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solkver · 20 days ago

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the concept of you ⋆˚｡⋆

#%! oneshot (1,651) words #%! mark lee x gn!reader

synopsis .ᐟ writer!mark experiencing a writers block before a due project and gets frustrated bc he thought he hadn't looked hard enough when in fact, all he needed was to look in front of him (you).

content warning .ᐟ not much dialogue, feelings realization, love from a writer's (mark) pov, super sappy, lots of romance!!!, fluff, mild profanity, extremely self indulgent

Every writer needs their muse, their motivation. an inspiration, anything. Mark had too many thoughts, too many things to write about but none trivial enough. or maybe he just hadn't looked hard enough, or in front of him, at that.

He had a project due in two days and his paper is blank. Not even a pen mark. He had looked everywhere, anywhere. At anything. He had looked inside, and out. He’d seen multiple things but none stuck. He could write about the grievances of stray dogs. He could write about the neverending push and pull of chasing your dreams.

He could write about love, but ultimately it’ll not be as accurate. He has yet to even feel love himself.

The possibilities were endless. But none of them seemed to strike him enough. To leave an impression. None of them were compelling enough.

Mark is sitting completely idle at his study desk, your nightstand the only source of light in your room. He’s absolutely defeated. He won't be able to write anything and then he’ll lose his job and he’ll be miserable for life.

No you won't. A voice inside his head had said, strangely it sounded a lot like someone he knew. He couldn't quite pinpoint who, but it rang a familiar gentleness.

Before he even knows it, he’s pulling his phone out of his back pocket and haphazardly typing a quick ‘coffee?’ to a contact he visits way too often than he’d like to admit.

And when an instant reply of ‘sure! meet you at the usual’ pops up, Mark is quick to his feet and already throwing a coat on. He grabs at his keys and his wallet before hesitating on his journal. Surely he wouldn't need it there, right? Right.

He's walking out of his door when he feels giddiness surge through him. A slight buzz in his bones he couldn't quite get rid of no matter how many deep breaths he'd taken. A little jump in steps, and a thin smile on his face. He was excited to see you.

By the time he reaches the coffee shop you frequent, he’s already shaking. From the cold air of spring, or excitement. Or both.

“Hi” you smile over at Mark when he takes a seat, his freckles soft against his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. Spring really brings it out “hey” Mark echoes back.

Mark asks what you’d like to get, as if he hasn't had it memorized that he could write the exact order down with his eyes closed “you know what I get” Mark smiles, a shy blush on the tips of his ears “yeah, I do” he says with a giggle, making you do the same.

He just wanted to make sure. Sure of what? If he still knew everything about you.

Mark didn't need long conversations, or deep talks. Your presence was enough. The familiarity of everything else in between and the knowing glances thrown at one another.

Or maybe it was the fact that you’d always have a fun little story to tell. A small incident that somehow you’re able to turn into a much longer story. It's okay. Mark had always been a listener kind of guy. You didn't need him to say anything to know he was listening. It was the way his eyes would never leave yours, or the way he laughs softly at your witty remarks.

And when Mark returns with both your orders, you’re already shaking in your seat to tell Mark your rendezvous from yesterday. All is normal, he’s leaned back on his chair, both hands engulfing his coffee in hopes to gain a little warmth.

His thoughts then trained back to his paper due in two days. Which brings him into a slight panic. He’s only now realizing he can’t be wasting time like this. Not that he thinks being around you is a waste of time. But you get his point.

He watches you make gestures with your hands, maybe to reenact whatever story you're telling. He watches the way your lips move and the way it creases up into a smile every time something funny happens— you always cover your laugh behind your hand. He wishes you’d stop that, your smile was beautiful— He watches the way your cheeks get a pretty shade of pink when an embarrassing detail slips up.

Has he always noticed these things? He's an observant guy. Of course he is. It's the heart of being a writer; observing and interpreting. But had he always been this observant to you?

He knows your favourite color, your favourite show. He knows when you're upset, when you’ve achieved something you just can't keep the excitement in. He knows your house inside out, probably the same way you do to his. Heck, he knows your exact coffee order. Who even does that?

Mark does, obviously. He's seated in front of you, no fucking clue what you're talking about anymore because he's too caught up in absorbing every little detail on your face. He laughs at something you said, but it doesn't quite process inside his head. He's laughing because you're laughing.

And maybe that's it. Mark laughs when you laugh. Mark cries just as hard as you do regardless if he knows the reason. He walks with you in absolute silence with no intention of breaking it. Mark sleeps on a futon next to your bed whenever you ask him to. Mark would’ve given you the moon if you asked. He would've given it even if you didn't ask.

If Mark was asked what he didn't like about you, he’d be able to list down a maximum of five things. He didn't like how you never finish your food. He didn't like how you don't dry your hair before going to bed. He didn't like how you think it's okay for an animal to hurt you because at least then, you were able to pet it.

But Mark, those were only 4. He doesn't know the fifth one just yet. He doesn't look for it, either. He likes to think about what he likes about you.

He likes the way all your teeth show when you smile. He likes the way you link arms with him when walking down the street. He likes listening to you talk for hours on end. He likes it when he knows you’d always call him first. He likes it when you shine in the things that you love doing. He likes it when you–

And oh. Oh. There were many things Mark liked about you. Too much, really. But he realizes, when you break his train of thought to tell him “mark, I have to go soon. I have too meet up with someone”

The fifth thing he didn't like about you, was the fact that he couldn't never tell if you liked him the way he does.

I like you in what way? Mark’s eyes grow positively three times its size. He doesn't know if it's from the realization that he likes you, or from what you just told him.

Mark is in panic now. He can't possibly let you leave, let you go. “What? Who?” You watch Mark scramble to put his coffee down, eyes shaking trying to watch your every move.

The sight makes you giggle, “I still have work, mark. I was just on break” and Mark is standing. He's standing and walking next to your chair, hands trying to look for pockets to shove it in “I could walk you to your building..?”

God he's so awkward and obvious. You grab your coat and stood next to him, your arm already linking on his “sure. you can walk me out of the café” Mark seems to nod at that, walking with you out the shop, before it dawns on him what that meant.

Before he even knows it, you’ve both already exited the shop. He's panicking again, his hands getting clammy and awkward. You laugh at him, “I’m gonna go now, Mark” trying to pry your arm out of his hold gently.

Mark looks at you defeated, he’d already given up in trying to sabotage your little meet up with whoever and he hasn't even done much to prevent it at all “m’kay..”

He's so annoyingly endearing and obviously you can’t help but laugh at him. Head thrown back and all. Mark looks at you puzzled. What’s funny?

It takes you a minute to recover, nearly tearing up. Just as you take a step away, a thought passes just as fast as the breeze. You hum, if Mark wasn't going to do it first, then you will.

You close to his face with a grin, Mark trying his best to be normal about it. You giggle once more before landing a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth, the feeling fleeting. And you're gone just as fast, laughing at Mark’s face going cherry red as you're waving goodbye, walking down the street with a hop in your step.

Mark stood immobilized. What the fuck just happened. He brings a hand to where your lips had kissed, the touch still burning his skin as if you were still there, kissing him.

He takes a tentative step away, slowly walking the opposite direction with a dazed look. His mind was far away and his eyes were unfocused. He damn near crashed into a pole and the only thing he worried about is your kiss mark disappearing.

That day, Mark had walked home and sat on his little study desk, his paper slowly filling up with words. That day, Mark had written about love. Because now, he can finally say what it felt like to be in love. And how it felt perfect because it was you, he was in love with you.

He had written about the concept of you.

I love mark lee. You love mark lee. Me and da homies all love mark lee fawk 😞❤️‍🩹

#⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ bomiten #mark lee #nct 127 #nct dream #kpop #nct fluff #romance #nct romance #nct mark #fluff

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solkver · 21 days ago

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so hey... here's the jaehee dead dove fic yall.....

TEACHERS PET ⸝⸝ KIM JAEHEE

#%! smut oneshot (3,652 words) #%! bottom jaehee x top m!reader

requested by ༘⋆ anonymous

content warning ! dead dove: do not eat, age gap (30+ years), corruption kink, naive jaehee, dub-con, high schooler jaehee (he's 18), bleeding (ripping & forced penetration), student x teacher, jaehee is kind of nonverbal here lol, dacryphilia, degrading, praising, slapping, oral, choking, marking (bruises), hair pulling, no aftercare, pls read w caution

You sit inside the faculty of your department, the creak of your chair showing its age more than its well kept leather exterior. Its quiet, the desks of the other professors empty and dim. Its a not a new occurrence, however. Most of them don't arrive until lunch time.

Its five in the fucking morning— is the complain that comes out in a whisper before it even processes inside your head. But, there really isn't anyone to blame but yourself, you had whole heartedly dreamt of being a teacher. For some reason.

Nothing ever good comes from complaining, anyways.

It's a monday, your first lecture doesn't begin until 9:30 am. Which sucks entirely because what is there to do in the four and a half hours before that.

Papers I haven’t checked and graded. A voice inside your head reminds you. Or maybe it's the stack of folders on your desk that's whispering to you.

Or, maybe you’ve just gone insane. (schizophrenic, if you must)

You sigh, picking your multicolored pen from the mug that says best teacher in the world! to which you’re not sure how long you’ve had. it doesn't matter, it's filled with five of the exact same ball point pens.

It takes exactly 10 minutes of convincing yourself to just pick up the goddamn papers before you disheartenedly do so. The worst part of being a professor is this; the agony of having to read through works that are either generated by ChatGPT or pulled straight out of their asses. You can count on one hand the number of students who actually seemed like they took time out of their day to work on it.

Which isn't a lot. But it's better none. (you have to convince yourself multiple times a day with this exact same sentence)

How many minutes had passed (our hours, you haven’t really checked) is a mystery. But your stomach is rumbling and your buttocks are aching just enough to tell that it has been a while.

Just as you stretch your arms and push yourself up from your seat, a knock echoes through the empty faculty. It takes at least ten seconds for you to respond, the idea of a student at the faculty is scrutinizing. Because surely a teacher wouldn't knock to enter.

Maybe it was the lack of response, or the fact that a student at the faculty must mean it’s urgent. (Because when has a student ever willingly brought themselves to the one place that is surrounded by teachers?) The knob twists slowly and the door’s hinges squeak as a head of thick tousled hair peeks through the gap.

A sigh was heard when the boy’s eyes met yours, “thank goodness you’re here, sir” he welcomed himself with steady steps towards your desk where you stand immobilized.

You recognize him, he's a student in your third? fourth? period lecture but his name hasn't quite matched inside your head, a jumble of 300 other student’s names scatter to match his face.

“I, uhm,” the boy begins, one of his hands fidgeting around his crisp necktie “I’m kim daeyoung, from your 4th period” he smiles crooked, his eyes darting everywhere.

Oh, so his name is kim daeyoung. You don't seem to remember a failing grade under his name or anything else he must've done to bring him here in the faculty at— you glance at the wall clock hanging above the door— six in the morning.

The boy, daeyoung, scratched at his nape “I think I must've submitted the wrong paper, sir. and I really need it for my 2nd period”

Its only then you realize that he's been holding on to three papers stapled to one another with what you try to make out to be your name scribbled on the blank next to the PROFESSOR:

You twist your head to look at the stack of your 4th period papers, Kim Daeyoung written at the top. Ah, you were yet to see his work and get utterly upset that the wrong paper had been submitted. Cuts you the trouble of looking for him, or the professor in charge of his 2nd period, at least.

You reach a hand out to his paper, “you don't seem like the type to get your things mixed up,” you comment, (unsolicited, by the way. who gives a shit what he looked like?) like a stereotypical teacher. Daeyoung’s eyes drop down to his shiny black shoes. He looks like a kicked puppy. What the hell.

“I was in a rush when you asked to submit the papers, I-I must've handed the wrong one” to which, he obviously did. because he's already said so earlier and why else would he be here. You’re surprised at the sound of papers crunching and suddenly at eye level with you.

He’s fucking bowing and apologizing. Jesus christ. “I’m sorry, sir. I promise it wont happen again” and he's standing back up again, eyes glassy and papers creasing around his fingers from the grip.

Was the apology necessary? Not at all. But it did ignite a small flame of pride inside your chest. It's not everyday you see a student willingly apologize for a minor mistake they made themselves.

A sudden urge gnaws at the back of your head, a desire to see just how far you can push this boy’s limit “I don’t know, daeyoung,” you fake a sorrowful hum, sitting back down on your chair and clicking the red knob of your multicolored pen.

“What would happen if I already graded your 2nd period paper?” And it's like the light in his eyes disappeared and all the blood in his face had drained. Absolute terror and fear in his features. He’s so transparent.

Daeyoung starts scrambling to walk over your desk and hand you his papers, a shake in his voice present “sir lee would kill me” he’s so mean and inconsiderate is what he really wanted to say. But for the sake of keeping face, he ultimately decided not to.

You chuckle, oh you're well accustomed to sir lee, in fact. Poor boy. Sir lee is a terror teacher.

You sigh and drop it, gracing the boy some sympathy at the very least, you aren't cruel after all. “Fine” you conclude, retracting your pen and handing him his papers as he carefully flattens the right homework down on your desk “I’m letting you off this time because I’m hungry and you have class in,” you look at the wall clock once again, “fifteen minutes”

Daeyoung’s eyes are blown wide, nearly straining a muscle in his neck to whip his head around and read the clock. He did, in fact, had fifteen— no— fourteen minutes left before first period.

“But the next time you inconvenience me like this, it won’t be as easy” daeyoung looks at you like you’ve hung the galaxy above his head, damn these kids. He bows full body and exclaims a joyous thank you, sir! before grabbing his 2nd period papers and dashing out the door.

So much for breakfast. At least now you’ve got a student to pester for the rest of their life (which you're not quite sure why is a good thing, at least you have something to look forward to every 4th period)

✄┈┈┈┈ march 17, 2025 — 3:28 pm.

As true to your word as you are, it is quite hard to torment a good student in nature. So when an opportunity presents itself to you, who are you to take it for granted?

Daeyoung enters his fourth period exactly 7 minutes late. Tousled hair, uniform askew and his necktie flipped. The classroom erupts in whispers, oh so perfect student daeyoung is late, of course they’ll talk.

Daeyoung is panting while holding the door open, your eyebrow quirking up him “kim daeyoung, you're late”

Daeyoung heaves a couple big breaths before bowing, his hair flopping around his head in the motion “I apologize, sir. It will not happen again”

“Hm,” you smile, a gracious pretend of pondering, this could be the perfect opportunity to cause havoc in his life “detention after class”

The class gasps in hushed voices, being late isn’t a reason to be in detention, much more likely under daeyoung name. The boy looks at you with pitiful eyes, his head nodding once and answers with an I understand, sir.

By the time the period ends and detention comes, daeyoung is spent. You had used the entire lecture to bother the student, absolutely enjoying his agony.

When the last of the students had left, you pulled a chair out and instructed the boy to sit himself in front of the teachers desk. Daeyoung, the ever so obedient student, follows just so, sitting on the chair with his hands flat on his lap.

He speaks no words, the classroom is filled with silence. You situate yourself behind the desk, pulling late submitted homeworks out.

Here's the thing, initially this was just to waste the boy’s time, nothing more. Fuck around a little. Except, you can't help but constantly glance up, observing every move he made.

The way his chest heaved with every breath. The soft curve of his cheekbones, where a shadow of his lashes lay casted. The way his fingers are creasing his slacks from fidgeting. And then your eyes travel up to where his collar rests, his necktie loose around his neck and his shirt unbuttoned at the very top.

Almost immediately you imagine him completely without it. His big, round eyes teary as he looks up at you. His neck down to his chest littered in bites while he begs you to let him go.

It mortifies you, really. A slight twitch in your expression when it dawns at you that you're staring at him. But something different is coiling in your stomach. Something more primal, more thrilling.

It makes you wonder, what else about him is good in nature?

Has he ever been touched? Or has he ever touched anyone? Hell, he doesn't even look like he touches himself.

The thought of corrupting such a fresh, innocent boy has you reeling in your seat, your hands gesturing him to come over having a mind of its own “daeyoung, come here”

Daeyoung stands up, his feet bringing himself to you,”kneel down” you twist in your seat, now facing the boy.

His eyes darted all over the room, uncertainty swimming in his expression “but– what for, sir?”

You quirk an eyebrow up, your head tilting to the side, “you're in detention aren't you?” a small grin gracing your features, “besides, don't you want to get out of here sooner?”

Daeyoung visibly ponders, his mind rationalizing every reason he had and concluding to himself that it would be best to follow your orders. He slowly dropped to his knees, his thighs pressed firmly together as his hands lay flat. It almost brings you dejavu from earlier.

“Say,” you hum, your upper body leaning down onto your elbows, resting them on your knees, “wouldn't you want to get out of detention and not have a record of it under your name?”

Daeyoung's eyes widened, his mouth opening and closing in an attempt to answer but his words were gone. He nods his head once, still unsure whether this was alright.

You reach a hand out to him, the roughness of your palm meeting his soft, delicate cheeks. Daeyoung’s eyes are the size of saucers, your touch emitting a gasp from him.

“Then, you would do anything I say, wouldn't you, daeyoung?”

The feeling of your thumb caressing his face distracts him, his mind failing to come up with reasons to disagree and get out of this situation. His hands clench and unclench just like his jaw, visibly torn apart.

“I mean,” you sigh as you retract your hand back, eyes turning to the papers left unattended on your desk, “it's really up to you, daeyoung. I’m giving you an easy way out already” and shrug.

Nothing about your offer was easy. Daeyoung knew this, of course. He wasn't dumb enough to think it came with no conditions. But somehow, the idea had already appealed to him.

“Yes, sir. I’ll do anything”

You smirk, turning your body back to facing his kneeling figure, “anything?” you taunt, having a sliver of mercy for the boy to back out.

Daeyoung gulps, the shake in his voice betraying the determination in his eyes “anything”

The permission makes you clap in glee, the look in your eyes changing. You watch him instantly regret agreeing. “Stand up”

Daeyoung obeys almost instantly. He’s quick to his feet just as you are. With the both of you standing this close to one another, you can't help notice the differences.

The difference in height, where daeyoung has to crane his neck a little upwards to maintain eye contact. The difference in figure. There daeyoung stood with his lithe frame, no sight of hard muscle lines. He looked so small in front of you.

You walk past the boy and to the door of the classroom, his whole body following in your direction like the handles of a compass. He watches you with curiosity as you click the door’s lock.

Daeyoung’s eyes follow your every move, his own skin burning with fear and suspense. It’s when you return back to where you had originally stood did you lock eyes with him.

“Come here” you whispered, both hands holding onto his shoulders before daeyoung gasps. You had spun him around and pushed his chest flat on the desk “stay still”

Daeyoung's eyes shook, his throat closing up on him as he tried to voice out what are you doing. He hears you humming an unfamiliar tune, his body completely still.

You take a second to look at the boy in front of you, sprawled out on your desk at your will. Daeyoung jolts in goosebumps when you run a hand beneath his uniform, his skin burning against your touch.

Only then does daeyoung’s voice return to him when his pants are being pulled down to his ankles “sir- what-!” he stammers on his words, the air making contact with his bare ass.

“Didn't you say you would do anything?” You chuckle, your callused fingers digging into the flesh of his buttcheeks “I’m punishing you, daeyoung”

It doesn't quite convince daeyoung, you could tell from the way his hands scramble to find something to hold on to.

You opt to not waste time, you only have so much left before janitors start cleaning rooms out. A shriek falls from daeyoung’s mouth when the first of your strikes land on his ass. A red emblem of your hand burning deep into his skin you’re sure it’ll bruise.

A second, and third, and fourth slap lands on both his cheeks, a glowing shade of crimson slowly blooming into purple making a show. If only you could see the way daeyoung’s face is soaked with tears, eyes rimmed red and lips swollen.

“Enough of that,” you declare, your hands leaving his ass just as quick as it landed. You grab a fistfull of his hair and pull. Enough to bring the boy’s body back up to their feet, a sob falling from his lips.

It takes a great amount of effort turning daeyoung around, his entire body had gone limp in your hold. He looks at you with eyes rimmed red, tear streaks down his beautiful cheekbones.

It almost makes you pity him. Almost.

“Did that hurt, darling?” You coo, Daeyoung immediately nodding as more tears fall down. The sight makes you chuckle, “too bad”

You push him onto his back, his arms falling lifeless on the desk, his legs jolting from the burn of his ass making contact with the wood. You make a quick work of your belt and slacks, pulling your cock out before your pants even fall to your ankles.

Daeyoung moves to push you, he’s sobbing and thrashing, albeit futile. His legs and arms remain weak against his own will. He watches you spit on your palm, his eyes following the way you stroke your cock, head falling back with a hum.

“Please, I don't want this..” Daeyoung cries, no fight left in his body. The sound of his voice snaps you back, your hand leaving your dick to force a finger into his hole, another cry echoing through the empty classroom.

At this rate, somebody will hear him. You groan in annoyance, grabbing his underwear from the ground and shoving it inside daeyoung's mouth, “that’ll keep you shut”

Daeyoung is lying limp on the desk as your hand makes work with his hole, a second finger already pushing in, no finesse or gentleness whatsoever. You had one goal in mind and are determined to achieve it as soon as possible.

After a couple frustrated scissoring motions inside him, you pull your fingers out in irritation, no longer caring if it's too tight. You grab at the base of your erection, lining yourself up to his rim. The tip of your cock prodding past his tight ring was enough for you to thrust all the way in.

Daeyoung screams behind his briefs, the fabric wet with his own saliva as tears stream nonstop, the penetration was so fucking painful he feels his entire body ripped in half.

The tightness brings you to a grunt, it was far too dry but pulling out now would only complicate things. After a couple shallow thrusts, you retract your hips until only your tip remains inside, before slamming all the way back inside, each movement earning a muffled scream from the boy beneath you.

It doesn't matter, you're already so worked up and rock hard. You begin thrusting despite the struggle to do so, his hole gripping you like a vice. A hand makes its way to daeyoung’s throat, your fingers gripping the expanse of his muscle, his eyes rolling back.

Surely enough, he loosens just enough to not hurt your dick, and you find your rhythm, ruthlessly pounding into his ass, no consideration for the boy's pleasure. It was a punishment, after all.

Daeyoung feels on fire. He backside throbbed in pain and he feels like he's been torn right down the middle. His vision appeared with specs of white from the lack of oxygen entering his body. His hands clawing at your wrist to let go, I can’t breathe.

You pay no mind, even pressing further as your hips move rapidly, drilling into him. A sudden warm slick engulfs you from his inside, making the slide much easier. You spare no attention to it, however, already leaning into the boy’s ear “what? are you getting wet for me like a fucking girl?”

Daeyoung thrashes, head tossing from side to side, he’s not a girl. “Think I fucked your ass so hard it turned into a pussy?” You laugh, the sound resonating within the room however it held no humour to it.

Daeyoung wants to scream, to run. He wants to push you off of him and run home where he's safe. He wants to yell at you no! it hurts, I hate this! But every attempt falls to deaf ears.

You feel the burn in your stomach, the familiar coil however different. It wasn't the same you get when you’re at home sitting in front of your computer, half hard cock in your hands as you make work. It wasn’t the same you get when you run into the nearest bathroom stall to tug at your erection, the image of the girls in skirts running around, allowing you a glimpse of their pastel colored panties

No, it was different. This was far more intense, your balls hanging painfully hard. Your thrust begins to falter, slowly losing its rhythm and snapping in jolts the closer you get to your orgasm. You look down to where you remain connected with daeyoung, instantly cursing under your breath “shit”

Daeyoung wasn’t wet and you hadn't fucked his hole into a pussy. He was bleeding. Your dick had torn him enough that he's bleeding all over your shaft, the tinge of iron filling your nostrils. It was so fucking hot that the view of your dick covered in his blood was enough to bring you to your orgasm, pushing your hips flush to daeyoung’s ass, your cock pulsing inside him as your cum comes in spurts.

You remain still, giving slow and shallow thrusts to ride out your high before pulling out and letting go of his throat, the scene in front of you was something off your twisted fantasies.

There on the desk lay daeyoung’s body, limp and unmoving. His eyes barely open and his soaked briefs falling from his mouth. His hair was splayed messily above him as his face was stained with tears and drool. And the best of it all, was your cum slowly trickling out of his gaping hole as blood mixes with it.

You’d love to get a picture, really, but at the glance of the clock, you're quick to your feet, grabbing handfuls of tissue to wipe the blood and cum off of your softening dick, before getting dressed just a fast.

You take one last look at Daeyoung, observing his chest heaving. Thank goodness. Before traveling down to his stomach where he sees his completely flaccid dick spurt small amounts of cum. The sight makes you laugh, a hand flying to tap on the boy’s face before slapping his limp groin, “and here you are saying you didn't want this”

Daeyoung doesn't even process the feeling of the slap, or the words you had just said, or the sound of the door shutting and leaving. It only dawns on him everything that happened like a fever dream when he hears a woman's voice scream, who he assumed was a janitor finding him in the same position you had left him in.

well 🤓 how do we like it........ watch me end up on jaeheeprotect in twt LMAAOOO also not proof-read bc writing this alone took a week so I got hella fucking lazy, I apologize for grammatical and spelling errors 🙏🏻 also no tags for this becoz idk if they fw dd:dne..

#⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ bomiten #𐔌 . ⋮ 𝓻equests .ᐟ ִֶָֹ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐ 𖦹 ₊˚#kim daeyoung #kim jaehee #nct wish #male reader #smut #dead dove do not eat

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