━━━ TEACH ME, TOO
ㅤsypnosis ⁝ㅤㅤa curious question turns into something much more intimate — with su-ho being surprisingly good at teaching.ㅤㅤ〝 cw.ㅤㅤprotected sex, oral sex ( f & m rec. ), light praise kink, best friends to ??ㅤㅤ﹪ㅤㅤ𝖺𝗁𝗇 𝗌𝗎-𝗁𝗈 × 𝖿!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋
you met su-ho during orientation week — he was late, loud, and still somehow the most magnetic person in the room. you were the opposite. quieter, awkward, unsure where to stand, too anxious to even hold your own schedule right-side-up.
you remember it clearly: him crashing into a folding chair, laughing too hard, calling your name like he already knew it. he made you feel like you belonged in a room you had just started shrinking away from. and that’s all it really took.
from then on, it was you and su-ho. always in the same frame. your classmates joked about it constantly — if they saw one, they expected the other. he became your person, the one who waited outside your labs, the one who shared earphones on the train back, the one who’d text ‘yo dummy u eat yet’ at ungodly hours like it was part of your daily survival.
you were different, but you got each other. he’d distract you during exams, you’d calm him down before presentations. it just.. worked. and maybe that’s why no one ever suspected anything deeper. not even you.
you were used to being mistaken for the girl who liked si-eun — he was the calm one, the smart one, the one people admired from a distance. and truthfully? you did admire him.
it was hard not to. but it never made your stomach flip. not like the way su-ho looked at you sometimes. not like the way he’d lean back on his arms, grin at you sideways, and say things like “what, you thinking dirty thoughts or something?” just because you zoned out for two seconds.
you laughed it off like always. he joked about everything. teased like it was his default language. but lately — lately, it’s been harder to ignore how warm your face gets. how your chest does that annoying twisty thing when he slings an arm over your shoulder. how you catch yourself wondering if he actually knows more than he lets on.
because the thing is — you don’t know anything. not really. not when it comes to sex. not beyond vague textbook definitions and secondhand stories from friends. you never bothered asking before. it always felt far away, not something meant for you.
until you realized you didn’t want to be left behind.
until you realized you wanted to understand.
and more than that — more than anything — you wanted to ask him.
you weren’t sure why at first. maybe it was because su-ho always made you feel safe, even when you were dumb or confused or too flustered to speak. maybe it was because he never made you feel stupid for not knowing.
maybe it was because part of you, deep down, knew he’d be honest. or maybe it was just the way he said your name sometimes. like he was waiting for you to ask something — anything.
you don’t know when exactly it started. the way your eyes would linger on his lips when he laughed. the way your heart did that unexplainable flutter when he licked honey off his thumb one morning during breakfast. it wasn’t about romance. it wasn’t about being in love. it was about wanting to know. about needing to understand.
and su-ho.. su-ho was the first person that came to mind.
it’s little things, really. the things you used to ignore. like how su-ho always sprawls himself out across your bed when he visits, like it’s his own. he’ll toss his phone aside, prop himself up on one elbow, shirt riding a little too high, and say, “you’re not gonna fail your midterms if you lie down for five minutes. c’mon.” and you’ll cave. you always do. you’ll end up beside him, shoulder to shoulder, his knee brushing yours.
he never moves away. there’s no reason to panic, you tell yourself. you’re friends. he’s like this with everyone. maybe he just doesn’t care about personal space.
maybe the way his voice dips a little when he calls you “baby” is just a joke. he says that to strangers too, doesn’t he?
but then there are the nights he talks quieter. like when you’re both half-asleep after cramming for exams, the light from your desk still casting a soft gold against the room.
he’ll mutter something like, “you’re too cute when you’re sleepy, y’know that?” and you’ll freeze. because it doesn’t feel like a joke. not then.
and maybe he doesn’t realize the effect he has on you. maybe he doesn’t see the way your breath catches when he leans over your shoulder to check your notes, the warmth of his chest ghosting your back.
maybe he doesn’t notice the way your thighs press together when he lounges back and pats the space between his legs with a casual, “you can sit here, dummy. I don’t bite.”
but you notice.
you notice everything now.
you notice how he smells — like warm fabric softener and that faint trace of cologne he probably thinks you don’t recognize. you notice the way his hands look when he’s typing or fiddling with his rings.
you notice how low his voice can drop when he’s serious — or when he’s annoyed, like that time someone tried to flirt with you at a party. he got quiet. didn’t say anything for ten minutes after.
just passed you your drink and stared across the room like he was trying to set something on fire. and yet, even with all of that — with how aware you’ve become of him — you still don’t know how to bring it up. not the way you want to.
not the way it’s started echoing in your head at night, in the quiet moments between being awake and asleep.
you’ve had dreams. not always clear, not always intense — but enough. enough to wake up and feel heat between your thighs, confusion in your chest. enough to leave you sitting there, alone in your sheets, wondering what it would feel like.
to be touched.
to be wanted.
to be taught.
and for some reason, you can’t imagine anyone else doing it but su-ho.
not si-eun, not a stranger, not someone from a checklist. just him. the boy who knows your favorite drink and the password to your phone. the one who holds your wrist when you’re walking through crowded streets. the one who grins like he’s never met someone funnier than you, even when you’re not trying.
you’re not in love, you don’t think. but you do think about how it would feel to be touched by someone who already knows all your soft parts.
who’s already seen you at your most unguarded. who calls you “trouble” in the same breath he offers you his last bite of food.
you wonder — if he touched you, would it still feel like friendship? or would it finally feel like the answer to everything you’ve been too scared to ask?
it happens on a thursday. nothing particularly special about it — your classes ended early, your hair’s still a little damp from a rushed shower, and su-ho’s on your bed again, hoodie sleeves pushed up, legs stretched long like always.
he’s scrolling through something aimlessly on your phone, and you’re sitting at your desk, pretending to be preoccupied with your laptop, but mostly just staring at nothing.
there’s something different in the air today. maybe it’s just you. maybe you’ve been holding it in too long. you’ve gone through every possible version of this in your head: how to say it, how he might react, what it would mean.
maybe he’d laugh. maybe he’d tease you for the rest of your life. or maybe — just maybe — he’d say yes. and it’s that maybe that makes your stomach twist.
that makes your fingers tighten around your mug and your tongue feel too big for your mouth. you don’t look at him when you finally say it.
“can I ask you something?”
your voice comes out smaller than expected. like you’re already regretting the thought. he hums lazily, doesn’t look up. “you just did.”
“no, like—seriously.”
that gets his attention. he shifts, sits up a bit straighter, and turns to you, brows raised. “you good?”
you nod, too fast. “yeah. yeah, just—”
the words feel heavier in your mouth than they did in your head. this felt easier when it was 1am and you were half-asleep and desperate. now, with him actually looking at you, it feels like you’re about to step off a cliff with your eyes wide open.
“can you teach me?”
he blinks. “teach you what?”
you don’t really know how long you sit there, legs tucked under you on the edge of your chair, while su-ho stays crouched in front of you like he’s not even thinking about how awkward that must feel for his knees.
there’s something in his eyes that you haven’t seen before — not even when he’s being overly gentle, not even when he’s drunk and slurring jokes and leaning his weight on you like he trusts you to carry it..
“so,” he starts again, voice low, a little careful. “when you say ‘teach,’ what exactly do you mean?”
you hesitate, then — in the quietest voice you’ve ever used — you say, “about sex.”
the silence that follows is unreal. like the air thins, like time stalls for a second too long. you want to hide. maybe crawl under your desk. maybe vanish entirely. but then you hear him shift again, a soft rustle of fabric, and when you finally glance at him —
his expression isn’t mocking, it isn’t judgmental, it’s just still. quiet, a little wide-eyed, like he’s trying to make sure he heard you right.
“wait,” he says, voice low. “you’re serious?”
you nodded, your throat is dry. his brows furrow slightly, but there’s no laughter, no teasing. just something unreadable flickering across his face. he leans forward, elbows on his knees, eyes searching yours.
you swallow. “I mean—like, I know what sex is, obviously. I just…” you trail off, scrunching your face. “I don’t know what it’s actually like. or how to do it. or what’s supposed to feel good. i’ve never done anything. not even with myself.”
his brows lift, surprised — but not in a mocking way. if anything, he looks more thoughtful. his voice stays quiet, almost too gentle.
“you’ve never?”
you shake your head. “no.”
“not even kissing?”
“not really. maybe like… dumb little pecks in high school. never something serious.”
su-ho exhales slowly through his nose and leans back a little, settling cross-legged on your rug now, chin tilted up to still meet your gaze. “okay. wow. okay.”
“is that bad?”
“no,” he says quickly, firmly. “not bad. not at all. it’s just—” he runs a hand through his hair, a little stunned. “i didn’t know. you never seemed like someone who’d be shy about stuff like this.”
you shrug, suddenly very interested in your desk lamp. “I guess I just never trusted anyone enough. or cared enough. until…”
you don’t finish the sentence. you don’t have to. he looks at you for a long moment. and then his expression softens.
“okay,” he says again, slower this time. “so you’re not asking me for a hookup. you’re asking me to… guide you?”
you nod.
“and this is what you want?”
you glance at him, then down at your hands. “I think so. but I don’t want to regret anything. I don’t want it to feel like… just a lesson. like you’re doing me a favor or something.”
he shakes his head, almost laughing under his breath. “believe me,” he mutters, “if I didn’t want it, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation.”
you look up. “you’d want to? with me?”
he rolls his eyes a little, teasing now. “you’re cute, you know that?”
your heart jumps stupidly.
but he’s already reaching for your hand, holding it between both of his like it’s nothing — like it’s something he’s always wanted to do but never got around to.
“look,” he says, thumbs brushing slow circles into your skin. “if we do anything, I want it to be because you feel safe. because you’re curious and I get to help you understand your body. not because you think you’re behind or missing out.”
you nod again, slower this time. “I just want to feel close to someone. and I… I guess I trust you the most.”
his smile turns soft, so soft it feels like a hug.
“then we’ll take it slow,” he murmurs. “you set the pace. we talk through everything. and we stop whenever you feel weird, no questions asked.”
your chest tightens in the best kind of way. not scared. not shy. just warm. like you’re really being held, even without his arms around you.
“can I ask things?” you say. “like, stupid things?”
“you can ask me anything,” he says. “even if it’s what that little flap on condoms is for.”
you laugh, a little too loud. “you know I almost asked you that once.”
“I know. I saw you hovering over the search bar in incognito mode.”
you groan, tossing your head back, but su-ho’s grinning now, bright and proud like he lives to make you flustered.
“so, okay,” he says. “i’ll answer stuff. we’ll go slow. and we’ll make it, y’know… a learning experience. a good one. no pressure. no tests at the end. just…” he pauses. “just me and you. figuring it out together.”
you squeeze his hand back, and when you finally look up again — his eyes are still soft. still watching you like you’re something rare and good. and for once, you believe it.
the first time his mouth finds its way between your legs, it’s nothing like what your imagination tried to prepare you for.
there’s no rush, no hunger, no mess of fingers fumbling to strip you bare all at once. just su-ho, kneeling at the edge of your bed, coaxing you to lie back while his hands trail slow up your thighs, his eyes never leaving yours.
“i’m gonna teach you how to enjoy this,” he murmurs, thumbs pressing softly at the inside of your knees to spread them apart. “and how to tell me what feels good. okay?”
your voice comes out small. “okay.”
he leans down, kisses your knee. then a little higher. then a little higher than that.
you’re already wet — he makes some low, surprised noise when he slides your underwear down and sees it for himself — but he doesn’t tease. doesn’t smirk or comment or make you feel like this is some joke.
instead, his hands keep you open, warm and steady, while his mouth lowers between your legs like it belongs there. the first press of his tongue to your slit makes you twitch.
“oh—”
“it’s okay,” he says, voice muffled but soothing. “just relax. tell me if anything feels too much.”
and then he starts again.
soft, slow licks at first, more about getting you used to the feeling than chasing anything. you feel like you’re floating — like your whole body’s pulling taut, breath catching every time he flattens his tongue against your cunt and draws a long stripe up through your folds. when he finds your clit, you nearly jolt again, gasping.
“there?” he murmurs. “that sensitive?”
you nod quickly. “yeah—y-yeah.” he hums, and the vibration makes you arch slightly.
“good,” he says. “it’ll get more sensitive the more turned on you are. it’s not about pressure—it’s about rhythm. like this.”
he circles it gently with the tip of his tongue, again and again, unhurried, careful not to overwhelm you too quickly. his hands stroke over your thighs, calming you as your body stutters and writhes. the sounds coming from you are soft, unsure, breathy little moans that escape before you can stop them.
he lifts his head only briefly. “you’re doing so good, baby. i’m proud of you.”
that single sentence makes your heart squeeze, makes your hips lift up for more. he smiles, then goes back in — and this time he’s firmer, more purposeful. you can tell he’s been holding back, and now that he knows you’re okay, he gives in a little more.
suckling your clit between his lips, tracing his tongue in slick circles, pausing every few seconds to hear how your breath catches, to listen to what makes you moan.
you’re not even thinking when you whisper, “I feel something—i think—”
“let it happen,” he whispers against you. “don’t be scared. let it build.”
and when it does — when the knot inside you snaps and everything floods hot and sharp and overwhelming — you feel his hands hold you down, grounding you, his mouth never leaving you until it all ebbs and your legs are shaking.
you don’t even realize there are tears in your eyes until he’s crawling up your body, wiping them away gently.
“too much?”
you shake your head. “no. that was… that was so good.”
he kisses your forehead. then your lips. “told you.”
you laugh breathlessly. “you’re actually a really good teacher.” he smirks at that, but it fades into something softer. more thoughtful.
“wanna try something now?” he asks, settling beside you. “you don’t have to, but if you want, I can show you what I like too.”
you nod. “yeah.. I want to. teach me, I asked for this, remember?”
he breathes out slowly, like he wasn’t expecting you to say yes so quickly.
“okay,” he says. “c’mere.”
he guides your hand down first — shows you how to unbutton his jeans, how to ease them down. his cock is already hard, flushed, leaking at the tip, and when your eyes widen, he grins.
“it looks big,” you mumble.
“it won’t hurt,” he promises. “not if we go slow. and besides, i’m not asking you to take it all. not yet.”
you swallow. “so… what do I do?”
he leans back slightly against the pillows, voice a low rumble now.
“start with your hand,” he says. “wrap your fingers around it, gentle. just like that—yeah. perfect.”
you’re fascinated. it’s hot and heavy in your grip, pulsing a little when you stroke up. su-ho groans, a quiet sound that sends a jolt straight between your legs again.
“use your thumb,” he pants. “over the tip. fuck—that’s it. damn, you’re a fast learner.”
you watch his face as he reacts to every little thing you try, how his jaw clenches when you squeeze a little, how his chest rises when you lick a tentative stripe up the length of his cock.
he guides you without pressure, encouraging you softly, telling you what feels good, what he likes.
“use your mouth,” he breathes. “just the tip. go slow, baby. just like that—fuck.”
his hand settles lightly at the back of your head but doesn’t push, just rests there, as you wrap your lips around him. it’s warm, salty, a little overwhelming — but the way he moans your name makes you want to keep going.
he’s so vocal, breathy and praising between gasps. “you’re doing so good,” he whispers. “so pretty like this. your mouth feels so fucking nice—shit.”
you hollow your cheeks, experiment with your tongue, and when you glance up at him, when your eyes meet his while you suck slowly, he curses under his breath and pulls you off with a shaky hand.
“if you keep going,” he says, voice wrecked, “i’ll come. and I don’t wanna come yet.”
you smile, dazed, lips slick with spit. “was i good?” he laughs, short, breathless, affectionate.
“you’re perfect.” and then he leans in to kiss you again, deeper this time.
“you okay?” su-ho asks again, quieter now, brushing your hair away from your face. his thumb strokes your cheek while his other hand rests over your waist, the heat of his palm grounding you, still holding onto the last of your breathless high from before.
you nod. “mm-hmm.” then softer, “more than okay.”
he smiles, then leans in and kisses you gently — slow, like he’s giving you time to change your mind, even now.
but when you kiss him back with that same neediness you’ve been carrying since you first asked him to teach you, his hand slides lower, resting on your hip.
“you wanna keep going?”
you nod again. “yeah. I… I think I want to try.”
his gaze scans your face. you know he’s checking for nerves, doubt, fear — but all he finds is a quiet kind of trust. something that makes his voice go softer when he speaks again.
“okay,” he says, “but we talk first. that’s part of it too.”
you blink. “talk?”
he nods. “before sex. especially your first time. communication makes everything better. safer. and honestly?” he grins a little, “hotter too.”
you bite your lip. “what do we talk about?”
“a few things,” he murmurs, kissing down your jaw. “protection first.”
he shifts away for a moment, reaching for his backpack on the floor. he pulls something out — silver foil, crinkly — and raises his brows at you like he’s been waiting to use it for this exact moment.
“su-ho,” you say slowly, “why do you have a condom in your backpack.”
he snorts. “remember the frat party? si-eun and I saw it in the cr, he didn't want it so I picked it up.”
you roll your eyes. “you guys are idiots.”
“probably,” he shrugs. “but at least i’m a responsible idiot.” you watch as he sets the condom gently on the nightstand, not rushing to open it.
“we use this,” he says, “every time. unless we both get tested and talk about it first. cool?” you nod. “cool.”
he smiles. “good. next topic: positions.” you blinked, “there’s more than one?”
his laugh is soft, affectionate. “there are a lot. but for your first time, we should pick one that feels safest and lets me see your face. missionary’s the classic. I can also be on my knees with your legs over my thighs. or we can spoon. slow and close.”
you flush, trying to picture any of them. “you choose. I trust you.”
his gaze warms at that, softening again in that way you’ve only ever seen in rare moments.
“then we’ll go slow. missionary. but we can adjust anything if it gets uncomfortable. just tell me, alright?”
you hum a quiet okay, and then he leans in closer. “next,” he says, voice lower now, “I wanna know what turns you on.”
your eyes widen. “I—I don’t know yet?” he nods, unbothered. “that’s fine. that’s what this is for. we’ll find out together.”
his fingers trail up your bare thigh again, light and thoughtful. “some people like rough. some like being praised. some like being told what to do. or doing the touching. or slow teasing. you reacted to my voice earlier, when I praised you.”
you flush, remembering.
“I think you like being talked to,” he murmurs, his voice dipping, lips brushing your ear. “you like feeling good and hearing how good you’re doing. am I right?”
you breathe out shakily. “yeah…”
he smiles, kisses your neck. “good. that’s a start. anything you don’t want to try?”
you think. then shake your head. “i’ll tell you if something feels off.”
“perfect,” he says, then kisses you again. this time, his body presses more firmly into yours, and you can feel him — his cock heavy against your thigh through his boxers, thick and pulsing with restraint.
“last question,” he murmurs. “do you want me now?”
you meet his eyes. “yes.”
he nods once, slowly, and then everything moves like a softened blur: his fingers easing between your legs, gently checking, making sure you’re still wet, still relaxed. then him rolling the condom on with practiced care, breath hitching when your hand lingers on his hip.
when he kneels between your legs, you shift beneath him, legs opening, heart thudding in your chest.
“you sure?”
“yes,” you whisper again, this time steadier. “please.”
he exhales slowly — then reaches to guide himself to your entrance. “deep breath,” he says softly. “just relax.”
you did, and the first push is slow, barely there, until your body stretches around him. it’s strange, at first — tight, full, unfamiliar — but he holds still, whispering praise, letting you adjust.
“you feel amazing,” he breathes. “so warm, so tight. doing so good, baby.”
he kisses you through the sting, rubs your clit gently to distract you, and only when you nod again — wordless, aching — does he move. slow. so slow.
you feel him first, hovering over you, his body heat settling around you like a blanket, his fingers brushing your cheek so gently it almost makes you shiver.
the moment feels quiet, almost suspended in time, as if the air around you recognizes the shift — how the weight of what you’re doing finally lands between your ribs and expands there, soft and all-consuming.
su-ho’s gaze, as always, is steady and sure, but there’s a kind of reverence in his expression now, something new that makes your heart skip.
his hands are careful, so careful, as he rolls the condom down the length of his cock, fingers trembling slightly despite how composed he always seems. he aligns himself to your entrance, his eyes not leaving yours even once.
“tell me the second you feel uncomfortable,” he whispers, voice already low and thick. “and if you want to stop—”
“I won’t,” you murmur, fingers curling around his wrist where he steadies himself beside your head. “I just… want to know what it feels like. with you.”
he breathes out through his nose. closes his eyes for a second. and when they open again, they’ve darkened, not with lust alone, but something deeper. a kind of hunger laced with restraint. a kind of want that you know he’s held back for a while.
his hips move slowly, guiding the tip of his cock to your entrance, where you’re already soaked for him, eager and warm and open. he pushes in slowly, inch by inch, stretching you gently, pausing when he feels your breath hitch.
“okay?” he asks again, jaw clenched tight, the muscles in his forearm straining as he holds himself still.
you nod, voice barely a whisper. “keep going.”
so he does. gradually. so slow that every bit of him feels distinct as he slides into you — the stretch, the burn, the fullness of it. you gasp softly, head tipping back into the pillow, one hand flying to grip the sheets while the other stays pressed against his chest, feeling the thrum of his heart.
he doesn’t move for a long second once he’s fully inside, buried in you to the hilt. you can feel him shaking slightly, his breath warm against your shoulder, a soft groan vibrating in his throat as he tries to stay still.
“you’re so tight,” he finally breathes, and it sounds like a confession. “feels like you’re made for me.”
you feel yourself clench at his words, and he groans again, deeper this time. you nod, giving him permission, and that’s all it takes — he starts to move, slow and steady, each thrust a gentle press of his hips against yours, a roll rather than a sharp snap. the drag of him inside you is like nothing you’ve ever felt, so overwhelming and yet addictively good, like it lights something up inside you you didn’t know was there.
your legs wrap around him without thinking, pulling him closer, and the new angle has him hitting a spot that makes your mouth fall open. he notices immediately, adjusting again to make sure every thrust brushes right there.
“right there?” he asks, voice strained, lips brushing your ear.
“yeah,” you gasp, arms wrapping around his back now, clinging. “feels so—su-ho, please—”
“fuck,” he breathes, hips pushing deeper now, grinding down just enough to make your entire body tremble under him. “you’re so warm. you’re doing so well, baby.”
the endearment makes your stomach twist in the best way, and when his thumb drifts between your legs again, circling your clit in slow, practiced movements, it pushes you closer to the edge so fast your vision blurs.
he watches your face the entire time. every expression, every sound. he’s studying you with the same intensity he brings to everything else, but this time, it’s just for you.
“look at you,” he murmurs, watching the way your face twists with every grind of his hips. “taking all of me. like you were made for it.”
you moan, and he groans in return — like he’s feeling how much you want this. his pace picks up a little. not rushed, just deeper. more deliberate. your walls pulse around him and he curses again, biting back the urge to just let go.
“you don’t even know what you do to me,” he grits out, pressing his forehead to yours. “every sound you make—every little gasp—it’s fucking perfect.”
you can barely answer him, too focused on the slow roll of his hips and the weight of him inside you. but your hands move on their own, clutching his back, your nails dragging lightly across his skin.
he gasps. “shit—do that again.” you did, and he thrusts deeper. you whimper his name, and his rhythm stutters.
“you close?” he asks, thumb still moving, his cock grinding into that perfect spot over and over again.
“so close,” you manage, hips bucking up against his. “su-ho, i’m—”
“cum for me,” he whispers, his thrusts picking up, still deep but just a little faster now. “let me feel you.”
and you do. everything tightens, your legs locking around his waist, your walls clenching down on him so hard he groans your name like it’s a prayer, his forehead falling to your shoulder.
you tremble under him, your climax washing over you in waves, and it’s only a few thrusts later that he follows, hips jerking forward as he cums deep inside the condom with a low, desperate sound.
for a moment, the only sound in the room is your breathing, tangled and uneven, in sync. he stays there, bodies still connected, his weight resting gently over you, careful not to crush you but unwilling to pull away just yet.
he presses a kiss to your temple. then your cheek. then your shoulder. “you okay?” he asks again, softer this time. almost reverent.
you nod slowly, arms still holding him close. “yeah. better than okay.”
he exhales, and you feel the tension drain from him all at once. “you were… incredible.”
“you too,” you murmur, smiling into his neck. “best lesson ever.”
he laughs softly, and you feel it echo in his chest. “we’ll have to review next week, then.” you roll your eyes but kiss his jaw anyway.
you’re both still wrapped up in each other, limbs tangled and breathing gradually slowing down, the quiet hum of the night pressing in around you like a gentle lullaby. you didn’t move for a while, just letting his body settle over yours, the weight of him heavy and warm and safe.
his chest rises and falls in slow, even breaths right against your back, and you can’t help but feel a kind of calm you didn’t expect — like all the noise inside your head has finally quieted down. it’s strange how something so simple as just being held could feel like the most important thing in the world.
his fingers begin to roam gently, tracing soft, aimless patterns on your arm. the touch is featherlight, like a whisper, but it grounds you in a way nothing else can. you let your hand find his, fingers curling around his palm instinctively, and he squeezes back, the pressure steady and reassuring. no words are needed right now — the silence between you is comfortable, filled with understanding and something close to reverence.
“you did really well,” his voice is low, thick with a tenderness you haven’t heard from him before. “better than I expected.” there’s a pause, and you can hear him swallow the hint of vulnerability in his own admission. “i’m proud of you.”
you smile softly, your breath catching when he presses a gentle kiss just below your ear, the warmth of his lips lingering there like a promise. “you made it easy,” you say, voice barely more than a breath, but you mean it. it’s not just his skill — it’s how careful he is, how present, how much he respects you.
he shifts slightly, pressing another kiss against your temple, then your cheek, slow and deliberate like he’s memorizing every inch of your face. “we’ll go at whatever pace you want,” he murmurs, fingers weaving through your hair, the touch light and soothing. “there’s no rush here. this is your time. your experience.”
you close your eyes and lean into him, letting the softness of his words and the warmth of his skin wash over you. there’s no pressure, no expectations — just this quiet bubble of safety and trust you never knew you needed but always wanted.
your fingers trace lazy circles on his forearm, feeling the taut muscle beneath his skin and the steady beat of his pulse. “thank you,” you whisper, meaning more than just the moment. for the patience, for the care, for being the first person who made you feel like you could explore this without fear or shame.
he hums softly, lips brushing the nape of your neck, sending shivers down your spine. “I want you to feel comfortable. to know that with me, it’s always okay to ask, to say no, to take a break—whatever you need.”
you nod against him, the trust between you deepening with every word. “i’m glad it’s you,” you say quietly. “I don’t think I could’ve done this with anyone else.”
he smiles against your skin, the movement gentle and full of warmth. “and i’m glad it’s you.”
time stretches around you both, slow and easy. you talk in hushed tones about everything and nothing —
about your favorite music, the dumb jokes he made that morning, su-ho’s surprising seriousness when it comes to protecting the people he cares about. your voices blend together like a quiet symphony, filling the room with something real and alive.
eventually, he shifts, pulling you closer into a warm embrace, your faces mere inches apart. “class tomorrow together, yeah?” he asks softly, thumb stroking along your collarbone. “i’ll walk you to every lecture. maybe we can grab something after.”
you smile, heart fluttering in a way that feels new but right. “i’d like that.”
it felt easy, honest. like something real could start from this, not because you were rushing into anything, but because there was trust here. because with him, it didn’t feel scary. it just felt right.
