edge of the lace to brush against your clit. "Now, tell me how bad you want this."
"So bad," you breathed, your hips bucking against his hand. "Please, Lee..."
He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your inner thigh. "Not yet," he murmured, his fingers moving faster, teasing your aching flesh. "You're going to beg me for it."
You moaned, your hands gripping the edge of the table as he continued to stroke you, driving you wild with need. The thrill of being caught made every touch more intense, every sensation magnified a hundredfold.
"Lee... I can't... please..." you gasped, your body trembling with anticipation.
He chuckled softly, pulling his hand away. "Patience," he said, slipping off the table and kneeling between your legs. "I'm not done with you yet."
You feel the cool, sterile air of the hospital examination room as Leehan's fingers delve deeper into you. The sensation is both thrilling and nerve-wracking, knowing that at any moment someone could walk in. You bite your lip to stifle a moan, but it escapes anyway, a soft, breathy sound that makes Leehan's eyes gleam with pleasure.
"Leehan, please," you whisper, your voice trembling with need. "I can't take much more of this."
He leans in close, his breath warm against your ear. "Then beg me," he commands, his tone dripping with dominance. "Tell me what you want."
You shiver, caught between the desire to submit and the fear of being overheard. But the throbbing ache between your legs overrides any hesitation. "Please, Leehan, I need you. Inside me, now. Please."
His fingers withdraw slowly, leaving you aching for more. He stands up, unbuttoning his pants with practiced ease, releasing his hard erection. You watch him, mesmerized by the sight, your body trembling with anticipation.
"On your knees," he orders, his voice firm. You comply immediately, sinking down onto the cold linoleum floor. The sensation against your skin adds another layer of excitement to the encounter. You look up at him, your eyes filled with longing.
He guides himself to your mouth, his cock nudging against your lips. You open willingly, taking him in, feeling the warmth and hardness filling your mouth. He groans, his hands threading through your hair, guiding you deeper. Your tongue swirls around him, tasting the pre-cum that beads at the tip.
The sounds of the hospital—distant footsteps, muffled conversations, the occasional beep of medical equipment—create a backdrop that heightens every sensation. Each time you hear a noise, your heart races, unsure if someone might be about to enter the room.
Leehan's grip on your hair tightens as he thrusts deeper, his breathing growing ragged. You match his rhythm, eager to bring him pleasure, to give him release. His hand moves from your hair to your cheek, cupping it gently as he looks down at you, his expression a mix of pride and raw desire.
"Fuck, you're perfect," he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. "So good."
You feel a surge of pride, your cheeks flushing with heat. You redouble your efforts, sucking him harder, using your tongue to tease the underside of his shaft. His hips buck involuntarily, pushing deeper, driving you further into submission.
But just as you sense he's close, he pulls away abruptly, leaving you panting and desperate. You look up at him, confusion and frustration etched on your face.
"Not yet," he says, his voice low and husky. "I want to feel you first."
He helps you back onto the examination table, positioning you so your back rests against the padded headrest. You spread your legs wide, giving him full access. He kneels between them, his eyes locked onto yours as he begins to lick and kiss his way up your inner thighs.
The sensation is electric, sending shivers through your body. You arch your back, pressing yourself closer to his mouth. His tongue finds your clit, circling it slowly at first, then increasing in speed and pressure. You cry out, your hands gripping the edge of the table for support.
"Leehan!" you gasp, your voice high and strained. "Oh God, yes! Right there! Don't stop!"
He doesn't stop. Instead, he uses one hand to hold your hips steady while his other teases your entrance, playing with your folds, stroking the sensitive skin just outside your opening. The dual sensations are almost too much to bear, your body trembling with impending release.
Your moans grow louder, blending with the ever-present hospital noises. You close your eyes, lost in the pleasure, barely registering when Leehan shifts, lining himself up with your entrance. He enters you slowly, inch by inch, allowing your body to adjust to his size.
You feel full, stretched around him, your muscles clenching instinctively. He pauses, letting you get used to the feeling before he starts to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate. Each movement sends waves of pleasure coursing through you, building towards an inevitable climax.
"Look at me," he commands, his voice rough with need. You open your eyes, meeting his gaze. The intensity of his stare sends a jolt of energy through you, heightening every sensation.
With each thrust, the bed creaks softly, adding to the urgency of the moment. You can feel the vibrations through the mattress, amplifying the physical connection between you. Your breaths come in short, sharp gasps, your body arching upwards to meet his.
"Leehan, I'm so close," you whimper, your voice breaking with desperation. "Please, I need..."
"Just let go," he whispers, his thrusts becoming faster, more erratic. "Let it happen."
And then, with a final, powerful thrust, you do. Your orgasm hits like a tidal wave, overwhelming your senses. You cry out, your body convulsing with pleasure as wave after wave of ecstasy crashes over you.
Leehan follows soon after, his own release washing over him as he buries himself deep inside you. His breath comes in harsh gasps, his chest heaving with exertion. For a few moments, neither of you speak, simply basking in the aftermath of your shared pleasure.
But then, just as you begin to relax, the door handle jiggles.
The door handle jiggles again, and the room falls silent for a split second. Leehan pulls away slightly but keeping you close, your bodies still glistening with sweat. "Shh," he whispers, his voice barely audible as he presses a finger to his lips. The door handle stops moving, and you both hold your breath, listening intently.
After what feels like an eternity, the footsteps fade away, and Leehan relaxes, his hand still resting on your waist. "We can't stay here much longer," he murmurs, his voice low and urgent. "But before we leave, I need you to finish what you started."
You gaze up at him, your heart pounding in your chest. "What do you mean?" you ask, though you already know the answer.
Leehan's eyes darken with desire as he leans in closer, his breath hot against your ear. "I want you to take control this time," he whispers. "Show me how much you need me."
Your pulse quickens at his words, your body responding instantly to the suggestion. You nod slowly, your resolve strengthening. "Lie back," you command, your voice steady despite the tremor of excitement running through you.
Leehan obeys without hesitation, stretching out on the examination table, his hands resting above his head. The sight of him, spread out and vulnerable, sends a jolt of heat through your body. You cup his balls gently, feeling the weight of them in your hand, and then trail your fingers up the length of his shaft.
Leehan groans softly, his hips arching off the table in response to the touch. "Please," he breathes, his eyes closed, "don't make me wait."
You smirk, your confidence growing. "Patience," you say, your voice a sultry drawl. "You're going to earn this."
You continue to stroke him, your grip firm yet teasing. Each pass of your hand brings him closer to the edge, but you slow your pace just as he starts to build toward release. You lean in closer, your mouth hovering just above his cock, but you don't give him the satisfaction of taking him in.
"Beg me," you whisper, your breath warm against his skin. "Tell me why you need this."
Leehan's eyes flutter open, and he looks up at you, his expression a mixture of desperation and desire. "Please," he murmurs, his voice thick with need. "I need you... I need to feel you."
Your heart races at his words, your own desire flaring hotter. "Good boy," you say, voice laced with approval. You finally lower your mouth to his cock, taking him in deeply, your tongue swirling around the tip before sliding down his length.
Leehan's hands clamp down on the edges of the table, his body trembling with the effort of holding still. "Fuck," he gasps, his voice ragged. "That's it... just like that."
You continue to suck him, movements precise and deliberate. You vary your pace, sometimes quickening until Leehan is thrusting into your mouth, other times slowing to a torturous crawl. You take your hand to guide him, adding pressure at the base to heighten the sensation.
Leehan's moans grow louder, more desperate, letting you know he's close. You pull off him briefly, looking up into his eyes. "Do you want to come?" Your voice soft and seductive.
"Yes," Leehan answers immediately, his chest heaving with exertion. "God, yes..."
You smile, lips curling into a wicked grin. "Then come for me," you say, returning to his cock with renewed intensity. You take him deep, swallowing around him as you quicken your pace, working him harder and faster.
Leehan's head falls back, his eyes rolling shut as he surrenders to the pleasure. "Ah, fuck... I'm gonna...!" His words cut off as his orgasm crashes over him, his cock pulsing between your lips. He comes hard, his seed filling your mouth as his body convulses with each powerful spasm.
You swallow every drop, savoring the taste of him, then you pull off slowly, licking your lips clean. You stand up straight, watching as Leehan lies there, spent and panting, his eyes glazed with satisfaction.
"Did you enjoy that?" You ask, voice dripping with smugness.
Leehan opens his eyes and meets your gaze, a lazy smile spreading across his face. "More than words can say," he replies.
Your heart swells with pride, the earlier tension melting away under the warmth of his gratitude. You reach down to help him sit up, smoothing his hair back from his forehead. "Let's get cleaned up," you suggest, your tone gentle now.
As you start to redress, the hospital intercom crackles to life overhead, announcing the next patient to be seen. Leehan freezes momentarily, his eyes darting to the door. "We should go," he says, his voice tinged with urgency.
You nod, understanding the risk you're taking by staying any longer. You finish buttoning your clothes and quickly gather your things. Just as your about to leave, Leehan catches your hand, stopping you.
"Wait," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. He steps closer, pressing a kiss to your lips, lingering just long enough to convey his gratitude. "Thank you," he murmurs against your mouth.
You smile, heart swelling with affection. "Anytime, doctor," you reply.
in which, you start ovulating in the middle of the night—something that your puppy catches on to even before you did
GENRE — pwp (barely any plot), hybrid au
WARNINGS — dubcon, reader is ovulating, jaehyun's hybrid-like attributes consist of a tail and ears, along with a hightened sense of smell and a lot more strength than a normal person, oral (fem! rec), much!jaehyun, clit biting, clit pinching, squirting, unprotected sex (don't!), doggy, clit pinching, scenting, let me know if i missed any!
WORDCOUNT— 2.8k
NOTE — another revamp, to apologise for the lack of bnd fics from me 🙏🏻 enha ver 1 & 2
MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
a delicious smell wafted through the air, waking up jaehyun in the middle of the night. he groggily opened his eyes, his nose twitching. what the hell was that smell?
he managed to sit up, rubbing his tired eyes. he blinked carefully, still extremely sleepy. that smell… it only seemed to intensify by the minute. it was so good, but—what exactly was it?
he let his curiosity get the best of him, causing him to take a deep inhale—biggest mistake of his life. or was it?
the smell invaded his senses fully, a deep growl leaving his throat—unintentionally. his ears, that sat on top of his head, twitched. his eyes were wide open now. the smell had caused a stirring in his groin. there was no mistaking it. that smell was painfully similar to the smell that female dogs emitted when they were in heat. but—he was the only dog hybrid in this household, hell, the only hybrid in this household, so how–
he let out another groan, throwing his head back and closing his eyes, as the smell kept intensifying, affecting him more than it should have. his tail was thumping madly, his cock growing harder and harder, straining against his pants, begging to be let out. he couldn’t take it anymore, he had to find out the source of the smell, even fuck it if necessary–
he quickly got off the bed, following the smell. it wasn’t too hard to track it, given his amazing sense of smell. what did surprise him though, was the fact that the smell was coming from your room—which, in retrospect, did sadden him. did you get another hybrid while he was asleep? did you think that jaehyun wasn’t enough for you?
although, when he entered your room—which wasn’t hard, considering you always kept your door ajar, just in case your beloved puppy, aka jaehyun, ever needed something—he was pleasantly surprised to not be able to see, or sense the presence of another hybrid, dog or not. however, the smell was extremely strong inside your room, causing him to bite on his lip to stop a whimper from spilling out.
he noticed you on your stomach, your hands under your head, chest rising up and down slowly, indicating that you were fast asleep. another whiff confirmed the fact that the source of the overly delicious smell in your room was in fact, you.
but how were you emitting such a delectable smell? that was something he simply couldn’t wrap his head around. his innocent and pretty human, his almost naive owner, giving off such a provocative smell? how?
he went closer to the bed, his hands twitching from the effort of trying to hold back from jumping your sleeping form. you were driving him crazy, and neither you, nor him had any idea how.
he bent down near the bed. he had a suspicion, and was proven right. the aphrodisiac-like smell was coming from your core.
he put his hands on the bed, pushing down on them, climbing up on the bed. he knew it was wrong, this entire situation was wrong. but this was your fault, wasn’t it? all of it was your fault.
why were you wearing such skimpy shorts and a thin tank top that left barely anything to the imagination, to bed? don’t you realise that you live with a hybrid, who is, at the end of the day, a man? a man with needs? needs that he desperately wanted you to help him with?
you’re always such a fucking tease to him, always in those tiny little outfits that barely covered anything, prancing about in the apartment. such a naive thing too, never realising that the look in his eyes was lust, not curiosity. always calling him your ‘sweet little pup’, like he doesn’t jerk off to the thought of your face, begging him to fill you up and breed you like the little slut you were, every fucking night.
you never realised any of his dirty fantasies, never caught him doing anything as lewd as that. you couldn’t ever think jaehyun would harbour such disgusting thoughts about you, not even in your wildest dreams. poor you, if only you knew.
but sometimes, ignorance is bliss. especially now, when you left your door ajar, for him to come inside and do whatever he pleases. you wouldn’t mind that, right? no, you wouldn’t. if you did, you wouldn’t have left the door open. you leave it open for him anyways, so why would you mind?
maybe he was trying to justify his behaviour, he definitely was trying to justify it, but he couldn't bring himself to care right now. he leaned down, grabbed your thighs, and slowly pulled them apart. you wouldn't sleep in such a vulnerable position if you didn't want him to do something about it, would you?
he leaned closer to your core, taking a deep sniff from your shorts, immediately muffling a groan. the smell was so strong. with extreme cautiousness, he completely laid down between your legs, dragging his nose back and forth on the damp material of your skimpy shorts. fuck, you were so wet, and smelled so fucking delicious. the urge to devour you was extremely high.
so that's what he did. there was nothing stopping him, so why would he care? he pulled down the waistband of your shorts, your panties following them. he licked off the strings of arousal sticking to your panties from your core, his dick starting to hurt from how much it was straining against his boxers.
he trailed kisses up your thighs, as if apologising for what he was doing. he was horny, but not a complete monster. at least that's what he told himself, as he finally licked a long stripe up your slit. he felt you twitch against his tongue, a small muffled moan leaving you, the noise so subtle that it wouldn't have reached him if he didn't have a sharpened sense of hearing; perks of being a dog hybrid.
of course, what jaehyun was doing was bound to wake you up anyways, so he got right into it. he unhinged his jaw, as if trying to eat your entire pussy in one gulp, before he started ravishing you like he was a starving man and you were his first meal.
he licked and sucked, licked and sucked, whatever part he could reach. he was nuzzling his face inside your cunt, practically making out with it. the way he moaned into your pussy, it was as if he was getting relief from eating you out.
of course you had woken up. how could you not? the moment he started ravishing you, you had woken up with a jolt, the absolute unadulterated pleasure making your drowsy head spin. you could hear the sound of a tail thumping, causing you to widen your eyes in realisation—that was your little puppy!
you tried to crawl away from him, begging him to stop. “j-jaehyun w-wait, please– stop–” but all he did was let out a loud growl, the sound reverberating through your pussy, sending tingles of pleasure through you, as he continued to devour you.
the pleasure was overwhelming, causing you to struggle to keep your eyes open. you couldn't get away from him, no, he was far too strong for you. all you could do was take what he was giving you. you couldn't help the unabashed moans and whimpers spilling out of your lips in a frenzy, begging him for more. it was wrong, so very wrong, but it felt so good.
you couldn't help but grind down on his face, something that he absolutely didn't mind. he bit your clit lightly, not even realising that he was humping the bed, too intent on trying to get you to cum on his tongue. he needed to taste you, absolutely had to taste you—if your slick tasted that good, he absolutely had to taste your cum.
your head felt like it was clouded in a mist—a mist of lust. all you could do was grind back on his face, high pitched whimpers of “jaehyun”, “feel s’good” and “r-right there!”s leaving you. you couldn't think at all, his mouth feeling a little too good on your needy cunt. almost as if he was made to eat you out.
he flattened his tongue on your clit, flicking it, before harshly sucking on it. he brought his hand up, pushing two fingers inside your fluttering hole, dragging them across your walls with incomparable expertise. your drawn out gasps and whines encouraged him, causing him to drag them harder, with purpose. your shuddering body caused him to moan into your cunt, the vibrations causing more slick to pour out of you, which he gladly drank up.
he pushed his fingers in deeper, curling them, to hit a spot that had you crying out his name in ecstasy. he thrusted his fingers in and out of you at a faster pace, making sure to hit that spot everytime, your loud cries and whimpers, paired with the squelching sounds from your pussy, being the only sounds in the room.
he switched his fingers with his mouth, pushing his tongue inside, shoving it as far as it would go, his face practically becoming one with your pussy. his thumb rubbed circled onto your clit at a fast pace, trying to coax your orgasm out of you. you grinded back on his face, your walls clamping around the thick muscle of his tongue.
the band in your stomach continued to tighten, threatening to snap at any moment. you choked out a moan, trying to form a coherent sentence. “j-jaehyun, i’m s-so close–” you let out a loud gasp, your eyes rolling back, as he pinched your clit harshly, the band in your stomach finally snapping. your mouth was open in a silent scream, your ears ringing, as your orgasm crashed over you like a tsunami. your entire body was shaking, legs feeling like jelly, as it finally stopped, your chest heaving up and down, panting.
you had never squirted before. but you did today, all because of your puppy’s mouth. as the post-orgasm clarity hit you, you realised you were ovulating—which would make perfect sense, if you looked at the date carefully. your eyes widened, as you remembered that dogs and dog hybrids alike have a stronger sense of smell. it was possible that jaehyun had smelled you, which caused him to act the way he did.
but you had no time to ponder, as you heard the sound of shuffling behind you. before you could say anything, you were suddenly lifted up, so that your back hit jaehyun’s chest, which was—bare, for some reason. your eyes widened as he tugged on your tank top, before impatiently tearing it off.
you let out a loud gasp, but didn’t have anytime to react otherwise, feeling his cock poking at your wet entrance. your eyes widened, as you tried to stop him. you tried to push his hands away—a useless move on your part. he was strong, much stronger than humans.
you had no other option but to let it happen.
jaehyun let out a loud groan, as he rubbed his angry red tip on your dripping folds, collecting your wetness. he whispered in your ear. “you don’t actually want me to stop, do you? if you did, you wouldn’t have worn these sorry excuses of clothes to bed, would you? you wanted this, wanted me to come and take you in the middle of the night, didn’t you?”
you couldn’t speak, the overstimulation from your previous orgasm sending your brain into overdrive, his words barely registering. each time his cock rubbed across your folds a mixture of pain and pleasure shot up your spine, your cloudy brain starting to register only the pleasure. it hurt, but it hurt so good.
he tapped his mushroom tip on your clit, sending jolts of pleasure up your spine, causing you to flinch. he spoke in a mocking tone, making it clear that he was taunting you. “fuck princess, don’t jump like that. almost made me think you didn’t want this.”
he didn't let you answer,—not that you could, given how overstimulated you were—pushing his mushroom tip in. the tip itself stretched you out, your bottom lip pulled in between your teeth, as you let choked back a whimper. you unconsciously rocked your hips back, trying to get him to fuck you properly.
he let out an amused chuckle, slowly pushing himself inside. your eyes rolled back, his cock hitting every single spot, dragging across your walls deliciously. the slow pace of him pushing inside you had your back arching, ripping out a broken mewl. he felt so, so good inside you.
even if everything about it was wrong, it just felt so fucking right.
he filled you up to the brim, and then some more. he just kept going and going and going. finally, he stopped, fully sheathed in your, the veins on his cock pulsing inside you at a rapid pace. you clenched around him, trying to make him move. you needed it, desperately needed it.
the abundant slick you were producing had made the glide way too fucking easy, your pussy clamped around him like a vice. you were a temptation that he could never even think of resisting, let alone attempt to.
his grip on your hips was tight, tight enough to leave bruises, as he pulled himself almost completely out, before slamming right back in—somehow managing to fit another non-existent inch inside of you. you had to stifle your cries, as he set a ruthless pace, one that left you dizzy—not just because of how well he was hitting all the right spots, but also because of the force with which he was hitting them.
but biting down on your fist could only take you so far, before he shoved your hand away from your mouth. without stopping his brutal pace, he leaned closer to your ear, whispering in it. “c’mon baby, don’t muffle your pretty noises. let me hear you sing, yea? need to hear how good i make you feel.”
his words somehow managed to bring out a fresh wave of slickness out of you, dripping down his length, past his balls. it was maddening, the loud sounds of squelching between your bodies, jaehyun’s grunting, and your moans. all of it combined into a white noise in your ears, leaving your brain hazy. you could barely think, let alone form a coherent sentence. the slightly unaffected part of your brain screamed ‘slow down!’, while the other half screamed at him to go faster. whether you said either of those out loud, you wouldn’t know, since he was too busy trying to hit your g-spot.
he lifted your hips upwards slightly, pushing down on your back to make you arch better. the new angle had you letting out shuddering noises of pleasure, your eyes rolling into the back of your head, making you see stars. yep, he had definitely found the spot.
he pounded into you at a faster, more desperate pace, muttering furiously in your ear, trying to force an orgasm out of you again—not that he needed to do much convincing.
“c’mon baby, squeeze my cock harder, show me that you like this.”
“yea princess, you like that? like when i bully my cock harder into your sensitive little cunt?”
“fucking hell angel, pussy feels so good—gonna cum on my cock, yea? s’fucking close, aren’t you?”
he pinched your clit harshly, before rubbing circles around it at a maddening pace, occasionally flicking it. that was your last straw. your eyes rolled back into your head, your mouth open in a silent scream, as your cunt squeezed around his length harshly, spasming as you coated it in your release. he kept fucking you through your orgasm, a white ring forming at the base of his cock.
his own followed not too long after, your pussy milking him for all he was worth, as he spurted load after load of hot cum inside you, veins on its sides pulsing wildly. he pulled his softening length out, despite it giving a last weak twitch inside you.
he flipped you over, carefully laying your exhausted body down, collapsing next to you. as if a switch had flipped inside him, he returned to his normal puppy boy nature, snuggling up to you, his nose dragging across your neck, scenting you—despite his scent having fully engulfed you after the rough dicking down he gave you.
your mind swam in and out of consciousness, exhausted from your previous activities, feeling him occasionally lick your neck. you could discuss what had just transpired this night later on, the next morning perhaps—but right now, all you needed was some good sleep.
taesan does not like mornings. to him, nothing is amusing about light that seems to intrude, the sound of his alarm, the empty spot next to him some mornings, as you– most definitely are a morning person. like.. the makeup done, hair already up, in the kitchen by 7 kind.
"agave, 30-20-10, cold foam on top," you mumble to yourself, quietly rehearsing the mental checklist of how you and him like your matchas. as you pour out the cold foam, topping off your drinks, you suddenly feel two hands sneak around your sides, wrapping around to meet at your stomach, then resting there. your boyfriend tends to be silent during his early hours, claiming he simply doesn't form any valuable words at such time of day. still, he doesn't say anything before pulling you closer until his chest embraces your back, head drooping lower, chin now rested on your shoulder.
"good morning baby, are you still so tired?"
you can't help but coo at taesan, whos eyes are now shut, lips formed in a subtle pout. as your hand reaches up to ruffle through his hair, you slightly lower yourself and escape from his hold, turning your body to face him. he doesn't move. just stands there, eyes barely open, hands now dropped at his sides. gently reaching up again to hold his face, you bring him slightly lower so you can press a kiss to his forehead. early mornings like these always leave taesan soft and compliant, easier to the touch and rather more wanting. he lets out a sleepy sigh, hand coming up to rub his face. half asleep, a little dumbfounded– but still satisfied by the sudden affection; his eyes struggle to open as you happily skip away to enjoy the rest of your morning.
⭑.ᐟ caring in public
your backpack repeatedly shoves against the side of the seat on the bus. there’s loud voices trailing around every corner of the bus you're on; a harmony you’d rather not hear- a mix of third graders, young interns, and reckless teenagers. the sun is peaking through the window aiming straight for your eyes. tires screech. the bus leaves for the next stop. the aggressive turn has the bodies in front nearly flying right towards you, so taesan swiftly reaches for the overhead handle whilst turning the angle of his body; now face to face with you. such simple actions often occurs within your relationship. you know he's doing this to form a safe spot for you, shielding you from any possible harm. but would it be taesan if he'd ever admit that out loud? chin tilting up, eyes now stuck to the ceiling of the bus, he hopes it's not too obvious he'd give up all of him to protect over all of you. his back is now turnt to the rest of the people on the bus, occasionally receiving a slight shove whilst others scramble out the door at their stop.
his eyes slowly roam back down, skimming over every inch of your face, scanning for signs of discomfort or need. when your hand scurries to grab at the fabric of his sleeve, he immediately steps closer, bending down a bit and leaning in to listen to you tell him whats wrong. most of the times he doesn't expect you to actually say anything; he understands that pulling the distance just a little tighter can tune out your worries and weariness. that sometimes you just need his attention to rush over you, flooding out every sound you wish to mute.
⭑.ᐟ 1 am, maybe 2
"maybe she's just jealous of me. i caught my hair glistening today before i left the house, you think thats why shes so mean and awful and outright rude to me? it has to be!!" you squeal. its past midnight. the streetlights seem to glimmer, the sounds of busy bars strum through the city and surround the two of you as you make your way home from a work party that ended.. rather upsettingly.
"i think you're right, my love," taesan chuckles.
maybe the liquor chose not to sit well with you tonight, or the eventful evening has driven you delirious. but the way your boyfriend holds you in his arms- bridal style of course, makes you dizzy to the head. somehow, he's managing to carry you, your heels, and bag just fine, steadily and safely bringing you home. his hold on you firm, yet gentle. taesan has a way of handling you when your under the influence. you're still his open, bravely spoken and bubbly girl, but under such circumstances it's important to him that you're always within reach. whether it be a finger hooked on your belt loop or a hand on your thigh, its crucial that he always knows where you are. your head slumps backwards, landing on his arm, before slowly slouching to the side, resting against his chest with a sigh.
you don't speak. you open one eye, attempting to sneak a glance up at his face.. before quickly shutting it again after getting caught by him. you don't need to look up again to know the smirk he has spread across his face.
you don't speak. but you do wonder how many lifetimes you'll spend searching for such love again.
𓇢𓆸
june 30 / wild and fluorescent, come home to my heart
pairing. woonhak x reader
genre. angst , hurt/comfort , a pinch of fluff
synopsis. in a night thick with heat and harsh words, you and woonhak break and mend, discovering that love isn’t perfect—it’s the fierce, messy fight and the quiet choice to stay anyway
word count. 2145 words
warnings. none ? woonhak and reader argue but it’s nothing toxic . . . just miscommunication ^^;;
playlist. to love by suki waterhouse , all we ever do is talk by del water gap
notes. requested by anon ! my first ever official request !! hope you enjoy ~ ( again , sorry it took so long T^T ) not proofread
The summer air pressed against your skin like something personal—clingy, thick, impossible to escape. It seeped into everything: your clothes, your sheets, your lungs. June had arrived with a vengeance, and the night held no relief. The ceiling fan spun lazily above you, stirring the heat just enough to make you aware of it. It was like trying to breathe through a damp cloth, like the air itself had weight.
The bedroom felt too still—haunted by the kind of absence that lingers in things. His half of the bed was untouched, sheets smoothed out like a deliberate choice, like he didn’t want to wrinkle what he wasn’t sure he’d return to. You stared at that space far too long.
The pillow you used to curl into carried only the faintest trace of his scent now, faded like a photograph left out in the sun. You flipped your own pillow again, and again, hoping the cool side would finally exist. It didn’t.
A single glass of water sat untouched on the nightstand, already warm to the touch. The room was dim, lit only by the soft spill of the streetlight outside, casting pale orange bars across the floorboards. Somewhere outside, a cicada cried out, its hum distant but constant, like a reminder that time hadn’t stopped just because things between you had.
And still, the silence was the loudest thing of all.
It pressed in around you, as suffocating as the heat. No shifting weight beside you. No familiar sigh. No brush of knuckles beneath the sheets. The emptiness in the room didn’t shout—it whispered. It clung. It asked questions you weren’t ready to answer.
You turned onto your side, then your back, then your stomach, each movement fueled by the kind of restless ache that had nothing to do with the weather and everything to do with the way Woonhak hadn’t come to bed.
And for all the discomfort—the sweat, the heat, the stickiness of the air—nothing burned more than that.
You exhaled slowly, like the night might ease up if you did.
But the heat wasn’t just in the room. It sat in your chest too, heavy and dull, the kind that lingered after a fight—the kind that made sleep feel like a distant privilege.
Woonhak’s name hadn’t been spoken aloud, but it hung there anyway, unshakable. You could still hear the echo of your voices clashing earlier, the way everything sharpens when pride takes the reins. It wasn’t even the words that hurt the most. It was everything unsaid, swallowed between sighs and half-turned shoulders. You knew he cared. You knew you did too. But somehow, the caring always got lost in translation.
You turned your head toward the empty side of the bed, the space beside you a quiet ache.
The hum of the fan did little. The air conditioner had sputtered its last breath two nights ago, and now the room sat in stillness—thick, unmoving. A soft sheen of sweat clung to your skin. It all felt like too much.
You got up.
Padding barefoot into the kitchen, you weren’t looking for anything in particular—maybe water, maybe peace. But what you found instead was the soft amber glow of the living room lamp and the quiet shape of Woonhak sitting hunched over on the couch, his elbows resting on his knees, hands tangled in his hair.
He looked like he hadn’t moved in hours.
You didn’t say anything at first. Just stood there, watching the slow rise and fall of his shoulders. There was something tender in the way the light caught the tired slope of his posture. He looked less like someone waiting and more like someone worn down by the waiting.
You crossed the room and sank quietly into the cushion beside him. The shift was small, but it was enough—his body tensed, then slowly unraveled.
He didn’t look up when you sat down beside him. The soft glow of the lamp haloed him, but his features stayed shadowed—like even the light didn’t want to intrude.
“I didn’t think you’d come out,” he said eventually, voice low, hoarse.
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“Yeah.” He laughed, but it sounded like all breath and no joy. “We’ve gotten good at that, huh?”
You didn’t answer right away. You looked down at your hands, twisting your fingers in your lap. The heat clung to your skin, but it was nothing compared to the weight sitting in your chest.
“We used to talk,” you said, your voice a little too fragile for how quiet the room was. “Even when things got hard. Now it’s like… every word turns into a minefield.”
That made him lift his head, finally. “So that’s what you think this is? A war?”
“I don’t know what it is anymore,” you admitted. “I say one thing and you hear something completely different. And suddenly, I’m the villain for trying to explain how I feel.”
Woonhak’s brows drew together, his jaw tensing. “You make it sound so simple. Like I’m the one twisting your words on purpose.”
“I never said that—”
“No, but you imply it. Every time we fight, you act like I’m the one who doesn’t care enough. Like I’m just standing here watching us fall apart.”
“Because sometimes it feels that way!” you snapped, voice breaking. “I’m trying, Woonhak. I’m trying so hard to be honest with you, but you shut me out. You joke, or deflect, or walk away, and I’m left screaming into a room you’re no longer in.”
He stood up, suddenly, pushing a hand through his hair as if the motion could keep him from unraveling. “Because when I stay, it only gets worse! You say things and I don’t know how to respond without making it worse!”
“Then maybe listen instead of defending yourself all the time!” you shot back, standing too now, the heat of the argument finally overtaking the suffocating warmth of the night. “Not every feeling I share is an accusation! Sometimes it’s just a cry for help—”
“I do listen!” he shouted, voice cracking. “I memorize the way you go quiet when you’re hurting. I notice every little change in your tone, your eyes, your silences. But when I try to fix it, it’s never enough! It’s like I’m always one step behind, like I’m failing no matter how hard I try.”
You stared at him, breathing hard. Something in your throat wobbled. “That’s not what I want, Woonhak. I’m not asking for perfect. I just want you to stay with me in it. Not fix it. Feel it. With me.”
“I don’t know how,” he said, the words cracking open as they left his mouth. “I don’t know how to sit with something and not try to fix it. I see you breaking and I panic. I hate seeing you hurt and knowing that I’m part of the reason.”
Your voice trembled. “But that’s the point. We’re supposed to hold it together. Each other. Not pretend everything’s okay until we explode.”
He looked away, blinking hard. “Every time we fight like this, I wonder when it’ll be the last time. When you’ll finally decide I’m not worth the chaos.”
“And every time I tell you how I feel, I wonder if it’ll be the thing that drives you further from me.”
The silence that followed wasn’t heavy—it was sharp. Cut-glass quiet.
Then Woonhak stepped forward, slowly, like approaching a wounded thing. His voice was quieter now, raw.
“I act like I’m angry, but really? I’m just scared. I don’t know how to love you without making a mess of it. I don’t know how to stop being afraid of losing you.”
Tears welled up behind your eyes, and you didn’t try to stop them. “You don’t have to love me perfectly. You just have to love me honestly.”
“I do,” he said, voice breaking. “So much it terrifies me.”
You didn’t say anything at first. You just reached for him, your hands shaking slightly. And when he folded into your arms—when he let himself fall into you like gravity had been pulling him there all along—you held him like you meant it.
“I don’t need you to have all the answers,” you whispered into his hair. “I just need you to stop leaving the room before we find them together.”
He nodded against your shoulder, arms tightening around your waist like he couldn’t bear to let go again.
And in that breathless, overheated night, with pride and anger left behind on the living room floor, you found your way back to the love you’d both been trying—so clumsily, so desperately—to protect
Eventually, the quiet wrapped itself around you both like a threadbare blanket—fragile but binding. Neither of you moved right away. You just sat there, his fingers laced with yours, your foreheads pressed together, breathing in sync for the first time in what felt like days.
But the weight of exhaustion tugged gently at your limbs. Not just the tiredness that came from a sleepless night, but the ache that settles in after holding onto too much for too long.
“Come back to bed with me,” you whispered.
Woonhak nodded wordlessly, brushing his thumb once more over the back of your hand before rising. He didn’t let go. He never did—not really.
The walk to the bedroom was slow, the house still sticky with heat, the floor cool under your feet. The bed greeted you with the same crumpled sheets and too-warm air, but something felt different now. Softer. Lighter.
Woonhak climbed in first, lifting the edge of the duvet so you could slide beneath it. You followed without hesitation, letting the covers drape over the two of you like a truce. He pulled you close immediately, one arm curling around your waist, the other threading beneath your neck until you were fully wrapped in him—limbs tangling, chests pressed, heartbeats syncing like some quiet promise.
His embrace was warm. Too warm, by every definition that would normally have you tossing the blankets off with a groan.
But right now?
Right now, you didn’t mind it at all.
His warmth wasn’t stifling—it was steady. Familiar. The kind that anchored you. The kind that said you’re safe here, stay as long as you want.
You buried your face into the crook of his neck, breathing him in—the scent of his skin, a hint of detergent, something comforting and his. His thumb stroked lazy circles against your back. No words were needed anymore. You had already said the hard things.
Now, you could just be.
Woonhak let out a soft sigh against your hair. “Still too hot?” he murmured sleepily.
You shook your head, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “Not like this.”
He pressed a barely-there kiss to your temple, the motion slow, reverent. “Good.”
And with your body curled into his, limbs tangled beneath the worn duvet, his arms folded around you like a promise, the heat of the room softened. It didn’t vanish—June still pressed at the windows, thick and unrelenting—but it no longer mattered. Not here, not like this. Not with Woonhak’s breath brushing the top of your head in quiet rhythm, not with the slow, steady thump of his heartbeat anchoring you to something real.
His fingers traced gentle lines along your spine, barely there, like he was trying to memorize the shape of you all over again. One of his legs hooked around yours, drawing you closer until there wasn’t an inch of space left to give. You felt safe like this—wrapped up in someone who, even when you fought, always came back to hold you like you were something sacred.
You buried your face against his chest, inhaling the soft, lived-in scent of him—clean skin, faint detergent, a trace of sweat and something unmistakably him. You hated the heat. You always had.
The way it clung to everything. The way it made sleep feel like a chore. But in his arms, the warmth didn’t suffocate. It settled into you, deep and quiet, like sunlight through closed eyelids.
His thumb brushed slow circles over your hip. No words. Just presence. Just love, quiet and unspoken, expressed in the way he held you like you were the only thing that could steady his heart.
Your eyelids grew heavier with each breath, your body finally giving in—not because the air had cooled or the discomfort had lifted, but because being held like this made it easier to let go. To stop thinking. To rest.
And when sleep came, it came like mercy. It found you not in the absence of heat, but in the abundance of love.
Because even on the stickiest, sweatiest night of the year, Woonhak’s embrace was still your favorite kind of warmth. The kind that didn’t just wrap around your body—but reached in, quiet and steady, and held your heart too.
ᰋ liked this ? consider liking, reblogging, or providing feedback !
ᰋ want more ? send in an ask to be added to my taglist !
wait woonhak smut…woonhaj smut..woonhak smUT PLEASE I BEG OF YOU
kim woonhak x reader [smut, fem!reader]
a/n: a resounding yes from the audience😭 as i said woonhak smut wont be anything crazy from me but i hope you still enjoy!!
warnings: woonhak smut!!!! don’t like don’t read!!!! no real sub/dom dynamics, established relationship, virgin!reader, not stated whether woonhak’s a virgin or not but he’s confident either way
01:18 - “shh, i’m serious,” woonhak giggled, a strong hand on your back pulling you close to his chest, your face buried in the warm, familiar skin. “okay, that’s the last of them gone to bed.”
“you’re not a child, woonhak, they’re not gonna tell you off for staying up past your bedtime,” you laughed, as your boyfriend rolled his eyes.
“tell them that!” he exclaimed, “cause i still get told off.”
you giggled, pulling out his chest to stare up at his pouting face, “they know you’re not a child.”
“hmm,” he smiled, “especially not when my girlfriend stays for the night.”
you chuckled, rolling your eyes, slightly embarrassed at the notion. woonhak’s hand was dancing down your spine, the touch warm but producing goosebumps on your skin.
“i’m joking,” he smiled, his voice deep and calming, “you know we don’t have to do anything until you’re ready and you want to.”
you blinked up at him, woonhak smiling as he looked down into your eyes, one of his fingers still trailing up and down on your back, “what if i want to… now?”
your boyfriend bit his lip, “seriously?”
you nodded. he broke out into a smile, laughing slightly, “you won’t hear me complaining.”
you laughed, slightly embarrassed at his confidence before leaning forward to press a kiss to his lips. woonhak immediately deepened it, groaning as though he’d been waiting for this moment.
his hands were cupping your head, fingers threading through strands of hair while his thumbs stroked your jaw. you pulled away, smiling, as you began to press soft kisses down his jawline and neck. he always slept shirtless anyway, leaving access to his chest as you kissed further and further down.
woonhak laced one of his hands with yours, your fingers dancing together.
you were straddling his thighs when you came up from kissing his body, woonhak staring at you with a lazy smile and a honey filled gaze.
coming to his senses a little, he pressed a kiss to the palm of your hand before letting go, and pulling your t-shirt over your head. you instinctively covered yourself with your arms, slightly embarrassed to be so exposed in front of another person.
“what?” woonhak chuckled, taking ahold of your hands again, encouraging you to stop covering, “show me.”
you bit your lip, giving into his hold as your boobs were finally revealed to him. woonhak’s breathing deepened, hands moving to your waist and back as he sat up, desperate to kiss you.
“you’re so–” he interrupted his words with kisses that felt as though he was trying to eat you up, “fucking– beautiful– i love you.”
you giggled, running your hands through his hair as you kissed him back, again and again and again. “i love you too.”
he rolled your bodies over so you were lying on the bed beneath him, switching roles to now press kisses down your body; though he did so at a quickened pace, desperate now to rid your body of your panties, and see you fully.
woonhak got up, pulling off his own pyjama bottoms before tenderly pulling yours down as well. you giggled as you watched him, eyes lit up as he groaned. he spread your legs gently, kissing the inside of your thigh.
“woonhak please,” you whined, feeling him so close to your core.
he smiled, moving back up your body and kissing your lips, “what, baby? you need me?”
you nodded, hands looped around his neck, fingers running through the hair on the back of his head.
“okay baby,” he whispered, kissing your forehead before removing his dick from his boxers. he checked how wet you were before rummaging through his bedside table for a condom.
“can i help?” you asked, smiling shyly as he got the wrapped condom out the drawer.
woonhak laughed, “you’re so cute. yes, of course you can baby.”
he sat on his knees, straddling your body as you took the condom from his hands and unwrapped it carefully. you looked at your boyfriend’s length, biting your lip before rolling the condom on. woonhak hissed at your touch, panting slightly at the pure need running through him. he finished up making sure the condom was on properly before laying you back down and kissing your forehead.
“it may hurt a little, okay? i’ll go slow,” he murmured, kissing all over your face.
you gripped onto his shoulder as he pushed inside, the feeling foreign and new. you felt so full.
“fuck, woonhak,” you gasped.
“it’s okay, baby, tell me if it’s too much,” he panted, pushing in inch by inch.
you whined and whimpered as he bottomed out, your fingernails digging into his arms.
“just wait!” you exclaimed, woonhak chuckling.
“it’s okay, i will,” he smiled, kissing your forehead gently, “let me know when i can move, baby.”
you nodded, breathing out a moan as the uncomfortableness dissipated. “okay, move, i’m okay now.”
“okay, baby,” woonhak laughed, beginning to thrust in and out as you moaned.
his mouth hung open, breathing ragged and little groans escaping him as he went.
“the– the boys—” you gasped as you moaned, “they’re gonna– ha! they’re gonna hear.”
you giggled, whining as woonhak’s pace increased. he was so needy, just focused on cumming.
you snaked your hand down, circling your clit, beginning to moan loudly as you did so.
“woonhak– i’m— i’m gonna cum,” you gasped.
“me too,” he said, voice curt and low, “fuck… y/n– fuck– oh my god.”
“woonhak!” you moaned, your fingers speeding up on your clit as his cum filled the condom, cumming with sharp breaths just moments later.
woonhak was breathless, panting as he leaned forward and kissed all over your face, hand moving down to pull and tie off the condom.
“how was that?” he panted, as you smiled.
“amazing,” you grinned, leaning up to kiss his lips.
“you’re so fucking good,” he sighed, getting up and throwing the condom in the bin before coming over and helping you out the bed, pulling you into a hug.
“stop!” you laughed, “you’re all sweaty! and naked.”
“so?” woonhak teased, he pulled away, looking bashful, “feel free to say no, but… do you want to shower together?”
“now?” you laughed, “you’re desperate.”
“i really am, that was amazing,” he pouted.
you sighed, kissing his lips and tapping his chest, “maybe tomorrow morning.”
a/n: inspired by this sfw link... i'm sick…
contains: taesan x reader, fluff, kissing, nothing else really
sitting on taesan’s lap and testing the new makeup he bought for you…
his hands roam around your body, eyeing your concentrated look as he does what you say. his eyes are sparkling with glitter, and the eyeliner you put on him only expresses his gaze of love for you more than before. even the highlighter on his nose bridge, although a different shade from the eyeshadow, shimmered as you tilted his head side to side. satisfied, you moved onto trying out the lip products you've been hearing all about. and with him being the best boyfriend he is, taesan knew he had to include them in this gift for you. he smiled at your pout, studying the lip liner's creaminess on the back of your hand before attempting to line his plump lips. admittedly, they were the perfect tool to test out anything really, so you knew that no matter what, he would pull it off well. you held onto his chin with your thumb as you opened your mouth just a bit for him to copy. his mouth agape, you finished lining before moving onto the most recent shade releases of your favorite lipstick. one was a lighter shade, applying it on the center of his lips, and then proceeding to do the same with the darker shade on the outskirts of where you just applied the first color. he patiently sat, his thumb rubbing circles on your sides as he paid more attention to the sound of your breathing rather than the vinyl he started playing before getting in this situation. you motioned him to rub his lips, although lightly so that you can see how the ombre works out by showing him how to do it with him following your lead. lastly, applying your own clear gloss, you held his shoulders, happy with the final product. your gaze on his colored lips, you mumble out a "pretty," satisfied. and just then, he pulls you closer, kissing you once, yet intensely. the sudden act left you flustered as he let go, cupping your cheeks with a softened expression accompanied by his love filled stare. "you're the prettiest."
