#whc1

Instead, he's in your bed, eating the snacks he bought for you and playing on your console like a bum.

"Seong-je." you nudge him.

"Hm." he hums, not looking away from your TV.

You stare at him a little longer, waiting to see if he'd ask for the follow-up, but he was clearly occupied. You roll your eyes and lie on your side, turning away from him. You scroll on your phone, liking videos your friends had posted, when you remember why you invited him over.

You came across a cute trend where couples guess Chapstick flavors by kissing each other, taste-testing each flavor. You quickly sit back up, stretching your body over his lap as you reach into your bedside table. You pull out the chapstick packaging of several flavors you found at some cheap dollar store.

Right as Seong-je finishes his game, you face him, sitting with your legs crossed. You push the chapstick into his hands.

Seong-je looks down at his lap, thinking you got him a gift, only to see the cheap knock-off brands of chapstick. Hershey, Skittles, Strawberry, Cola, etc.

"What are you, a kid? What is this?" he tears the packaging open, picking up the Redbull flavor. "This is the equivalent of when you go shopping at Bath and Body Works and only get those nasty food-scented perfumes."

You frown. "You told me you liked my strawberry poundcake."

"I lied."

You gather the tiny cylinders in your hands, putting them in your lap.

"I wanna play the Chapstick game. I saw it on TikTok." you urge.

Seong-je thinks for a second before he nods once. "The game where you guess all the flavors and shit? I've seen that before."

"Yes!" you exclaim excitedly. "Okay, so you know the rules. Come on, put that down. Let's play."

He sighs, placing your controller down and sitting up. "Alright, Princess. Let's play."

"I'm going first. Close your eyes!"

The edge of Seong-je's mouth quirks up into a smirk as he reluctantly shut his eyes. You pick a random flavor in the pile of many flavors, lathering your lips with it.

"Okay, open!"

He opens his eyes. Now, to guess. He leans in, tilting your chin upwards towards him. His lips meet yours, prompting your eyes to close in bliss. He deepens the kiss, his tongue swiping against your bottom lip before he abruptly pulls back.

"That shit tastes like lizard ankles."

You laugh, concealing the true flavor in your clenched hand.

"No, that's not a guess."

He leans back, wiping his mouth. "That's got to be like, slime or something."

"It's Sprite."

"That was sprite...?" he asked in disbelief, looking at the flavor you presented to him.

"Okay, it's your turn. Pick one." You close your eyes, waiting patiently.

You can hear Seong-je rustling through the flavors before finally picking one. He doesn't tell you he's done, nor does he tell you to open your eyes. He just slams his lips against yours, pushing you down towards the bed. You let out an involuntary moan, hand sliding up his chest as you try to taste the flavor on his lips.

Seong-je's teeth bite down on your tongue, causing you to gasp out in pain. He smiles down at you, relishing in the pain he inflicted on you. You look up at him through your lashes, licking your lips, trying to taste the flavor.

"Is it...Cola?"

Seong-je gave you a tight-lipped smile, shaking his head. He placed his hand on your chest, squeezing your breast shamelessly.

"Nope. That's wrong, Princess." his hand trails down. "For every answer you get wrong, my hand will go lower."

Your breath hitches in your throat as you feel his large, calloused hand slide down your stomach.

"Liquorice?" you guess, rubbing your thighs together.

"Nope." he huffs, hand now rubbing your lower belly. "One more guess."

"Pepsi?"

Seong-je sighs, giving you a moment to process the silence before slipping his hand past the waistband of your underwear.

"Three guesses, and you got them all wrong, Baby." he smiles, palm sliding down your freshly shaven skin. "You've lost."

You let out a whimper, wrapping your hand around the wrist of the hand buried in your underwear. His lips find your neck, his free hand angling your head backwards.

"This isn't...fair," you protest. "This isn't how you play the game."

Seong-je's kisses turned into nips as his fingers found their way towards your entrance. His free hand hooks underneath your knee, spreading your legs so he'd have more access.

His fingers, playing in your heat, finally dip into your aching entrance, relieving you of the emptiness that had been bothering you all day. You gasp, burying your mouth in the palm of your hand. He must've forgotten your parents are still home.

You grind your hips against his hand as his fingers curl against your g-spot, rolling your eyes to the back of your head.

"Right there," Seong-je speaks to himself, making a mental note of where you like it best.

The rolls of chapstick were long forgotten, some across your floor after they had rolled off the bed. You were hot, and the room felt like it was closing in on you with each passing minute. You clench around his fingers, embarrassed that it didn't take you long to get close.

"Already?" he laughs, his other hand gripping your knee, making sure you kept your legs spread, while the other pumped two fingers inside of you. "That's even quicker than last time."

Your face flushed with a mix of embarrassment and pleasure. Your whimpers progressed into moans as each pump brought you closer to the edge, and it didn't help that he added another finger.

The hallway light flickered on, followed by the sounds of footsteps. Your parents.

"Honey?" your mother's voice calls out, startling you. "Are you still awake?"

Your body goes stiff at the sound of her voice. You try to get Seong-je to stop, but a wicked grin formed on his face. He curled his three fingers around your weak spot, making your back arch.

"Careful now," Seong-je warns with that shit-eating grin. "Don't wanna be too loud, now do we?"

You stare at your boyfriend in betrayal, coughing in your hand to mask a moan.

"I was studying, Mom. I'm going to bed now." You lie easily.

The light eventually shuts off, making your body relax. You're filled with ecstasy and relief as you clench around him, feeling the knot tie in your lower belly. His fingers come to a slow stop, coated in your liquids.

You breathe heavily, chest heaving as the ceiling of your bedroom spins in your vision. While you slowly come back down to Earth, Seong-je rubs your thigh with his thumb, bringing his coated hand towards his mouth.

He sucks his fingers off, not once breaking his glare on you.

❥ 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.

  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

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