#yeon si eun

[k1mbe3rly]

DO YOU DO P LINKS REQS FOR WEAK HERO … if so i would like to request for sieun!!!!!!

Yeon sieun twitter links

studying gone wrong

riding him

distracting him

jerking him off in the car

he likes to take control

playing with his cock

certified pussy eater

a study break

[justchillgurl]

This is so real😭

[sugasburneracc]

She’s not wrong 😭😭

my sister's comment on the first clip i ever sent her of weak hero 😭

[almostwisegalaxy]

I'm starting ✋🏾:

"how to go back to sleeping properly after losing your boyfi." ༎ຶ⁠‿⁠༎ຶ

Weak hero class fanfictions

[juliettejwnewinesa]

After Hours – Part X: Ashes

Pairing: Si-eun x Reader (Weak Hero Class) Word Count: ~1.3k Warnings: Continued dark themes, possessive behavior, manipulation, trauma, gun violence, emotional tension, implied violence, dubcon-adjacent undertones, aggressive behavior, obsession, unhealthy coping, post-trauma dissociation, mention of blood, intense psychological stakes, cliffhanger ending.

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The silence after the shot wasn’t real.

Not to Si-eun.

It pressed into his ears, thick and pulsing, like blood underwater. Like the whole world had been muted except for the sound of his own breathing. Harsh. Ragged. Too alive.

Your eyes were open.

Too wide.

Too full.

And they were only on him.

Not the blood.

Not the body.

Not the gun, still warm in his hand.

Only him.

His name left your lips like a whisper you were afraid would shatter the air.

“…Si-eun.”

He didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Just stared at you like he was still waiting for the moment you’d finally back away. Look at him and see something monstrous. Something unfixable. Something beyond love.

But you didn’t move, either.

And that was worse.

Because if you didn’t run—

If you still wanted him—

Then all the fury he’d carried for years suddenly had nowhere else to go.

He dropped the gun.

Not gently.

It clattered to the ground with a cold finality, and his knees followed.

Collapsed.

Bent like his spine had finally snapped under the weight of everything he never said.

His voice, when it came, was a rasp.

“I’m not sorry.”

You blinked.

He looked up at you like he was daring you to flinch.

“I’m not sorry I killed him,” he said again, louder this time. “I should’ve done it sooner.”

You knelt in front of him before you could think.

Hands hovering—shaking—unsure where to touch.

His face was pale, jaw clenched so tight it looked like it might crack. His eyes were glossy, unfocused, like his soul hadn’t caught up with his body yet.

“Look at me,” you whispered.

He did.

And fuck, it wrecked you.

Because Si-eun didn’t look dangerous now.

He looked empty.

Hollowed out from the inside, like whatever had been keeping him standing all these years had finally burned out.

“I didn’t want you to see that part of me,” he said quietly. “The one that doesn’t stop. The one that doesn’t think. The one that kills.”

“I did see it,” you replied. “And I didn’t look away.”

His throat worked around a silent sob.

“I wanted to protect you,” he said. “I wanted to be better than him.”

“You are,” you insisted, grabbing his face. “Si-eun, you are—”

He surged forward and kissed you.

Hard. Brutal. Like the world was ending and your mouth was the only thing that could bring him back from the edge.

It wasn’t sweet.

It was fire and teeth and desperation.

He pushed you back, not to hurt, but to consume—until you were flat on your back and he was above you, breathing like a dying man finally found oxygen.

“Let me have you,” he choked. “Please. I need to know you’re still mine.”

You didn’t hesitate.

Because you were.

You always were.

And if the only way to bring him back was through this—through touch, through skin, through the raw honesty of your bodies tangled together—then you would let him take every part of you.

Even the broken ones.

Especially the broken ones.

He kissed down your throat, hands shaking as they pulled at your clothes—not gentle, not careful, but not cruel either. He wasn’t trying to seduce you.

He was trying to feel you.

Prove you were real.

Prove you hadn’t vanished like everything else in his life.

“I can’t breathe unless you’re touching me,” he whispered against your skin. “I feel like I’m drowning. Like he’s still in the room. Like if I stop touching you, I’ll forget who I am again.”

You reached for his jaw, eyes burning.

“You’re Si-eun,” you whispered. “You’re mine. And I’m not going anywhere.”

He bit down on your collarbone.

Not hard.

Just enough to mark.

To brand.

To remind himself this wasn’t a dream.

You gasped, back arching beneath him, and he moaned—like the sound was enough to make him stay tethered to the earth.

“Say it again,” he begged.

“I’m yours.”

His mouth moved lower, trailing kisses down your chest, slow but messy, fingers fumbling with your waistband like he couldn’t get close enough fast enough. His touch was reverent and needy at once—one hand cradling your hip, the other sliding between your thighs, mouth hovering just above your skin like he was waiting for permission.

“You have it,” you whispered, threading your fingers into his hair. “You don’t have to ask.”

And that broke him again.

This time, into something softer.

More human.

More desperate.

He laid you bare like he was peeling away armor, kissing every inch like a bruise that needed mending. There was no rhythm. No control. Just aching vulnerability disguised as hunger.

He didn’t rush.

But he didn’t hold back, either.

He made love to you like it was the only language he still spoke.

And you let him—met him—gave yourself to the shattered boy with blood on his hands and your name in his mouth.

Because Si-eun wasn’t a monster.

He was a weapon someone else had forged and left behind.

And you were the only one who saw the hands behind the blade.

Afterward, he didn’t move.

Just held you.

Wrapped around you like he still thought you might vanish.

You stroked his hair.

Whispered his name again and again until his breath evened out and his grip loosened.

Not because he didn’t need you anymore—

But because he finally believed you’d stay.

taglist~@kkarisdrafts @alwaysgenerousvoid @kingsoowolves @kixxxm16@kkarisdrafts @mirwors @shadowmoonlight0604 @xh01bri

[leavemeuntold]

suho is literally everywhere in whc2. he’s in the boy sleeping at the table in the back of sieun’s new classroom. he’s in gotak, teaching juntae to fight. he’s in baku’s touchiness and fierce protectiveness. he’s in juntae, who talks with his mouth full. he’s in the boxing ring sieun sits in the corner of in his dreams. he’s in sieun’s sleepless nights and his evenings at the hospital. in gotak and juntae’s persistent doorbell ringing that sieun hears from his bedroom, and the split-second spark of hope in his expression that it might be suho. he’s the driving force when the time comes for sieun to make a crucial decision—to help juntae, to refuse to fight at first, but then do it in the end still, to accept the boys’ friendship, to let fun and laughter into his life again, to wake up from his well-deserved sleep and go back to his friends and suho. he’s in the way sieun smiles differently around his new friends, and that familiar smile at the very end that he only saves for suho.

while the narrative keeps suho alive through these subtleties and implicities, sieun keeps his spirit alive explicitly. he goes to him, he talks to him, he writes to him, he lets himself be led and taught by him, despite his unconscious state. he’s still sieun’s best friend and his guiding light. he’s his heart and his home. he is all over whc2, and not as a ghost haunting the narrative, but as the soul of sieun’s story.

[aleese1111]

homework and heart | yeon sieun x neighbour!reader

summary: yeon sieun is just trying to get through a study session without losing his sanity, but his lifelong neighbor makes that impossible—armed with sarcasm, zero personal space boundaries, and a habit of falling asleep on his arm mid-math problem. they argue like enemies, act like friends, and care like something they won’t admit.

warnings: [fluff fluff fluff] , mutual but unspoken romantic feelings .

author's note: i just know sieun would treat his girl like a delicate flower. everything about him (apart from his psycho tendencies) screams gentleman. the reader is sort of a tsundere or something. wrote this while listening to [ My Love Mine All mine - Mitski] . requests

“your handwriting looks like a drunk spider fell in love with a pen,” she said, peering over si-eun’s shoulder.

si-eun didn’t glance up. “you’ve said that before.”

“yeah, and it hasn’t improved.”

“you’re here for math help, not calligraphy critique.”

“i’m here for the free heating,” she declared, collapsing onto his bed like it owed her rent. “your floor heating is elite. i feel like a warm croissant.”

si-eun exhaled through his nose. “you’re supposed to finish the worksheet i gave you.”

“you’re supposed to stop being a fun vacuum,” she shot back, flipping onto her stomach and burying her face in his pillow. “why do you smell like laundry detergent and sad?”

he ignored that. “that’s page two. the functions review.”

she groaned into the pillow, her voice muffled. “why are you like this?”

“efficient?”

“emotionally unbothered.”

“that’s not a flaw.”

“it is when your only reaction to my suffering is to hand me a pencil.”

she sat up and tossed said pencil at him. he caught it midair without even turning his head.

“show-off,” she muttered.

“you threw it with the force of a butterfly.”

“rude. accurate, but rude.”

they sat in silence for a moment—her pretending to work, him actually working—until she groaned again and fell dramatically across the table, narrowly missing his open notebook.

“i give up. i’m becoming a flower shop cashier. i’ll name the succulents and everything.”

“you hate plants.”

“they hate me first. it’s mutual.”

“finish number five.”

“no.”

sieun said her name.

“make me.”

he leaned back in his chair, expression flat. “do your homework.”

she leaned forward, matching his energy. “make me.”

their faces were inches apart now, eyes locked in a silent, petty standoff.

“childish,” he murmured.

“lifeless.”

“stubborn.”

“robotic.”

“you still haven’t moved.”

“you blinked first.”

“that’s not how this works.”

“says who?”

“says logic.”

she rolled her eyes and dramatically scribbled on the worksheet. “there. number five. happy?”

he checked it. “that’s number six.”

“i hate you.”

“good. now do five.”

she cursed under her breath, then muttered, “you better carry my backpack at my funeral.”

“you won’t need a backpack if you fail this class.”

“then you better carry my coffin. same energy.”

si-eun glanced at her, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

she caught it and pointed. “there. you smiled. admit you like me.”

“i smiled because you said something dumb.”

“same thing.”

they didn’t look at each other after that. not directly, anyway. but she was quietly doing question five, and si-eun casually slid a bag of her favorite snacks across the table like it didn’t mean anything.

like always.

she got up without warning and dropped beside his chair, her chin resting on his arm, body invading his space like it was natural law.

“you need a break,” she muttered.

“you’re distracting.”

“good.”

he didn’t pull away. just let her stay there, still scribbling notes while her cheek pressed against the sleeve of his hoodie.

“you’re going to smudge the ink,” he murmured.

she shrugged. “you’ll rewrite it for me anyway.”

“that’s not how this works.”

she smirked. “isn’t it?”

they stayed like that, the sound of pen on paper and her breathing settling into rhythm.

she, of course, fell asleep fifteen minutes later. head still leaning against his arm, mouth slightly open, clumsy as ever.

si-eun didn’t move.

he just kept writing with one hand, while the other lightly tugged the blanket from the bed to drape over her shoulders.

outside, the sky finally decided to rain.

inside, there was peace—chaotic, uneven, stubborn peace. the kind only the two of them could create. the kind that made sense even when nothing else did.

✶ ᶻz .ᐟ ,

[chanifesto]

ᯓᡣ𐭩 mr. fix it | yeon sieun

pairing: yeon sieun x afab!reader (weak hero)

synopsis: yeon sieun was notoriously known as your program’s tech handyman. when he wasn’t hunched over calculus problem sets, sieun was busy fixing his peers' laptops, for a price of course—one that was nonexistent for you because you seemed to make his software hard.

genre: another smutty university au

word count: 6.9k

warnings: [MDNI!] explicit sexual content, grinding, making out, oral (f rec.), pussydrunk!sieun, piv sex, protected sex, many consent checks, sieun is so so gone for you, you are literally his pretty little angel, if devotion was a person it would be him, sieun can’t figure out his goddamn integral

reader notes: written with afab reader in mind. reader has breasts and a vagina. reader is described to look ‘small’ at one point. all characters are consenting and over 18 yo.

this fic was requested – thank you so much, i loved coming up with the concept .ᐟ

۶ৎ  𝑙𝑒𝑒'𝑠 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑙𝑢𝑑𝑒  ࿐ park jihoon uggghhhh need need need him. had the most exquisite time picking out the concept pictures.

“You broke it again?”

  His voice sounds flat, but there's a tinge of hope, a sense of subdued anticipation perking his last few syllables.

  Sieun stares at the half-solved integral on his desk, phone pressed to his cheek, screen cold against his skin, fingers loosely gripping the sides. The warm glow of his lamp casts a nimbus over the mess made of a barely punched in calculation and his calculus textbook, pages worn from flipping back and forth between the chapter problem sets and appendix answers. Outside his window, the campus sky is dim, too gray for six in the evening.

  “I didn’t break it!” Your voice crackles through the line, scratchy with frustration. Sieun can hear your breath over the receiver, rough and rushed.

  “It just won’t turn on,” you continue, “I don’t know what happened. I just opened my tabs, and then—dead.” 

  He exhales. “And you tried plugging it in?”

  “Yes, Sieun. I tried everything you taught me—nothing worked,” you huff, “I have an essay due Monday, and everything I need to write it is on this damn laptop.”

  You sound slightly breathless, your voice hoarse with the kind of air that clings to lungs on chilly evenings. Wind rushes past the speaker, muddling your words with static. Sieun’s ears pick up on this.

  “Where are you,” he asks, dull, but more abrupt than intended.

  You’re silent for a few beats.

  “Outside.” Another gust of wind bleeds through the receiver.

  He feels the warmth of perspiration prick across his palms. “Where?”

  The brisk, hollow rustle of plastic, and then, “Walking to your dorm.”

  Sieun feels his breath dissipate in the back of his throat.

  “I’m sorry,” you start. Sieun squeezes his eyes upon hearing these words in your soundwaves, words he thought were too unnecessary when masked in your voice.

  “I saw the forecast, there’s going to be rain—shoot, I forgot my umbrella, I knew I was forgetting something—anyways, I figured I'd head over to yours before it hit,” there’s an unmistakable sincerity in your voice, “I really need you right now, Sieun.”

  Need to murder him, he thought. Clearly, that was more fitting for the illusive objective of your last sentence, one that roused his hand to the back of his neck, called his fingers to smooth over his golden skin, wailed for them to curl against his flesh in hopes of helping him get a grip of himself. Literally.

  He sighs, half flustered, half enlivened. “You’ll be here soon?”

  “Yeah, just five minutes more.”

  There’s a pause. “Okay.”

  A quick exhale breaks past your lips, a restrained puff of air that had been trapped in the back of your throat, waiting for a green light to let it loose. “Thank you, Sieun.”

  He can still feel the ghost of icy plastic against his cheek when you cut the call. Unfocused eyes cloud over the sheets and pens and smudged writing lazing atop his desk.

  Of course. 

  Of course you’re coming over. Because why wouldn’t you? Your laptop’s dead, and he’s the tech guy, and this is just what happens. He fixes things.

  And right now, you need him to fix your things. He couldn’t help but feel his heart jump at the idea, an eagerness creeping into his chest, fogging up his lungs and grabbing hold of the air that dared to escape up his trachea.

  Sieun, as cold as he seemed, felt warmth fixing your things, like he’d swallowed the sun and it dissolved into his blood. Unlike the peers on your campus, he does it for you free-of-charge—hell, he thinks he’d pay you just to let him fidget around with your laptop’s battery that burns to touch or the program functions you can’t seem to figure out even after using the ‘help’ tab. He’d never admit to it though.

  Not yet, at least.

  His eyes flicker to the unfinished problem adorning his notebook, numbers and symbols half-formed, abandoned mid-line. The solution sits just out of reach.

  Much like you.

  His unfinished integral mocks him.

  Your cheeks are flushed, supple and radiant, the dermal symptom of cool drizzle and dewy autumn air. Sieun’s eyes surf the strands of your hair, glinting from subtle rain droplets that catch even in the dim fluorescent light of his dorm hallway.

  You look small like this in his doorway, backpack straps sagging over your shoulders, your sweater sporting little wet spots that are sure to smell like petrichor. Your hands tightly clutch a white plastic bag to your abdomen, the vertices of a cardboard box poking out at him.

  You smile at him, small and sweet and a little flustered. “There was some drizzle when I turned onto your lane.”

  Sieun’s gaze, currently traveling across the ridges tenting your plastic bag, snaps to your face.

  “Oh.” It’s a soft expression, a barely-there phoneme he manages through concern for you—how dare the clouds cry over your angel face?—and some muffled curiosity.

  Sieun just can’t help the fall of his gaze. He stares blankly at the bag in your hands. He’s not surprised when you take notice.

  “It’s brownie mix!”

  He peers at you again.

  “Brownies?”

  You grin sheepishly, fiddling with the plastic handles. “Yeah, I thought, well– you work so hard, you deserve a fun break, one you can get a sweet treat out of!” You pause. “And, I guess it’s also thanks for my laptop. You’ve saved me a lot of money I already don’t have, more than once now.”

  He’s still staring at you, face blank, unreadable, lips sealed in a line, but his eyes gleamed. Whether it was annoyance or humour, you weren’t sure, but his dreamy, tired eyes gleamed.

  Your eyes go wide. “Oh gosh, I should’ve asked you if brownies were okay. They looked so good on the box, I just had to pick them up. You could be allergic to chocolate, or maybe you don’t even like brownies–”

  “Brownies are cool.”

  Sieun watches your lips halt their rambling, configured mid-sentence, before they slowly spread into a toothy grin, one that radiates a warm feeling into his bones and almost—almost—makes his lip twitch up to match yours.

  All you needed to do was force start.

  That’s all.

  No hardware to trifle with, no delinquent software meddling with your computer programs.

  All Sieun had to do was press a couple buttons in tandem before your screen lit back up to life, resurrected from its cry of wolf.

  Your cheeks had heated, bashful from your ignorance, but also a little humoured.

  They blazed further when you caught sight of the calculus massacre on his desk, hurried apologies spilling past your pretty lips to wash out the guilt that crawled up your chest.

  Sieun reassured you all was well—It’s fine, I was almost done anyways—with a look in his eyes that had you capitulating to his sincerity.

  “Can I repay you with brownies?” you had prompted, fingers twiddling behind your back as if it would have subliminally helped rouse the answer you sought after.

  Sieun slowly flattened your laptop to a shut before his Bambi eyes peaked at you and whispered exactly what you needed to know, exactly what you wanted to hear.

  So, you’d both clambered in his tiny, cozy dorm kitchen, ingredients and bowls and utensils scattered across granite, instructions serenading the walls in your voice, Sieun’s hands working to mix the dark sea of cocoa batter.

  You had assumed the role of a conductor but managed to pull a mess over you like a magnet. Whatever hadn’t been mixed into the warm batch of brownies basking atop Sieun’s countertop had found consolation on your being—cocoa powder and melted butter and drying batter decorated your skin and sweater.

  Sieun thought it was the cutest thing he’d ever seen.

  Of course, Sieun had missed any defiant ingredient attacks entirely.

  You’d both picked up a piece each, melted chocolate furnishing your mouths while Sieun, starry-eyed and attentive, listened to you babble about your stress baking and how, no matter the many times you made something, you’d always be left with a bit of a messy souvenir from the process.

  It was during this instance when the rain had hit.

  Hard and harsh and pattering ferociously against the window of his measly living room. You and Sieun had snapped your heads at the sound, sticky embellishments of chocolate coating your fingers.

  You’d looked so worried, so consumed in the thought of how you’d walk home through what was practically a typhoon. You hadn’t checked for a storm warning, all you’d known was a chance of rain. Your umbrella wouldn’t have stood a chance.

  You’d looked so worried, so it felt almost natural when Sieun suggested you just stay over.

  “...Really?” Your eyes were breaking past their sockets, and Sieun had nerely felt the weight of his words crash over him until your orbs softened and he saw the ghost of a smirk brush past your lips.

  “Yeah, you can’t get home through that,” his voice had been tinged with his radiation of care for you. His eyes swept over your chocolate-covered frame. “You can use my shower if you want. I’ll give you some clean clothes to wear.”

  You’d obliged. Quite happily.

  And now, Sieun sat at his desk, unfinished integral staring up at him, the muted sound of his shower silking through the wall, almost louder than the merciless storm outside his window. 

  Sieun hadn’t touched his sheets or pens since he’d retreated to his room, changed into his own set of nightwear, and lowered himself into his desk chair. He couldn’t focus.

  How could he? When you were just a dozen feet away, naked and wet under the rush of his shower.

  He knew he shouldn’t think about it, begged himself not to, but when his mind slipped over the way you had chocolate powder flowering your neck and underneath your sweater, he couldn’t help but let his mind run, just a little.

  Run over the way your fingers probably tucked under the bottom of your sweater, dragging it up along your beautiful body and over your head. What had you worn underneath? Had you even worn anything? 

  In Sieun’s little fantasy, you hadn’t. You’d been bare for him under your clothes, and he’d been ready, quick to ravish you, to kiss and suck and bite at your warm skin.

  But, that was just a fantasy.

  In reality, it didn’t matter whether or not you’d worn anything underneath your sweater. Sieun had just helped you out, made things a little easier for you, eased your anxiety by offering an innocent sleepover so you wouldn’t have to sacrifice yourself to what was the making of an ocean outside his dorm.

  It didn’t matter, just like his integral, still unfinished. Deferred. Mocking.

  The blood had barely made it to his cock before it was rushing back to his brain.

  A couple minutes more of unsuccessfully undressing the math symbols littering his half-blank page and you were padding your way into his room, feet bare, heels marginally lifted off the cold floor of his dorm. Your clothes were folded, carried atop your forearms, and your cute body was swallowed in his t-shirt and shorts, sleeves too long, neck hole too wide, fabric swaying just over your knees with each of your scampered steps.

  You gaze at Sieun from the edge of his bed, clothes now tucked away in your backpack, the hem of his shirt twirling in your fingers. 

  God, Sieun thought you looked ethereal, bare-faced and in his clothes. The warm, mellow glow of his desk lamp illuminates your face like a halo. Your sweet angel eyes are drowning him far past the storm outside.

  Sweet oblivious angel eyes. If only they could see the mess he’d made of you in his head.

  “Are you ready to sleep, or do you want to study some more?” Your voice is so soft, so melodious bouncing within the confines of his skull, and your eyes twinkle just right, brightened from his lamp and the mere cast of moonlight simmering through his window.

  “I’m done,” Sieun starts, “You take the bed. I’m going to sleep in the living room.”

  He’s about to push himself up when you cross your cute arms, defiant and determined. He watches your eyes narrow, eyebrows dip with a scrunch.

  “Absolutely not!” you chide, your squint piercing. Sieun stares, half stood. He sits back down.

  “It’s not fair to you! I showed up, practically unannounced, had you press a couple buttons on my laptop because I was too incompetent to figure it out myself, then made you make brownies with me against your will since you don’t take any economic compensation! And I know you’re not done with your problem set, I can see it from here. It’s exactly how you left it before we made those godforsaken brownies! I completely butted into your evening and messed up your studying, so you best believe you’ll be sleeping in your own bed and getting a good night’s rest!”

  You puff at the end, like you’d said it in one breath, forearms glued to each other, fingers digging into your biceps.

  Sieun is still staring at you, face blank, eyes gentle.

  “You’re not incompetent.”

  You blink.

  “That’s not the point, Sieun.” You huff, pointing to his blankets. 

  “Now, get to bed.”

  His eyes flick, your attention on his bed now shared. There’s an ease in the air, one that helps to hoist Sieun from his desk chair, click his lamp off, and carry himself over to the side of his bed. He lifts the corner of his duvet, slides underneath, and lets it fall over him. All without a peep.

  His eyes scan to your frame, still at the edge of his bed, still in his too-baggy clothes, still looking too ethereal for him to indulge below the moonlight’s gaze, even in your quarrelsome stance.

  You stare back at him.

  “Okay… good.” You sound stifled, almost suspicious of his obedience.

  Your arms unclasp, a little dazed at how fast he’d listened to you. With a hesitant scratch to your neck, you shuffle to what would be your side of Sieun’s bed, just for tonight.

  Even though Sieun wishes it could be a less transient arrangement.

  But he was doing this to help you. 

  Afterall, you’d looked so worried.

  Sieun watches your warm body roll onto his mattress, feels it dip with your added weight from across. You shamble to face him, the duvet bunching in your hands, a relaxed, content tilt gracing your lips. Your cheek presses against the pillow, eyes squinting with warmth and kindness and gratitude and what Sieun could describe as a fatally contagious ray of tranquility.

  You look so sweet like this, cuddled into his bed in clothes—his clothes—that swallow your body whole. The rain had slowed, granting permission to an even larger crowd of moonlight to flow over your face.

  Sieun thought you were unreal, a mythical being from a dreamy world far beyond the current celestial limits.

  A mythical being who saw him only for his technological abilities.

  You were only here for tonight. Sieun was just helping you.

  Because you had looked so worried.

  So, he rolls onto his side, nearing the edge of the bed, hands tittering close to an abyss.

  “Goodnight,” he grumbles. He doesn’t bother to pull the duvet to his front, lets it hang just over his side, as if any extra movement would make him appear more visible to you.

  You gape at his back.

  “Sieun!”

  Sieun closes his eyes. Perhaps the world around him wouldn’t see him if he couldn’t see the world.

  You puff, a frustrated push of air that has Sieun squinting his eyes shut further. He feels the duvet minutely ruffle behind him, feels the dip of the mattress sink gradually.

  “I don’t get it, are you actually upset?” Although you were quiet, you sounded so disgruntled, confused. Sieun could only wish he was better at this so he wouldn’t have to bear your honey-like voice convey such emotion, like thrones stuck in a cloud.

  But, Sieun was Sieun. A man of minimal words who spoke the truth and nothing but—until now.

  “No, just trying to get a good night’s rest.” Just trying to keep my mind off you, so close, for just one night.

  “Ugh! Will you just turn around so I can talk to you?”

  Your hand reaches out and grips the collar of Sieun’s shirt, a tight grip pulling him towards you, a gentle grip to avoid attempted murder.

  His eyes pop open, a hand catching onto the taut fabric around his neck. If there was the slightest chance Sieun’s conscious was to succumb to strangulation tonight, he thinks he’d only remember the warmth of your fingers fogging over the back of his neck.

  Sieun yields to your force, falling onto his back. Why are you so damn strong?

  With a hatch of his neck, his eyes find yours in the dark room, the patch of moonlight from his window dimmed from the roar of thunder and familiar strikes of heavy droplets against the glass.

  There’s light provocation simmering through your face, playful like a child in a game of tag.

  “Talk about what?” His voice is quiet but firm, his body a statue sandwiched between the mattress and sheets, daring not to move a millimeter.

  You peer at him, words hanging along the tip of your tongue, as if debating whether they were worth speaking into the medium shared between your beings.

  You decide they are.

  “I know you take a fee from others when you fix their laptops.” There’s a quirk in his neck, a twitch at the corner of his lips that urges you further. “You’ve never taken one from me, even when I mention it. Why is that?”

  Sieun feels a gradual quickening of his heartbeat at this concoction of your voice, and, like the start of a tornado, the thoughts in his head rampage into a whirlwind.

  To be or not to be? Sieun, who previously seemed to lack any cognitive resources to solve his monster integral, was now calculating his next move with rigorous intricacy.

  Maybe it was the kick in adrenaline that had him instigating your little game.

  Sieun chose to be.

  “Why do you think?”

  Your eyes narrow in an instant, the entire play a chain reaction. Were you also debating your next actions, words? Were you also aware of the string snapping taut between you, tense and nearing a strong, sudden tear?

  Sieun definitely was. Like always, he knew what he was getting himself into, knew he was igniting something far beyond repair, unlike the many laptops he’d resurrected.

  Sieun knew what he’d started. He’d calculated it, perhaps from the very beginning, from the moment he uttered the word “stay.”

  He was just helping you, for one night. Just one night.

  You’d looked so worried, of course.

  Perhaps Sieun had wanted your eyebrows to furrow from another force of nature—him.

  Say something.

  A quirk to your lips. Dark shadows in your eyes.

  And a hand reaching out for his neck, this time to pull him to the plushest centre of your visage.

  His lips graze the fullness of yours when you whisper in a breath.

  “I knew to force start.”

  Sieun isn’t spared a chance to retaliate his sockets stretching back when you press into him.

  The dense pressure molds his own lips flush against yours, an electric fog swarming your face and down the flanks of your neck.

  It’s a reflex, an abrupt, consuming, greedy reflex, when his arm curls over your back, big hand hastily grazing along your spine to knot into your hair.

  Had Sieun fallen asleep?

  This has to be a dream.

  But your lips were too soft against his, too warm.

  And your back curved so well along his forearm, strands so luxurious curled around his fingers.

  Your hand on his chest, basking down his torso… Sieun believes he doesn’t possess even a speckle of the imagination required to muster a feeling as heavenly as that.

  Definitely not enough to muster a feeling as heavenly as your hand sliding over him through his thin flannel pajamas.

  You were a fallen angel who had come to play unsacred games.

  And Sieun proved to be a worthy opponent.

  His fingers grip around the base of your skull to pull you from his lips.

  His eyes are heavy with a murmur of inquisition, flitting over your lips before boring into your own with words unspoken. You mirror his gaze with equal weight, savouring his quiet inhale when you push further down over his hardening curve, feathering your hand up to rest against the supple part of his abdomen.

  “You know where this is going.” It was a statement, a quiet, breathless, almost restrained mutter carrying all the responsibility and uncertainty and anticipation littered within Sieun.

  You gaze, knowing, unbothered.

  “This is what you want? This is what you came for?”

  “Yes,” you whisper, “Take it as part of my thanks.”

  “I thought the brownies were your thanks.”

  You smirk. “That was just the appetizer.”

  Sieun scoffs quietly, a humble pfft to accompany the fingers gently rubbing over the bottom of your scalp, a means of easing into his next utterance.

  You were drowning in his milk chocolate orbs, a velvety sea full of nothing but care and adoration and awe for you.

  “Are you sure you want to go further?” Any quieter and the storm battering upon his window would have drowned his sound completely.

  “Yes, Sieun.”

  That was everything he needed to hear.

  A gentle push to your neck has your lips pressing back into the plushness of his own.

  It’s a slow kiss, chaste but blazing with the need you’d both been bearing for months. You move against the other, the ghost of anticipation urging you further into it.

  Sieun definitely is not dreaming.

  All his prior frustration, graced from his still unsolved practice set and the many long, agonizing weeks of indirect contact with you, melts away, leaving a tender warmth to dry in its place. Your lips feel as soft as—no, they were softer, so much softer, and warm like sun rays on cold skin—the many times he’d imagined the ghost of them wisping against his.

  A transient ghost, barely lasting a mere tortuous ten seconds. He’d stop himself from savouring it, pry the ghost away before his hopes shot higher than the sky above him.

  But now, you were here, tangible, with your mortal lips on his. They were so supple, so plush and warm and real. And they were flush against his. No one else but him.

  Sieun had spent so long denying your fabricated being, the one who would distract him from his problem sets, urge him to isolate from the many gadgets his peers would throw his way in times of technological misfortune.

  Sieun decided it was finally time to show you what your ghost had been doing to him.

  He sucks in your bottom lip, hands grazing over your hips to pull you over his growing hardness with a delicate hold, treating your vessel like original vintage artwork. Fragile. Authentic. Godly.

  The duvet shifts against your back while you shift over him, the core of your heat finding solace over his own. The hem of his borrowed t-shirt rides up your torso like it knows what’s coming.

  It’s an abrupt, consuming, visceral feeling when you first connect with the stiff rod bulging against the stressed material of Sieun’s pajamas.

  It’s the same for Sieun, so when a small groan muses from the depths of his throat at the feeling of your heat radiating along his length, he remains basking in its aftermath.

  Lips still working into each other, you almost don’t acknowledge the slow, tantalizing roll of your hips.

  Sieun does, and it drives him crazy.

  Sieun, who was always so cool, composed, and distant was now growing hot and undone, all while pressing himself further into you, meeting you at an undefined middle, ridding any and all separation from your heating bodies from the insufferable vexation of need.

  His hands knead into your hips, bearing your heat further along him, before they configure to push himself up while embracing you flush against his chest.

  You’re consuming him, physically and mentally. Your lips on his, your body wrapped tightly around his own, hot cunt slowly grinding over the hard curve of his cock, a barrier of too much fabric plastered between your beings and pushing you both into frustrated desperation.

  Your name, your scent, the suppleness of your skin, they all fog his head, conquer it with the ghost of you.

  Both your mortal and immortal forms had possessed him, consumed him whole until he was nothing but a spec of utter devotion to you and you only.

  Your hips grind again, slow, sinful, and Sieun’s breath stutters against your mouth.

  You feel the shiver that rebounds through him like a tremor, feel the tight grip of his hands at your waist falter before steadying again, tighter this time, as if he needs to anchor you, or maybe himself.

  His lips leave yours only to trail hot, desperate, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, your neck, your crescent of skin beyond the shirt’s collar, the devotion in each press of his mouth turning you molten.

  “You feel…” he murmurs, barely audible, like he’s speaking to himself, “…too good. Too good to be real.”

  You tilt your hips forward again, slower, answering him with equal desperation, and Sieun’s head tips back, a ragged exhale pulling from his throat. The sight strikes you—his lashes trembling, his brows knit together in pleasure so raw it borders on pain. He looks ruined.

  Kiss-swollen lips and flushed cheeks, shades of pink colonizing his visage in the shower of eventide luminosity.

  You don’t realize you’ve gasped until his gaze finds you again, pupils blown wide and gleaming with disbelief. His thumbs rub along your hip bones, a fragrant sensation even through the fabric of his shorts you adorned.

  Your hands glide under his shirt, pushing up until he’s reaching for the edge himself, prying the shirt past his head and letting the fabric fall to the cold hardwood beneath his bed.

  His hands slip beneath the hem of your own, and his touch is hesitant, wavering, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he reaches too far.

  “Can I…?” he asks, voice husky and threadbare, already tugging at the fabric.

  You nod. His hands glide up, slow and reverent, brushing over the curves and valleys he’s only ever imagined, each touch leaving heat in its wake. 

  He drinks in the sight of you like he’s been thirst-starved for days, gentle eyes falling over your face and down to your taut peaks. You weren’t a ghost anymore—you were a dream, glowing and radiant beneath the muted haze of damp moonlight.

  And when your bare chest presses to his, skin to skin, nothing between you but the thundering pace of your hearts, Sieun chokes out a soft, desperate moan.

  The ghost of you has vanished.

  What remains is you—real and soft and warm and all his.

  And he’s no longer a boy haunted by longing. He’s a man who’s finally allowed to feel.

  Your fingers find the nape of his neck, weaving into the soft strands of his hair, and the sound he lets out—broken, hushed, completely unguarded—settles somewhere deep in your chest.

  Sieun’s lips return to yours with more urgency now, less caution, the kind that only comes when desire and restraint blur into the same overwhelming thing. His tongue traces your bottom lip before slipping inside, gentle, exploratory, worshipping, like he’s memorizing you.

  Every movement of his hips under you is hesitant but needy, as if he’s still trying to slow himself down, still trying to process that you’re not slipping away.

  “You’re driving me insane,” he whispers against your mouth, voice hoarse and cracking like lightning behind the storm-glassed windows.

  He kisses you again, softer now, almost like an apology for how his hands are now gripping at the swell of your thighs with mounting desperation.

  Then, with a breath that shakes against your lips, Sieun pulls back. Only just.

  “Lie back,” he murmurs, voice low, thick with something you’ve never heard from him before. Anticipation, maybe. Hunger, definitely.

  You do, painfully unlatching from his warmth and sinking into the pillow behind you.

  Sieun follows, crawling down the length of your body like a man crossing sacred ground, his drowsy gaze never leaving you. It lingers on the slope of your neck, the lines of your collarbone, the tender stretch of skin bare to the cool air of his bedroom. Each inch he memorizes like scripture, utterly fascinated and unspeakably enamoured.

  “You’re…” he begins, almost too quiet to even comprehend, but trails off, like no word quite fits what you are to him.

  And then you see it. The way adoration turns to ache.

  A valley of creases between his brows, a marginal slit parting his pout, the quickened wisps of air trailing out of him. He’s wrecked, far past.

  And you had barely touched him.

  Sieun’s hands slide up your thighs, calloused fingertips brushing along the waistband of the very shorts he lent you, the ones riding too low on your hips, the ones he's dreamed about you in far too many nights to count.

  He kisses the inside of your knee.

  Then your thigh.

  Then the soft dip just above your hip bone.

  His hands move, thumbs hooking into the waistband. There’s a beat—one last, wordless check—and then he draws them down.

  And stops breathing.

  You’re bare beneath them. No panties. Just slick, glistening proof of how long you’ve wanted this too.

  “Fuck,” he breathes, like it’s been torn from him. His jaw goes slack, eyes shadowed with affection and disbelief. “You didn’t wear—?”

  He doesn't finish. He can't.

  His hands twitch.

  You’ve rendered Yeon Sieun speechless.

  Sieun blinks once, twice, like he’s trying to process the sight before him, trying not to let it undo him entirely.

  But it does.

  It does.

  He swallows hard, jaw flexing as his eyes drag along the slick sheen glistening between your thighs, warm and glimmering and pooling out of you sans constraint.

  His hands settle on your hips again, firm, needy, desperate.

  “You’ve been like this this whole time?” he whispers, voice hoarse, eyes flickering up to meet yours, the question half-shattered already. “Wearing my shorts… like this?”

  You don’t have time to answer.

  Because Sieun leans in, drawn like a man starved, mouth ghosting just above your heat and breathing you in.

  His composure fractures there.

  A low, guttural sound breaks from his throat as he presses a slow, devoted kiss to your core. Just one.

  Then another. Then again, deeper, wetter, until his tongue slides through your dampened heat with a shuddering groan of restraint and craving colliding all at once.

  Your hips twitch and Sieun’s grip tightens instinctively, his fingers digging into your waist to anchor you to him like you might vanish otherwise.

  His tongue moves again, slow and patient, still trying to worship even while losing his mind.

  But you’re so wet, and he’s so gone.

  Each soft moan that slips from your lips draws another shaky exhale from him, each roll of your hips a crack in his control.

  He tries to keep it measured. Gentle.

  But then he hears you gasp his name, all broken and raw, and something inside him snaps.

  His pace quickens.

  He licks into you deeper, more desperate, tongue flicking, flattening, circling like he’s chasing a high that stubbornly runs just a step out of his reach. His nose brushes your clit and he doesn’t even think to pull back.

  He wants it all.

  You feel his moan against you, deep and wrecked, and you realize:

  Sieun isn’t composed anymore.

  He’s hungry.

  Possessed.

  And completely, unbearably devoted to the taste of you.

  You’re gasping now, each breath shallower than the last, and Sieun can feel you trembling beneath his palms.

  It spurs him on, wrecks him in ways he never knew were possible.

  His thumbs rub slow circles into your hips, as if to soothe you, steady you, but his mouth is relentless, nose tirelessly working into your nub. His tongue is languid one moment, then firmer the next, lapping through your folds with aching, focused precision, memorizing all that makes you fall apart.

  You roll into a nimble arch, head tipping back, and your thighs quiver where they rest over his shoulders.

  “Sieun—” you whimper.

  His name breaks in your throat, and that’s what crumbles him.

  He groans into you again, the vibration shooting straight through your core as he licks you harder now, deeper, more rhythmic, mouth coaxing you right to the edge, right to the place he’s been aching to take you.

  His hands are cradling your hips now, keeping you spread open, helpless, vulnerable, his.

  And then he whispers it, barely audible, a prayer into your skin.

  “Come for me.”

  Your breath catches.

  “Let me taste all of you,” he mumbles again, like he’s asking for divinity, like your pleasure is holy.

  And when you finally do, when your body tenses and your thighs clamp tight around his head and that beautiful cry of his name leaves your lips, Sieun doesn’t stop.

  He groans into you, licking you through it, drinking it in like he’s never tasted something more sacred.

  Like he’s never belonged more to anything—anyone—than he does to you in this moment.

  And even after the tremors still, even when you’re limp and gasping and glowing beneath him, he keeps kissing you softly, as if he can’t bear to let you go just yet.

  As if this is how he says I’ve wanted you like this forever.

  You’re still panting when he pulls back, lips slick and pink, eyes hooded and blown wide with awe. He looks stunned. Disheveled. Like a man undone by worship.

  But you, squirming and aching and desperate to have all of him, manage to find your voice.

  “Sieun,” you whisper, reaching for him. Your fingers trail along his jaw, coaxing him up until he’s hovering over you again. “I want more.”

  His breath hitches.

  Your palm slides over his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath his ribs. “I want you inside me.”

  Sieun stills completely.

  And then his eyes close, jaw tightening as if your words alone could undo the last shreds of his composure.

  “Fuck,” he breathes, voice rough with disbelief.

  He kisses you, not hard, not hurried, but slow and deep, like it’s all he can do to keep from losing control. You savour the heady taste of your slick coating his lips. He presses his forehead to yours, and mutters shakily, “One second.”

  You watch as he reaches for the drawer beside his bed and pulls out a condom from the crumpled blue box Hu-min had shoved at him weeks ago with a stupid grin and no explanation.

  He’d meant to throw them out. He hadn’t.

  He tears the foil open with controlled fingers and slides his flannels and boxers off his body, finally bearing himself free.

  He’s thick, flushed, already leaking from the tip. He hisses under his breath as he rolls the condom on, fingers twitching like he’s barely holding it together.

  When he settles between your thighs, eyes drowning in your sight, the air changes.

  Gone is the boy who’s too quiet, too closed off, too powered from the urge of indignation.

  What remains is Sieun drowned in passion, eyes wide and dreamy and dazed by the sight of you spread open for him, the warmth of your body beckoning his own.

  “You sure?” he asks again, voice almost too tender.

  You nod, pulling him down into a kiss, and guide him with a soft whisper, “Yes. Please, Sieun. I want all of you.”

  He exhales shakily.

  Then he lines himself just beyond your heat, and with a leisurely push of his hips, he slides inside.

  You both gasp.

  You’re hot and wet and hug onto his inching cock, and he sinks in like he’s always meant to belong there. 

  “God—” he grits, arms quavering on either side of you as he tries not to lose it too fast, forehead dropping to your shoulder.

  “You’re…” His voice cracks. “So good. So—gosh, I don’t—”

  You wrap your legs around him, anchoring him to you, and moan when he rocks forward again, deeper this time. You feel everything, every inch, every pulse, every lazed drag.

  He starts slow, shallow, testing your fit, his own restraint. His hips roll into yours with a tender kind of ache, like he’s afraid to break you, like each inch of him inside you is a miracle he can’t fully comprehend.

  But your body answers with desperate softness, clinging to him like silk caught in wind. You tilt your hips, chasing more friction, and whimper at the way his cock presses deeper, fuller, perfectly where you need him.

  Sieun moans, a sound so broken and quiet it nearly guts you.

  “Please,” you breathe, clutching at his back, your voice hitching with each movement. “Don’t hold back.”

  His jaw clenches. His eyes flutter shut.

  And then he moves deeper, hips rocking into you with a fluid rhythm that makes your breath stutter and your legs tighten around him.

  The friction is delicious. The stretch, overwhelming yet cosmic.

  Sieun presses closer, burying his face further into your neck, panting softly against your skin.

  “You’re so—” He chokes on a groan as your walls flutter around him. “You feel unreal.”

  You drag your nails lightly down his spine, whispering back between moans.

  He fucks into you slowly, like it’s sacred. Each thrust is a vow, a prayer, an unraveling. His hands are everywhere—one gripping your thigh to anchor you to him, the other cradling your jaw like you’re too precious to let go.

  Your body sings for him. You meet each movement with your own, hips rising to greet him, rolling and shifting to take him deeper, to keep him close.

  Your moans mingle with his gasps, the heat between you building with every thrust, until there’s nothing left of restraint, only the desperate, languid drag of two bodies finding rhythm in devotion.

  Sieun lifts his head to look at you—really look—and what he sees makes his hips stutter.

  Your face, flushed and shining, lips parted, still pink and swollen, eyes glassy with bliss and admiration.

  You’re breathtaking. And right now, you were his.

  He moans again, broken and stunned, and leans down to kiss you like he’ll fall apart if he doesn’t, slow, messy, teeth grazing lips, all while his hips begin to move faster, harder, chasing something he’s never dared imagine before you.

  Your bodies are slick with heat and need, the world around you reduced to nothing but the way he fits, the way he fills, the way he worships you with every thrust.

  Sieun is whispering your name like a lifeline, like it’s the only word he knows, murmured into the skin of your throat, your jaw, your lips, as if it can tether him to reality while he teeters on the edge of something vast and consuming.

  “You feel so good,” he rasps, voice hoarse and reverent. “So perfect—you’re perfect.”

  Your back arches, body shuddering as he angles his hips just right, deep and slow and precise, hitting that spot inside you that makes gush over his length.

  Your moans turn high and breathless, desperate.

  “Sieun—” you gasp, legs tightening around his waist, pulling him in deeper. “I’m close—oh god—”

  He knows. 

  He feels it, the way you start to flutter and squeeze around him, the way your breaths collapse into whimpers. And even through the haze of his own rising pleasure, Sieun slows down just enough to draw it out for you, to feel every quivering second of it.

  “I’ve got you,” he whispers, breath stuttering. “Come, please.”

  And you do.

  It rushes over you in waves—white-hot, pulsing, unstoppable—your climax washing through your entire body with a strangled moan, your limbs tightening, your voice shaking as you cry out his name.

  Sieun swears under his breath, something desperate and soft, and then he loses it.

  The way you clamp around him, slick, pulsing, so warm, is all it takes to send him spiraling. His rhythm falters, hips stuttering, muscles trembling as the pressure finally breaks. He groans, deep and guttural, and spills into the condom with a few last shallow thrusts, his whole body curling into yours like he’s trying to fuse the two of you together.

  And when it’s over, when the tremors in both your bodies begin to subside and your chests press together in exhausted, blissful rhythm, he stays. 

  Buried in you, breathless, consumed. His forehead pressed to yours, his lashes fluttering, lips ghosting your cheek.

  And finally, his lips quirk at the corners, gracing his features with a small, gentle smile.

  Because he decides he won’t be washing his shorts.

  And he thinks he’ll get you to ruin another pair when you bring your laptop over for him under the guise of fixing it again.

৬ৎ  𝑙𝑒𝑒'𝑠 𝑝𝘰𝑠𝘵𝑙𝑢𝑑𝑒  ࿐  i decided for a soft, feral rendition of sieun’s university au. this will be the last weak hero fic i write before i move onto skz and atz! need more? you can read hyuntak’s version over here  ⌯⌲  smart girl

───── how do we feel about starting a taglist?

© chanifesto

[berniceinthehouse]

Loved your fic of Baku!!🥹🥹 can I request yeon sieun x oblivious fem reader? Maybe like idiots in love!! Reader liking sieun for a very long time now but decided to put it aside (atp she believes sieun has a lover and that’s his textbook) she’s loud and a little rowdy, definitely likes to tease sieun and drags him down random stuff with her and she is okay staying friends with him if it means not ruining anything!!

She had no clue sieun reciprocate her feelings and maybe they shared a sweet moment where sieun is surprisingly the one to confess and reader who is known to be loud is suddenly speechless and very, very flustered.

Not just friends

Pairing: Yeon Si-eun x Fem!Reader

Genre: Fluff 🎀

Warnings: none

Summary: You’ve had a crush on Si-eun forever, but you’re sure he’s already taken—by his textbooks. So you never push. You tease him, drag him around, stay in his orbit. That’s enough. Until he says something that turns your whole world upside down.

A/N: thank you so so much for being my first request!! I’m so glad you enjoyed my Baku fic!! I really hope I gave you what you asked for, if I didn’t I sincerely apologize :(

You had rules when it came to Yeon Si-eun.

Rule #1: Do not flirt with him.

Rule #2: Don’t stare too long.

Rule #3: Don’t ever, ever assume he feels the same way.

Because he didn’t.

Obviously.

So you kept it simple.

You were his loud, annoying friend. The one who talked too much. The one who always pulled him into dumb convenience store trips and picked fights over ramen flavors and knocked on his desk just to say “Hey. Are you studying to be the next Albert Einstein?” when he’d been studying for three hours straight.

You liked being in his life.

You liked being his friend.

And you didn’t wanna ruin it because of some stupid feeling you had deep down in your heart for him.

That evening started the same way most of your hangouts did—with you texting “get your ass outside i’m bored” and him showing up ten minutes later with no complaints.

You were sitting side by side on the steps of the convenience store, swinging your legs while sipping banana milk.

“People say you look like you’ve got no emotions,” you said, looking at him sideways.

He blinked slowly. “You’ve said that before.”

“I stand by it.”

He didn’t answer. Just kept sipping his drink.

You bumped your shoulder into his. “Do you ever get bored of me?”

“No.”

You turned to him. “Really?”

He nodded once, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Why not?” you asked, half-laughing. “I drag you everywhere. I talk too much. I’m kind of a pain.”

Si-eun stared at you for a moment, then looked down at his drink. His fingers tightened slightly around it.

“I like being around you,” he said.

It was quiet. Casual. Like he was telling you the weather.

But your brain short-circuited anyway.

You blinked. “Huh?”

He glanced at you again. “You make things easier.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. So you just went quiet. For once.

He shifted slightly, placing his drink down.

“I thought it was obvious,” he said, still calm. Still unreadable.

“What was obvious?”

“I like you.”

You stared at him, eyes wide, face blank.

And then—completely overwhelmed—you laughed.

Not because it was funny. Because you were short-circuiting.

“Wait—what?”

Si-eun frowned slightly. “Is that not clear?”

You shook your head. “No—no, it’s clear, it’s just—what do you mean you like me? Like, you like being around me? Or like—you like me like me?”

He looked at you steadily. “Like I want to hold your hand. Like I want you to stop pretending it’s just one-sided.”

You forgot how to function for a solid five seconds.

You, the loudmouth. The chaos friend. The one who always said she was fine just being in his life seen as a friend.

Now frozen. Blushing. Quiet.

“…Okay,” you finally said, voice way too soft.

He blinked. “Okay?”

“Yeah. Um. Okay.”

You were blushing so hard it burned. He noticed, obviously.

And that bastard—he smiled.

“Can I hold your hand now?”

You nodded, still stunned.

And when his fingers laced through yours, you didn’t say anything. Just sat there in total silence.

You then swallowed.

Then, before you could overthink it, you leaned in.

Slow. Cautious. Like maybe you were about to touch a dream that might vanish if you moved too fast.

He didn’t pull away.

His hand stayed laced in yours, fingers warm and solid. And when your lips finally met his, it was soft—deliberate. Like he’d been waiting for it. Like he already knew what it would feel like.

The kind of kiss that didn’t rush.

Just… settled.

And when you pulled back, barely, your forehead brushing his, you whispered, stunned and a little breathless.

“I can’t believe you like me.”

He looked at you, voice low. “I always have.”

[billornot]

[k1mbe3rly]

heyy can you do yeon si-eun x reader where he gets a bj for the first time ever?

the whc1 fandom on tumblr could fit in suho's helmet😭😭

First bj

Warning: light smut, blowjob, whimpering, sub?sieun, short

You and sieun never really officially did anything intimate, the most yall have done was just making out and groping each other, that’s how far it went but mainly because you both were taking it slow

It’s been awhile in the relationship and you were ready for something a bit..more next leveled, today was the one year anniversary of dating, and you planned on making it special which is by giving him his first ever blow job!

After hanging out and everything you waited for the moment, kissing him and sitting ontop of him, his hands awkwardly on the bed sheets kissing you back, your hands traveling all over his chest as you pulled back, staring into his eyes, his eyes basically telling you that he needed more.

You smiled at him, “Hey i was thinking..we could do something else other then kissing and stuff” you said, “Something more? like what..” he asked, he never really had an expression which made it hard to read his face but his eyes was everything you needed to be told

“I don’t know..maybe, a blow job or..you know?” you asked a bit shyly, he got flustered quick but didn’t dare show anything, he stayed silent for a moment, “Yea..we could try it..” he said lowly

You were quick to get everything off for him, taking off his boxers and staring up at him, his cock was already hard from the makeout + you asking him a sudden dirty question

You first started with a kiss on his tip which made him shiver a bit, grabbing his length and moving your hand up and down slowly and licked his tip, he opened his mouth slightly watching as you licked around his tip

You removed your hands and begin licking his length getting his cock wet with your saliva, finally taking him full in your mouth inch by inch, he gasped out feeling your warm mouth on him, he wasn’t sure what to do but his body was moving on his own, he throws his head back against the headboard, his hips bucking up to meet your mouth, his hips jerk up as you swirl your tongue around his sensitive tip

You pushed your head down and begin bobbing up and down, soft gags and slurps coming from your mouth, his eyes flickered back as he let out a low whimper, he back slightly arching as his hands gripped on your hair tighter, your warm mouth sucking him off was the only thing he could feel, your hands on his thighs steadying yourself as you begin deepthroating him determined to make him cum, he gasped when you suddenly take him deep, your nose pressing against his stomach, his orgasm building quickly

His cock deep down your throat as a loud gag falls out your mouth, keeping yourself there and shaked your head a bit as he let out a loud moan, his hips bucking up again as you lifted yourself for a breath and quickly went back on his cock, you continued sucking him trying to swirl your tongue as well, “A-ah!~ baby fuck i think i’m gonna cum!” he whimpered out his eyes squeezing shut, you continued and tried going faster feeling your jaw getting sore already

His cock twitching inside your mouth as he whimpers and whimpers, uncontrollably falling out his mouth, his hand gripping on the sheets, his back arched

He suddenly threw his head back, letting out a loud whimper as he suddenly felt a wave of pleasure hit him, he finally came in your mouth, you quickly tried to swallow it pulling back with a cough swallowing whatever you could

He panted staring down at you breathlessly, “H..how are you so good at that?” he asked you, you shrugged “Bananas.” you simply said

[justchillgurl]

Uhm well, about that...

[taebaelee]

I can't be the only one thinking this during that scene.

[almostwisegalaxy]

Mama's boy Her boy.

Yeon Sieun x fem!reader

The reader has a shy character in this story

..................................................................................

The following Monday, it was raining.

Not a heavy rain, but that constant drizzle, almost annoying, that makes the air heavy and humid, as if the sky itself was caught in a silence filled with unshed tears. Yeon Si-eun was waiting, his back against the worn wall of the school's annex. He wasn't supposed to be there, but he had volunteered for the tutoring program. Not out of altruism. He had simply thought it would fill the void in a useful way.

Then she entered the room. Y/n. She was wearing an oversized sweatshirt, the sleeves covering her hands, and her bag seemed to almost slide off her shoulder. She didn't say anything, just nodded, her eyes avoiding his. But Si-eun had already noticed the slight tension in her fingers, the careful handling of her notebook, the way she stood between presence and erasure.

That was his way of observing.

The first sessions were silent, almost cold. He explained, she nodded. Sometimes she asked a question, her voice soft but firm, never looking at him for too long. He pretended it didn't bother him, but his mind, usually as orderly as a strategy game, began to fall apart.

He didn't understand. Why, when his eyes met y/n's, did he feel as if he was truly seen for the first time? Not as a smart or distant boy, nor as a tool for knowledge or controlled violence, but simply as a boy. Just a boy.

And that was the beginning of the obsession.

He began to look forward to these sessions like a starving animal. He noted everything: the way y/n paused to think, the way she switched pens while nibbling on the old one, the little smile she allowed herself when she understood something. He even started to hang around the community center where she sometimes came with her younger siblings.

He watched her take care of them with a tenderness almost fierce. They pulled at her arms, climbed on her back, knocked over her bag. And she, instead of getting annoyed, laughed softly. A laugh so discreet, yet so alive, that it took his breath away.

Si-eun, on the other hand, had never been held in loving arms.

Not even by his mother. Especially not by her.

The rare times she was around, she would stand in the kitchen, looking at her phone. She would nod when he spoke, but her eyes were always elsewhere. He remembered, as a child, tugging at his mother's sleeve to get a glance, a word, a gesture. But she was always too busy. Too absent. And eventually, he had stopped asking. What was the point?

So, when y/n occasionally brushed against him without thinking – a light touch of an arm, a hand brushing – it felt like a soft burn, an unbearable warmth he longed to replicate.

And he did.

One day, he pretended to have a headache. He staggered as he sat down. Y/n, concerned, placed her hand on his arm, then gently on his forehead.

He closed his eyes.

He wanted time to stop.

When he opened them, she was looking at him. And there was no fear. No pity. Just sincere concern.

Then, little by little, he allowed himself. One day, he leaned in, testing the waters. Another, he asked if she liked kids, feigning indifference. Then he dared more: he stayed after class longer. He walked her to the bus stop. He got into the habit of waiting for her.

Then, one night, he cracked.

It was raining again. Still that fine rain.

She had offered him an umbrella, and without really knowing why, he stepped closer. Too close. She smelled like soap and wind. And he held her. Against him. Against his chest. Barely, just enough.

He didn't say anything. He couldn't.

But his hands were shaking. He buried his face against her, like a lost child. And she didn't push him away. She even held him tighter.

That night, he cried.

Not loudly. Not sobbing. But those silent tears, almost shameful, that come from too far. From too deep. The ones that never find their way except in a moment when everything breaks just a little.

Y/n didn't say anything. She just kept her arms around him. Like a port. Like a refuge. And Yeon Si-eun thought: is this love?

Or was it simply the desperate need to finally feel loved?

Sometimes, when she laughed, he felt a hole in his chest. As if something wanted to get out, but he didn't know how. He wanted to tell her everything: the loneliness, the silences at home, the lack of attention. But he couldn't. So he just looked at her. With his sad eyes, those that silently said: love me. See me. Welcome me.

And she did.

He became dependent. On her arms. On her presence. He loved lying against her when he could. Once, she had run her fingers through his hair, thinking he was asleep. He wasn't asleep. He carved that moment into him like a promise.

But a persistent fear remained.

What if she left? What if she looked at him one day the way his mother looked at him? Without really seeing him?

So he became a little colder, a little more distant. To protect himself. But she, she didn't give up. She held on. She came back. Again and again. Each time.

And little by little, he thawed. Not like in the movies. Not all at once. But over time. With her.

He loved her. No, he was crazy about her.

It wasn't a loud love. It was a feline, gnawing, vital love. She was everything he had never received. Everything he had never dared ask for.

And every day, he silently prayed: let her stay.

Let her keep looking at him.

Let her keep loving him.

Because in her arms, for the first time, Yeon Si-eun was a loved son, a protected boy, a young man in love.

Finally alive.

---

Si-eun found himself in a place that, once upon a time, would have seemed nonsensical to him. A place that had no place in his cold, controlled world. At y/n's house. He never thought this could happen. Not him, the forgotten child of a constantly absent father, the cold silhouette of a rejected son. But reality was there. In her arms. In her breath against his. In the familiar sounds of the evening, the soft light of the entrance to her home.

He had never wanted to go, but she had invited him, insisting with a tone that allowed no objection. "You deserve to relax. You don’t come enough." And so, he had come, the first time. He stayed. He left. But his mind never left that place.

y/n lived in a house full of children's laughter, hurried footsteps, and voices that never stopped. She had two younger brothers and a sister. Every time he came, they greeted him with raw enthusiasm. He remembered their first glance. They had studied him, this strange boy who seemed so different from their older sister. But they had become attached to him, like children do with a protective figure. He, who had never had that.

y/n’s parents were rarely around. Often gone for work or other obligations, like invisible shadows in y/n's life. This left a void that she filled with her kindness, her patience. Si-eun had once seen her take care of her siblings after a long school day, her hands constantly moving, her gaze always gentle and reassuring. But when she saw him, she became something else, calmer. She didn't need words to express how she felt about him. And him... he no longer needed to pretend.

The first time he had nestled against her, he hadn’t thought. He had simply given into the warmth, this warmth he had never known. She was lying on the couch, her legs curled up, and he had sat next to her, then slowly, like a child seeking protection, he had leaned in until their bodies were almost touching. y/n hadn’t said anything, but her arms had surrounded him. And, suddenly, the world stopped spinning for him. All that mattered was the beat of her heart against his own. This connection, silent but meaningful.

It became a silent ritual. After school, he spent more and more time at her place. Sometimes, he just came to be in the same room as her. Sometimes, he lay beside her, closing his eyes. Their conversations were simple, but so full of unspoken words. Talks about trivial things that, somehow, seemed to resonate with a depth he had never known.

One evening, after playing a game with her siblings, he sat next to y/n on the couch. She was reading a book, but her fingers barely touched the pages. He watched her, his eyes never leaving her face. A slight smile played on her lips. "You have tired eyes." She looked at him, a little surprised, but didn’t say anything. Then she turned toward him. "It's because I worry about you."

Her words struck his mind like a cold wind, piercing the barrier he had built. Why would she worry about him? Her, the light in his life? Her, who knew how to give without asking? Why would she have empathy for him, a boy no one wanted to see?

She felt his silence. "You know, Si-eun, I’m not that naive. I see what you’re hiding. I see that you’re tired, that you carry all of this alone." She placed a light hand on his thigh. "You don’t have to carry it all alone."

It was strange. Her words, simple, hit him with such force that it hurt. She wasn’t rejecting him. She wasn’t fleeing from that dark side of him. She accepted him. She accepted him as he was. For him, it was nothing short of a revolution. No one had ever accepted him. Not even his mother. He looked up at her, his lips trembling slightly. "I... I don’t know how to be... the person you want."

She shook her head gently, her hair swaying slightly. "I don’t want anything from you, Si-eun. I just want you. All of you."

He swallowed. She didn’t understand. Or maybe she understood more than he thought. He pulled back slightly, embarrassed. But she didn’t let him go. She gently pulled him back toward her. And, without a word, she held him in her arms. This time, he didn’t pull away. He nestled against her, tighter, longer. He let her hold him. Her arms around him were a silent promise of protection. He allowed it. He had never had this feeling of being at home, of being truly at home, in someone else’s arms.

She rocked him gently, almost as if she had known him forever. She blew softly in his hair, her hands sliding slowly over his back, soothing. "I’m not going anywhere, Si-eun. You are my home. I’ll always be here."

He felt the warmth of her breath. His heart raced in his chest. He closed his eyes, a weight on his shoulders slowly dissipating. He didn’t need words. This contact, this simple embrace, was more than anything he could have asked for. The fear of abandonment, of rejection, melted into the air. He was no longer afraid. Because y/n was there.

A kiss. Soft, light. But everything changed. Her lips met his, at first timidly, like a question with no immediate answer. Then the kiss became more urgent, more essential, as if they had both been waiting for this moment without ever daring to say it. He gave himself to her, to this warmth that had always been missing in his life.

They stayed there, in that gentle silence, in that refuge. Si-eun had never wanted to be loved. But he had needed it so much. And there, in y/n's arms, he was no longer that cold and distant boy. He was just a man, a man in love, who had found his home.

She stroked the back of his neck, slowly, without haste. He didn’t move, enjoying every second. No need for more. Just to be here, with her. She kissed him again, her lips brushing his. A kiss to tell him he wasn’t alone. A kiss to tell him he was loved.

That night, he slept in her arms. Not out of desire, but to hear her breath, to feel her warmth. He had never wanted to sleep anywhere but here, in this place where he was welcomed, loved. He didn’t have to be anyone else. He could just be himself. And he knew, deep down, that he would always be with her.

At her place. At home. Together.

Forever.

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Requests are open. Enjoy!

[parkjihoonswifey]

haii!! (*ˊᗜˋ*)⸝ could i req sieun x reader (any gender you want) where sieun introduces reader to the group because reader is from another school and gets jealous? dunno if you write smut or not but you can include it if you want ( ˙▿˙ )b

A/N: This is kinda short and I originally planned to add a bit of spice but I had forgotten and already finished it. Sorry love. I hope you still enjoy!

Title:Outsider

Pairings: Si-eun x Fem!Reader

Warnings: none

You stood at the edge of the courtyard, hands in your pockets, shoulders tense beneath your school uniform. Technically, you weren’t a student here, but Si-eun had told you to come anyway.

“It’ll be easier if you meet them,” he’d said over the phone, voice calm and deliberate, like always. “I’ll be there.”

He kept his word.

Now you were watching him from a distance, the way he leaned back casually against the wall, unbothered—until someone called his name and a small group gathered around him. Jun-Tae was the first to arrive, his usual nervous energy buzzing around him, followed by Hyun-Tak and then Baku, whose loud voice echoed with easy confidence.

They laughed at something Baku said, and your jaw clenched.

You and Si-eun went back. Middle school. Same cram school. Same quiet bus rides home, headphones shared between you. He was never good at small talk, but with you, he didn’t need to be. At least, you thought that used to mean something.

Now? He had this… group. A found family. People he fought with, bled with. Inside jokes and bruises and bond forged through violence and trust. You weren’t a part of that. Could never be.

“Hey.” His voice cut through your spiral. You looked up.

He was standing in front of you now, hands in his pockets, head tilted slightly. His gaze flicked to your clenched fists before meeting your eyes.

“I told them you were coming.”

You didn’t answer. Just nodded, stiff.

He turned slightly, gesturing for you to follow as he walked back to the group. Every step felt heavier.

“Guys, this is my girlfriend,” Si-eun said, voice even.

The group looked you over—curious, not hostile. Jun-Tae gave a small smile. Gotak nodded once. Baku waved.

Si-eun added, “We go way back.”

You heard the unspoken part: Before all of this.

You swallowed your jealousy, your fear of being replaced.

Baku grinned, his hand coming down hard onto your shoulder, patting it several times. “Anyone Si-eun vouches for is cool with me. You fight?”

The question caught you off guard.

“…No.”

His grin widened even more, "Good. Keep it that way."

Laughter ripped through the group, not mocking—more like approval. Acceptance. Maybe even a challenge.

Si-eun didn’t smile, but he looked at you longer than he looked at anyone else.

“You’ll fit in,” he said, like it was a fact.

And for a moment, you believed him.

A/N: If it's not good sorry I hope people enjoy.

[leavemeuntold]

taking this opportunity to remind you all of the craziest moment of television ever