“take my breath away like magic”

♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ﾟ

[sunghosbeloved]

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡⊹♡ w e l c o m e 🎥

hi !! im lee, im a uni student (19y/o) and i love kpop! i listen to a lot of groups but i use this account to repost and write for cravity, bnd, and riize <3 my bias’ are taesan, sungho, anton, and minhee! please stick around and feel free to talk to me my dms are always open 🖤

m.list here

[niki-phoria]

now hold your breath / don't wanna stop 계속해 영원히

(gn reader / fluff / 1.1k words) boyfriend!sangwon headcanons :)

━━ bf!sangwon whom you meet at a bookstore. it’s less than perfect - he makes awkward small talk with you over the counter as you scan the barcode on a used copy of lettres a yves, hiding behind a black surgical mask and tugging the sleeves of his jacket over his hands

━━ bf!sangwon who has to hype himself up to return. his friends have to physically push him out of the dorms, complaining about how they’ve heard enough about the bookstore employee with nice eyes and a pretty smile. he stumbles his way through the conversation but neither of you mind, especially not when you end your shift with a phone number scribbled on the back of a receipt

━━ bf!sangwon who takes you to a cafe for your first date. it’s small - a hole in the wall place that’s crawling with the owner’s cats. you slide into a table near the corner, chatting in between sips of espresso and fighting over who should pay the bill

━━ bf!sangwon who confesses through a love letter. he stands before you with flushed cheeks and shaky hands, awkwardly folding and refolding them as your eyes scan through the letter. the pounding of his own heartbeat serves as a soundtrack, drowning out the heavy downpour outside

━━ bf!sangwon who lets out a shaky sigh of relief when you wrap your arms around him, accepting with a chaste kiss on the cheek and a tight hug. his own hands come to rest around your waist as he hides his face into your hair, smiling brightly

━━ bf!sangwon who loves going on walks with you. snowflakes filter through the afternoon sky, disappearing into nothingness when they land on your faces. your mitten-covered hands occasionally brush against each other, sending shivers racing down his spine and butterflies swarming through his stomach

━━ bf!sangwon who has always been more of a homebody. your dates consist of lazy days curled up together on the couch, endlessly scrolling through new kdrama releases until you settle on a show you’ve seen a million times before, rewatching it again and again

━━ bf!sangwon whose friends tease him relentlessly when you meet them. you decide to meet up at a hot-pot restaurant, taking turns grilling meat and ordering bottles of soju. sangwon spends most of the night with his face in his hands, hiding his blush from view as best as he possibly can

━━ bf!sangwon who kisses your forehead before he leaves. the sun hasn’t even begun to rise over the horizon when he slips out of bed, quietly wandering throughout your apartment to complete his morning routine. he leaves breakfast for you on the counter and prepares the coffee machine

━━ bf!sangwon who reads to you at night. he props the book up in his lap, lazily flipping through the pages as you lean your head against his chest. you can feel the steady beating of his heart. he reads quietly, careful not to disturb the peace, watching patiently as you slowly drift off to sleep

━━ bf!sangwon who says i love you for the first time during one of these nights when he thinks you can’t hear him, too shy to say it out loud. it comes out as a whisper, muffled against the crown of your head and in between your heartbeat, but it’s there all the same. i love you

━━ bf!sangwon who cries when you give him a book for his birthday. it’s a used copy; its edges have been dog-eared over and over and the edges are more yellow than off-white. written on the inside cover is a love note and your annotations are littered throughout: both thoughtful analysis and little doodles and reactions that make him laugh. he keeps it in his nightstand to be reread on particularly hard days

━━ bf!sangwon who teaches you his favorite recipes. there’s something nostalgic about the aroma that fills your apartment. your kitchen becomes a warzone, decorated with your combined efforts, but the smiles on your faces never disappear, and sangwon insists that the dish tastes like home

━━ bf!sangwon who hates when you argue. you stand on opposing sides of your living room, waiting for the other to break first. tears blur his vision. he wipes them away furiously when they spill down his cheeks. it takes seconds before you’re crumbling at the sight, apologies spilling from both of your lips in unsteady, broken waves

━━ bf!sangwon who will spend the rest of his life making it up to you. he runs his thumb against the back of your knuckles as you talk it out, feeling the warmth of your skin; the weight of your hand when he holds it with his own

━━ bf!sangwon who never lets go first. you jog through seoul’s busy streets hand in hand, ducking into alleyways and beneath nearby buildings in a pitiful attempt to escape the rain. both of your clothes are soaked by the time you get home but neither of you mention it when sangwon pulls you into a warm shower that night

━━ bf!sangwon who nurses you back to health like he’s a professional. he wraps you into every blanket you own, feeds you medicine the convenience store worker had recommended, and calls his mom in a panic asking for the recipe to the soup she always made when he was sick. and when you finally pull him back to bed, insisting he needs to rest as well, who is he to refuse?

━━ bf!sangwon who will never admit it, but he loves being the small spoon. he crawls into bed beside you with a lazy huff and curls his body against your own. and when you lazily rest your arm over his waist and lean your head against the crook of his neck, he never pulls away

━━ bf!sangwon who shares his headphones with you. you sit side by side on cramped subways, watching as the world blurs by when he silently reaches out, handing you the left side of his earbuds. you accept without words, instead leaning your head against his shoulder and letting the music fill your ears

━━ bf!sangwon who would do anything for you. he tells you as much when he whispers sweet nothings into the night, thinking you can’t hear and in the daylight, he shows you, with each passing moment

notes: please leave feedback if you enjoyed!! will probably keep writing for the ald1 boys, so so happy that xinlong made it even with that terrible group name, this is totally self indulgent, title from lee sangwon - LUVYOUMORETHAN

if you enjoyed this fic, please consider leaving a like, comment, or rebloging !! and if you want to support me, consider checking out more fics here <3

[feeldapop]

hi hi pls make smth w sangwon!!! i love ur writing. maybe an idol au? (not really au but ykwim)

lee sangwon x reader

tysmmm! i hope i fulfilled your request!

The building was too bright at night. Fluorescent lights hummed in every hallway, staff voices echoed off the walls, and cameras sat perched in corners like watchful eyes. It made every step feel risky, every glance too sharp.

You shouldn’t have been there. He shouldn’t have asked you to come. But when Sangwon had texted you, “Still here. Just want to see you, even for a sec,” you were already out the door before you’d thought twice.

Now you stood tucked in a shadowed corner near the stairwell, pretending to scroll through your phone whenever someone walked by. Heart pounding, you scanned for him.

And then—he appeared.

Sangwon came out of practice still in sweats, hair damp and sticking to his forehead. He kept his head down, a water bottle in hand, posture casual. But his eyes flicked once—quick, searching—and landed on you.

It was the smallest thing, but it made your chest ache.

He didn’t come straight over. Too obvious. He walked past, just close enough that his fingers brushed yours for half a second, the contact so fleeting it could have been nothing. You bit back a smile and followed after a moment, slipping into the same stairwell door he’d just entered.

The heavy metal door swung shut behind you, sealing the two of you into quiet. The muffled sounds of staff faded, replaced by the thrum of your heartbeat in your ears.

“Finally,” he breathed.

You barely had time to whisper his name before he was kissing you. Desperate, like he’d been holding his breath all day and you were the only air he could find. His hands slid to your waist, tugging you close until your back met the cool stairwell wall.

You broke the kiss with a soft laugh. “Sangwon, anyone could—”

“I don’t care,” he murmured, brushing his nose against your cheek before finding your lips again. The second kiss was slower, deeper, the kind that made the world blur until there was nothing but him.

For a few minutes, there was no practice, no staff, no cameras—just Sangwon kissing you like he needed to memorize every second. His hoodie sleeves smelled faintly of fabric softener, and his lips were warm, almost trembling, like even here he wasn’t sure how long he had.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead dropped to yours. His voice was low, raw. “I hate that I have to hide you. That I only get you in stairwells and empty rooms.”

Your fingers brushed the back of his neck, grounding him. “But you still get me.”

His laugh was soft, almost disbelieving. He kissed you again—quicker this time, like he couldn’t help himself—before forcing himself to step away. He raked a hand through his hair, trying to look less wrecked than he felt.

“You go first,” he said. “I’ll wait a few minutes.”

You hesitated, squeezing his hand once before letting go. His eyes lingered on you as you slipped through the door.

And when you were gone, he leaned against the wall, biting back a smile he couldn’t stop, already craving the next stolen moment.

[minisoul]

⌗. chill guy .ᐟ juhoon x reader

— does he not love you anymore?

　𝜗𝜚.　genre — fluff

　𝜗𝜚.　word count – ~1k

　𝜗𝜚.　warnings – slight miscommunication, awkward juhoon

　𝜗𝜚.　note – he’s just a guy in skinny jeans... side note, I have been gone for sooo long!! apologies i lowkey blacked out, but I'm here! im so proud of where cortis is headed and ill be waiting on more updates!! love this guy. please send requests regarding specific members if you'd like, don't be shy im always open for ideas!

— reblogs appreciated!

dating juhoon was… easy. almost too easy.

three months in, and nothing about him was loud or dramatic. he was the kind of boyfriend who’d text you memes at 2am instead of paragraphs, who’d show up with chips because “i was already at the store anyway.”

he liked skinny jeans, random youtube videos, and sitting in quiet corners with you.

and he was chill. painfully chill.

so chill that sometimes you wondered if he even liked you.

like, three months in and… nothing. no kiss, no big “couple milestone.” he held your hand, sure, but his thumb just sort of hovered there, nervous like he wasn’t sure he had the right.

you didn’t wanna push. but the silence started to bug you, your friends kept asking and asking

so one afternoon, sitting together on a park bench while he scrolled on his phone, you blurted it out.

“do you not like me anymore?”

his thumb froze mid-scroll.

“…huh?”

“it’s just—” you picked at the hem of your shirt, heart racing, “we’ve been dating for months and… we haven’t kissed. or anything. so i thought maybe…”

he stared at you like you’d just said the sky was green.

then he looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. “i… i do like you. a lot.”

your chest tightened. “then why haven’t you—”

“because i didn’t wanna mess it up.” the words tumbled out quick, like he’d been holding them in. his ears turned pink. “you’re… you’re my first, okay? i didn’t wanna do it wrong.”

you blinked. juhoon, mr. chill guy, mr. nothing-phases-me, sitting here practically combusting.

“…oh,” you said softly.

he shot you a shy glance. “i wanted to wait until i knew you wanted it too. not just… assume.”

your lips parted, but nothing came out. so you did the only thing you could: leaned just a little closer, enough to make it obvious.

he froze again. then laughed nervously, whispering, “okay, uh—i’ll try this time.”

"can I?..." he asked timidly, you nodded almost immediately.

and when he kissed you, finally, it wasn’t perfect. his lips were very soft against your own, it didn't feel normal, but you'd sure get used to the feeling. it was a little too quick, little awkward.

but you couldn’t stop smiling against his lips, because it was juhoon, and he was trying.

after, he ducked his head, cheeks burning. “was that… okay?”

you grinned. “more than okay.” you hugged him, making him chuckle sheepishly in your arms.

and for the first time since you’d met him, juhoon didn’t look so chill. he looked like a boy who really, really liked you.

"could i try again?"

[misswynters]

Hot & heavy having anton as your bassist bf

pairing anton x fem! reader

tags. kinda suggestive, bassist anton AU, appearance of MINJU from ILLIT

requested. by anon

You almost stayed home. You told your best friend, Minju, no twice already before she laughed and shoved your jacket into your hands as if the city would swallow you whole if you didn’t move. 

“Just one set,” she said. “You’ll thank me.” However you didn’t expect much gratitude. You expected sticky floors, expensive beer and having to leave early because you didn't enjoy pretending any longer. Then he walked in, Anton lee. He walked onto the stage and every practical part of your life came loose at the seams.

You remember that first moment like a wonderful memory. The bassline landing on your chest like a pulse and the way the crown would willingly bend for him. He was not just handsome. It was like he was carved out of marble and would be placed in an art museum. Sweat darkened his collar and his shirt clung to the slope of his broad shoulders. 

Sweat darkened his collar, his shirt clung to the slope of his shoulder, and when he leaned over the bass the light caught the ridge of his throat. He played like someone who had spent his whole life learning how to hold air and wait until the right moment to let it out.

You mouthed words you didn’t know you knew and only when you felt the weight of a setlist paper against your shoe did you notice you were trembling. Someone near you laughed and you replied, “What?” and pulled your hand back like the paper might bite.

As you unfold it automatically. Messy ink along the margin with a phone number and one word underlined hard: Come.

You look up and there he stood watching you like he’s been focusing an entire song towards you. For a half-second the crowd erases itself and all you can see is the small yet surprised tilt of his mouth. Then the drums crash the chorus and you are one of many, but at the same time not.

Minju squeezes your elbow as she grinned with anticipation. “We should find him after the show.”

“No, we should not,” you say, which is a lie as thin as the paper in your hand.

After the show and with the room smelling like spilled beer and cigarettes, the air behind the stage had a different texture. There were muslin curtains with the noise of flickering fluorescent bulbs adding to the atmosphere that the musk of bodies that have stayed up too long didnt already. You find him by accident, which is what makes it feel less like a prearranged trap and more like gravity working on both of you. Like a invisble magnite pulls the two of you closer and closer.

He was leaning on an amp, with a tired yet precise look at once. But when he looked at you he does not look surprised. Rather he looks pleased like you were something he had been trying to catch with one hand while playing the bass with the other.

“You came,” he says. The sentence is a fact more than a question.

“You wrote ‘come’ on a scrap of paper and threw it at me,” you say, and your voice doesn’t wobble the way your heartbeat did against your ribcage.

He grinned with a small crooked smirk that lifts his whole face. “I figured it worked better than the usual small talk.”

“You don’t do small talk.”

“No.” He tilts his head. “I do better with fewer words.”

You laughed and it is an impulsive sound that lightens him up like sun through a window. “ Whats your name?”

“Anton.” He said simple as he watched you say it like it’s the first syllable of a new song.

“Y/N.” You don’t offer your whole name unless someone needs to put it on a contract. You don’t know why you gave him considering he was a complete stranger. You knew that he was hot and there was no way in hell that you were denying that. You barely noticed when he tucked the setlist piece of paper into his back pocket, which is a gesture that makes it feel like posession and not that it bothered you in any way. It was hot.

“So what, you stood there and mouthed the lyrics like you were possesed?” he asks, amusement curling the corners of his mouth.

“I… didn’t know I knew them,” you admit. “My friend made a playlist and I am bad at not moving along to basslines.”

“You move like someone who knows what to do with basslines,” he said and that compliment landed like a feather on something inside you. You are very aware of the way his fingers rest with the calluses caused by the many uses of his bass guitar and the tiny scar near the knuckle of his index finger. You are aware of how very close he is.

He flicks the hair off his forehead with a motion. “You hungry?”

“Starving.” you replied cheekily with a grin.

“Good.” He steps back and holds out his hand and because it feels so wrong to refuse being led on like a note to the phrase you take it.

He takes you to a dim diner that becomes your by default. It was the kind of place that leaves sugar on your lip and coffee dark as apology. You slid into a booth and watched him as he orders with an ease that says he has memorized the cadence of seoul. Over plates of greasy fries and coffee gone cold the words spill like youve known each other for years. You tell him the small things like how your job is going and that is part commute and part pretending or the fact that you memorize the pattern of streetlights in neighborhoods to feel like you know where you are. He tells you about how he learned three chords on a ratty practice bass when he was fifteen and how a girl he loved once left him a lyric on a napkin and he keeps it in a book somewhere.

“So why the setlist move?” you ask him as you took a sip from your coffee because politeness has edges and you prefer honesty.

He stirs his coffee with his eyes on the surface as his face rearranged like a chord shifting. “I see people every night. Faces blur. But you-” He squeezes your knee, it was an almost domestic gesture that makes the wordless thread between you spin taut. “You weren’t just watching. You were living the music. Like you knew the place where the song wants to go.”

You want to tell him you barely held on, that the world sometimes dissolves into music and you like how it forgets you for a second, but your voice catches. “I liked the way you made the silence mean something.”

He laughs, then grows suddenly quiet. In that quiet there is weight. “Stay tonight,” he says without preamble. “Not in the creepy, stalker way. Come hang. If you want.”

Your first night with him is not in a hotel or a glamorous suite. It’s in a studio that smells like wood polish and old mics, with a couch the color of dust and a window that leaks the pale city. There are guitars in stands like sleeping animals and a bass rig that sits on one corner of his room. He makes you tea that tastes like lemon and smells like home in a way you did not know you had missed. Nostalgia? Thats what it feels like, how he feels like. A never ending dream.

You sit cross-legged on the rug as the heat from the amp hit your back. And so you listened to him play quietly. He teaches you a riff , the complexity of his hands matching the earnestness of his voice. You repeat it clumsily and he watches you with that patient hunger that says he wants more than just your competence.

“Do you get nervous?” you ask at one point, because he looks so calm it makes your chest ache.

He sets the instrument in his lap, fingers trailing a lazy pattern over the body. “All the time at every single show. My stomach folds into a small knot. But the second the lights go I feel…good. Even when it’s wrong or when I screw up.” He meets your eyes. “You ever feel like that with something you love?”

“All the time,” you tell him. “I second-guess everything. I imagine people seeing through the parts I consider private. It’s kinda exhausting.”

He laughs softly and the laugh is so soft like velvet. “Then I am glad you came tonight. I’d like to be part of your exhaustion, if you’ll have me.”

oh god. what did he mean by that?

You surprise both of you by answering, “I’d like that,” and this is how everything started.

༺☆༻

Tour with him is a slow reorientation of everything you thought you needed to hold steady. It starts with being allowed into his daily rhythms as a musciain. With load-ins at all hours, the ritual of soundchecks and the way he savors silence like a good chord. You are not a tour romantic though you were practical. If that made any sense. But even the practical finds poetry when you are living in the beat of a band you now adore. You learn to line your life with his schedules.

There are quick kisses before curtain.

Hands finding each other in the dark of a green room.

The improvised dinners that taste better because they are eaten while leaning against the tour bus steps.

There is heat in the mundane. One night in a hotel in a city that smells of salt and rain he hummed a verse of a song and you answer with a made up harmony that makes him grin like a child. He says, “You’re making me better,” and he says it like it matters. When you try to deflect it he reaches for your chin and tilts your face gently until your lips meet. The kiss was like a negotation it was bold and soft at the same time. His mouth is warm and certain. And your hands find the base of his neck like you needed to feel him someway to anchor yourself.

“I can’t stay in one city for long,” he says later on as he traced circles on the inside of your wrist with a fingertip that maps constellations only he seems to recognize. “But I want parts of me to have a map of you.”

“What the heck does that even mean?” you ask, because you are stubborn about metaphors and yet strangely flattered when they are meant for you.

“It means,” he says, “that when I write bad lines, I want them to at least be about you.”

You laugh maybe because you still didnt fully understood it, which turns to a quieter sound when he slides closer and tucks knees against yours. “That’s an option I can live with,” you admit. “Preferably not bad lines, though.”

He brushes your hair behind your ear, the motion was sensual and filled with hot chemistry. “I will try not to be awful.”

There is friction, well there was always friction in a life stitched into the seams of public attention. You get that he is onstage for others and that part of him is performative by necessity. Sometimes you watch him and feel a tug of something you can’t name. Maybe it was jealousy or fear or the dull ache of not being able to watch him play for anyone else that night. He is almost shameless in how he places you in the crowd: a look, a laugh, a deliberate tilt of his head toward you during a slow song. He calls you his good-luck charm half-jokingly and says it like prayer. Like a need.

During another night, after a set so loud your ribs still hurt, you stand on the edge of the stage as he packs up and he catches your eye. “You okay?” he asks and it is simple, but your throat tightens. The road makes exhaustion a constant companion and it always feels rawer when new. You tell him about the meeting you missed earlier because you had been on a train and about the way your voice cracked during a presentation. Or even about how you had lied about not being nervous.

He listens the way he listens during a solo song. With his head tilted and eyes full of nothing but attention. But that attention was fully on you. Then he says, “I don’t want you erasing yourself because of me.” It was a plea. “I want you whole.”

You want to protest because of course you are whole but the truth hangs between you like a breath. “I don’t want to be a shadow of who I was,” you admit.

“You won’t be.” He steps closer until you can feel the warmth of his body, until the music is a low thrum in your bones even with the stage empty. “I’ll take up less room wherever we are.”

He does not mean it to sound small. It doesn’t. He means it as the opposite. He means to make space.

That night in a cramped hotel room on the eve of a radio interview you are both tired and wired and he says, “God, you smell good.” You snort because you don’t believe in flattery that specific but his fingers curl into the fabric at the small of your back and you can feel the intent behind it. He nuzzles his beautiful nose and beautiful face into your neck as if he was truing to seek the warmth that was radiating from your body.

“You keep doing that,” you tell him. “Making me breathe entirely different.”

“Well you should keep on making me forget how to do half of the things i was a master at like i used to d before i meet you,” he replies, eyes darkening with the same tide when he looks at a bright idea about to unfold. “My little distraction”

“Oh come on you like it” you say, which is true and also a way of deflecting. You know what you are: a person who prefers safety but keeps leaning toward the edge because curiosity is stubborn.

“Maybe,” he agrees. "I like that about you.”

Every city gives you a new routine. In some places you wake to the call of seagulls and the smell of salt on laundry. In others, you sleep through sirens and find yourself tangled at the edge of the bed, his arm draped over your waist. There are nights when you cannot sleep and you watch him sleep, thinking that the rapid blink of his eyelids belongs to a different life entirely. You trace the fine lines at the edges of the recent stress and find they are beautiful to you.

You learn how to ask for what you need. It’s not an elegant skill at first. Well it comes in chunks and wrong turns. You tell him when you feel invisible in a room and he listens and then becomes your ambassador with small gestures, a hand in yours, a placement of himself so you are noticed. You tell him when the world feels too loud and he will sit with you in silence until your body recuperates.

Desire between the two of you is ambient and intense in equal measure. There are times when it’s deliciously unobtrusive. Two bodies spooning in a van between cities, a hand skimming a shoulder under the table at a noisy bar. Then there are moments when it is full and consuming, like when he kisses you against the doorway of the tour bus because the cold outside makes everything inside feel sharper. He has a way of making everything feel like the most important thing in a room so small it only fits you.

“I like the way you make me look stupid when I’m onstage,” he says once, almost apologetically, and you can see the humor trying to find a foothold in something vulnerable. “There’s focus and all that but sometimes I just steal a look at you and I play it wrong on purpose just to watch you watch me.”

You grin because you know what look he means. That softening of your eyes and the way your jaw relaxes. “That’s very honestly brutal of you.”

“It’s payback for the times you stole my fries,” he says.

When the tension builds there are no abrupt explosions. The heat between you prefers a gradual increase. You’ll be in a hotel bed and the rain will take over the roof and you’ll talk about nothing and everything. He will say, “Do you ever think about leaving?” and it won’t be a question about the relationship but about the life and you’ll say, “Sometimes,” and he will reveal some corner of his fear and you will hold it in the way you hold on for dear life. The yearning that lives between you is not frantic.

The night he tells you he wrote a song about you is one of those slow tension filled ordinary nights that turns suddenly. He plays it on a borrowed acoustic in the studio with his voice low, the song winding like wind around a chimney. When he finishes he watches you with a look that is hard and soft at once. “It’s honest and dumb,” he says.

You lean forward, thumb tracing the worn ink of the setlist in your back pocket as if to reassure yourself the scrap is real. “Play it again,” you ask, and there is a tremor in your voice you do not bother to hide.

He does and you sing the chorus quietly under him because you know it now. The way he taught you without telling you he was teaching you. When it ends he pulls you into his lap and your knees leave an imprint on the couch cushion. He breathes your name with a needy tone and you feel your chest expand.

“Promise me something,” he says after a while, forehead resting to yours. “Promise me you’ll stay honest, even with me. Promise me you won’t become some ghost.”

You look at him and the earnestness in his face makes your heart crack open in a way that feels like mercy. “I promise,” you say, because you mean it and because you want him to mean it too.

He nods and then makes a ridiculous face that undoes the moment and makes you laugh until you have to cough. The laughter is part of your own inside language now.

Not every day is cinematic and sweet. There are fights though small and dwindle over time, the priorities and the simple fact that two lives with accidents of movement do not always align. There is a night when he returns late and you have already fallen asleep on the couch waiting and you wake to him tense and apologetic. You both say something you regret and then you sit on the floor and talk until you don't have anything left to say and then you start again. It is soft and real and the way you make up hurts more than the anger.

You find that the sensuality of the relationship is not only in the big moments. It is in the way he cares enough to warm the cold glass of water you always leave on the windowsill. It is in the way his hand envelopes yours when a crowd surges and he refuses to let go. It is in the small, private myth you begin to build together. The countless songs that is written about you, the inside jokes that mean everything when the world tries to make them nothing. He is both a lighthouse and an undertow. He pulls you toward danger in the best possible way which leads you towards the comfort of safety and toward choosing a life that matters because it is.

One night, weeks into a long run of shows, you stand in the back and watch him play. He looks up at you over the crowd, and the look contains an entire sentence you do not hear in words but feel solidly in your solar plexus: Come home with me.

After the set, in the sticky green room, he presses his forehead to yours and says, “Do you want to come?” like it’s the most basic question in the world.

You look at him and see all the places you have been and will be with him mapped in the small tilt of his jaw. You take his hand, fingers finding the familiar calluses. You reply simply, “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

He smiles like the answer made him younger and older at once. Like he has been waiting for permission and by giving it you both have the right to be tender and fiercely territorial and sort of ridiculous. He kisses you then, it was a long and passionate and wholly yours. you can feel the rest of the wrong dissapear into the background, Your focus entirely on him and the feeling on his soft plump lips, his nose bumping into yours.

When someone asks many months later, how it all began. You would reply with, “He gave me his number on the corner of a setlist,” and it is true and also a compression of everything that followed. He leans over and kisses you on the crown of your head. And how you think about the first time the lights went down and how small and enormous the world felt the instant your eyes met his.

Later, alone in the quietness of the his room while the city buzzes and the band sleeps, you take the scrap of paper from your pocket. On it to read the number again but now the ink was smudged at the edges. You hold it between your fingers and feel the imprint of a life you did not plan but are lucky to live. You slide it back into the margin of your wallet and let the thing that began as a dare become something more.

“You ever think about how much room we make for each other?” he asks quietly, as if he knows you are awake.

“All the time,” you say.

He turns so his hand finds yours in the dark. “Good,” he murmurs. “Because I plan on taking up as much as I can.”

You laugh into his shoulder and the sound is half surrender, half victory. “Make sure you leave me some.”

“I will,” he promises, and the promise carries all the heat of a vow and all the low, certain hum of a bassline that never quits.

a/n. ok so i might do a seperate continous of this where its more like making out suggestive touching. maybeeeeee. ALSO THIS WASNT PROOFREAD! let me know if theres any mistakes or grammar. :D

[rzbrain-deactivated20260419]

always watching

anton x reader | nav

cw: obsessive & perverted behavior , hidden camera , suggestive

you loved sending your boyfriend memes that came across as you being obsessive. you mostly sent them as jokes but also as a way to show him just how much you loved him.

he enjoyed them. reading them made his head dizzy and he began to wonder if you were just as crazy about him as he was about you.

there was one specific image you had sent that etched into anton's mind.

« me watching him through the teddy bear i gave him »

it sat in his brain for weeks and he tried his hardest to not let it give him ideas. to not give into his thoughts.

-

anton went to visit you at your shared apartment. he hadn't seen you in a few days and his body craved your presence. he didn't show up empty handed though.

“aw, this is so cute!” your smile beamed as you held the small stuffed animal in your hands , turning it around at different angles to see all the small details.

“i saw it and i instantly thought of you.” his eyes flickered between you and the small lamb.

you loved the contrast of it's black beaded eyes from the white fur. your eyes fell on it's eyes again and you giggled. “you're not going to watch me through this , are you?” you joked , flashing your teeth with a grin.

his tongue pressed into the inside of his cheek as he rolled his shoulders back , amused by the question.

“i don't need to. i already hid a camera inside your room long ago.”

you scoffed and gave his cheek a quick peck. “thank you , toni.”

later that night , you had placed it right on top of your dresser that was directly in front of your bed. it well matched with the white paint on the wooden furniture , even if the shades of white were different.

you put it in the most perfect spot ever. right where anton see your every move inside that room. every chance he got , he'd check his app and see what you were up to.

he'd watch you change , sleep , color , and everything else you had done in the privacy of your own room.

he did wish that you would carry the toy around with you more often but he knew that was unreasonable. he just wanted to know what you were up to 24/7.

one particular night, you had trouble falling asleep. you tossed and turned yet no position helped you.

you were going to have to help yourself.

fingers shoved beneath your shorts , mouth covered by your free hand so you wouldn't make any noises for your roommates to hear.

your moment was interrupted when you heard your phone ring. you checked the contact name it was no other than your loving boyfriend.

you sat up , removing your hands from your body as you covered yourself with your blanket.

“toni?” “is something wrong?”

he seemed to be slightly out of breath. “n-no.” “jus' missed you.” he managed. “c'mon... i wanna hear your voice.”

“are you working out right now?” you innocently asked and you heard him grunt.

“ha... i am.” “please. just keep talking.”

slightly thrown off by his behavior , you blinked a few times but obliged anyway.

“i made plans to go out with my friends tomorrow ,” you began to tell him about what the plans entailed and what you planned on wearing. his heavy breaths continued throughout the call.

seems like your boyfriend was working out really hard.

[hrtfelt4u]

collision. | anton lee masterlist.

synopsis: when the photo and fashion club collide for a style magazine collaboration, your social circle gets a whole lot more interesting with the addition of the cute swimmer who's been flying under your radar. chaos ensues as freshman-year love triangles, secret relationships, and messy exes rise to the surface. let's just say... your junior year of college should be one hell of a ride.

featuring: fem!reader, rii7e (all members), nicholas (&team), chaewon (le sserafim), megan and dani (katseye), and more!

content warning: suggestive, swearing, slightly weird humor, drinking, smoking

author's note: hai :3 i've been a tumblr writer for a long time but i've opened a new account for smau because i enjoy them recently. this is my first one! go easy on me :P

(w) = written portion

profile 1 | profile 2

001. klab hell. | 002. dani daddy. | 003. patrón trauma. | 004. spongebob boxers. | 005. hot dining worker. | 006. woopsi. | 007. tipsy move. | 008. misandrist down. | 009. arsonist tendencies. | 010. degradation kink. | 011. evil spawn. | 012. de-flowered. | 013. mario party. | 014. banana milk. (w) | 015. spill the beans. | 016. side of eggs. | 017. find my friends final boss. | 018. artsy bf. | 019. roman senators. (w) | 020. lover boy era. | 021. marriage contract. | 022. five times two. | 023. hannah montana. | 024. game on. (w) | 025. Ls in the chat. | 026. cookie crumbs. (w) | 027. spin the bottle. (w) | 028. asian bieber. | 029. bag of the year. | 030. nosy ass. | 031. therapy money. | 032. dictator. | 033. on cod. | 034. lame ass fishes. (w) | 035. fish boy. | 036. sex sock. | 037. cheese. | 038. mozzarella flowers. | 039. out of ten. (w) | 040. deal package. | 041. backflip. | 042. sausage party. | 043. last shoot. | 044. messy. | 045. no tomorrow. (w) | 046. mind reader. | 047. dumb and dumber. | 048. carnival booth. | 049. snipe. | 050. see you soon. | fin.

taglist (closed): @jvngw0nlvr @lcvehee @meongryeongi @nujeskz @fae-renjun @buns-inhiding @jkeydiary @tadadw @r11zejjang @tkooooop @yuyita-rosier @mbella607 @janjoonty @i03jae @bartxnhood @slowlylefttyphoon @mwrsi @strwberie @rizzimura-babes26

© hrtfelt4u 2025

[ilysungho]

ya'll i wanted to share this omg, sungho panting so hard when doing him a bj is sooo hot my god🤤

NEEEEEEEDDDDDD to give him a blowjob so badly because 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

giving him a blowjob after an especially tiring day !!! him just lying on the bed, back resting against the headrest as he tries to watch you. keyword being tries… he’s just completely soaked in the pleasure as you kiss his length, lick it up, drooling onto the sides as you suck him off. he’s breathing so hard, harder than usual, and his limp hand is either on your head or twitching by his sides. every time you lower his head to have his girth touch until the back of your throat as best as you can, sungho just groans your name, or maybe a pretty nickname he calls you by. either way, he gets so tired after cumming, wanting to just collapse in your arms as you stroke his hair, maybe even rubbing his back softly, after cleaning him up.

[coriihanniee]

WE'RE GONNA BE TIMELESS — ⋆˚𝜗𝜚

𓂃۶ৎ ALTERNATIVE : boynextdoor reincarnated in present time, their connection remains unbroken

𓂃۶ৎ PAIRING : boynextdoor x f!reader

𓂃۶ৎ GENRE(S) : historical romance, reincarnation, contemporary romance, angst to comfort, fluff, slow burn, soulmates, second chance romance

𓂃۶ৎ WARNING(S) : mentions of war, violence and death, emotional distress, subtle themes of grief, trauma and healing

𓂃۶ৎ WORD COUNT : 1.7k - 2.5k words / member

𓂃۶ৎ A/N : several of you wanted a continuation to my we would've been timeless fic so here it is! this is a birthday special post since today is my birthday~ as a present and to express my gratitude, I decided to give all members the happy ending they deserve!

strongly recommended to read first :

WE WOULD'VE BEEN TIMELESS (part 1)

SUNGHO 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

˖➴ PAST LIFE : world war II (1939 - 1945)

˖➴ PAIRING : nursing major!sungho x uni student!reader

The university café thrummed with its usual Monday mayhem—orders barked over the grind of beans, chairs dragged impatiently across tile, the sharp tang of espresso clinging to the air like a second skin. You moved through it with quiet focus, a delicate balancing act of textbooks, a slipping laptop bag, and a paper cup filled too close to the brim with hot americano.

You were nearly at the lone empty table when the impact came—sudden and clumsy, a shoulder brushing yours hard enough to tip your center. Coffee sloshed over the edge, searing against your wrist and bleeding into the fabric of your sleeve. You sucked in a breath, startled.

“Oh my god—I’m so sorry,” a voice stammered, low and laden with genuine remorse.

You turned.

A boy stood before you—tall, slightly out of breath, brow creased in concern. He blinked as though stunned by the collision, or perhaps by something more. Before you could speak, he reached instinctively for a stack of napkins, moving with quiet urgency as he began blotting the spill with a care that bordered on reverent.

“I didn’t see you,” he murmured, almost to himself. “God, I wasn’t watching—”

His touch, though brief, was light. Thoughtful. Not the careless fumbling of someone desperate to fix a mistake, but something gentler, more deliberate.

You opened your mouth to assure him it was fine, that no harm was done—but the apology caught in your throat when your eyes met his.

Something shifted.

The room did not fall silent, yet the clamour faded into distance. He stared at you with a peculiar stillness, his expression caught between apology and awe. There was a flicker of something behind his gaze—something quiet and ancient. Not recognition, not quite. But familiarity. The kind that runs deeper than memory.

As though, in that brief moment, he’d stumbled into something forgotten. As though he had known you once—not here, not like this—but across time.

And in the space of that glance, you felt it too.

Something in you stilled.

“Do I… know you?” he asked, the words tentative, like they surprised even him.

You shook your head slowly. “I don’t think so.”

But the moment lingered. Like two ghosts brushing shoulders in a life they no longer remembered.

He introduced himself—Sungho, a final-year nursing student. His voice was steady but warm, with a trace of shyness that made you feel oddly at ease. When he offered to buy you a new coffee, you hesitated, not because you needed one, but because there was something in his gaze—something quiet and steady—that made it hard to say no.

As the two of you stood waiting for your drinks, the conversation unfurled easily—too easily, like you were remembering rather than meeting. He asked your name, made you laugh with a joke about caffeine being the only thing holding students together. And even when silence fell between you, it didn’t feel awkward. Just… natural.

Comfortable, in a way that didn’t make sense.

After that day, you started noticing him everywhere.

At first, you thought it was coincidence—catching a glimpse of him by the reference shelves in the library, his nose buried in a tattered anatomy textbook. Then again in a lecture hall, sitting alone in the back row, headphones in, eyes scanning the screen with quiet focus. Another time, waiting under the same bus stop you used every Thursday night, hands in his pockets, staring out at the rain like he was remembering something just out of reach.

Each encounter felt like stumbling into a conversation you’d never quite started—but somehow already knew how to finish.

One evening, as rain tapped against the windows of the quiet study hall, Sungho glanced up from his notebook. His voice broke the hush, low and almost hesitant. “I had the strangest dream last night. I was a soldier. And there was this nurse—she kept me alive. She had your eyes.”

You froze, pen pausing mid-word.

Something in the way he said it—soft, like he didn’t quite understand it himself—sent a shiver down your spine.

Because just hours earlier, you’d woken in a cold sweat, heart racing. A dream still clinging to your skin like the scent of smoke. You’d been in a field hospital, walls groaning as explosions rang out nearby. Dust rained from the ceiling, cracks splitting through concrete like veins. And in that dream, there’d been a soldier—his uniform torn, eyes wild with fear—as he pulled you into his arms, holding you so tightly it hurt. As if the building was collapsing and you were the only thing he couldn’t afford to lose.

And those arms… were his.

You couldn't manage to say anything at first.

But then, during a casual conversation, he reached for your drink and his sleeve pulled back. A scar, jagged and pale, marred the inside of his forearm.

Without thinking, your fingers reached for it.

“Shrapnel,” you murmured. “I mean—how did you get it?”

Sungho blinked. “Bike accident. When I was twelve. But…” He looked down at your hand. “When you touched it—it didn’t feel like the first time.”

His brows furrowed as though trying to summon something long buried. “It was like… muscle memory. Like my skin knew your touch before my mind could catch up.” He shook his head softly, almost in disbelief. “I haven’t thought about that scar in years, but when your fingers grazed it, something just… shifted.”

The air between you changed. Not dramatic, not loud. Just quieter. Denser. Like a page had turned in a book you hadn’t realized you were reading.

You didn’t know what to say, only that you felt it too—something ancient and echoing, stirring beneath your skin.

Days passed. Neither of you brought it up again, but it lingered, unspoken and undeniable. Something had cracked open between you.

A week later, he sent a text.

> Found an antique shop. I don’t know why, but I feel like I need to go.   > Will you come with me?

The shop was dim, musty, and hidden in a forgotten corner of the city. Dust clung to the air like a memory, and the shelves sagged beneath the weight of relics long abandoned. Time seemed slower here, suspended in the quiet hush of things left behind.

Sungho drifted through the aisles as if pulled by an invisible thread, until he stopped at a glass display filled with war memorabilia. His gaze fixed on a rusted pocket watch. Slowly, his hand rose toward it, fingers trembling.

“This watch,” he whispered. “I’ve seen it before. I don’t know how—but I have.”

From behind the counter, the shopkeeper—an older man with tired eyes and a voice softened by years—watched you both. “That came from a field hospital in Gangwon,” he said. “There's something else from that collection. Wait here.”

He disappeared into a back room and returned with a weathered envelope. Inside, wrapped in tissue like something sacred, was a photograph.

A field hospital. A line of nurses and injured soldiers.

And at the center—him.

Sungho, or someone who wore his face, one arm in a sling. And beside him, a nurse. Her hand rested protectively on his shoulder, her eyes hauntingly familiar.

Yours.

You couldn’t breathe.

Sungho turned the photo over. Written in faded ink: 

"Nurse L/N and Pvt. Park. Found in rubble after bombing. 1944.”

The shopkeeper’s voice softened. “Witnesses said they never ran. When the building collapsed, they were still holding each other.”

Sungho’s hands trembled as he cradled the photograph, his gaze anchored to the faces frozen in sepia. There was a flicker in his eyes—something ancient, aching, as though a door had cracked open inside him, letting in a memory too heavy to bear.

“They found this watch in his hand,” the shopkeeper said softly, nodding toward the tarnished timepiece in the glass case. “It stopped the moment the bomb struck. In his pocket, they found a letter—unfinished. He wrote that amidst all the ruin, she was the only peace he had ever known.”

Silence gathered around you, thick and fragile. It clung to your skin, to the photograph, to the aching quiet between heartbeats. You felt it in your bones—that this wasn’t grief for strangers, but something buried deep within you, long-lost and long-mourned.

The shopkeeper’s gaze lingered. “You two… you resemble them quite closely. It’s uncanny. Almost as if…”

He didn’t finish. He didn’t have to.

Sungho didn’t hesitate when he bought the watch. No one spoke of how his hands shook as he handed over the bills, or how your eyes refused to leave the image of the nurse and the wounded soldier, their silhouettes etched with unspeakable tenderness. There were no questions, only the unspoken understanding that whatever this was, it mattered.

Outside, under the awning as rain whispered against the pavement, Sungho finally broke the silence. His voice was low, raw. “I keep thinking about them. About the moment they must’ve realized there was no way out.”

You swallowed around the tightness in your throat. “But they weren’t alone,” you murmured, your voice trembling. “They had each other. Even at the end.”

Sungho looked at you then, his eyes shining with something too vast for words. “Some things,” he said, “are more important than survival.” His breath caught. “If it were me… if it were us…”

He trailed off, but the rest hung between you like a vow neither of you had to speak.

The watch, now warm in your clasped hands, pulsed faintly between you, as though echoing with a heartbeat once lost to war. And in that moment, there was no past, no present—only the weight of what had always been. A tether, invisible and unbreakable.

“I don’t remember them,” Sungho whispered, rain clinging to his lashes. “But I miss them. I mourn them like I knew them. Like I loved her.”

Tears welled in your eyes, unbidden. There was nothing romantic in the way he said it. No grand declaration. Just a quiet truth lodged deep in his chest.

And somehow, you knew he already had. In another life, in another war, he had stayed.

You reached for him. Fingers tangled with his, grounding you both in a present that felt like a continuation of something unfinished.

You didn’t notice the watch had begun ticking again—its heartbeat restored after decades of silence. 

Some bonds are stitched too deeply into the soul to be unsewn. Some loves remember even when the mind forgets.

In this life, there were no bombs. No letters left unsent. Just two strangers finding each other in the middle of ordinary chaos, tethered by a history that refused to die.

And in this life, they’d have time.

RIWOO 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

˖➴ PAST LIFE : victorian era (1837 - 1901)

˖➴ PAIRING : literary preservationist!riwoo × antique bookstore owner!reader

The bookstore was your sanctuary. Nestled between a cozy café and a vintage clothing shop, Bound by Time specialized in rare and antique books. As the new proprietor—having inherited it only months ago from your late grandmother—you found solace among the shelves of timeworn spines and the scent of aging paper, as if the past itself had taken refuge there.

The bell above the door chimed, its sound delicate and familiar. You glanced up from cataloging a recent acquisition of first editions. A man stood just inside the doorway, dark hair dampened slightly from the mist outside, his gaze wandering the room with the quiet reverence of someone who believed in the sacredness of forgotten stories.

"Can I help you find something?" you asked, setting your pen aside, your voice gentler than usual. Something about his presence asked for softness.

He turned toward you, and in the silence that passed, his eyes held something that startled you—recognition, confusion, then a wistful smile. "I'm looking for..." He hesitated. "I'm not sure. Something called to me from your window display."

"That's my grandmother's doing," you replied, standing slowly. "She curated the Victorian literature showcase before she passed. I haven't had the heart to change it."

He stepped further in, rainwater softly pooling beneath his shoes. "Lee Riwoo," he said, offering his hand.

As your fingers touched, a strange sensation swept over you—a flicker, like recalling a dream you had long ago and weren't sure was ever real. You pulled your hand back a breath too quickly.

"Do you collect antique books?"

"I'm a literary preservationist," he said. "I restore rare manuscripts. This is my first time here. I travel often for my work, but... this place felt familiar."

Over the next hour, Riwoo wandered your shelves with a kind of hushed wonder, his fingertips tracing the spines as though memorizing their histories. His gaze lingered longest on the Victorian section, and you watched from behind the counter, your chest aching with a curiosity you couldn't explain.

Finally, he approached with a weathered diary in hand. "I was commissioned to restore this," he said. "It's from the mid-1800s. Several pages are damaged. I was hoping you might have paper from the same era—your grandmother's collection, perhaps?"

The diary, bound in cracked leather, trembled faintly in your hands as you opened it. The ink had faded and bled from years of water damage. But the handwriting within—looped and elegant—struck you with something more than familiarity. It struck you with grief.

"This handwriting..." you murmured.

"I know," Riwoo nodded. "It feels strangely familiar, doesn't it? I've been having trouble sleeping since I received it. Dreams of places I've never been, people I've never met."

You examined the diary more closely. It belonged to a nobleman who wrote of his younger brother's scandalous love for a servant girl—a love that ultimately ended in heartbreak when he was forced to marry within his class. Many entries were water-damaged, the ink blurred beyond recognition.

"I might have some matching paper in the back room," you offered. "My grandmother collected restoration materials."

The storage room was narrow, cramped with drawers and trunks of brittle documents and parchment. As you sifted through them, Riwoo stood behind you, and the air thickened with an unspoken tension. Not the kind born of discomfort, but the kind that lives in the breath before a memory returns.

"Have we met before?" he asked, voice low. "I can't explain it, but... you feel like someone I've waited a long time to find."

You smiled without turning around. "I'd remember meeting someone who restores books like a ritual."

Over the next weeks, Riwoo returned with the diary in tow, setting up at the corner table beneath the stained glass window. Sometimes he would read aloud, his voice reverent, coaxing lost stories back to life.

The first dream came like a whisper—fragments at first, then vivid scenes that left you waking with tears on your pillow.

In them, you were someone else yet entirely yourself. A servant in a grand estate, moving through shadows, your heart aching for someone you couldn't have. And there was Riwoo—not quite him, but unmistakably him—dressed in nobleman's finery, his eyes following you with longing across crowded rooms.

"You can't have what you want, Riwoo. It's not possible."

 Your dream-self's words echoed in your mind long after you woke.

You said nothing about these dreams, convinced they were simply your imagination running wild from the diary's stories. But Riwoo grew more agitated with each passing day, his focus on the diary becoming almost obsessive.

"The pages near the end," he said one evening, voice strained. "They're different—like someone else took over the writing. More desperate. More raw."

You peered over his shoulder at the damaged pages he was carefully treating. "Can you make out what it says?"

"Fragments. The nobleman's brother—he was in love with a servant girl. His family forced him to marry someone of his station, but..." Riwoo's finger traced a line of faded text. "He never stopped loving her."

That night, your dreams shifted. You saw Riwoo standing at an altar, his face a mask of composure while his eyes screamed silent apologies. You watched from behind a pillar, your heart shattering as he pledged himself to another. Before the ceremony ended, you slipped away, unable to bear witnessing more.

You woke gasping, a physical ache in your chest. When you arrived at the bookstore, Riwoo was already waiting outside, his face pale, dark circles beneath his eyes.

"I can't sleep," he said simply. "I keep dreaming about them—the nobleman's brother and the servant girl. It feels like I'm remembering, not dreaming."

Something in his voice made you shiver. "What happens in your dreams?"

His eyes met yours, filled with a grief that seemed centuries old. "I lose her. Over and over, I lose her."

The air between you crackled with unspoken recognition.

Days later, Riwoo called you after midnight, his voice urgent through the phone. "I found something. Come to the store. Please."

You found him surrounded by pages on the floor, his hands trembling as he held a partially restored section of the diary.

"Look at this," he whispered.

The entry described the day after the wedding—how the servant girl had disappeared from the estate without a trace. The nobleman wrote of his brother's descent into despair, his frantic searching, his slow surrender to hopelessness.

The final pages became increasingly difficult to read—not just from water damage, but because the handwriting deteriorated, as if the writer could barely hold a pen.

"There's a change here," Riwoo said, pointing to a particular passage. "The nobleman stopped writing. These last entries are from his brother."

With painstaking care, he had revealed the final legible words:

The laudanum offers temporary peace, but I find myself increasing the dose each night. My wife suspects nothing; she has long since accepted that our marriage exists only in name. I dream of my love each night—standing in the garden where we last spoke, promising to wait for me. I have searched for five years with no trace of her. Tomorrow, I shall join her in the only way left to me. Perhaps in another life, we will find each other again, and I will be braver than I was in this one.

Your hand flew to your mouth, a sob catching in your throat. "He took his own life."

Riwoo nodded, his expression haunted. "The nobleman's final entry confirms it. He found his brother's body in the study, an empty bottle beside him, clutching something in his hand."

"What was it?" you whispered.

"That's where the diary ends. Water damage destroyed the rest." Riwoo's voice cracked. "But I found something else."

From between the leather binding and backing, he carefully extracted a small, folded piece of paper that had somehow survived intact. As he unfolded it, his hands shook so badly he nearly dropped it.

It was a letter, the ink faded but still legible. Addressed simply: To her, when fate allows us to meet again.

The first line made your heart stop:

My dearest, followed by your name—your actual name, written in a hand you somehow recognized.

The world tilted beneath you as you took the letter, vision blurring as you read:

By the time you read this, I will have left this world, unable to bear its emptiness without you. Know that I searched for you until my strength failed. My greatest regret is not having the courage to defy convention and claim you as mine when I had the chance.

I make this vow with my final breath: I will find you again. In another time, another place, where the barriers between us no longer exist. Where I can love you as you deserve to be loved—openly, completely, without shame or hesitation.

If your soul recognizes mine as I know it will, please forgive my weakness in this life. In the next, I will be worthy of you.

Eternally yours,

L.R 

The letter slipped from your trembling fingers. You raised your eyes to meet Riwoo's, finding them filled with tears and a recognition that transcended understanding.

"It's my handwriting," he whispered, voice breaking. "And your name."

The room spun around you as fragments of memory—not dreams but actual memories—crashed through your consciousness: standing in the shadows of a grand estate, watching him from afar, the brush of his fingers against yours when no one was looking, his whispered promise: 

"I love you. And I will find a way to make this work. I'll make it work, I swear."

A promise he couldn't keep then.

"We found each other," you breathed, the realization both beautiful and devastating. "After all this time."

Riwoo reached for your hand, his touch igniting not just the familiar flicker of recognition, but a flood of emotion so powerful it brought you to your knees. He caught you, arms wrapping around you as though he'd been waiting lifetimes to hold you again.

"I don't—I don't remember everything," he said, his voice raw. "Just feelings. Fragments. But I know it's you. I've always known it was you, from the moment I walked into this store."

You buried your face against his shoulder, overwhelmed by grief for what was lost and wonder at what had been found. "You didn't have to wait for another life," you whispered. "I would have run away with you then."

"I know," he murmured against your hair. "That's why I've spent this lifetime looking for you—to make it right."

Outside, rain began to fall, washing the world clean. Inside, surrounded by the fragments of your shared past, you held onto each other as the barriers of time crumbled around you—two souls finally completing a journey that began more than a century ago.

Not every memory would return. Not every wound would heal. But in that moment, as Riwoo's tears mingled with yours, you understood that some connections were never meant to be broken—only temporarily lost, then found again when the time was right.

JAEHYUN 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

˖➴ PAST LIFE : 1920s Hollywood

˖➴ PAIRING : actor!jaehyun x script doctor!reader

The moment you met Jaehyun on the set of Bright Silence, something ancient stirred within you. It wasn't déjà vu—it was deeper, like muscle memory embedded in your soul. 

You'd been hired as a script doctor for the troubled production, tasked with breathing life into dialogue that felt stilted and forced. The director had called you their "last hope" with the kind of desperation that made your stomach clench. This was your chance to finally make a name for yourself in the industry after years of uncredited rewrites and ghostwriting for more established screenwriters.

The first day on set, you were making notes when he walked past—casual, unhurried. Myung Jaehyun, Korea's most sought-after actor making his Hollywood crossover. His eyes met yours briefly, and something electric passed between you. He faltered mid-step, his expression shifting from polite disinterest to something unreadable. For a moment, neither of you moved, locked in an impromptu staring contest that felt weightier than it should have.

"Have we met before?" he asked, his voice carrying a note of genuine confusion.

"No," you answered automatically, though the word felt like a lie on your tongue. "I don't think so."

He nodded slowly, unconvinced. "I'm Jaehyun."

"I know." You extended your hand. "I'm the new writer."

His fingers closed around yours, warm and steady, and for a bizarre moment, you had the overwhelming urge to never let go. A flash of something—a dimly lit room, his face illuminated by a different kind of light—passed through your mind.

"Strange," he murmured, reluctantly releasing your hand. "I feel like I know you."

That night, you dreamed of golden sunlight and long shadows, of hushed whispers and the mechanical whir of old film cameras. You woke with a start, heart racing, the phantom smell of smoke in your nostrils.

The studio lot where Bright Silence was being filmed had history—one of the original Paramount backlots that had survived decades of Hollywood's evolution. Walking through it sometimes felt like traversing through time itself, modern equipment jarringly out of place against the backdrop of buildings that had witnessed the birth of cinema.

You found yourself drawn to the oldest section, a preserved slice of 1920s Hollywood. During lunch breaks, you'd wander there, notebook in hand, telling yourself you were seeking inspiration. In truth, you were chasing the gossamer threads of dreams that felt increasingly like memories.

One afternoon, you found Jaehyun there, standing in front of Building 8, an old soundstage rarely used now except for period pieces. He was so still he might have been a statue, staring up at the faded lettering with an intensity that made you pause.

"They used to film the silent movies here," he said without turning, somehow knowing it was you. "The ones shot in black and white."

"Yes," you replied, though you hadn't known this for certain. "Before the talkies changed everything."

He turned to you then, his eyes reflecting the same confused recognition you felt. "I keep having these dreams."

Your heart stuttered. "What kind of dreams?"

"Old Hollywood. Black and white film. A script." He hesitated. "And fire. Always fire at the end."

The word sent a shiver down your spine. Since meeting Jaehyun, you'd developed an inexplicable aversion to open flames. Yesterday, when the gaffer lit a cigarette near you, your hands had begun to tremble so violently you'd had to excuse yourself.

"I've been having dreams too," you admitted. "But they don't make sense."

Something shifted in his expression—relief, perhaps, at not being alone in this strange experience. "How about we head out for lunch? We have an hour before they need us back."

At the small restaurant just outside the lot, tucked away from prying eyes and eager paparazzi, you talked. Not about the dreams directly—they felt too intimate, too bizarre to articulate fully—but about everything else. How writing had always been your refuge. How he'd fallen into acting, discovered in a photography shoot when he was nineteen.

"Sometimes when I'm on set," he said, stirring his iced latte absently, "it feels like I've done this before. Not just acting, but..." he searched for the words, "...like I've lived this specific life before."

You understood completely. "Like déjà vu, but prolonged."

"Exactly." He looked at you intently. "Since I met you, it's gotten stronger."

The confession hung between you, neither willing to explore its implications further. Instead, you discussed the script, the changes you were making, how his character needed more depth, more conflict.

"He loves her," Jaehyun said suddenly, referring to his character. "That's his real conflict. He loves her but doesn't know how to tell her before it's too late."

You blinked. That wasn't in the script—not yet, anyway. But he was right; it was exactly what was missing.

"How did you know that's where I was taking the story?"

He didn't answer immediately, his gaze drifting out the window to the studio lot in the distance. "I just felt it. Like I've played this role before."

That night, you pulled out an old box from your closet—university projects and early attempts at screenplays. Something had been nagging at you since your conversation with Jaehyun. A half-remembered project, something about Hollywood's golden age.

Near the bottom of the box, you found it: a screenplay titled Burning Bright. Your final project for your screenwriting course. You didn't remember much about writing it—just that your professor had called it "surprisingly authentic" for a period piece and that you'd received an A.

With trembling fingers, you flipped through the pages. It was a love story set in 1920s Hollywood—a screenwriter and an actor falling in love during the production of a film. Your eyes widened as you read. The dialogue, the scenes, they felt achingly familiar yet strange in your own handwriting.

The final scene made your blood run cold. The screenwriter, trapped in a burning studio, the actor desperately trying to reach her as flames consumed the building.

You dropped the screenplay like it had burned you. There, on the last page, were the words:

FADE TO BLACK as smoke engulfs the frame. The only sound: JAEHYUN screaming her name as the building collapses.

Jaehyun. You had named the character Jaehyun.

But you'd written this years ago, long before you'd ever heard of him.

Sleep eluded you that night. When you finally drifted off near dawn, your dreams were vivid and terrifying—smoke filling your lungs, the heat unbearable, someone banging on a door you couldn't reach.

Production moved to the old soundstage the following week. The director wanted authenticity for the climactic scene, and Building 8 provided the perfect backdrop with its vintage architecture.

You arrived early, the screenplay from university tucked in your bag. You hadn't shown it to Jaehyun yet; it felt too strange, too personal. How could you explain that years ago, you'd written a story about a character with his name dying in a fire?

The building felt different today—oppressive, almost hostile. As the crew set up lighting and cameras, you found yourself moving away from the vintage heat lamps they'd brought in for the period aesthetic. Their glow made your skin crawl.

Jaehyun arrived looking exhausted, dark circles under his eyes suggesting he'd slept as poorly as you had. When he spotted you, he made his way over immediately.

"I found something," he said without preamble, pulling a small envelope from his jacket. "In the studio archives. I was doing research for the role and..." he trailed off, handing it to you.

Inside was a photograph, brittle with age and burned at the edges. The image showed a man in 1920s attire, standing on what was clearly this very soundstage. The man was undeniably Jaehyun—or someone who looked eerily like him, down to the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled.

Next to him stood a woman, but her image was partially destroyed, the right side of the photograph blackened by fire. Only half her face remained visible, but what you could see made your stomach drop. It was like looking in a distorted mirror.

"Turn it over," Jaehyun said quietly.

On the back, in faded ink: Hollywood Star Myung Jaehyun and his screenwriter, 1928. The last picture before the fire.

The room seemed to tilt around you. "This has to be some kind of joke."

"That's what I thought too." His voice was steady, but his eyes betrayed his unease. "But I couldn't find any record of who placed it in the archives. It's been there for decades, according to the archivist."

Before you could respond, the director called Jaehyun to set. He gave your arm a gentle squeeze before walking away, leaving you with the photograph and a growing sense of dread.

They were filming the scene where his character confronts his rival. The vintage heat lamps glowed ominously in the background, casting long shadows across the set. You watched from a distance, unable to shake your discomfort.

Everything was going smoothly until one of the heat lamps malfunctioned, sparking violently. It was a minor issue, quickly handled by the effects team, but the moment you saw Jaehyun walk toward it, something inside you fractured.

"Stop!" The word tore from your throat before you could stop it. "Get away from there!"

The entire set turned to stare at you. Jaehyun froze mid-step, his expression shifting from confusion to concern as he took in your panic-stricken face.

The director called for a break, clearly annoyed at the interruption. As the crew dispersed, Jaehyun approached you cautiously.

"What's wrong?" he asked, leading you to a quiet corner away from curious eyes.

Your hands wouldn't stop shaking. "I don't know. When I saw you near that lamp, I just—" You broke off, unable to articulate the visceral terror that had gripped you. "I think I'm losing my mind."

Instead of dismissing your fears, he took your hands in his, steadying them. "You're not. Something's happening to both of us." He hesitated. "Last night, I dreamt of a fire again. But this time, I remembered more. I was trying to reach someone—banging on a door, screaming..." He swallowed hard. "Screaming your name."

Your eyes met his, and in that moment, something clicked into place—not a full memory, but the shadow of one, like looking at your reflection in troubled water.

"I wrote a screenplay in college," you said quietly. "About a screenwriter and an actor in 1920s Hollywood. The actor's name was Jaehyun, and they both died in a fire."

His grip on your hands tightened. "When did you write it?"

"Years ago. Before I knew you existed."

A long silence stretched between you as you both grappled with implications neither of you wanted to face.

"Do you think we're..." he began, unable to finish the thought.

"I don't know what we are." You pulled the photograph from your pocket, studying the half-burned image. "But I think we've been here before."

The director, impatient with the delays, decided to shoot the climactic scene the next day. It called for dramatic lighting, heightened emotions—and fire elements controlled by the special effects team.

The mere thought made your stomach churn. You considered calling in sick, but the prospect of Jaehyun facing those flames alone was somehow worse.

You arrived to find the set transformed. The vintage architecture of Building 8 now prominently featured in the shot, with carefully controlled fire elements positioned strategically around the perimeter. 

Jaehyun found you before filming began, his face drawn with concern. "You don't have to stay for this."

"I do," you insisted, though every instinct screamed at you to run. "I can't explain it, but I feel like if I leave..."

"Something bad will happen," he finished for you. "I feel it too."

When filming began, you stood as far from the fire elements as possible while still maintaining a view of the set. The scene called for Jaehyun's character to make an impassioned confession, surrounded by the symbolic flames of his inner turmoil.

As he performed, something shifted in the atmosphere. His delivery wasn't just good—it was transcendent, as if he was channeling emotions from somewhere beyond himself. The crew fell silent, captivated.

"I should have told you sooner," he was saying, the scripted lines taking on a different weight in his mouth. "Before it was too late. Before the fire stole the words I never spoke.”

Your breath caught.

 That last line wasn't in the script.

Jaehyun's eyes found yours across the set, filled with a recognition that transcended the present moment. For a heartbeat, the decades between then and now seemed to collapse, and you weren't on a movie set in the present, but somewhere else—somewhere you'd been before.

One of the fire elements flared unexpectedly, higher than it should have. Someone from effects cursed, rushing to control it. Jaehyun didn't flinch, his eyes still locked with yours as if nothing else existed.

"Cut!" the director shouted, breaking the spell. "Effects, get that under control! Jaehyun, that was brilliant, but stick to the script."

Jaehyun nodded absently, his attention still on you. As the crew reset for another take, he made his way to your side.

"Those weren't my lines," he said quietly. "They just... came out."

You nodded, understanding completely. "It felt right, though."

"It felt like something I've spent lifetimes chasing.” 

The weight of his words settled between you—not a full confession, but the acknowledgment of something unfinished, something that had been waiting decades to be resolved.

You could almost hear the echo of a different time, of a different version of him, still trying to say what had never left his lips.

A whisper, a touch, a confession lost in the haze of fire and smoke. The burning that had taken everything from you both.

The director called for positions. Jaehyun squeezed your hand once before returning to his mark, surrounded once more by the controlled flames that nevertheless made your heart race with ancestral fear.

As filming resumed, you watched him deliver his lines—the right ones this time—but the wrong ones still lingered in the air between you.

“Before the fire stole the words I never spoke.”

You didn’t know what he meant. Not fully.  

But somewhere deep inside—beyond memory, beyond logic—you understood.

There were nights you still woke to the phantom scent of smoke. Moments when the touch of warmth on your skin made you flinch without reason.  

A life you didn’t remember.  

A love you had never finished.

Whatever had been left undone in the 1920s—whatever words had been swallowed by flame and fear—still pressed against the edges of your heart, waiting.  

The universe rarely offered second chances. Rarer still was the chance to recognize them when they came.

You watched him now, the set lights soft on his face, his expression too serious for the lines he recited.  

As if he remembered, too.  

As if some part of him knew there had once been a fire, and that it had cost him everything he hadn’t been brave enough to say.

The past tugged at you, quiet and merciless.

This time, you would not wait for the world to end to tell him you were already his.

TAESAN 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

˖➴ PAST LIFE : zombie apocalypse

˖➴ PAIRING : reincarnated unaware!taesan x reincarnated aware!reader

The Gwangju subway station hums with mechanical precision and indifference. Steel carriages arrive and depart with mathematical certainty, carrying bodies from one destination to another as they have for decades. You stand on the platform, your reflection fragmented in the polished tiles of the opposite wall—pieces of yourself scattered across the surface like the memories that haunt you.

It happens when you least expect it. The scent of antiseptic and industrial cleaner. The fluorescent lights flickering twice before steadying. The distant screech of brakes against metal rails. These ordinary elements of metropolitan life shouldn't trigger anything in you, and yet they do.

Blood on your hands. The weight of a gun. His eyes—lifeless but somehow still filled with forgiveness.

You blink, and the vision dissipates like morning fog. Your therapist calls them "intrusive thoughts with vivid imagery," likely stemming from trauma or an overactive imagination. She doesn't know about the dreams—dreams so visceral, so painfully real that waking feels like dying all over again. Dreams of a world consumed by chaos, of survival against impossible odds, of him.

Taesan.

The name never leaves you. It sits on the tip of your tongue during your waking hours, burns itself into your consciousness during sleep. A name that belongs to someone you've never met in this life but somehow know more intimately than yourself.

The subway car approaches, its headlights cutting through the tunnel darkness like searchlights. People around you shift forward in anticipation, clutching bags and phones, their faces illuminated by blue light. No one else flinches at the sound of the brakes. No one else hears the groans of the undead in the mechanical whine.

Only you.

The doors slide open with a pneumatic hiss. Bodies file out, others push in—the eternal dance of urban commuters. You step inside, finding an empty seat by the window. Your reflection stares back at you, features blurred against the backdrop of the station sliding away as the train pulls out. You look tired. You always look tired these days.

Three stops later, the doors open again. You don't look up immediately—there's no reason to. But something shifts in the atmosphere, something imperceptible yet undeniable, like the air pressure changing before a storm. A prickling sensation crawls up your spine, and your eyes are drawn up as if by magnetic force.

He stands there, scanning for a seat, dressed in a charcoal suit that sits perfectly on his shoulders. His hair is shorter than in your dreams, styled with modern precision. No dirt on his face, no blood on his hands. Clean. Unburdened.

Alive.

Taesan.

Your heart stutters, then races. Your lungs forget how to function. The subway car suddenly feels too small, too hot, too loud. Is this another hallucination? Another cruel joke your mind is playing?

But no—other people see him too. A woman offers him her seat. He declines with a polite smile, gripping the overhead handle instead. He looks... normal. Ordinary. A businessman on his evening commute. Not a survivor. Not a protector. Not the man who died in your arms, confessing love with his last breath.

You stare, unable to look away, cataloging the similarities and differences between this man and the one who haunts your dreams. The same sharp jawline, the same penetrating eyes. But his posture is different—relaxed, not constantly coiled like a spring ready to unleash. His hands are smooth, lacking the calluses from weapons and hard labour. This Taesan has never had to fight for his life. Never had to make impossible choices. Never had to protect you.

And yet, it's him. Every cell in your body recognizes him, calls out to him across the distance between you.

He doesn't notice you. Not at first. He's preoccupied with something on his phone, thumb scrolling with casual indifference. You wonder what mundane concerns occupy his mind. Work deadlines? Dinner plans? So far removed from survival, from the visceral reality of existence that consumed your shared past life.

The train lurches slightly as it rounds a bend, and his gaze lifts momentarily, sweeping across the car. For a fraction of a second, his eyes meet yours, and the world stops.

Something flickers across his face—confusion, perhaps. A slight furrow between his brows, a momentary pause in his breathing. He blinks, and then looks away, returning to his phone with practiced nonchalance. But you see the tension in his shoulders now, the slight stiffness in his posture that wasn't there before.

Did he feel it too? That electric shock of recognition? That soul-deep knowing?

The automated announcement chimes overhead: "Next station: Hwajeong 1-ga." His stop, somehow you know. You shouldn't know that, but you do, just as you know he takes this train every weekday at exactly this time, that he lives alone in an apartment overlooking the river, that he drinks his coffee black with just a hint of sugar.

Knowledge that isn't yours to possess in this lifetime.

The train slows, and he moves toward the doors, still not looking at you. Your heart pounds against your ribs like a wild animal seeking escape.

Say something. Do something. Don't let him walk away. Not again.

But what would you say? 

The absurdity of it freezes you in place as the doors open. He steps out onto the platform, merging seamlessly with the evening crowd. In seconds, he'll disappear, swallowed by the city, and you'll be left with nothing but dreams and fragmented memories that might be delusions.

Your body moves before your mind decides. You're on your feet, squeezing through the closing doors at the last possible moment, stumbling onto the platform. The crowd jostles you, impatient bodies pushing past on their way to exits and transfers. You scan frantically, catching a glimpse of his charcoal suit ascending the escalator.

You follow, heart thundering in your ears, unsure what you'll do when you catch up to him—if you catch up to him. The escalator seems to stretch endlessly upward, each mechanical step too slow for the urgency building inside you. By the time you reach the top, he's already passing through the ticket gates, moving with purpose toward the eastern exit.

"Taesan!" His name tears from your throat before you can stop it, echoing against tile and concrete.

He stops. Slowly, methodically, he turns around. From twenty meters away, his expression is unreadable, but his posture is rigid with surprise. For a long moment, he simply stares at you across the distance, commuters flowing around both of you like river water around stones.

Then, deliberately, he walks back towards you.

Each step he takes coils the tension tighter in your chest.

 What if you’re wrong? What if this is just some cruel twist of fate, a mirror image meant to break you? Or worse—what if it is him, but the man you loved is gone, replaced by something unrecognizable?

He stops before you, close enough to see the amber flicker in his dark eyes. Those eyes—his eyes—once so full of warmth as they watched over you through every danger, once clouded with pain as life slipped away, now look at you with nothing but uncertainty.

"Do I know you?" His voice is the same—deep, slightly rough around the edges, but missing the weariness, the weight of a world collapsed.

You swallow hard, reality crashing down.

Of course he doesn't remember. Why would he? The universe isn't that kind. It gave you these memories—this curse—and left him blissfully ignorant.

"I'm sorry," you manage, voice barely above a whisper. "I mistook you for someone else."

A lie. A necessary one.

He studies you, head tilted slightly, brows drawn together. "Are you sure? You seem... familiar."

Hope flares, bright and dangerous. "Familiar how?"

He frowns, eyes narrowing as if trying to bring something into focus. "I don't know. It's strange, but I feel like..." He trails off, shaking his head. "Never mind. It's nothing."

But it's not nothing. You can see it in the way his gaze lingers on your face, searching for something he can't articulate. A connection he feels but doesn't understand.

"Have we met somewhere before?" he asks, the question tentative, as if he's not sure he wants the answer.

Your heart constricts with painful clarity. In his eyes, there's no recognition of shared foxholes or whispered confessions in the dark. No memory of the night he told you, 

"You don't have to carry all that weight alone. We're in this together." 

No recollection of his final words, gasped between labored breaths,  

"I love you. I never... I never said it, but I do. Always."

Just polite confusion from a stranger who might have passed you on the street once.

"I don't think so," you lie again, each word like glass in your throat. "I'm new to Gwangju."

Another lie. You've been drawn to this city for months, pulled by something you couldn't name until this moment. Some cosmic thread connecting you to him, even across lifetimes.

"Ah," he says, nodding slightly, but the furrow between his brows doesn't smooth out. "Well, I'm Taesan. Han Taesan."

The name vibrates through you like a struck bell. It's confirmation of what your soul already knew—this is him. Reborn, remade, without the scars and traumas of a world that never happened in this timeline. 

"Nice to meet you," you say, offering your name in return. It feels surreal, introducing yourself to the man whose blood once stained your hands, whose weight you felt grow cold in your arms.

An awkward silence stretches between you, filled with the ambient noise of the station. Commuters brush past, announcements echo overhead, and somewhere distant, a train rumbles into motion.

"Well," he says finally, shifting his weight. "I should probably..." He gestures vaguely toward the exit.

"Of course," you say quickly. "Sorry for bothering you."

He nods, turns to leave, then pauses. "Actually," he says, turning back. "Would you like to get coffee together sometime?"

The question catches you off guard, leaves you momentarily speechless. This isn't how you imagined this encounter going. You'd prepared yourself for dismissal, maybe even suspicion or fear. Not... this.

"You don't have to," he adds, misreading your silence. "It's just—" He stops, seemingly embarrassed by whatever he was about to say.

"Just what?" you prompt gently.

He looks at you directly then, something indefinable in his gaze. "I can't shake the feeling that I should know you. It's probably nothing, but..." He trails off with a self-deprecating smile. "I don't usually do this. Ask strangers for coffee, I mean."

“It's too late. You know it is.”  

“No!”

“You should've stayed away from me. I'm not the man you think I am.” 

You blink away the memory, forcing yourself back to the present. To this Taesan, who looks at you with curiosity rather than shared understanding.

"I'd like that," you say, your voice steadier than you feel.

His smile—genuine, unguarded—makes your chest ache. You've seen that smile before, but so rarely. In another life, smiles were precious commodities, rationed like water during a drought. This Taesan smiles easily, without the weight of survival pressing down on him.

"Great," he says, pulling out his phone. "Can I get your number?"

You exchange contact information, the mundane action feeling strangely surreal. In your past life, such normal activities had been rendered obsolete—no phones, no casual meetups, no easy exchanges of pleasantries.

"I'll text you," he promises, pocketing his phone. "There's a good café near here that stays open late."

"I look forward to it," you reply, and mean it despite the storm of emotions raging inside you.

He nods, seemingly satisfied, then turns to leave again. This time, you let him go, watching as he moves through the crowd with that same casual confidence, so different from the hypervigilant man of your memories.

As he disappears around a corner, you stand frozen, trying to process what just happened. The weight of your memories presses down on you—the apocalypse, the losses, the final, brutal moments of Taesan's life in that other reality. The gun in your hand. The decision you had to make.

"Taesan,"

"I'm so sorry."

One last look.

One last breath.

One last shot. 

You shut your eyes against the memory, the weight of it sinking into your chest like lead. When you open them again, the subway station is just that—bright lights, hurried commuters, distant echoes of announcements bouncing off sterile tiles.  

No groaning bodies.  

No blood staining the ground.  

No apocalypse.

Just you, standing in the present, shackled to a past that only you remember.

Your phone chimes, its soft ping a cruel reminder that the world moves on, indifferent to the wreckage it leaves behind.  

Taesan, still keeping a promise he never made, unaware of the price you paid to survive.

> Coffee tomorrow evening? 7 PM?

You stare at the words, as ordinary as they are devastating.  

In another lifetime, you held him as his body grew cold. Felt the life slip away from his eyes. Made the impossible choice to end his suffering before the world could claim him fully.  

And now, here he is, asking you for coffee.

The reply slips from your fingers with a quiet "Yes." But beneath that simple word, your heart shatters, a crumbling, jagged thing.  

Grief lingers like the taste of ash. Hope feels like an open wound.  

A lifetime of unsaid things stretches between you—memories that you carry, but he can never know. Memories that belonged to a world that has long since crumbled to dust.

As you step into the cold night, the city alive around you, you wonder if this is your penance—or your salvation. To be the only one who remembers what was lost. To carry the ghosts of a love that never had the chance to breathe, alone.

But maybe this is it.  

Maybe memory is your only salvation.  

Not to reclaim what was shattered, but to hold on to the possibility of something new, something free from the horror of the past.

In this life, Taesan doesn’t need you to be his shield.  

He doesn’t need you to carry the weight of his death in your bones.  

He just needs you to be here.  

The you who made it through the ruins, the you who dares to hope despite the wreckage.

The night air cuts sharp against your skin, the city sprawling endlessly beneath you. The lights flicker like dying stars, far too distant, too cold.  

Above, the real stars are silent witnesses to the story that only you know.  

Tomorrow, you'll meet him—this stranger who feels like home. A man who loved you in another life, but who won’t remember a thing.  

Maybe, if the universe owes you anything, you'll hear him say those words again—  

Not as a final confession, but as the start of something whole:

"I love you. Always."

And maybe this time, always won’t just be a fleeting echo. Maybe it will stretch into forever.

LEEHAN 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

˖➴ PAST LIFE : 18th century, coastal village

˖➴ PAIRING : marine ecologist!leehan x intern!reader

Leehan woke with a gasp, sheets twisted around his legs like kelp. The same dream again—drowning, but not afraid. Arms reaching for someone in murky water. A voice calling his name. And always, always that crushing sense of loss when he woke.

"Just a dream," he muttered, running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair.

But it never felt like just a dream.

The digital clock by his bed read 3:12AM—the exact time he'd woken every night this week. Outside his window, a full moon hung low over the city skyline, its light catching on the distant shimmer of the bay.

Leehan's apartment was fifteen miles from the ocean, but some days he swore he could smell salt in the air. Some days he caught himself staring at the horizon, as if waiting for something—or someone—to emerge from the waves.

His phone buzzed. A text from his supervisor at the marine research center:

> Don't forget we have a new intern starting tomorrow. I need you to show them around.

Leehan groaned. The last thing he needed was babysitting duty. He'd joined the research centre to study marine ecology, not to play tour guide. But the grant money was good, and the location—right on the coast, with its own private beach—was perfect for his research.

Even if being near the water made his chest ache with a longing so profound it threatened to hollow him from within.

The marine research facility gleamed in the morning sun, all glass and steel perched on the edge of a cliff overlooking the bay. Leehan nodded to the security guard and swiped his key card, shifting his bag higher on his shoulder as he made his way to the main lab.

"There you are!" Dr. Kwon waved him over. "Our new intern is waiting in the tide pool room."

Leehan checked his watch. "They're early."

"Eager to start, I guess." Dr. Kwon handed him a folder. "Show them the basics, then get them started on cataloging the samples from yesterday's collection."

Leehan took the folder without enthusiasm and headed to the tide pool room—a sprawling space with shallow tanks mimicking the coastal ecosystem. As he pushed open the door, the smell hit him: salt water, marine algae, the particular mineral scent of shells. It usually calmed him, but today it made his heart race.

And he laid his eyes on you. 

You were leaning over one of the pools, fingers trailing in the water, completely absorbed. The morning light caught in your hair, casting a glow around you that seemed almost... iridescent.

Something ruptured inside Leehan's chest—recognition, fear, longing—so intense he nearly staggered backward. A tidal wave of emotion surging against the fragile shores of his composure.

"Hello?" you called, turning at the sound of the door. "Are you Leehan? They said you'd be showing me around."

Your voice. It was both foreign and achingly familiar. Like a melody from childhood he'd forgotten until this moment—the notes unchanged but somehow carrying the weight of years.

"I—yes," he managed, his voice sounding distant to his own ears. "I'm Leehan."

You smiled, and the world tilted on its axis.

"Nice to meet you," you said, extending a hand. "I'm really excited to start working here."

When your fingers touched his, Leehan heard it—the sound of waves crashing against a wooden boat. The distant cry of seagulls. A laugh carried on salt-laden air.

"You were the best thing I ever found on the surface."

"Have we crossed paths before?" The words tumbled out before he could stop them.

You tilted your head, studying him with curious eyes. "I don't believe we have. But..." You paused, brow furrowing slightly. "You do seem familiar somehow."

Leehan released your hand, taking a step back. This was madness. He was acting like a lunatic over a complete stranger.

"Sorry," he said, trying to sound normal. "You remind me of someone."

"No worries." You smiled again, but this time, there was something hesitant in it. "I get that a lot."

Leehan cleared his throat, gesturing to the tide pools. "You seemed pretty comfortable with these already."

Your face lit up. "I've always loved the ocean. My parents say I could swim before I could walk." You laughed, the sound rippling through the room like water over stone. "I've been drawn to water my whole life. Weird, right?"

“Not weird at all,” Leehan thought, a chill racing down his spine like frost forming on glass.

"The thing is," you continued, turning back to the water, "sometimes I feel like I belong out there more than on land." Your cheeks flushed slightly. "Sorry, that probably sounds ridiculous."

Leehan stared at you, unable to look away. Because it didn't sound ridiculous—it sounded like the words had been pulled from his own soul, a confession he'd never dared make aloud.

The tour of the facility took twice as long as it should have. Leehan couldn't explain the way he kept finding excuses to show you one more room, one more exhibit. Couldn't rationalize why talking to you felt like speaking a language he'd forgotten he knew.

By the time they reached the lab's private beach, the sun was high overhead, casting diamond-bright reflections across the water's surface.

"And this is where we do most of our field collection," Leehan said, his voice steady as he gestured to the pristine stretch of sand and tide-polished rocks. "The currents here carry in some unusual specimens—things you wouldn’t expect to find."

But you weren’t listening.

The wind had already tugged at your curiosity, the sea drawing you forward like it recognized you. You slipped off your shoes and stepped onto the sand, the grains cool beneath your feet, the scent of salt and sunlight filling your lungs as you walked—almost trance-like—toward the water’s edge.

"Be careful," Leehan called after you, his voice sharper than he meant it to be. A flicker of unease coiled in his chest. "The tide rises fast here. It catches people off guard."

You turned to look back at him, eyes glinting with mischief beneath the low afternoon light. A smile curved your lips—playful, knowing.

 "Relax, marine ecologist. I wouldn’t last a day without the sea."

The words hung in the air, too familiar.

“Relax, fisherman. I wouldn’t last a day on land.” 

Leehan stiffened.

They echoed somewhere deep in his bones, brushing against a memory that didn’t quite belong to this lifetime. A shoreline not unlike this one. A voice like yours, laughter caught on the wind. Those almost exact same words——spoken in another time, maybe even another world.

He couldn’t explain it, but they landed in his chest with the weight of something once lost and almost remembered.

For a moment, he just stared at you. And though he didn’t know why, something in him whispered: You’ve said that before.

"You should be careful. If anyone sees you—"

"They'll try to kill me? I know. Humans are predictable."

"Not all of them."

"No. Not all of them."

The memory—was it a memory?—vanished as quickly as it had appeared, leaving Leehan disoriented and unsteady.

You had reached the water's edge, letting the waves lap at your feet. You closed your eyes, face tilted toward the sun, and for a moment—Leehan could have sworn he saw something shimmer around you, like scales catching light.

"Are you alright?" your voice broke through his daze. You were looking at him with concern, still standing in the shallow water. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Leehan blinked, trying to clear his vision. "I'm fine. Just... the sun."

You frowned, unconvinced, and started walking back toward him. But as you took a step, your foot caught on something beneath the surface, and you stumbled.

Leehan moved without thinking, crossing the distance between you in seconds, catching you before you fell.

Time ceased to exist.

Your eyes met his, wide with surprise. His arms were around you, holding you steady, and every point of contact burned with a strange familiarity that threatened to consume him whole.

"I would have chosen you."

"Do you hear that?" you whispered, not moving from his embrace.

Leehan swallowed hard. "Hear what?"

"I don't know. It's like..." you shook your head, struggling for words. "Like someone's singing, but far away. A lullaby, maybe."

Leehan listened, but all he could hear was the rush of blood in his ears and the steady rhythm of the waves—a rhythm that seemed, impossibly, to match the beating of his heart.

"I don't hear anything," he said softly.

You stepped back from his arms, a flash of embarrassment crossing your face. "Sorry. That was weird."

"It's okay," Leehan assured you, though nothing about this felt okay. Nothing about this felt normal.

You bent down, reaching into the water where you had stumbled. "Look at this," you said, straightening up with something in your palm. "I think this is what I tripped on."

In your hand lay a small, weathered piece of metal. It looked ancient—green with patina and crusted with sediment. But as you turned it over, a shape became clear.

A crude, handmade harpoon tip.

Leehan's vision blurred, the edges of reality softening. For a heartbeat, he was somewhere else—somewhere cold and dark and desperate. He could feel rough wood beneath his palms, hear the screams of men, taste blood and salt on his tongue.

And arms—strong, unyielding—wrapped around his chest, dragging him back. He fought against them with everything he had, throat raw from shouting, but the grip only tightened. They were holding him down, keeping him from leaping into the chaos. From saving someone.

"It was always going to end like this, Leehan."

"Leehan?" Your voice pulled him back, anchoring him to the present. "You look pale. Maybe we should go back inside."

He nodded, unable to form words around the lump in his throat. As you guided him away from the water, your hand gentle on his arm, he noticed you were still clutching the harpoon tip.

"You should throw that back," he said, his voice rough with emotions he couldn't name. "It's just trash."

You looked down at the object in your hand, then back at him, a strange expression crossing your face. "I don't think I can," you admitted quietly. "It feels... like it's important somehow. Like it's been waiting for me."

Leehan wanted to argue, wanted to grab the rusted metal and hurl it far into the ocean where it belonged. But he couldn't explain that impulse any more than you could explain why you wanted to keep it.

As you walked side by side back to the facility, the sun glinting off the water behind you, neither of you noticed the way the tide had changed, pulling back unusually far from the shore—as if the sea itself was holding its breath, waiting.

Waiting for a story, centuries old, to finally find its ending.

Or perhaps its beginning.

You paused at the edge of the beach, turning back to gaze at the water one last time. The wind picked up, carrying salt and memories that belonged to someone else.

"By any chance…” you asked softly, "Have you ever grieved for something you don’t recall losing?"

Leehan looked at you, at the way the sunlight caught in your hair, at the yearning in your eyes that mirrored his own. And for the first time in his life, he allowed himself to voice the ache that had followed him through endless nights of drowning dreams.

"Every day," he whispered. "Every single day of my life."

Something passed between you then—understanding, recognition, the first fragile thread of a connection that spanned lifetimes. As you turned together to walk back to the world of science and logic and things that could be explained, Leehan felt it—the subtle shift in his heart, like the turning of a tide.

Something lost was finding its way home.

WOONHAK 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

˖➴ PAST LIFE : present day, with a twist of supernatural

˖➴ PAIRING : fighter!woonhak x highschool student!reader

The first time you met Woonhak, you had no idea just how much your life was about to change. It was late at night, and you were walking home from a study session, streetlights casting long shadows on the pavement. That's when you saw them—three figures in the distance, their postures aggressive as they surrounded someone against the wall of a building.

Your instinct told you to walk away, to mind your own business, but something pulled you closer. As you approached, you could make out a man—tall with broad shoulders—facing down the group. Despite being outnumbered, he seemed oddly calm.

"Just hand over your wallet," one of them demanded, voice echoing in the empty street.

The surrounded man—Woonhak, though you didn't know his name yet—simply shook his head. "I don't think so," he replied, his voice steady and controlled.

What happened next was almost too fast to follow. One of them lunged forward, but Woonhak moved with a precision that was breathtaking—a fluid sidestep, a redirection of momentum, and suddenly the attacker was on the ground. The others rushed him at once, but Woonhak's movements were practiced, efficient. He didn't even seem to be striking them so much as using their own force against them.

Within moments, all three had backed away, cursing as they retreated down the street.

You stood frozen, your legs barely holding you up as you watched him straighten his jacket. The silence that followed felt deafening.

Finally, you managed to speak, your voice betraying your awe. "That was... Where did you learn to do that?"

Woonhak turned to you, seeming to notice your presence for the first time. His expression softened as he met your gaze. A small, reassuring smile tugged at the corner of his lips, though there was something unreadable in his eyes—something that made your heart skip a beat.

"Just someone who knows how to handle himself," he said with a lightness that didn't quite match the intensity of what you'd witnessed. Then, his voice softened, his gaze never leaving you. "Are you okay? You shouldn't be out here alone this late."

You felt strangely drawn to him, despite the circumstances of your meeting. "I'm fine. I was just heading home when I saw... all this." You gestured vaguely at the now-empty street.

"I'm Woonhak," he said, extending his hand.

When your hands touched, something electric passed between you—a jolt of recognition that made no sense. His eyes widened slightly, and you knew he felt it too. For an instant, your mind was flooded with images: the two of you running through darkness, the gleam of silver weapons, creatures with glowing eyes, and blood—so much blood.

You gasped and pulled your hand away, the vision disappearing as quickly as it had come.

"Are you alright?" Woonhak asked, concern etching his features.

"I—" you started, then stopped, unsure how to explain. "Did you feel that?"

His expression shifted, a flicker of something—recognition, maybe—passing through his eyes. "Feel what?" he asked carefully, but something in his tone suggested he might know exactly what you meant.

"Nothing," you said quickly. "I should go."

You hurried away, heart pounding, but couldn't shake the feeling that something momentous had just occurred—like pieces of a puzzle you didn't know you were solving had suddenly fallen into place.

A few days later, you were working the closing shift at the campus library when you looked up to find Woonhak standing before your desk, his expression a mixture of determination and uncertainty.

"I need to talk to you," he said without preamble. "I haven't been able to stop thinking about our meeting."

As you walked together after your shift ended, he finally spoke the words that had been weighing on him.

"When we touched," he began hesitantly, "I saw... things. Things that couldn't be real, but felt like memories." He looked at you intently. "You saw them too, didn't you?"

You nodded slowly. "It was like remembering something I never experienced," you admitted. "You and me, but in some kind of... fight? Against creatures that couldn't possibly exist."

Woonhak stopped walking, his eyes serious. "What if they were real? Not here, not now, but somewhere else? Another life?"

"You mean reincarnation?" you asked skeptically, though the word felt right somehow.

"I've been having dreams since I was a child," he said. "Fighting monsters, protecting people. I always thought they were just nightmares, but lately they've been getting more vivid." His voice dropped. "And since I met you, I've been seeing you in them."

Over the following weeks, as you spent more time together, the visions became more frequent, more detailed. They always followed the same pattern—you and Woonhak fighting side by side against creatures of darkness. In these visions, he moved with the same precision you'd witnessed that first night, but with weapons that glinted silver in the moonlight. And you were there too, not as a bystander but as a fighter, your movements synchronized with his as if you'd trained together for years.

One evening, as you sat together in a quiet corner of a park, watching the sun set, a particularly vivid flash overtook you—a memory of standing in a dimly lit room, surrounded by ancient texts and weapons.

"We were hunters," you whispered, the realization settling over you. "In another life. We hunted... supernatural things. Together."

Woonhak's hand found yours, and instead of pulling away from the visions that contact triggered, you both leaned into them, allowing the memories to surface.

"We were good at it," he said with a small smile that felt both new and achingly familiar. "A team."

But as the memories became clearer, so did the shadow that seemed to hang over them—a sense of impending tragedy that coloured each recollection.

The final piece fell into place during a thunderstorm weeks later. As lightning cracked across the sky, you both experienced the same vision simultaneously—the moment when it all ended.

You were in an abandoned church, cornered by a creature more terrible than any you'd faced before. Its eyes glowed red in the darkness, its form shifting between human and something decidedly not. You remembered the fear, the certainty that this was an enemy too powerful to defeat.

Woonhak stood before you, his silver blade catching the moonlight as it filtered through the broken stained-glass windows. His silhouette looked too small against the monster looming in the dark, but his voice didn’t waver.

“Run,” he said, calm and certain, like it was the only answer. “I'll hold it off.”

You shook your head, breath caught somewhere between your ribs and your throat. “No. No, I can't leave you.”

Your hands trembled around your weapon. But his didn’t. His never did.

“You’re safe,” he had once whispered in a world that no longer existed, brushing a strand of hair from your face with a touch so tender it made your chest ache.  

“I’m not letting anything happen to you.”

That memory hit like a scream in a quiet room—loud, unwanted, real.  

The creature lunged.

But it didn’t go for him. It went for you.

Claws, long and gleaming with death, carved through the air.

And Woonhak moved.

Not like a soldier. Not like a hunter.

Like someone who had loved you across lifetimes.

“No!” you cried, the word torn from your throat too late.

He stepped in front of you, without hesitation, like he had always known he would.

The sound—the sound of claws meeting flesh—was wet and final. His body jerked. You saw the blood before you even understood where it came from. He didn’t scream. He didn’t even falter.

With the last of his strength, he drove his blade into the creature’s heart. They fell together—his body folding to the ground like paper, like it was never meant to hold that much pain.

You dropped beside him, hands reaching, grasping, praying.

“Please—please, stay with me—Woonhak—”

“Then we’ll fight together,” he had said before, firelight dancing in his eyes.

"You and me. Together.”

You pressed your hands to his wounds, but there were too many. Too deep. You couldn’t stop the bleeding. Couldn’t stop time.

His eyes, half-lidded and fading, still found you. Still managed to hold everything he’d never gotten to say.

“Live,” he breathed, voice barely a whisper.

"Find me again." 

Your fingers clutched his as his hand began to go slack in yours.

And in that moment, as his grip faded, another memory surfaced—soft and slow, like the last warmth before winter.

“Because... I don’t want to lose you,” 

“I don’t know when it happened, or why... but I think I’m falling for you.”

You blinked, but this time, your tears fell onto his bloodied skin.

 There was only silence.

A stillness so loud, it split your heart open.

In the present, you both sat in stunned silence as the memory faded, rain pounding against the windows.

"You died for me," you said, your voice barely audible above the storm. "In that life... you sacrificed yourself."

Woonhak's expression was solemn as he reached for your hand. "And I'd do it again," he said with quiet certainty. "In any life."

The realization of what you had been to each other—what you might be again—hung between you, too vast to fully comprehend.

"Do you think that's why we found each other?" you asked. "Some kind of cosmic second chance?"

Woonhak considered this, his thumb tracing circles on your palm. "I don't know if I believe in fate," he said finally. "But I do know that when I saw you that night, something in me recognized you. Not just from dreams or visions, but from somewhere deeper." His eyes met yours, and in them you saw the echo of countless shared moments across time. "Whatever we were then, whatever brought us together now—I'm grateful for it."

As lightning illuminated the room once more, you both understood that some connections transcended ordinary explanation—that souls could recognize each other across the boundaries of life and death, time and space.

"So what happens now?" you asked.

Woonhak smiled, that same reassuring smile you'd seen in both your present and your shared past. "Now we write a new story," he said simply. "One where neither of us has to say goodbye.”

@coriihanniee 💌

˖➴ reblogs are appreciated! ty for reading! <3

perm taglist : @lvlyhiyyih @supi-wupi @tinyelfperson @8makes1atom @s0shroe @imhereonlytoreadxoxo @mydeepestsecrects @brownetry @pumpkg @heeheesang @jungwonbropls @prodkwh

[coriihanniee]

WE WOULD'VE BEEN TIMELESS — ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

𓂃۶ৎ ALTERNATIVE : boynextdoor reimagined through countless worlds and eras

𓂃۶ৎ PAIRING : boynextdoor x f!reader

𓂃۶ৎ GENRE(S) : alternate universe (au), romance, fluff, angst, fantasy, historical, supernatural

𓂃۶ৎ WARNING(S) : violence, mature themes, angst, mental health issues, a bit of profanities in Taesan's, major character death(s) in Sungho's, Taesan's and Leehan's, author loves angst lol

𓂃۶ৎ WORD COUNT : 1.3k - 1.7k words / member

𓂃۶ৎ A/N : this has been sitting in drafts for SO long bcs I thought it wasn't well-written out but you guys seem interested in reading it so here it is!

recommended to read after :

WE'RE GONNA BE TIMELESS (part 2)

SUNGHO 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

˖➴ ERA : world war II (1939 - 1945)

˖➴ PAIRING : soldier!sungho x nurse!reader

The sound of distant gunfire never seemed to fade, lingering in the thick, smoky air like a constant reminder of the chaos outside the hospital walls. The battlefield was never far from your thoughts, even here—where bloodied soldiers came and went, and where you worked tirelessly to heal their wounds.

But then there was him.

Sungho. A young soldier who looked as though the war had aged him years beyond his actual age, though he still carried himself with a quiet dignity. His sharp jawline, the dark circles under his eyes—everything about him screamed of someone who had seen too much, endured too much. Yet when his eyes met yours for the first time, there was something soft in them, an unspoken plea for something other than survival.

He was brought to you after a raid, his shoulder bleeding and his face pale with pain. Despite the chaos around you, your focus zeroed in on him, and in that moment, everything else seemed to fade away. You worked quickly, cleaning the blood from his injury and applying a bandage, but his gaze never left you.

His lips parted in a faint, strained smile. “I didn’t think I’d be lucky enough to get a nurse like you.”

You chuckled, a soft breath escaping your lips as you kept your eyes on the task at hand. “You’re the lucky one. There are many others waiting for help.”

As you finished, you allowed your eyes to meet his again, taking in the quiet strength in his features. He didn’t flinch or protest, even as pain lanced through him. There was a certain calmness in his presence, a kind of bravery that resonated with you more than any heroic story ever could.

“You’ll be alright,” you said softly, your fingers brushing against his skin as you reassured him, though the words felt almost empty in such a place of endless war.

“I’ll be fine,” Sungho said with a gentle smile. “As long as I don’t have to fight another battle with you.”

You smiled back, a flicker of warmth spreading through you despite the cold, sterile surroundings.

As days passed, Sungho began to recover. Slowly but surely, he moved from the bed where you had patched him up, to standing beside other soldiers, offering them words of encouragement. It was in these small moments that you saw who he truly was—a man who didn’t give up, no matter how bleak things seemed.

But the more you saw him, the more you realized how deeply you had started to care. The way he spoke to you in quiet moments, his eyes always holding something unspoken, something tender. He would often appear at the makeshift hospital when the night grew quiet, bringing you a cup of warm tea or just standing by your side when you needed a moment to breathe.

“You should rest,” you would tell him, but he’d just shake his head, that faint smile never leaving his lips.

“I can’t rest while you’re still working so hard,” he would say, his voice soft with genuine concern.

There was a lightness in the way he moved, an effortless grace that made your heart flutter. It was a quiet kind of charm, not loud or brash, but steady and comforting. Sungho didn’t need grand gestures to make you feel seen. Just being near him was enough. He was the calm in the storm of war, a beacon of hope in a place where hope was scarce.

But then, just as you began to settle into the strange rhythm of life at the hospital, everything shifted again.

The night came quickly, swallowing the light of the day, and with it came the sounds of distant artillery. The hospital, once a refuge from the war, began to feel less like a sanctuary and more like a ticking time bomb. The quiet hum of the infirmary was punctuated by the sounds of soldiers in pain and the occasional scream as a patient was brought in, bloodied and broken.

That night, the sounds outside grew louder—closer.

You were stitching a deep wound on a young soldier’s thigh when the door burst open, a medic rushing in with urgent news. “The front lines are advancing faster than expected! We need more hands!”

The panic was palpable, and you didn’t have time to think. You grabbed a fresh set of bandages, ready to do what you did best—patch them up and send them back to the fight.

Sungho, who had been standing by the window, turned to look at you with a furrowed brow. “Be careful,” he said softly, though you knew he couldn’t keep the worry out of his voice.

“I always am,” you replied, offering a small, reassuring smile, though your heart was anything but calm. The reality of this place—the war—had a way of stealing all sense of control, of taking away any semblance of safety.

As the hours wore on, you worked tirelessly, your hands growing numb from the constant stitching and bandaging. You barely noticed the clock ticking, the minutes slipping by unnoticed until you felt a sudden shift in the air—something was off.

The room seemed to hold its breath, the light dimming as the distant sounds grew louder, too loud to ignore. The familiar hum of the hospital was interrupted by a series of explosions, shaking the walls and rattling the windows. The lights flickered once, twice—before going out completely.

And then came the sound that would haunt you forever: the deafening roar of artillery shells, followed by the shriek of metal tearing through the air.

“Get down!” Sungho shouted, his voice barely audible over the chaos.

You didn’t hesitate. You dropped to the floor instinctively, covering your head as debris rained down around you. The walls seemed to tremble, the ground beneath you shaking as though the earth itself was being torn apart. The sounds of the explosion echoed in your ears, followed by the blaring of alarms, the shouts of soldiers, and the frantic cries of the wounded.

Sungho was by your side, pulling you into his arms as the building groaned and shifted around you. “Stay with me,” he murmured, his voice desperate, the urgency in his tone more than you had ever heard before.

You clung to him, heart pounding in your chest, a surge of fear rushing through you. This was it. This was the moment you had both feared and tried to push out of your mind. The war was here, and it was claiming everything.

A second explosion rattled the walls, sending dust and debris scattering through the air. Sungho's grip tightened around you, his body pressed protectively against yours, as if somehow he could shield you from the devastation tearing through the building. His breath came in shallow gasps, and his voice was barely more than a whisper when he spoke.

"I won't let you go," he said, his words heavy with fear and determination. "Not like this."

You tried to nod, to tell him you were fine, but the words caught in your throat. The hospital, your last semblance of safety, was crumbling around you, and you were trapped in the middle of it. A deep crack sounded from the ceiling above, and the world seemed to tilt violently. You could hear the anguished cries of the other soldiers—people you had cared for, patched up, sent back out into the madness. But now, the madness was here, inside these walls. And you, Sungho, and everyone else were caught in it.

"Sungho..." you whispered, your voice trembling. "What if—what if we don't make it?"

He didn’t answer at first. He only tightened his arms around you, as if trying to shield you from the horror that had already begun to unravel. But there was no protection from this, no way to stop the inevitable. The explosion had already torn through the building. The foundation was weakening.

"I don’t care," he said, his voice breaking, raw. "I just want you to be okay. I’ll take the fall, if it means you’re safe."

Your heart cracked at his words, because in that moment, you both knew. This wasn’t a fight you could win. The war outside had finally breached the hospital’s fragile defenses, and there was no way to escape it. Even if you ran, even if you tried to make it to the door, you both knew it was too late.

"Stay with me, Y/N," Sungho breathed, his forehead resting against yours. His face was pale, his hands shaking, but his eyes—those eyes that had seen too much—still held that quiet strength. "Don’t leave me alone in this."

But you knew—there was no leaving this place. No running. No escaping.

The building groaned once more, and then came the deafening crash of falling debris. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. The walls around you buckled, and the floor cracked beneath your feet. You could feel the air growing thick, the dust filling your lungs, and the heat from the fires that had started in the chaos. Sungho’s arms were still around you, holding you close, but you could feel the tremor in his body. He knew, too. There was no saving you now.

RIWOO 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

˖➴ ERA : victorian era (1837 - 1901)

˖➴ PAIRING : nobleman!riwoo x servant!reader

The estate was a world of rules and expectations, where lines were drawn and crossed by those who had the privilege of wealth and status. You had spent years in the shadows of that world, bound to your position as a servant in the grand estate of the Lee family. The aristocratic family had long been known for their lineage, wealth, and impeccable reputation, and you—born into a life of service—had always been the quiet observer, playing your part without complaint.

But then there was Riwoo.

He was different. Though born to privilege, he had always treated you with a warmth and kindness that set him apart from the others. While his family considered you a mere servant, Riwoo never saw you as beneath him. His smile, the glint of humor in his eyes, the moments of quiet conversation—those were the things that made you question everything you thought you knew about love, about yourself, about your place in the world.

And so, it began—unspoken but undeniable—a feeling that crept in slowly, quietly, until it was all-consuming. You were drawn to him, though you dared not say it aloud. It wasn’t just the way he treated you, as though you were something more than a servant. It was the way he saw you. In his eyes, you weren’t invisible. You were worthy of his attention, his affection.

But you knew better than to entertain the thought. He was a nobleman, his life already mapped out for him in a way you could never hope to achieve. Riwoo was promised to another—someone of his own status, a woman whose family was as high-born as his own, whose name carried the weight of society’s expectations. You, on the other hand, were a servant. A woman who knew her place and never dared to dream of crossing the line that separated you.

But as time passed, the bond between you two deepened. The stolen glances, the shared moments of laughter in the garden, the way he would find excuses to speak to you alone in the quiet of the estate. It was intoxicating, that quiet affection, and it was impossible to ignore. There were moments when his gaze lingered on you a little longer than it should, when his hand brushed yours as he passed you something, when the air between you thickened with the weight of something unspoken.

One crisp autumn afternoon, the estate was quiet, the gardens bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun. You were carrying a tray of tea to the family’s private sitting room when you ran into Riwoo. He was standing near the windows, gazing out at the landscape, his back to you. The sunlight caught his hair, casting an almost ethereal glow around him. You hesitated for a moment before speaking.

“Is something troubling you, sir?” you asked, using the polite form of address you always did.

He turned to face you, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “I was just thinking,” he said, his voice low, almost contemplative. “About how beautiful the world can seem when you stop and actually look at it.”

You set the tray down on the nearby table, your gaze lingering on him. His words struck a chord within you, as though they held a deeper meaning. But you couldn’t allow yourself to get lost in them. You couldn’t afford to entertain thoughts of him beyond what was proper.

“You should focus on your duties,” you replied, keeping your tone neutral, though your heart felt heavy.

He frowned slightly, stepping closer, and for a moment, you thought he might say something that would change everything. But instead, he simply reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face with surprising tenderness.

“You’re right,” he said softly. “I always forget how much I’m supposed to focus on the family’s expectations. Sometimes, I wish I could just leave it all behind.”

You swallowed, fighting the sudden surge of emotion. "It’s not something you can just walk away from. You have your future planned out, Riwoo. You have responsibilities."

His eyes locked with yours, and you saw something there—a quiet defiance, an unwillingness to accept the fate that had been mapped out for him. “Maybe," he said quietly, "but what if I don’t want that future? What if I want something more?”

Your breath caught, and you pulled away, not trusting yourself to look at him any longer. "You can't have what you want, Riwoo. It’s not possible."

Days passed, and the weight of those words lingered like a shadow. You tried to bury your feelings, focusing on your tasks, your duties. But every time Riwoo came near, it felt as if the world tilted slightly, pulling you toward him in a way you couldn’t explain.

It was on one of those nights, as you worked late in the drawing room, dusting the shelves of books that lined the walls, that Riwoo found you. The soft light of the candle flickered as he stepped into the room, the faint sound of his footsteps on the stone floor making your heart flutter.

“I thought I’d find you here,” Riwoo said, his voice low and warm.

You turned, startled, but the moment you saw him standing in the doorway, you felt an ache deep inside. You knew what this was—the weight of what you could never have.

“Riwoo, I—” you started, but the words caught in your throat.

He walked closer, his eyes never leaving yours, and your breath hitched. “Why do you always run from me?” he asked, his voice a mixture of frustration and longing.

“I’m not running from you,” you said quickly, though your heart was pounding in your chest. “But you’re promised to someone else. We both know it.”

He shook his head, stepping closer, his presence overwhelming. “I don’t care about that. I care about you.”

Your breath caught. You wanted to believe him, wanted to let yourself believe that this was real—that his words weren’t just fleeting, a momentary lapse in judgment. But you knew better. You were nothing more than a servant, and he was a man of noble birth. It was a love that had no future, no place in the world that had been built for him.

“But you don’t get to care about me,” you whispered, stepping back, your voice breaking. “You have responsibilities. You have duties. You’ll marry someone else, someone with a name, someone who fits into your world. I don’t belong there.”

Riwoo’s expression softened, a deep sadness in his eyes. He reached for your hand, gently taking it in his. “Then why is it that when I’m with you, I feel like I’m finally where I belong? Why does everything else feel so empty?”

You wanted to pull away, to tell him to forget about you, to move on and marry the woman he was supposed to. But the way his hand held yours, the way his thumb brushed gently against your skin, made it impossible to resist.

“Riwoo, you don’t know what you’re saying,” you murmured, tears welling in your eyes. “You’ll regret it. This can’t happen.”

He leaned forward, his forehead resting gently against yours. “I won’t regret this,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. “Not if it means being with you.”

For a moment, the world outside the estate faded away, and there was only the two of you. The weight of your worlds, of your stations, felt far away, as though in this moment, nothing else mattered. His lips hovered just inches from yours, and you could feel the electric tension between you both. But just as the distance closed, the sound of footsteps echoed down the hallway, and reality crashed back in.

Riwoo pulled away, his expression conflicted. He knew the consequences of what he was about to say, but he couldn’t stop himself.

“I love you,” he said, his voice fierce, though his eyes were filled with regret. “And I will find a way to make this work. I’ll make it work, I swear.”

You shook your head, tears slipping down your cheeks. “You can’t. You’re bound by duty.”

“I’ll find a way to break those chains,” he replied, his voice filled with determination. “Just wait for me.”

JAEHYUN 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

˖➴ ERA : 1920s hollywood

˖➴ PAIRING : hollywood star!jaehyun x screenwriter!reader

The air was thick with anticipation as you walked through the sprawling Paramount Studios lot, the golden California sun casting long, languid shadows. The sound of the filmmakers' hushed whispers, the clatter of crew members adjusting lights, and the hum of the cameras rolling all seemed to blend into the same seductive hum of Hollywood’s eternal glamour. It was here, in this world of bright lights and silent whispers, that your dreams were beginning to take shape.

You were a screenwriter—an uncredited one for now, but that was about to change. Your latest script had caught the attention of a powerful producer, and it had found its way into the hands of Hollywood’s rising star. Myung Jaehyun. The name rolled off the tongues of everyone in Tinseltown, synonymous with talent, allure, and an effortless charm that had made him one of the most sought-after men in Hollywood.

Jaehyun wasn’t just another actor. He was a phenomenon—a man with a smile that could stop traffic, a voice smooth as velvet, and eyes that carried the kind of depth that turned heads both on and off the screen. You had seen him in countless movies, his face always illuminated in black and white, always perfect, always untouchable. But now, in the midst of this chaotic world you both inhabited, he was more than just an actor to you.

He was about to be your leading man.

When the production began, you found yourself constantly at odds with your own nervous energy. Jaehyun’s presence on set was nothing short of commanding. He moved through the scenes with an effortless grace, making it seem like the world was his stage. His performances were impeccable—his boyish smile, his quiet confidence, his ability to draw the audience in with the flicker of his eyes. But the more you saw him perform, the more you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something else—something hidden beneath his perfect exterior.

In truth, you weren’t sure what to expect when you first met him on set. He had been cast for your script, after all, and there he was, bringing the very words you had written to life.

But the first time you locked eyes with him in person, you realized that he was more than just the face you had imagined in your head while writing. Jaehyun was a man of contradictions. Behind the laughter and the charming persona, you could see the weight of something darker—something far more complex.

One late evening, after a long day of shooting, the set was nearly empty. The crew had gone home, and you were alone in your thoughts, reviewing the script one last time. You felt the faint hum of the projector still running in the background, but it was Jaehyun’s voice that made you pause.

“You’re still here?”

You looked up, surprised to find him standing near the doorway, leaning casually against the frame. His tousled hair and the loosened tie around his neck only added to the rugged allure he wore so effortlessly. His smile was warm, but there was something softer in it that caught your attention.

“Yeah, just... trying to get this right,” you said, your voice betraying the weariness that had settled deep into your bones.

“You’ve been at this for hours, haven’t you?” Jaehyun asked, stepping into the room with slow, deliberate steps. He didn’t look at the script in your hands; instead, he focused on you, his gaze lingering like he was trying to see past the professional façade you both wore. "You should take a break. You’ve been burning the candle at both ends."

You chuckled softly, shaking your head. “Not when I’m this close,” you said, a wry smile playing on your lips. “I can’t afford to fail. This script—it’s everything.”

Jaehyun’s eyes softened. He didn’t respond immediately, instead letting the silence hang in the air between you two. He took a step closer, his tone light but full of sincerity. “I get it. The pressure’s... a lot. But you’re doing something incredible here. Don’t lose sight of that.” He leaned in, his voice lowering as he added, “We’re all counting on you, you know? I’m counting on you.”

His words were quiet, but they made your heart race in a way that had nothing to do with nerves or exhaustion. The way he spoke, the intensity behind it—there was something in his gaze that made you feel as though you weren’t just another person in Hollywood trying to make a name for herself.

You shifted slightly in your chair, feeling a sudden tightness in your chest. “I don’t know if I can live up to this,” you admitted quietly, your eyes now focused on your hands, gripping the edge of the desk.

Jaehyun stepped closer still, his presence calming, and gently placed his hand over yours. The weight of his touch sent a ripple of warmth through you, making your breath catch in your throat.

“Hey,” he said softly, lifting your chin with his fingers so that your eyes met his. His gaze was intense, yet tender, as though he was seeing all the parts of you that you were too afraid to show the world. “You will live up to it. I have no doubt. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.”

There was a softness in the way he spoke, and it made your chest tighten. The quiet sincerity in his voice was so different from the public persona he wore. For a moment, Jaehyun wasn’t the glitzy movie star—he was just a man who understood what it felt like to be on the edge, caught between expectations and the overwhelming weight of living up to them.

You swallowed, a nervous laugh escaping your lips as you tried to break the sudden tension that had settled between you. “You’re the one who’s going to make my script a success, Jaehyun. I’m just a writer. All I do is type words.”

But Jaehyun shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “No, you’re more than that. You’re the one who gave me the words to speak. Without you, I’d just be another pretty face.”

The way he said it—so simply, but with such conviction—made your heart skip. There was a sincerity in his eyes that sent a flutter through you. It was just the two of you in the dimly lit room, where the outside world couldn’t touch you.

“You’ve got a way with words, don’t you?” you said, your voice a little quieter now, the flirtation in your tone impossible to ignore.

Jaehyun’s smile deepened, and he took another step closer until he was standing just in front of you, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his presence. His hand remained on yours, gentle yet firm, grounding you in the moment.

“I’m just speaking the truth,” he replied softly. “But if you want me to say something else—something different—just say the word.”

Before you could respond, Jaehyun grinned mischievously, his fingers lightly grazing the back of your hand. His gaze dropped to your lips for a moment before flicking back to your eyes with a spark of teasing intent.

“Well, if you really want me to say something else…” he leaned in just slightly, his breath warm against your ear, “I could tell you that I’m more than just a pretty face.”

His voice dropped to a near whisper, and for a moment, you swore he was closer than he’d ever been. You felt heat rise to your cheeks, your pulse quickening in the most unexpected way.

And just as quickly as it started, Jaehyun stepped back, flashing you a playful grin. “But, of course, that’s for you to decide.”

He turned on his heel and left the room, leaving you standing there, wide-eyed and flustered, the lingering warmth of his presence making it impossible to focus on anything but the playful tension that now hung in the air.

TAESAN 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

˖➴ ERA : zombie apocalpyse

°˖➴ PAIRING : protector!taesan x survivor!reader

The world, once full of laughter, bustling cities, and endless possibilities, had collapsed into nothing. It started slowly at first—a virus that seemed like any other flu strain, a quick outbreak that was initially contained. But it spread with terrifying speed, mutating faster than anyone could comprehend. Cities fell. Governments tried to maintain order, but there was nothing they could do. What had started as a series of isolated incidents exploded into full-blown panic as the virus turned the infected into the ravenous undead, driven only by hunger. Soon, civilization as you knew it was gone.

You had been running from the horrors of your home colony, the last of its inhabitants trying to hold onto what little hope remained. The colony was overrun, and you barely made it out alive, clutching a few meager supplies and running on nothing but adrenaline. Your legs burned from the effort, your lungs seared with the cold air as you ran through the overgrown streets of the abandoned city. You had no direction, no destination, but you kept going. Because stopping meant dying.

It was on that fateful night that you stumbled upon a small, fortified group of survivors—Taesan’s group. At first, they were wary, watching you from behind the makeshift barricades they’d built. You knew what they were thinking: Another stranger. Another liability.

But when Taesan looked at you—his piercing eyes scanning you with a mix of caution and something softer—you knew you were not just a stranger to him. You were another soul lost in the world, just trying to survive. And somehow, amidst the chaos of the world crumbling around you, you both found something in each other that you weren’t sure existed anymore: a chance.

Days turned into weeks. You and Taesan barely spoke at first. He was a man of few words, hardened by loss, his hands stained with the blood of the countless zombies he’d fought off to protect the group. But there was something in the way he looked at you, something that made your heart ache in the best way. It wasn’t pity or obligation; it was a quiet understanding that you both had seen the same horrors, that you both carried the weight of the apocalypse on your shoulders.

One night, as you both stood watch on the outskirts of the small camp, the silence between you was thick, filled with unspoken words. The wind howled through the broken city, and you could hear the distant groans of the undead, far too close for comfort.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered into the cold night, barely louder than the rustling leaves. “I don’t know why I’m here. I should’ve stayed back, tried harder to save them… to save my people.”

Taesan shifted beside you, his eyes fixed on the darkness. “There was nothing you could do. They were gone before you could make a choice.”

A lump formed in your throat, and you wiped at your eyes, trying to keep your composure. “But they were my responsibility.”

“You’re still here, though,” he said, his voice soft, almost tender. “That means you didn’t give up. And that’s what matters.”

The words felt like a balm to your raw soul, soothing the ache of loss that had consumed you for so long. You had almost forgotten what it felt like to have someone who cared about your well-being in this world that was nothing but a relentless cycle of survival.

“You don’t have to carry all that weight alone,” Taesan continued, his eyes briefly flicking to you before returning to the night ahead. “We’re in this together.”

His words hit you harder than you anticipated. It wasn’t the survival that was the hardest part of this world. It was the loneliness. The isolation. The fear that no matter how many people you met, no matter how many battles you fought, you would never find someone who truly understood what you were going through.

But here was Taesan, standing beside you, offering something you never thought you’d have again—a connection. A lifeline.

The next few days passed with more quiet moments between you and Taesan. You still didn’t speak much, but there was an unspoken understanding. He would protect you, and you would do everything in your power to help him protect the group. The world had become nothing but survival, but in the small moments, in the silent exchanges, you both began to heal.

One evening, as you worked on fortifying the camp’s entrance, Taesan came over, his footsteps light against the rubble. He stood a few feet away, watching you with an unreadable expression. Finally, he spoke.

“If you ever need to talk about… well, any of this,” he began, his voice gruff but sincere, “I’m here.”

You met his gaze, seeing something there—something that wasn’t just about survival, but about trust. “I’m… I’m not used to this,” you admitted quietly, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “Not having to do everything alone.”

For the first time in a long while, you allowed yourself to truly feel the relief that his presence brought. He wasn’t a savior, and you weren’t some helpless soul. You were two survivors, two people who had witnessed the end of everything and still found a reason to live.

Taesan nodded, his gaze unwavering. “I get it,” he said simply, and you felt the sincerity in those words more than anything else.

There was no grand declaration. No sweeping gesture. But as the days passed and the two of you navigated the horrors of the new world together, you realized that what you had with Taesan wasn’t just about survival.

It was a promise.

A promise to protect, to fight for something more than the end of the world—to fight for each other.

The night had fallen again, and the world outside the makeshift barricades was silent. Too silent. You knew it was coming. The warning signs had been there—the sudden surge of zombies near the perimeter, the strange movements in the shadows. Your heart raced in your chest, the air thick with the stench of fear and the eerie quiet that only preceded a storm.

"Stay close," Taesan's voice was low and steady, a sharp contrast to the pounding in your chest. His hand gripped his weapon tightly, ready for whatever came next. The once-confident leader, the protector of this ragtag group, was now standing right beside you, offering a calm you wished you could match.

"I’m not leaving you behind," you said softly, your voice barely a whisper. You'd grown too close to him. Taesan wasn’t just the man who protected you anymore. He was someone you trusted, someone you relied on in a world that had stolen everything from both of you.

He didn’t reply, but there was a flicker in his eyes. Something raw. Something real.

A loud crash echoed from the east side of the camp—zombies had breached the barricades. The horde surged forward like an unstoppable force. You and Taesan were both already moving, adrenaline taking over as you fought your way through the chaos. But something felt different this time. The air was too heavy. The weight of something… terrible.

In the frenzy of the battle, the world seemed to slow down. Your heart pounded as you watched Taesan, his movements swift and precise, cutting down zombie after zombie. You followed, staying close, making sure no one got left behind.

And then it happened.

A sudden sharp pain shot through Taesan’s side. You didn’t see the zombie approach, didn’t hear the crack of its teeth sinking into his flesh. But you saw the blood—the crimson stain spreading on his shirt.

"Taesan!" you shouted, rushing to his side.

His face was pale, the color draining from him rapidly. His grip on his weapon faltered. "It’s nothing," he tried to assure you, but his voice was strained, ragged.

"Don’t lie to me!" you snapped, your hands frantic as you pressed against the wound, desperately trying to stop the blood flow. "Shit, we need to get you inside. Now."

But Taesan shook his head, his eyes dark with something that made your heart seize. "It’s too late. You know it is."

"No!" you cried, shaking him. The panic surged through you. You couldn’t lose him. Not now. Not after everything.

He chuckled weakly, but it was bitter. "You should have stayed away from me," he said, his voice rough but filled with the kind of regret that sliced through you. "I’m not the man you think I am."

"Don’t fucking say that!" You shook your head, tears filling your eyes. "Please, just hold on."

But he didn't listen. His hand reached for your cheek, his fingers cold, trembling. His gaze softened as he traced the outline of your face, as if memorizing every detail. "I tried to protect you," he whispered, so softly you almost missed it. "But it was always you who was protecting me."

Your heart stopped. You shook your head, unable to process the depth of his words, the weight of his confession.

"Taesan," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "Don’t—"

"I need you to know," he rasped, his breathing labored. "I—"

His words were cut off by a groan of pain as he collapsed to his knees. You scrambled to catch him, but his weight was too much, and he slumped forward, his head resting on your shoulder.

"I… I love you," he gasped, his eyes half-lidded with pain. "I never… I never said it, but I do. Always."

Your breath hitched, the tears spilling over, soaking his shirt. He was confessing. He was confessing now, at the end, when it was too late.

You felt his body growing cold in your arms, the transformation already beginning as his grip loosened, his body twitching.

"No," you breathed, trying to hold him up. But his body was already changing, his eyes flickering to that dark, vacant stare of the infected.

Your heart shattered. You couldn’t let him suffer. You couldn’t let him become one of them.

Without thinking, you pulled out your gun—the one you had hoped you'd never need to use. With shaking hands, you raised it to his head.

"Taesan," you whispered, your voice breaking. "I’m so sorry."

The last flicker of recognition in his eyes lingered for a moment, just long enough to know that he understood. And then, with one final tear, you pulled the trigger.

LEEHAN 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

˖➴ ERA : 18th century, coastal village

˖➴ PAIRING : fisherman!leehan x mermaid!reader

Leehan had grown up hearing the stories.

Old fishermen, with their weathered hands and salt-stained voices, spoke of mermaids—creatures of the deep, neither fully human nor beast. Some swore they were monsters, dragging sailors into the abyss with their haunting songs. Others claimed they were omens, appearing before a storm to warn those wise enough to listen.

But there was one tale that had always stuck with him.

"A mermaid’s love is a curse."

"Once a mermaid chooses a human, they are bound forever. But the sea is jealous—it never lets them keep what they love for long."

Leehan never believed in fairy tales.

Until the day he met you.

It was supposed to be an ordinary day. The sky was clear, the waves calm, and Leehan was focused on his fishing net when he saw something unusual—a shimmer just beneath the surface.  

At first, he thought he was hallucinating. The sun reflected off your iridescent scales, casting flecks of light over your skin. Your hair clung to your face, eyes wide as you stared at him, both of you frozen in shock.  

Then, you smiled.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," you teased, tilting your head.  

Leehan swallowed hard. "You're real."  

You floated closer, resting your arms on the edge of his boat. "I could say the same about you. Most humans never get this close."  

"Most humans don't believe in you," he admitted, though he couldn't take his eyes off you.  

"You do."  

Leehan hesitated. Maybe he shouldn’t. Maybe it would be easier if he didn’t. But something deep inside him—the same part that used to listen wide-eyed to old sailors' stories—whispered that he always had.

So, he nodded.

And you smiled, like you had been waiting for that answer all along.

Days turned into weeks. Every morning, Leehan would take his boat out a little farther than usual, knowing you’d be waiting. And every time, you’d greet him with that teasing smile.  

“You should be careful,” he warned one day as you played with the ropes on his boat. “If anyone sees you—”  

“They’ll try to kill me?” you finished, unfazed. “I know. Humans are predictable.”  

Leehan frowned. “Not all of them.”  

You looked at him then, and for the first time, your teasing expression softened. “No. Not all of them.”  

It wasn’t long before you started waiting for him, not just to talk, but to listen. You wanted to know everything—what it was like to live on land, to see the stars without the water blurring them.  

And in return, you told him about the ocean. The parts of the world he would never see. The beauty of the deep, the dangers lurking where light couldn’t reach.  

“You love it, don’t you?” he asked one evening, watching the way your face softened as you spoke.  

“The sea is my home,” you admitted. “But lately… I wonder what it would be like to stay here instead.”  

Leehan’s breath caught in his throat, but before he could say anything, you laughed.  

“Relax, fisherman. I wouldn’t last a day on land.”  

But you both knew it was too late.  

You were falling. And so was he.  

The village had always feared the sea. It was in their blood—their fathers and grandfathers had warned them of the creatures lurking below, waiting to drag them under.  

And now, they had proof.  

You never saw them coming. One moment, you were waiting in the shallows for Leehan, the next, hands were on you—nets tangling around your limbs, rough voices shouting.  

“Look at the size of it!”  

“It’s real!”  

“A monster—”  

You fought, but the more you struggled, the tighter the ropes became. The air burned in your lungs. The sun was too bright. And then—  

“STOP!”  

Leehan’s voice cut through the chaos. He shoved through the crowd, panting, eyes wide in horror as he took in the sight of you—trapped, helpless, terrified.  

"Let her go," he demanded.  

One of the older men turned to him, scoffing. "You knew, didn’t you? You’ve been hiding this thing?"  

"She's not a thing,” Leehan shot back. “They’re—” He stopped himself. He didn’t know what to say. What could he say? That you weren’t dangerous? That you weren’t a threat?  

No one would listen.  

The village had already made up their mind.  

The sky was painted in the colors of dusk when they decided your fate.  

A harpoon. A single strike to the heart. It would be quick, they said. A mercy.  

You had stopped struggling by then. Maybe it was the exhaustion, or maybe it was the realization that there was no escaping this.  

Leehan tried to run to you, but strong arms held him back.

“No—” Leehan thrashed against their hold, but the villagers’ grip was unyielding, rough hands digging into his arms, keeping him in place. He struggled anyway, desperation surging through him like a raging tide. “Let me go! Please—”

His voice cracked on the last word, raw and broken, but no one listened. No one cared.

You turned your head slightly, eyes finding his through the chaos. And then—despite everything—you smiled. A soft, tired thing.

“…Leehan,” you murmured, voice gentle, as if you were comforting him.

Leehan’s breath hitched, his chest rising and falling in uneven bursts. “Don’t—” His voice wavered, thick with grief. “Don’t act like this is okay.”

Your gaze softened. There was no fear in your eyes, no anger. Just a quiet acceptance. “It was always going to end like this, Leehan.”

“No.” His struggles weakened, exhaustion creeping in, but he still fought against the hands that held him back. “No, it wasn’t.” His breath came in ragged gasps, his vision blurred with unshed tears. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

You inhaled slowly, as if savoring the air one last time, then exhaled, your expression turning wistful. “You were the best thing I ever found on the surface.”

A sharp inhale. His jaw clenched. His whole body shook with the weight of words he couldn’t force out.

“Don’t—” His voice cracked again, barely above a whisper.

Your fingers twitched slightly, as if reaching for him, but the ropes were too tight. “Leehan,” you breathed, softer now, like the final note of a fading song. “If things were different... if I could stay...”

He shook his head violently, chest heaving. He still fought, still tried, but the hands on him only tightened. It was useless.

So you did it for him.

“I would have chosen you.”

And then—  

The harpoon struck.  

A gasp. A shudder.  

And then, silence.  

The water, which had always been so full of life, was still.  

Leehan's hands trembled at his sides, fists clenching and unclenching as if he could still reach you—still pull you back from your predicament.

But nothing could.  

Not even love.    

The village cheered. The monster was dead.  

But Leehan didn’t move. He stayed there, frozen, his body trembling as he stared at you. The villagers slowly loosened their grip, but he didn’t fight anymore. There was nothing left to fight for.

Slowly, he lifted his head.  

And for the first time in his life, he hated the sea.  

WOONHAK 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

˖➴ ERA : present day, with a twist of supernatural

˖➴ PAIRING : hunter!woonhak x human!reader

The first time you met Woonhak, you had no idea just how much your life was about to change. It was late at night, and you were walking home from a late study session, the streetlights casting long shadows on the pavement. That’s when you saw it—a figure in the distance, a dark, twisted shape moving toward you in the alley.

It didn’t take long for you to realize what it was. The gleam of fangs in the darkness made your blood run cold, and before you could react, the vampire lunged at you. The world seemed to slow down as the creature closed in, its eyes glowing with malice.

But then, everything went quiet. A sharp crack echoed through the alley, and the vampire stumbled back with a horrible, gurgling sound. Your heart raced, your breath caught in your throat as you turned to see him—Woonhak. Standing tall, his gaze focused and intense, a silver blade in hand, glinting in the moonlight.

He moved with a precision you couldn’t even fathom. The vampire didn’t stand a chance as Woonhak sliced through the air with swift, calculated strikes. Every movement was practiced, sharp—like he’d been doing this for centuries. In moments, the vampire crumpled to the ground, lifeless, a dark puddle forming beneath it.

You stood frozen, your legs barely holding you up as you watched him wipe his blade clean. The silence that followed felt deafening.

Finally, you managed to speak, your voice shaking with the remnants of adrenaline. “Who—who are you?”

Woonhak turned to you, his expression softening as he met your gaze. A small, reassuring smile tugged at the corner of his lips, though there was something unreadable in his eyes. “Just someone who takes out the trash,” he said with a lightness that didn’t quite match the intensity of the situation. Then, his voice softened, his gaze never leaving you. “Are you okay?”

You backed away slightly, still in shock, trying to process the scene you had just witnessed. “That was... real, wasn’t it? You... you killed it.” The words felt like they were coming from someone else, your brain struggling to make sense of the new reality you’d just been thrust into.

Woonhak nodded, wiping his blade with a practiced hand. “Yeah. Vampires, demons... they’re real. You’re not safe here anymore,” he said, his tone growing serious. He looked at you with a quiet intensity, his gaze never faltering. “I’ll protect you. But I need you to trust me.”

Your mind raced, trying to keep up with the chaos of the situation. “Why should I trust you?” you asked, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “You’re just... a stranger. Why me?”

His expression darkened slightly, a flicker of something—pain, maybe—passing through his eyes. “Because I’m your only chance at survival,” he said, his voice steady but with an underlying edge. “And because this isn’t the first time the supernatural world has taken an interest in you.”

As the days passed, Woonhak stayed close, always keeping an eye on you but never making you feel suffocated. His playful banter filled the quiet moments between your training sessions, making the tension of your new life seem almost manageable. He trained you, not in the usual way, but in self-defense. His hands were firm as they guided yours through each motion, his voice confident and lighthearted, always adding a bit of humor to keep the mood from getting too heavy.

“I know this is a lot to take in,” he said one evening as you practiced a defensive maneuver. “But trust me, you’ll be thanking me when you’re knocking out vampires with one punch. You’ll look so cool doing it.”

You shot him a playful, frustrated look, unsure of how to process everything he was telling you. “And you’re just... some supernatural hunter? Why me? What’s so special about me?”

He paused, looking thoughtful for a moment before flashing you a grin. “It’s not just that. You’ve got this... energy, this connection to things that are way bigger than you or me. And hey, I’m just here to make sure you don’t get eaten alive in the process.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words. “What do you mean? Am I... am I a target?” The thought made your stomach churn.

Woonhak’s grin softened, and he gave you a reassuring nudge. “Yep, you are. But, hey, don’t worry. I’ve got your back. Always.” His smile was wide, full of the confidence that made you believe, for a moment, that everything was going to be okay.

The weeks that followed were filled with moments of laughter and small, meaningful conversations between your patrols and training sessions. Even with the tension building around you, Woonhak’s humour kept things light. It was hard to stay too overwhelmed when he made it seem like every supernatural creature was just another silly challenge to face. You even started looking forward to his jokes, his smiles, and the way he made you forget just how crazy everything around you really was.

Then, one night, after barely escaping an ambush by a pack of rogue werewolves, you found yourselves standing side by side, breathless and covered in dirt. The tension in the air was thick, both of you still riding the adrenaline, but there was something else there, too. Woonhak turned to you, his face lit up by the soft glow of the streetlights. His eyes locked onto yours, and for the first time, the playful edge in his expression was replaced with something more genuine. He took a step closer, his gaze softening.

“You’re safe,” he whispered, his voice low but reassuring, as he reached up and brushed a strand of hair from your face. His fingers lingered there for a moment, gentle and warm. “I’m not letting anything happen to you.”

Your pulse quickened, your heart hammering in your chest. You wanted to ask more questions, to figure out what exactly was happening between you two, but when his eyes stayed on yours like that, all you could think about was the way his warmth felt, the way he was so close and yet so careful.

“But... why?” You blurted out before you could stop yourself. “Why do you care so much? I’m just... a normal person.”

Woonhak’s playful grin faltered for a moment, and his hand stayed close to your cheek, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw softly. His voice was quieter this time, more honest, and without his usual cheerful tone. “Because... I don’t want to lose you.” His words were raw, sincere, and they made your chest tighten. “I don’t know when it happened, or why... but I think I’m falling for you.”

You froze, your heart skipping a beat at the sincerity in his words. “Woonhak...” you whispered, barely able to process what you were hearing. The world seemed to slow down as his gaze deepened, and you saw something in him you hadn’t realized before—vulnerability, a hint of fear, but something else, too. Something real.

He closed the distance between you, his hand gently cupping your face as he leaned in just a little closer. His thumb brushed against your cheek again, and his smile returned, though this time it was softer, warmer. “Sorry if I’m getting too close,” he murmured, his voice a little teasing but filled with a tenderness you hadn’t expected. “But I just... can’t help it.”

You felt the warmth of his body, the pull of his presence, and in that moment, you knew. You knew that, despite all the danger surrounding you, you were willing to take the leap with him.

“I don’t know how to feel,” you admitted softly, your heart racing. But deep down, you could already feel what your heart was telling you. “But... I don’t want to lose you either.”

Woonhak’s smile softened into something genuine, the lightness of his usual demeanour blending with a quiet intensity. “Then we’ll fight together,” he said, his voice filled with determination and warmth. “We’ll face everything, you and me. Together.”

@coriihanniee 💌

˖➴ reblogs are appreciated! ty for reading! <3

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[mimimimiaa]

tune in to you ──── 한태산

pairing: music composer! taesan x radio rj! reader genre: opposites attract (extroverted sunshine character reader and socially awkward taesan), pining, secret identity, slowburn, fluff, workplace romance (kind of?) synopsis: taesan went by his days quietly, producing and composing tracks for television shows and films in the comfort of his studio at his broadcasting company. but one day, when he tunes into the radio show you hosted a few floors above his own, the opportunity to call in as an anonymous listener presents itself to him, and his curiosity towards you, along with his want for something more in life, all bubble over into a decision which he’ll probably regret later. word count: 10.1 k warnings: mentions of food, kind of loser taesan, reader is mentioned to be shorter than taesan

With bated breath, the young girl hides behind the kitchen counter, hand pressed tightly against her lips, praying to whichever god who could help her in this dire moment of life and death. However, her prayers seem to be disrupted by the shuffling footsteps behind her, followed by what could only be described as maniacal laughter. Each second seemed to drag on as all she could do was curl up her small frame into the marble kitchen island, hoping that the man who’d been after her for hours would not notice her trembling body and futile attempts to silence her ragged breath.

‘Come out little lamb, let’s play!’

The voice, shrill and wicked, rings through the large kitchen. It’s like her heartbeat has turned into an unsteady tune of snares. As his footsteps grow louder and louder, it’s like an orchestra of sounds has made themselves home in her head, buzzing in her ears. First comes the percussion, slow and steady, setting the beat,  followed by, in all their grandeur, the strings, building up the tension as the laughter seems to move eerily closer to the shivering girl. Finally joined by the brass and woodwind, the music keeps blaring around the two figures, or maybe it was the rush of blood in her ears causing her to imagine things. The music crescendos. And then. Silence.

‘Peekaboo, little lamb!’

As the drum set builds up in intensity, his deranged laughter is the last thing she hears before the knife twisted into her abdomen slowly takes away the last of her shallow breaths. 

Heaving a sigh of satisfaction, Dongmin takes off his headphones to let them rest on his shoulders, leaning back into his swivel chair as he stretched out his arms after a long day’s work. The deadline for the third episode of the drama series was quickly approaching, so he saved his draft and sent it to his superior to examine before it slipped his mind again. 

Heaving a deep breath, he let his eyes scan the small studio that had become a second home to him in the past few years.

Being a music production engineer had never been Dongmin’s dream. He’d always loved music and sound in general, sure, but when he meant being part of the music industry, he meant singing, writing his own songs, and most of all performing, and being able to convey his emotions to thousands in the form of heartbreak songs and serenades.

 But when his Soundcloud musician dreams slowly came crashing down, he never expected to end up cooped up in a little studio, barely knowing when day turns to night, composing the backtracks to movies and television shows that graced the screens of thousands nationwide.

But that’s not to say that Dongmin hated his job though, despite his scepticism when his long-time mentor and advisor Jiho recommended the post as his junior at the broadcasting company. In the past few years, Taesan had developed an innate appreciation towards the sounds and music accompanying each scene of any show, movie or broadcast; setting the mood and portraying emotions far better than words could. 

Sometimes, it almost felt akin to magic; the way music was able to transform one scene from an adorable romantic scene between two inseparable lovers to one of chilling fright and unspeakable terrors, or even intangible and unbearable sorrows. In his own way, the job made him fulfil his dreams of touching the hearts of thousands, though not quite the way he expected. 

But in the sanctuary of his little studio, surrounded by instruments and production tools, he had to admit that sometimes when the brain fog got to him, and his fingers seemed trapped on a single key of his synth, unable to think of the next, the days seemed to stretch infinitely and felt unbearably mundane. But that never became a problem for too long as the few friends he had made in his time at KOZ Broadcasting Corporation always found a way to make his days better. Speaking of them, they should be crashing into the room right about…

‘HYUNG!! YOU’LL NEVER BELIEVE WHAT I COVERED ON THE FIELD TODAY!’

As the journalism intern came tumbling into the room panting, catching his breath, Dongmin swivelled around in his chair, eyebrow perked up in mild curiosity at the younger who had already made himself home on the small sofa in the room, rambling about some poultry farmer who ended up accidentally releasing a hundred chickens into a highway, and about how he had to actively dodge a few to score an interview with the already frazzled man. 

‘Oi Han Dongmin! I’m starving, can we please escape this cave of yours?’ 

Another booming voice that Dongmin had grown to recognise barged in, still in a smart suit after his evening news reading duties. Myung Jaehyun, an anchor, known and loved throughout the company for his never-depleting energy, sauntered in, kicking the journalist off the couch, causing a string of grumbles from the younger. As he watched the two go on with their usual antics, Dongmin shook his head with a sigh, although he couldn’t deny feeling grateful towards them for making his rather solitary way of life a bit more colourful. 

After some more small talk about each of their days, filled with exchanges of complaints and stories, the three finally left the studio, making their way up to the top floor of the company, as they did every day, to join the queue of workers to get dinner at the cafeteria. As it was just another boring Wednesday, with most being too tired or too busy to go out for their meals, the cafeteria was packed, which left the boys hunting for a table after escaping the sluggishly long dinner queue. 

As they finally found a table and cosied into their seats, another familiar face almost apologetically approached them with his own tray of food, asking if the extra seat at the table was vacant. Kim Donghyun, Dongmin had learnt with time; a camera operator at Jaehyun’s newsroom, and due to the crowded days at the cafeteria, a good acquaintance to the three seated at the table.

Basking in the bluster of the cafeteria and of the four similar-in-age friends munching away at their dinners, Dongmin allowed his mind to wander freely. His mind became preoccupied with the many deadlines that crept up on him; the ones for the new variety show didn’t seem to bother him much but the horror film set to release later that year seemed to be a bit more challenging. In the chaos of his thoughts he didn’t hear his name being called out the first time, and only with a snap of Jaehyun’s fingers did he float back into the present.

‘So Dongmin-ah, what’s going on with you? Your whole life still revolving around that studio, huh?’

The composer shrugged, not quite understanding why his friends seemed to have a problem with his rather quiet way of life. Sure, he never met anyone else other than his fellow production engineers and his few friends, and yeah, his studio was the only place he ever seemed to be at, but he never quite minded that. Not really. Or so he told himself.

‘Come on hyung, you got to get out and about more! Meet new people and stuff!’

The loud journalist exclaimed between rushed shovels of food down his throat. The quiet cameraman to his left nodded approvingly, ‘Maybe you should even meet someone new, spice things up a bit. How much longer will you cocoon your whole life into that studio?’ 

At Donghyun’s words, Dongmin looked up at him pointedly, only to be met by three pairs of curious yet teasing eyes. ‘Yeah Taesan, all these love songs and still no lover? That’s just sad.’ Jaehyun asks with a giggle, addressing him by his producer name. 

Dongmin lets out a heavy sigh knowing that the three weren’t going to let go of this too easily. As they went on throwing tips at him on how to find someone he’d like and escape this ‘miserable life’ of his, he held on to that question;

How much longer would he live alone, in solitude, like this?

He wasn’t going to lie and say that the thought hadn’t caressed his mind before; the idea of being in a relationship, of not having to spend his days and nights alone save for the few minutes his tied-up friends would spare for him.

The days when the silence of the studio felt oddly hollow, and the pulsing cursor against his unfinished lyrics seemed to taunt him, he couldn’t help but let his mind wander to the what-ifs. But his friends were right, with the way he lived, knowing nothing but the comfort of the four walls of his studio, nothing would ever change. And he was never the outgoing type anyways. 

He let this thought engulf him, tuning out the rest of the conversation and chatter around him, even as they all bid farewell to each other before heading back to the usual hustle of their lives, even as he trudged his way back up to the all-too-familiar room, and back to his seat in front of his screens. He dropped his head down to his hands, spinning about slowly in his chair. His friends had always made fun of his almost soulless way of life, yet Dongmin never seemed to pay any heed. So what was so different now? 

Maybe his head was just muddled. Yeah, that must be it. He just needed to clear it up.

Reaching his arm across his work desk, past the stack of messily arranged papers, Dongmin reached for the radio that his father had gifted him when he first got the job, though he never really got to use it with his packed schedule. As he mindlessly turned the knobs of the device, fluttering through the different frequencies, his eyebrows bunched in confusion as he was certain he was doing something wrong as the studio was filled with the constant screech of the static.

That was until he heard it.

As the static dampened, making way for a much clearer sound, his ears perked up. It was melodic, he thought, the way your voice cut through the air, enunciating each word with a contagious sort of energy yet calming enough to allow him to grasp onto the tether of your voice among the myriad of thoughts that raced in his head. Your voice seemed to silence the static in his brain.

You weren’t a stranger to him though; being in the same company as him, hosting the late-night radio show a few floors above his own. Dongmin had often seen you clock into work just as he’d step out of his studio, surrounded by your colleagues, a radiant sort of joy engulfing your being, and everything and everyone you fluttered by. 

It always felt ironic to him; how you were a late-night show host. For to Dongmin, you were like the Sun itself, basking everything in your light that felt akin to the rays of morning sunlight. It intrigued him more than anything else: how you always seemed to have a bubbliness to you that never ran out. How your lips always seemed to be curled up in a smile that could pull the world out of the darkest of times. How sometimes he was the one who felt exhausted just watching you bounce about the company walls, greeting every face you met on your way to the radio station with an almost infectious sort of felicity.

But that’s all he’d ever done. Watching you. For you confused him, maybe even scared him. For if you were the Sun, he was the Moon, with no light to give out of his own. He could count his friends with one hand, and there you were, chattering away with anyone and everyone you met, as if you’d known them your whole life. 

But it would be a lie to say that your starkly different ways of life hadn’t piqued Dongmin’s interest just a tiny bit, but he knew all he’d ever do was silently admire your zeal from the sidelines.

You were the Sun after all, and the universe revolved around you, and he was only the moon, to watch you in all your brilliance.

As you concluded the final song in your setlist, lulling Dongmin out of the slight daze he had fallen into, voice still laced with the same radiance he had grown to look forward to, you introduced the start of the next section of your programme, ‘Tune In To You’ a section where listeners could call in to talk about their worries or ask questions to the RJ. Reciting the number of your radio station, you urged your listeners to call in, with your ever-so-compelling voice.

Almost too compelling. 

Before he could think otherwise, his fingers reached into his pocket, fishing out his phone and dialling in the numbers you melodically repeated. As his fingers hovered over the blaring green call button, he hesitated. What was he doing right now? But almost as if he were in a trance, he shook off the voices in his head screaming at him to stop and went for it. He started the call. Well… it’s not like you’d actually pick up anywa-

‘Hello! This is Midnight Talkies! Thanks for calling in, could I please have your name, dear listener?’

Oh God.

As your voice echoed throughout the room, Dongmin froze. He didn’t think you’d pick up. And now he had no clue on what to do. As he began to aggressively curse himself in his head, your voice rang through the air again, laced with a twinge of concern this time.

‘Um Sir? Madam? Could you please introduce yourself for us?’

Taesan snapped back to the issue at hand, and before his head could process his actions, his lips began moving. ‘You can call me uh… Giant Mountain’ 

OH GOD.

Behind the mic at the radio station, you stifled a giggle as the name caught you off guard, looking up at the sound technicians on the other side of the recording booth who also seemed to have a difficult time remaining stoic at the weird name.

‘Right… Mr Mountain’ you say as Dongmin can feel himself cringe as he hears the name out of your lips this time, making him realise all the more how stupid using the nickname was. 

‘So what do you have for us? Any questions or confessions for us today?’ 

Taesan stills. He has no idea what to say. Everything he’s done in the past few minutes was completely on a whim and now he’s bearing the consequences of it all. Yet, even in this moment of chaos, your voice grounds him. And the first thing he can think of flits by his lips.

‘Uh… That song you just played? Wonderwall? I really like it.’ He says, almost dumbly.

As he braces himself for your obvious confusion and judgement for his out-of-the-blue statement, you do it again. 

You manage to surprise him yet again. 

‘Oh my god! You like Oasis? I love them too! I adore the chill vibe they have with their classics, I had even personally asked for this song to be in tonight’s setlist!’

Dongmin blinks in astonishment. He did not expect you to agree with him, let alone like the band he had spent years obsessing over. Having endured hours of bullying from both Woonhak and Jaehyun for his mild obsession with the English band, he couldn’t stop his heart from somersaulting at your agreement.

And before he could stop it, the music nerd in him took over, talking about the intricacies of the baseline and how the emotional tone of the lead singer’s voice made people feel calm yet still held that rich depth of rock music, you subtle hums of agreement only urging him to go on. 

As he rambled on, behind the mic, you couldn’t help but be intrigued at the passion of the man on the other end of the line. He certainly sounded like he knew what he was saying and the way his voice resonated with excitement over being able to talk about something he’s so passionate about was endearing. This Giant Mountain guy, whoever he was, was kind of… adorable. And you couldn’t help but let out a giggle at that thought.

Dongmin paused. As he heard your soft laughs from across the line, it was like his heart stilled. If he could bottle up that sound and get drunk off of it every day, he knew he’d be a goner in no time. 

And before he knew it, the two of you were animatedly discussing your favourite bands and as he hears you talk about your favourite Radiohead album, Dongmin thinks you couldn’t be more perfect than he already thought you were. But as the allocated time for your call comes to an end, with your exuberant voice, you wish him good night, moving on to the final ment before you sign off and pass it on to the next host.

As the call ends, and the silence fills his studio again, Dongmin can’t help but miss the sound of your voice bouncing around the walls. The silence feels heavier than usual as his actions finally sink in and it all hits him at once; embarrassment, shock and even… elation?

Though this might have been the dumbest thing he’s done in years, Dongmin knows one thing for sure, this won’t be the last time he calls in to you. If he’d get to hear your voice once more and talk to you the way he did tonight, just once more, maybe the embarrassment of being known as Giant Mountain didn’t matter all that much anymore.

Back at the radio station as you stepped out of the recording booth, you were met with the teasing smiles and laughs of your colleagues as the last call of the night had everyone intrigued. Despite your usually bubbly personality, it was rare for you to be so into a conversation the way you had been with… Mountain man. And your colleagues also seemed to catch on. Yet as you brushed away all their remarks with a sing-songy goodbye, you couldn’t stop the small smile playing on your face as you thought of the nervous yet interesting persona you had met today. Even if it was only just a voice.

Dongmin was sure the universe had a personal vendetta against him.

Only a day had gone by since that fateful night of questionable decisions that he could not take back. Not that he regretted it all that much, honestly. With the way he moved with a slight perk in his steps or how even the broken coffee machine in the break room couldn’t dampen his exuberance, it was safe to say that his little late-night talk with you had made the usually indifferent man giddy with joy.

Nothing could take him down from this high horse.

Or he thought.

‘So I’m sure you’ve heard of our company’s radio show Midnight Talkies? They’re renewing for a new season in a few months so we’ve been tasked with creating a new jingle for them: something catchy but still bringing in the chill late-night atmosphere. And since Sungho and Minji both have three other projects to work on, I’m sure you’ll be fine with this? It’s not anything too difficult anyway’

As he slowly trudged out of Jiho’s office. He wished for nothing more than the ground beneath him to open into a gaping hole and swallow him whole. He usually loved working for something commercial like jingles and such, but with last night’s events, which at the thought of still left the back of his neck flaming with slight embarrassment, your show was probably the last thing he wanted to work on.

And things didn’t get any better when your superior suggested having you, the host, come over to review some ideas on how to make a catchy tune that would convey your show’s essence. 

Too soon.

But you wouldn’t catch on, would you? After all, he was just another voice you met on your show. Even though it was everything to him, he knew that the short interaction between the two of you was entirely trivial to you. 

As you walked your way down to the sound department’s floor, a few flights of stairs down from your own, your eyes scanned the open area as large pieces of equipment were scattered around, making way for a hallway of rooms with their doors shut tight, barely any indication of life within them.

Those had to be the studios.

As you walked past each door, hoping to somehow miraculously end up in front of the right one, your steps came to a halt at the door in the far corner, adorned with a wooden sign.

TS.

This had to be the one right? 

Hesitantly, you brought your knuckles up to the door. One knock. And… nothing.

Once again your hand meet the door, three knocks, this time. Still, only silence greets you. 

Maybe he wasn’t in.

Just as you were about to turn on your heels and leave, you hear the lock click open, and soft amber light seeps through the crack, only obscured by the shadow of a rather tall man with messy tousled hair sitting haphazardly over his forehead. 

‘Come in.’

As you bashfully walk into the small studio, your eyes scan your surroundings with gnawing curiosity, trying not to meet the intense stare of the much taller man in front of you. Along with many sound equipment you wouldn’t even try to name, were instruments arranged neatly against the wall, a few guitars, a keyboard, and some percussion for his more intense work.  As your eyes trailed up to the walls littered with band posters and album covers, a true testament to the owner’s passion for music, your eyes couldn’t help but catch a rather familiar sight.

‘Ooh (What’s the story) Morning Glory? I love that album!’

At your mention of the Oasis album, Dongmin’s eyes which were deliberately watching your every move shot up to meet your own, widening slightly. As your eyes locked with his, almost as if you were trying to extract his deepest darkest secrets, he knew it was all over. You’d figured his rather dumb secret out and you probably thought he was the biggest weirdo known to mankind.

But instead, he was only met with a quiet laugh from you, almost contemplative. ‘You know I could have sworn Oasis wasn’t that popular here, but lately, I keep hearing about them. I’m not complaining though, they need more recognition’

With a smile on your face, you settle down on the sofa, coercing him to take a seat too. Dongmin lets his gaze follow you once again, as you bounce one knee up and down, waiting for him to break the silence that was slowly clouding over the cramped room. He heaved a sigh, mainly of relief as he settled back down into his chair. He needed to get a hold of himself if he wanted any chance of his secret still only being his to keep.

‘Okay, so what kind of vibe do we want to go for?’

You’d been in his studio for hours already. Or maybe only minutes had passed. Dongmin could not tell. 

As he played you one sample after another of jingles and random sets of beats for you to gauge what met your fancy, you’d constantly quip up with what you liked and what you didn’t about each one, which helped Dongmin narrow stuff out. He admired the way you clearly knew what you wanted, despite your lack of knowledge about the technicalities of it all. He liked that about you. 

Sometimes you’d laugh at a funny tune or even pop a joke or two which eased the initial tense silence between you two into something much more comfortable. Even Dongmin, who was infamous for his reservedness, couldn’t help but join in with small remarks and soft giggles here and there, as your energy and good spirits almost felt like it was infectious.

Yet, as you had been the object of his keen watchfulness for years, after having grown used to eyeing you from afar for all this while, having you seated less than an arm’s length away from him, actively conversing and interacting with him was rather unnerving. Every time you’d casually compliment him for a well-made tune or jingle he’d feel his heart clench just a bit, warmth blooming within its walls, spreading to every part of his being, even if he tried to curb it.

But despite the rush of his nerves and the tingliness about his fingertips as they moved around the mixboard, as your gaze seemed to burn into his back while his own was glued onto his work, he had grown fond of the serene air that hung between the two of you, almost as if this was how it was always supposed to be.

Until a small buzz chirped from your phone, breaking the tranquil, and with it indicating that it was time for you to leave. Dongmin was probably imagining it, but he could have sworn that you looked like you hated to leave the cosy studio just as much as he wanted you to stay. Trying not to let his despondency be too obvious, he wished you a quiet goodbye, wishing you luck with the night’s radio broadcast.

But your next words seemed to raise his spirits a bit, ‘It was so fun working with you today Taesan, you wouldn’t be free the same time tomorrow, would you? I’ll research some lyrics to add in with the catchphrase so that it sounds good too!’ 

Agreeing with a bit too much enthusiasm, Dongmin watched as a soft smile graced your face, as you waved him goodbye, closing the door to his studio gently. Before he could stop it, a similar smile mirrored on his face, as his eyes stayed fixed on the same spot that you, with all your radiance, had just left. That was until a familiar news anchor came crashing in through the same door, quick enough to notice the unfamiliar expression on his dear friend’s face.

‘Please, you should have seen that derpy grin on his face, I’m telling you, Hak, he so loves her!’

As the two friends, who he usually loved to death, giggled teasingly as Jaehyun continued to exaggerate what happened after you had left the studio, Dongmin sighed exasperatedly as they seemed to pay no heed to his convincing that it was nothing more than him finding you an interesting person to be around.

But despite all their teasing over his supposed fat crush on you, he almost found himself agreeing to their words as the thought of you and your time in his studio only made his heart flutter, your voice plaguing every corner of his brain like a record player that simply couldn’t be silenced. And he wanted to hear it one more time that night.

He knew it was a risky game, yet he didn’t seem to mind anymore as a faux sense of confidence surged through him. After hurriedly wishing his confused friends goodbye, he found himself rushing back into the studio, back into the certain comfort of the four walls he could call his own, once again accompanied by the radio, this time with the knobs tuned perfectly so that the moment Dongmin’s fingers flicked it on, the studio was once again filled with the warm crackle of your voice.

You were still putting on some familiar hits which soothed Dongmin’s slowly creeping nerves as he laid his head on his crossed arms, allowing himself to unwind after the eventful day. As the final song by The Carpenters came to a slow stop, you announced, once again in that same voice that hadn’t lost its vigour throughout the day, the start of the daily programme that Dongmin had been waiting for all day. 

Almost like clockwork, he found himself dialling in the numbers, and waiting as the phone rang, this time much more hopeful to hear your voice on the other side.

‘Hello! This is Midnight Talkies! You’re live listener! Would you mind introducing yourself for us?’

Despite his nerves, a small smile dangled on Dongmin’s face at the sound of your voice, a surge of boldness filling him along with it. 

‘Hello lovely, remember me from yesterday?’

As the smooth voice played through your earphones, your eyes widened in surprise, not having expected to hear the same voice that had been the object of your curiosity the past night, to call so soon.

‘Of course, Mr Giant Mountain, how ever could I have forgotten about you? So tell me, anything on your playlist that you’re dying to hear on here?’

‘Well, could you play And I Love Her by The Beatles? The song has been stuck in my mind all day, and I figured that I had to share it with my favourite RJ’

‘Oh I must say I’m flattered, Mr Mountain’, you say with a light laugh.

‘Is there any reason this song’s stuck in your head or do you just happen to be a hopeless romantic with good taste?’

‘Ha, I guess a mix of both? I think it has to do with its mood, you know? The soft guitar with the gentle vocals is just so melancholic, you know? It just makes sense, just like talking to you, Miss RJ’

Your eyes once again flashed upwards towards your coworkers standing outside the booth, stifling their giggles at the bold man on the other side of the phone. With a slight rouge painting your cheeks, you reply, ‘Mr Mountain, you certainly seem to be one for compliments, hm? So do tell, what do you find yourself doing when you’re not listening to me ramble or play music on the radio?

‘Hmm, mostly thinking about how to sound as cool as you do on air? Spoiler alert: It’s going abysmally.’

This time you were certain that the blush on your face had undoubtedly darkened as you respond with a slight laugh. ‘Well, I’d say it’s going pretty well Mr Mountain, you’ve got that whole “mysterious caller” thing going for you, it’s kinda cool’

‘Mysterious, huh? I’ll take it, especially if you think it’s cool, pretty. But don’t get too curious, Ms RJ, I met just lose all reins and ruin the facade’

‘Oh, now you’ve got me on my toes. Well, how about this, next time you call back, you tell me a little something about yourself, Deal?’

‘Hmm, deal, but only if you’d play something by The Smiths next time, we got to keep this retro romance theme going, no?’ Dongmin says, intrigued by your curiosity towards uncovering his little persona.

‘Ooh, we’re doing themes now, huh? Alright then, Mr Mountain, just for you, And I Love Her is up next, thanks for calling in – and don’t be a stranger, yeah?’

With a lingering smile, ‘Wouldn’t dream of it, talk soon and goodnight Miss RJ’

Dongmin had fallen into a comfortable rhythm the following few weeks. Despite both of your busy schedules, your face at his door was something that had become quite frequent in his days, the two of you making significant progress in moulding the short jingle to be exactly what you had envisioned for your show. Dongmin had started to look forward to your visits, as his initial awkwardness around you had melted away into something much softer, your presence, a gentle light in his dull life.

Sometimes the two of you would even bump into each other outside the dingy studio, sometimes in the cafe near the company, where Dongmin had graciously bought you a cup of coffee despite your reluctance, that you gratefully sipped on as the two of you busked in the comfortable silence that had been a staple during your times together.

Another was when Dongmin had been waiting quietly by the elevator, his figure lost among the many others waiting, some tapping their feet in impatience, others caught up in their conversations, as he simply observed his surroundings, an earphone bud dangling from one ear.

That was when a bright voice shot from across the concierge, one that he recognised far too well.

‘Taesan!!’ 

Your bubbly figure bounded up to him as you waved hello at the quiet man clad in all-black, whose eyebrows had perked up in surprise. Yet, as he finally got over your genial greeting, a smile graced his face as he politely greeted you back, the two of you falling into small talk, the people around you all melting away as a soft bubble seemed to envelop the two ever-so-different souls, as  you were sucked into a world of your own. 

In your absence, it was almost as if Dongmin had begun waiting for you to pop out behind some wall or door; hoping to run into you some way or the other. But he never had to wait too long as every night, his calls with you had become part of his routine, and you too couldn’t deny that it was something that you had looked forward to.

Every night, your mystery man would call in, making you perk up in unconcealable excitement as you fall into your usual conversation, sometimes about music or sometimes about your days, where he’d reveal certain bits and pieces about himself that never were too specific to give out his identity but made you feel like you had started to get to know him more. And along with the bubbling curiosity about your frequent caller, you also would be surprised by the man’s blatant flirting with you. 

It started small, but with time, it slowly built up into less-subtle compliments and double entendres that had you, the ever-professional RJ melting into a mess, a constant blush decorating you as you went on about your daily calls with this mystery man who you had grown unbearably inquisitive about. 

Your colleagues at the radio station had also caught onto your flustered behaviour with this one specific listener and you had become the victim of their relentless teasing. But despite furiously refusing all their joking remarks, you couldn’t help but feel a warmth bloom in your chest every time your mystery man became the topic of your conversations.

However, it wasn’t just your coworkers who had become fans of your undeniable chemistry with the voice you looked forward to every night. Many listeners of your radio had also written into the station, flooding in messages about the two of you. 

With you growing bolder with your Mr Mountain, often you play into the flirtatious tension you have with the man, requesting one of your favourite love songs by the Cure, dedicating it to a special someone,

‘This one’s for the voice that keeps me company here even on the darkest of nights’ 

Needless to say, this puts your listeners in a frenzy, blowing up the station’s social media page with questions and comments about the two of your will-they-won’t-they type of chemistry.

And despite considering the whole interaction as an entertaining and elaborate joke, you couldn’t help but boil over in desperation to find out who this enigma was, subtly trying to pry for details every call, but despite his laidback persona, Giant Mountain was ever-so evasive, preferring to keep the mystery and curiosity alive. 

Some days, you’d clock into work to be pleasantly surprised by little gifts sent by the same mystery man. Once it was a vinyl record of your favourite album, and another day it was your favourite coffee order, that you simply couldn’t wrap your head around how he had figured out. But everything was always signed by a short but sweet note:

‘With Love, G.Mountain’

One thing was for sure, you were going to figure out who this man, who seemed to know a lot more about you than you did him, was. You tried to tell yourself that it was just your natural curiosity taking over, but you knew that the real reason was something else. Something else, given the circumstances, felt a lot harder to justify.

Dongmin was certain that you would never figure him out.

It had been just over two months since you had started working with him on the programme’s jingle, and today would mark the final session for touch-ups. The two of you had grown a lot closer during this short time, spilling little bits and pieces about yourselves during the conversations that flowed like water between you. Yet, despite all the redundancies between him and his vocal persona, you never seemed to catch on to him.

However, he could not help but be grateful for your obliviousness. His strongly built walls had started to crumble slowly in your presence, and Dongmin himself discovered a side to him that he did not know existed—a much brighter and talkative version, one only you seemed to bring out on air. 

He couldn’t understand where the sudden boldness he found himself exuding came from, but he didn’t hate it; it felt like having two personas he could alternate between when it came to you. But now that your time together working on the jingle would be coming to an end, he could not stop the sinking feeling from settling down into his heart at the thought of not being able to see you as often as he did now.

Dongmin’s friends had also noticed his peculiar affection towards you and the way that he seemed to melt in your presence or bashfully talk about his time working with you in the studio. They’d begun teasing and throwing jokes about his ‘loverboy era’, but mainly, urging him to make a move before the chance got away. 

But it all seemed too difficult for Dongmin. As ‘Giant Mountain’, he was simply a voice, a persona with no face or human responsibilities, and the flirtatious personality came with no repercussions. Yet as Taesan, a well-renowned producer and someone you would keep seeing around in your time at the company, making a move felt far more burdensome. 

As the afternoon sun just started to subside, a much calmer warmth being cast over the city, Dongmin heard the three familiar knocks that had his heart stutter for a beat, and his ears perked up like an excited puppy. As he craned his head back, your figure met him, your face lit up in a shy yet gleeful smile as you waved hello, making your way to your designated spot on the couch.

‘So I took the little notes you had into consideration, and I have what I think is the final version of the intro… You ready to hear it?’

Dongmin asked, a curious smirk curling up the corners of his mouth. Your eyes sparkled in excitement as you quickly nodded. Taesan scrolled to the play button on his screen and clicked it. Then, he leaned back in his chair, slightly swivelling around so that he was angled towards you. 

As the light melody started to pour through the speakers, filling every corner, the upbeat yet chill tune had you nodding along to every beat as you absentmindedly closed your eyes, vibing along to the music. 

Unbeknownst to you, a pair of eyes were observing every movement of yours, analysing how you reacted to the piece he had spent hours trying to compose and perfect. And seeing you completely immersed in it, enjoying every second was the only reward Dongmin could have asked for.

As the jingle wrapped up with a whisper of the station name, your eyes fluttered towards Dongmin’s expectant ones, as he patiently waited for your final verdict.

‘Taesan… It’s perfect, it’s everything I wanted!’

You exclaimed, your eyes crinkling into a smile, as Dongmin’s face mirrored the same expression as yours, as relief and joy washed over him at your approval. 

‘Well, I’m going to send this over to my head, and well…this is it then, huh?’ He asks as a much more solemn mood settling into the studio.

As the realisation that you wouldn’t be seeing the quiet producer around as much, sunk in, something shifted in you. Despite his composed and oftentimes cold exterior, you had grown quite fond of Taesan, with the way he’d joke around or tease you for your obliviousness when it came to music, or the way he’d listen with utmost attentiveness when you’d wind up rambling about one thing or the other, and even chirp in with remarks or soft giggles.

It felt like you had access to a softer side of the talented producer that not many others had the opportunity to witness. And you liked that. And you couldn’t help but feel sorry that the short time you had with Taesan had already come to an end. 

As the two of you worked with packed schedules, you could only promise to treat the composer to a meal since you had to leave to prepare for your show with the programme’s producer. However, before you departed, you fished out a packet of Ferrero Rocher from your bag—your favourite, as you mentioned while handing it to the stunned man—as you hurried out of the studio that you were certain you would miss.

Wrapping up the script overview, you walked into your recording studio, putting on the snug pair of earphones as you waited for everything to be set and rolling. As the large ‘ON AIR’ sign blared a bright red, you fell into a comfortable pace that you did every night, expertly greeting your dedicated listeners with the lively voice that many around the country had grown to love and adore.

Soon, you’d reached the segment that you had admittedly been anticipating the most, as you often found yourself doing these late nights, and as the sound of someone joining the broadcast played, you sat up straighter, only for the silky smooth voice on the other end to be one you recognised immediately.

As you finished up the initial greetings that the both of you had gotten used to, Giant Mountain started the conversation with the usual sort of flirtations that had your eyes rolling in mock disbelief but always left a smile lingering.

‘Hey Miss RJ, I must say I’ve missed your voice’, he starts with a playful tone.

‘Mr Mountain, my favourite caller, I was wondering if you’d remember to call in today, but you never fail to do so, hm? So tell me, what’s on your mind today?’

‘Woah, forget about you? How ever could I do that? Your voice is practically the soundtrack to my nights, I’d say it’s hauntingly good, but I wouldn’t want to scare you away now, would I?’

‘Hauntingly good, huh? I’ll take that as a compliment… But do say, if I’m the soundtrack, does that make you the lead vocalist or the backing vocals to accompany my melody?’

‘Hmm, maybe I’m the fan who admires from afar, knowing every lyric by heart? Oh! Talking about the heart, I fear I have a question for you, Miss RJ’

‘Uh-oh, that sounds serious. What’s up, Giant Mountain?’

‘Not serious, just… thoughtful. Valentine’s Day is coming up real soon, and I was wondering what our lovely RJ has planned for the special day’

You raise an eyebrow at the sudden question. Valentine’s was a day you never had much to look forward to as you had spent much of your youth trying to get somewhere as an individual, and despite your incredibly outgoing nature, you never quite found someone to spend the cheesy, yet romantic day with.

‘Hmm… Nothing much, Mr Mountain, having my wonderful listeners by my side along with some sweet music is more than enough company for the day’

‘Well, that sounds nice… But what about something to spice it up, maybe you’d like a surprise?’

As you often found yourself doing during these calls with your Mr Mountain, you glanced at the staff working at the controls, exchanging a surprised expression for their amused ones.

‘A surprise? I don’t think I caught on to what you mean… How will you surprise me while on call, Mr Mountain? I mean we haven’t ever met and I can’t imagine a surprise in any other way?’

‘Getting curious now, aren’t we Miss RJ, well, don’t worry too much about it. And while we’re on the topic of surprises, you wouldn’t mind playing “No Surprises” by Radiohead in today’s setlist now, would you? And for a clue of sorts, let’s just say… I’m a lot closer than you think I might be, so maybe you really shouldn’t be too surprised.’

‘Well, it’s hard not to be curious with you, Mr Mountain, you’re the only one who keeps me on my toes, and I really don’t know what I’ll do with that last cryptic part, Mr Mountain, I fear it’ll keep me up for nights. But while I immerse in that thought, here’s ‘No Surprises’ by Radiohead, and I hope to hear from you soon, Mr Mountain.’

You weren’t entirely wrong about his words keeping you up for nights.

From his words, it felt like Giant Mountain was hinting at you knowing him, in real life. The more you thought about it, you couldn’t help but feel something familiar about the husky voice which accompanied you for so many nights.

In the way he talked, and the way he let out breathy laughs at a joke, or even the steadiness that wound about every word he uttered, there was something about the man that you recognised but could not pinpoint what.

As the days to Valentine’s Day ticked by quickly, you grew more inquisitive about Giant Mountain’s words and well, the man himself

But with the way the man evaded each one with his usual laid-back nonchalance, you found yourself being driven to the edge of your patience and curiosity.

Soon, the day you had surprisingly found yourself waiting for had finally arrived: The day to celebrate love.

Though you were put on edge the entire day, a part of you was slightly hopeful that the mystery man who you admittedly had grown a soft spot for would do something like he’d said he would, although you knew that it was greatly unlikely and just something he ended up saying in the spur of the moment. 

And you were proven right, as the day went about just as it always did; with you clocking into work and being greeted with the day’s work, today being a bit heavier than the rest due to the special occasion. As you let yourself be consumed by your work, Giant Mountain and his words were soon pushed to the back of your mind, their blaring presence in your head being replaced by more pressing matters.

Soon, night had fallen and it had already become time for your daily show to begin. Despite the usual cheerful and lighthearted greetings you exchanged with everyone at the station, you couldn’t help but feel a certain heaviness loom in your heart. Although you knew it was stupid, you had ended up being hopeful, looking forward to a stranger’s words despite never having met them, or knowing anything about them at all.

It made you think, did you end up attached to the man behind the ridiculous pseudonym?

With his often shy demeanour, that would be quickly contradicted by his smooth words that had your heart fluttering, leaving you flushed despite your poor attempt at trying to resist it, did you really end up wanting more from this unlikely relationship with… what you only knew as a voice?

You knew it was a dangerous path to thread, and honestly an unlikely one too. The chances you’ll ever get to know more about this Giant Mountain man were not too high, and the more you thought about it, you were probably just a medium to keep him entertained; his flirtatious attitude just a fleeting game, a way to pass the time in the vast, lonely expanse of the night.

As you finished your final preparations before going on air, you couldn’t stop the thought from blaring about your head: Did he ever, even once, care about you in the way you had inevitably found yourself caring about him?

You couldn’t allow yourself to dwell on this thought for too long as the ‘ON AIR’ lights flickered a blaring red, your voice now being broadcasted around the country. Refocusing your thoughts back into your work, you greeted your dedicated and loyal listeners once again with your signature lively voice.

The night went by smoothly, with the setlist leaning towards the romance genre, starring many iconic love songs that your listeners had called in before dedicating to their loved ones. Though you swooned at the romantic gestures, you couldn’t help but not feel yourself despite the obvious abundance of love wafting through the air.

As the songs came to an end, the segment you most looked forward to came by, as slowly your hopes crept up higher, curiosity once again filling you as you wondered, maybe your Mr Mountain would find a way to surprise you during your daily call?

And so with raised expectations, you repeated the number to the station for the last time, waiting to be connected to your listeners, most importantly your favourite listener. Tonight, you had the time to entertain a few more listeners, so you started your calls with a sweet boyfriend who wanted to dedicate a speech to the love of his life on live radio. 

Person by person, you found yourself spending the night talking to more people, listening to their unique takes on love and being loved, and while you found the common topic of the night to be endearing, you found yourself wishing that you were talking to a certain someone else instead.

But as your producer signalled the end of the final call-in of the night behind the controls of the recording booth, with no sign of Giant Mountain’s usual presence on your programme, a deep forlorness settled into the pit of your stomach.

Had it finally happened? Had he finally grown tired of spending the nights talking on your show? Did he finally grow tired of you?

As you pushed away the thoughts that now took full reign in your mind, you managed to wrap up the night’s broadcast with a cheerful tone that contrasted the inner turmoil you found yourself embroiled in.

Owing to the special occasion, the show had gone on for a bit longer than usual, and maybe it was the exhaustion of it all, or perhaps just the weight of disappointment that weighed down on you, but you couldn’t wait to get back to the solitude of your home and sleep away the weariness of the day.

As you wished your coworkers a drained goodnight, many had seemed to notice your apparent dejectedness, with Yunah even pulling you aside to ask if your usual bubbliness was replaced by this brooding energy due to the absence of Giant Mountain’s calls that usually had the whole studio giggling and teasing you.

But you quickly brushed her off saying that you barely even noticed the lack of his call, and that it didn’t matter that much to you anyways, to which you were greeted with a skeptical raise of her eyebrow. Quickly after, you packed up your things, waving everyone with a final goodbye. Despite your adoration towards your colleagues, tonight, you couldn’t have been more relieved to be left alone to your thoughts, as you slouched despondently against the insides of the company elevator.

Trudging your way past the entrance of the broadcasting station, your body a heavy weight to lug about, you take in your surroundings. The air is crisp, and the streets are quiet. You gladly welcome the serene peace the night offered, contrasting the muddled chaos in your head.

As you adjusted the strap of your bag, your eyes land on a lone figure in the desolate night, leaning against his car as he fidgeted with the ends of his sweater absentmindedly.

‘Taesan? What are you doing here?’ 

You were a bit confused. After wrapping up your show, it had already stretched past midnight and you were certain that the composer standing in front of you was supposed to have clocked out hours ago.

That was when you noticed the small yet gorgeous bouquet of flowers clutched tightly in his hand. 

‘Oh! Were you waiting for someone?’ You asked, your curiosity piqued. It wasn’t surprising that the good-looking music composer also had a date for Valentine’s, although for some reason, the fact felt like another jab to the gut on this already upsetting day.

With a small nervous smile, Taesan finally looked up at you, eyes meeting yours. 

‘Well yeah… I was waiting for you.’

Wait, what?

‘I told I’d surprise you didn’t I? Happy Valentine’s Day, Miss RJ’

Suddenly, it felt like the world had stopped. As you slowly start processing Taesan's words, you think you’re having an epiphany; with all the jumbled puzzle pieces that had been floating about in your head, clicking together in place, surprise and shock taking over you.

Giant Mountain… Taesan… Oh, it all made perfect sense now. And the near identical music taste from the days you had spent admiring the composer’s record collection in his studio? Now that it was all presented in front of you, you couldn’t believe how you’d missed to piece it all together when it was so conspicuously in front of you.

Your Mr Mountain had been right next to you this whole time, disguised in the form of a shy yet skillful composer you had grown a soft spot for in your time working together.

‘Wait Taesan… You’re Giant Mountain?’ You asked incredulously at the tall man in front of you, whose grin had grown wider at the sight of your obvious surprise at the revelation.

‘Guilty as charged. Though in my defence, I didn’t know we’d have to work together when I made the first call… if I had known I probably wouldn’t have done it, the whole thing was so risky anyways’, he replied sheepishly, his words trailing off as his gaze focused down to the ground.

‘Well, Giant Mountain, I’m glad the work offer came after you called in, I wouldn’t want to have imagined my nights without your company anyways’, you replied with a small laugh, causing Taesan to snap his vision from where he was so focused at kicking around the dirt around his feet, up to your eyes, surprise evident behind the shiny orbs.

‘But Mr Composer, all those calls… the flirting, the song requests… that was you the whole time? I will admit, you’ve got a lot more hiding behind the quiet studio-man persona you’ve let on, you know?’

Shuffling his feet, Taesan replied quietly, his usual unreadable stoicism replaced by an adorable shyness, ‘Well, I’d seen you around the company a lot, and I thought you were interesting… I figured if I couldn’t get your attention in person, I’d try my luck on air. And honestly, hearing your mesmerising voice every night after, it was impossible not to call in’

You felt a warm smile tugging at the corners of your lips. ‘You’re full of surprises, you know that, Taesan? Honestly, I still can’t believe I didn’t recognise your voice despite hearing it every day’

‘Well, I was trying to be mysterious. But I think the jig is up now. So…’ Taesan holds up the flowers in his hands, ‘These are for you. Consider it my way of saying thanks for putting up with the days in the studio and my late-night calls. And… if you’d like, you can call me Dongmin, Taesan is really just a stage name of sorts’

Taking the flowers from him, your hands briefly brushing in the process, you couldn’t stop the flush from blooming in your cheeks. ‘They’re beautiful. Thank you… Dongmin. But you know, you didn’t have to go through all this just to talk to me. You could’ve just… asked me out.’

Dongmin thought he could die happily when he heard his name slip past your lips. The same name he had spent his whole life hating sounded like the prettiest sound in the world. But shaking off the surprise, a sly grin spread across his face.

‘Where’s the fun in that? Besides, I wanted to make sure you knew how much I enjoy listening to you. Not just your voice, but the way you connect with people. It’s pretty incredible.’

You let the smile you were fighting off the whole time fully bloom at his words, your whole being warm and flushed despite the slight chill of the February night. 

‘You know, you’re not too bad yourself. I don’t know many music composers, but I’d like to think that most wouldn’t go out of their way to dedicate ‘Fell in Love With a Girl’ to me during a nationwide broadcast’

Dongmin had shed himself of his initial nervousness by that point, his face adorned by a soft, genuine smile which you found utterly adorable. ‘Well, I’m glad to hear that. But does this mean you’ll let me take you out to coffee or dinner sometime? Even our cafeteria’s dinner is fine if you’re busy… anything is fine really… anything you want’

As he stuttered over his last words, you giggled at the taller man in front of you.

‘Of course, Dongmin, I’ll hold you to that. But only if you promise to keep calling in. I kind of like having my own personal mystery caller.’

‘Deal, but next time, you’ll know it’s me. No more hiding behind the radio persona.’

You let out a small chuckle at his words, ‘That’s great. Because Dongmin, I think I might just like the real-life version of Giant Mountain so much better.’

Taesan’s eyes radiated a soft warmth as you said the last few words, but suddenly, he straightened his posture, clearing his throat, as he moved to stand right in front of you.

‘Well, in that case, how about we start this Valentine’s Day over? Hi, I’m Dongmin. I work in music production, I’m terrible at talking to strangers, and I may or may not have been secretly crushing on you for months.’

Giggling at his antics, you took a step forward towards him, ‘Hey, Dongmin. I’m the host of a late night radio show here at KOZ. I talk way too much on the radio, I love cheesy love songs, and… I think I might have a crush on you too.’

His eyes scanning you with an adoring stare, Dongmin holds out his hand to you, a tender smile dancing about his boyish features, ‘Well, my dearest Miss RJ, it’s far too late for dinner, but could I perhaps interest you in some midnight ice cream?’

Reciprocating the warm smile, you take his hand. ‘Of course, Mr Mountain, ice cream sounds perfect.’

2 years ago 

You leaned against the railing of your floor, cup of coffee untouched in your hands, as your eyes stayed focused on one of the corridors a few floors beneath your own, that the radio station overlooked.

It wasn’t the first time you’d seen the familiar hallways of the music and sound production department, yet something, or rather someone, had seemed to have caught your eye. 

But as you felt a presence loom behind you, your gaze quickly shifted to your coworker and close friend. Yunah shoved your shoulder teasingly, ‘Careful now, stare at him any harder and you might just burn a hole into his back’

You rolled your eyes dismissively at her words, though your eyes seemed to betray you, as they quickly flickered down to catch a glimpse of the quiet man who leaned peacefully against a pillar, headphones comfilly sitting on his head as he mindlessly bobbed his head to the music. 

Despite his inconspicuous dark clothes and reserved behaviour, all your attention seemed to be drawn to the newcomer at the music production department; the calmness that danced about his face, his emotions unreadable. 

But in the chaos of the bustling broadcasting company, the stillness of the stranger’s presence seemed to almost comfort you, and had spurred your interest. 

You turned to your friend who had been studying your every past movement. ‘What did you say his name was?’

A knowing smile taking over her features, Yunah replies, ‘Taesan, I heard. He’s a new composer working for the entertainment department, you know, for the movies and shows KOZ is producing. I heard from Jongseob that he used to be his senior at school.’

‘Taesan...’ you let the name linger on your tongue. It was a pretty name.

Yunah nudges you once more, eyebrows wiggling up and down teasingly, ‘What? You have a thing for Mr Composer over there?’

As you watched the quiet man walk away, back into the shadows of the hallway, you softly denied with a hum, ‘No, he just seems rather... interesting’

a/n: omg first post?? honestly i've read some life-changingly good bnd fics on here to the point where i was dragged out of my writing slump, so woo? anyways, i hope you like this one, this one is dedicated to all the taesan songs i have saved from soundcloud hehe ^^

[taesanrot]

[fruit punch] taesan x f!reader | 11.4k words enemies to lovers, also idiots to lovers, college au, alcohol consumption, mutual pining, smut (making out, fingering f. receiving, handjobs, vaginal sex, protected sex, oral sex), dom!taesan if you squint, y/n is lowkey evil sometimes, they're both just confused and dumb note. ty to the anon for sending this request! i had sm fun writing this~~ sorry it took so long i started uni again and lost all of my free time. hope everyone enjoys broody and grumpy taesan hehe. @onedoornet :P

taesan swears he can feel his blood pumping in his ears every time he sees you. he's come to loathe the feeling, the way his stomach flips and twitches when he hears your voice. his senses heighten and his vision tunnels on you, as if a curtain has been draped over everyone and everything else. his whole body is attuned to you, like he's your fucking puppet.

it's sick, he hates how much he unconsciously worships you. he's reminded of it every time he hears your voice around the corner or your name in conversations.

the reason he despises his affinity for you is because he knows you don't feel the same -- he's almost certain he doesn't even occupy a sliver of your mind.

he knows you're lively and expressive in conversation, at least that's what he's heard. every time he come around and joins conversation with your mutual friends, you suddenly have no words left on your tongue and no thoughts left in your mind. taesan can probably count the amount of times you've spoken to him directly on one hand.

taesan doesn't know what he's done, or what he's doing to put you off of him, but he's been done with your little hate boner against him for a while now. no matter how stuffy his lungs get or how tight his pants get when you seep into his vision or his mind, taesan couldn't care less, not anymore. he rolls his eyes and spins on a heel when he sees you or hears your pretty voice; or he sighs and falls face first onto his pillow when you creep in his solitary thoughts.

he feels like your fucking dog, drooling and falling over you while you can't even look him in the eye.

taesan would say he has a strong resolve and sense of self, and it disgusts him to no end how you weaken and crumble his walls with a simple half-smile, all while ignoring him entirely like he's gum on your shoes.

on top of everything, he had the unfortunate experience of witnessing you verbally confirm your distaste for the boy.

taesan was sifting through the library's aisles, looking for a book to use for his music theory paper. around the corner, you happened to be sitting at one of the study tables, chatting with your friends carelessly, not realizing the topic of your conversation was standing less than 10 feet away.

it wasn't the boy's intent to eavesdrop, but he was in earshot and couldn't escape your conversation if he wanted to. and he wished he did, after hearing the next words that came out of you and your friends mouths.

"formal's coming up soon, who are you taking, y/n?"

"ugh, i don't know who to ask." to his dismay, his ears perked at the sound of your voice.

"what about taesan?" the boy tensed at the sound of his name rolling off your friend, giselle's, tongue. the giggle that left her mouth after made his stomach twist and jolt.

"are you crazy? jesus, giselle. no way!" taesan felt his already bruised heart drop to his ass. you sounded appalled, and your tone only rubbed salt on the boy's already open wound.

there wasn't much left to hear, taesan wasn't keen on sticking around to listen to you guys keep talking shit about him. he spun on his heel and left the library as fast as he could without running. his paper would just have to wait a few hours.

it was a sour memory that made him wince, and it was a scene that he replayed in his head every time he felt his heart race around you.

today was no exception, as taesan walked into the lobby of his apartment complex -- which is unfortunately the same complex that you lived in -- he caught a glance of you in his peripheral, you were studying with friends in one of the lobby's booths, smiling like your usual joyous self. not that taesan would even know; your bubbly side isn't something he's familiar with in the slightest.

once again, to his dismay, the boy felt his heart jolt in his ribcage, the solid thumping a bit more noticeable than before. and like a routine that was ingrained in him, he quelled his outburst of excitement before it could fully bubble to the surface.

forget it, she hates you.

turning his attention to his phone, taesan lazily walked over to the mailroom to pick up a package he ordered a while ago. he then made his way over to the elevator, still paying no mind to his surroundings, scrolling through his friends' recent text messages and posts on instagram. it wasn’t until the elevator doors opened, he walked in, and punched his floor's button that he looked away from his phone; he opted to stare at his shoe instead, back slumping against the wall behind him.

the elevator doors started closing before they suddenly halted and reopened. taesan heard heavy breathing, like someone was running to catch the doors. when his gaze shifted upward curiously, he felt his entire being tense, fingers suddenly digging into the sides of the cardboard box he was holding.

it was you; your hair was fluttering around your face and your backpack was hanging haphazardly off one shoulder, still half unzipped. your cheeks were red and flushed from your hasty entrance and your lips were parted slightly, drawing in soft breaths as your eyes locked with his.

taesan was horrified, and he gave you a quick nod of acknowledgement to avoid having to speak to you. he hoped to god his disdain didn't show across his face -- he was barely confident that he even managed to nod without his neck twitching. in the time it took him to blink, you slipped into the elevator and were now standing 3 feet to his left.

suddenly, it was as if the ceiling of the elevator was the most interesting thing the boy had ever seen, and taesan stared at the patterns in the ceiling tile like his life depended on it, trying to pretend he didn't want to bash his own head in against the wall.

he heard a small beep, likely from you pressing the button for your floor. taesan wouldn't know that for sure though, he was staring so hard in any direction that wasn't yours. he would genuinely rather the floor open up and swallow him whole than glance to his left and be reminded that the girl of his dreams and nightmares was in such close proximity to him.

taesan couldn't tell you how long he's wanted you even if he tried. sometimes he thinks that if the circumstances weren’t so dire between the two of you, that you might be his soulmate.

deep down, it saddened taesan to no end to be in this predicament. here you were, right in front of him with no one else around, and he was frozen like a deer in headlights. taesan wished so dearly that things could be different between the two of you, so that in a moment like this, he could reach out and actually talk to you, get to know you, hold you, rather than cowering in the corner.

and as if some all knowing force heard his thoughts, the elevator suddenly jolted to a stop. taesan didn't even notice until he heard you speak.

"what the fuck?" snapping out of his mental tirade, taesan looked up at the dial above the buttons.

great, it's in between floors. we're fucked.

taesan decided it was time to grow a fucking pair and speak to you for the first time in probably two years.

"we should call emergency services." he wished there was any way for those words to come out his mouth less stupidly. he still hadn't turned to look at you, setting his package and his backpack on the floor and stepping forward to hit the emergency call button.

unceremoniously, the button lit up, followed by absolutely nothing else. sighing, taesan finally turned to look at you. your cheeks were flushed and you looked fearful, taesan wasn't sure if it was because of the elevator or just being stuck with him. if it was the latter he think he might actually just kill himself.

"the line might be busy, i think we're gonna be here for a minute." he sighed out, and your eyes softened.

"it's okay, there's nothing else we can do i guess." you finally spoke, and taesan felt like the sun was beaming directly on him. your attention on him like a spotlight, he felt like he could finally die happy.

"yeah." taesan's lip curled up into a half smile that made your cheeks grow redder, and you watched, still frozen, as he went to sit on the floor next to his stuff. as taesan settled himself into the small corner, crossing his legs, you took it as your cue to place your stuff next to you, sinking down to the floor in defeat.

taesan couldn't say he wasn't confused by you in this moment. for someone stuck in an elevator with someone they avoid like the plague and hate more than anything, you sure did blush a lot. so much, that taesan was starting to think it was his brain messing with him, and that your cheeks weren't truly as flushed and reddened as they looked.

do people blush around people they hate? better yet, am i just fucking delusional? the thoughts ran laps around his brain, making him want to bang his head against the silver elevator doors.

the boy decided that he probably had better and more concerning things to pay his attention to right now, like quelling his increasingly fast heartbeat and his rapid breaths. his heart was beating so loud he thought he can hear the sound reverberating and bouncing on the walls of the small elevator, a space that felt like it was getting smaller and smaller by the minute.

his hands were clammy and shiny and he hoped you didn't notice as he tried to discreetly wipe them against his pants when he reached for his phone from his back pocket.

"i'm gonna call my friend and see if he can get ahold of the front desk." you nodded in agreement, and listened quietly as the line rings.

before either of you could even begin to get your hopes up, the line cut, and a message displayed across the top of taesan's phone screen.

call failed. taesan cursed under his breath.

"fuck, i don't think i have any service in here. sorry." taesan didn't know why he apologized, it's not like he has any control over the building's spotty reception. he didn't look at you as he speaks.

gaze focused on the ground, the boy didn't expect to hear your soft voice chime in the air.

"it's okay, we can just wait it out, we don't have any other choice anyway." you finished your sentence off with a soft giggle. pink blush was still creeping up your neck and tinting your face softly.

accepting his fate of being stuck in the elevator, taesan decided he should at least make use of his time. reaching into his backpack, he grabbed his laptop and a pair of wired earbuds, opening up his current project for his composition class.

he kept one earbud in his left ear, while the other dangled in midair. as the beats played in his ear and reverberated through his skull, taesan finally felt a bit at peace, attention tunnelling in on his laptop screen.

what he didn't notice is the way you curiously watch him work. he typed away at his laptop and mouse pad softly and his focused expression and the unfamiliar contents on his screen piqued your interest.

but what piqued your interest more was taesan. his fluffy hair that moves with him as he nods along to the music that you can't hear, the way his face scrunches up cutely when he squints at the screen to read the tiny font, the way his pink lips fall into a small pout amidst his concentration.

what started out as short side glances that you snuck in from time to time turns into full on staring. being this close to him, your gaze was pulled to him like paper clips to a magnet.

contrary to taesan's belief, you do not hate taesan. while your friends do tease you about him, it's not because you have some weird secret hate boner for him.

in reality, it's because you literally cannot think straight around the raven haired boy. it's embarrassing how quickly your cheeks heat up at a single sight of taesan, heart pumping so fast you think you're going to give yourself an arrhythmia.

you’ve never been the shy type. not that you were constantly bouncing off the walls or anything, but you’ve always thought of yourself as being sociable and having a big personality. you’ve never shied away from strangers and new experiences, feeding off of the energy from the conversation and laughter you elicit through witty jokes and quips.

that alone makes your yearning all the more pathetic. y/n, the girl who could make exciting conversation in a room full of introverted bookworms, getting sweaty palms over some random music major?

it's a feeling you couldn't bear, which is why you avoided it at all costs, especially around your friends. you've also learned the hard way that your friends will not let you hear the end of it when they witness the way you melt around the boy, and you quite enjoy not having to talk about your affinity for taesan 24/7. that's the reason you haven't spoken to him either, you don't even want to begin to imagine your friends' reaction to that.

after a particular incident where belle and shinyu were teasing you about taesan and kim leehan walked by, you were so spooked that you decided the only solution was simply avoid or ignore him at all costs. you could not risk your blabber mouthed friends revealing the fact that you like taesan, especially since you had no idea if he liked you back, or even remembered your name, for that matter.

plus, it helped you avoid the embarrassing experience of going completely nonverbal.

you'd been telling yourself that you'd make a move at some point, but the mere thought of trying to progress things any further makes your stomach twist on itself and makes your chest start to constrict.

but now, with the boy sitting an arms length away and no one else around, you felt like it was fate. yes, there were definitely assignments waiting for you to get around to, but right now you couldn't be more thankful that the elevator is broken.

after staring at taesan and hyping yourself up for a solid 20 minutes, you decided that you can't pass up this chance.

"what are you working on?" your voice was so soft and shaky at first that taesan almost didn't hear you, but you knew he did based on the fact that his fingers halted their swift typing. you watched him move to pause the stream of audio in his ear.

"me?" taesan replied. the second the words leave his lips he regretted it. who the fuck asks that in a room with only two people?

apparently my dumbass.

"who else?" you didn't seem to mind though, giggling at his aloofness. his eyes were wide like a deer caught in headlights, and you wanted to reach over and tug at his hair to feel it underneath your fingertips.

"oh um, just a project for my comp class." he responded, suddenly feeling shy. he felt the familiar speeding of his heartbeat again. why were you suddenly feeling conversive? was he hallucinating again?

"can i see?" you scooted over slightly and lean towards him, pretending to look at his laptop screen. truly, you just wanted to be closer to him, and to keep hearing his voice. you had no idea what he even meant by "comp," but you'd gladly let him ramble about his work if it meant you could hear his low voice again.

"oh, uh sure!" taesan moved slightly closer to you, turning his laptop in your direction so you could see his screen. you knew nothing about the program he's using, but the way taesan's eyes lit up as he began to explain the different sections of the screen made your heart swell.

contrary to you, taesan is more on the quieter side, opting to listen in conversations rather than lead them. however, when it comes to his music, taesan thinks he could ramble on about it for hours. the excitement of talking about his work calmed his nerves, and he found himself eagerly explaining all the different components of his project without stuttering or fumbling with his words.

you nodded along, in a trance at the sound of his voice filling your ears so pleasantly. it got even worse when you looked away from his screen to look at his face. his hands moved animatedly as he pointed at various sections of his composition, but you didn't catch a word, staring at the slope of his nose and the way his lips stayed in a cute little pout even when he was talking so much.

at one point, taesan asked you a question, noticing your slightly dazed look. your head shook slightly as you regained focus on his voice, cheeks heating up in embarrassment.

"sorry, what did you say?" you tried to keep your composure but the way taesan was looking at you was driving you insane.

"nevermind, do you wanna just listen to it?" he said with an easy smile, chuckling at your flushed appearance. you were so adorable, he didn't think he could take it. grabbing the free earbud, he offered it to you gently. you slowly grabbed it, scooching even closer to taesan so the two of you could listen to it together. placing the earbud in your ear, you tried not to think about the space, or lack thereof, between the two of you.

your thigh was pressed against taesan's and the faint smell of his cologne was dizzying. you wanted nothing more than to grab his hand that was resting on the laptop's keyboard and intertwine your fingers together.

as taesan hit play, the sound of various instrumentals and beats filled your ears. even though there were no lyrics, you felt the emotion that taesan had drawn out of him to put into this. he was more than talented, and you were in awe of how well everything came together. as the track came to an end, taesan looked at your face, curious. your lips were parted slightly as you looked at him.

"taesan, that was amazing." you breathed out, turning your face slightly toward him excitedly.

"really? it's still a little rough around the edges, but i think i wanna keep working on it after i turn it in." he explained.

"the project only requires an instrumental, but i really like how this track is going, i've been thinking of adding lyrics and making it a proper song."

"you should, it's really really good." you spoke with a low voice, facing taesan, you were once again reminded of his close proximity and your brain was starting to short circuit again. looking into his eyes, you found yourself spiraling deeper and deeper, not wanting the moment to end. helplessly, your eyes darted down at his lips quickly, so quick that taesan almost missed it.

after watching your gaze jump down to his mouth a third time, taesan decided enough was enough.

“y/n.” he said your name in chillingly low voice. the sound of it rolling off his tongue sent shivers down your spine, and you only leaned into him further. reaching out, he brought his hand to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear, waiting for your reaction. you looked up at him with a hooded gaze as you delicately leaned into his touch.

as his hand fully cupped your cheek, your eyes slipped shut, head tilting further into his palm as you waited for him to close the gap.

taesan wanted to burn the sight of you into his memory forever. your long lashes laid gently on the apples of your reddened cheeks, your pink tinted lips slightly parted and calling for him. your cheek squished slightly against his hand and the softness of your skin against his made him feel like he was dreaming.

as he shut his eyes and leaned in, hovering his lips gently over yours, a loud creaking noise abruptly cut through the air.

the elevator suddenly thrummed to life, causing your eyes to shoot open. you let out a yelp as elevator dinged and the doors suddenly opened, your body practically flying across the small room. 

the two of you looked up to see two firemen looking down at the two of you confusedly.

"everyone ok in here?" one of the men asked gruffly, and you nodded your head hurriedly before grabbing your stuff and jumping to your feet.

yep, that was about enough bravery and ambition from you today. reality was setting in quicker than the reddening of your cheeks. 

you and han taesan were about to kiss. and got interrupted by the fucking fire rescue squad. you had to get the fuck out of here.

taesan could barely blink before you rushed out of the confined space, cheeks bright red as you muttered a quick thank you to the firemen.

hitting his head against the back of the wall in frustration, taesan tossed his laptop into his bag and grabbed his package, standing up and frowning at the firemen before walking past them.

"what the fuck was his deal?" the other firemen asked once taesan was out of earshot.

...

it had been a few days since the elevator incident, and while all taesan wanted to do was scream into his pillow while blasting his radiohead playlist on repeat, he was unfortunately a university student with work to do. life goes on, to his dismay.

the only person taesan told what happened was his roommate, kim leehan, who taesan begrudgingly complained to after being asked why his face was so red and why he was grumbling so much. he couldn’t help his grumpiness, could you blame him? he almost kissed the girl of his dreams and was interrupted by a fucking firefighter. 

leehan tried (as he claims, taesan doesn’t believe it for one second) and failed to hold in his laughter at taesan’s conundrum, holding a hand over his mouth as his shoulders shook with amusement. meanwhile, taesan was crashing the absolute fuck out, head in his hands while he crouched on the floor. 

“who did i murder in my last life seriously …” he whined into his hands pathetically as leehan shook his head in disbelief, still biting back his laughter. 

“i dunno, but someone’s having a fantastic time fucking with you.” leehan’s amused reply only egged taesan’s grumpiness and despair on further, and he laid in bed for the rest of the afternoon replaying the scene in his mind.

the more times he re-remembered the catastrophic chain of events, the more anguished he became. he’s definitely sighed at least 30 times in the past hour.

you were fucking with him. there was no other explanation. ignoring him constantly and then jumping him the second the two of you were alone? 

maybe you were a sadist, and you and that one friend from the library were currently laughing and joking about the raven haired boy’s demise. 

unfortunately, the thought turns him on more than anything, and he can feel himself getting a hard on thinking about the completely hypothetical situation he’s making up in his scattered mind.

he sighed angrily and slapped his hand against his cold cheek. he was so done with this. with you.

the devil on his shoulder laughed as he vowed to get over you. granted, he had a better chance of winning the lottery then forgetting about you at his will, but he felt like he had no other choice.

as humorous as the situation was, taesan felt his heart ache and his face crumple when he remembered the way you rushed out of the space as the door opened. like he was poison. 

taesan hated the ugly green feeling that was swirling in his gut, eating away at his sanity. he hated that it had to be you making him feel this way. you’ve always been the one who makes him get like this. 

but at the same time, he can’t forget how entranced he was, like a magnetic force pulled his hand to your cheek.

the vision of you, eyes closed, cheeks red, waiting for you to place his lips on yours, is permanently seared in his mind. 

how does someone just fake that? you’re either satan’s reincarnation or taesan is seriously missing something.

taesan clutches his chest in agony, the internal tug of war making him want to throw himself out his bedroom window.

after letting himself toss and turn in despair for about 2 hours, taesan drearily got out of bed to finish his music theory paper. sliding into his desk chair, he opened up his laptop to see his comp project still open, the very one he’d played for you hours earlier. 

he sighed again. the university and its students were going to be the death of him.

...

while taesan was moping in bed, you were taking up space in yours as well, laying across it face down while giselle sat at your desk, scrolling through her phone.

she could tell something is up, considering the fact that you’re not talking her fucking ears off and just laying face down in silence like a corpse.

“so, are you gonna fess up? what happened?” giselle asked, unamused. after bursting into your apartment following the Great Elevator Escape, your frantically doom-texted giselle, leading to her showing up at your front door.

you’ve been laying on your bed trying to not scream out of excitement as you told her. hearing her clear her throat, you finally rolled over so your voice wouldn’t be muffled.

“we almost kissed, aeri.” you sighed out, slapping your hands over your face.

“we? who is we?” giselle, who was evidently not a mind reader, tilted her head in confusion, moving to sit on the bed next to you, laying her legs over yours.

“me and taesan” you mumbled, watching through a crack of space between your fingers as she immediately shot up from her slumped position against yours headboard. you could’ve sworn you got whiplash just from watching her. 

“WHAT?” her voice squealed in excitement, nearly blowing out your eardrum. you laughed, glad that someone else understood how bubbly and happy you felt. 

“I KNOW” you screamed back, grabbing her hand and squeezing it as you smiled so big you thought your face was going to break.

“wait, explain everything now, you sly bitch!” with that, you walked her through the whole scene. 

reciting it to your friend made your stomach flip, all the emotions from the moment coming back to you. absentmindedly, your brought a hand up to feel the stop on your cheek where taesan’s palm pressed into you, smiling dazedly.

“you’re so down, y/n, this is crazy!” aeri laughed at your lovesick state, giving you a playful shove. she wasn't wrong, and the acknowledgment only made your cheeks burn even more.

“shut up! can a girl not yearn for her man anymore?” you smiled giddily.

“usually i’d call you delusional but he actually wants you so bad.” you moved to sit up, turning to her excitedly.

smiling wickedly, you looked at your friend with a plan. there was no going back now, taesan wanted you without question.

“what’s that look? are we plotting?” giselle asked curiously after a beat of silence.

“you know me so well, aeri.” you pulled out your phone to text the your friends' groupchat, filling them in as you and giselle discussed further.

the feeling of his lips ghosting over yours was fresh in your mind. bringing a finger to your bottom lip, you felt warmth bloom in your chest at the memory. 

han taesan had no idea what was coming for him.

...

“hello? earth to y/n.” shinyu shook your shoulder as myungjae called to you across the table, bringing you out of your thoughts.

“huh?” jaehyun rolled his eyes at you.

“i’m throwing friday night, you coming?” you smiled in excitement, making eye contact with giselle, who had the same mischievous glint in her eye.

yeah, the two of your were thinking the exact same thing.

“what’s that look ... what am i missing?” belle looked between the two of you, very used to your antics.

“oh nothing…” aeri mused. “just getting y/n a date to formal.”

...

“i think i’m gonna stay in tonight, dude.” taesan sighed as he sunk onto the couch. it was friday afternoon and taesan was sufficiently worn out from the past week.

he had an exam this morning that he was almost late to because he got lost and then he didn’t have time to eat lunch because he had to go to a project meeting.

on top of everything, he got a glimpse of you laughing with giselle, ningning, and sohee on his way back from his meeting. now, he was just left with a sinking feeling in his stomach and a desire to suffocate himself under his covers for the rest of the night.

“you can’t miss jaehyun’s dude, he’s gonna kill you” as leehan replied, the ominious text their friend had sent him this morning flashed in his mind.

myungjae [9:43 a.m.]: make sure taesan comes tonight. 

leehan [9:46 a.m.]: what

“today has been the worst, i need to sulk.” taesan whined into the couch cushions, eliciting a punch in the shoulder from leehan.

“c’mon, that’s why you need to come out. get wasted and forget about your shitty week.” taesan frowned but didn’t respond.

maybe his roommate was right. plus, he had a sneaking suspicion leehan would drag him out of the apartment by his hair if he tried to stay in bed. groaning loudly, taesan got up.

“fine, i’m taking a nap first, though.” 

...

liquid courage was surging through you, not that you really needed it. you were still riding the high of your almost-kiss from earlier this week. the light fluffy feeling the alcohol was giving you was just a bonus.

standing in front of the mirror in jaehyun's bathroom, you gave yourself a once over as ningning fixed her eyeliner next to you. you were absentmindedly fixing the ends of your hair and adjusting the straps of your cami as she looked over at you with a smile.

"you look amazing, y/n. his jaw is going to be on the floor." she rubbed your shoulder comfortingly. smiling softly, you thanked her. looking back at yourself in the mirror, you felt the anticipation coursing through your veins.

the dull echo of jaehyun's house playlist pulsed through the walls and only heightened the excitement you felt under your skin. hearing your phone buzz, you looked over at the phone screen, a certain text message catching your attention.

myungjae [10:58 p.m.]: he just walked in.

you made eye contact with ningning as you clicked your phone shut and slipped it in the back pocket of your shorts.

"it's go time." she laughed, wishing your luck as she pushed you towards the bathroom door. turning open the doorknob, you stepped out into the living room, colored lights dancing across the walls.

...

taesan was pulled towards the kitchen by his roommate, barely getting a glimpse of the rest of the party before a shot was being pushed into his hand.

"you need a drink, dude." leehan demanded, turning around and looking for myungjae in the sea of people and waving him over. their friend smiled and pushed through a couple people to get into the kitchen, giving taesan and leehan a fist bump.

"hey, you guys made it!" he smiled, accepting the shot leehan handed him.

the three of them clinked their glasses and downed the clear liquid together. taesan's face scrunched at the burning in his throat, coughing roughly.

"do you have punch or something?" jaehyun nodded and walked away to get some jungle juice.

looking around, taesan took in his surroundings. jaehyun had a nice apartment, and he'd been a few times. it looked completely different than it did during the day, furniture pushed to the walls to make room for people to dance. the apartment was completely dark except for the colored led lights, giving the room a blueish glow.

looking into the living room, taesan scanned the crowd for anyone else he knew. he caught a glimpse of sungho and riwoo, his old roommates, talking to the dj, some guy he didn't recognize.

his eyes widened when he saw giselle near the dj's booth as well, chatting with some tall guy he didn't recognize.

were you here too? even though he knew you were friends with jaehyun, he somehow failed to consider the fact you might be at this party as well.

turning back to leehan, he spoke hurriedly.

"i need another shot."

...

a couple shots and a cup of jungle juice (that was probably 80% booze) later, he finally stepped out of the kitchen.

"i'm gonna go say hi to someone really quick, i'll be back in a bit." taesan nodded and waved as leehan stepped away. he felt a little looser, shoulders finally relaxing a bit as he walked over to sungho and riwoo.

they chatted for a bit, and he sipped on another glass of spiked fruit punch as he laughed along with them. riwoo was complaining about his choreography class animatedly and sungho was gushing about some junior, kim woonhak, he'd just befriended.

"it's official, guys. i'm a single dad now." taesan rolled his eyes at his friends, a small smile painting his face.

after a beat, the boy noticed his friends glancing behind him. tilting his head in confusion, he turned around to see what they were looking at so curiously. forgetting how drunk he was and the fact that he had a drink in his hand, he swung around a bit faster and more clumsily than he wanted to.

"is there something beh-" he began, before he felt himself promptly bump into someone, their head hitting his chest. suddenly the front of his shirt was damp, his cup of punch getting caught between him and the mystery stranger and spilling on him.

"shit my bad are you oka-" taesan's concerned voice abruptly cut off as the person in front of him came into focus. lo and behold, you were standing in front of him, the front of your top now boasting a growing wet spot from taesan's drink.

there's actually no fucking way. taesan didn't think he's ever wished for the ground to swallow him whole more than that very moment.

"taesan, hey! it's you again." you smiled easily, as if you didn't notice the sticky beverage now spilled across your shirt and chest. taesan could've sworn he saw you bat your eyelashes.

"i'm so sorry about your shirt, i didn't mean to be so clumsy." taesan almost stumbled over his words as the apologies spilled from his lips. his stomach was simultaneously flipping and twisting at the sight of you looking up at him.

you looked down as if you were seeing the stain on your shirt for the first time as well, smiling and shrugging.

"don't worry about it, i'm sorry! you got wet too." you gestured slightly to his shirt as well, giggling. you had definitely had a few drinks as well, taesan wasn't sure if you were as drunk as him.

"don't worry about it either, it was my bad." you waved away his admission of guilt, your gaze suddenly darkening slightly.

"guess we're even then! would you mind if i asked for a favor though?" taesan hummed in acknowledgement and nodded, beckoning you to continue.

"help me clean up?"

as taesan's face turned into a look of shock and surprise, you giggled again, blinking up at him slowly. snapping out of his drunken daze, he nodded quickly and waved goodbye to his friends. grabbing your wrist, he wove through the crowd, his fingers wrapped tight around your arm. his hand was warm, and you had to put in an effort to peel your eyes away from his grip on you, heartbeat speeding up.

looking away from his back, you made eye contact with giselle and belle across the small apartment. you smiled as they gave you thumbs up from the other side of the room as taesan whisked you away.

jackpot.

...

it's you who shuts the bathroom door behind the two of you. taesan finally turns back around to look at you, trying to ignoring his racing heartbeat.

in the lighting of the bathroom he can finally see you. you look better than that fateful day in the elevator, even in your basic cami and denim shorts. the stain on your shirt is small, which taesan is thankful for. unfortunately, some of his drink spilled on the exposed skin of your chest, it's sticky residue making your chest all shiny.

you look so perfect, taesan thinks he might actually faint. he almost feels the air leave his lungs as you smile up at him.

when you step towards him he freezes, only letting his shoulders relax when he realizes you're reaching past him to turn on the sink's faucet. your hair brushes his arm and your shoulder bumps his, and taesan can smell your fruity perfume.

you smell like berries and some sort of flower, and taesan almost gets lost in it, in you. the sound of the faucet running helps to clear his mind a little, but he loses his cool all over again when you grab his shoulder to turn him to face you.

"sorry, is it okay if i touch you?" taesan's sure he's red as a cherry as he nods, his movements stuttering slightly. truly, he has no fucking clue what you're about to do, but god he could not care less.

you grab a small towel hanging nearby and dip it under the running water before bringing it to taesan's chest, where the offending stain has dried up into his shirt.

gently, you rub the wet fabric across his shirt. your other hand is splayed on his shoulder, taesan isn't sure if it's for stability or because you want him to pass out and die on the spot. from his view, he can see your long lashes flutter as you squint at his chest in concentration.

he's trying to focus on anything but your heavy gaze on him. the boy opts to look at the ceiling, tilting his head up and not giving his eyes any chance of stealing a glance at you.

every once in a while, your fingers brush against his chest lightly and he feels his skin burn underneath your touch. despite how drunk he is, he's suddenly so aware of everything.

he wonders if you can hear his heartbeat, if you can feel how his breaths and his lungs stutter when you rub the towel on him. your proximity alone is making his head spin more than the alcohol he drank.

the way you're doting on him is making his stomach burn with some type of desire, taesan doesn't think he's ever felt a need like this before. his racing thoughts are distracted by the sound of a huff below him.

he looks down at you as you scrub a bit more on his shirt before pulling away slowly.

"that should be good en-" you don't get to finish your sentence, interrupted by taesan's hand grabbing your wrist.

before you can even think, taesan's lips are on yours. you drop the towel in shock, and it makes a soft noise as it hits the floor.

neither of you seem to care all too much, though. your eyes flutter shut as taesan's other hand slides into your hair, tilting your head slightly.

the kiss is soft and timid as first, but after a moment taesan decides he's done playing games. he knows you want this as much as he does, he can tell by the way your hands are crumpling his damp shirt and pulling him closer to you.

taesan's lips are soft and plump as they slide menacingly slow against yours. his warm tongue presses against your bottom lip, coaxing your mouth open. he notices how pliant you are in his hold, lips falling open so his tongue can explore the wet walls of your mouth and throat. his hand hovers near your throat, fingers gently wrapping around your neck. you whimper as he gives it an experimental squeeze, your hands pulling him closer by his firm shoulders.

the feeling of his tongue filling your mouth makes your moan, the sound muffled and quiet. taesan doesn't miss it though, the noise only egging him on further. he bites your bottom lip before dragging his tongue over it soothingly.

it's hot and wet and messy, and spit trails down both of your chins with every smack of your lips against each other.

at some point, your arms wrapped around taesan's neck, his settling in the curve of your waist. your bodies fit perfectly together, your chest molding to his in a way that makes your head spin.

you can barely form a thought when taesan sucks on your tongue. you've never felt this way before, heat pooling in your stomach as his hands push into the small of your back.

at some point, he turns the two of you so you're pressed against the counter. his hands press your hips into the ceramic surface as his mouth dips down to press open mouthed kisses to the curve of your neck.

his teeth drag and brush against your delicate skin and his velvety tongue licks stripes across the bruises that you're sure he's leaving.

his lips are warm and wet as they suck your skin, traveling down your neck and shoulder. he bites your collarbone and you whimper again, a single hand threading into his hair hurriedly.

he finally gets you sitting on the countertop, and your legs wrap around him greedily, pulling him even closer. he licks the stickyness of his spilled drink from your chest, the sugary taste of the punch spreading on his tongue.

it's obscene, the things he wants to do to you. what's worse is that you look like you'd let him do anything to do you, melting under the attention of his hands and mouth.

the boy feels you tug at his hair, pulling him face back up so your lips can meet his in a bruising kiss. his brain almost goes into overdrive when you suck on his bottom lip, and he groans into your mouth.

hot and bothered, your hands slide across his firm shoulders, trailing down his chest and abdomen wickedly slow. your fingers tease the hem of his tshirt, twisting and tugging it as you lips move against his roughly.

the first touch of your fingers against his bare skin almost makes taesan dissolve into air. your skin is electrifying against his, leaving a burning path as it travels up his torso. you appreciate his toned form with your hands and the small noises coming from your mouth.

it feels like you've been making out for hours. taesan is honestly surprised that neither of you have run out of breath. you don't seem like anywhere near ready to let go of the boy, palms grasping for any of his skin that you can reach. slowly but steadily, your hands drift lower, fingers hooking into the waistband of taesan's jeans.

he pulls away hesistantly, watching a string of saliva stretch between the two of you. his eyes almost roll into the back of his head when he sees you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, eyes starry and glazed over.

"let's get out of here." you say it before he can, one hand still grasping his jeans.

"my place." taesan says pointedly.

taesan helps you off the counter and helps you smooth down your hair. you intertwine your fingers with his as he twists open the doorknob. the two of you are out of the apartment before either of you can bid your friends goodbye. you'll just have to text them in the morning.

right now, the only thing on both of your minds is getting back to taesan's apartment. everything else is going to have to wait.

...

for the second time, the two of you found yourselves in the same damn elevator together. the irony wasn't lost on either of you, and taesan smirked as he pulled you into his chest the moment the doors closed.

"seems like we have some unfinished business in here huh?" he mumbled before laying his lips back on yours. they were cold from being outside, but his tongue was warm as it pushed back into your mouth. he was leaning lazily against the wall, arms wrapped around your waist as he held you against him.

you whimpered as his hands ghosted over your ass, not quite applying the pressure you were aching for. the ding of the elevator sounded far away; he pulled away slowly, gesturing behind you at the open doors. you didn't hesitate to step towards the hall, closer to your destination.

taesan kept one of your hands tight in his hold as he fumbled with his keys. he sighed in relief as he finally pushed the door open, pulling you in with him. in a moment's time your mouth was back on his, the two of you kicking off your shoes as taesan led the two of backwards to his room. your skin was hot everywhere he touched you, and you moaned in anticipation as he pushed you backwards onto his bed.

the sight of you sitting on his bed and looking up at him with doe eyes, was something straight out of taesan's dreams. your chest rose and fell erratically and your eyes were round and glassed over. his eyes fixated on your red, swollen lips, glossy from yours and taesan's saliva.

"you're so beautiful." taesan breathed out as he tilted your chin up, cupping your jaw and leaning down to catch your plump lips with his. you didn't miss a beat, hands catching the front of his shirt. taesan laid you down, not breaking your kiss for a second.

your back pressed into the soft mattress, and you groaned at the feeling of taesan's firm chest pressed against yours. his hands landed at your hips, rubbing slow circles as they slid under your shirt gingerly. his fingers were cold, making your abdomen tense as they grazed over your soft skin.

it was hot and filthy, the way he licked into your mouth with fervor. your eyes nearly rolled into the back of your head as his tongue slid against yours roughly. you felt like hot lava, overheating faster and faster by the second.

your teeth nipped at his bottom lip, fingers greedily tugging at the ends of his shirt. taesan got the message immediately, breaking away from you slowly. standing on his knees, he pulled his shirt over his head. propping yourself up on your elbows, you admired the sight of his in front of you. his hair was slightly ruffled by the shirt and his lips were puffy and shiny.

you couldn't help the way your gaze drifted south. taesan's arousal was undeniable, bulge heavy in his pants. you licked your lips at the sight, eliciting a groan from the boy in front of you. heat pooled low in your belly at the noise, and you felt the impatience within you grow.

you reached out and curled a hand around the back of his neck, pulling him into a bruising kiss. taesan held himself up with his arms, tilting his face down to dip his tongue into your mouth. you let your hand roam downwards, fingers grazing over the tent in the boy's pants menacingly.

"please, tae, need you." you mumbled against his lips, pressure from your palm increasing with each pleading syllable that rolled off your tongue. taesan hummed in response, and before you knew it he was pushing your hand away and lowering his bottom half so his hips were flush against yours, bulge pushing against your clothed heat.

you moaned loudly at the pressure, and taesan only rolled his hips more, satisfied with the way you were writhing underneath him. his hands dug into your hips, holding you down whenever you tried to buck your hips up to match his pace. the way he so easily overpowered you only furthered your arousal, and you felt it in your tensed abdomen as his dick pressed against you again.

taesan's hot mouth moved down your jaw and neck, licking a stripe near your collarbone. he bit and nipped at your skin, and you could already feel the bruises blooming on your sensitive skin.

his hands cupped your boobs over your shirt, the pressure making your arch your back into him. he was addicted to the way your body moved and responded to him. it seemed almost unconscious, the way you were attuned to every graze of his skin against yours.

pulling back slightly, you watched with a hooded gaze as taesan's eyes dragged over your body. you looked like an angel, hair fanned out on the comforter, neck already blooming purple, lips red and shiny, and the straps of your cami falling off your shoulders. taesan finally had you all to himself and he wanted to savor every moment you were pressed against him.

your breathing was erratic as his hand slid under your shirt, fingertips leaving a blazing trail on the skin of your stomach. he rubbed the hem of your cami in between his fingertips, looking you in the eyes as he did.

"can i take this off?" he asked in a low voice that almost made your legs shake. you nodded hurriedly, sitting up so he could pull it over your head.

you unbuttoned your shorts as well, placing his hands on your waistband so he'd slide them off for you. he did, without hesitation, deliberately dragging his fingertips down the skin of your thighs as he pulled the clothing off. he sucked in a breath through his teeth at the sight of you in just your bra and panties, and you could've sworn that you watched his dick twitch.

taesan wanted to know all of you, inside and out. he watched as you curled into a ball, shy under his heavy gaze. he unbuttoned his pants, kicking them off his legs before placing his hands on your knees, pushing them down so he could crawl over you.

you laid back, head against his pillow as taesan hovered over you, hands on their side of your head. he dropped his hips so his clothed dick brushed against you, reveling in the way your eyes shut as you drowned in the pleasure and anticipation. a finger was dragged down the center of your chest, tracing the line where your bra pressed your breasts against each other.

taesan tilted himself down to press hot, open-mouthed, kisses along the edge of your bra, lips teasing your skin torturously. your back arched as you grabbed his hand, placing it on the clasp of your bra.

"don't they usually unclip in the back?" taesan mumbled curiously, voice low as his eyes met yours. you smiled wickedly, and he instantly knew that you planned this.

"not all of them." you said lightly, shrugging slightly and feigning a fake innocence that made taesan's eyes darken. within moments the garment was snapped open and tugged off your body, and taesan's rough fingertips were kneading into the plush skin of your chest.

his gaze laid heavily on you, its weight pushing down and making you forget how to breathe. you decided you couldn't keep looking at him, your eyes screwing shut and head pressing back into his pillow as hot lips sucked and licked at your skin, trailing down your chest and abdomen. your head was spinning and a slight sound of disapproval cut through the noise, cold fingers tapping the side of your head.

"look at me, y/n" you huffed, opening your eyes and propping yourself on your elbows to make pointed eye contact with him. taesan's face was hovering over your stomach, fingers rubbing circles into the side of your hips. the smile on his face sent chills down your neck and a warm gush between your legs.

"there you go. keep watching me, ok?" your stubborn gaze softened in seconds and you weakly nodded, watching him lower his mouth to tongue at the soft skin of your thighs. your ears were ringing, the rush of blood drowning out the good girl he was mumbling into your skin.

your senses felt heightened, all of your nerves lighting up at the sensation of taesan's hot, rough tongue licking and teasing your inner thighs. he was in no rush it seemed, decorating the skin with purple bruises and wet saliva. he ran his hands up and down your sides, letting the tips of his fingers catch the fabric of your underwear.

he was teasing you mercilessly, the anticipation nearly eating you alive.

"taesan, please." you whined as you felt him run a finger over your clothed slit. your underwear stuck to you painfully, the fabric soaked with your arousal. he made eye contact with you as he wet his middle finger with his mouth before pulling your panties to the side.

the wet finger pushed into your gushing entrance, slowly making room for itself within you. you sucked in a shaky breath when he fully sheathed his finger within you.

"you're so wet, y/n." he groaned. before you could even think of responding, he licked a stripe from your entrance to your clit, pulling a loud moan from you.

his lips wrapped around your clit gingerly as he added another finger. it was like his hands and mouth were made for you, fingers crooking just right and hitting the spongy spot that made your eyes roll into the back of your head.

your surroundings slowly disappeared as you drowned in the feeling of taesan on you, in you. you felt electric, sparks flying through your body with every swipe of his tongue and every flick of his wrist. you planted your feet against the bed and your hips weakly jerked upwards to meet the thrusts of his fingers into you.

you couldn't even understand the sounds you were making, broken moans and cries spilling out of you. taesan chuckled against you, mouth still hot against your sensitive bundle of nerves.

"stop squirming." his voice only made you wetter, and another moan tore from your throat as you fisted taesan's sheets.

"you wanted this, didn't you?" taesan's thumb rubbed circles into your clit, replacing his lips, and he continued pumping his fingers into you mercilessly. you felt him all around you, drowning in his touch, his voice. the words falling off his tongue dripped with venom, and it only fanned the flames in your lower half.

"always teasing and playing with me. i didn't know what you wanted from me then, but i get it now." taesan mumbled against your hips, where he dragging his lips and teeth on your soft skin, leaving even more marks. you couldn't even answer him, jolts of pleasure making your thoughts go haywire. he smiled against your skin, enjoying the fucked out look on your face.

"you're usually so mouthy, what happened, y/n?" taesan watched you writhe underneath him, tears welling in your shut eyes. the sight of you falling apart had him painfully hard, dick straining in his boxers helplessly.

"f-fuck, tae." you cried out as he hit that spot inside you again, heat pooling in your stomach and threatening to spill out of you. "gonna cu- fuck!"

"go ahead, i got you." taesan didn't let up, fingers pounding into you. the room was filled with your whimpers and the wet noises of your arousal. with one more snap of his wrist, the coil in your stomach snapped, and your entire body shook as you came. you could feel your walls fluttering uncontrollably around taesan's fingers as he fucked you through your orgasm.

your back slumped as you came down from your high, barely registering the feeling of taesan's fingers lazily stroking in and out of you until the twinges of overstimulation started to settle in. you pushed his hands away from you with a whine, opening your eyes slowly. as your surroundings came back to you, you were greeted with the sight of taesan leaning over you, licking your juices off his fingers.

your voice was soft and delicate as you cursed at the sight, legs wrapping around his waist so you could pull him into a bruising kiss. his wet hand gripped your sides hard enough to leave bruises as you sucked on his tongue gingerly.

his hardened length grinded against you as he licked into your mouth, and the fabric of his boxers rubbing against your clit made you hiss in pleasure. you let your splayed hand on his chest drag downwards, fingers teasing the waistband of his underwear. taesan sighed into your mouth as it slipped underneath, your hand wrapping around his dick.

it was heavy in your hand, and you could feel the way the tip bulged in comparison to the rest of his length. you squeezed him experimentally, smiling in satisfaction at the pretty noises he was making and the way he was biting your lip helplessly.

your grip was hot and tight around him and you smeared the precum leaking from the tip along his length, making your fist glide smoother along the veiny skin.

"you feel so ... mmmh fuck so good" taesan's face was pressed into your neck, soft pants filling your ears deliciously. you jerked him slow, forcing him to savor the drag of your soft fingers on his dick. your hands were so much softer than his, and they felt like heaven wrapped around him. his hips rutted against your hand as he fucked your fist, and the room filled with sounds of skin sliding against each other and soft moans.

taesan could feel the knot in his stomach ready to burst and, with the most willpower he's even had, he grabbed your wrist and tugged your hand out of his boxers.

"i don't wanna cum from your hand." he said breathlessly, slipping his boxers off. you giggled as he reached over you to pull open the top drawer of his nightstand, fishing out a condom. you kicked off your ruined underwear, tossing them somewhere on taesan's bedroom floor.

"it'd be a nice ego boost for me." you teased, running a finger up his length as he ripped open the foil package. he rolled his eyes, smacking your wrist away as he slid the rubber on himself.

"i think that's the last thing you need, actually." his voice was low and breathy as he spoke, hands running up your torso and gripping your face. he pushed his lips against yours, tongue dipping between your lips. you pulled him closer by his shoulders, skin burning in anticipation as you felt his length rest against your stomach.

you were aching to feel him inside you, walls pulsing around nothing. you wanted him so bad it hurt, nails digging into his soft skin.

"please, just put it in." you barely got the words out in between kisses. you could feel taesan smile against you. he debated ignoring your pleas, swallowing your whimpers in between his lips and making you beg a bit longer. but taesan was feeling a bit impatient, not to mention painfully hard, today as well; he'd save the begging for another night.

he broke your kiss, letting his lips hover over yours. your breaths mingled together as his heavy gaze met yours. looking down between you, he wrapped a hand around his length, sliding the tip between your folds. the sounds were obscene, your wetness coating his tip generously.

you whined again, trying to tilt your hips upward to slip part of him inside you. your efforts were fruitless, taesan's wrist moved from his length to hold your hips down as he tutted in disapproval. when you finally stopped squirming, he moved his hips forward, pushing the tip into you slowly.

"ngh -- fuck." you moaned as he sank into you slowly. even after taking his fingers, you still felt a stretch as your body made room for him inside you. the burn was delicious, and your hands reached for him, any part of him. one of taesan's hands moved from your hip to hold your empty hand, fingers intertwining as he finally bottomed out.

"are you okay?" it was only after he asked the question that you realized you were panting, breaths short and fast.

"mmm uhm -- yea i'm just, shit, so full." taesan's eyes darkened as he took in your words, pride swelling at the way his dick took the words out of your brain. he pressed his lips to yours, coaxing your body to adjust to the newfound fullness.

you felt like you were falling, and his touch was the only thing keeping you from disintegrating into thin air. you unconsciously clenched around him, and he gasped into your mouth.

"you're so -- shit so tight." he mumbled into your neck before licking a stripe up to your jaw. "can i move?"

you nodded, grinding your hips upwards slightly. taesan's first thrusts were slow, letting the two of your savor the drag of his veiny skin against your warm walls. with each thrust, the slight discomfort of his intrusion faded, and warm pleasure pooled in your abdomen, making you whine and grasp his shoulder.

"ngh faster, please." your words were broken, and taesan reveled in the effect he had on you. he angled his hips upward and began moving in and out of you faster, tip brushing your g-spot with every thrust.

the room filled with wet squelching noises as he fucked into you, his skin slapping against yours obscenely. the sight of his face above you was everything, bangs sweaty as they clung to his forehead and eyes scrunched in concentration as he tried to keep a steady rhythm. the bed creaked loudly, and you were sure any of his neighbors could definitely hear.

nothing mattered to you though, nothing but the sweet sensation of him filling you up, dick sliding inside you and making your eyes roll back.

a rough hand landed on your clit, fingers rubbing tight circles against the soft bud with vigor. the sensation was almost too much, and you nearly screamed when he somehow angled his hips even higher. every stroke inside sent jolts of pleasure down your limbs; your skin felt electric.

"so-o good, tae." your words were punched out, brain foggy as taesan fucked all coherent thoughts out of you. he groaned and bit down on your shoulder as you lifted your hips to meet his movements.

"you're too good to me, baby." he cooed at you, voice all too pleasant compared to the way he was pounding into you. "so warm inside. all for me."

his sweet words only made you hurtle even faster towards your climax. you couldn't tell where your body ended and his began. you looked between your bodies to see where the two of you connected, letting out a broken whine at the sight of his length sliding in and out of you.

his hand left your clit and slid low on your abdomen, pressing in slightly. the pressure sent waves of warm pleasure through you.

"i can see myself. right here." you looked down to see where his hand was. it rested on a small bulge in your stomach, one that moved with his thrusts into you. taesan ran his thumb over it and you let out a weak sob at the sight, burying your face into his neck.

"fuck ..." you sighed as his dick carved into you. taesan grabbed your hair, pulling your face out of the crook in his shoulder.

"fuck, y/n, say you're mine." he groaned, eyes piercing into you. his hand hovered over your clit again, fingers ghosting over the sensitive nub as he spoke again. "say it."

"i'm shit-- i'm yours, taesan. only yours." you whimpered, nails digging into his shoulder blades as you held onto him. he fucked deep into you, long fingers rubbing into your clit vigorously.

you didn't even tell him when your orgasm hit you, capturing his lips with yours instead. it washed over you like a tidal wave, soaking your whole body in hot bliss. taesan groaned as your walls squeezed him, mumbling an i'm cumming against your lips softly.

even through the condom, you could feel his release, the feeling of the hot liquid making you moan loudly. taesan fucked you through both of your highs, stroking in and out of you as you came back down to earth.

he pressed his forehead to yours when he broke your kiss, warm breath fanning on your cheeks. his movements slowed to a stop as his body slumped on top of you, dick softening inside of you as he pressed his face into your neck.

"you're gonna crush me, tae." you wheezed out, chest squeezing underneath him. your hands balled into fists as they flailed against his back, and you were laughing. taesan chuckled, pushing himself up by his arms to pull himself out of you. he rolled off the bed, tossing the condom. he disappeared into his closet, walking out in a pair of fresh boxers. you smiled shyly as he handed you a big tshirt and a pair of his boxers for you to sleep in, slipping them on before sliding back onto the bed.

you turned onto your side to face him when he crawled back to join you and pulled a blanket over the two of you, your hand coming up to run though his hair. his eyes closed as he leaned into your touch, rubbing against your hand like a cat.

"what are you thinking about?" his voice was low and smooth as he opened his eyes to look at you, making your cheeks burn.

"you." you whispered. a hand wrapped around your arm and he pulled you into his chest, his other hand cupping the back of your head. you tilted your head up so you could kiss him, slow and soft. your legs tangled with his as you tilted your face to brush your tongue against his lightly.

"hmm ... good answer." he smiled against your mouth, planting another kiss on your cheek. you closed your eyes as he squeezed you against him, peppering kisses across your face. you hid your face in the crook of his neck and let his warm body encase you, falling asleep to the feeling on his face nuzzling into your hair.

...

two weeks had passed since the fateful party, and taesan was now your boyfriend. both of you were sitting with your friend group at lunch, laughing over some dumb argument between myungjae and sohee.

"y/n, you agree with me, right?" jaehyun looked at you pleadingly at you as you shook your head, laughing. you were eating some fries with taesan's arm draped around your shoulder, periodically feeding him some.

"you're crazy, jae." his offended look only egged your laughter on further, your shoulders shaking slightly.

"and to think i helped you plot on my friend. i never would've expected you of all people to betray me." he gasped dramatically, falling into his seat with a pout. your jaw dropped as he sat down, cheeks reddening as you reached over to smack him on the back of the head. you heard a chuckle from your boyfriend, making your cheeks blush furiously.

"wow, i can't believe i was all stressed worrying that you hated me while you were preying on me." taesan laughed as he pulled you away before you properly jumped on jaehyun.

"it wasn't like tha-" he cut you off with a swift kiss, lips swallowing your rebuttal.

a chorus of gross! and ew's and not again's could be heard across the table, and suddenly everyone was chastising myungjae for provoking the two of you.

"now i have to bleach my eyes, jesus." giselle mumbled.

[kaiyunsim]

best lover —

pairing : bf!taesan x gn!reader

summary : after taesan works hard for the newest comeback you wanted to get him a gift... something perfect. but you don't know what exactly to get him so you get help from his roommate.

warnings : fluff, angst (just a little bit), tense confrontation, some music references, taesan gets kinda jealous, kind of a continuation of this fic

a/n : this lowkey made me relapse into the emo/punk genre and now i'm actively listening to them again ! taesan so silly here.

queueing : best lover - bibi, and july - heize + dean

[requested]

— wc : 4.8k — not proof read —

you’ve always known taesan was cool.

not in the tryhard way, not in the way people force an image to seem untouchable. no, he’s effortlessly cool. the kind of cool that comes from simply existing, from being so unapologetically himself that it draws people in.

his aesthetic is proof of that—dark clothes, silver rings, an ever-growing collection of band tees that he claims aren’t a collection but still seem to multiply every time you see him. his playlists are filled with gritty guitar riffs and melancholic lyrics, songs that feel like they belong in a coming-of-age film.

you love it. you love the way he leans against walls like a movie character, the way his fingers tap out drum beats on tables when he’s lost in thought. the way his voice gets softer when he talks about music, when he lets his guard down just enough for you to see the warmth underneath.

so, when their comeback is finally announced, when you see the hours of training, late-night rehearsals, and exhaustion culminate into something incredible, you know you need to do something. something that says, i see you. i see how hard you’ve worked, and i’m proud of you.

but what do you get someone like taesan?

he’s never been the type to want extravagant gifts. he shrugs off praise, mumbles “it’s nothing” when people tell him he’s done well. but you know he keeps every little note fans give him, that he still has the random trinkets the members bought him over the years.

so it has to be something personal. something that actually means something.

you think about it for days, running through ideas in your head. clothes? no, too easy. he already has everything he likes. accessories? maybe, but he’s picky, and you don’t trust yourself to pick out something he’d actually wear.

and then it hits you.

vinyls.

taesan loves music in a way that’s deeper than just listening. he collects records, always talking about how certain albums sound different on vinyl, how the warmth and crackle make it feel more alive. you’ve seen the way he runs his fingers over the covers, the way he carefully places them on his turntable like he’s handling something sacred.

but you don’t know enough about it.

you know the bands he listens to, sure, but not the specific pressings, not which editions are worth having, not which ones he’s been searching for. you need help.

so, you text the only person who would know and would be the most help.

sungho.

—

you: hey, random question, but do you think you could help me with something?

he replies almost immediately.

sungho: depends. am i gonna regret saying yes?

you snort. typical.

you: no, it’s for taesan. i wanna get him some vinyls, but i don’t know which ones he’d actually want.

a pause. then—

sungho: oh. you’re going ot make him a happy boyfriend for sure. sungho: yeah, i can help. you free tomorrow?

relief washes over you.

you: yeah. thanks, sungho. seriously.

sungho: don’t thank me yet. wait till we actually find something good.

you smile, pocketing your phone.

this is a good plan. a perfect plan.

now, you just have to keep it a secret.

the next morning, you wake up with a nervous excitement buzzing under your skin.

taesan is still half-asleep when you see him, his hair messy from sleep, the collar of his oversized shirt slipping down one shoulder. he looks soft like this, different from his usual sharp edges and guarded expressions.

“morning,” you say, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before he can grumble in protest.

he mumbles something incoherent, eyes still closed, before reaching out and lazily wrapping an arm around your waist, pulling you closer.

you laugh, poking his side. “i have to go out for a bit.”

that wakes him up a little. his eyes blink open, groggy but alert. “where?”

you freeze for half a second before forcing yourself to play it cool. “just running errands.”

his brow furrows slightly, but he doesn’t question it. instead, he just tightens his grip around you for a moment before letting go.

“be safe,” he mumbles, voice still thick with sleep.

your heart squeezes at that.

you brush his hair out of his face, letting your fingers linger for a second longer than necessary. “always.”

—

meeting up with sungho feels like a mission.

he’s already waiting outside the taesan's dorm room, dressed casually but still effortlessly put together, a stark contrast to the slightly chaotic energy you’re bringing with you.

“you look nervous,” he says, amused.

“because i am.”

he raises an eyebrow. “it’s just vinyl shopping.”

“yeah, but it’s for taesan,” you stress. “i can’t mess this up. i need to find something perfect.”

sungho rolls his eyes but leads the way inside the vinyl store, hidden in the corners of the busy streets.

the moment you step in, you’re overwhelmed.

rows and rows of records stretch out in front of you, organized into sections you barely understand. the store smells like old paper and something nostalgic, a quiet hum of music playing from the speakers.

sungho glances at you. “you know what bands he likes, right?”

you nod. “yeah, but i don’t know what he already has.”

“then we start with the basics.”

he guides you through the aisles, pointing out albums that fit taesan’s taste. some are obvious bands you’ve seen on his playlists, artists you recognize from the posters in his room. others, not so much.

“this one’s a classic,” sungho says, pulling out a worn-looking album. “he’s mentioned it before, i think he even has a t-shirt of them.”

it was the black parade by my chemical romance

you take it from him, running your fingers over the cover. “do you think he already has the vinyl?”

sungho shakes his head. “nah, he would’ve bragged about it if he did.”

you smile at that. taesan isn’t the bragging type, not really, but when it comes to things he loves, he can’t help but share them with you. you can already picture the way his eyes will light up when he sees the gift, the way he’ll trace the album cover with careful fingers before hugging you in that quiet, deliberate way of his.

this is good. this is exactly what you wanted.

you glance at sungho. “i think we’re on the right track.”

he smirks. “told you.”

you roll your eyes but can’t hide your grin.

this is going to be perfect.

if you can keep it a secret long enough.

you flip through the stacks carefully, the plastic sleeves crinkling under your fingertips as you skim the selection. rows of album covers stare back at you, some bold and vibrant, others muted and mysterious, each one a different piece of someone’s story.

sungho stands beside you, already pulling out records with ease, flipping them over to check editions and pressings like it’s second nature.

“how do you even know all this?” you ask, watching as he inspects a black-and-white cover, his eyes narrowing slightly before he shakes his head and puts it back.

he smirks. “taesan’s not the only one with taste, you know.”

you roll your eyes. “yeah, but you act like this is your second home.”

he hums, running his fingers along the edge of a shelf. “it kinda is. when i first moved into the dorms, i’d come to places like this just to kill time. got to know a lot about music that way.”

that makes sense. sungho has that effortless, older-brother energy, the kind that makes you feel like he’s always been one step ahead of everyone else. but even so, you know there’s more to it. something about the way he says it, like music was a comfort rather than just a hobby.

you glance down at the album in your hands. the artwork is dramatic, painted in deep reds and blacks, the kind of thing you could easily imagine taesan leaving out on his desk just because it looks cool. it was titled a fever you can’t sweat out this time, by panic at the disco

you hesitate. “what about this one?”

sungho looks over, and to your relief, he nods in approval. “solid pick. taesan likes them. they have that whole raw, gritty sound he’s into.”

you exhale, setting it aside in the growing pile of vinyls you’ve picked out. “good. i was kinda guessing.”

sungho snickers. “if you were completely guessing, you would’ve picked something embarrassing.”

you give him a flat look. “i wouldn’t do that.”

“you sure? no boyband vinyls hidden in that stack?”

“why are you acting like that would be a crime?”

he laughs, shaking his head. “nah, but taesan would probably combust.”

you grin at the thought. he probably would. his whole tough, brooding image crumbling the second someone dared to associate him with anything remotely bright and upbeat. you’ve teased him about it before, played pop songs in his presence just to watch him pretend he wasn’t listening.

but this isn’t about teasing him. this is about him.

you glance around the store, taking in the dim lighting, the faint sound of a record spinning in the background. a few other customers linger nearby, flipping through vinyls with the same careful reverence, but none of them seem rushed. it’s the kind of place taesan would get lost in, taking his time with every shelf, soaking in the atmosphere.

you wish he was here.

you shake the thought away before it can settle too deep.

“okay,” you say, straightening up. “i think i need at least one more.”

sungho scans the shelves before reaching over and pulling out a record without hesitation.

“this.”

you take it from him, studying the cover. it’s striking… american idiot by greenday.

“he’s been looking for this one,” sungho explains. “i remember him complaining about how it’s always out of stock.”

your chest warms. “then that’s perfect.”

sungho grins. “congrats, you officially have a good gift… or multiple”

you roll your eyes but can’t help but smile. “thanks for the approval.”

“anytime.”

you head to the counter, placing the records down carefully as the cashier rings them up. the prices make you wince a little. vinyl collecting is not cheap. but you don’t hesitate. taesan is worth it.

when you step back outside, the air feels cooler, a slight breeze brushing against your skin. sungho stretches beside you, squinting up at the sky.

“so,” he says. “how are you planning to give it to him?”

you blink. “uh. just... give it to him?”

he gives you a flat look. “you’re really bad at this.”

“excuse me?”

“c’mon,” he says. “you go through all this trouble, sneak around just to surprise him, and you’re just gonna hand it to him like it’s a bag of chips?”

you frown. “what am i supposed to do? make a scavenger hunt?”

“i mean, that would be funny.”

“sungho.”

he chuckles. “fine, fine. but at least make it a moment, you know? like, put them in a nice box or something. set the mood a little.”

you consider that. he’s right. you don’t just want this to be a casual exchange. you want taesan to feel how much this means.

“okay,” you say slowly. “i’ll think of something.”

sungho pats your shoulder. “good. because if you don’t, i’m telling him i helped.”

you gasp. “you wouldn’t.”

his grin is downright evil. “try me.”

you groan, shoving him lightly as he laughs.

but despite the teasing, there’s a warmth in your chest that wasn’t there before. because for all the effort, all the second-guessing, all the overthinking. you know this is the right thing to do.

you just hope taesan sees it that way, too.

you and sungho are now wandering the streets, bags in hand, the weight of them a constant reminder of what you're keeping from taesan. there's a knot in your stomach, anxiety creeping in at the thought of what will happen once you return to the dorm.

sungho notices you fidgeting with your phone, eyes flicking between your screen and the road ahead. "you've been checking your messages like every two seconds," he says with a knowing smile. "taesan giving you trouble?"

"i... i don’t know," you mutter, glancing at your phone again. "he hasn’t texted yet. i think he’s mad."

sungho snorts. "he’s always mad."

you roll your eyes but can't help the tension building inside you. it's not like taesan to be suspicious like this. sure, he's possessive at times, but you’ve always been upfront with him. today, though, everything feels off. you know he’s probably wondering where you are, especially after leaving so abruptly.

after a few more moments of walking, your phone buzzes in your hand. it’s a message from taesan.

you open it quickly, your heart dropping when you read the text.

taesan: where are you?

you can almost hear the frustration in his words, even though they’re so short. you hesitate for a moment, trying to figure out how to respond. the last thing you want is to reveal anything.

“everything okay?” sungho asks, glancing at you with a raised eyebrow.

“yeah,” you say quickly, typing back a response. "just... running… errands…"

you: just out. why?

you hit send and try to push the worry away. but it doesn’t help when your phone buzzes again, another message from taesan.

taesan: are you by yourself?

your stomach tightens. it feels like he’s fishing for something, trying to confirm his suspicions. you swallow hard. taesan doesn’t know you’re out with sungho. he probably thinks you’re just alone, maybe out with someone else. the thought of him jumping to conclusions makes you tense up.

“you need to tell him the truth, man,” sungho says, half-joking but still serious. “it’s gonna be hard to keep it up much longer.”

you bite your lip, looking at the text again. taesan doesn’t like being kept in the dark. but if you tell him you're out with sungho, there's no way you can keep the surprise a secret.

you: yeah, just me. out by myself.

you send the message quickly, almost immediately regretting it. the lie feels wrong in your gut, but you can’t risk ruining the surprise.

as soon as you hit send, another text from taesan comes through.

taesan: you didn’t tell me where you went. it’s weird, you know. don’t lie to me.

your heart sinks. this is exactly what you were afraid of. you can feel his frustration radiating through the words, even though they’re brief. taesan might not say it outright, but you know he’s pissed.

“is he mad?” sungho asks, eyes narrowing as he watches you.

“yeah,” you say quietly, looking at the screen again. “he thinks i’m lying.”

sungho tilts his head, his expression softening. “well, you kind of are...”

you groan, feeling guilty. “yeah, but if i tell him the truth, he’ll know what we’re really doing.”

sungho sighs but doesn’t press. “you’ve got to be careful, though. taesan can’t stand being lied to. he might feel like you’re hiding something else.”

you take a deep breath, trying to push the anxiety aside. “he’s just overthinking it. i’ll deal with it when we get back.”

you walk in silence for a bit longer, and the weight of the lie is starting to feel unbearable. but then your phone buzzes again. it’s from taesan.

taesan: riwoo just told me you’re out with sungho. why didn’t you say that?

your heart stops. it feels like everything is crashing down around you. of course, taesan would hear from riwoo. he always does. but you didn’t think it would happen so soon.

sungho laughs lightly, though it’s more nervous than anything else. “i mean, it’s not like you didn’t want him to find out.”

you stare at the message, feeling a mix of guilt and frustration. “he’s so mad now...”

“you better fix it,” sungho says with a small chuckle. “he’s gonna blow up on you if you keep avoiding the truth.”

you sigh, rubbing your eyes. “i don’t know how to fix it. i’ve already lied twice.”

“well,” sungho says, “maybe you just gotta... tell him the truth at this point. no more hiding.”

but you’re not ready to do that. not yet. the surprise is too important to mess up now.

you type out a message, your hands shaking a little as you try to keep it steady.

you: i’m sorry. we just bumped into eachothee

you press send, waiting for taesan’s response with bated breath.

it takes a while, but finally, your phone buzzes.

taesan: it was a coincidence?

you let out a sigh of relief. it's not as bad as it could have been, but you still feel like you’ve messed up.

you: yeah, i went out to grab some stuff, and boom, sungho was there getting some stuff for the dorm too

you wait for a reply, and when it comes, it’s still not as angry as you expected, but you can hear the frustration in taesan’s words.

taesan: you know, you could’ve just told me. i don’t like when you hide stuff from me.

your heart drops, and you feel guilty again. you want to explain yourself, but you’re afraid it’ll make everything worse.

“he’s really pissed now,” you say quietly to sungho, who nods sympathetically.

“you should’ve just told him earlier,” he says, though his tone is more playful than critical. “now you gotta go back and fix it.”

you take a deep breath, realizing sungho’s right. you’re going to have to deal with the fallout when you get back to the dorm.

you decide on sungho’s dorm since taesan is rooming with woonhak and jaehyun so it would be perfect to wrap his gift all together and put final touched on it.

but once you open the door, you stand frozen at the door of sungho’s dorm, heart hammering in your chest. the moment taesan walks in, everything about the room shifts. his presence fills the space, and even though he’s not saying anything yet, you feel the weight of his gaze.

“so, this is where you’ve been?” taesan’s voice cuts through the silence. it’s sharper than usual, colder too. he looks at you, then at sungho, his eyes narrowing. “i thought you said you were by yourself.”

you feel your breath catch in your throat. his words hit harder than expected, but you force a smile, trying to keep your cool. “i was… i mean, i am.”

taesan tilts his head, his eyes scanning you like he’s trying to figure out if you’re lying. you take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. “i just bumped into sungho, we were talking, and i guess riwoo saw us leave together.” you’re already regretting how this sounds, but you can’t back down now. you have to keep the lie intact.

“bumped into sungho?” taesan’s voice drips with suspicion. “so it’s just a coincidence you were both out together?”

you nod quickly, hoping he buys it. “yeah, we were just… talking, you know? nothing serious. i just didn’t want to bother you while you were busy.”

taesan crosses his arms, studying you with a sharp gaze. “that doesn’t sound right.”

the air between you two feels like it’s crackling with tension. you swallow hard, knowing you can’t let him get too suspicious. “it’s really nothing, taesan. you know i wouldn’t lie to you about this.”

“you wouldn’t, huh?” taesan says slowly, his tone soft but with a dangerous edge. “then why didn’t you just tell me? why go through all this just to cover up some… coincidence?”

you flinch slightly at his words, the guilt gnawing at you. but you won’t break. you can’t spoil the surprise now. not when everything is so close to being perfect.

“i didn’t want to bother you with the details,” you say, hoping he buys it. “i just figured i’d spend some time with sungho, that’s all.” you glance at sungho for a moment, but he’s standing still, like he’s unsure whether to step in.

taesan watches you for a long beat, and you can see the wheels turning in his mind. his expression hardens. “so you thought it’d be better to lie to me, to sneak around?”

your chest tightens, the weight of his words sinking in deeper than you expected. “taesan, it’s not like that.”

“really?” taesan’s voice rises, a hint of frustration creeping in. “because that’s exactly what it sounds like. i don’t know, it’s just hard to believe that you’re not hiding something. are you trying to cover something up?”

you feel your heart race. this is spiraling out of control, and you don’t know how to stop it. the last thing you want is for him to think you’re doing something behind his back.

“taesan, please,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “you’re overthinking this. i didn’t want to tell you because i didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.” you force yourself to look him in the eye, trying to convey sincerity. “it’s nothing, really.”

taesan doesn’t respond right away. he’s still standing there, arms crossed, eyes cold as he studies you. you feel like he’s dissecting every word you’ve said, trying to figure out if you’re being honest or not.

“so what, this is all just some coincidence?” taesan asks again, voice dripping with doubt. “you just happened to be with sungho, and riwoo just happened to see you leaving together?”

you nod quickly, trying to sound convincing. “yeah, that’s it. it’s just a coincidence, taesan.”

taesan lets out a long breath, his frustration simmering just under the surface. he doesn’t seem convinced, but he doesn’t push further. yet.

“you’re making this harder than it needs to be,” you say, trying to change the subject. “it’s nothing. seriously.”

taesan stays quiet, his eyes narrowing, still unconvinced. “i don’t know if i believe you, but fine. if you say so.”

there’s a moment of silence between you two, and you can almost feel the distance growing between you. you want to tell him the truth, but you can’t risk it. not yet.

“you didn’t need to lie to me, you know,” taesan says softly, his gaze softer but still guarded. “you could’ve just told me where you were. there wouldn’t have been any problem.”

“i know,” you say, your heart sinking. “but i didn’t want to ruin the surprise.”

the moment you say it, you regret it. taesan’s eyes flash with confusion, but he doesn’t say anything. he just watches you, waiting.

“what surprise?” taesan asks, the suspicion back in his voice.

you hesitate, panic rising. you can’t tell him, not yet. not when you’re this close.

“it’s nothing,” you say quickly, forcing a smile. “i just didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.”

taesan’s gaze sharpens again. “you’re lying. i can tell.”

you want to scream, to tell him the truth, but you stay silent, your heart heavy with the pressure of it all.

“you’ve been hiding something from me, haven’t you?” taesan asks, his voice quiet now, as if he’s piecing everything together.

you look away, unable to meet his eyes. you can’t keep lying, but you can’t give in either. not yet.

“taesan, please,” you whisper. “just trust me. i don’t want to hurt you.”

he sighs, his expression softening just a little. “i trust you, but it’s hard when you keep lying to me. i just don’t get why you couldn’t tell me what was going on.”

you open your mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. your throat feels tight, and your mind is racing, trying to figure out how to get yourself out of this mess.

“i’m sorry,” you finally say, your voice barely audible. “i didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

taesan looks at you for a long moment, his face softening a bit. “it’s fine,” he says quietly. “but next time, just tell me. no more lies.”

you nod, relieved but still filled with guilt.

there’s a long silence, and then you finally reach into your bag and pull out the vinyl and the trinkets you picked out for him. you hold them out to him, your hands shaking.

“here,” you say softly, voice full of apology. “i got these for you. i… i thought you’d like them.”

taesan takes the items slowly, his expression unreadable. after a few moments, he looks up at you. “you didn’t have to do this,” he says, his voice softening. “but… thanks.”

you smile weakly, still feeling the weight of everything. “i’m sorry for making you mad.”

taesan sighs, stepping closer to you. “it’s okay. just promise me no more lies, alright?”

“promise,” you say quietly.

and for the first time in what feels like forever, the tension begins to melt away. taesan pulls you into a hug, and you let yourself relax, knowing that you’ll have to make things right.

but for now, you’re just grateful that he’s still here.

taesan is silent for a long time, just staring at the vinyls in his hands. his fingers trace over the covers, his expression unreadable.

you shift nervously, waiting for some kind of reaction. was this too much? was this not what he would’ve liked? sungho had assured you it was a good choice, but now, standing here with taesan’s gaze locked onto the gift, doubt creeps in.

“you really did all this for me?” taesan finally asks, voice quieter now.

you nod quickly. “of course i did. you just had a comeback, and i wanted to get you something that actually fit your taste. something you’d really like.”

he exhales slowly, his grip tightening around the vinyls for a second before he looks up at you. his expression has softened completely, the cold edge gone. instead, there’s something else… something warmer.

“you’re an idiot,” he mutters, but there’s no bite to his words. in fact, his lips twitch slightly, like he’s trying not to smile. “you could’ve just told me.”

“and ruin the surprise?” you huff, crossing your arms. “not a chance.”

taesan sighs, shaking his head. “you made me worry for nothing.”

“i didn’t mean to,” you mumble, guilt creeping back in.

he looks at you for another long second before stepping forward, wrapping his arms around you. his hold is firm, secure, like he’s grounding himself in your presence.

you blink, surprised at the sudden affection, but quickly melt into the embrace. his scent is familiar, and the warmth of his body makes all the stress from earlier fade.

“don’t do that again,” he mutters into your hair. “just tell me next time.”

you nod against his chest. “okay. i promise.”

he pulls back slightly, just enough to look at you, his dark eyes still holding a bit of lingering frustration. but it’s different now. less about suspicion, more about the fact that you worried him.

his eyes flicker to sungho, and his warmth disappears just slightly as he levels a glare at him. “and you,” he says, narrowing his eyes.

sungho raises his hands defensively. “hey, don’t look at me like that. i was just helping.”

“helping,” taesan repeats, clearly not convinced. “spending hours alone with y/n, keeping secrets, sneaking around.”

sungho rolls his eyes. “yeah, yeah, i get it. i’d be mad too. but it’s not like that.”

“doesn’t matter,” taesan grumbles, still glaring. “you still got too comfortable.”

you groan, tugging at his sleeve. “taesan, please. it’s not like we were on a date or something.”

taesan clicks his tongue but lets it go, instead looking back at the items in his hands. now that he’s actually processing it, his expression shifts, like he’s finally realizing what you got him, without the worry of why you were lying.

“wait,” he mutters, flipping it over. “this album… where did you find this?”

you grin. “special store sungho knew about. he helped me find the best ones.”

taesan pauses for a moment, then looks at you again, softer this time. “you really went through all this trouble just to get me something i’d like?”

you scoff. “of course i did. i love you, you idiot.”

his ears turn red. it’s subtle, but you notice it. he looks away, clearing his throat. “you’re the idiot,” he mumbles, gripping the vinyls like it’s the most precious thing in the world. “but… thanks.”

he pulls you into another hug, holding you tight, like he doesn’t want to let go.

and just like that, everything feels right again.

[joiigurl]

Title: Ur bf taesan seeing you in a miniskirt

Pairing: fem!reader! x flirty bnd!taesan!

Genre: fluffy, some flirting goin on…

🐇🐇🐇🐇🐇🐇🐇🐇🐇🐇🐇🐇🐇🐇🐇🐇🐇

The moment you walked into the room, Taesan nearly dropped his phone. His usual cool demeanor wavered as his eyes locked onto you—specifically, the way your miniskirt hugged your figure just right. He wasn’t usually one to get flustered so easily, but right now? Yeah, he was gone.

“You okay over there?” you teased, tilting your head as you noticed his stare.

Taesan blinked, quickly looking away, pretending to scroll through his phone. “Huh? Yeah. Totally fine.”

You smirked, stepping closer. “You sure? ’Cause you look like you just saw a ghost.”

“More like an angel,” he mumbled under his breath, thinking you wouldn’t hear.

But you did.

Your cheeks warmed as you watched him try to play it off, running a hand through his dark hair. The way his Adam’s apple bobbed slightly when he swallowed told you he was still struggling to act normal.

“Do you like it?” you asked, spinning slightly so the skirt flared around you.

Taesan let out a breathy chuckle, finally giving up on acting unbothered. His hand reached out, fingers brushing against the fabric at your hip as he pulled you just a little closer. “Yeah,” he admitted, voice lower now. “I really do.”

The air between you shifted—still playful, but heavier with something else. You felt his gaze trace over your legs before meeting your eyes again, something unreadable flickering there.

“You’re staring again,” you whispered, smiling.

“And?” His lips quirked up in a smirk of his own now, confidence creeping back in. “You’re the one wearing that and expecting me to look away.”

You laughed softly, but before you could respond, Taesan leaned in, closing the distance between you. His lips brushed against yours—light at first, like he was savoring the moment—before deepening the kiss, his hands resting gently on your waist.

When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You really know how to make a guy lose his mind, huh?”

You grinned, fingers playing with the collar of his hoodie. “Guess I’ll have to wear this more often, then.”

Taesan groaned dramatically, but his smile was undeniable. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

And yet, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

a/n:

lol thought of this at work…..

[4ranghaes]

not a christmas request but i saw ur post about threesomes… begging on my knees for sungho and taesan hard dom and soft dom

park sungho x han taesan x reader [smut, fem!reader, taesan and reader are in established relationship, threesome]

warnings - SMUT!!! MDNI!!!!!! hard dom!taesan, soft dom!sungho, sub!reader, kind of brat!reader, sungho just walks right in but lets say now there’s established consent, cunnilingus, overstimulation, boys kissing, degradation, use of many varying nicknames (slut, bitch, princess, darling, baby), they talk about reader as though she’s not there, blowjob, penetration, once again no mention of protection but i’m saying here they used it because ALWAYS USE PROTECTION, mentions of edging & spanking, very shittily written aftercare

22:05 - “y/n, i’m warning you,” taesan spoke, grabbing your waist and pulling you close, muttering just beside your ear, “if you try and touch me again you’re not gonna cum for the rest of this fucking year, let alone this month.”

you looked up at your boyfriend, stern eyes looking back at you as you giggled. he rolled his eyes, kissing his teeth in frustration. taesan grabbed your arm, beginning to drag you in the direction of his room.

“ah, let go of me! taesan, i didn’t do anything! i said let—”

the two of you stopped in your tracks, greeted with the sight of sungho exiting the bathroom.

“oh, sorry!” he smiled, the smile fading as he looked at your hurt expression, “wh– are you okay, y/n?”

you smirked at taesan before turning to his friend with a teasingly whiny voice, “no! he’s dragging me around, sungho! help me, please…”

sungho rolled his eyes, used to your antics. he turned to taesan, though, and stopped when he saw the angry look in his eye.

“taesan?” he said, trying to get his attention off wherever his friend’s mind was now (you), “what’s happening here?”

“nothing,” your boyfriend grumbled, “just leave us, okay?” he opened his bedroom door, pushing you into the room before turning back to sungho, “and, uh, you might want to go out for a while.”

sungho scoffed, rolling his eyes, “don’t tell me you’re one of those.”

“one of what?!”

“those jealous, riled up boyfriends. the ones who think it’s sexy to punish and punch their girl about,” sungho teased. you giggled, watching from the bedroom, taesan’s head whipping round to glare at you. sungho smiled, “look at how lovely she is. how pretty.”

your smile grew as sungho entered the room, cupping your face in his hands. he hummed, “so, what was your plan for her, taesan?”

your boyfriend sighed heavily, walking in the room and pulling the door shut behind him, locking it too. he approached you with a mean glint in his eye, not even sparing a glance to sungho.

“i was gonna tease her. make her think she was special, that i was gonna let her cum, when in reality i’d edge her. over, and over, and over until she’s crying and whining and begging me in that beautiful little slutty way that she does,” taesan smirked, “and then, if she could handle it, i’d make her cum. over, and over, and over. not before ‘punching her about’, of course,” he used air quotes, jeering at sungho’s earlier words. “i’d say 10 hits would do it.”

you were biting your lip, stood cowering under the gaze of both men. taesan smiled, gripping your chin with his thumb and first finger, “and you’d love it, wouldn’t you? since you’ve been teasing me all day like a little slut. i know you must be horny.”

he moved your head for you in an up and down motion. sungho pouted towards you, your eyeline being stolen by him. he brushed taesan’s hand off your face, cupping your cheek instead.

“but look at her, taesan! i’m sure she’s been a tease, but isn’t that just because she’s lonely? maybe you’ve been neglecting her, have you ever thought about that?!” sungho exclaimed, an overdramatic pout staying on his lips, “if she was mine to play with, i’d treat her just right. kissing her softly, making her cum over and over again, sure, but making sure she’s alright in between. i’m sure you’d be so good for me, darling, wouldn’t you?”

you nodded quickly, taesan scoffing. you glared at him. “oh? what’s that look for?!” he scolded, “on the bed, now.”

you sighed, doing as he said as sungho bit his lip, watching as you stripped down to your underwear - as you knew taesan wanted - and climbing on his bed, getting on your knees.

sungho laughed, “what have you done to her?! trained her like a dog!”

taesan scoffed, “as if. she never listens. she’s just showing off since you’re here. isn’t that right, princess? eh?”

you stayed silent, taesan shaking his head at your lack of an answer. he looked to sungho, jeering, “you think you know how to treat her so right? you go ahead. i’ll watch, maybe learn a couple things. or maybe, you’ll learn a couple things from me, hmm?”

sungho chuckled, nodding, “alright. is that okay, y/n, sweetie?” you looked at him, nodding wordlessly. “don’t be shy, darling. use your words whenever you want.”

you smiled, sparing taesan a quick look before staring back into sungho’s eyes. he was stood beside the bed now, fingers gently caressing your jaw as you stared up at him, “of course, sungho.”

the older man smiled, leaning down and kissing your lips gently, “good.” you stared up at him with big eyes, sungho chuckling as he started kissing down your neck, his hand was gripping your waist tightly, pulling you to straddle his lap. you started grinding down - no matter if it was teasing or not, taesan was right, you were horny and had been all day.

sungho chuckled into your neck, pulling away to admire your body, “does that feel good, darling?”

you nodded, whimpering slightly as your hands found purchase on his wide shoulders, continuing to grind down. he smiled, moving his hands to your back and undoing your bra. he let it drop to the floor, hands preoccupied with coming to massage your breasts, groaning in delight as he did so.

“you’re so responsive,” he hummed, as your body moved to his, trying to get as close as humanly possible. you were practically climbing his body, moving your knees and thighs, arms and head trying to mount him, “i know, i know, baby. it’s okay. come on, lie down.”

he placed his hands on your waist, moving you to lay against the bed as he kneeled between your legs, wrapping them around his body. you whined, tugging at his t-shirt as he crawled over you.

he chuckled, sitting up and tugging it off in one motion, “happy?”

you moaned as you nodded, his hand rubbing circles up your thigh, edging closer to your heat. taesan scoffed from the corner of the room, making you glance at him; sungho didn’t take his eyes off of you.

“she’s never been spoiled like this before,” taesan hummed, “i’m gonna have to put her in line again.”

“don’t mind him, baby,” sungho cooed, “come on, use your words, what do you want from me?” you bit your lip, sungho smiling slightly as his fingers lightly brushed over your folds, “you want my fingers? or… my mouth?”

his face was hovering over your cunt now, hot breath hitting the thin barrier of your panties.

“your mouth, sungho! oh fuck please– i need it.”

he smiled, pulling your panties down quickly, “you’re such a good girl. using your words like a big girl. well done, princess.”

taesan tutted, making you send him a glare. your boyfriend scoffed from across the room, “you wanna give me that fucking look, princess?!”

you bit your lip, ready to say something in return when sungho’s mouth closed in around your clit, sucking on the bud before flicking over it with his tongue. you moaned loudly, thighs moving to crush his head, your back arching off the bed.

he didn’t move your thighs as they wrapped around him, surely harming his air supply. his hands were just too busy gripping at the fat of your hips. instead, he just moved his head with the movement of your body, and you were free to move as you felt necessary. suddenly, taesan’s hands were on your thighs, as he knelt on the bed beside you, pinning them to the mattress. you recognised the soft feel of your boyfriend’s hands, but you couldn’t see him, eyes screwed shut in pleasure as you moaned and whined.

sungho’s tongue was now working on your hole, two of his fingers moving on your clit. you looked down finally, his long hair framing his face as he looked positively drunk off your pussy. you threw you head back, looking up to taesan in the process. his eyes were trained on sungho’s mouth, a slightly pissed off look on his face. he heard his hyung moaning, his expression morphing into a cocky smile.

“she tastes good, doesn’t she?” he smirked, leaning down and kissing your lips gently, you whimpered at the contact, your hand moving to to thread itself in his dark hair, the other doing the same with sungho’s long locks. “my beautiful girl. best pussy in the world.”

you gasped, maintaining eye contact with your boyfriend as sungho’s mouth and fingers brought you over the edge, “sung– sungho! gonna cum, oh! f– god! fuck…”

his mouth remained on you after you’d cum, your hands tugging on both boys’ hair as you whined in overstimulation.

“alright man, enough,” taesan scolded, pulling his friend away, sungho smirking wildly at the both of you - his lower face covered with your juices.

taesan felt a pang of what, jealousy? no… something else, deep in his stomach as he looked at the sight.

“you’re right,” sungho panted, “she’s delicious.”

taesan swallowed his pride, finally locating the feeling as he grabbed sungho by the back of the head, pulling him – and his lips, towards him. taesan groaned, getting a taste of all of you from his friends’ lips.

sungho pulled away first, having been shocked into silence while taesan continued smirking. he’d always admired the eldest member, you knew, you could see it from glances he sent across the room along with how he spoke about him in private. it was true you also found sungho attractive, but you knew that taesan had been secretly wanting this for as long, if not longer, than you.

“come on darling, since you’ve already been so spoiled and cum yourself, get me off,” taesan panted, standing in front of the bed, his hips practically thrust into your face as you sat up, unbuttoning his jeans and pulling them down while maintaining eye contact.

taesan’s cock was rock hard, his self-control wearing thin as you licked over his boxers. he grabbed your hair, pulling your head back and leaning down to hiss in your face.

“don’t play any fucking games with me, bitch,” he hissed, some spit landing on your face as he spoke, “you know what you’re meant to do. be good. he won’t always be around to protect you.”

you shivered, whimpering as you nodded quickly, making taesan smile. he let go of your hair, standing back up and allowing you to pull down his boxers, licking a stripe up his bare cock before spitting on the tip, letting it, along with his slick, drip down the length, lubing him up.

“if you want to overwhelm her that badly,” sungho interrupted, taesan rolling his eyes at the sound of his voice, “why don’t we have a go at the same time?”

your boyfriend smirked down at you, as you looked with big, daunted eyes between the two men. “you think you can fuck her the way she deserves?”

“that depends what you term ‘deserves’,” sungho pushed back, “but she’s just cum, pretty hard too, if i say so, so either way she’ll be overstimulated.”

your head was moving back and forth as the men spoke about you like you weren’t even in the room, though neither of them took their eyes off of you.

“well i know you couldn’t fuck her throat like she deserves,” taesan spat, “so go ahead. show me what you got.”

sungho finally looked away from you, head moving to smirk at his friend, “haven’t i already?”

the older man pulled down his pyjama bottoms, hand trailing down your body as he took his position behind you. taesan glared at his friend, but moved in front of your face, his hand holding your jaw lazily.

“take it, princess, you know how,” he said, eyebrows raised as he watched you start to take his cock in your mouth. not having your hands as an option, you quickly took it to the base. taesan’s hands playing with your hair as he watched with a proud smile. he started thrusting his hips gently as you relaxed your throat. “that’s it– fuck, you’re such a slut taking two dicks at once. bet you’ve been dreaming about this.”

sungho bit his lip at taesan’s words, leaning down and kissing along your spine as he murmured comforting words, “i’m gonna put it in now, okay baby? i’ll go slow since i know it’s your first time taking two. you’re doing so well.”

he pushed his cock in your dripping hole slowly, leaving you whining around taesan’s cock as he did so. he wasn’t as long as taesan, you supposed their height represented them there, but he was a little thicker, and he was confident in his movements, moving slowly and surely as he finally bottomed out inside you. he waited for a moment, panting to try and calm himself down, his hands stroking your hips gently.

“so good, darling, so good for me,” sungho breathed, voice shaking with restraint, “i’m gonna move now.”

taesan stopped thrusting for a minute, he may have been mean but he certainly didn’t want to hurt you. he watched your entire body move as sungho began to thrust in and out, his strong arms holding your hips and moving your body with him. there was basically no need for taesan to move anymore, your mouth already being dragged up and down his cock. but he smirked with an idea, eyes flitting to sungho’s worried face.

“good girl,” sungho cooed, leaning down and kissing your spine again.

“so fucking good,” taesan grunted, beginning to move out of sync with his hyung’s thrusts. you were being stuffed full, whichever direction you moved. “ff-fuck. such a slut taking us so well. you love taking two at once don’t you? my dirty fucking girl.”

“that’s right, baby, so good,” sungho cooed.

your arms were beginning to give out as you moved to grip at taesan’s thighs instead, your boyfriend sporting an evil smirk and stroking your hair.

“so desperate for me, aren’t you, princess?” taesan cooed back, staring up at sungho with a daring glint in his eye.

“what, gonna kiss me again?” sungho tested.

“bet you’d fucking love that,” taesan hissed, “fuck you, telling me how to fuck my girlfriend.”

“hmm, cause she hated it so much, hey?”

taesan groaned as you swallowed around his cock, sungho grabbing his face while he was vulnerable and smashing their lips together again. both men groaned into the kiss. your pussy clenched around sungho’s cock as you realised what was happening, the man pulling away to let out a moan, stopping to catch his breath. taesan smirked at his reaction.

“best pussy in the world, right?” he goaded, “and it’s all mine.”

“yeah?” sungho hissed, “you say that but this pussy’s clenching around me so good right now, so tight.”

“awfully objectifying way for you to talk,” taesan panted, a moan punctuating the end of his sentence, “i thought that wasn’t your style.”

“it’s not.”

“spank her.”

“taesan, no,” sungho disagreed, shaking his head in a slight disgust.

“go on,” he prompted, an evil smile on his face, “look how good her ass looks, all on display for you right there. jiggling with every thrust. go on. smack it.”

sungho bit his lip, looking down at your ass and how it moved every time his hips slammed into yours. he raised his hand up, smacking once. he immediately used his large palm to rub the area soothingly. he felt shame washing over him, until he heard your loud moans around taesan’s cock, practically choking just to display your pleasure.

taesan smirked, watching sungho’s hand move to smack your ass one more time before moving down to rub your clit.

you started moaning loudly again, taesan groaning and gasping, cumming down your throat without warning.

“take it, take it,” he grunted, pulling out at the end so the last spurts washed over your lips and chin. he grasped at your hair, pulling your head up so you were looking at him, fucked out eyes and cum dripping onto your neck, “there’s my princess. you enjoy taking two cocks, my girl?”

you whined, as taesan frowned. knowing he expected words you tried to put anything your brain could manage together, your body still being thrust forward with every snap of sungho’s hips, sounds of your wetness and skin slapping echoing through the room, “s–so… fuck. sungho so– ah! p-please… god! oh my god…”

taesan smirked, keeping his grip on your hair so he could see your fucked out face, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as sungho’s pace increased.

“i– i’m gonna cum,” he muttered, voice tight, “fuck, y/n, so good for me. your pussy’s so good– so tight. fuck! such a good girl– are you cumming?”

his hand worked desperately on your clit as you whined loudly. taesan smiled at your reaction, “yeah, she’s cumming.”

“m-me too. let’s cum together, princess,” sungho panted, hips moving faster than his brain as he spilled his load into the condom, a loud groan escaping his lips.

his body flopped against yours as he stopped, both of you panting to catch your breath. taesan let go of your hair, watching as you collapsed onto the bed.

he quickly got up and left the room, sungho furrowing his eyebrows as he watched. he moved to your upper body, massaging your back gently as he cooed, “you did so well, princess. can i get you anything? do you need water?”

“she needs to be cleaned up first,” taesan said, arriving back in the room with a wet cloth and a towel, “she doesn’t like the dirty feeling of it on her body.”

he rolled you onto your back, tapping your face gently. “hey princess,” he murmured, kissing your cheek before starting to wipe the cum off your face with the cloth, then moving down to wetness dripping down your inner thighs, “you with us?”

you hummed in response, your eyes heavy as you opened them, able to feel the soft towel being rubbed over your body.

“hiya,” taesan smiled, leaning over and kissing your lips, helping you sit up before laying the towel down on the bed. he couldn’t be bothered to change the sheets, but didn’t want to leave the wet patches completely, “you okay?”

you nodded, collapsing onto his body as he smiled affectionately, kissing your shoulder.

“here,” sungho whispered, having collected some clean pants and pyjamas, handing them over to taesan. your boyfriend smiled at the suddenly shy man.

“you need to go and pee,” taesan said, tapping your arm, “can you walk?”

“in a minute,” you whined.

“can you walk?” taesan repeated, looking sternly in your eyes as you sat up from his shoulder.

you nodded, taesan nodded back in reply. he handed you your pants and pyjama top so you were at least decent before you stumbled out the room to the bathroom.

“i’m not an asshole, you know,” taesan said to sungho who was getting dressed back into his pyjamas. the boys then left the room, heading to the kitchen for snacks and drinks, “…just horny.”

sungho laughed, gathering his own juice and snacks. he shook his head, “i didn’t think you were. it was all teasing.”

“we always watch a film, afterwards,” taesan said, slightly shy, “you’re welcome to join us, if you want. i know you like films.”

sungho nodded, smiling.

“and, for that, again… if you want,” taesan said, the men heading back to the bedroom, “turns out, maybe… both our ways are good.”

[hazeytae]

bnd twt links pt. 2

♡ porn links, mostly dom!bnd but take these how you will <3 , kinda filler post

sungho.

sungho treats you just like a princess 😔 ik this man a MUNCHH taking every opportunity to eat you out

he loves loves loveeesssss when your riding him and you get all needy, hips moving sloppily just chasing your orgasm n focusing on making yourself feel good

this just SCREAMS sungho. screams his name. 🫠

riwoo.

poor riwoo chasing his orgasm, taking out any stresses onto you (very sweetly tho)

he has almost no mean bone in his body... unless u pissed him off🤭 im a dom riwoo truther if u cant tell

riwoo fucking into u til u squirt on his cock :3 (i love this vid guys)

DRY HUMPING WITH RIWOO. he cant keep his hands off u!!!!

jaehyun.

sitting on jaehyuns face !! he begged for u to jus suffocate him with your cunt until you finally gave in "but jaehyun what if i suffocate you!" "but baby thats what i want~!" he whined while pulling u down onto his face 🤧

he only wants to make u feel good <3 putting his fingers to work !! doing what hes best at !!!

desperately desperatelyyyy fucking ur thighs, he said he'd be quick! but he already came 2 times- overstimulating himself with your thighs even though your practically begging for him to put it in,,, puppys being so selfish :(((

taesan.

this is screaming taesan. literally everything about this video is so taesan coded?!!

literally plunginggg his fingers in n out of you but the second your close to cumming he'll replace his fingers with his cock so your cumming on his cock for the nth time🙊

ik taesan good with that tongue. wtf. and he good asf with those fingers!! perfect for eating you out <3

taesan liiiveeesss for late night sex

leehan.

who else is here for leehan size kink... because i am!! you look way too good when hes just towering over you

lazy spooning with leehan, he just looovvveeesss seeing you in thigh highs

he loves when you fuck yourself back onto him, he cant get enough of the way your body chases his cock when he pulls out slightly, almost like you cant be apart from him at all and he finds that sosososooo sexy

[ilysungho]

— nsfw links for bnd members

a/n: hello! happy new years to everyone, i hope you all have a great year ahead! i prepared this for you guys as a gift for the start of this year. hopefully you all like it <3 love you all my sweethearts! btw, link 1 is dom!member and link 2 is sub!member 💗

sungho

contains: overstimulation, fingering, handjob, bondage

link 1: he’d enjoy listening to your pretty moans for him, rubbing your clit while he choked you slightly. his whole being would be fixed on making you feel so good that you’ll be overstimulated to the point of no return. it’s like he’s training his pretty girl to go as long as he wants to with you, whether it be 30 mins or all night.

link 2: let’s be honest, he would he the best sub, listening to everything you had to say while doing what you tell him to do. but it’d be hard for him to just sit back and not be able to do anything. the bondage would make it so hard for him to sit still even though he knows he shouldn’t be moving so much. eventually, he’d just give up on trying to get even a little control and let you do as you please to his pathetic cock <3

riwoo

contains: masturbation, fingering, handjob, humiliation kink, use of toys, lingerie, semi-public sex

link 1: riwoo would love mutual masturbation a lot, always looking forward to coming home from work and getting in bed to finger you while you give him a handjob. 69ing is also a big turn on for him on that note!

link 2: oh he’d have the BIGGEST humiliation kink so any situation that can get him caught or begging you for mercy would have him soooo horny. he’d love wearing toys and pretty lingerie only you can see him in, so it’s a no brainer to combine both of them while on a trip to the mall for more lingerie. it’s all for him though, you say while rubbing his trapped cock in the bathroom <3

jaehyun

contains: riding, tit sucking, strap, pegging mention, mommy kink and nickname, use of toys

link 1: he’s hyper-fixated on your body. every week, he gets obsessed with a new part of you, for example your clit, fingers, neck, and lips. this week he was particularly in awe on how your nipples harden in your mouth. he wanted to test how long he had to suck on them before he could taste your milk…

link 2: he’d take your cock so well, prepping it for you so you could use it in his ass. jaehyun’s loves being fucked by his mommy, so it’s no surprise he’d be so obedient and do anything to be praised by you. it would also turn him on seeing you with a strap on since he knows it’s just for him <3

taesan

contains: titty sucking, marking, handjob, semi-public sex

link 1: this pretty boy lovessss your pretty tits, wanting to always wrap his tongue around your nipples. he could spend hours just sucking and leaving marks on your boobs, wanting to color you in pretty purple and red hues. he’d also love marking art, wanting to leave hickeys in patterns, especially hearts.

link 2: he’d be squirming so much under your touch while you give him a hand job, calling him a good boy for taking you so well. he’d love all the attention you are giving him while hiding his face under the pillow, trying not to be too loud to where the other members can hear him at the dorm.

leehan

contains: use of toys, bondage, throat fucking, edging

link 1: it’d been about half an hour since he tied you up to the bed, kissing you and taking control. you’d been begging for his cock before then, so when he finally let you taste him, you felt so blissful. but when you asked for more, you got met with a slap. “you only take what i give you when i give it to you, ok princess?” an evil smile lit his face thinking about how much fun he was going to have giving you nothing at all.

link 2: he lovessss having toys being used on him, willing to experiment with anything that can give him pleasure. when you both discover the one in the link, it was an easy choice to use it right away. eventually though, he’ll be begging you to let him cum even just once with a tear stained face and his tip looking angry, red, and about to explode.