Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
SYPNOSIS: he just can’t help being away from you so he doesn’t mind climbing up your window at 1AM just to see you
PAIRINGS: bf!woonhak x reader!
a/n: woonhakville, this is for us 🤞i got carried away writing this. it was basically written out of my desire to be comforted the way woonhak did to reader 🥹
WARNINGS: fluff! hurt, comfort, teeny tiny angst, woonhak is super mega clingy (in a good way :>), lots of cuddles & kisses, minor trespassing (?) reader is stressed and burnt out, long narration oof, typos may occur but pls don’t mind them ><
𐔌 . ⋮ 2.5k words ahead — enjoy .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱
tons of papers, books, and uncapped pens are scattered all over the room along with your mind — which can’t seem to take a break from all the tasks and exam reviews you have due on finals week.
a thousand caffeine intake has only brought you to more trips to the toilet than to actually mend your focus. you were locked up in your room with no time to do anything other than to keep both of your eyes busy from skimming and reading.
you glanced at your clock only to see it displaying how deep the night is, at 1:45AM; which means that you’ve spent half a day studying and yet, it still doesn’t feel like you’re learning enough. but it’s so late and you have class tomorrow so you’re really left with no choice but to finish everything all at once — realistically knowing you can’t possibly do it.
realizing this, you can’t help but plop your head hard on the table from exhaustion. your mind had fogged up even more due to restlessness, accompanied by the lingering feeling of being stuck; and not being good enough. you have a habit of outdoing yourself just to prove your excellence, to the point where you over-exhaust yourself. but instead of feeling better about it, you’re weighed down into more pressure because you simply can’t afford any failures or mistakes. as much as you want to stop, you can’t just give up now. not when the last term’s almost over.
and you were so pre-occupied the whole day that even messaging your boyfriend a simple text never crossed your mind. and before you can deeply ponder about the thought, two taps from your window caught your attention. you pry open your curtain only to see the speak of the devil in the flesh.
woonhak is sitting nicely at the gap of your window, acting like he’s been waiting forever.
“woonhak?? baby, what are you doing here in my window this late?!” you asked with a crumpled look of confusion.
he just looked at you with a beaming smile as a reply before jumping your room.
just seeing your face despite you frowning, was enough for woonhak to be filled with absolute joy and content. you see, a whole day without you is torture for him to say the least. he knew you were going to be busy, but not to the point where ignoring him became an option. the first few hours of waiting was already painfully unbearable, and when the night grew darker, he felt that he was only minutes away from going completely insane. and before that happens, he stepped out of the dorm and rushed to your place immediately.
and here he is, gaining his well-sought victory of having you right in his loving arms after a whole day of enduring not talking to you. his hands landed onto your waist keeping you steady with a subtle hint of possession.
“hey, pretty. thought you’ve completely forgotten about me.” he placed a soft kiss on your cheek, a simple seal for the cruel torment he experienced.
“i’m really sorry for ghosting you today. i promise, i didn’t mean to. i was way too focused studying the entire day that i basically forgot how to live and breath.” you sincerely apologized to him with tired eyes and a weak smile.
“i know that, love. i came here because i couldn’t resist not seeing you for another minute. yesterday felt like a death sentence, you know?” he spoke like it really is his last day on earth.
“now don’t be dramatic now. it’s only been a day.” you poked his chest as if to point out his overreaction.
“absolutely not. that’s more like a millenium to me, honey.” disagreeing with your answer.
“woonhak, you can’t be serious right now. come on! we’re always together 24/7, no miss. this is more like a break, don’t you think?” you teased him, knowing damn well your boyfriend would NOT like that excuse.
“excuse me?! don’t you ever say that! if there’s anything to describe what i went through, it’s a terrible nightmare i never wanna be in again.” you pulled him close to you to lay down your bed before he could even throw a tantrum, letting him snuggle onto your neck comfortably. his grasp on your waist tightens into an embrace with your invitation like he’s deadly afraid he might lose you again.
“alright, loosen up. you’re tackling me at this point, baby.” patting him as you feel most of his weight gradually plunge into you as the hug get tighter.
“well then, that’s perfect. you can’t go anywhere now. i won’t let you.” you can only laugh at how silly your boyfriend is because there’s nothing in this world more clingier than woonhak. he will practically lock his arms permanently if that means keeping you in him forever.
“baby, i need to go back studying now please.” you begged to be freed but in woonhak’s vocabulary, that means the other way around so he squeezed you tight in the hug even more.
“enough of that, please. you’ve done well. you can practically ace those tests with your eyes closed. just shut up and lay down.” he said firmly with his head still glued on your neck, not wanting to detach.
“oh please, don’t glaze me. and no, i have to finish it all now so let me get up.” your upper half hasn’t fully lifted yet when he plopped you back down the bed.
“no, you’re staying.”
“no, i’m studying.”
“no, you’ll lie down here with me.” he insisted.
“no, i’m escaping.” but you keep retaliating.
“don’t even try.”
“is that a threat?”
“only if you still insist letting go.” he really just won’t give you up.
you’re still both curled up on the bed, facing each other and arms linked in each other’s torsos. woonhak caressed your head as you perfectly align on his chest and you happen to sniff the mixed scents on his beloved hoodie. (ts doesn’t mean he awfully stinks btw)
“well, i don’t really like being stuck here with you now that i’ve smelled how stinky your hood is.”
“that’s just food.” he sniffed his own to make sure. “and sweat.”
“and that’s disgusting.”
“since when have you been sensitive about how i smell?” woonhak asked, surprisingly offended.
“since you started acting like a goddamn velcro baby.” you harshly pointed out.
“don’t say that.”
“say what?” you asked, confused of what he’s implying.
“that i’m a baby.”
“but you are.”
“i’m obviously not.”
“oh, you obviously are. look at you deathly clinging to me right now.”
“better stop saying that or else.”
“ ‘or else’ what?”
he suddenly got up from bed and removed his hoodie off swiftly. you happen to take a glimpse of his toned abdomen when he lifted it off alongside his shirt, giving you no time to react composedly. you stared at him fazed yet impishly smirking.
“got you staring there for a moment. not a baby indeed, right?” he playfully remarked, rewarding with you the same act of mischief.
you shook your head to deny but quietly admitting he’s right eternally. you snickered in defense to hide your admission. “you’re such a loser. why did you even remove it?”
he acted like he was trying to come op with a rational answer for a second. “uhhh, to distract you?”
“how is that distracting?” you raised a brow.
“it’s enough to keep you occupied.
see? you’re staring hard right now.” he teased you.
“oh wow, was that one of your trap?”
“you think so?”
“i won’t even doubt if it is.”
“well, it’s working.”
“close, but not quite.” the supposed ‘spell’ he willingly wants to put you under worked the other way around, causing woonhak to be the one distracted instead of you and that gave you the perfect window of escape from his cuddle entrapment.
“no wait, get back here, baby!” he immediately tailed you over your desk before you could even land yourself on the chair.
“woonhak, please. stop negotiating. let me fini—“ woonhak quickly turned your chair around so you could look at him directly in the eye. his whole expression changed coldly. barely lively than how he looked 2 minutes earlier. he looks real serious, definitely not joking around this time.
“quit it.”
“what?? i’m not really quitting.”
“no. drop it.”
“look, i just want to finish everything. this is getting out of ha—“
“you know i’m not talking about your tasks, right?” that silenced you. because you realized how he had read your mind the moment he entered your room.
but he actually knew the moment you stop texting back.
because unlike the other guys, woonhak knows how your silence is a cry for help. that you’re struggling internally, not letting anyone enter your bubble once everything feels overwhelming, and woonhak is not the type to brush it off and sit around to wait until you figure everything out by yourself.
he insists, he intervenes, in every way possible. stubborn, it may seem, but that’s because he cares. he truly loves you deeply that it shouldn’t be a mystery why he needs to be involved, to stop your endless mental torture.
that’s why him coming to pay you a visit shouldn’t come much as a surprise. he knows you’re definitely going to need someone even without asking.
he sees you more than a dreamer, an achiever, a hard worker. woonhak also sees you flawed, fragile, tired. and he wants to assure you that it’s okay to depend on someone when it gets heavy — especially on him, who cares a lot.
“baby, i know you’ve been drained lately. i can barely even see your soul in your eyes. it’s been hard these past weeks, isn’t it? as soon as you told me you were going to be busy, i already know you’re going to disappear from the world to suffer alone. and i can’t let you do that. not anymore. not when i know you have bottled up your pain, pressure, and anger; waiting to spill when you hit the curve once more.” you stayed quiet, letting your body absorb every word he said that you absolutely needed to hear.
“i know you, y/n. i know how much of a zealous stellar student you are. how you’re basically going to implode once you forget that one word on your presentation. you’re passionate in almost every thing you do. and i admire you for that.
but you’re also slowly losing yourself in the process. it’s basically sucking the life out of you. you no longer feel like living, just breathing and learning rather. admit it or not, you hate how you’re wired to do that. because you’re not a robot. you’re just a person, who simply needs rest. and right now baby, you need one.
so stop it. put those papers down. cut the act. you don’t have to pretend you’re indestructible. you don’t have to prove you’re good enough. not with me.
because in my eyes, you’ve always been the best.” that’s when you completely lost it. everything went blurry. your eyes cried the tears you’ve been holding back for quite a while. you’ve never felt this seen before.
all along, you never really needed those aced marks, perfect quizzes, countless recognitions. because all you wanted was to be seen, to be appreciated. that was something you were never granted of.
something you had to beg, that woonhak gave willingly; without hesitation.
and that made you cry louder. you collapsed on his arms fully, no strengths left to compose yourself. you really let go of it all. you never realized how much you’ve had them suppressed underneath your fervent persona. you have never been this vulnerable to anyone, even to woonhak. but he wasn’t surprised nor startled at all, because he knew how much you’ve had inside and how it would end up eventually.
“just let it all out now. don’t hold back. i’m right here.” he carried you in his arms, consoling you but not totally stopping you from sobbing. he wants you to let all your bottled up emotions out to empty your emotional baggage you’ve been carrying all alone.
“i-is this why you came here tonight? you just want me to c-cry so i can hug you, d-dont you?” woonhak looked at you displeased with what you just accused of him.
“it was never about the cuddles, sweetheart. i’ve been meaning to say all that to you but i didn’t want it to come off as overbearing. i want you to hear it when you really needed it. and it happens to be tonight, when you’re recalling like you’re chanting, summoning something ancient.” he assured you and mocked how you’ve been reviewing that night.
“w-wait, how did you k-know i sounded like that?” you asked seriously.
“i’ve been here since you opened that history textbook you despise reading about. it was concerning actually.” both of you now giggling with your own banters, completely forgetting how you were just inconsolably crying just moments ago.
“feeling better now?” he wiped away the tears in your eyes, smiling faintly while looking at you in a delicate manner.
“yes.” he raised his brow, not convinced enough.
“and i’m not lying this time.” you assured him with a kiss on his cheek.
“thank you.” you both looked at each other with much sincerity, incredibly thankful to have each other in times like these. someone you can rely on. someone who can hear your silent screams. someone who knows how to be there when you need them to.
“my service was successful, wasn’t it?”
you rolled your eyes at his cocky remark. “yes, it worked.”
“so now,” he held your jaw in place before locking his gaze on your lips then back at your eyes.
“you have to pay me back.” he kissed you deeply. his lips was so sweet that you can practically feel how much he yearned for this to happen. to finally make you feel alive and well. all those days he spent worrying about you and how you’re doing are finally over. because he finally got you feeling loved the right way now. and this kiss serves both as a payback and a present.
you pull back just to stare at him devotedly. both grinning to your hearts’ desire, enjoying this silent night of endless solace. he pulled you down to the bed with him which made a squeal come out of you. and just like that, you’re back to your former position a while ago.
woonhak’s arms latched onto you once more while you suffocate in the embrace.
“you’re clingy.”
“i’m aware.”
“that’s not a compliment.”
“i’d still take it.”
“you’re really impossible.”
“yeah well, only my stubborn ass can keep up with you, ms. no-pain-no-gain.” he roasted you unprovoked.
“hey, that crossed the line.”
“it better should, baby. learn your lessons.”
“wait, you want me to go back there?”
“no, fuck that! come on, you know what i mean!”
you end your night with laughter until your bodies soon gave up and for the first time in a while you both got to sleep peacefully. clear mind, eased heart, warmed souls, and linked bodies. this is exactly what you needed.
and moments like these are the greatest treasures only the stars have the grand privilege to witness. you can’t be grateful enough to have someone like woonhak by your side.
18+ mdni !! wc. 655 warnings. sub!taesan, slapping, degradation (he gets called a bitch), mommy kink, color system used. ty @tsandoll for the idea :3
taesan was going to pass out he felt like. his brain is hazy, his cock is aching, and his skin was on fire from how many times you slapped him across his face. he fucks into you at the pace you set for him, trying his best not to cum inside of you because he know the rules; he cant cum until he makes you cum first, and if he messes up the pace more than three times he wont get to cum at all.
“look at me taesan” your voice barely reaches his ears, he hears you but he doesnt move, head still turned to the side and eyes shut. you grab at his face hard, forcing him to look at you. “keep up the pace, you're getting sloppy” you slap him again, and he lets out a mix between a hiss and a whimper. he tries his best to keep up his pace inside of you but he keeps missing his rhythm, earning slaps from you each time he misses a beat.
“s-sorry, ill do better mommy”
“you better, or you wont get to cum tonight”
he wasnt usually this pathetic. he would be able to satisfy you and take whatever you give him, but tonight was different. he was extra sensitive and everything you said to him went through one ear and straight out the other. taesans body goes limp, burying his face in your neck as he continues to fuck into you.
"a little slower sannie, mommys close" you breathe out, your voice stays flat as if you werent interested. taesan slows down just a little, trying to cheer himself on in his head to keep himself going. he doesnt know how much longer he's going to last, but he doesnt want to know what youll do if he cums before you. "sit up baby, wanna see your pretty face" you grab him by his hair to pull him from your neck.
"you're mommys little bitch, right?" you coo at him, your sweet condesending voice ringing through taesans ears.
"yes, mngh, i-im your bitch" he moans, struggling to keep his body upright. you grab his face again, squeezing hard. he looks at you with his flushed cheeks, mouth forced open from the force you were grabbing him with.
"thats right, you're gonna make me cum?"
"y-yes gonna- gonna make you feel good" he stutters, hips stuttering as well but you dont notice luckily for him.
"you look so pathetic right now sannie," he whines and whines, not able to keep his mouth shut from how good he felt being inside of you.
with a few more thrusts you're cumming, clenching around taesan so hard he has no control over his body anymore and cums right after you, filling you up before you could give him permission to cum.
"didnt mean to cum mommy, m'sorry please dont-" you cut taesan off with a kiss, thinking he was too cute with his stammering. he was a little too distressed for your liking though and you were getting a little worried.
"whats your color baby?" you were pretty rough with him tonight, you wouldnt be shocked if he was done for the rest of the night.
"y-yellow" taesans face was burning red, like he was embarrased for wanting to slow things down and stop. you help him pull out of you, he hisses at the loss of contact and you sit up all the way, changing the position so you were sitting on taesans lap instead. you embrace him in your arms, and he hugs you tightly. you can feel his racing heartbeat through his chest, and you hugh him tighter until his heartbeat and breathing regulates.
"did such a good job pretty boy. i wont punish you tonight my love. lets get you cleaned up" you kiss him again, then kiss all over his face until you both get up to go shower.
in which jaehyun doesn't realize someone is flirting with him in front of you
contains: jealous reader, brief misunderstanding, teasing, jaehyun being emotionally intelligent about everything except realizing someone is flirting with him
a/n: thank you my sweetheart @yoonlxlla for proofreading
main
The problem starts at a bookstore. A completely innocent bookstore. At least, that's what it was supposed to be.
You and Jaehyun had wandered into the small shop. He immediately disappeared into the psychology section, which wasn't surprising.
What was surprising was the woman currently leaning against the shelf beside him.
You noticed her before Jaehyun did.
The way she kept smoothing her hair. The way she laughed a little too hard. The way she angled her body toward him. And most importantly—
The way she kept touching his arm.
You narrowed your eyes.
"Oh my God."
Jaehyun glanced up from his book.
"What?"
"Nothing."
His eyes narrowed suspiciously.
"You only say 'nothing' when it's something."
"Read your book."
He looked unconvinced but returned to whatever behavioral science text had captured his attention.
The woman smiled.
"You're studying behavioral science?"
"Mm."
Jaehyun nodded.
"Something like that."
"Wow."
She laughed. You immediately disliked the laugh.
"It must be nice being so smart."
Jaehyun blinked.
"Sometimes."
You stared. Sometimes? That was his response?
The woman laughed again.
"I could never date someone smarter than me. I'd be intimidated."
You nearly dropped the book in your hands.
That wasn't subtle. That wasn't flirting. That was a billboard. Jaehyun, however, simply nodded thoughtfully.
"That's interesting."
Interesting?
Interesting?
The woman smiled brighter.
"Do people tell you you're handsome a lot?"
You closed your eyes. There it was. The most obvious line imaginable. A direct hit. A neon sign. A flashing emergency alert.
Jaehyun considered the question.
"Not particularly."
You physically turned away before you could commit a crime.
By the time you left the bookstore, you were walking three steps ahead of him.
Jaehyun noticed immediately. Of course he did. He noticed everything.
Except apparently women flirting with him.
"Are you upset?"
"No."
"You are."
"No."
"You've answered every question with one word for the last seven minutes."
"Okay."
"See?"
You kept walking. His footsteps quickened beside yours.
"What happened?"
You scoffed, "What happened?"
"Yes."
"You really don't know?"
"No."
His confusion looked genuine. Which somehow made it worse.
By the time you reached his apartment, you were still irritated. You kicked your shoes off. Jaehyun closed the door behind you. Then immediately crossed his arms.
"Explain."
You walked straight past him. "No."
"You're angry."
"No."
"You are."
"No."
"You keep saying no."
You dropped onto his couch dramatically. Jaehyun followed.
"Did I do something?"
"You always do this."
His eyebrows furrowed.
"I don't know what that means."
"Exactly."
"What does that mean?"
You groaned loudly and buried your face in a cushion.
A moment later the cushion disappeared. Jaehyun had stolen it.
You glared at him.
He stared back. Patient. Annoyingly patient.
Eventually you snapped.
"The girl."
"What girl?"
"The girl at the bookstore."
His face remained blank.
You nearly screamed.
"The one flirting with you."
Silence. Then—
"Oh."
You waited. And waited. And waited.
Nothing happened. No realization. No understanding. Just confusion.
"You thought she was flirting with me?"
Your jaw dropped.
"Thought?"
Jaehyun blinked.
"She was asking questions."
You stared at him.
"You study human behavior."
"Yes."
"You literally analyze social interactions."
"Yes."
"You can tell when someone is lying."
"Usually."
"You once correctly predicted that Woonhak was about to fail an exam based on his posture."
"That was obvious."
"And yet somehow you missed that?"
Jaehyun looked genuinely puzzled.
"She was being friendly."
You laughed. A dangerous laugh.
"Aha."
His eyes widened slightly. That was usually a warning sign.
A few minutes later you were sitting as far away from him as physically possible on the couch. Which wasn't very far. His couch wasn't that big.
Still.
The principle mattered.
You crossed your arms.
Jaehyun looked at you. Then looked at the empty space between you. Then looked back at you.
"You know I wasn't flirting back."
"That's not the point."
"I didn't even know it was happening."
"That's also not the point."
"Then what is the point?"
You opened your mouth. Then closed it. Because honestly? The point wasn't entirely rational.
You just didn't like it.
You didn't like another woman looking at him like that. And you especially didn't like that he seemed completely unaffected.
Jaehyun studied your expression carefully.
Then—
Very slowly—
A smile appeared.
You narrowed your eyes.
"Why are you smiling?"
His smile widened.
"You're jealous."
"I am not."
"You are."
"I'm not."
"You are."
"I'm literally not."
His smile became unbearable.
"You were jealous."
You grabbed the nearest throw pillow and hit him with it.
He laughed. Actually laughed.
The traitor.
"You know what's funny?"
"Nothing you're about to say."
"She wasn't my type."
You rolled your eyes. "Congratulations."
"No, listen."
"I'm actively trying not to."
He shifted closer. You shifted away. He shifted closer again.
"You know why?"
"No."
"Because she wasn't you."
Your face immediately heated. You hated when he did that. The sudden sincerity. The way he delivered sweet things like simple facts. No buildup. No warning. Just emotional damage.
"You don't get points for that."
"I wasn't trying to."
"You should've noticed."
"Maybe."
"You definitely should've."
"Probably."
You crossed your arms tighter.
Jaehyun watched you for a second.
Then another.
Then suddenly moved.
Before you could react, he wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you across the couch.
You yelped.
"Jaehyun!"
"There," he settled back comfortably.
You were now trapped against his side.
"Much better."
"I was mad at you."
"I know."
"So why are you cuddling me?"
"Because you're cute when you're jealous."
You gasped. Actually gasped.
The audacity.
His shoulders started shaking. He was trying not to laugh.
Trying and failing.
You smacked his chest.
He finally gave up and laughed properly. The sound echoed through the apartment.
Warm.
Bright.
Impossible to stay angry at.
Which was unfair. Because he was supposed to be the one apologizing.
Instead you somehow ended up tucked against him while he kissed the top of your head.
"You know," he murmured.
"What."
"If another guy flirted with you, I'd probably be jealous too."
That made you pause.
"Really?"
"Mm."
"You?"
"Yes."
"The human lie detector?"
He sighed dramatically.
"I'm your boyfriend, not a monk."
A laugh escaped you before you could stop it.
Immediately, Jaehyun looked pleased with himself. Like he'd accomplished a difficult task.
"You smiled."
"Don't ruin it."
"You aren't mad anymore."
"I might be."
"No."
"No?"
"No."
His arms tightened slightly around your waist. "You were worried someone else wanted me."
You buried your face in his shoulder.
"Stop talking."
His chest vibrated with quiet laughter. Then he pressed another kiss into your hair. Gentler this time.
"You're still my favorite person."
The words were simple. Matter-of-fact. Completely sincere. And somehow that was what finally killed the rest of your irritation.
Unfortunately.
Because now you couldn't even pretend to be angry anymore. And judging by the smug look on Jaehyun's face, he knew it too.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
i mean... there's seven days in a week for a reason 🗓️ contains thigh humping / overstim / filming+pictures+groupchats / breeding (again.... sorryyyyy) / doing it raw (leehan, taesan, jaehyun) / cum eating / male masturbation / reader is jaehyun's girlfriend (technically) he's so generous thank you jaehyun <3
monday are sungho's.
he's a good choice for monday. sweet, gentlemanly, always knows what he wants. tries to make it resemble something normal. brings you out on dates, gives you gifts that aren't always lingerie, and dresses you up in pretty dresses and clothes.
you never have to be the one to come up with surprises, and he's always somewhat tame. he'll sit you on his lap and make you grind onto his thighs until you're wet, trembling, and unsatisfied, and then he'll finally bring out his cock, all pretty and leaking with pre-cum. sometimes you beg to suck on it and he lets you, other times he completely ignores you and immediately bullies his tip into your begging hole, pushing in with a low groan. he makes you bounce on him, and when you're too tired he literally picks you up and slams you down on his cock, his veins on his arms prominent as he does so 🤤 sometimes he's into pinning you against the wall, your legs wrapped around his waist and your arms around his neck as he presses into you, rutting into you against the wall and holding you up as he buries his face into your shoulder and whines about how good your pussy feels around him.
king of aftercare. he'll wipe you down with a warm towel and let you take your time in the shower if you need. if you ask him to join you he'll shyly dip in and act all shocked and surprised when you run your soapy hands up and down his broad shoulders and chest and abs and all the way down to his cock again, tugging on it as you go for round two in the steam ♡
tuesdays are reserved for woonhak.
he's the newest addition to the rotation. so freaking shy the first time you met, but made up for it every time afterwards. constantly asking you if it feels good or if he's doing the right thing while the whole time he has his head buried in between your legs, teasing your entrance with his tongue. he has such pretty fingers too 😵💫😵💫 and they reach so deep into you and it makes you cum so easily it's almost embarrassing.
he's such a whimperer - when you suck on his dick his entire face explodes into red and he whines sooo much about how good it feels and begging you to not stop because he's sooo close. and when you swallow his cum he's all like it's so dirty! and he has to make it up to you by letting you ride him until you're satisfied and he's totally over stimulated, his cock twitching as you pull off him, hips jerking at the lack of friction and voice stuttering at the slightest touch.
he's a bit clumsy but he puts his 200% into it it's almost endearing. always end up sobbing with the overstim but he can't stop because it just feels too good ♡ he loves being buried in your hole, he's addicted, and you can't help but spoil your good puppy, before he starts misbehaving like the rest of the members...
wednesday's are riwoo's days.
he loves to start out with a heated makeout session, messy in the dim light of his apartment until you're dripping and rubbing up against his bulge through his jeans, gasping.
he's totally into body worship, leaving kisses and running his hands along your curves and teasing your sensitive parts. he's big into foreplay, having you cum on his tongue or fingers before his dick even sees the light of day, playing with your tits and squeezing them as your nipples perk up from the stimulation. loves when you tug onto his hair and arch your back off the bed, begging for him to just fuck you already. he doesn't listen, of course, just goads you to gush onto his tongue as his thumb draws circles on your hips.
you're trembling in his arms by the time he finally puts his dick in, his hips immediately setting a wild pace as he thrusts into you. at this point he's finally put his own pleasure first, chasing after his own orgasm as you sob through his rough thrusts and his dick brushing up against your walls. he loves when you make a mess, drooling into his silk sheets as he takes you and squirting over his dick when you can't take it anymore.
this freak is into filming, setting up his phone camera so that it can catch the way he pounds into you and your loud moans of his name as you cum all over him. he keeps it mostly to himself, but whenever he feels particularly cruel he'll send it into the groupchat with the message: 'fap material 🙄' because he knows damn well what the other guys will do when they see it.
leehan has claims over thursday.
you never know what exactly you'll get. sometimes he's all mommy's squirmy baby and a brat who needs to be punished, and sometimes he's tearing off your clothes the moment you step through his door and forcing you to take his cock down your throat.
he loves making you say he has the best cock, the one who makes you feel the best, the only one that can make you feel this way. it totally fuels his ego and he loves when you praise him. he'll make you say his name over and over and that he's the only cock that reaches that deep inside of you if you want to cum, and he's really strict about it too.
there's this unspoken rule about not cumming in you. always wrap it up and never raw inside. it's leehan who breaks that rule first. promising it's just the tip and that the others don't have to know, until he's pounding you into the mattress, your ass in the air as his dick is wrapped in your heat. he swears he can't go back once he feels you raw - it's too fucking good, and it's so fucking hot when his cum leaks out of your tight hole. the visual is so insane he just has to take a picture and send it to the groupchat, which everyone gets annoyed by because what happened to the rule?? but leehan doesn't care because what he wants he gets.
leehan's a total switch. he loves when you treat him like some dumb virgin, demanding him to stroke himself as he watches you take a dildo up your hole, unable to touch you.. feel you.. he'll let you use all sorts of toys on him because he loves the pain and he'll take anything his mommy tells him to ♡ he's not going to say no to anything! he loves when you let him suck on your tits, he can literally cum just from that. and when you punish him for cumming in you last week? he moans and cries and promises not to do it anymore - but obviously he will, because leehan always gets his way!!
friday is taesan's day.
after that stupid stunt leehan pulled, taesan has been breeding you ever since. of course, he's not as stupid as leehan, making it known to everyone that he's using you like a cumdump, but he needs you to know that he's the only one who gets to cum in you like this. he gets crazy thinking about you carrying his kid specifically, your breasts swollen with milk. the idea that his seed is the one that your body took makes him feel crazy. he breeds you til you're leaking with his cum, and plugging you to make sure nothing gets wasted. whoever gets you next is in for a nasty surprise when they pull down your panties and see a plug in your cute cunt, but taesan knows jaehyun's a total freak and it probably turns him on seeing his girl being used like that.
surprisingly sweet outside of that. calls you his perfect girl and always moaning and groaning about how this pussy was made for him and how fast he's gonna cum. but he's uber possessive about you, hates when you bring up the other guys, and if some of them leave marks on you? he's pissed and sucking new ones over them just to claim you as his. gets you a collar with his initials and demands you wear it with the other guys, but what he doesn't know won't hurt him ♡ he's also a little piece of shit who calls you on the other days when the other guys are fucking you. some of them pick up... and when they do, taesan just sits back and jerks himself off until his cum paints his phone screen, selectively ignore the guy and focusing on the way you moan and gasp.
loves to cuddle with you afterwards, his dick still in your walls and his hand carding through your hair. he's just a little cat please praise him and tell him how well he's done and he'll cum untouched into your pussy some more, flooding your hole with his seed ♡
jaehyun gets saturday - the only weekend - because he's the leader and technically your boyfriend.
he gets to monopolise your entire day and he'll never stop shoving that into the other's faces. sends pictures constantly throughout the day. whether it's a sneaky upskirt picture of you while you're on a date or a pic of you with his cum on your face, he's totally unashamed of reminding everyone he gets a whole day with you.
jaehyun's got a dirty mouth, moaning up and down about how your pussy is still so tight even after having so many dicks in you and how you're gorgeous and perfect and all he wants to do is breed you and pound you until you turn into putty in his hands and all you know is jaehyun and his pretty cock. he gets so turned on by your babbling about how deep and huge his cock is and how you're gonna cum and begging him to cum in you because you're his... he thinks about it at night and totally jerks off by humping your pillow and cumming all over it like some teenage boy.
he's not opposed to sharing, after all, he's the one who started this whole thing. everyone tries to be on their best behaviour around jaehyun because they might get an extra fuck in if he wants to!
jaehyun's another one that ignores the rules about not cumming in you... like fuck that he'll do what he wants he set the rules!! he loves the feeling of being bare inside you and it feels like heaven to him ♡ another guy who has an insane breeding kink, wants you full of his cum, even if that means eating out taesan's cum from the night before so that you're empty and ready to be filled with his cum now ♡ he'll do it even if you're overstimmed and sobbing for him to stop, because you're dirty with that stupid emo's cum and he's going to treat you right and worship you like the goddess you are, hmph!
♡ taglist: @otteriu / @chocorenchin / @enhypenlvrsstuff / @woncious - want to be notified every time i post? send an ask!
Sungho knelt on the soft rug in the dimly lit bedroom, his heart pounding as he waited for you to approach. His skin was already flushed, every nerve ending alive with anticipation. He was dressed only in a thin pair of black briefs that did little to hide the growing bulge of his cock, his slim frame trembling slightly from the vulnerability of his position. Sungho had always been sensitive too much so, some might say but it was that very tenderness that made every touch from you feel like fire racing through his veins.
You stepped closer, your hand reaching out to tilt Sungho's chin up. 'Look at me,' you murmured, voice low and firm. Sungho's wide eyes met yours, a soft whimper escaping his lips as your thumb brushed over his bottom lip. He parted his mouth instinctively, tongue darting out to taste the salt of your skin. The simple contact sent a shiver down his spine, his nipples hardening against the cool air.
'Good boy,' you praised, and Sungho melted at the words, his cock twitching in his briefs. You pushed him back gently onto the bed, spreading his legs wide. Sungho's breath hitched as your fingers hooked into the waistband of his underwear, pulling them down to expose his leaking cock. It stood hard and eager, pre-cum glistening at the tip. He was so sensitive there one stroke from your hand, and he arched off the bed with a gasp, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes from the overwhelming pleasure.
You didn't rush. Instead, you leaned down, breath hot against his inner thigh, teasing kisses along the sensitive skin until Sungho was begging, his voice breaking. 'Please... touch me.' Your mouth finally closed around his cock, sucking slow and deep, tongue swirling over the head. Sungho cried out, hands fisting the sheets as waves of sensation crashed over him. Every pull of your lips made his body jerk, his sensitivity turning the blowjob into exquisite torture.
When you pulled off, Sungho was a mess cheeks streaked with tears, chest heaving. You flipped him onto his stomach, ass up, and he presented himself willingly, submissive to your every command. Lube-slicked fingers pressed against his tight hole, circling before pushing in. Sungho moaned, pushing back despite the stretch, his body yielding completely. 'It feels so good,' he whispered, voice muffled against the pillow, every thrust of your fingers hitting that spot inside him that made stars burst behind his eyelids.
Finally, you replaced fingers with a strap-on cock, sliding in deep and slow. Sungho sobbed with relief, the fullness overwhelming his sensitive walls. You fucked him steadily, one hand gripping his hip while the other reached around to stroke his aching cock in time with your thrusts. He came undone quickly, spilling over your hand with a keening wail, body clenching around you. But you didn't stop, drawing out his pleasure until he was oversensitive and shaking, utterly spent and cherished in his submission.
imagine 3sum with mulnyangz, pegging sungho and with each thrust hes rubbing dick to dick with Leehan. Sungho is definitely a whiner and he’s so soft meooow
contains: sungho x reader, established relationship, anniversary sex, gentleman sungho, not proofread and mostly just a jumbled mess of my thoughts lmao
anniversary sex with sungho would be so sweet :( he would definitely take his time, kissing down your body, from head to toe (yes, and not in a foot fetish way ok?), as he murmurs about how beautiful you are against your skin. whether it be a 1 month anniversary or 1 year, he doesn’t forget to remind you how grateful he’s been since day 1.
but it’s not just the sex that makes the day special—it’s his entire plan for the 24 hours he made sure you both were available for. if he has work, he would call off, and make you call off of yours as well. he’d wake up and make breakfast, a simple one with just a cup of your choice of drink and maybe toast and an omelette if he’s feeling up to the task (it could turn into scrambled eggs, but eggs are eggs anyways). maybe it leads into showering together or just cuddling in bed some more before getting up and getting ready. he gets you both early movie tickets, something fun and light so that he can turn to face you and see you smile and laugh throughout. and then on the way back home, he takes you out for dinner. it could be fancy, or it could just be a diner with a heavy early dinner, walking back home after.
he’s feverish when you open the door to your place, trapping you between his arms as he kisses you hungrily throughout the way to the bedroom. and once you get there, the flip switches and he’s just.. a gentleman, placing you down on the mattress and then helping you undress before undressing himself. he’d constantly keep the hair out of your face, opting for missionary because he loves to see your face as he’s inside of you, as close as you both can be in this way. lots of praises and i love yous and constant reassurance and saying he’s so lucky and happy… sigh. sungho.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
♡ kim taesan is the quiet boy who visits your bookstore every Thursday at 6:17 p.m. He buys poetry, says little, but notices everything. What begins as silent glances slowly becomes handwritten notes in returned books, songs shared through one earbud in the rain, and a love so specific it feels like it was written just for you.
☆ warnings: explicit nsfw (MDNI), detailed emotional smut, switching, praise, marking, oral, fingering, possessive but soft dirty talk, crying during sex, aftercare, themes of emotional vulnerability, slight jealousy
☆ playlist: serenade - boynextdoor | peach eyes - wave2earth | seasons | wave2earth | i want you to tell me the moon is beautiful - kakizaki yuta | all the possibilities - tws |
☆ seobjectified's note: guys i mixed up taesan's full name so if u see kim rather than han im so sorry 😣💔
The bell above the door chimed softly at exactly 6:17 p.m. every Thursday.
You knew the time because you’d started anticipating it.
He always came alone.
Tall, dark hair falling softly over his eyes, dressed in simple oversized sweaters and coats that made him look like he’d stepped out of a poetry collection himself. He moved through the small independent bookstore with quiet reverence, fingers trailing over spines as if each book held a secret.
Kim Taesan.
You learned his name the third time he came in, when he paid for a worn copy of The Sun and Her Flowers and you asked for it for the receipt.
He’d smiled then — small, almost shy — and said “Thank you” in a voice softer than you expected.
That was all.
No small talk. No lingering. He simply took his book, gave you one last quiet glance, and left.
But he kept coming back.
Every Thursday. Same time. Same quiet intensity.
You started noticing the way he watched you when he thought you weren’t looking. The way his eyes softened when you recommended a book. The way he always chose poetry collections, like he was searching for something he couldn’t say out loud.
One Thursday, as rain began to fall outside, he approached the counter with two books.
You rang them up, then hesitated.
“It’s pouring,” you said gently. “Do you have an umbrella?”
Taesan looked at you for a long second, surprised you’d spoken more than the usual transaction.
“I’ll be fine,” he murmured, voice low and melodic.
You didn’t know why you did it.
You reached under the counter and pulled out the spare umbrella you kept for yourself.
“Here,” you said, offering it. “Bring it back next week.”
He stared at the umbrella, then at you. Something flickered in his eyes — surprise, warmth, maybe even nervousness.
“…Thank you,” he said softly.
When he left, you watched through the window as he opened the umbrella and walked into the rain.
He glanced back once.
Just once.
But it was enough to make your heart skip.
He brought the umbrella back the following Thursday at exactly 6:17 p.m.
You were reorganizing the poetry shelf when the bell chimed. Taesan stepped inside, shaking rain from his dark hair, the borrowed umbrella folded neatly in his hand. He looked slightly more nervous than usual, fingers tapping lightly against the handle.
“You’re back,” you said with a small smile, walking behind the counter.
He approached slowly, placing the umbrella on the wood with careful precision.
“Thank you,” he said quietly. His voice was low, almost hesitant, like he was testing the waters of conversation. “It kept me dry.”
You nodded, trying not to stare too long at the way raindrops clung to his lashes. “Good. I was worried you’d get soaked.”
A small, shy smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He didn’t say anything else for a moment, just stood there looking at you like he wanted to speak but didn’t know how.
Eventually, he turned toward the poetry section.
You watched him browse — the same quiet ritual. He picked up a new collection by Ocean Vuong, flipped through a few pages, then set it down. His fingers lingered on the spines, gentle and reverent.
When he finally brought two books to the counter, you noticed something different.
Inside the top book — a slim volume of contemporary poetry — he had already placed a small bookmark. On it, in neat, elegant handwriting:
for when the rain feels too loud
You looked up at him, surprised.
Taesan’s ears turned slightly pink. He rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding your eyes.
“I thought… you might like it,” he murmured. “You always look peaceful when it rains outside the window.”
Your heart did something complicated.
He paid quickly, gave you one last soft glance, and left with his new books tucked under his arm.
You opened the book later that night after closing.
The bookmark wasn’t just a suggestion. He had underlined a single line on the third page:
"I am learning how to be alone without being lonely."
You stared at it for a long time.
The weeks after that blurred into something warmer.
Every Thursday became a quiet conversation.
He started recommending books based on the smallest things you mentioned.
When you said you felt tired, he brought Letters to a Young Poet.
When you laughed about feeling lost in your own thoughts, he left The Bell Jar with a note: for when the world feels too heavy.
The notes grew longer. More personal.
you smiled at page 47 last time. thought you might like this one too. — taesan
you said you like the rain. this poem sounds like how you look when it’s storming. — taesan
You started looking forward to 6:17 p.m. every Thursday more than you wanted to admit.
One rainy evening, after he paid for his books, Taesan lingered by the door.
“It’s raining hard again,” he said softly, almost to himself.
You grabbed your coat without thinking.
“I’ll walk you to the station,” you offered.
He looked surprised, but nodded.
The two of you shared one umbrella — shoulders brushing, steps in sync. Halfway there, Taesan pulled out one earbud and silently offered it to you.
You took it.
The song playing was soft, melancholic, beautiful. You walked in silence, listening to the same music under the rain, the umbrella shielding both of you from the world.
When you reached the station, Taesan paused.
“Thank you,” he whispered. “For the umbrella. And… for this.”
He looked at you for a long moment, something deep and unspoken in his eyes.
Then he turned and disappeared into the crowd.
You stood there in the rain for a while after he left, heart beating too fast.
Kim Taesan was quiet.
But somehow, he was becoming the loudest thing in your life.
-----
The shared earbud became a new ritual.
The following Thursday, Taesan arrived at 6:17 p.m. with two books and one earbud already in his hand. When you finished ringing him up, he hesitated for only a second before offering the other one to you.
“Same playlist as last time,” he said quietly, almost shy. “If you want.”
You took it without hesitation.
The two of you stepped outside into the light drizzle. Taesan held the umbrella over both of you, his shoulder brushing yours as you walked toward the station. The song playing was soft and melancholic — acoustic guitar and gentle vocals that felt like a secret.
Neither of you spoke.
You didn’t need to.
The silence between you was comfortable, filled with the rain, the music, and the quiet understanding that something was shifting.
When you reached the station entrance, Taesan paused. He gently removed the earbud from your ear, his fingers brushing your cheek for the briefest moment.
“Thank you,” he murmured. “For walking with me.”
You smiled. “Anytime.”
He looked like he wanted to say more, but instead gave you that small, private smile and disappeared into the crowd.
The notes inside the books grew longer.
One week he left a slim poetry collection with three lines underlined and a small handwritten note tucked between the pages:
“She reads like someone who carries entire worlds in her chest.” You remind me of this line every time you recommend a book. — taesan
Another week, a different book had a single sentence highlighted:
“I have loved you in a thousand quiet ways.”
No note this time. Just the line. And his neat handwriting in the margin:
for you.
You started keeping every note in a small box behind the counter.
One Thursday, he didn’t come at 6:17.
You waited until closing, anxiety twisting in your stomach. When the clock hit 7:30 and the store was empty, you locked up and stepped outside into the rain.
Taesan was standing under the awning across the street, soaked despite the umbrella he held. The moment he saw you, he crossed the road quickly.
“I’m sorry,” he said, voice low. “My lecture ran late. I didn’t want you to think I forgot.”
You looked at him — wet hair clinging to his forehead, eyes full of quiet worry — and felt something warm bloom in your chest.
“You didn’t have to come,” you said softly.
“I wanted to,” he replied simply.
He walked you home that night, sharing the umbrella again. Halfway there, he pulled out his earbud and offered it without a word. You took it. The song playing felt like it had been chosen just for this moment.
When you reached your apartment building, Taesan lingered.
He reached into his bag and pulled out a new book — one you hadn’t seen before. He pressed it into your hands.
“For you,” he said, almost shy. “I marked a few pages. If you want.”
You opened it later that night.
On the first marked page, he had written:
“Some people feel like home the moment you meet them.”
And below it, in smaller, more hesitant handwriting:
I think you might be that for me.
The quiet observer was starting to speak.
Not with grand declarations.
But in the only language he seemed to know — through pages, through songs, through the small, painfully specific ways he loved you.
And you were starting to read him loud and clear.
The notes inside the books slowly turned into conversations.
What started as single underlined lines became full paragraphs written in the margins. Taesan’s handwriting was neat and elegant, each word chosen with care, like he spent hours thinking about what to say to you through someone else’s poetry.
One Thursday, he brought back a book you’d recommended weeks earlier. Inside, almost every other page had small annotations:
This part reminded me of how your voice gets softer when you talk about books you love.
Page 89 — the way she describes longing feels like the way you look out the window when it rains.
At the very end, a single line in the back cover:
I keep finding pieces of you in every story I read.
You stared at it for a long time after closing.
The following week, Taesan arrived later than usual, at 6:45 p.m. His hair was slightly damp, cheeks flushed like he’d rushed.
“I’m sorry,” he said immediately, placing a new poetry collection on the counter. “Class ran over.”
You smiled, ringing him up. “You don’t have to apologize for being late. Life happens.”
He looked at you for a long moment, something vulnerable flickering in his eyes.
“I didn’t want to miss seeing you,” he admitted quietly.
The words hung between you, simple but heavy.
That night, after he left, you found another note tucked inside the book:
I think I’m starting to come here more for you than for the books. — taesan
Another rainy Thursday, he didn’t buy anything.
He simply stood at the counter after the store had emptied, fiddling with the strap of his bag.
“Would you… like to listen to music together again?” he asked, almost shyly. “There’s a new song I think you might like.”
You locked up early.
The two of you walked under his umbrella, shoulders pressed together. Taesan offered you one earbud. The song was soft and melancholic, the kind that felt like it understood things you couldn’t say.
Halfway to the station, the rain grew heavier. Taesan stopped under the awning of a closed café and turned to you.
“I keep thinking about what I said last time,” he murmured. “About how some people feel like home.”
He looked down at the wet pavement, then back at you.
“I wanted to say it in person." He paused. "I think you feel like that for me.”
The confession was quiet. Barely above the sound of rain.
You didn’t know what to say. So instead, you stepped closer and rested your head against his shoulder. Taesan’s breath hitched. Slowly, carefully, he wrapped his free arm around you, holding the umbrella over both of you as the rain fell harder.
Neither of you moved for a long time.
-----
The jealousy came quietly.
A regular customer — a friendly literature major named Jun — started coming in more often. He was talkative, flirty in a harmless way, always complimenting your recommendations and lingering at the counter.
One Thursday, Jun was still there when Taesan arrived.
You laughed at something Jun said. Taesan stood by the poetry shelf, watching silently. His usual calm expression didn’t change much, but you noticed the way his fingers tightened around the book he was holding.
When Jun finally left, Taesan approached the counter with his usual books. He placed them down gently.
“He doesn’t listen to you carefully enough,” he said softly, almost to himself.
You looked up, surprised.
Taesan’s ears were pink. He avoided your eyes as he added, “He laughs at the wrong parts of what you say.”
The observation was so specific, so painfully observant, that it made your chest feel tight.
Taesan paid quickly and left with a quiet “Goodnight.”
Inside the top book, he had left a longer note than usual:
I notice the way your eyes light up when you talk about stories that matter to you. I notice how you tilt your head when you’re thinking. I notice everything. I’m sorry if that’s too much. — taesan
You traced the words with your finger, heart racing.
It wasn’t too much.
It was starting to feel like exactly enough.
-----
The first kiss happened on a Thursday that felt different from the start.
Taesan arrived at 6:17 p.m. as always, but this time he didn’t go straight to the poetry section. He lingered near the counter, fingers tracing the edge of a new arrival display, eyes flicking to you more often than usual.
When the store emptied and you flipped the sign to “Closed,” he stayed.
“Would you like to walk again?” he asked quietly, almost hesitant. “I brought an extra umbrella this time.”
You smiled and nodded.
The rain was gentle tonight — a soft drizzle that made the streets glisten. Taesan held the umbrella over both of you as you walked the familiar route. The shared earbud was in place, the same soft playlist filling the space between you. But tonight the silence felt charged.
Halfway to the station, Taesan slowed to a stop under the warm glow of a streetlamp. Raindrops fell around you like quiet stars.
He turned to face you.
“I’ve been trying to find the right words,” he said, voice barely louder than the rain. “But I’m better with other people’s words.”
He reached into his bag and pulled out a small, worn poetry book. He opened it to a page he had clearly marked many times. His handwriting filled the margin:
If I could, I would turn the world quiet just to hear you better.
Taesan looked up at you, eyes dark and vulnerable under the streetlight.
“I think about you all the time,” he whispered. “Not just on Thursdays. Every day. The way you tilt your head when you read. How you smile at customers even when you’re tired. How you remember the little things I say. I notice everything about you.”
Your heart was pounding.
He stepped closer, the umbrella tilting slightly as rain fell on his shoulder. His free hand came up slowly, giving you time to pull away. When you didn’t, he gently cupped your cheek, thumb brushing a raindrop from your skin.
“Can I…?” he breathed, eyes dropping to your lips.
You answered by closing the distance.
The kiss was soft at first — tentative, almost reverent. Taesan’s lips were warm against the cool rain. Then something in him seemed to break. He made a quiet, desperate sound and kissed you deeper, the umbrella forgotten as it tilted and rain fell on both of you.
His hand slid to the back of your neck, holding you close like he was afraid this moment might slip away. The kiss tasted like rain and longing and months of silent observation finally given voice.
When you finally pulled apart, both breathing unsteadily, Taesan rested his forehead against yours.
“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he whispered, voice trembling. “Every time you handed me a book. Every time you smiled at me. I was terrified I’d ruin it if I said anything.”
You kissed him again, softer this time.
“You didn’t ruin anything,” you murmured against his lips. “You made it better.”
He smiled then — small, shy, and so genuinely happy that it made your chest ache. Rain continued to fall around you, but neither of you moved.
Taesan pressed one more gentle kiss to your forehead, then your temple, then the corner of your mouth, like he couldn’t stop now that he’d started.
“I don’t want to be just the boy who buys poetry anymore,” he whispered. “I want to be the one who reads it with you.”
You took his hand.
“Then stay a little longer tonight.”
He did.
The two of you walked the rest of the way to your apartment in comfortable silence, fingers intertwined, the umbrella long forgotten between you.
For the first time, Taesan didn’t disappear into the night.
He stayed.
And the quiet observer finally stepped into the light.
-----
The days after the first kiss felt like stepping into a new chapter of a book you’d both been reading in silence.
Taesan still came every Thursday at 6:17 p.m., but now the visits lasted longer. He no longer left right after paying. Instead, he lingered by the counter, helping you close up, carrying stacks of books without being asked. His touches were careful but constant — a hand on your lower back when reaching for a high shelf, fingers brushing yours when handing you a book, a gentle tug on your sleeve when he wanted your attention.
He was still quiet.
But his silence had become full of meaning.
One evening, after closing, you were both shelving new arrivals. Taesan worked beside you in comfortable silence until he suddenly paused, holding a slim volume of poetry.
“This one,” he said softly, offering it to you. “Read page 23 when you get home.”
You took the book, smiling. “Another note?”
He nodded, ears turning slightly pink. “I wrote more this time.”
Later that night, curled up in bed, you opened the book.
On page 23, he had underlined several lines and written in the margin:
I used to think love was loud. But with you, it’s the way you hum while organizing shelves. The way you always leave the last cookie for the last customer. The way you look at me like I’m not too much. I think I’ve been writing about you long before I knew your name. — taesan
You read it three times, heart full.
-----
Another Thursday, Jun was still there when Taesan arrived.
You laughed at something Jun said about a manga series. Taesan stood by the poetry shelf, watching silently again.
That night, after closing, Taesan didn’t leave right away.
He helped you lock up, then walked you home under the shared umbrella. Halfway there, he stopped under a streetlamp and turned to you.
“I don’t like it when other people make you laugh like that,” he admitted quietly, voice raw with vulnerability. “Not because I don’t want you to be happy. But because… I want to be the one who makes you smile that way.”
You stepped closer, cupping his face with both hands.
“You are,” you whispered. “You always have been.”
Taesan’s breath hitched. He leaned in and kissed you — deeper this time, more confident, one hand sliding to the back of your neck as rain fell softly around you.
When he pulled back, forehead resting against yours, he whispered:
“I think every story I read now ends up being about you.”
You kissed him again, slower, letting the rain soak you both.
The quiet boy who used to pretend not to look at you had finally stopped pretending.
The deepening happened slowly, like ink sinking into paper.
After that rainy kiss, Taesan became braver with his affection — still quiet, still careful, but no longer hiding. He started waiting for you after closing, walking you home every Thursday without fail. His hand would find yours under the umbrella, fingers intertwining like it was the most natural thing in the world.
One particularly cold Thursday night, after you locked up the bookstore, Taesan didn’t take you straight home.
“I want to show you something,” he said softly, leading you toward the small park near the river. The rain had stopped, leaving the air crisp and clean. He spread his coat on a dry bench and pulled you down beside him.
For a while, you sat in comfortable silence, shoulders pressed together, sharing earbuds again. Then Taesan turned to you, eyes dark and vulnerable in the moonlight.
“Can I kiss you?” he whispered, always asking, always gentle.
You answered by closing the distance.
The kiss started soft but quickly deepened. Taesan cupped your face with both hands, kissing you like he’d been holding back for lifetimes. When you climbed into his lap, he let out a quiet, shaky breath, hands sliding under your coat to warm your waist.
His hands trembled slightly as they explored your skin. You could feel how much he was holding back — the quiet intensity that defined him now pouring out in every touch.
You took his hand and guided it lower. Taesan’s breath hitched.
“Are you sure?” he asked, eyes searching yours even as desire darkened them.
“I’m sure.”
You ended up in his dorm that night.
The moment the door closed, Taesan pressed you against it, kissing you deeply. He was still gentle, but there was a hunger underneath — months of silent longing finally given permission to exist.
Clothes came off slowly. Taesan took his time, kissing every inch of skin he revealed, whispering observations like poetry against your body.
“Here,” he murmured, lips brushing your collarbone. “This is where you tense up when you’re worried about a customer.”
He kissed lower. “And here… this is where you lean when you’re tired after closing.”
When he finally settled between your thighs, he looked up at you with glassy, reverent eyes.
“Can I… please?” he whispered.
You nodded.
Taesan was devastatingly attentive. His mouth was warm and patient, learning every sound you made, every twitch of your hips. He brought you to the edge twice with his tongue and fingers before finally moving up your body.
When he pushed inside you, both of you moaned softly. Taesan buried his face in your neck, hips rolling in deep, slow thrusts.
“You feel like every good thing I’ve ever read,” he gasped, voice breaking. “Better than fiction. So much better.”
You switched later — you on top, riding him slow and deep while he looked up at you like you were the only poem he’d ever need. His hands gripped your hips, but his eyes stayed locked on yours, full of wonder and love.
“I love you,” he whispered as you moved together. “I think I’ve loved you since the first Thursday.”
You came first, trembling in his arms. Taesan followed right after, holding you tightly as he spilled inside you, whispering your name like a prayer.
Afterward, he cleaned you up with gentle hands, then pulled you into his chest, arms wrapped around you like he never wanted to let go. He pressed soft kisses to your hair, your temple, your shoulder, murmuring quiet observations even now.
“Your breathing changes when you’re falling asleep,” he whispered. “It gets slower… softer. I want to memorize it.”
You smiled against his skin, heart full.
Taesan was still quiet.
But in the dark, wrapped around you, he finally let himself be loud with love.
-----
The notebook changed everything.
It happened on a quiet Thursday evening, weeks after that first night together. Taesan had come in as usual, but instead of buying a new book, he placed a small, worn leather notebook on the counter.
“For you,” he said softly, ears pink. “I’ve been writing in it for a while. I think… it’s time you read it.”
You took it with careful hands. The cover was smooth, well-worn from being carried everywhere. When he left that night, he kissed your forehead gently and whispered, “Read it when you’re alone. And don’t be mad.”
You waited until you were home, curled up in bed with the lamp on low.
The first page was dated months ago — back when he was still just the quiet boy who came every Thursday.
Observation Log
Subject: The girl at the bookstore who always recommends the best poetry
Page after page was filled with his neat, elegant handwriting. Not a diary. Not love letters. Something more intimate.
She always hums the same song when she’s shelving new arrivals. It’s slightly off-key. I like it anyway.
Today she recommended “Milk and Honey” to an older woman who looked sad. She chose the right poem without being told why the woman was sad. She just knew.
Her laugh is quiet when she’s tired but bright when she’s excited about a book. I want to be the reason for the bright one more often.
Some entries were longer:
She thinks no one notices when she’s had a bad day. But her shoulders are tighter. She smiles a little less at customers. I wanted to tell her she doesn’t have to smile for me, but I’m still too scared to say anything real.
And then, near the middle, the tone shifted.
I don’t just notice her anymore.
I think about her when I’m not in the store.
I write lines that end up sounding like her voice.
Every poem I read feels like it’s missing her name.
The last few pages were different. More raw.
She kissed me tonight.
I think my heart forgot how to beat normally.
She let me stay. She held me after. I cried and she didn’t make me feel ashamed.
She says my silence doesn’t scare her. I hope she means it.
The very last page had only one paragraph, written more recently, ink slightly smudged like his hand had been shaking:
I think every story I’ve ever read eventually became about her.
Every quiet moment. Every longing. Every line about finding home in someone else.
I thought I was just observing.
But I was falling.
I am in love with her.
And I’m terrified she’ll read this and realize I’m too much.
Below it, in smaller, almost hesitant handwriting:
I think every story became about you eventually.
You found him the next morning.
Taesan was waiting outside your apartment building, hands in his coat pockets, looking more nervous than you’d ever seen him. The moment he saw you holding the notebook, he froze.
“I know it’s a lot,” he said quickly, voice unsteady. “I know it’s weird that I wrote all of that. I wasn’t trying to be creepy, I just… I didn’t know how to tell you. So I put it in the only language I know how to speak.”
You stepped forward and kissed him.
Taesan melted instantly, hands coming up to cup your face as he kissed you back with quiet desperation. When you pulled away, his eyes were glassy.
“I’m not scared of how much you notice,” you whispered. “I love it. I love you.”
His breath hitched. A single tear slipped down his cheek before he could stop it.
“I love you too,” he said, voice breaking. “So much it felt dangerous to say out loud.”
You pulled him into a tight hug right there on the sidewalk. He held you like you were the only real thing in his world.
“I don’t want to be just the quiet boy who buys poetry anymore,” he whispered into your hair. “I want to be yours.”
You smiled against his shoulder.
“You already are.”
-----
The breaking point came quietly, as most things with Taesan did.
It started with a misunderstanding.
One Thursday, Jun — the chatty literature major — came in again. He lingered longer than usual, talking animatedly about a new manga collection. You laughed at one of his jokes, bright and friendly as always. Taesan arrived at his usual time and saw the entire interaction from the doorway.
He didn’t say anything.
He bought his books in silence, left a short note, and disappeared without the usual lingering walk home.
The note read:
You looked happy. I’m glad. — taesan
It felt like a goodbye.
You found him two days later on the rooftop of the arts building, the same place where he sometimes went to think. He was sitting on the ledge, notebook open on his lap, but he wasn’t writing. He looked smaller than usual, shoulders curved inward.
“Taesan,” you called softly.
He flinched at your voice but didn’t turn around.
“I saw you with him again,” he said, voice quiet and painfully even. “You were laughing. Really laughing. And I just… stood there. Like always.”
You walked closer.
“I thought maybe I was imagining things,” he continued, still not looking at you. “That I was being too much again. That you’d eventually get tired of the quiet boy who only knows how to love through notes and songs and small observations.”
He finally turned. His eyes were red-rimmed.
“I’m scared I’m not enough for you,” he whispered. “That one day you’ll want someone louder. Someone who can say things easily. Someone who doesn’t need a notebook to tell you how they feel.”
The raw honesty cracked something open in you.
You stepped forward and took his face in your hands.
“You are more than enough,” you said fiercely. “You notice things no one else does. You love in ways that feel like poetry. I don’t want loud. I want you.”
Taesan’s breath hitched. A tear slipped down his cheek.
“I love you,” he said, voice breaking. “I love you so much it hurts to breathe sometimes. I love the way you organize the shelves. I love how you always save the last bookmark for the shy customers. I love how you make me feel seen without forcing me to speak. I love you in every quiet way I know how.”
He kissed you then — desperate, emotional, years of silent longing finally given sound.
You ended up in his dorm room.
The door had barely closed before clothes were being shed. Taesan’s hands trembled as he touched you, but there was a new confidence underneath the vulnerability.
“Can I… please?” he whispered, always asking, even now.
You pulled him down onto the bed.
This time it was raw. Emotional. Healing.
Taesan took his time, kissing every inch of you like he was rewriting his fears into devotion. When he finally pushed inside you, he buried his face in your neck, hips rolling deep and slow.
“I love you,” he gasped with every thrust. “I love you. I love you.”
Tears slipped down his cheeks again. You kissed them away, legs wrapped around him, pulling him impossibly closer.
You switched later — you on top, riding him while he looked up at you with wet, adoring eyes. His hands gripped your hips, but his touch was reverent.
When you both came, it was together — trembling, clinging, whispering “I love you” like a promise.
Afterward, Taesan held you tightly, refusing to let go even as he cleaned you up. He curled around you in bed, face pressed into your neck, breathing you in.
“I’m sorry I got scared,” he whispered.
You stroked his hair gently. “We’ll get scared together from now on.”
He smiled against your skin — small, real, and full of quiet joy.
Taesan was still quiet, still observant, but now his love was no longer hidden between book pages. It was in the way he waited for you after every shift, in the handwritten notes he left on your pillow, in the way he looked at you like you were the only poem he’d ever need.
Your first official date was simple and perfect.
He took you to a small hidden bookstore café on a Sunday afternoon. The two of you spent hours browsing shelves together, shoulders brushing, sharing earbuds as always. Taesan would occasionally pull a book off the shelf, read a line quietly to you, then look up with that small, shy smile when you reacted.
Later, you sat at a corner table with warm drinks. Taesan reached across and gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.
“I used to come here alone and imagine what it would be like if you were sitting across from me,” he admitted softly. “Now you’re really here.”
You leaned over the table and kissed him, slow and sweet, right there in the café. He smiled against your lips — the kind of smile that made the whole world feel warmer.
The relationship was gentle, but deeply passionate.
One rainy night, after closing the bookstore together, Taesan pulled you into the back room where the old reading nook was. He laid you down on the oversized beanbag chair and loved you slowly, reverently, whispering observations between every kiss and thrust.
“You’re so beautiful when you’re falling apart for me,” he gasped, hips rolling deep. “I’ve dreamed about this sound… the way you say my name.”
You switched, riding him while he looked up at you with glassy, adoring eyes, hands gripping your thighs like you were his anchor. When you both came, he held you close, tears slipping down his cheeks again — not from fear this time, but from overwhelming love.
“I’m so happy,” he whispered afterward, voice hoarse. “I never thought I’d get to have this.”
The cute moments piled up.
Picnic in the park — Taesan packed tiny sandwiches and your favorite poetry book. He read to you while you rested your head in his lap, fingers playing with his hair.
Late night drives — He bought a second pair of earbuds so you could both listen without sharing. You’d drive around the city at 2 a.m., singing off-key to his playlists while he smiled at you like you hung the moon.
Photo booth dates — He always made the last frame serious — cupping your face and kissing you deeply while the camera flashed.
Bookstore closing rituals — He helped you shelve books, then pulled you into the back room for soft, stolen kisses among the poetry stacks.
One quiet evening, months later, you found him in the poetry section writing in a new notebook. When you approached, he closed it quickly, cheeks pink.
“Another one?” you teased.
He nodded, then handed it to you.
The first page read:
“Better Than Fiction”
— for the girl who turned every quiet moment into poetry
You flipped through it, tears gathering in your eyes. Page after page was filled with observations, love notes, and tiny poems about you.
At the very end, in his neat handwriting:
I used to think love was something you observed from afar.
Then I met you.
Now I understand every love poem ever written.
I love you in every quiet way.
And I will keep choosing you, every Thursday, every day, for the rest of my life.
You looked up at him, tears slipping down your cheeks.
Taesan stepped closer, gently wiping them away with his thumbs.
“I’m still not very loud,” he whispered. “But I will always be loud about loving you.”
You pulled him into a deep kiss right there between the shelves.
When you finally pulled back, you smiled brightly.
“Good. Because I love my quiet poet exactly as he is.”
Taesan’s smile was small, shy, and devastatingly happy.
He was still the quiet observer.
But now, he was yours.
And every story you read together from that day on felt like it had been written just for the two of you.
that jaehyun mouth play ask you answered...woof i melted a lil! I think something about his typically playful yet teasing and always determined to get what he wants nature makes him so perfect for oral play yknow? I feel like he could go at it for ages and just indulge in the the noises you make and how messy/needy you get. can I also add I think he'd love buying and trying new gags on you? his favourites would be the types that hold your mouth open (rings and such) but he's just obsessed with how pretty your mouth looks around anything...and also how it means he can deny you what you really to taste want even longer </3
a/n: hiii i’m so sorry i got to this soooooo late… also i’ll have to find the ask ur referring to but hey. mouth play 🤤🤤🤤 i hope you like this if u r still here nonnie… contains: dom!jaehyun x sub!reader, oral / mouth play, fingers in mouth heh, corruption kink?, faux sympathy, lmk what i missed!
your mouth felt sore. it’s been open for far too long, and you have barely any control over how much you’re drooling anymore. jaehyun enjoys it though, watching you struggle as you whine at him, tongue lapping at his fingers as you can barely speak.
“mm what’s that?” he teases, knowing exactly what you’re saying. the whole reason he put a mouth ring on you was so he could teach (not really the right word—he just wants to show you everything you haven’t seen before ♡) you to keep it open when he puts his dick in there. but it’s been almost an hour of sitting on the ground between his legs, knees begging for relief, as he kept telling you to be patient. he puts on a fake pout, pretending to be upset. “aren’t these fingers enough?”
he pushes in 2, then adds another quickly after, right into your mouth, your tongue guiding their way in as you closed your eyes and tried not to gag. 3 felt like too much, but you couldn’t show him any signs of that, otherwise you wouldn’t get what you really want :( so you persist, as best as you can.
which… isn’t really that good.
“aww can’t take it baby?” he coos, pulling them back out and then wiping them with his handkerchief. “come on baby, how’ll you fit my cock if you gag at 3? want me to stop?” you frantically shake your head, eyes glossy from the reflex. “hmm ok, but you’re so far from ready.
“how about this: let me fit my fist in your pretty mouth and then i’ll let you have a taste of this dick yeah?”
Sitting on Riwoo lap while he plays a video gaming holding the controller in front of your chest so he accidentally keeps rubbing against your nipples. He’ll “apologize” while your squirming in his lap then start another round of his game.
hmmmmmm jaehyun who loves watching his cum leak out of your freshly fucked pussy ♡ whining about how much he loves it and how hot it is as he spreads your legs wider so he can watch the thick globs of his cum slowly drip out onto the sheets under you. he loves how ruined you look, how much he's claimed you, so full of him your body can't keep all of it. sometimes he'll lean down and lick it up, pushing his cum back in with his tongue lazily as he watches your reactions... he loves his messy creampied girl sooo much ♡
♡ kim taesan is the quiet boy who visits your bookstore every Thursday at 6:17 p.m. He buys poetry, says little, but notices everything. What begins as silent glances slowly becomes handwritten notes in returned books, songs shared through one earbud in the rain, and a love so specific it feels like it was written just for you.
☆ warnings: explicit nsfw (MDNI), detailed emotional smut, switching, praise, marking, oral, fingering, possessive but soft dirty talk, crying during sex, aftercare, themes of emotional vulnerability, slight jealousy
☆ playlist: serenade - boynextdoor | peach eyes - wave2earth | seasons | wave2earth | i want you to tell me the moon is beautiful - kakizaki yuta | all the possibilities - tws |
☆ seobjectified's note: guys i mixed up taesan's full name so if u see kim rather than han im so sorry 😣💔
The bell above the door chimed softly at exactly 6:17 p.m. every Thursday.
You knew the time because you’d started anticipating it.
He always came alone.
Tall, dark hair falling softly over his eyes, dressed in simple oversized sweaters and coats that made him look like he’d stepped out of a poetry collection himself. He moved through the small independent bookstore with quiet reverence, fingers trailing over spines as if each book held a secret.
Kim Taesan.
You learned his name the third time he came in, when he paid for a worn copy of The Sun and Her Flowers and you asked for it for the receipt.
He’d smiled then — small, almost shy — and said “Thank you” in a voice softer than you expected.
That was all.
No small talk. No lingering. He simply took his book, gave you one last quiet glance, and left.
But he kept coming back.
Every Thursday. Same time. Same quiet intensity.
You started noticing the way he watched you when he thought you weren’t looking. The way his eyes softened when you recommended a book. The way he always chose poetry collections, like he was searching for something he couldn’t say out loud.
One Thursday, as rain began to fall outside, he approached the counter with two books.
You rang them up, then hesitated.
“It’s pouring,” you said gently. “Do you have an umbrella?”
Taesan looked at you for a long second, surprised you’d spoken more than the usual transaction.
“I’ll be fine,” he murmured, voice low and melodic.
You didn’t know why you did it.
You reached under the counter and pulled out the spare umbrella you kept for yourself.
“Here,” you said, offering it. “Bring it back next week.”
He stared at the umbrella, then at you. Something flickered in his eyes — surprise, warmth, maybe even nervousness.
“…Thank you,” he said softly.
When he left, you watched through the window as he opened the umbrella and walked into the rain.
He glanced back once.
Just once.
But it was enough to make your heart skip.
He brought the umbrella back the following Thursday at exactly 6:17 p.m.
You were reorganizing the poetry shelf when the bell chimed. Taesan stepped inside, shaking rain from his dark hair, the borrowed umbrella folded neatly in his hand. He looked slightly more nervous than usual, fingers tapping lightly against the handle.
“You’re back,” you said with a small smile, walking behind the counter.
He approached slowly, placing the umbrella on the wood with careful precision.
“Thank you,” he said quietly. His voice was low, almost hesitant, like he was testing the waters of conversation. “It kept me dry.”
You nodded, trying not to stare too long at the way raindrops clung to his lashes. “Good. I was worried you’d get soaked.”
A small, shy smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He didn’t say anything else for a moment, just stood there looking at you like he wanted to speak but didn’t know how.
Eventually, he turned toward the poetry section.
You watched him browse — the same quiet ritual. He picked up a new collection by Ocean Vuong, flipped through a few pages, then set it down. His fingers lingered on the spines, gentle and reverent.
When he finally brought two books to the counter, you noticed something different.
Inside the top book — a slim volume of contemporary poetry — he had already placed a small bookmark. On it, in neat, elegant handwriting:
for when the rain feels too loud
You looked up at him, surprised.
Taesan’s ears turned slightly pink. He rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding your eyes.
“I thought… you might like it,” he murmured. “You always look peaceful when it rains outside the window.”
Your heart did something complicated.
He paid quickly, gave you one last soft glance, and left with his new books tucked under his arm.
You opened the book later that night after closing.
The bookmark wasn’t just a suggestion. He had underlined a single line on the third page:
"I am learning how to be alone without being lonely."
You stared at it for a long time.
The weeks after that blurred into something warmer.
Every Thursday became a quiet conversation.
He started recommending books based on the smallest things you mentioned.
When you said you felt tired, he brought Letters to a Young Poet.
When you laughed about feeling lost in your own thoughts, he left The Bell Jar with a note: for when the world feels too heavy.
The notes grew longer. More personal.
you smiled at page 47 last time. thought you might like this one too. — taesan
you said you like the rain. this poem sounds like how you look when it’s storming. — taesan
You started looking forward to 6:17 p.m. every Thursday more than you wanted to admit.
One rainy evening, after he paid for his books, Taesan lingered by the door.
“It’s raining hard again,” he said softly, almost to himself.
You grabbed your coat without thinking.
“I’ll walk you to the station,” you offered.
He looked surprised, but nodded.
The two of you shared one umbrella — shoulders brushing, steps in sync. Halfway there, Taesan pulled out one earbud and silently offered it to you.
You took it.
The song playing was soft, melancholic, beautiful. You walked in silence, listening to the same music under the rain, the umbrella shielding both of you from the world.
When you reached the station, Taesan paused.
“Thank you,” he whispered. “For the umbrella. And… for this.”
He looked at you for a long moment, something deep and unspoken in his eyes.
Then he turned and disappeared into the crowd.
You stood there in the rain for a while after he left, heart beating too fast.
Kim Taesan was quiet.
But somehow, he was becoming the loudest thing in your life.
-----
The shared earbud became a new ritual.
The following Thursday, Taesan arrived at 6:17 p.m. with two books and one earbud already in his hand. When you finished ringing him up, he hesitated for only a second before offering the other one to you.
“Same playlist as last time,” he said quietly, almost shy. “If you want.”
You took it without hesitation.
The two of you stepped outside into the light drizzle. Taesan held the umbrella over both of you, his shoulder brushing yours as you walked toward the station. The song playing was soft and melancholic — acoustic guitar and gentle vocals that felt like a secret.
Neither of you spoke.
You didn’t need to.
The silence between you was comfortable, filled with the rain, the music, and the quiet understanding that something was shifting.
When you reached the station entrance, Taesan paused. He gently removed the earbud from your ear, his fingers brushing your cheek for the briefest moment.
“Thank you,” he murmured. “For walking with me.”
You smiled. “Anytime.”
He looked like he wanted to say more, but instead gave you that small, private smile and disappeared into the crowd.
The notes inside the books grew longer.
One week he left a slim poetry collection with three lines underlined and a small handwritten note tucked between the pages:
“She reads like someone who carries entire worlds in her chest.” You remind me of this line every time you recommend a book. — taesan
Another week, a different book had a single sentence highlighted:
“I have loved you in a thousand quiet ways.”
No note this time. Just the line. And his neat handwriting in the margin:
for you.
You started keeping every note in a small box behind the counter.
One Thursday, he didn’t come at 6:17.
You waited until closing, anxiety twisting in your stomach. When the clock hit 7:30 and the store was empty, you locked up and stepped outside into the rain.
Taesan was standing under the awning across the street, soaked despite the umbrella he held. The moment he saw you, he crossed the road quickly.
“I’m sorry,” he said, voice low. “My lecture ran late. I didn’t want you to think I forgot.”
You looked at him — wet hair clinging to his forehead, eyes full of quiet worry — and felt something warm bloom in your chest.
“You didn’t have to come,” you said softly.
“I wanted to,” he replied simply.
He walked you home that night, sharing the umbrella again. Halfway there, he pulled out his earbud and offered it without a word. You took it. The song playing felt like it had been chosen just for this moment.
When you reached your apartment building, Taesan lingered.
He reached into his bag and pulled out a new book — one you hadn’t seen before. He pressed it into your hands.
“For you,” he said, almost shy. “I marked a few pages. If you want.”
You opened it later that night.
On the first marked page, he had written:
“Some people feel like home the moment you meet them.”
And below it, in smaller, more hesitant handwriting:
I think you might be that for me.
The quiet observer was starting to speak.
Not with grand declarations.
But in the only language he seemed to know — through pages, through songs, through the small, painfully specific ways he loved you.
And you were starting to read him loud and clear.
The notes inside the books slowly turned into conversations.
What started as single underlined lines became full paragraphs written in the margins. Taesan’s handwriting was neat and elegant, each word chosen with care, like he spent hours thinking about what to say to you through someone else’s poetry.
One Thursday, he brought back a book you’d recommended weeks earlier. Inside, almost every other page had small annotations:
This part reminded me of how your voice gets softer when you talk about books you love.
Page 89 — the way she describes longing feels like the way you look out the window when it rains.
At the very end, a single line in the back cover:
I keep finding pieces of you in every story I read.
You stared at it for a long time after closing.
The following week, Taesan arrived later than usual, at 6:45 p.m. His hair was slightly damp, cheeks flushed like he’d rushed.
“I’m sorry,” he said immediately, placing a new poetry collection on the counter. “Class ran over.”
You smiled, ringing him up. “You don’t have to apologize for being late. Life happens.”
He looked at you for a long moment, something vulnerable flickering in his eyes.
“I didn’t want to miss seeing you,” he admitted quietly.
The words hung between you, simple but heavy.
That night, after he left, you found another note tucked inside the book:
I think I’m starting to come here more for you than for the books. — taesan
Another rainy Thursday, he didn’t buy anything.
He simply stood at the counter after the store had emptied, fiddling with the strap of his bag.
“Would you… like to listen to music together again?” he asked, almost shyly. “There’s a new song I think you might like.”
You locked up early.
The two of you walked under his umbrella, shoulders pressed together. Taesan offered you one earbud. The song was soft and melancholic, the kind that felt like it understood things you couldn’t say.
Halfway to the station, the rain grew heavier. Taesan stopped under the awning of a closed café and turned to you.
“I keep thinking about what I said last time,” he murmured. “About how some people feel like home.”
He looked down at the wet pavement, then back at you.
“I wanted to say it in person." He paused. "I think you feel like that for me.”
The confession was quiet. Barely above the sound of rain.
You didn’t know what to say. So instead, you stepped closer and rested your head against his shoulder. Taesan’s breath hitched. Slowly, carefully, he wrapped his free arm around you, holding the umbrella over both of you as the rain fell harder.
Neither of you moved for a long time.
-----
The jealousy came quietly.
A regular customer — a friendly literature major named Jun — started coming in more often. He was talkative, flirty in a harmless way, always complimenting your recommendations and lingering at the counter.
One Thursday, Jun was still there when Taesan arrived.
You laughed at something Jun said. Taesan stood by the poetry shelf, watching silently. His usual calm expression didn’t change much, but you noticed the way his fingers tightened around the book he was holding.
When Jun finally left, Taesan approached the counter with his usual books. He placed them down gently.
“He doesn’t listen to you carefully enough,” he said softly, almost to himself.
You looked up, surprised.
Taesan’s ears were pink. He avoided your eyes as he added, “He laughs at the wrong parts of what you say.”
The observation was so specific, so painfully observant, that it made your chest feel tight.
Taesan paid quickly and left with a quiet “Goodnight.”
Inside the top book, he had left a longer note than usual:
I notice the way your eyes light up when you talk about stories that matter to you. I notice how you tilt your head when you’re thinking. I notice everything. I’m sorry if that’s too much. — taesan
You traced the words with your finger, heart racing.
It wasn’t too much.
It was starting to feel like exactly enough.
-----
The first kiss happened on a Thursday that felt different from the start.
Taesan arrived at 6:17 p.m. as always, but this time he didn’t go straight to the poetry section. He lingered near the counter, fingers tracing the edge of a new arrival display, eyes flicking to you more often than usual.
When the store emptied and you flipped the sign to “Closed,” he stayed.
“Would you like to walk again?” he asked quietly, almost hesitant. “I brought an extra umbrella this time.”
You smiled and nodded.
The rain was gentle tonight — a soft drizzle that made the streets glisten. Taesan held the umbrella over both of you as you walked the familiar route. The shared earbud was in place, the same soft playlist filling the space between you. But tonight the silence felt charged.
Halfway to the station, Taesan slowed to a stop under the warm glow of a streetlamp. Raindrops fell around you like quiet stars.
He turned to face you.
“I’ve been trying to find the right words,” he said, voice barely louder than the rain. “But I’m better with other people’s words.”
He reached into his bag and pulled out a small, worn poetry book. He opened it to a page he had clearly marked many times. His handwriting filled the margin:
If I could, I would turn the world quiet just to hear you better.
Taesan looked up at you, eyes dark and vulnerable under the streetlight.
“I think about you all the time,” he whispered. “Not just on Thursdays. Every day. The way you tilt your head when you read. How you smile at customers even when you’re tired. How you remember the little things I say. I notice everything about you.”
Your heart was pounding.
He stepped closer, the umbrella tilting slightly as rain fell on his shoulder. His free hand came up slowly, giving you time to pull away. When you didn’t, he gently cupped your cheek, thumb brushing a raindrop from your skin.
“Can I…?” he breathed, eyes dropping to your lips.
You answered by closing the distance.
The kiss was soft at first — tentative, almost reverent. Taesan’s lips were warm against the cool rain. Then something in him seemed to break. He made a quiet, desperate sound and kissed you deeper, the umbrella forgotten as it tilted and rain fell on both of you.
His hand slid to the back of your neck, holding you close like he was afraid this moment might slip away. The kiss tasted like rain and longing and months of silent observation finally given voice.
When you finally pulled apart, both breathing unsteadily, Taesan rested his forehead against yours.
“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he whispered, voice trembling. “Every time you handed me a book. Every time you smiled at me. I was terrified I’d ruin it if I said anything.”
You kissed him again, softer this time.
“You didn’t ruin anything,” you murmured against his lips. “You made it better.”
He smiled then — small, shy, and so genuinely happy that it made your chest ache. Rain continued to fall around you, but neither of you moved.
Taesan pressed one more gentle kiss to your forehead, then your temple, then the corner of your mouth, like he couldn’t stop now that he’d started.
“I don’t want to be just the boy who buys poetry anymore,” he whispered. “I want to be the one who reads it with you.”
You took his hand.
“Then stay a little longer tonight.”
He did.
The two of you walked the rest of the way to your apartment in comfortable silence, fingers intertwined, the umbrella long forgotten between you.
For the first time, Taesan didn’t disappear into the night.
He stayed.
And the quiet observer finally stepped into the light.
-----
The days after the first kiss felt like stepping into a new chapter of a book you’d both been reading in silence.
Taesan still came every Thursday at 6:17 p.m., but now the visits lasted longer. He no longer left right after paying. Instead, he lingered by the counter, helping you close up, carrying stacks of books without being asked. His touches were careful but constant — a hand on your lower back when reaching for a high shelf, fingers brushing yours when handing you a book, a gentle tug on your sleeve when he wanted your attention.
He was still quiet.
But his silence had become full of meaning.
One evening, after closing, you were both shelving new arrivals. Taesan worked beside you in comfortable silence until he suddenly paused, holding a slim volume of poetry.
“This one,” he said softly, offering it to you. “Read page 23 when you get home.”
You took the book, smiling. “Another note?”
He nodded, ears turning slightly pink. “I wrote more this time.”
Later that night, curled up in bed, you opened the book.
On page 23, he had underlined several lines and written in the margin:
I used to think love was loud. But with you, it’s the way you hum while organizing shelves. The way you always leave the last cookie for the last customer. The way you look at me like I’m not too much. I think I’ve been writing about you long before I knew your name. — taesan
You read it three times, heart full.
-----
Another Thursday, Jun was still there when Taesan arrived.
You laughed at something Jun said about a manga series. Taesan stood by the poetry shelf, watching silently again.
That night, after closing, Taesan didn’t leave right away.
He helped you lock up, then walked you home under the shared umbrella. Halfway there, he stopped under a streetlamp and turned to you.
“I don’t like it when other people make you laugh like that,” he admitted quietly, voice raw with vulnerability. “Not because I don’t want you to be happy. But because… I want to be the one who makes you smile that way.”
You stepped closer, cupping his face with both hands.
“You are,” you whispered. “You always have been.”
Taesan’s breath hitched. He leaned in and kissed you — deeper this time, more confident, one hand sliding to the back of your neck as rain fell softly around you.
When he pulled back, forehead resting against yours, he whispered:
“I think every story I read now ends up being about you.”
You kissed him again, slower, letting the rain soak you both.
The quiet boy who used to pretend not to look at you had finally stopped pretending.
The deepening happened slowly, like ink sinking into paper.
After that rainy kiss, Taesan became braver with his affection — still quiet, still careful, but no longer hiding. He started waiting for you after closing, walking you home every Thursday without fail. His hand would find yours under the umbrella, fingers intertwining like it was the most natural thing in the world.
One particularly cold Thursday night, after you locked up the bookstore, Taesan didn’t take you straight home.
“I want to show you something,” he said softly, leading you toward the small park near the river. The rain had stopped, leaving the air crisp and clean. He spread his coat on a dry bench and pulled you down beside him.
For a while, you sat in comfortable silence, shoulders pressed together, sharing earbuds again. Then Taesan turned to you, eyes dark and vulnerable in the moonlight.
“Can I kiss you?” he whispered, always asking, always gentle.
You answered by closing the distance.
The kiss started soft but quickly deepened. Taesan cupped your face with both hands, kissing you like he’d been holding back for lifetimes. When you climbed into his lap, he let out a quiet, shaky breath, hands sliding under your coat to warm your waist.
His hands trembled slightly as they explored your skin. You could feel how much he was holding back — the quiet intensity that defined him now pouring out in every touch.
You took his hand and guided it lower. Taesan’s breath hitched.
“Are you sure?” he asked, eyes searching yours even as desire darkened them.
“I’m sure.”
You ended up in his dorm that night.
The moment the door closed, Taesan pressed you against it, kissing you deeply. He was still gentle, but there was a hunger underneath — months of silent longing finally given permission to exist.
Clothes came off slowly. Taesan took his time, kissing every inch of skin he revealed, whispering observations like poetry against your body.
“Here,” he murmured, lips brushing your collarbone. “This is where you tense up when you’re worried about a customer.”
He kissed lower. “And here… this is where you lean when you’re tired after closing.”
When he finally settled between your thighs, he looked up at you with glassy, reverent eyes.
“Can I… please?” he whispered.
You nodded.
Taesan was devastatingly attentive. His mouth was warm and patient, learning every sound you made, every twitch of your hips. He brought you to the edge twice with his tongue and fingers before finally moving up your body.
When he pushed inside you, both of you moaned softly. Taesan buried his face in your neck, hips rolling in deep, slow thrusts.
“You feel like every good thing I’ve ever read,” he gasped, voice breaking. “Better than fiction. So much better.”
You switched later — you on top, riding him slow and deep while he looked up at you like you were the only poem he’d ever need. His hands gripped your hips, but his eyes stayed locked on yours, full of wonder and love.
“I love you,” he whispered as you moved together. “I think I’ve loved you since the first Thursday.”
You came first, trembling in his arms. Taesan followed right after, holding you tightly as he spilled inside you, whispering your name like a prayer.
Afterward, he cleaned you up with gentle hands, then pulled you into his chest, arms wrapped around you like he never wanted to let go. He pressed soft kisses to your hair, your temple, your shoulder, murmuring quiet observations even now.
“Your breathing changes when you’re falling asleep,” he whispered. “It gets slower… softer. I want to memorize it.”
You smiled against his skin, heart full.
Taesan was still quiet.
But in the dark, wrapped around you, he finally let himself be loud with love.
-----
The notebook changed everything.
It happened on a quiet Thursday evening, weeks after that first night together. Taesan had come in as usual, but instead of buying a new book, he placed a small, worn leather notebook on the counter.
“For you,” he said softly, ears pink. “I’ve been writing in it for a while. I think… it’s time you read it.”
You took it with careful hands. The cover was smooth, well-worn from being carried everywhere. When he left that night, he kissed your forehead gently and whispered, “Read it when you’re alone. And don’t be mad.”
You waited until you were home, curled up in bed with the lamp on low.
The first page was dated months ago — back when he was still just the quiet boy who came every Thursday.
Observation Log
Subject: The girl at the bookstore who always recommends the best poetry
Page after page was filled with his neat, elegant handwriting. Not a diary. Not love letters. Something more intimate.
She always hums the same song when she’s shelving new arrivals. It’s slightly off-key. I like it anyway.
Today she recommended “Milk and Honey” to an older woman who looked sad. She chose the right poem without being told why the woman was sad. She just knew.
Her laugh is quiet when she’s tired but bright when she’s excited about a book. I want to be the reason for the bright one more often.
Some entries were longer:
She thinks no one notices when she’s had a bad day. But her shoulders are tighter. She smiles a little less at customers. I wanted to tell her she doesn’t have to smile for me, but I’m still too scared to say anything real.
And then, near the middle, the tone shifted.
I don’t just notice her anymore.
I think about her when I’m not in the store.
I write lines that end up sounding like her voice.
Every poem I read feels like it’s missing her name.
The last few pages were different. More raw.
She kissed me tonight.
I think my heart forgot how to beat normally.
She let me stay. She held me after. I cried and she didn’t make me feel ashamed.
She says my silence doesn’t scare her. I hope she means it.
The very last page had only one paragraph, written more recently, ink slightly smudged like his hand had been shaking:
I think every story I’ve ever read eventually became about her.
Every quiet moment. Every longing. Every line about finding home in someone else.
I thought I was just observing.
But I was falling.
I am in love with her.
And I’m terrified she’ll read this and realize I’m too much.
Below it, in smaller, almost hesitant handwriting:
I think every story became about you eventually.
You found him the next morning.
Taesan was waiting outside your apartment building, hands in his coat pockets, looking more nervous than you’d ever seen him. The moment he saw you holding the notebook, he froze.
“I know it’s a lot,” he said quickly, voice unsteady. “I know it’s weird that I wrote all of that. I wasn’t trying to be creepy, I just… I didn’t know how to tell you. So I put it in the only language I know how to speak.”
You stepped forward and kissed him.
Taesan melted instantly, hands coming up to cup your face as he kissed you back with quiet desperation. When you pulled away, his eyes were glassy.
“I’m not scared of how much you notice,” you whispered. “I love it. I love you.”
His breath hitched. A single tear slipped down his cheek before he could stop it.
“I love you too,” he said, voice breaking. “So much it felt dangerous to say out loud.”
You pulled him into a tight hug right there on the sidewalk. He held you like you were the only real thing in his world.
“I don’t want to be just the quiet boy who buys poetry anymore,” he whispered into your hair. “I want to be yours.”
You smiled against his shoulder.
“You already are.”
-----
The breaking point came quietly, as most things with Taesan did.
It started with a misunderstanding.
One Thursday, Jun — the chatty literature major — came in again. He lingered longer than usual, talking animatedly about a new manga collection. You laughed at one of his jokes, bright and friendly as always. Taesan arrived at his usual time and saw the entire interaction from the doorway.
He didn’t say anything.
He bought his books in silence, left a short note, and disappeared without the usual lingering walk home.
The note read:
You looked happy. I’m glad. — taesan
It felt like a goodbye.
You found him two days later on the rooftop of the arts building, the same place where he sometimes went to think. He was sitting on the ledge, notebook open on his lap, but he wasn’t writing. He looked smaller than usual, shoulders curved inward.
“Taesan,” you called softly.
He flinched at your voice but didn’t turn around.
“I saw you with him again,” he said, voice quiet and painfully even. “You were laughing. Really laughing. And I just… stood there. Like always.”
You walked closer.
“I thought maybe I was imagining things,” he continued, still not looking at you. “That I was being too much again. That you’d eventually get tired of the quiet boy who only knows how to love through notes and songs and small observations.”
He finally turned. His eyes were red-rimmed.
“I’m scared I’m not enough for you,” he whispered. “That one day you’ll want someone louder. Someone who can say things easily. Someone who doesn’t need a notebook to tell you how they feel.”
The raw honesty cracked something open in you.
You stepped forward and took his face in your hands.
“You are more than enough,” you said fiercely. “You notice things no one else does. You love in ways that feel like poetry. I don’t want loud. I want you.”
Taesan’s breath hitched. A tear slipped down his cheek.
“I love you,” he said, voice breaking. “I love you so much it hurts to breathe sometimes. I love the way you organize the shelves. I love how you always save the last bookmark for the shy customers. I love how you make me feel seen without forcing me to speak. I love you in every quiet way I know how.”
He kissed you then — desperate, emotional, years of silent longing finally given sound.
You ended up in his dorm room.
The door had barely closed before clothes were being shed. Taesan’s hands trembled as he touched you, but there was a new confidence underneath the vulnerability.
“Can I… please?” he whispered, always asking, even now.
You pulled him down onto the bed.
This time it was raw. Emotional. Healing.
Taesan took his time, kissing every inch of you like he was rewriting his fears into devotion. When he finally pushed inside you, he buried his face in your neck, hips rolling deep and slow.
“I love you,” he gasped with every thrust. “I love you. I love you.”
Tears slipped down his cheeks again. You kissed them away, legs wrapped around him, pulling him impossibly closer.
You switched later — you on top, riding him while he looked up at you with wet, adoring eyes. His hands gripped your hips, but his touch was reverent.
When you both came, it was together — trembling, clinging, whispering “I love you” like a promise.
Afterward, Taesan held you tightly, refusing to let go even as he cleaned you up. He curled around you in bed, face pressed into your neck, breathing you in.
“I’m sorry I got scared,” he whispered.
You stroked his hair gently. “We’ll get scared together from now on.”
He smiled against your skin — small, real, and full of quiet joy.
Taesan was still quiet, still observant, but now his love was no longer hidden between book pages. It was in the way he waited for you after every shift, in the handwritten notes he left on your pillow, in the way he looked at you like you were the only poem he’d ever need.
Your first official date was simple and perfect.
He took you to a small hidden bookstore café on a Sunday afternoon. The two of you spent hours browsing shelves together, shoulders brushing, sharing earbuds as always. Taesan would occasionally pull a book off the shelf, read a line quietly to you, then look up with that small, shy smile when you reacted.
Later, you sat at a corner table with warm drinks. Taesan reached across and gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.
“I used to come here alone and imagine what it would be like if you were sitting across from me,” he admitted softly. “Now you’re really here.”
You leaned over the table and kissed him, slow and sweet, right there in the café. He smiled against your lips — the kind of smile that made the whole world feel warmer.
The relationship was gentle, but deeply passionate.
One rainy night, after closing the bookstore together, Taesan pulled you into the back room where the old reading nook was. He laid you down on the oversized beanbag chair and loved you slowly, reverently, whispering observations between every kiss and thrust.
“You’re so beautiful when you’re falling apart for me,” he gasped, hips rolling deep. “I’ve dreamed about this sound… the way you say my name.”
You switched, riding him while he looked up at you with glassy, adoring eyes, hands gripping your thighs like you were his anchor. When you both came, he held you close, tears slipping down his cheeks again — not from fear this time, but from overwhelming love.
“I’m so happy,” he whispered afterward, voice hoarse. “I never thought I’d get to have this.”
The cute moments piled up.
Picnic in the park — Taesan packed tiny sandwiches and your favorite poetry book. He read to you while you rested your head in his lap, fingers playing with his hair.
Late night drives — He bought a second pair of earbuds so you could both listen without sharing. You’d drive around the city at 2 a.m., singing off-key to his playlists while he smiled at you like you hung the moon.
Photo booth dates — He always made the last frame serious — cupping your face and kissing you deeply while the camera flashed.
Bookstore closing rituals — He helped you shelve books, then pulled you into the back room for soft, stolen kisses among the poetry stacks.
One quiet evening, months later, you found him in the poetry section writing in a new notebook. When you approached, he closed it quickly, cheeks pink.
“Another one?” you teased.
He nodded, then handed it to you.
The first page read:
“Better Than Fiction”
— for the girl who turned every quiet moment into poetry
You flipped through it, tears gathering in your eyes. Page after page was filled with observations, love notes, and tiny poems about you.
At the very end, in his neat handwriting:
I used to think love was something you observed from afar.
Then I met you.
Now I understand every love poem ever written.
I love you in every quiet way.
And I will keep choosing you, every Thursday, every day, for the rest of my life.
You looked up at him, tears slipping down your cheeks.
Taesan stepped closer, gently wiping them away with his thumbs.
“I’m still not very loud,” he whispered. “But I will always be loud about loving you.”
You pulled him into a deep kiss right there between the shelves.
When you finally pulled back, you smiled brightly.
“Good. Because I love my quiet poet exactly as he is.”
Taesan’s smile was small, shy, and devastatingly happy.
He was still the quiet observer.
But now, he was yours.
And every story you read together from that day on felt like it had been written just for the two of you.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
SUMMARY: After accepting that your long distance idol boyfriend probably won’t make it to your graduation, you’re shocked to see such a familiar face after the ceremony!
WC: 2.4k
DISCLAIMERS: angst / fluff !!!!! this is explicitly for my best friend in the entire world. my eni. u da goat ok???? themes of long distance relationship!!!! andddd private bc he idol ok? ok.
You had spent your entire morning pretending it didn't bother you. Every time one of your friends asked if your boyfriend was coming, you just smiled and shrugged like it wasn't a big deal — even though your stomach twisted every single time with a sharp, nauseating pull that made you want to excuse yourself and hide somewhere quiet.
Dating Kim Jongseob meant learning how to swallow disappointment gracefully, smile through the ache, and to love someone whose life would never quite have room for you the way you needed.
Schedules changed constantly, last minute practices appeared out of nowhere. Sometimes all you got at the end of the day was a sleepy five-minute phone call before he passed out mid-sentence, his breathing evening out while you whispered "I love you" to silence.
But despite it all, you still knew how much he loved you — and how much he wanted to be there.
God, you knew and that made it hurt so much worse.
He'd been talking about your graduation for months, voice bright with excitement every time he brought it up because he was proud of how you’ve made it this far and fought all the many battles that had set you back.
He wanted pictures of you in your cap and gown. He wanted to buy you flowers, and sit through the painfully long ceremony just to hear your name called for five seconds, and be the one cheering the loudest when you walked across that stage.
But three nights ago, he'd called sounding exhausted and guilty all at once, and you'd known before he even said it.
"I don't think I can make it." His voice cracked slightly on the last word.
And even though your chest burned and disappointment crashed through you so violently you had to press your palm against your sternum to breathe — you still told him it was okay immediately.
Of course it was okay... you loved him too much to make him feel worse about something he couldn't control and you loved him enough to break your own heart quietly so his wouldn't hurt more than it already did.
"It's okay, my love. Really. I understand."
"I'm so sorry—"
"Don't apologize. You can't help it."
But you'd cried after hanging up — so hard that your roommate knocked on your door asking if you were alright… and then it all piled at once. You cried for him and you cried for yourself. You cried because you were so tired of understanding and you cried from the exhaustion of being the supportive girlfriend who never complained.
And you felt guilty for even feeling that way.
He worked so hard and had sacrificed so much.. so who were you to demand his presence when his dreams required everything from him?
So now, sitting in the sea of graduates while the ceremony dragged on endlessly beneath the hot afternoon sun, you tried focusing on literally anything else, like the speeches that blurred together into meaningless noise, or the friends around you that had been fanning themselves with their programs, and even the several cords and sashes that sat around your neck, playing with them between your fingers.
You tried not to look at the audience of families, friends and loved ones, but naturally, your eyes searched for him everywhere you went, even when you knew he wouldn't be there.
Even when you'd accepted his absence, your heart still looked for him like a compass pointing north.
The sun beat down mercilessly, and your gown stuck to your skin underneath, but you barely noticed at this point. You were too busy trying not to think about how this was supposed to be your day, but it felt pointless without the person who supported you through it all.
When your name was finally called, applause echoed around you as you walked across the stage with a practiced smile, accepting your diploma while cameras flashed from the crowd. The moment should have felt triumphant. But instead, it felt hollow.
You spotted your family immediately high up in the crowd, their proud faces beaming — your close friends beside them too, screaming your name enthusiastically.
But still no Jongseob.
For a second, disappointment hit harder than you expected. It was a physical blow that made your smile falter, and your eyes sting with tears you absolutely could not shed in front of hundreds of people.
But it was not enough to ruin the day. Never that.. but your smile still trembled once you stepped offstage, causing you to take three deep breaths before rejoining the fellow graduates in your row..
In that moment you wondered, just for a second, if loving him was worth feeling this alone.
After the ceremony ended, the stadium exploded into cheers, music, and applause. Families flooded the lawn with bouquets and balloons while graduates hugged each other as cameras clicked nonstop..
The air smelled like crushed grass and perfume and the faint sweetness of flowers. Everyone was celebrating loudly around you, but you still felt strangely distant from it all — like you were watching your own life through frosted glass.
And just when you were in the middle of taking pictures with your friends, forcing your smile wider.. you heard your name.
And it had come from a voice you'd recognize anywhere. A voice that lived in your chest, heard in dreams, and memorized in every tone and inflection.
Your head snapped around so fast it made your heart stutter so violently against your ribs.
But there he was — standing awkwardly near the edge of the crowd in a cream hoodie and a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes, holding the most ridiculously oversized bouquet you'd ever seen in your life.
White tulips, baby's breath, and pale pink roses, your favorites, you realized with a sharp intake of breath, far too many flowers for him to realistically carry properly.
For a moment you genuinely thought you imagined him the way your vision blurred and knees went weak. It was like the whole world twisted sideways.
Jongseob’s eyes found yours instantly, and the second they did, every ounce of tension left his shoulders — as if finding you was the only thing grounding him there. You couldn't move, breathe, or do anything except stare at him like he'd magically appeared from your desperate wishes.
"I'm late," He said breathlessly when you finally reached him — your legs had forgot how to work for a moment, but they carried you to him so fast you nearly tripped over your gown.
"You came…” Was all you managed back, your voice embarrassingly small.
Something in his expression softened immediately or.. crumbled, really. He'd been holding himself together by sheer force of will and your words had undone him completely.
"Of course I came." His voice cracked. "Did you really think I wouldn't?"
And suddenly you were crying.
Tears welled up before you could stop them, hot and fast and overwhelming, because he was here. Somehow through all the schedules and managers and flights and exhaustion and every obstacle that should have kept him away, he was standing in front of you at your graduation exactly like he promised and wanted to be.
He panicked instantly the moment he saw your face crumple. "No, no, don't cry — baby, please—"
He gripped the bouquet into one arm clumsily and pulled you against him so quickly you almost laughed through your tears. His arm wrapped around your waist tightly, desperately, like he was afraid you'd disappear if he didn't hold on hard enough.
His chin pressed softly on the top of your head over your graduation cap, and you felt him exhale shakily against you — a sound of pure relief. He smelled like airport coffee and his familiar cologne that made you cry harder.
"Shhh… it’s okay." He mumbled softly, and you could hear the smile in his voice now, affectionate and teasing. "Are you upset..?"
"God, no," You sniffled against his hoodie, fingers clutching the fabric at his back. "I just — I really missed you. So much. Every day."
That completely melted him.
You felt it happen physically with the way his grip tightened around you until you could barely breathe, the quiet exhale against you that sounded almost like a sob, and the tiny kiss he pressed near your temple before remembering where you were.
His hand came up to cradle the back of your head, thumb stroking gently through your nicely styled hair tucked beneath the cap.
"I missed you too," He whispered, voice thick. "Every second. I'm so sorry I made you think I wouldn't come."
"How come you said you couldn't—"
"I lied." He pulled back just enough to look at you fully, his eyes were glassy with unshed tears. "I wanted to surprise you. I took the earliest flight. I've been awake for thirty-six hours. I was going to crawl here if I had to."
Before you said anything else, you noticed hard states and cameras from people you didn’t quite recognize. This sweet moment had convinced you so hard that for a moment this was private but.. no.
This was very public.
You let out a small smile before the two of you pulled apart at the exact same moment, suddenly aware of the attention he’s gathered.
Some were whispering already, hands covering their mouths in shock. A few students nearby had their phones out, eyes wide with recognition, fingers trembling as they tried to discreetly record. One girl looked seconds away from losing her mind entirely, gripping her friend's arm so hard her knuckles were white.
Usually, that would've been enough for Jongseob to take a couple steps back immediately. Your relationship had survived this long because you were careful since the two of you had built your love in the shadows because the light would destroy it.
But today, he looked at you like none of that mattered.
Because you were the only thing that mattered and lord, he would’ve gone crazy if he had to continue hiding the best thing in his life.
"You look really pretty," He mumbled quietly, eyes scanning over your graduation gown and cap with as much admiration. He looked so in awe, gazing at you with a love that was so overwhelming it couldn't be contained. “Sorry I was late.. I kinda missed most of your ceremony.”
You laughed weakly, wiping at your cheeks with shaking hands. "You brought enough flowers to make up for it."
"Yeah — I thought bigger would help."
"It did a little." You touched one of the tulip petals gently, and it was silk-soft against your fingertips. "They're perfect. You remembered my favorites."
"Of course I did.” He smiled. “I remember everything about you." He grinned, sweet, crooked, and so unbearably cute that your heart hurt.
He was going to be the death of you — seriously.
And maybe it was the emotions from the day finally catching up to you, or maybe it was because he looked so openly in love with you despite the crowd watching, but before you could overthink it, you reached up and fixed the chain sitting crooked beneath his hoodie collar.
Such a tiny gesture but so familiar as it was something you'd done a hundred times in private,m like in his bedroom or just in any of the quiet moments when it was the two of you and the rest of the world didn't exist.
But the look on his face afterward made your breath catch.
His eyes went soft and vulnerable, lips parting slightly like you'd done something profound instead of simply straightening his necklace. His hand came up to catch yours, pressing your palm flat against his chest where his heart was racing.
"Can I kiss you?" He asked suddenly, voice quieter now, almost nervous. God he was nervous??? He’s kissed you millions of times before yet you still had this affect.
Your eyes widened immediately. "Here?"
"I don't really care right now." His thumb stroked across your knuckles. "You're the most important person in my life, and I need to show you what that means to me."
You glanced around nervously, hearing the whispers growing louder by the second, seeing more phones appear.
"Seob… what if—"
"I don't care." His voice was firm now, certain. "I want everyone to know you're mine and how proud I am."
Your heart was going to explode. "Are you sure you’re thinking clearly—"
"I've never been more sure of anything." He stepped closer, his free hand coming up to cup your cheeks, warm and gentle and steady. "I'm proud of you. I'm so proud I could burst. And I want to kiss my girlfriend right now. Please."
Honestly? You couldn't say no to him even if you tried.
So without another word, you let him lean down carefully, one hand warm against your cheek while the other held the absurd bouquet. He kissed you sweetly right there in the middle of the field.
His lips were gentle against yours, tasting like mint chapstick and desperation and home. It was chaste yet devastating — a promise, a claim, and an apology all at once. The kind of kiss that screamed, “I’m here, I love you, and I'm never letting go.”
When he pulled back, he stayed close, nose brushing yours and breathing you in like oxygen. Your family had laughed brightly, your friends cheering you on knowing how important his presence was to you.
Beyond your close circle of special people though, there was definitely a bigger crowd watching. Somebody gasping while you could hear squeals in the distance.
But Jongseob only rested his forehead against yours afterward, smiling so brightly you thought your chest might burst, eyes crinkling with sweet joy and relief.
"Hi," He whispered, just for you.
"Hi," you whispered back, laughing through fresh tears.
"Congratulations, baby. You did it."
"We did it." You touched his face gently, thumb brushing his cheekbone. "You helped me through so much from miles away. I couldn’t do this without you.”
"That’s what I’m here for.” He promised. "I’m yours. Always."
By the time photos hit social media that night, neither of you bothered hiding anymore.
Especially when every picture captured the same thing so clearly anyway: The way he looked at you like making it there was the most important milestone this year and the way you looked at him like he'd hung every star in the sky just for you.
💌 mika’s message! HAPPY GRAADDDD SEASSONNNN!!! everybody congratulate eni now. i’m proud of my girl ok? airing out her business lowk but idgaf. HEHEHEHEHE been a min since i wrote straight up fluff too. i’m ngl ive had this in the works since monday, i just got to work deadass during my shift in the fitting room so :P derp idk. ok bye ily.
sexy people get tagged: @seobmoji @chccnne @endoll @aesprn @wonwounds @ericlvr @hardbeingcasual @applewormz @kyoluvrs @theosflower @seobsongz @xionvlog @sugaryemma @kamxstar @frambesitos
omg hakiee never apologize i LOVE hearing your thoughts!
top riwoo switch myugjae omggggg something is happening in my brain. i actually need to be in between them so bad.
riwoo telling jaehyun eat you out and then pushing him to the side so he can fuck you while jaehyun watches with the most obvious boner ever. sucking jaehyun off while riwoo fucks you. getting fingered by riwoo while you jerk jaehyun off and overstimulating each other because riwoo is the one who decides when you stop. it’s probably loud asf too whenever the three of you go at it. like LOUD moaning and whining the whole nine yards.
2087
dededos
annaxmalina
baratheonpilled
turnnoffyourmind
ellievsbear
