✨ [FREEBIE] BOYNEXTDOOR Digital & Printable Sticker Pack! 🏡🐾
Uh… hi guys! ONEDOORs!
I originally drew these chibi stickers just for my personal use, but they turned out way too cute to keep to myself! 🥺 Plus, my follower count here has grown so much more than I ever expected lately, so I decided to turn this into a little 'Thank You' gift for everyone! 💖
I made them into a Free Digital Sticker Sheet for you all! You can print them out for your physical journals or use the transparent PNG files for your digital planners/stories!
🔗 Download here via Ko-fi: https://ko-fi.com/s/0c5db59919 
(It’s set as 'Pay What You Want', so you can put $0 to download it for completely FREE! 💸)
📌 Friendly Reminders:
For PERSONAL USE only!
Please do not resell, repost, or claim as your own art.
If you use or print them, please tag me! I’d absolutely LOVE to see how you decorate with them! 📸✨
Thank you so much for all the love and support. Hope you guys love these little BND! 🎉💙
Hi ONEDOORs! 👋
Here is a free digital & printable sticker pack of our BND boys!
What you will get:
📁 High-quality files (PNG with transpare
I love changing my phone wallpaper from one of my photos to a pic of an idol, because then I have a happy surprise every time I close an app lol. I don't change it often, but I was in a Sungho mood today, so now this is my wallpaper
a/n: i was inspired by this meme. was low-key awake the whole night finishing this cause I needed to get my mind off of exam results🥲
You’re lying on your bed in that half-sprawled position that was supposed to be “just five minutes of scrolling” but has now turned into something far more committed.
Your phone is angled slightly away from him.
From where he’s sitting at the edge of your bed, Sungho can only see the tilt of your wrist and the faint glow of the screen reflecting on your fingers. Nothing more. You’re being—weird. Not obviously weird, but the kind of subtle weird that makes him stop mid-thought.
Like you forgot he was there.
“Who are you talking to?” he asks casually, but his eyes sharpen a little as he watches you quickly swipe again.
“Mm? No one,” you answer too fast.
That alone makes him pause.
You shift your position immediately after, rolling slightly onto your side so your body blocks his view of your phone even more. It’s subtle, but not subtle enough.
He leans back on his hands. “You’re hiding it from me.”
“I’m not hiding anything.”
Another swipe. Another turn of your wrist.
Then—without thinking, without even registering that you’re not alone—you press a quick kiss to your phone screen.
It’s small. Instinctive. Soft.
And entirely unplanned.
Silence.
It lands differently than you expect it to.
He goes very still.
You freeze immediately, the realization hitting you a second too late.
Slowly, you look up.
His expression has shifted into something unreadable—eyes narrowed slightly, brows drawn together, like he’s trying to solve a problem that doesn’t make sense.
“What did you just do?” he asks.
Your throat goes dry.
“I—what?”
“You kissed your phone,” he says, slower this time, like repeating it will make it clearer. “Why did you do that?”
Heat crawls up your neck before you can stop it, but you force your face to stay neutral anyway, like that might somehow save you.
“It wasn’t like that,” you say quickly.
His gaze sharpens further.
“Then what was it like?”
You open your mouth.
Close it.
That pause is the worst possible answer.
He sits up straighter now, suspicion fully settling in. “Are you talking to someone else?”
“What? No!”
“You’re acting weird.”
“I’m not acting weird.”
“You literally just kissed your phone.”
There’s a beat.
Your grip tightens around the device.
This is going so badly.
Sungho watches you carefully now, like he’s trying to read your expression, but you’re doing your best to keep everything contained. The problem is, you’re not even fully sure how you look right now—only that your body feels too warm, your thoughts slightly scrambled, and your phone suddenly feels like evidence.
He leans in just slightly. “Show me.”
“No.”
That answer comes out too quickly again.
His eyes narrow further.
“Oh,” he says quietly. “So there is something.”
“It’s not what you think.”
“That’s what people always say when it’s exactly what I think.”
You groan internally.
This is spiraling faster than it should.
He shifts closer now, one knee on the bed, reaching a hand out—not to grab the phone, but just close enough that you feel cornered by his presence alone.
“Let me see,” he repeats, calmer this time, but firmer.
You hesitate.
Then, with the slowest possible defeat, you unlock your phone and turn it toward him.
For a second, he still looks suspicious.
Then he sees it.
A photo pops up—one of his friends clearly having far too much fun in a group chat.
It’s him.
Wearing a crop top.
Not even styled dramatically. Just—him, standing casually, laughing at something off-camera, the fabric sitting a little higher than usual, showing a sliver of his flat stomach when he moves.
There are more photos beneath it.
Different angles. Different moments. All equally unfair.
Sungho blinks once.
Then again.
“You were hiding this?”
You don’t answer immediately, because your brain has officially stopped cooperating.
He scrolls.
There’s a pause where his expression shifts from suspicion to confusion, then to something dangerously close to disbelief.
“You kissed your phone,” he says slowly, “because of this?”
You finally manage a weak, “It wasn’t planned.”
That earns you a look.
“A planned kiss would’ve been worse,” he mutters.
You immediately want to disappear into the mattress.
He keeps looking at the photos, but now his ears are slightly red, and his earlier suspicion is clearly collapsing in real time. Still, he tries to salvage it.
“So you were just—looking at these.”
“Yes.”
“And you got so overwhelmed you kissed your phone.”
“I didn’t think about it.”
“That’s not helping your case.”
You press your face briefly into your sleeve.
From your perspective, the room feels too small now. Too warm. Even your hands feel like they’re betraying you.
But then you hear him exhale.
A short laugh.
Soft. Almost disbelieving.
“You’re unbelievable,” he says.
You peek up slightly.
He’s still looking at the phone, but now there’s a faint curve to his mouth. Less suspicion. More something fondly exasperated.
“You made me think I had competition,” he adds.
“I did not—no—there is no competition.”
He glances at you then, finally properly meeting your eyes.
And for a second, the teasing sharpness is gone.
“You just like these pictures that much?” he asks.
Your throat tightens again, but you force yourself to answer normally.
“They were sent to me without warning,” you say. “I opened my phone and suddenly I was—confronted with that.”
“With me in a crop top.”
“Yes.”
He nods slowly, like he’s processing this new information with great seriousness.
Then, quieter, “And you kissed your phone.”
“I regret it.”
“No,” he says immediately. “Don’t take it back. That’s important information.”
You groan again, but it comes out softer this time.
He leans back a little now, finally relaxing fully against the bed, still holding your phone loosely.
“You really thought I was going to be mad,” he says.
“I thought you were going to think I was weird.”
A pause.
Then he looks at you properly again, eyes a little softer now.
