summary : even though Sieun wasn’t the boyfriend to openly hold your hand on the street or hug you in the school hallways, he showed you love in the most unspoken ways. And you cherished these moments more than anything.
a/n : i just finished watching whc2 and i’m so happy with the ending. I loved this kdrama so much.
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Sieun’s house was always a little too quiet, but you never minded. It made moments like this feel more intimate. The low hum of his desk lamp he specially moved to the living room, the occasional rustle of pages, the soft clicking of pens—it was a quiet kind of closeness you grew to love. And truthfully, you’d grown used to this silence ever since the two of you started seeing each other.
Today wasn’t any different. You sat cross-legged on the floor across Sieun who was flipping through a practice exam booklet with furrowed brows, highlighter in hand, fully immersed in the quiet rhythm of studying. His brows always furrowed when he studied, and something about that little detail made you want to stare longer than you should.
You had your books open too, a pencil twirling between your fingers, but most of your focus was on him. You weren’t even pretending to study at this point—just watching how his eyes moved, how his lips pressed together in concentration and how his hoodie sleeves were pushed up to his elbows.
“Is something wrong with the exercise?” he asked suddenly, catching your gaze without even looking up from the page.
You blinked, caught, but you nodded anyway. “Mhm.” you replied, nodding even though you hadn’t read a single question. “Totally confusing.”
He closed his book gently and moved beside you, taking your textbook without waiting for permission. You scooted a little closer, heart racing more from his closeness than from any actual academic confusion. You leaned in, resting your chin on your palm and you lips tugging into a small smile.
“What part?” he asked, eyes scanning the question.
“All of it.” You answered.
He started explaining, quietly, patiently. His voice was smooth, his finger moving across the page as he broke down each step. But you didn’t catch a word—your focus stayed fixed on him, not even glancing at the formulas.
“You’re not listening,” he said flatly after a few seconds, eyes flicking to meet yours.
“I am,” you lied, grinning.
He narrowed his eyes just a bit, not annoyed, but definitely unamused. “Then tell me what I just said.”
“…Something about the square root of something?” you blurted out, leaning slightly closer with a dramatic sigh.
Sieun exhaled, almost a laugh, but not quite. More like a breath caught between amusement and surrender. He didn’t respond. Just shook his head softly and went back to explaining.
Your story hadn’t exactly started with a confession. There were no butterflies-in-your-stomach speeches or dramatic realizations. It just… happened.
You weren’t even sure when it shifted from one-sided pestering to a relationship. Maybe it was all those late library study sessions, or the times you shared your snacks during break, or how you always waved at him even when he never waved back—at first.
The truth was, you’d kind of forced yourself into his quiet little world. Bit by bit, like sunlight creeping in through half-closed blinds. You didn’t knock, you just sort of let yourself in—loud, bright, and annoyingly persistent.
He resisted, of course. Gave you those flat stares, dry responses, and more than once told you to stop talking so much. But then came the little moments—how he started waiting for you outside class, the way he sat just a bit closer at lunch, how he texted you first just once and never really stopped.
So when he kissed you for the first time, it didn’t feel like a surprise. It felt like something that had been waiting to happen all along. Quiet, slow, and certain.
Sieun had long returned to his side of the table, diving back into his book with the same silent intensity he always carried. His eyes flicked across the lines, and the only sound in the room was the soft scratching of his pen as he scribbled notes.
You, on the other hand, lasted a solid thirty minutes before your patience cracked.
With a loud sigh, you dropped your pen and slid down until your back hit the floor. You sprawled out like a starfish, letting your arm flop to the side as you stared up at the ceiling.
Sieun glanced over, pen paused mid-word, looking completely dumbfounded. He didn’t say anything at first, just raised a brow and blinked slowly like he was trying to process whether you had actually just given up and collapsed on his floor.
“…What are you doing?” he finally asked, voice flat but clearly confused.
“I’m tired of studying,” you groaned, throwing an arm over your eyes. “I didn’t come here to write equations till my brain melts.”
“Then why did you come?”
You peeked at him from under your arm, a small smirk curling on your lips. “To spend time with you.”
Sieun blinked again, this time his gaze lingering on you a little longer before looking away. You thought maybe he was going to ignore it like he always did, brush past your teasing, but his hand paused on the corner of his page, like something in your words stuck.
“You could've just said that,” he muttered, eyes back on his book—but you saw the way his ears tinted just slightly pink.
You grinned, crossing your arms over the table now from your seated spot on the floor. “You’re blushing.”
“I’m not.”
“You totally are.”
“You’re annoying.”
“But you still love me” you teased.
He looked at you then—deadpan as always. “Delusional.”
You just laughed. It was so easy being around him, even with his wall up. Maybe especially because of it. Each word he gave you felt earned. Each look, every small shift in expression—it all meant something.
“So what exactly does that mean? How do you want to spend time with me?” He blinked, leaning his back slightly against the couch.
You looked at him for a second, then without a word, stood up and moved around the table. He followed your movement with his eyes, and before he could say anything else, you plopped down beside him. Close—closer than usual.
Then, gently, you leaned your head against his shoulder, letting out the smallest content sigh. Both of your arms wrapped around his, holding it close like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Like this,” you murmured. “This is enough.”
There was a beat of silence. The kind that hung heavy, not uncomfortable, but full of something else. Sieun didn’t move, didn’t say anything right away. You could hear the soft click of the clock on the wall, the hum of the fridge in the kitchen.
And then—you felt it.
A quiet shift.
His shoulder barely moved, but you felt it. A small pull at the corner of his lips.
You turned slightly to look up at him.
“Are you… smiling?”
Sieun exhaled through his nose, subtle but unmistakable.
“You’re imagining things,” he said.
But the faint curve on his lips betrayed him.
You grinned and tightened your grip on his arm just a little. “You so are.”
“Don’t get used to it,” he muttered, eyes flicking away, his smile not leaving his lips.
You stayed like that for a while—curled up beside him, your head on his shoulder, arms wrapped around his. At first, it was quiet—comfortable, easy. But it didn’t take long before you started talking. Random stories, the kind that didn’t need a point.
Sieun wasn’t the most talkative, and you still carried most of the conversation, but he listened—really listened—and when he spoke, it was warm, thoughtful, a little dry but always sincere. He’d answer with a soft laugh, or a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Sometimes he’d shake his head at your teasing remarks, and other times, he’d quietly add his own take, making you laugh.
It was one of those moments where time didn’t feel real. Just the two of you, tucked into the corner of his quiet world, talking about nothing and everything.
Even though Sieun wasn’t the boyfriend to openly hold your hand on the street or hug you in the school hallways, he showed you love in the most unspoken ways.
And you cherished these moments more than anything.
A lot of people seem to think Sieun's and Suho's relationship is just sweet and lovey dovey and nice, and completely miss the darker, violent side of their connection. For hurting Sieun, Suho breaks Yeongbin's hand like nothing and sits there completely unbothered while that boy cries in pain at his feet. For hurting Suho, Sieun smashes Wooyoung's ankle with a dumbbell and leaves him screaming on the floor, utterly uncaring. Both are capable of great violence and are deeply obsessed with each other to the point of unleashing it on others with no fucks given.
Note: English is not my first language so feel free to tell me if there are any mistakes.
𝒀𝒆𝒐𝒏 𝑺𝒊-𝒆𝒖𝒏:
How does he make love?
❥ Si-eun is incredibly observant and quiet. When he’s being gentle, his touch is light... almost delicate.
❥ He isn’t the type to say "I love you" a thousand times, but he will constantly check in, asking if you want to do this or if you like that. His tone remains flat, yet he can’t quite hide how nervous he actually is. His kisses are brief and precise, scattered across your face and the base of your throat.
❥ To him, oral sex is a way to study you. He needs to figure out the exact pressure and rhythm that pushes you over the edge. He takes mental notes of your physical reactions; it’s his way of ensuring your happiness.
❥ His favorite position for making love is a reclined cowgirl. He loves it when you’re on top but leaning down against his chest, burying your face in his neck and letting him take the lead.
❥ He’ll wrap his arms firmly around your waist, pinning you against him as he begins to sink into you, tilting his hips up with slow, deliberate thrusts.
❥ He’d say things like:
“You’re shaking.”
“Don’t pull away.”
“Do you like it like this?”
It’s all very logical, but whispered in his low voice, it feels incredibly intimate.
❥ Aftercare is the most important part for him, especially since he grew up feeling lonely and overlooked by his parents. Afterward, he’ll stay glued to your side, likely bringing you water or food without you even asking. He doesn't say much, but he’ll let you fall asleep on his chest while he silently strokes your hair.
On the other hand… how does he fuck you rough?
❥ It doesnt happen often, it just doesn't align with his usual personality or the nature of your relationship.
❥ If he takes the initiative, it’s usually because he’s been under extreme pressure. He isnt angry with you, and he makes sure you know it’s not your fault... he just needs to burn off the pent-up adrenaline.
❥ If you take the initiative, its usually after he's had to fight to protect you. You simply find it hotter when your quiet boyfriend lets his more violent side slip through.
❥ If he’s jealous, he’ll be rougher in bed, though you’ll likely never know jealousy was the catalyst. Si-eun is guarded and a man of few words; he’d never admit to feeling insecure.
❥ Don’t expect cheap degradation, he’s too smart for that. Instead, he’ll say things that prove he knows you better than anyone:
“Did you really think you could pretend you don’t like this?”
He isn’t mocking you, he’s just exposing the truth of your desire with his signature coldness.
❥ The pace stays slow, but the force behind his thrusts increases. He knows exactly where to push to cause the most pleasure. He doesn’t like leaving marks (or being marked), but he might leave faint bruises from biting your shoulders.
❥ He’s fascinated by seeing you... his shy and quiet girlfriend, go completely irrational for him. He won’t overstimulate you until it hurts, but he’ll certainly keep going until you’re begging.
❥ Si-eun has deceptive physical stamina. Though he looks fragile, he can go for a long time without reaching his own peak.
❥ When he wants to go hard, he likes pinning you against the wall. It lets him move your body however he wants. His hands would be busy: one likely cupping your breast and the other gripping your hip firmly... never to actually hurt you, but to guide you.
𝑨𝒉𝒏 𝑺𝒖-𝒉𝒐:
How does he make love?
❥ When Su-ho decides to be gentle, everything slows down, as if time stops in his room. His touch is firm but warm, he loves tracing your body with his fingers, marvelling at how soft your skin is.
❥ He’ll whisper things like “You’re beautiful,” or just mutter your name in that signature deep voice of his. His kisses are slow and deeply calm, usually starting on your forehead and the tip of your nose before moving down to your neck.
❥ Since he’s always active, working or training, his stamina is enviable. He’ll touch you with technical precision, he needs to make sure you’re properly prepped because he hates the idea of causing you any unnecessary pain.
❥ He gives the best head of your life because he’s dedicated. He genuinely enjoys it because, to him, seeing you come is the ultimate win.
❥ Missionary is his favorite. Its simple, comfortable, and lets him control the depth... plus, he gets to look you in the eyes the whole time. He’ll stroke your face with his thumb while he’s inside you. He isnt much of a hair-puller during sweet moments, he prefers keeping you flushed against him.
❥ He’s a man of few but very direct words:
“Don’t stop.”
“Do that again for me.”
He keeps that playful, ironic tone he uses with his friends, so if he sees you’re totally lost in the pleasure, he might drop a smug: “Am I really that good?”
❥ Su-ho is fiercely protective, so afterward, he’ll wrap you in his arms or a blanket. He’s usually exhausted, so he’ll likely pass out as soon as he gets comfortable.
On the other hand… how does he fuck you rough?
❥ Rough sex with Su-ho doesn't come from a place of malice; he has a strong sense of justice and isn't abusive. It usually happens when built-up desire simply overflows.
❥ It’s rarely about jealousy since he’s quite confident, but if someone has been bothering you, that protective energy transforms into an overwhelming physical intensity in the bedroom.
❥ He won’t degrade you, but he will tease you:
“Is this what you wanted when you were looking at me like that earlier?”
“Bet you can’t handle much more.”
It’s a power play where he knows exactly which buttons to push.
❥ The pace is rough, fast, and passionate. Thanks to his martial arts training, his body control is incredible... he’s fast and strong, but never reckless. He does like leaving marks; he sees it as a silent way of marking his territory. But if you dont like it, he won’t do it.
❥ His stamina is legendary. He just doesnt get tired. Doggy style is his favorite for dominating you because it gives him the perfect angle to be rough. He loves the view and the ability to apply rhythmic force, using his hands to grip your hair or hold your hips. In this mode, he isn't there to cuddle, he’s there to claim.
𝑶𝒉 𝑩𝒆𝒐𝒎-𝒔𝒆𝒐𝒌:
How does he make love?
❥ Generally, Beom-seok is very gentle. His way of showing affection is almost painfully shy and needy.
❥ His touch is hesitant at first, as if he’s waiting for you to reject him or for things to turn sour. Once he feels secure, he lets go and caresses you without breaking eye contact. He loves hearing how good he makes you feel.
❥ He whispers things like “Dont leave me” or “You’re the only thing I have,” constantly seeking validation. His kisses are soft, concentrated on your hands or your neck.
❥ Beom-seok is surprisingly good at giving oral. He’s deeply obsessed with your taste. He does it to please you, but also because it makes him feel useful. There’s always a shadow of insecurity, worrying if he’s doing it well enough, but your reactions are usually enough to reassure him.
❥ His favorite position is missionary, but with him clinging to you tightly. He needs the eye contact and the feeling of your weight to convince himself that you’re choosing him.
❥ He’ll rarely grab your neck or hair when making love, those gestures remind him too much of the abuse he’s suffered.
❥ Afterward, he feels safest. He’ll stay wrapped around you in silence, likely hiding his face against your chest with a small smile.
On the other hand… how does he fuck you rough?
❥ Rough sex with Beom-seok doesn't usually stem from healthy passion, but from frustration or jealousy. If he feels sidelined or thinks you’ve paid attention to someone else, he will use sex to reaffirm that you belong to him.
❥ He’s the type to take out his daily pent-up rage on you. In these moments, he can become unrecognizable. He won’t use cruel insults, but he might mock your need for him as a way to project his own insecurities: “You know nobody else is ever going to love you like this, right?”
❥ The rhythm is erratic and a bit clumsy, driven by a mix of desire and anger. He likes leaving marks, especially bites or hickeys in visible places, to "mark his territory." There’s no romance here, it’s a physical manifestation of his anger at the world.
❥ In public, he wont show his jealousy. He’ll be quiet and distant. But in private, he becomes suffocating. Sex becomes a way to punish you for making him feel excluded.
❥ He’s prone to overstimulating you. He enjoys the physical control. He might even ignore your pleas to stop for a second, getting lost in the sensation of power that comes from having you at his mercy.
❥ His stamina is lower when he’s angry. The adrenaline and lack of emotional control mean he burns out faster than usual, leaving him vulnerable and sometimes immediatey regretful after he finishes. He prefers positions where he doesn't have to look you in the eye.
𝑱𝒆𝒐𝒏 𝒀𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒈-𝒃𝒊𝒏:
How does he make love?
❥ Yeong-bin has a very fragile ego. When he makes love to you, his primary goal is seeking your validation.
❥ His touch is possessive, he loves running his hands down your back and legs to feel like you are his. He’ll whisper things like “No one will ever love you like I do,” projecting his need for control. He actually enjoys it when you challenge him.
❥ His kisses are intense and a bit desperate. He is the kind of idiot who leaves marks on your neck just so everyone knows you were with him.
❥ He likes to finger you at a fast pace, watching your face constantly to ensure he has power over your pleasure. Honestly, he’s not a fan of giving oral and probably isn't good at it. You’d have to beg quite a bit for him to even consider it.
❥ His favorite position is the mating press, with your legs over his shoulders. He craves direct eye contact because he needs to see that he has your undivided attention.
❥ After, he is surprisingly clingy. He seeks refuge in you, snuggling up and letting you stroke his hair. Deep down, he’s terrified of being abandoned or humiliated. Once things calm down, he’ll offer you food or a shower. He hates when you have to leave, so he’ll playfully demand that you stay the night.
On the other hand… how does he fuck you rough?
❥ Rough sex with Yeong-bin happens when he’s had a bad day or feels humiliated by others. He takes it out on you to reclaim the sense of power he lost on the street or at school.
❥ He says very degrading things centered on his authority:
“Who’s in charge here?”
“Look at you, begging for more.”
❥ He’ll mock you if he notices you’re enjoying the roughness, using it to inflate his ego. He prefers you to be submissive in this mode; if you talk back, he’ll only get angrier.
❥ The pace is unpredictable. At first, he’ll go slow just to make you wait. Then he’ll become rough and erratic. It’s a pure display of force. He loves leaving bite marks or finger bruises... to him, they’re trophies of his dominance.
❥ When he’s jealous, he’s the type to wrap an arm around your neck in a suffocating way to mark his territory in front of others. In private, that jealousy translates to extremely possessive sex. He enjoys pushing you to your limit and then stopping just to watch you beg.
𝑲𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝑾𝒐𝒐-𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒈:
How does he make love?
❥ It doesn’t happen often, but when he lets his guard down, Woo-young treats you like his only safe haven. His touch is firm, and his hands, usually balled into fists, open up to trace your jawline with agonizing slowness.
❥ He’ll tell you things like “Stay like this,” or “Just look at me.” It’s possessive, but in a soft way. His kisses are deep, like he’s finally catching his breath.
❥ He is fairly neutral about giving oral, but since you told him you like it, he’s determined to be the best at it. Plus, he’s realized it’s a great way to relax you so you can take him more easily later.
❥ He’ll masturbate you with a steady rhythm, watching your face to see exactly what makes you lose it. He’ll start with one finger and slowly add more, testing how much you can take.
❥ He likes any position that allows for maximum body contact. He loves missionary for the control, spooning so he can whisper in your ear, and he loves it when you mount him so he can hold you. He just needs to confirm your attention is 100% on him.
❥ While he’s inside you, he’ll interlock his fingers with yours against the pillow or hold your face. He never lets go. He loves telling you how much he likes you, but in a rougher way:
“You’re incredible.”
“Look at what you’re like for me.”
❥ Aftercare wasn't a thing for him until he met you. Now, he finds it vital, though he’d never admit it. He feels vulnerable after making love, so he’ll bury his face in your neck for minutes at a time.
On the other hand… how does he fuck you rough?
❥ Rough sex usually stems from frustration. Woo-young has a serious problem with losing. If he’s had a bad day or felt inferior, he’ll use that fire in bed to feel powerful again.
❥ In this mode, he is a natural teaser. He’ll ask if you can keep up with his pace or if you’re ready to give up yet. He’ll tease you about your moans:
“Is that all you can handle?”
“Are you going to come that fast?”
❥ It’s not cruel, just a playful superiority that drives you crazy. The rhythm is rough and passionate, almost like he’s sparring with you.
❥ He’s fascinated by leaving marks. Bite marks on your collarbones or finger marks on your hips so that, the next day, you remember exactly who you belong to.
❥ When he’s jealous, his silent and dangerous vibe doesn't change... it just intensifies in the bedroom. He becomes much more vocal about the fact that you are his.
❥ He loves making you beg for an orgasm and will demand that you do so, threatening to pull out and leave you hanging. He’s never actually done it, but you’re not about to test him.
❥ His stamina actually increases when he’s rough. He can go for several rounds without losing intensity.
❥ When he’s in this mood, he wants you on your knees. He’ll use one hand to grip your hair and guide you. It gives him total control over your body. He’ll tilt your head back to make you look at him, relishing the sight of your flushed face and arched back, knowing he’s the one who put you there.
𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝑯𝒖-𝒎𝒊𝒏:
How does he make love?
❥ Baku is all pure love and warmth. With you, he’s incredibly careful, as if he’s terrified of breaking you with his large hands. His caresses are slow and steady; he loves tracing the line of your shoulders and back.
❥ He’ll whisper how much he adores you and how lucky he feels to have you. His kisses are deep, but he loves peppering your forehead and the tip of your nose with them between soft chuckles.
❥ He loves giving oral. It’s in his nature to be service-oriented with the people he loves. He’ll stop every now and then just to look you in the eyes and make sure you’re okay. To him, prepping you properly is an extension of taking care of you, but he ends up enjoying it as much as you do because seeing your pleasure is his greatest reward.
❥ He doesn't have a favorite position, anything where he can face you works. He craves eye contact and constant physical proximity.
❥ He loves the feeling of your breath against his neck... it always makes him smile. He’ll use his hands to cup your cheeks and tuck your hair behind your ears with a tenderness he shows no one else.
❥ He says sweet, slightly clumsy things like, "You're so amazing," or "I can't believe you're actually here with me." He’s very vocal about how much he admires you.
❥ During aftercare, he’ll carry you to the bathroom, help you clean up, and then wrap his arms around you like a human shield. He’ll likely order takeout, and you’ll fall asleep cuddled up while binge-watching a series.
On the other hand... how does he fuck you rough?
❥ When it happens, it’s never out of malice. Baku is deeply compassionate and would never take out external frustrations on you.
❥ Rough sex usually happens when he’s afraid of losing you... maybe after a heavy fight or when he sees that look of mixed anger and pity on your face after he’s been hurt in a brawl. It’s a release of raw, passionate energy.
❥ He’s not the type to degrade you, even then, but he will tease you about how much you tremble under him or how your eyes roll back. "Look at you... did you really need me that badly?" he’d murmur with an arrogant but lustful smirk.
❥ The pace is rough, passionate and powerful. However, there’s always a hint of romance in the way he seeks you out for a kiss in the middle of the chaos.
❥ And yes, he absolutely loves leaving marks all over your body. Baku is territorial but not toxic. In intimacy, he becomes much more dominant and possessive, claiming every inch of your skin to remind you who you belong to.
❥ He has incredible stamina and uses it to overstimulate you, he wants to see how much you’ll beg. But if he senses you’re actually in pain or truly distressed, his protective instinct kicks in immediately, and he’ll stop to comfort you.
❥ His favorite position for going rough is prone bone. He loves heavy body contact, pinning you down and taking you from behind. He’ll use his free hands to cup a breast or tilt your jaw back to force you to look at him.
𝑮𝒐 𝑯𝒚𝒖𝒏-𝒕𝒂𝒌:
How does he make love?
❥ Gotak is a ball of energy in daily life, but in bed, he’s surprisingly attentive. His absolute priority is making sure you feel cared for. His touch is warm and heavy with affection. He’ll whisper things like: "You're safe with me," or "You're the best thing I've got."
❥ His kisses are slow and deep, always lingering on your forehead or neck.
❥ He touches you with a playful curiosity, watching every reaction to learn exactly what makes you tick. He’s incredibly proud of his oral skills. If you finish just from his tongue, his ego hits the roof, and he’ll give you the most radiant smile in the world.
❥ He loves it when you mount him. First, because he needs to see you... Gotak is all about that visual connection. He also loves the skin-to-skin contact. Finally, he likes giving you control at the start, only to take it back once you’re tired.
❥ Afterward, you both usually pass out instantly from exhaustion. Aftercare for him is simply tangled limbs and deep sleep.
On the other hand... how does he fuck you rough?
❥ This happens fairly often, mostly because Gotak has a short fuse and you often offer to let him "take it out on you." He hates that phrase, but he loves what it leads to: hours of intense sex.
❥ He isn't the type to use cruel degradation, but he’ll talk back: "This is what you wanted, isn't it?" or "I bet you can't handle much more than this."
❥ Gotak has incredible tenacity, so the rhythm will be fast and unrelenting. He loves leaving marks, though he keeps them in places only the two of you can see.
❥ If he’s jealous, he gets very physical and much more possessive. He’ll claim you with a force that ensures the other person’s name is the last thing on your mind.
❥ Overstimulating you isn't always intentional, it’s often just a byproduct of how long it takes him to reach his own peak. You’ll be going until your legs give out and he’s still not tired.
❥ His favorite position for rough sex is from behind... whether it’s against a wall, over his desk or on all fours. He just loves the sight and feel of his body slamming against yours. He’ll grab your hair to pull your head back for a rough kiss or grip your hips so you can’t escape his pace.
𝑮𝒆𝒖𝒎 𝑺𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒈-𝒋𝒆:
How does he make love?
❥ Just because he’s being "gentle" doesn't mean he’s going to be soft. It just means he takes his time to analyze your reactions. He studies your body and uses that knowledge to make you lose your mind.
❥ His touch is slow and provocative. During foreplay, he simply cannot keep his hands still. He’s not one for traditional sweet talk; instead, he’ll whisper how much he loves being the only one who gets to see you like this.
❥ His kisses are deep and possessive, mostly concentrated on your neck and jawline... marking his territory while enjoying the skin-to-skin contact.
❥ When he touches you, it’s with a torturous calm. He can spend minutes just teasing you, watching every reaction. He’ll often demand you say things like, "I'm yours."
❥ I don't think he’s naturally a fan of giving oral, but he’d give in without hesitation if you asked. You’ll have to teach him exactly what you like, and luckily, he’s a fast learner. His favorite part? Hearing you beg for more and watching his glasses fog up.
❥ His favorite position is having you on top. After the oral, he’ll let out a tired sigh and sit back against the headboard. He loves the visual of your chest against his face. He’ll smirk like an idiot when you take his face in your hands and smother him.
On the other hand... how does he fuck you rough?
❥ Rough sex is more frequent and usually follows a fight. It’s not about hate, but he needs to release that savage intensity to feel alive.
❥ His words get sharp. He’ll tease you and can be slightly degrading in a playful way that baits you into challenging him. If you push back in a way he doesn't like, though, he gets genuinely riled up.
❥ The pace is fast, passionate, and absolutely draining. He alternates between violent thrusts and a torturous slowness. He loves edging you just to see how much you can take before you break and beg to come.
❥ He loves leaving evidence: bite marks on your shoulders and finger-shaped bruises on your thighs that last for days.
❥ If he’s jealous in public, he’s cold and dismissive, keeping a heavy hand on your waist to mark his territory. In private, that coldness vanishes and turns into hours of sex that leave you on the verge of tears, ignoring your pleas to stop just so he can push you through one climax after another.
❥ He has superhuman stamina. He doesn't tire... in fact, the more you struggle, the more energy he seems to get. His favorite position is doggy style, but he’ll pin your hips down to keep you as flat as possible against the bed. He’ll grab your hair to force you to look back at him or grip your neck to remind you who’s in control.
𝑵𝒂 𝑩𝒂𝒆𝒌-𝒋𝒊𝒏:
How does he make love?
❥ When Baek-jin decides to be gentle, his usual coldness shifts into a meticulous focus on every inch of your skin. His touch isn't random, his long fingers glide over your collarbones and thighs as if he’s memorizing your anatomy.
❥ He leaves lingering kisses on the curve of your neck while whispering how perfect you are for him.
❥ He finds a quiet satisfaction in making you lose your composure. He takes all the time in the world with oral and manual play, ensuring you’re more than ready for him.
❥ Missionary is his favorite, but he’ll always ask you to wrap your legs around his waist to pull you closer. He insists on uninterrupted eye contact. While he thrusts rhythmically and deep, he will interlace his fingers with yours or cradle your face, forcing you to look at him as he confirms you are his.
❥ Words are scarce but heavy with meaning. He’ll praise your body’s response in a low, raspy tone, telling you how much he loves how receptive you are only for him.
❥ Aftercare is an extension of his need for order and protection. He’ll wrap you in the sheets or carry you to the bath with a delicacy that contrasts sharply with his public persona.
On the other hand... how does he fuck you rough?
❥ Rough sex isn't a daily occurrence, he usually vents his frustrations elsewhere. But if someone has tried to get too close to you, the "inevitable" is coming. He won't make a scene in public... he will just watch you with a glacial intensity that warns you the real conversation will happen behind closed doors.
❥ His rhythm is slow and punishing, a way to remind you who has absolute authority in the relationship. He uses his stamina to keep you on the edge, ignoring your pleas for him to go faster.
❥ He enjoys how your body shakes under his. He’s an expert at orgasm control, stopping the moment you’re about to peak just to watch your face contort in frustration. He’ll keep you in that state of absolute need until he decides you’ve learned your lesson.
❥ He prefers doggy style or any position where he can pin you down firmly. He loves the sight of your arched back and your hands immobilized against the mattress, using his strength to set a rough, breathless pace.
𝑩𝒂𝒆𝒌 𝑫𝒐𝒏𝒈-𝒉𝒂:
How does he make love?
❥ When he’s gentle, his mocking attitude turns into hypnotic focus. He treats you with unexpected delicacy, tracing your skin with his fingertips. His words are slow, whispered promises about how much you belong to him.
❥ His kisses are deep and show a devotion he’d never reveal in public. He’ll focus on the corners of your mouth and the arch of your neck, wanting to show you he only has eyes for you.
❥ Foreplay is essential. He enjoys the patience of prepping you, watching your face with that signature smirk, though this time it’s softened with genuine affection. He loves the power he has over your pleasure.
❥ Missionary is his favorite because of the eye contact and the ability to pin your hands above your head. He loves feeling your heartbeat against his and having one hand free to caress your cheek while telling you how beautiful you look when you're about to come.
On the other hand... how does he fuck you rough?
❥ Rough sex with him is intense. Forget any trace of tenderness. It usually happens because of accumulated tension or a spike in jealousy. He needs to re-establish his possession over you in a physical, overwhelming way.
❥ His language turns much cruder. He’ll mock how much you love the roughness and use degrading talk, calling you his "slut" or reminding you that no one else knows you like he does. He loves seeing you lose control and uses it to tease you further.
❥ The pace is relentless, it feels like he’s hammering you into the mattress. The only "romance" you’ll get is a bite on the shoulder or marks hidden where only the two of you know they exist.
❥ He is toxic to the point of getting into physical altercations with anyone who flirts with you. In private, that energy means the control is entirely his. He’ll overstimulate you until you’re begging for him to stop.
❥ Since he’s used to fighting and staying on his feet, he can go for hours without flagging. His favorite positions are doggy style or against a wall, where he can see your whole body and keep a firm grip on your hair or neck.
synopsis: yeon sieun was notoriously known as your program’s tech handyman. when he wasn’t hunched over calculus problem sets, sieun was busy fixing his peers' laptops, for a price of course—one that was nonexistent for you because you seemed to make his software hard.
genre: another smutty university au
word count: 6.9k
warnings: [MDNI!] explicit sexual content, grinding, making out, oral (f rec.), pussydrunk!sieun, piv sex, protected sex, many consent checks, sieun is so so gone for you, you are literally his pretty little angel, if devotion was a person it would be him, sieun can’t figure out his goddamn integral
reader notes: written with afab reader in mind. reader has breasts and a vagina. reader is described to look ‘small’ at one point. all characters are consenting and over 18 yo.
this fic was requested – thank you so much, i loved coming up with the concept .ᐟ
۶ৎ 𝑙𝑒𝑒'𝑠 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑙𝑢𝑑𝑒 ࿐ park jihoon uggghhhh need need need him. had the most exquisite time picking out the concept pictures.
“You broke it again?”
His voice sounds flat, but there's a tinge of hope, a sense of subdued anticipation perking his last few syllables.
Sieun stares at the half-solved integral on his desk, phone pressed to his cheek, screen cold against his skin, fingers loosely gripping the sides. The warm glow of his lamp casts a nimbus over the mess made of a barely punched in calculation and his calculus textbook, pages worn from flipping back and forth between the chapter problem sets and appendix answers. Outside his window, the campus sky is dim, too gray for six in the evening.
“I didn’t break it!” Your voice crackles through the line, scratchy with frustration. Sieun can hear your breath over the receiver, rough and rushed.
“It just won’t turn on,” you continue, “I don’t know what happened. I just opened my tabs, and then—dead.”
He exhales. “And you tried plugging it in?”
“Yes, Sieun. I tried everything you taught me—nothing worked,” you huff, “I have an essay due Monday, and everything I need to write it is on this damn laptop.”
You sound slightly breathless, your voice hoarse with the kind of air that clings to lungs on chilly evenings. Wind rushes past the speaker, muddling your words with static. Sieun’s ears pick up on this.
“Where are you,” he asks, dull, but more abrupt than intended.
You’re silent for a few beats.
“Outside.” Another gust of wind bleeds through the receiver.
He feels the warmth of perspiration prick across his palms. “Where?”
The brisk, hollow rustle of plastic, and then, “Walking to your dorm.”
Sieun feels his breath dissipate in the back of his throat.
“I’m sorry,” you start. Sieun squeezes his eyes upon hearing these words in your soundwaves, words he thought were too unnecessary when masked in your voice.
“I saw the forecast, there’s going to be rain—shoot, I forgot my umbrella, I knew I was forgetting something—anyways, I figured I'd head over to yours before it hit,” there’s an unmistakable sincerity in your voice, “I really need you right now, Sieun.”
Need to murder him, he thought. Clearly, that was more fitting for the illusive objective of your last sentence, one that roused his hand to the back of his neck, called his fingers to smooth over his golden skin, wailed for them to curl against his flesh in hopes of helping him get a grip of himself. Literally.
He sighs, half flustered, half enlivened. “You’ll be here soon?”
“Yeah, just five minutes more.”
There’s a pause. “Okay.”
A quick exhale breaks past your lips, a restrained puff of air that had been trapped in the back of your throat, waiting for a green light to let it loose. “Thank you, Sieun.”
He can still feel the ghost of icy plastic against his cheek when you cut the call. Unfocused eyes cloud over the sheets and pens and smudged writing lazing atop his desk.
Of course.
Of course you’re coming over. Because why wouldn’t you? Your laptop’s dead, and he’s the tech guy, and this is just what happens. He fixes things.
And right now, you need him to fix your things. He couldn’t help but feel his heart jump at the idea, an eagerness creeping into his chest, fogging up his lungs and grabbing hold of the air that dared to escape up his trachea.
Sieun, as cold as he seemed, felt warmth fixing your things, like he’d swallowed the sun and it dissolved into his blood. Unlike the peers on your campus, he does it for you free-of-charge—hell, he thinks he’d pay you just to let him fidget around with your laptop’s battery that burns to touch or the program functions you can’t seem to figure out even after using the ‘help’ tab. He’d never admit to it though.
Not yet, at least.
His eyes flicker to the unfinished problem adorning his notebook, numbers and symbols half-formed, abandoned mid-line. The solution sits just out of reach.
Much like you.
His unfinished integral mocks him.
Your cheeks are flushed, supple and radiant, the dermal symptom of cool drizzle and dewy autumn air. Sieun’s eyes surf the strands of your hair, glinting from subtle rain droplets that catch even in the dim fluorescent light of his dorm hallway.
You look small like this in his doorway, backpack straps sagging over your shoulders, your sweater sporting little wet spots that are sure to smell like petrichor. Your hands tightly clutch a white plastic bag to your abdomen, the vertices of a cardboard box poking out at him.
You smile at him, small and sweet and a little flustered. “There was some drizzle when I turned onto your lane.”
Sieun’s gaze, currently traveling across the ridges tenting your plastic bag, snaps to your face.
“Oh.” It’s a soft expression, a barely-there phoneme he manages through concern for you—how dare the clouds cry over your angel face?—and some muffled curiosity.
Sieun just can’t help the fall of his gaze. He stares blankly at the bag in your hands. He’s not surprised when you take notice.
“It’s brownie mix!”
He peers at you again.
“Brownies?”
You grin sheepishly, fiddling with the plastic handles. “Yeah, I thought, well– you work so hard, you deserve a fun break, one you can get a sweet treat out of!” You pause. “And, I guess it’s also thanks for my laptop. You’ve saved me a lot of money I already don’t have, more than once now.”
He’s still staring at you, face blank, unreadable, lips sealed in a line, but his eyes gleamed. Whether it was annoyance or humour, you weren’t sure, but his dreamy, tired eyes gleamed.
Your eyes go wide. “Oh gosh, I should’ve asked you if brownies were okay. They looked so good on the box, I just had to pick them up. You could be allergic to chocolate, or maybe you don’t even like brownies–”
“Brownies are cool.”
Sieun watches your lips halt their rambling, configured mid-sentence, before they slowly spread into a toothy grin, one that radiates a warm feeling into his bones and almost—almost—makes his lip twitch up to match yours.
All you needed to do was force start.
That’s all.
No hardware to trifle with, no delinquent software meddling with your computer programs.
All Sieun had to do was press a couple buttons in tandem before your screen lit back up to life, resurrected from its cry of wolf.
Your cheeks had heated, bashful from your ignorance, but also a little humoured.
They blazed further when you caught sight of the calculus massacre on his desk, hurried apologies spilling past your pretty lips to wash out the guilt that crawled up your chest.
Sieun reassured you all was well—It’s fine, I was almost done anyways—with a look in his eyes that had you capitulating to his sincerity.
“Can I repay you with brownies?” you had prompted, fingers twiddling behind your back as if it would have subliminally helped rouse the answer you sought after.
Sieun slowly flattened your laptop to a shut before his Bambi eyes peaked at you and whispered exactly what you needed to know, exactly what you wanted to hear.
So, you’d both clambered in his tiny, cozy dorm kitchen, ingredients and bowls and utensils scattered across granite, instructions serenading the walls in your voice, Sieun’s hands working to mix the dark sea of cocoa batter.
You had assumed the role of a conductor but managed to pull a mess over you like a magnet. Whatever hadn’t been mixed into the warm batch of brownies basking atop Sieun’s countertop had found consolation on your being—cocoa powder and melted butter and drying batter decorated your skin and sweater.
Sieun thought it was the cutest thing he’d ever seen.
Of course, Sieun had missed any defiant ingredient attacks entirely.
You’d both picked up a piece each, melted chocolate furnishing your mouths while Sieun, starry-eyed and attentive, listened to you babble about your stress baking and how, no matter the many times you made something, you’d always be left with a bit of a messy souvenir from the process.
It was during this instance when the rain had hit.
Hard and harsh and pattering ferociously against the window of his measly living room. You and Sieun had snapped your heads at the sound, sticky embellishments of chocolate coating your fingers.
You’d looked so worried, so consumed in the thought of how you’d walk home through what was practically a typhoon. You hadn’t checked for a storm warning, all you’d known was a chance of rain. Your umbrella wouldn’t have stood a chance.
You’d looked so worried, so it felt almost natural when Sieun suggested you just stay over.
“...Really?” Your eyes were breaking past their sockets, and Sieun had nerely felt the weight of his words crash over him until your orbs softened and he saw the ghost of a smirk brush past your lips.
“Yeah, you can’t get home through that,” his voice had been tinged with his radiation of care for you. His eyes swept over your chocolate-covered frame. “You can use my shower if you want. I’ll give you some clean clothes to wear.”
You’d obliged. Quite happily.
And now, Sieun sat at his desk, unfinished integral staring up at him, the muted sound of his shower silking through the wall, almost louder than the merciless storm outside his window.
Sieun hadn’t touched his sheets or pens since he’d retreated to his room, changed into his own set of nightwear, and lowered himself into his desk chair. He couldn’t focus.
How could he? When you were just a dozen feet away, naked and wet under the rush of his shower.
He knew he shouldn’t think about it, begged himself not to, but when his mind slipped over the way you had chocolate powder flowering your neck and underneath your sweater, he couldn’t help but let his mind run, just a little.
Run over the way your fingers probably tucked under the bottom of your sweater, dragging it up along your beautiful body and over your head. What had you worn underneath? Had you even worn anything?
In Sieun’s little fantasy, you hadn’t. You’d been bare for him under your clothes, and he’d been ready, quick to ravish you, to kiss and suck and bite at your warm skin.
But, that was just a fantasy.
In reality, it didn’t matter whether or not you’d worn anything underneath your sweater. Sieun had just helped you out, made things a little easier for you, eased your anxiety by offering an innocent sleepover so you wouldn’t have to sacrifice yourself to what was the making of an ocean outside his dorm.
It didn’t matter, just like his integral, still unfinished. Deferred. Mocking.
The blood had barely made it to his cock before it was rushing back to his brain.
A couple minutes more of unsuccessfully undressing the math symbols littering his half-blank page and you were padding your way into his room, feet bare, heels marginally lifted off the cold floor of his dorm. Your clothes were folded, carried atop your forearms, and your cute body was swallowed in his t-shirt and shorts, sleeves too long, neck hole too wide, fabric swaying just over your knees with each of your scampered steps.
You gaze at Sieun from the edge of his bed, clothes now tucked away in your backpack, the hem of his shirt twirling in your fingers.
God, Sieun thought you looked ethereal, bare-faced and in his clothes. The warm, mellow glow of his desk lamp illuminates your face like a halo. Your sweet angel eyes are drowning him far past the storm outside.
Sweet oblivious angel eyes. If only they could see the mess he’d made of you in his head.
“Are you ready to sleep, or do you want to study some more?” Your voice is so soft, so melodious bouncing within the confines of his skull, and your eyes twinkle just right, brightened from his lamp and the mere cast of moonlight simmering through his window.
“I’m done,” Sieun starts, “You take the bed. I’m going to sleep in the living room.”
He’s about to push himself up when you cross your cute arms, defiant and determined. He watches your eyes narrow, eyebrows dip with a scrunch.
“Absolutely not!” you chide, your squint piercing. Sieun stares, half stood. He sits back down.
“It’s not fair to you! I showed up, practically unannounced, had you press a couple buttons on my laptop because I was too incompetent to figure it out myself, then made you make brownies with me against your will since you don’t take any economic compensation! And I know you’re not done with your problem set, I can see it from here. It’s exactly how you left it before we made those godforsaken brownies! I completely butted into your evening and messed up your studying, so you best believe you’ll be sleeping in your own bed and getting a good night’s rest!”
You puff at the end, like you’d said it in one breath, forearms glued to each other, fingers digging into your biceps.
Sieun is still staring at you, face blank, eyes gentle.
“You’re not incompetent.”
You blink.
“That’s not the point, Sieun.” You huff, pointing to his blankets.
“Now, get to bed.”
His eyes flick, your attention on his bed now shared. There’s an ease in the air, one that helps to hoist Sieun from his desk chair, click his lamp off, and carry himself over to the side of his bed. He lifts the corner of his duvet, slides underneath, and lets it fall over him. All without a peep.
His eyes scan to your frame, still at the edge of his bed, still in his too-baggy clothes, still looking too ethereal for him to indulge below the moonlight’s gaze, even in your quarrelsome stance.
You stare back at him.
“Okay… good.” You sound stifled, almost suspicious of his obedience.
Your arms unclasp, a little dazed at how fast he’d listened to you. With a hesitant scratch to your neck, you shuffle to what would be your side of Sieun’s bed, just for tonight.
Even though Sieun wishes it could be a less transient arrangement.
But he was doing this to help you.
Afterall, you’d looked so worried.
Sieun watches your warm body roll onto his mattress, feels it dip with your added weight from across. You shamble to face him, the duvet bunching in your hands, a relaxed, content tilt gracing your lips. Your cheek presses against the pillow, eyes squinting with warmth and kindness and gratitude and what Sieun could describe as a fatally contagious ray of tranquility.
You look so sweet like this, cuddled into his bed in clothes—his clothes—that swallow your body whole. The rain had slowed, granting permission to an even larger crowd of moonlight to flow over your face.
Sieun thought you were unreal, a mythical being from a dreamy world far beyond the current celestial limits.
A mythical being who saw him only for his technological abilities.
You were only here for tonight. Sieun was just helping you.
Because you had looked so worried.
So, he rolls onto his side, nearing the edge of the bed, hands tittering close to an abyss.
“Goodnight,” he grumbles. He doesn’t bother to pull the duvet to his front, lets it hang just over his side, as if any extra movement would make him appear more visible to you.
You gape at his back.
“Sieun!”
Sieun closes his eyes. Perhaps the world around him wouldn’t see him if he couldn’t see the world.
You puff, a frustrated push of air that has Sieun squinting his eyes shut further. He feels the duvet minutely ruffle behind him, feels the dip of the mattress sink gradually.
“I don’t get it, are you actually upset?” Although you were quiet, you sounded so disgruntled, confused. Sieun could only wish he was better at this so he wouldn’t have to bear your honey-like voice convey such emotion, like thrones stuck in a cloud.
But, Sieun was Sieun. A man of minimal words who spoke the truth and nothing but—until now.
“No, just trying to get a good night’s rest.” Just trying to keep my mind off you, so close, for just one night.
“Ugh! Will you just turn around so I can talk to you?”
Your hand reaches out and grips the collar of Sieun’s shirt, a tight grip pulling him towards you, a gentle grip to avoid attempted murder.
His eyes pop open, a hand catching onto the taut fabric around his neck. If there was the slightest chance Sieun’s conscious was to succumb to strangulation tonight, he thinks he’d only remember the warmth of your fingers fogging over the back of his neck.
Sieun yields to your force, falling onto his back. Why are you so damn strong?
With a hatch of his neck, his eyes find yours in the dark room, the patch of moonlight from his window dimmed from the roar of thunder and familiar strikes of heavy droplets against the glass.
There’s light provocation simmering through your face, playful like a child in a game of tag.
“Talk about what?” His voice is quiet but firm, his body a statue sandwiched between the mattress and sheets, daring not to move a millimeter.
You peer at him, words hanging along the tip of your tongue, as if debating whether they were worth speaking into the medium shared between your beings.
You decide they are.
“I know you take a fee from others when you fix their laptops.” There’s a quirk in his neck, a twitch at the corner of his lips that urges you further. “You’ve never taken one from me, even when I mention it. Why is that?”
Sieun feels a gradual quickening of his heartbeat at this concoction of your voice, and, like the start of a tornado, the thoughts in his head rampage into a whirlwind.
To be or not to be? Sieun, who previously seemed to lack any cognitive resources to solve his monster integral, was now calculating his next move with rigorous intricacy.
Maybe it was the kick in adrenaline that had him instigating your little game.
Sieun chose to be.
“Why do you think?”
Your eyes narrow in an instant, the entire play a chain reaction. Were you also debating your next actions, words? Were you also aware of the string snapping taut between you, tense and nearing a strong, sudden tear?
Sieun definitely was. Like always, he knew what he was getting himself into, knew he was igniting something far beyond repair, unlike the many laptops he’d resurrected.
Sieun knew what he’d started. He’d calculated it, perhaps from the very beginning, from the moment he uttered the word “stay.”
He was just helping you, for one night. Just one night.
You’d looked so worried, of course.
Perhaps Sieun had wanted your eyebrows to furrow from another force of nature—him.
Say something.
A quirk to your lips. Dark shadows in your eyes.
And a hand reaching out for his neck, this time to pull him to the plushest centre of your visage.
His lips graze the fullness of yours when you whisper in a breath.
“I knew to force start.”
Sieun isn’t spared a chance to retaliate his sockets stretching back when you press into him.
The dense pressure molds his own lips flush against yours, an electric fog swarming your face and down the flanks of your neck.
It’s a reflex, an abrupt, consuming, greedy reflex, when his arm curls over your back, big hand hastily grazing along your spine to knot into your hair.
Had Sieun fallen asleep?
This has to be a dream.
But your lips were too soft against his, too warm.
And your back curved so well along his forearm, strands so luxurious curled around his fingers.
Your hand on his chest, basking down his torso… Sieun believes he doesn’t possess even a speckle of the imagination required to muster a feeling as heavenly as that.
Definitely not enough to muster a feeling as heavenly as your hand sliding over him through his thin flannel pajamas.
You were a fallen angel who had come to play unsacred games.
And Sieun proved to be a worthy opponent.
His fingers grip around the base of your skull to pull you from his lips.
His eyes are heavy with a murmur of inquisition, flitting over your lips before boring into your own with words unspoken. You mirror his gaze with equal weight, savouring his quiet inhale when you push further down over his hardening curve, feathering your hand up to rest against the supple part of his abdomen.
“You know where this is going.” It was a statement, a quiet, breathless, almost restrained mutter carrying all the responsibility and uncertainty and anticipation littered within Sieun.
You gaze, knowing, unbothered.
“This is what you want? This is what you came for?”
“Yes,” you whisper, “Take it as part of my thanks.”
“I thought the brownies were your thanks.”
You smirk. “That was just the appetizer.”
Sieun scoffs quietly, a humble pfft to accompany the fingers gently rubbing over the bottom of your scalp, a means of easing into his next utterance.
You were drowning in his milk chocolate orbs, a velvety sea full of nothing but care and adoration and awe for you.
“Are you sure you want to go further?” Any quieter and the storm battering upon his window would have drowned his sound completely.
“Yes, Sieun.”
That was everything he needed to hear.
A gentle push to your neck has your lips pressing back into the plushness of his own.
It’s a slow kiss, chaste but blazing with the need you’d both been bearing for months. You move against the other, the ghost of anticipation urging you further into it.
Sieun definitely is not dreaming.
All his prior frustration, graced from his still unsolved practice set and the many long, agonizing weeks of indirect contact with you, melts away, leaving a tender warmth to dry in its place. Your lips feel as soft as—no, they were softer, so much softer, and warm like sun rays on cold skin—the many times he’d imagined the ghost of them wisping against his.
A transient ghost, barely lasting a mere tortuous ten seconds. He’d stop himself from savouring it, pry the ghost away before his hopes shot higher than the sky above him.
But now, you were here, tangible, with your mortal lips on his. They were so supple, so plush and warm and real. And they were flush against his. No one else but him.
Sieun had spent so long denying your fabricated being, the one who would distract him from his problem sets, urge him to isolate from the many gadgets his peers would throw his way in times of technological misfortune.
Sieun decided it was finally time to show you what your ghost had been doing to him.
He sucks in your bottom lip, hands grazing over your hips to pull you over his growing hardness with a delicate hold, treating your vessel like original vintage artwork. Fragile. Authentic. Godly.
The duvet shifts against your back while you shift over him, the core of your heat finding solace over his own. The hem of his borrowed t-shirt rides up your torso like it knows what’s coming.
It’s an abrupt, consuming, visceral feeling when you first connect with the stiff rod bulging against the stressed material of Sieun’s pajamas.
It’s the same for Sieun, so when a small groan muses from the depths of his throat at the feeling of your heat radiating along his length, he remains basking in its aftermath.
Lips still working into each other, you almost don’t acknowledge the slow, tantalizing roll of your hips.
Sieun does, and it drives him crazy.
Sieun, who was always so cool, composed, and distant was now growing hot and undone, all while pressing himself further into you, meeting you at an undefined middle, ridding any and all separation from your heating bodies from the insufferable vexation of need.
His hands knead into your hips, bearing your heat further along him, before they configure to push himself up while embracing you flush against his chest.
You’re consuming him, physically and mentally. Your lips on his, your body wrapped tightly around his own, hot cunt slowly grinding over the hard curve of his cock, a barrier of too much fabric plastered between your beings and pushing you both into frustrated desperation.
Your name, your scent, the suppleness of your skin, they all fog his head, conquer it with the ghost of you.
Both your mortal and immortal forms had possessed him, consumed him whole until he was nothing but a spec of utter devotion to you and you only.
Your hips grind again, slow, sinful, and Sieun’s breath stutters against your mouth.
You feel the shiver that rebounds through him like a tremor, feel the tight grip of his hands at your waist falter before steadying again, tighter this time, as if he needs to anchor you, or maybe himself.
His lips leave yours only to trail hot, desperate, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, your neck, your crescent of skin beyond the shirt’s collar, the devotion in each press of his mouth turning you molten.
“You feel…” he murmurs, barely audible, like he’s speaking to himself, “…too good. Too good to be real.”
You tilt your hips forward again, slower, answering him with equal desperation, and Sieun’s head tips back, a ragged exhale pulling from his throat. The sight strikes you—his lashes trembling, his brows knit together in pleasure so raw it borders on pain. He looks ruined.
Kiss-swollen lips and flushed cheeks, shades of pink colonizing his visage in the shower of eventide luminosity.
You don’t realize you’ve gasped until his gaze finds you again, pupils blown wide and gleaming with disbelief. His thumbs rub along your hip bones, a fragrant sensation even through the fabric of his shorts you adorned.
Your hands glide under his shirt, pushing up until he’s reaching for the edge himself, prying the shirt past his head and letting the fabric fall to the cold hardwood beneath his bed.
His hands slip beneath the hem of your own, and his touch is hesitant, wavering, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he reaches too far.
“Can I…?” he asks, voice husky and threadbare, already tugging at the fabric.
You nod. His hands glide up, slow and reverent, brushing over the curves and valleys he’s only ever imagined, each touch leaving heat in its wake.
He drinks in the sight of you like he’s been thirst-starved for days, gentle eyes falling over your face and down to your taut peaks. You weren’t a ghost anymore—you were a dream, glowing and radiant beneath the muted haze of damp moonlight.
And when your bare chest presses to his, skin to skin, nothing between you but the thundering pace of your hearts, Sieun chokes out a soft, desperate moan.
The ghost of you has vanished.
What remains is you—real and soft and warm and all his.
And he’s no longer a boy haunted by longing. He’s a man who’s finally allowed to feel.
Your fingers find the nape of his neck, weaving into the soft strands of his hair, and the sound he lets out—broken, hushed, completely unguarded—settles somewhere deep in your chest.
Sieun’s lips return to yours with more urgency now, less caution, the kind that only comes when desire and restraint blur into the same overwhelming thing. His tongue traces your bottom lip before slipping inside, gentle, exploratory, worshipping, like he’s memorizing you.
Every movement of his hips under you is hesitant but needy, as if he’s still trying to slow himself down, still trying to process that you’re not slipping away.
“You’re driving me insane,” he whispers against your mouth, voice hoarse and cracking like lightning behind the storm-glassed windows.
He kisses you again, softer now, almost like an apology for how his hands are now gripping at the swell of your thighs with mounting desperation.
Then, with a breath that shakes against your lips, Sieun pulls back. Only just.
“Lie back,” he murmurs, voice low, thick with something you’ve never heard from him before. Anticipation, maybe. Hunger, definitely.
You do, painfully unlatching from his warmth and sinking into the pillow behind you.
Sieun follows, crawling down the length of your body like a man crossing sacred ground, his drowsy gaze never leaving you. It lingers on the slope of your neck, the lines of your collarbone, the tender stretch of skin bare to the cool air of his bedroom. Each inch he memorizes like scripture, utterly fascinated and unspeakably enamoured.
“You’re…” he begins, almost too quiet to even comprehend, but trails off, like no word quite fits what you are to him.
And then you see it. The way adoration turns to ache.
A valley of creases between his brows, a marginal slit parting his pout, the quickened wisps of air trailing out of him. He’s wrecked, far past.
And you had barely touched him.
Sieun’s hands slide up your thighs, calloused fingertips brushing along the waistband of the very shorts he lent you, the ones riding too low on your hips, the ones he's dreamed about you in far too many nights to count.
He kisses the inside of your knee.
Then your thigh.
Then the soft dip just above your hip bone.
His hands move, thumbs hooking into the waistband. There’s a beat—one last, wordless check—and then he draws them down.
And stops breathing.
You’re bare beneath them. No panties. Just slick, glistening proof of how long you’ve wanted this too.
“Fuck,” he breathes, like it’s been torn from him. His jaw goes slack, eyes shadowed with affection and disbelief. “You didn’t wear—?”
He doesn't finish. He can't.
His hands twitch.
You’ve rendered Yeon Sieun speechless.
Sieun blinks once, twice, like he’s trying to process the sight before him, trying not to let it undo him entirely.
But it does.
It does.
He swallows hard, jaw flexing as his eyes drag along the slick sheen glistening between your thighs, warm and glimmering and pooling out of you sans constraint.
His hands settle on your hips again, firm, needy, desperate.
“You’ve been like this this whole time?” he whispers, voice hoarse, eyes flickering up to meet yours, the question half-shattered already. “Wearing my shorts… like this?”
You don’t have time to answer.
Because Sieun leans in, drawn like a man starved, mouth ghosting just above your heat and breathing you in.
His composure fractures there.
A low, guttural sound breaks from his throat as he presses a slow, devoted kiss to your core. Just one.
Then another. Then again, deeper, wetter, until his tongue slides through your dampened heat with a shuddering groan of restraint and craving colliding all at once.
Your hips twitch and Sieun’s grip tightens instinctively, his fingers digging into your waist to anchor you to him like you might vanish otherwise.
His tongue moves again, slow and patient, still trying to worship even while losing his mind.
But you’re so wet, and he’s so gone.
Each soft moan that slips from your lips draws another shaky exhale from him, each roll of your hips a crack in his control.
He tries to keep it measured. Gentle.
But then he hears you gasp his name, all broken and raw, and something inside him snaps.
His pace quickens.
He licks into you deeper, more desperate, tongue flicking, flattening, circling like he’s chasing a high that stubbornly runs just a step out of his reach. His nose brushes your clit and he doesn’t even think to pull back.
He wants it all.
You feel his moan against you, deep and wrecked, and you realize:
Sieun isn’t composed anymore.
He’s hungry.
Possessed.
And completely, unbearably devoted to the taste of you.
You’re gasping now, each breath shallower than the last, and Sieun can feel you trembling beneath his palms.
It spurs him on, wrecks him in ways he never knew were possible.
His thumbs rub slow circles into your hips, as if to soothe you, steady you, but his mouth is relentless, nose tirelessly working into your nub. His tongue is languid one moment, then firmer the next, lapping through your folds with aching, focused precision, memorizing all that makes you fall apart.
You roll into a nimble arch, head tipping back, and your thighs quiver where they rest over his shoulders.
“Sieun—” you whimper.
His name breaks in your throat, and that’s what crumbles him.
He groans into you again, the vibration shooting straight through your core as he licks you harder now, deeper, more rhythmic, mouth coaxing you right to the edge, right to the place he’s been aching to take you.
His hands are cradling your hips now, keeping you spread open, helpless, vulnerable, his.
And then he whispers it, barely audible, a prayer into your skin.
“Come for me.”
Your breath catches.
“Let me taste all of you,” he mumbles again, like he’s asking for divinity, like your pleasure is holy.
And when you finally do, when your body tenses and your thighs clamp tight around his head and that beautiful cry of his name leaves your lips, Sieun doesn’t stop.
He groans into you, licking you through it, drinking it in like he’s never tasted something more sacred.
Like he’s never belonged more to anything—anyone—than he does to you in this moment.
And even after the tremors still, even when you’re limp and gasping and glowing beneath him, he keeps kissing you softly, as if he can’t bear to let you go just yet.
As if this is how he says I’ve wanted you like this forever.
You’re still panting when he pulls back, lips slick and pink, eyes hooded and blown wide with awe. He looks stunned. Disheveled. Like a man undone by worship.
But you, squirming and aching and desperate to have all of him, manage to find your voice.
“Sieun,” you whisper, reaching for him. Your fingers trail along his jaw, coaxing him up until he’s hovering over you again. “I want more.”
His breath hitches.
Your palm slides over his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath his ribs. “I want you inside me.”
Sieun stills completely.
And then his eyes close, jaw tightening as if your words alone could undo the last shreds of his composure.
“Fuck,” he breathes, voice rough with disbelief.
He kisses you, not hard, not hurried, but slow and deep, like it’s all he can do to keep from losing control. You savour the heady taste of your slick coating his lips. He presses his forehead to yours, and mutters shakily, “One second.”
You watch as he reaches for the drawer beside his bed and pulls out a condom from the crumpled blue box Hu-min had shoved at him weeks ago with a stupid grin and no explanation.
He’d meant to throw them out. He hadn’t.
He tears the foil open with controlled fingers and slides his flannels and boxers off his body, finally bearing himself free.
He’s thick, flushed, already leaking from the tip. He hisses under his breath as he rolls the condom on, fingers twitching like he’s barely holding it together.
When he settles between your thighs, eyes drowning in your sight, the air changes.
Gone is the boy who’s too quiet, too closed off, too powered from the urge of indignation.
What remains is Sieun drowned in passion, eyes wide and dreamy and dazed by the sight of you spread open for him, the warmth of your body beckoning his own.
“You sure?” he asks again, voice almost too tender.
You nod, pulling him down into a kiss, and guide him with a soft whisper, “Yes. Please, Sieun. I want all of you.”
He exhales shakily.
Then he lines himself just beyond your heat, and with a leisurely push of his hips, he slides inside.
You both gasp.
You’re hot and wet and hug onto his inching cock, and he sinks in like he’s always meant to belong there.
“God—” he grits, arms quavering on either side of you as he tries not to lose it too fast, forehead dropping to your shoulder.
“You’re…” His voice cracks. “So good. So—gosh, I don’t—”
You wrap your legs around him, anchoring him to you, and moan when he rocks forward again, deeper this time. You feel everything, every inch, every pulse, every lazed drag.
He starts slow, shallow, testing your fit, his own restraint. His hips roll into yours with a tender kind of ache, like he’s afraid to break you, like each inch of him inside you is a miracle he can’t fully comprehend.
But your body answers with desperate softness, clinging to him like silk caught in wind. You tilt your hips, chasing more friction, and whimper at the way his cock presses deeper, fuller, perfectly where you need him.
Sieun moans, a sound so broken and quiet it nearly guts you.
“Please,” you breathe, clutching at his back, your voice hitching with each movement. “Don’t hold back.”
His jaw clenches. His eyes flutter shut.
And then he moves deeper, hips rocking into you with a fluid rhythm that makes your breath stutter and your legs tighten around him.
The friction is delicious. The stretch, overwhelming yet cosmic.
Sieun presses closer, burying his face further into your neck, panting softly against your skin.
“You’re so—” He chokes on a groan as your walls flutter around him. “You feel unreal.”
You drag your nails lightly down his spine, whispering back between moans.
He fucks into you slowly, like it’s sacred. Each thrust is a vow, a prayer, an unraveling. His hands are everywhere—one gripping your thigh to anchor you to him, the other cradling your jaw like you’re too precious to let go.
Your body sings for him. You meet each movement with your own, hips rising to greet him, rolling and shifting to take him deeper, to keep him close.
Your moans mingle with his gasps, the heat between you building with every thrust, until there’s nothing left of restraint, only the desperate, languid drag of two bodies finding rhythm in devotion.
Sieun lifts his head to look at you—really look—and what he sees makes his hips stutter.
Your face, flushed and shining, lips parted, still pink and swollen, eyes glassy with bliss and admiration.
You’re breathtaking. And right now, you were his.
He moans again, broken and stunned, and leans down to kiss you like he’ll fall apart if he doesn’t, slow, messy, teeth grazing lips, all while his hips begin to move faster, harder, chasing something he’s never dared imagine before you.
Your bodies are slick with heat and need, the world around you reduced to nothing but the way he fits, the way he fills, the way he worships you with every thrust.
Sieun is whispering your name like a lifeline, like it’s the only word he knows, murmured into the skin of your throat, your jaw, your lips, as if it can tether him to reality while he teeters on the edge of something vast and consuming.
“You feel so good,” he rasps, voice hoarse and reverent. “So perfect—you’re perfect.”
Your back arches, body shuddering as he angles his hips just right, deep and slow and precise, hitting that spot inside you that makes gush over his length.
Your moans turn high and breathless, desperate.
“Sieun—” you gasp, legs tightening around his waist, pulling him in deeper. “I’m close—oh god—”
He knows.
He feels it, the way you start to flutter and squeeze around him, the way your breaths collapse into whimpers. And even through the haze of his own rising pleasure, Sieun slows down just enough to draw it out for you, to feel every quivering second of it.
“I’ve got you,” he whispers, breath stuttering. “Come, please.”
And you do.
It rushes over you in waves—white-hot, pulsing, unstoppable—your climax washing through your entire body with a strangled moan, your limbs tightening, your voice shaking as you cry out his name.
Sieun swears under his breath, something desperate and soft, and then he loses it.
The way you clamp around him, slick, pulsing, so warm, is all it takes to send him spiraling. His rhythm falters, hips stuttering, muscles trembling as the pressure finally breaks. He groans, deep and guttural, and spills into the condom with a few last shallow thrusts, his whole body curling into yours like he’s trying to fuse the two of you together.
And when it’s over, when the tremors in both your bodies begin to subside and your chests press together in exhausted, blissful rhythm, he stays.
Buried in you, breathless, consumed. His forehead pressed to yours, his lashes fluttering, lips ghosting your cheek.
And finally, his lips quirk at the corners, gracing his features with a small, gentle smile.
Because he decides he won’t be washing his shorts.
And he thinks he’ll get you to ruin another pair when you bring your laptop over for him under the guise of fixing it again.
৬ৎ 𝑙𝑒𝑒'𝑠 𝑝𝘰𝑠𝘵𝑙𝑢𝑑𝑒 ࿐ i decided for a soft, feral rendition of sieun’s university au. this will be the last weak hero fic i write before i move onto skz and atz! need more? you can read hyuntak’s version over here ⌯⌲ smart girl
summary: in which you got yourself tangled up with geum seongje. at first, it was trouble. then, it became routine. until, somehow, you became the only thing he would bleed for—willingly, violently, without regret.
pairing: geum seongje x fem!reader
genre: romance, hurt/comfort, angst
word count: 6.2k
playlist: he was chaos, he was revelry
last.
you were crouched by the side of a quiet alley behind a convenience store, setting down a paper plate with tuna and a cup of water. a tiny stray kitten had been hanging around there lately, mistrustful, but hungry. you've seen it a few times and started bringing food when you pass by.
the kitten was peeking out from under a box, inching closer. you kept still, one hand out, speaking low and soft.
then, there was a crash. a loud bang echoed from farther down the alley, and the sound of something—someone—getting slammed into a wall.
the kitten bolted instantly, disappearing into a gap between buildings.
you groaned under your breath, standing up with an irritated huff. not only did it startle the kitten, but it also startled you. you almost stumbled from the shock of the loud noise, your heart pounding rapidly.
"what the hell..." you stepped a little farther out to see the source, and then you saw him. a tall guy, maroon uniform jacket slipping off one shoulder, face stretched, hair a mess. bloodied knuckles and eyes wild.
he wasn't from your school. and by the looks of it, his opponent was already down. two more stood at a distance, too afraid to move.
the man lifted his head once, cracking his neck. then his eyes landed on you. you didn't flinch. just stared with narrowed eyes.
"go start your fight somewhere else," you said evenly. "you're not from around here."
he raised his brows and stared like he hadn't heard you right. then he smiled, crooked and wild. the kind that says, 'you've just made things interesting.'
you turned your back on him and walked off, not giving him another glance.
he stared after you. not many people talked to him like that. even fewer walked away before he decided the conversation was over.
you didn't run, but didn't linger either. just walked like you had somewhere to be, like he wasn't worth wasting another second on.
his eyes remained on you, tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek. a faint cut on his knuckle stung, but barely noticed.
'go start your fight somewhere else.'
'you're not from around here.'
not a scream. not a plea. not even a threat. just pure irritation. like he was some dumb dog that pissed on your shoes.
his grin curled slowly, something unhinged hiding just beneath it. he pulled a cigarette from his pocket, stuck it between his teeth, and lit it. the flame briefly flickered across his face before he took a drag and blew the smoke out lazily.
he'd seen people cry, scream, and beg. he'd seen how most people either froze or ran when they saw him, faces tight with fear, eyes darting around. but you?
you looked at him like he was an eyesore.
his laugh came quiet. brief. half-laugh, half-breath.
feeding a stray cat, he thought, like it was some ridiculous joke the universe threw at him. you looked too soft for your own good, too normal, too boring.
so why did you stick?
he leaned his shoulder against the wall, just for a second. watched the street where you disappeared. his blood was still warm from the fight, but that moment? that edge in your voice?
it was the first time he felt interrupted.
not threatened, not challenged. just... like someone reached into his noise and pulled something to the surface.
he didn't know your name. but that was fine. he had time.
it wasn't the next day, or the day after. but seongje still found himself wandering near that same alley. always around the same time. leaning against walls with a cigarette between his lips, smoke curling above his head like a restless thought that wouldn't burn out.
he wasn't waiting, he told himself. he just happened to be here, just passing time.
he was mid-drag when he caught a flash of familiar movement. dark hair, a recognizable bag slung over one shoulder. you were crouched near the alley's corner again, opening a can of tuna. next to your feet was the same stray kitten from before, now a little less wary, its ears twitching.
you didn't notice him at first. he said nothing.
he watched you feed the kitten. your expression wasn't anything special, just calm, focused, lips pressed together in a straight line. but he stared like it was the most peculiar thing in the world, like you were something unreal.
then you sighed and sat back on your heels, that's when your eyes flicked up, and landed right on him. you tensed slightly, like you were trying to figure out if it was him or just some other delinquent in a maroon uniform.
it was definitely him.
"you again? you muttered, standing slowly, brushing off your knees. "don't tell me you're here to start trouble again."
seongje let the cigarette dangle loosely between his fingers, gaze half-lidded. "don't flatter yourself. this is my spot now."
you snorted. "your spot? pretty sure this alley existed before you."
a grin pulled at his lips, slow and amused. that sharp glint in your eyes was still there. that same irritation, not fear, not interest. just a girl who didn't give a damn who he was.
"you always talk this much when feeding cats?" he asked.
"no. just when someone interrupts." he laughed, quiet but real.
you moved to step past him, clearly done with the conversation. but before you could, he flicked his cigarette to the ground and said slowly, "you don't scare easy, do you?"
you paused. "i don't like getting caught up in situations like this."
you walked off before he could say anything else. same calm steps. same complete disinterest in him. he stared at the kitten as it ate.
for the first time in a long while, he didn't feel bored.
you were coming out of the convenience store with a yogurt drink in hand when you felt someone matching your pace beside you.
you didn't even need to look. you felt it, like the air shifted, a shadow slipping in just a bit too close.
"miss cat-feeder," came the drawl, smug and lazy.
you rolled your eyes and kept walking. "seriously?"
"you remembered me," he said, hands in his pockets, leaning slightly sideways to peer at your face.
"no. i remembered your stupid voice."
"ouch," he grinned. "you wound me."
"what do you want?"
"just walking. not allowed to exist now?"
"not next to me, preferably." he chuckled at that, keeping stride with you anyway.
he walked like he owned the sidewalk, like even the cracks made space for him. he kept glancing at you, amused by how hard you were trying not to look.
"don't you have school?" you muttered.
"skipped."
"of course you did."
there was a beat of silence before he casually reached out and tugged at the hem of your sleeve. "what flavor?"
you jerked your arm away. "touch me again and i'll pour this on your head."
his grin widened, eyes gleaming with delight. there it is. "you're fun."
"i'm really not."
"exactly."
you stopped in your tracks. he looked at you, curious. "look," you said, eyes flat. "i don't like hanging out with loud people. so if you're looking for someone to flirt with, pick someone else."
seongje stared at you for a second, unreadable. then he smirked.
"i'm not flirting."
"good."
"i just like watching you get pissed." and with that, he turned on his heel and walked away, hands back in his pockets like he didn't just drop a live wire into your day.
you watched him go, jaw tight.
god, he is annoying.
and worse, he knew it.
your shoes pounded against the pavement, too loud, too fast. the voices behind you were still getting closer. slurred words, the kind that came with guys who had too much time and nothing to lose. you'd told them off when they first approached, sharp and dismissive like always. but these ones didn't like hearing 'no'.
you darted around a corner, trying to cut into a side street you didn't usually take, and slammed straight into a body.
you stumbled back from the force, hands catching yourself on the person's chest, eyes wide and breath caught in your throat.
"whoa there," a familiar voice started, light and teasing.
your eyes shot up.
geum seongje.
of all people.
he was in his usual disheveled uniform, cigarette tucked between his fingers, a faint smirk already creeping up like instinct. "you really can't stay away from me, huh?"
but you weren't listening. you glanced over your shoulder, eyes scanning the street you just came from, anxiety tightening your features.
seongje's smirk faded, just a bit. his eyes narrowed.
"what happened?"
"none of your business. i need to go."
you stepped to the side, trying to move past him but his arm shot out fast, catching you by the wrist. not hard. not enough to hurt. but firm.
his voice lost all its humor.
"who."
you jerked against his grip, frustrated. "just let me go. jesus christ."
he didn't. instead, his eyes flicked toward the corner you came from. and for a brief second, something flickered through him, that thing he tried to keep under the surface unless it was time to let it loose.
then he heard footsteps and voices getting closer. the guys rounded the corner, laughing, loud, eyes scanning.
and then they saw you.
and then him.
one of them started to speak, some dumb threat halfway out of his mouth when seongje stepped forward and flicked his cigarette.
"alright," he said, eyes gleaming now. "which one of you thought chasing her was a good idea?" his tone didn't rise. he didn't shout. but it was enough.
the shift in the air was immediate, like a wire pulled taut. the guys slowed, uneasy.
"you with her?" one of them muttered, trying to size him up. seongje's lip curled in amusement.
"nah," he said, rolling his shoulder. "but she ran into me. so now you've got a problem."
one of them laughed nervously, already starting to backpedal. but it was too late.
you didn't say a word. his posture changed, loose and wild, but sharp, like the crackle before a fire starts.
"stay behind me," he muttered without looking at you. you almost snapped at him.
i didn't ask for help.
but something in the way he said it—flat, final—made you stay put.
he didn't do it for gratitude. he did it because someone pissed him off. and right now, that someone was anyone who looked at you wrong.
they didn't get the chance to react further. not really, because seongje's already on them.
the first one barely managed to raise his arm before seongje slammed his fist into his jaw, the sound cracking through the alley like a gunshot. he didn't stop, he grabbed the guy by the collar, slamming his head against the wall once, twice, three times until he crumpled like dead weight.
the second guy tried to pull something, maybe a pocketknife, but he was too slow. seongje grabbed his wrist and bended it the wrong way with a sickening snap. the guy howled, dropping the knife, and seongje grinned wider.
the last one tried to run. he got maybe five steps before seongje tackled him from behind, dragging him down like a wolf ripping through prey. there was nothing clean about the way he beat him. just pure rage unleashed in fists, knees, elbows, and feet.
the alley was quiet again. the three guys were groaning, two on the ground and one stumbling away. none of them dared to look back.
seongje stood in the center of it, breathing a little heavier, the scrape on his knuckles raw and fresh. blood trickled slowly down his arm, but he didn't seem to care. not even a glance at it.
you stared. not because you were scared of the violence. you'd known what he was capable of. you'd just never seen it up close. not like this.
there was a kind of stillness around him now, but it wasn't peace. it was the kind of stillness right after lightning hits the ground. charged, dangerous, humming under the surface.
he turned toward you, running a hand through his hair. eyes sharper now, less unhinged than before, but still wild.
"you good?" you hesitated.
"you didn't have to do that." he shrugged.
"i didn't do it for you." you frowned, annoyed.
"then why-"
"they looked at you like they could touch you," he said, voice low and quiet. "i didn't like that."
it came out too calm. like he was just stating a fact. like it was that simple.
you stared at him. "that's not normal."
he tilted his head. "i'm not normal."
you stood there in the silence again, tension thick between you both. then he looked down at his hand, flexed his fingers once.
"you gonna keep staring, or you gonna say thank you?"
you exhaled sharply. "i didn't ask you to help."
his lip twitched. "you didn't have to."
you started walking past him, brushing your shoulder lightly against his arm. "don't follow me."
he didn't. but he watched you go. watched like a wolf who'd just caught the scent of something that didn't run fast enough.
and this time, it wasn't about teasing you for attention anymore. it was something else. something worse.
something's changed. it had been days. you hadn't seen him near the alley, near the store, nowhere. and honestly, you were glad. the fight had left a sour taste in your mouth. not fear exactly, but it reminded you of the line he walked. the kind of line that most people never went near.
so when you saw him again leaning against the vending machine right outside the store, your steps faltered.
he noticed, eyes tracking you immediately. not grinning, not talking. just watching.
you stiffened, but kept walking. no use turning back now. you passed him without a word.
"you're avoiding me," he said. you didn't stop. "smart," he added after a beat.
that did it. you turned slightly, arms crossed, tone flat. "what do you want now?"
he looked you over, slower this time. less playful. like he was measuring something invisible.
"you said don't follow you," he said. "so i didn't."
"and yet, here you are."
"i was here first."
you hated that he had a point.
he pulled out a soda from the vending machine and cracked it open, taking a lazy sip. "i scared you."
"no you didn't."
his head tilted. "but you looked at me different after that day." you didn't reply. "you don't like people like me," he went on. "you don't like what i do. the way i fight. the way i look at you."
your throat tightened. "you make it sound like i'm supposed to like it."
he smiled, small, almost secret. "you're not."
you sighed and turned away again, but this time, his voice became lower. less teasing.
"you're not scared of me," he said. "but you're careful now." you paused. "i get it," he added. "but you should know something."
"what?" you asked warily.
"i'd kill for you without thinking."
the words didn't sound romantic. they didn't even sound intense. they were just real.
heavy. simple. dangerous.
you looked at him. at the bruised knuckles, the lazy posture, the eyes that never stopped watching you. and for the first time, you didn't see an annoying prick. you saw the storm behind his grin.
you didn't say a word as you walked away. but you walked slower this time.
the sky was gray, and the wind carried that dry chill that always came with autumn.
you didn't mean to come this way. really, you didn't. but this street was quieter than the main road, and your head was already aching from a whole day of voices, noise, and pressure from everyone around you.
your friends had found out. not just about anyone, but him. a certain delinquent hanging around you. not just anyone either, but someone from the union.
they kept telling you the same thing. stop meeting him, cut him off, stay away before things got worse. that's all you've been hearing for days. from different mouths, but the same message, over and over. as if you hadn't thought about that already. like you hadn't been trying.
you were tired. bone-deep, soul tired.
and there he was.
same place. same vending machine. like he'd been waiting, but not really. like he knew you'd come eventually.
seongje glanced up, surprised, but only a little. his cigarette burned lazily between his fingers, his jacket loose, like he didn't care how cold it was getting.
you stopped a few steps away and didn't say anything.
he raised a brow. "lost?"
"no," you said, too flat, too fast.
he stared. then blew out smoke in a low exhale. "you look like shit."
you snorted faintly. "thanks."
he nodded toward the chair beside him. "sit if you want."
"i didn't come to hang out with you."
"didn't say you did."
still, you sat. not close, just near enough to feel the warmth of someone else existing beside you. near enough to not feel completely alone. you stayed like that for a while. nothing said.
then, without looking at him, you muttered, "why are you like this?"
his brow quirked. "like what?"
"crazy. violent. all of it."
a beat. then a shrug. "it's fun."
you sighed, frustrated but not surprised.
and then, so softly that he almost didn't hear it, you said, "you make everything worse. but today... i don't know. you don't feel loud." that caught him off guard.
he turned to look at you, cigarette paused halfway to his lips.
you didn't meet his eyes. you just sat there, face turned to the street. like this, quiet and tired and not trying to prove anything, you looked different.
more fragile. not weak, never that. but human.
seongje flicked his ash away. "stay, then," he said. "if it helps."
you didn't answer. but you didn't leave either. and for once, he didn't push you to speak. he just let you be. which, for someone like him, was a kind of affection.
the unspoken kind.
the kind that doesn't ask for anything back.
another day, and there he was again. it wasn't often that you saw him alone like this. really alone. no noise. no laughter. no fights.
just seongje, slouched low on the steps behind an old building, elbows on his knees, head tilted back like he was trying to drown in the grey sky. he didn't notice you at first, too wrapped in whatever chaos lived behind his eyes.
you should've kept walking. you meant to keep walking. but something stopped you. maybe it was the stillness. maybe it was the fact that for the first time since you met him, he didn't look like someone trying to stir shit up. he looked tired.
you approached slowly, footsteps soft. he heard you eventually, turning just slightly to glance your way. his usual grin didn't show up.
"you stalking me now?" he said, voice low, like he couldn't be bothered to make it sound playful.
"i was just walking by."
"uh-huh."
you didn't sit beside him. you stood a little off to the side, arms folded, eyes scanning his face. there was a bruise on his cheekbone, not fresh but healing, and a split on his lower lip.
"what happened this time?"
"some idiot." he muttered. "deserved worse than what he got."
you rolled your eyes. "that doesn't narrow it down."
he smirked faintly. but it didn't last. he looked back up at the sky. "ever feel like you're stuck in a room that's too small, and the only way to breathe is to break something?"
you blinked. that wasn't the answer you expected. you said nothing.
he let out a low breath. "yeah. never mind."
you hesitated, then stepped closer. not sitting, just standing near him.
"i don't get you." you said finally.
"good."
"but i care."
that made him look at you again. not with that lazy, cocky grin. not with the sharp glint he gave the people he was about to wreck.
just... eyes. dark, unreadable, confused.
"you care?" he repeated, almost mocking, but there was no real heat in it.
you nodded. "i don't want to, but i do."
the silence that followed was heavier than anything he could've said.
you rubbed at your sleeve, eyes darting away. "it's stupid."
he stared a second longer, then tilted his head. "i'm not gonna be good for you," he said flatly. no apology in it. just fact.
"i know."
"i'll hurt people."
"i know."
"i might hurt you."
your gaze snapped back to his. "then i'll leave."
a pause.
and for the first time, his expression shifted, something sharp flickering behind his eyes, like the idea of you leaving physically bothered him.
but you held his stare. "i don't deserve to be hurt by you."
he didn't answer. when you turned to go, he didn't stop you. he didn't grab your wrist. he didn't make a scene. he just watched you leave like someone who'd been left too many times before to call out now.
and that was how you knew it wasn't just some sort of game to him anymore.
it was supposed to be just another normal day. you were going to meet up with a friend from a different school. but somehow, word got around that you'd said something snappy to the wrong group of boys the other day, boys who thought they could intimidate you into taking it back. you didn't.
but now they were standing in front of you in the alley near the rear exit of the building. three of them, too close, too smug, and too stupid to understand that they were walking into something far worse than your sharp tongue.
because seongje had seen.
he wasn't supposed to be there. you didn't even know why he was around this part of the city. but the second his eyes locked on the scene, on you cornered, arms crossed tightly, jaw clenched, something dark lit behind his expression.
he didn't run. he didn't shout. he just walked, calm as anything, like he had all the time in the world. the sound of his steps echoing on the pavement made all three boys turn.
"oi," he said, voice low and slow.
the boys stiffened. one of them scoffed. "the hell are you?"
seongje grinned cockily. "me? i'm geum seongje. you dumb fucks."
his name dropped like a dead weight. the air shifted. one of them paled a little, while another took an unconscious step back.
"oh—shit—" one of them muttered under his breath, recognizing it too late.
then his eyes flickered to you. "you okay?"
you swallowed. "i've got it."
"wrong answer."
he passed the boys like they weren't even there, stepping between them and you, like drawing a line they couldn't cross anymore.
"you wanna explain why the hell you're trying to corner mine?"
the word slipped out like instinct. your breath caught.
the boys hesitated. one of them backed up. the dumbest one laughed nervously.
"you serious, man? you dating this chick or something?"
seongje didn't answer right away. instead, he pulled out his glasses, the metal catching the light for a second. then, without a word, he took your hand gently, almost unnervingly so, and placed them in your palm.
"i don't repeat myself."
and that was the only warning they got. it wasn't a fight. it was a statement.
a clear, brutal, one-sided reminder that you were off-limits. that if they so much as looked at you again, they'd wake up in pieces.
he didn't let it last long. he didn't need to.
when it was over, and the three of them were groaning on the pavement, he turned to you, no grin now, just quiet breathing. without a word, he took the glasses from your hand and slid them back on.
"you didn't need to do that," you said quietly.
"they shouldn't have looked at you like they could."
"that's not how this works."
he glanced at you, sharp. "it is now."
you looked away, jaw tight. "you act like i'm yours."
another beat of silence. the only sound was the wind through rusted fences. and then,
"you are," he said simply.
you stared at him, your heart thudded too loud.
"you can't just—claim people."
"i can."
"why?" he held your gaze, something unreadable flickering in his.
"you're the only thing i don't want broken."
he said it like it bothered him. like the truth of it irritated the hell out of him.
you didn't know what to say. so you didn't. you just walked beside him as he left the alley, silent. but this time, you stayed close.
and this time, he didn't grin. he just walked with you like he always meant to.
the day had been long. longer than you thought it would be. school, people, life. everything felt suffocating. your body ached, your mind was frayed, and every little thing seemed to pile on top of you until you could barely keep your head above water.
but then, through the haze of exhaustion, you saw him.
seongje, leaning against your school gate. unbothered and detached. his posture was casual, his eyes scanning the crowd of students coming out of school. but the moment your gaze locked onto him, your heart gave a small jolt of relief.
there. him. the one person who, for reasons you still couldn't fully understand, made you feel safe. your body seemed to move on its own, your feet carrying you toward him without a second thought.
and then before you could even process what you were doing, you were already running toward him, arms outstretched, chest tight from the strain of everything you'd been holding inside all day.
the moment you reached him, you didn't stop. you wrapped your arms around him, burying your face against his chest.
you hummed. the noise was quiet, like a soft sigh of contentment, and for the first time all day, your muscles finally relaxed.
his scent, the familiar warmth of him, it was like home. a feeling you hadn't known you were missing until it was there, pressing against you in a way you couldn't explain.
for a split second, everything felt peaceful. you could rest now. let everything melt away. with him, it felt like nothing else mattered.
seongje froze. his first instinct was to step back, to pull away, because this wasn't how things were supposed to be. but when you stayed against him, not saying anything, just holding him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded, something inside him twisted.
what the hell?
he couldn't breathe for a second. your arms around him, your face buried against him like you needed him. like he was something more than just some crazy bastard. he didn't know what to do with it.
you were so soft against him. so warm. his heartbeat, which had been steady, quickened as your arms tightened just slightly. and his body, despite the automatic urge to pull away, instinctively responded, his hands hovering at his sides, unsure of where to put them, but not wanting to make you pull away.
his reaction was slow. he was staring down at you, his usual detached expression gone, replaced with a mix of confusion and something closer to... discomfort. he didn't know how to handle it.
finally, after what felt like an eternity, he placed his hand awkwardly on your back, barely enough to return the gesture, but it was something. just a gentle pressure, like he was trying to let you know he wasn't going to push you away. but he wouldn't pull you in either. not fully.
his voice came out rough, not because he was angry, but because he didn't have the words to make sense of what was happening. "you... okay?" he asked, his voice low. it was like he was trying to understand you better. trying, in his strange way, to care.
and when you hummed again, your body still pressed against him like you needed nothing more, he couldn't deny the warmth that spread through him. subtle, but undeniable.
he didn't say anything else, but he did one thing he never thought he would. he let you stay there, his hand still on your back, just enough to show that maybe, just maybe, he didn't mind you being this close.
thoughts had been swirling around your head. people already knew who you were, and the kind of connection you had with geum seongje. you'd been hearing disapproving remarks from people you knew, left and right.
but that wasn't what was bothering you. it was when one of your friends asked, "when did you even start dating geum seongje?"
you didn't know how to answer that. you weren't dating. were you even together? you'd been so focused on how you felt about him, so content with the time you were spending together, that you'd forgotten to ask the most important question.
where do you stand in his life?
so you finally asked, quietly. on a cold night, after one of his disappearances. you looked at him and said, "what are we, seongje?"
he didn't look at you right away. he just lit a cigarette, sat back like you didn't just ask something that's clawing at your ribs.
then, after a long pause, he said, "you don't need a label for something i'd kill over."
still too vague. so you pressed. "so that's it? you can show up and disappear and wreck people and i'm just... what? someone you know?"
now he's irritated. not because you're wrong, but because his feelings itch under his skin worse than blood.
he dragged you close by the wrist, eyes burning, voice low and rough. "you're mine. you're not like the others. you don't walk away from me. and i'll kill anyone who touches you."
it became even clearer in actions. he doesn't flirt with others. he doesn't sleep around. he shows up when you're hurt, when you need help, or even just when the silence gets too heavy. his violence becomes more controlled around you. his chaos pauses for you.
and if you ever try to walk away, not out of fear, but heartbreak, he doesn't beg. but he follows.
he shows up in the dark and says, "you don't get to leave. you're the only thing i don't want to break."
so no, you don't get a title. but you get certainty. the kind that claws into you and never lets go.
you were at seongje's place, curled up in the corner of his bed, wearing one of his hoodies, watching something on your phone. occasionally, you laughed, your brow twitching, your mouth tugging in little ways. you probably didn't know he was watching.
he was sitting on the floor, leaning back against the wall. a cigarette rested between his fingers, forgotten halfway through.
it should've been just another moment. just another afternoon with you near. that's all it was. but it wasn't.
something cracked. it was quiet. internal. sudden.
he looked at you, really looked, and it hit him like a pipe to the chest. he'd always known you were different.
you didn't scream like the world did, you didn't beg to get closer to him, or flinch when he tore the world apart with his bare hands. you didn't reach to fix what couldn't be fixed.
you just were. and he couldn't fucking breathe.
he'd thought what he felt for you was already obsession. he thought the way he needed you around—the way his days didn't start right unless he saw your face—was already too much.
but this? right now? it was worse.
because you weren't even doing anything. you were just there, in his space like you belonged. and he couldn't stand it.
he didn't blink, didn't move. his heart was beating too fast, too heavy. like it was trying to get out of his chest, like it was trying to claw its way toward you.
you looked up at him, catching the stare.
"what?" you asked, your voice soft, lazy with comfort.
that was the final hit. his cigarette dropped to the floor. he stood and crossed the room in two strides.
you blinked and sat up, shifting to the edge of the bed. confused, then mildly concerned, because he wasn't saying anything. just looking at you like he was on the edge of something ugly.
"what is it?" you asked again.
he dropped to his knees in front of you, hands braced on the mattress like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.
"you," he muttered, low, dangerous, barely holding back the quake in his chest. "you don't even fucking know, do you."
you blinked in confusion, "know what?"
"that i'm already gone."
he leaned in close, breath warm against your skin. his hands were clenched on the sheets beside your thighs.
"i didn't think it could get worse," he said, tone ragged. "but it did. just now. just looking at you."
"seongje-"
he didn't let you finish. his voice came out lower. hoarser.
"i'd burn down everything. rip open anyone. just to keep this. you. whatever the fuck this is—"
he pressed his forehead against your knee. his voice dropped, barely a whisper now, like it hurt him to say.
"—it's mine."
your fingers moved before your words did. you reached out, slow and certain, and slipped your hand into his hair, like you knew something inside him was coming apart at the seams, and you needed to keep it from unraveling further.
you didn't flinch. didn't pull away from the sharpness in his voice or the weight behind his words.
instead, you curled your fingers gently against his scalp and said, soft but steady, "you don't have to break things just to prove you want to keep me. i'm not going anywhere."
that did something to him. his breath hitched, quiet, jaw clenched. you didn't treat his madness like something to be pitied or feared. you didn't try to fix it. you didn't flinch from the wreckage. you just understood it was there and touched it anyway.
his arms wrapped around your waist almost without thinking, head still pressed to your knee like it was the only place he could breathe.
then you said it, quietly. not to tease, not to demand. just honest. like it had always been true.
"you are my home."
and that was the thing that shattered him. because he didn't have a home. not really, never did. he was a creature built from chaos and flame and blood. the idea that someone could look at him and find rest?
it wrecked him in a way no fist ever could. his grip tightened. not out of fear of you leaving. but because you just gave him something he didn't know he'd been starving for all his life. and now that he had it, he'd kill the whole world before he let it go.
he didn't know what to say yet. so when you gently pulled him toward the bed, he didn't resist. he didn't say something cocky or crass like he usually would. he just let you.
you lay down first, guiding him beside you. he collapsed next to you like a man thrown off balance. arms still around your waist, his head buried against the curve of your neck. as if he could crawl inside your skin just to get closer.
your fingers ran through his hair, slow, rhythmic, soothing. the storm inside him didn't vanish, but it quieted. simmered.
your voice cut through the quiet, soft and careful. "do you love me?"
he froze. he didn't pull away, but he did stop breathing for a second. his gaze locked on yours, heavy and unreadable. then he took a slow breath, jaw tightening.
love? what the hell was that supposed to feel like? that was too unfamiliar. too soft.
he didn't know. he'd never had it. not from anyone. not for anyone. all he'd ever known was survival, pleasure, and pain. wanting things so badly he broke them just to feel something. hurting because it was the only way to know he was alive.
but this? this thing in his chest, this raw, aching, burning thing that only grew worse the longer you touched him, it was something else.
so he didn't lie. he didn't pretend. he spoke against your skin, voice hoarse and quiet.
"i don't know what love is. but i know i can't fucking stand the thought of you not being here."
another breath. he pulled you closer.
"you're the only thing that makes me feel calm and insane at the same time. you—" he exhaled, shaky now, like it hurt to say, "—you make me feel too much. and i can't stop it."
his fingers dug into the back of your shirt. possessive. desperate.
"i don't know if it's love, but i know this—you're mine. you've been mine since the moment i saw you. doesn't matter if you run, or scream, or try to tear me out of your chest. you're still mine."
"you're the air that i breathe," he said, voice dropping to a whisper, like a confession no one else was meant to hear. "and i'd tear the world apart to keep you. no hesitation. no mercy."
"when i look at you, it hurts." he said. "but i want that hurt. over and over again. you're the only thing i'd bleed for without thinking twice."
he let the silence stretch, like he wanted the weight of his words to press against you. crush you, mark you, bind you to him in the only way he knew how.
it was not a confession, but a surrender.
your chest tightened. your eyes stung. and you hated that they did, because you weren't sad. you weren't broken.
you were just... full. full of him. of this.
a shaky breath escaped you as you cupped his face, your thumb brushing just beneath his eye, like you needed to touch something solid to believe any of this was real.
you smiled. small, trembling, but true.
"whatever it is you feel for me, let it consume you." your voice was steady, despite the trembling in your chest. "break for me. burn only for me. want no one else—because i don't want anyone but you."
he stared at you like you'd just taken the air out of his lungs.
"i don't care if it's wrong, or selfish, or if the world thinks i've lost my mind." your hand slid back into his hair gently. "you're mine, geum seongje. just as much as i'm yours."
his hands were already on your waist, but they tightened at those words, like something inside him finally snapped.
and he kissed you. it wasn't soft. it wasn't careful. it was desperate, like he needed to feel everything at once, like if he didn't press every inch of you into him, he might fall apart.
you kissed him back just as hard, just as aching, fingers curling in his hair like you could anchor the both of you with the weight of your want.
and in that moment, nothing else mattered.
not the danger in his eyes. not the chaos in his soul. not the way the world would look at you.
because you knew him. and you would choose him—still. every time.
for you, he would bleed himself dry a thousand times—willingly, completely, because he didn't know how not to.
