#locker notes ♡

[ririnyann]

THEM 🫶🫶🫶

SELFSHIPPERS PLEASE REBLOG THIS POST WITH YOUR FAVORITE GIF OR PICTURE OR CLIP OF YOUR F/O!! OR YOUR FAVORITE PIECE OF MERCH WHETHER YOU OWN IT OR NOT!! ANY FAVORITES!!

i want to see all of your beloveds!!!

[ririnyann]

note to self.. tags to use..

[gojosconsort]

College upperclassmen bully toji & shiu????? mhm mhm 🫡

COLLEGE BULLIES ♡ // HEADCANONS

⁀➷ CONTENT. you’re the underclassman they’ve been tormenting—until toji and shiu pull you into their dorm room one night, ending with them coming inside you <3

♡ PAIRING. afab!reader x bully!toji x bully!shiu

♡ WARNINGS. mdni. bullying, dubcon, intox!reader, alcohol, creampie, oral sex (f and m), threesome (m/m/f), spanking, hair-pulling, bondage (with belts), vid recording, edging, degradation, praise

♡ AUTHOR’S NOTE. need them inside me :(( hope u like it! ty for the request <3

BULLY!TOJI & SHIU who’ve been ruling the campus since you were a freshman—toji’s the loud, brash asshole while shiu’s the quieter one, always got a cigarette dangling and a stare that cuts through you. you’re just some underclassman trying to keep your head down, but they’ve got their eyes on you anyway. it starts small—toji “accidentally” knocking your books out of your hands in the hall, laughing, “oops, clumsy little thing,” while shiu leans against the lockers, smirking, “better pick that shit up before someone steps on it.”

BULLY!TOJI & SHIU who make it a game to mess with you—toji’s always crowding your space, towering over you in the cafeteria, “what’s a shrimp like you eating? need a real man to feed you?” shiu’s subtler, catching you alone in the library, blowing smoke in your face, “you’re too cute to be this quiet—makes me wanna fuck with you more.” they’re relentless, but there’s this weird pull—like they’re daring you to snap back, testing how much you’ll take before you break.

BULLY!TOJI & SHIU who catch you after a late class one night—you’re alone, campus half-empty, and they corner you by the bike racks. toji grabs your bag, tosses it to shiu, “what’s she hiding in here, huh?” shiu digs through it, pulling out your notebook, reading some dumb doodle aloud, “aw, she’s got a crush or some shit.” you snap, lunging for it, and toji catches your wrists, grinning, “feisty now, huh? kinda hot.” shiu steps closer, voice low, “yeah, maybe we’ve been too mean—how about we make it up to you, princess?”

BULLY!TOJI & SHIU who don’t let up after that night—start “helping” you instead, but it’s all laced with their bullshit. toji carries your bag over his shoulder, “don’t want you straining that little back,” while shiu walks too close, brushing your arm, “stick with us—nobody’s gonna fuck with you now.” it’s possessive, not sweet—toji glares at any guy who looks your way, and shiu’s got this subtle threat in his eyes when someone talks to you too long. you’re theirs to mess with, and they’re making damn sure everyone knows it.

BULLY!TOJI & SHIU who drag you to some shitty off-campus party—toji’s got his arm slung around you, beer in his other hand, “stay close, kid—don’t trust these assholes.” shiu’s lighting a cig, watching you dance a little, smirking, “look at her go—fuckin’ cute when she loosens up.” you’re tipsy, they’re buzzed, and it gets hazy—toji pulls you into his lap on the couch, muttering, “too damn pretty for your own good,” while shiu leans in, breath hot on your neck, “he’s right—gonna get us in trouble.”

BULLY!TOJI & SHIU who take you back to their shitty shared dorm bedroom after the party—toji’s grinning, “c’mon, crash here—safer with us.” you’re too drunk to argue, and it starts slow—shiu’s hand on your thigh while toji’s sprawled next to you, shirt off. “ever wonder what we’d do to a girl like you?” toji teases, voice rough, and shiu’s fingers creep higher, “bet she’s thought about it—haven’t you, princess?” you nod, half-dazed, and that’s all they need—toji’s kissing you hard, shiu’s tugging your top off, and it’s game on.

BULLY!TOJI & SHIU who don’t waste time once you’re in—toji’s got you straddling him, ripping your skirt up, “fuck, look at this—been hiding this ass from us?” while shiu’s behind, grinding against you, unzipping his pants, “gonna take turns, huh? she’s ours now.” toji fucks you first, rough and fast, “tight little thing—fuckin’ perfect,” while shiu watches, stroking himself, “hurry up, man—want my piece.” they switch, shiu sliding in deep, groaning, “shit, she’s soaked—loves this, don’t you?” as toji holds your face, “tell us who you belong to, kid.”

BULLY!TOJI & SHIU who get possessive mid-fuck—toji’s got you riding him on the bed, growling, “this pussy’s mine—say it,” and shiu’s not having it, yanking your head back by the hair, “ours, asshole.” they argue over you while railing you, ending with both unloading inside, “guess we’re both keeping you, huh?”

BULLY!TOJI & SHIU who love watching you squirm—tie you to shiu’s bed with some old belts, toji teasing your clit with his fingers, “beg for it, brat—let’s hear you,” while shiu’s filming it on his phone, “fuck, she’s pretty when she’s desperate—gonna jerk off to this later.” they turn it into a game—who can edge you longer, who can make you cry and plead harder.

BULLY!TOJI & SHIU who don’t care about condoms—toji’s slamming into you raw, growling, “feels better like this—gonna fill you up,” while shiu’s right after, pumping deep, “fuck, she’s leaking us both—nasty little thing.” they love watching it drip out, smearing it back in with their fingers, “stay full, princess.”

BULLY!TOJI & SHIU who keep you around after that night—toji’s possessive as hell now, slinging an arm around you on campus, “anyone fucks with her, they’re dead,” while shiu’s quieter but just as bad, smirking, “she’s ours—nobody else gets a taste.” they share you whenever they want—toji bending you over any surface while shiu’s got you sucking him off under the table, “fuckin’ teamwork, huh?” you’re theirs, no question, and they love reminding you every chance they get.

————— ୨୧ —————

⁀➷ masterlist

[cherryyluvs]

Little Notes, Big Feelings

Notes in your locker, simple, and anonymous. A little bit sweet. You never expected Mark Grayson confessing that he likes you. ˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

It started with a note, neatly folded and tucked in between the vents of your locker. Just barely sticking out and impossible to miss.

You were half asleep still rubbing the exhaustion from your eyes. grabbing the little slip of paper “Pop quiz in Johnson's class today. Hope you studied. (I didn't, Whoops.)"

You blinked at it, turning it over just to see no name, no clue on who wrote it. Just a simple, neat handwriting, and a tiny smiling doodle of Seance dog in the corner. You glanced around the busy hallway, scanning faces. But no one seemed to be watching you. Just students going to their class, laughing with their friends, and stuffing books into their bags.

Weird. But sweet.

After that notes kept coming, little messages that made you smile. “Did you see the new episode of Seance Dog? Crazy right?” Other times they would be personal. “You looked really happy today.” You kept every single one, tucking them into your notebook like they were little treasures. You found yourself looking forward to them, and you wanted to know them too. So one afternoon you decided to write back, slipping a note into your own locker. Leaving it right where the mysterious writer had been placing theirs. “Okay, secret admirer, your turn. Who are you?”

The next morning a reply was waiting. “If i tell you. It ruins the fun doesn't it?” You let out a huff, fine.

If they wanted to play, you’d play. The back and forth went on for weeks! You had asked what their favorite color was (Yellow but sometimes blue) . Some were rants about a new superhero sighting or how the cafeteria’s chicken nuggets are a danger to society. “The cafeteria nuggets are definitely a health hazard. Stay safe out there”

There's a response the next morning, “RIGHT?? I'm glad someone gets it. Also I can neither confirm or deny that I saw one of those nuggets move.” The messages became part of your daily routine, a little secret, something that made the school day a little brighter.

And one day you found a note that made your heart drop.

“Would it be weird if i said i kinda like you?” Your fingers trembled slightly as you held the small piece of paper. This wasn't just playful anymore, this is real. At this point you needed to know who it was.

You waited, keeping an eye out at your locker, hoping to catch them in the act. Whoever they were, they were good at being sneaky. So you tried a different approach.

You left a note in return, simple and direct. “Not weird. Kind of sweet, but I think i'd like it more if I knew who you were.”

The next day there was no note, and after that, nothing. Your heart sank, had you scared them off? Had they changed their mind? It gnawed at you, making you realize just how much these silly little notes meant to you.

And then it finally happened. You were at your locker, gathering books for your next class, when a voice behind you cleared their throat. “Uh… hey.” You turned around to face the stranger and there he was. Mark Grayson, moving nervously on his feet, his easygoing confidence nowhere to be found. He rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding your eyes but you could see the pink creeping on his cheeks.

It clicked instantly. The handwriting on the notes, the way he always looked in your direction in class when you weren't paying attention. Mark, who was sweet and awkward, always rambling about comics and superhero movies.

“You're-”

He exhaled like he'd been holding his breath for days. “Yeah it's me.” Your heart fluttered, warmth flooding into your chest.

Mark Grayson, you'd noticed him, you never thought if he had noticed you but he had. And for a long time apparently, “So.. was that too weird? He asked hesitantly. “I can stop if-” You shook your head, a small smile creeping onto your face.

Pulling out a pen from your purse and grabbing his wrist, before he could question it, you scribbled onto his palm.

“No, not weird at all.” When he read it, his entire face lit up.

[purerae]

╭────༺♡༻────╮

YANDERE!PLAYBOY X FEM!READER

Valentine’s day Special! <3

warnings ;; yandere!playboy being a delusional freak (as usual), yandere behavior, MAJOR second hand embarrassment, slightest bit of angst (if you squint), crack.

╰────༺♡༻────╯

Valentine’s Day for Kieran was basically his second birthday. The rich boy never bought candy, why would he, when he could stock up for free just from today alone? His locker was overflowing with chocolates, candies, and love notes—notes that he didn’t even bother reading before tossing them straight into the trash. But the sweets? Oh, he made sure to keep those. Stuffing his bag full, he scoffed at the cheap, store-bought heart chocolates while setting aside the good stuff; the expensive ones, the homemade treats that probably took hours to make. Greedy. That’s all it was. Kieran was just greedy. But even with all the gifts, all the attention, all the adoration, it never really mattered—not until today. Not until he spotted one letter on his desk that actually made his heart skip a beat. Because this one? This one had to be from you. For the first time on February 14th, Kieran felt a genuine rush of excitement, something different from the usual smug satisfaction of being adored that just boosted his already huge ego. The envelope sat on his desk, neat and delicate, like it had been placed there with care—like it actually meant something. His fingers brushed over your initials written in beautiful cursive handwriting, slow and deliberate, his mind already running wild. Finally. You were finally giving in. He could already picture you, shy and flustered as you wrote it, your heart laid bare just for him. A love letter? From you? His sweet little obsession finally coming to her senses? He was grinning, twirling the letter between his fingers, taking his time, savouring the moment. Oh, you were so cute for this.

 He carefully opened the letter, fingertips tingling with anticipation. His heart was racing, his mind already running a mile a minute. What kind of sweet words did you leave for him? Were you confessing your love? Finally admitting that you couldn’t resist him any longer? God, you knew him so well! Every detail, down to the paper, the handwriting, the delicate way the envelope was sealed—it all screamed you. This was the first time that the suave playboy turned into a giggling high school girl, biting his lip to keep from grinning too wide. If he was just some regular guy, people would be throwing weird glances at him for nearly stomping his feet in excitement, but he’s Kieran, so no one does.

To be honest, all the girls around him loved it. They giggled amongst themselves, watching him act like a lovesick fool, finding it more endearing than embarrassing. Some of them seething in jealousy at the mysterious girl who got the school's renowned playboy all lovestruck like this. Man, pretty privilege was real. Any other man would’ve been clowned for this, but Kieran? No, Kieran could get away with anything—especially when he looked good doing it.

The white haired male just had to find you, had to catch a glimpse of his princess all shy and flustered from pouring out her emotions in this cute little letter. He was already going to force you into his valentines day plans-- but you, making the move first? Gosh, you never fail to surprise him. Kieran rushed around the school, finally found you hanging around the library. He waltzes over to your table, practically floating with confidence, that stupidly charming smirk plastered across his face. With an easy flick of his wrist, he spun the chair around, plopping down and draping his arms over the back like he owned the fucking place; the letter was in his hand, obnoxiously tapping it against his palm as he leaned in, way too close, eyes glinting with something dangerous beneath all that excitement.

“Sooo...” he drawled, looking at you up and down, voice smooth as ever, “...couldn’t resist me anymore, huh princess~?” the blue eyed male winked as he laughed boyishly, Though his words were condescendingly annoying, a glint of affection is laced in his orbs. 

You, the girl who just wanted some peace on this already lame ass day where you enviously stare at the lovey dovey highschoolers with, gaze up from your notebook as you stare blankly at him, forcing yourself not to immediately roll your eyes at the sight of the blue eyed playboy.  “Huh?” You blink once, and then twice at him.

Kieran scoffs out a laugh. Still so shy, bless your cute little soul. “The letter, sweetheart.” He waved it a little, like it was obvious. “Real cute of you, by the way. You always did have good taste.” Your eyebrows furrow as you stare at the pastel pink letter, squinting at it before looking back at him. “What letter? Dude what the fuck are you talking about?” tilting your head as you grimace at his stupid little smirk. Kieran let out a breathy laugh, tilting his head like you just said the funniest thing in the world. “Ahh, playing shy now? That’s adorable, really,” he mused, tapping the letter against his chin. “Didn’t think you’d get cold feet after pouring your heart out like this, but it’s okay, princess. I get itttt. Big emotions can be scary!” he says with a mocking pout, leaning in closer. He reached out, trailing a finger down your arm like he was so sure this was some flirty little game. Youre playing hard to get as always, its okay! He likes the chase. However, you cant back out this easily when he literally has the physical proof of your love-- no, infatuation towards him. “You don’t have to pretend, y’know. I already know it’s from you.” his other hand tracing the first letters of your first and last name that was engraved onto the envelope. 

But the way you just kept staring at him, utterly lost, was starting to poke holes in his fantasy. No. No, you were just messing with him. Testing him. Right? Rolling your eyes, you snatch the letter out of his hand, too tired to deal with whatever weird fantasy he had cooked up this time. With an exhausted sigh, you scanned the handwriting, flipping the letter over to really stare at the initials , and then—oh. Oh, this was actually hilarious. Your hand slaps your mouth as you stifle a giggle.

“Kieran,” you deadpanned, looking him dead in the eyes, “this isn’t from me. It’s from the other girl in our chemistry class. Y’know, the one with the same initials as me?” Silence.

Kieran just stood there, blinking, like his brain was trying to reboot. His fingers twitched slightly at his sides, and for the first time all day, he didn’t have a slick response ready. You watched, unimpressed, as his expression went through about ten different emotions at once—confusion, disbelief, denial, a little more denial—before finally landing on something unreadable. “...what?” He freezes for a solid minute before letting out a light chuckle, rolling his shoulders back like this was no big deal. “Ohh, right. Of course. The other girl.” He nodded, slipping his hands into his pockets, throwing on that easy, practiced smirk. “I knew that! I was just.. I was just joking, silly~!”

But inside? He was tweaking.

'What the actual hell. What do you mean it’s not from you? Then why the hell did it feel like you? Look like it was from you? Sound like you?' His heart was racing, but not in the good way anymore. His palms felt weirdly clammy. His eye twitched. 'No. No, no, no. This doesn’t make sense. This was supposed to be from you. This was supposed to be our moment. So why— who, who even is the other girl??? Has he ever even interacted with her??' Suddenly the heartfelt words that adorned the letter just seemed incredibly corny and cheesy to him. The bright pastel colours decorated along the paper blazed in his eyes, practically laughing at the delusional boy that stood before it. 

You crossed your arms, raising an eyebrow at him. “Uh-huh. Sure you did.” Kieran swallowed. Act natural. Act. Natural. The playboy opened his mouth, ready to spit out some smooth, damage-control comeback—but nothing came out. For the first time in his entire life, he had nothing. Just sitting there, frozen, swallowing the most brutal, humiliating reality check of his existence. And the worst part? You were just staring at him. Not even amused. Not even mad. Just tired and annoyed.

“Oh my God,” you muttered, pinching the bridge of your nose like you were physically in pain just being near him. “I literally don’t have time for this. Happy Valentine's Day man.”  You say with a tight lipped smile, grabbing your stuff as you pat his shoulder. And with that, you turned on your heel and walked away.

Kieran just stood there, gripping the letter so hard it crumpled in his palm. His ears were burning, his jaw tight, but his smirk? Still there. Bruised ego? Maybe. But shattered? Please. A mix-up like this wasn’t enough to shake him. You didn't straight up reject him, it was just a misunderstanding! It was all that stupid girl's fault for having the same initials as his dear soulmate! As if you could ever actually reject him.

No, no, this just meant you were still fighting it. Still playing your little games, still too stubborn to admit what you really wanted. Him. That was fine. He had all the time in the world to let you come to your senses. You’d see it eventually—how you were meant for him, how there was never any other option. And when you finally stop running? Oh, princess he’d be right there, waiting. Besides, there was always next year, and that time; he is certain that the only chocolates he’d be getting is from you.

a/n :: for some reason you guys looveee seeing kieran suffer so heres my early valentines gift for you all :p (maybe not you all but the three anons in my inbox LOL) purerae<3

[anisespice]

Hey girl got a request,so like let’s say bonten is having a meeting with a new criminal organization gang that came in to come up with a deal,and while we are just sitting in the back looking at our new sparkly items Koko bought us,and the new criminal organization gang calls us out saying it’s disrespectful and rude calling us names..And bonten doesn’t like that one bit..So yeah I want them to react to that

hope it makes sense 😔😍🤺🤺

SAVE ME FROM MY WRITER'S BLOCK, ANON - HERE WE GO, NO MARIO. Hope you enjoy and thank you for requesting~!

pairing: bonten x fem!reader

warnings: mature language, misogynistic undertones (from another gang), implied violence, guns mentioned, reader is criminally oblivious (love that for her), guard-dog!bonten supremacy, sanzu gets his own warning lol and i think that's it.

notes: yall. can you believe i actually wrote this in one sitting? without stopping?? wild concept for me, haven't been able to do that in a good minute *knock on wood*, but i hope you enjoy! more stuff coming soon ♡

tagged: @fantasycantasy , @spacegirl05, @neverlandlostchild , @darks-pet-shadow, @captaincyberqueen

Upon the arrival of the recently developed organization, officially known as Kaiju, things already weren’t off to a great start. They were late, clocked at about twenty minutes past schedule. Excuses poured from them like a broken faucet, blaming their tardiness on traffic, which the members were willing to give the benefit of the doubt, some more than others. Then, they were unprepared. Scrambling about with their half-assed introduction mixed with a sloppily thrown together presentation, it was insulting at worst. 

Here they were, biggest in the game, offering an opportunity to help underground operatives make a name for themselves..and this is how they want to showcase their potential? Mikey waved it off when his number three voiced this flaw, merely chalking it up with inexperience–Everyone has to start somewhere, right? 

But. Finally came strike three. The one thing, the most damning thing they could’ve ever done to have mercy jump right out the window and straight to hell, was when one of their foolish members spoke ill of you. 

It was supposed to be taken as a joke, something controversial in a room amongst men, locker room talk if you would. Unfortunately for him and the rest of his team, Bonten didn’t see it that way. What was said wasn’t important, but the intent behind it was enough to make them hostile. And Kaiju would soon realize it too late despite no one laughing on that side of the room. If anything, the room grew colder. No matter who you looked at, venom consumed their gazes, a deathly aura building from their leader all the way to the advisors. The only reason no one reached for their gun, mowing them down in an array of bullets, was because you didn’t hear the disrespectful comment. 

All gazes shifted over to you briefly, sitting pretty in your little area they set up just for you. They liked having you close by, even during something so mundane as a meeting, watching you happily paint your nails or open up all the shiny new trinkets they bought you. Kaiju should count themselves lucky that you had headphones on, blissfully listening to music, not a care in the world.

And it was going to stay that way. 

By now, the dumbasses before them caught on to their grave error. Especially when Sanzu made a show of santuring over to you upon Mikey’s silent request, swiftly gathering you in his arms and carrying you to the head of the table. You squealed slightly in surprise, headphones slipping off your ears in the process as you held on to the pink-haired gangster, confused smile on your face. “Haru! You scared me!~” 

“Sorry, doll. Boss wants ya to sit right here.” Sanzu gently sets you down on your awaited throne, Mikey having made room by scooting his chair back, welcoming you with open arms. 

Still confused though not complaining, you merely shrugged before making yourself comfortable, snuggling more into the leader before putting your headphones back on. Mikey held you possessively, arms locked around you like a shield, placing a small kiss to your forehead. Message was sent; message soon received. 

Kaiju’s leader began blubbering out more excuses, reprimanding his subordinate in the same breath for saying such a thing about Bonten’s trophy wife–

Guns are drawn instantly and zeroed in on every last one of them. Stunned to horrified silence, as were his underlings, they all stood frozen in fear as they stared down multiple barrels in every angle. Koko scoffed, “You must got a death wish, huh?” 

“She’s no trophy, have some goddamn respect,” Mochi added, earning a sardonic chuckle from Ran. 

“Big ask from idiots who have none. Couldn’t even bother to show up on time, now they wanna make jabs at our [_____]. I say we’ve been more than courteous, wouldn’t you agree, otouto?” 

“Tsk. Let’s just waste ‘em. We’d be doing the streets a favor.” 

“Great idea,” Sanzu and Takeomi answered in unison, the former sounding twice as eager. 

The only ones placid were Kakucho and Mikey, one quietly observing whilst the other made sure you remained ignorant to the situation, angling you in his lap to where you were practically straddling him, phone still in hand as you watched a music video your favorite k-pop group dropped recently. The only sounds in the room were the panicked breathing of Kaiju and your melodic humming to the song. Mikey patted your head, satisfied that you were still your happy self. If any of those bastards made your smile drop even a centimeter, he would have their bodies fed to the dogs. With a small sigh, he and Kakucho eventually made eye contact. Then, he gave a small nod. “You were right. Should’ve killed them after that shitty presentation. Handle it.” 

Kakucho gave a curt nod, then signaled for Kaiju to be apprehended. With guns still aimed at them, leaving them no choice but to grovel for mercy, the Haitanis along with Mochi and Takeomi forced them to march out of the room, and to their inevitable deaths, not wanting to startle you with the sight of bloodshed so early in the morning.

Sanzu was already dialing up reinforcements to help with cleanup and disposal, face beaming as he practically skipped out of the room. Kakucho gave one last look to you, then Mikey, then politely bowed before closing the door behind him on his way out. You jumped slightly, the song ending right when the door slammed shut, making you lift one of your headphones and look around in shock.

“Oh, is the meeting over already?” 

Mikey reached up to thumb your lower lip, then reached up to playfully pinch your cheek. You grinned, gently swatting him away, so oblivious to the men you inadvertently sent to their demise all to protect that very smile. The former blonde shook his head, leaning on the armrest to rest his chin atop his knuckles. “No. Ended up being a waste of time. Don’t think you would’ve liked them.” 

You chortled. “Doesn’t matter if I like them. It’s your business, silly.” 

“Mm, you are our business, angel. And we like you more.”

© 2024-2025 anisespice ッ all rights reserved. likes, comments & reblogs much appreciated!

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

♡ ring pops, chocolates, proposals ! ♡

katsuki loves you throughout the years.

a/n : BOOM !! surprise extra on your foreheads !!! this is basically a lil extra to rpp from katsu n readers pov ! i thought it was cute n i hope yall enjoy it too <33 !! much luv xx

fem reader, slight anime n manga spoilers ! food (candy and chocolate), jealous katsuki, mentions of dicks bc katsuki calls someone one, katsuki n reader are in their 20s, reader loves rain, katsuki does not, proposal, kissinggg, reader likes romance (implied sligthly), katsuki does not (kinda), soft n emotional katsuki bc I LOVE HIM FIGHT MEEE!!! RAAHHH!!!, short n sweet, proposal, lmk if i missed sum else !! <33

"for you."

katsuki, age 6 stands in front of you. no more words are said from him as he looks off to the side, beet red face turned away from you with outstretched hands. and clutched tightly in his hands, a ring pop in your favourite color.

you beam, immediately taking it from him. "thank you, katsu !" you chirp, quickly popping the candy into your mouth. katsuki's shoulders relax when he sees you've taken the offering from him although he doesn't meet your eye fully just yet.

"do you wanna share ?" you ask sweetly, already reaching out your candy towards him seeing that he didn't have one of his one in hand. he furiously shakes his head, pushing your hand back towards you.

"no ! and this one's for you ! i already got one.." he insists, shoveling around in his backpack before the crinkle of a wrapper grabs both of your attention. he pulls out the bag of sweet ring pops and picks out an orange one for himself. showing it to you while his eyes drift away from yours. you smile, seeing that you can both eat candy together now.

"i-it's a ring. so..you're my wife," he states. your big eyes widen at him and his glowing red cheeks. you look back down at the candy you've been eating pressed around your finger. it's bigger than the rings you see on tv.

you like katsuki. he was a little rough sometimes, and he could be a little mean. but he always played with you and shared his coloured pencils. he'd sit in the reading corner with you and hold your hand when you'd go on field trips.

"oh, really ?" your face heats, he nods. "want you to be my wife, cus haruto's always lookin' at you..a-an' you're my friend. not his." he mumbles bitterly. you like haruto, he's nice to you, but not as much as katsuki. katsuki was your best friend.

"does that make you my husband then ?" katsuki gets red to the tips of his ears and his nose is practically pressed into the collar of his shirt but he nods anyways. you beam again, the taste of the flavoured candy still on your lips. " i like that !"

katsuki blinks at you, chubby little cheeks pulling into a smirk and he drops to sit down next to you roughly on the grass. finally popping his own ring in his mouth.

"then you're my wife, yeah ?" you nod and he grins, you hear the candy clack around his mouth. "means you're only ever gonna be with me." and you nod again happily because you like that, you like the thought of only being with katsuki, because he's your best friend ever.

"mhm !"

"..forever." he adds tentatively and when you nod again he snickers to himself.

wait till stupid deku hears about this.

valentine's day was fucking stupid. and white day was even stupider.

besides them being the corniest holidays ever, katsuki finds the whole concept stupid. why do you need an entire day just to grow the balls to tell someone you like them ? and the worst part is that some fuckers have the audacity to try that shit with you.

katsuki remembers when he'd started despising the stupid holidays. it was in his first year of middle school and you opened up your locker to see some chocolates and a hand written note.

it was cheesy. and fucking stupid. but you smiled about it.

you fucking liked it.

the bastard even had the nerve to walk up to you at the end of the day, when you're supposed to go home with katsuki and end up coming over to his house to do your homework together (so he could stare at you) then stay over for dinner and play some video games (so he could touch you, poke your sides to make you trip up and pinch your nose when you end up losing to him) or watch a movie (so he could hear you laugh)

you were supposed to be all his. but instead you reassure him that you'll be back in a second.

and katsuki's antsy and so annoyed his skin prickles, but he swallows it down and drags his feet towards the gates as he waits, like hell he'll leave you alone with some limp dick bastard.

he did feel better when you said you rejected the loser, and he felt much better when you still ended up spending the afternoon with him. but he couldn't stop thinking about it.

valentine's day and such was so fucking stupid in katsuki's eyes. but maybe you liked it ? you never cared much for romance outside of those stupid rom-coms you like, but maybe there was more to it.

katsuki couldn't admit it to himself then, but he hates the holidays because there's a whole day for him to grow some balls and ask you out. and yet he couldn't fucking do it.

until his first year at u.a. and you hand him a box of chocolates.

dark chocolate, you specified. "since i know you don't really like sweets all that much." you said. the slight tremble in your voice made him swallow harshly. it felt different than the chocolates you'd handed out to your classmates earlier (which he was absolutely not jealous about. at all.) and the sheer size of the box compared to the little baggies you'd handed spoke too.

these were different. these were just for him.

his bag feels extra heavy when he walks home that day, and he's never loved chocolate more than the day you'd made some just for him.

"the chocolates weren't bad." was all he'd texted you (he wasn't sure he'd be able to talk to you properly on the phone that day lest you heard the shakiness in his voice.) but he knew what he needed to do.

and a few months later, white day rolls around and katsuki still thinks it sucks. it's a stupid holiday. but he spent the entire day making these stupid holiday chocolates for you. and his ears burn when he tells you that he only made these for you, because you're the only one he cares about enough to make some stupid chocolates for on a holiday he hates.

and you smile, so bright and pretty and so you. and katsuki feels like he's on top of the world when you shyly kiss his cheek, your hand in his grip on your way home.

he guessed he'll have to tell his mom about this..and maybe think about thanking her.

the day katsuki plans to propose to you, it rains.

and not even regular rain, a fucking downpour.

and due to prior experiences and feelings he’s had since childhood, he fucking hates rain.

but you love it. when you were kids you loved jumping in puddles and during morning time, you were drowsier and more prone to falling asleep when it was raining. when you got older, you'd always gasp happily when it started to rain, even though katsuki scoffed every time you did, mean mugging the window. he'd asked you what you liked about rain every year you were together, because it was cold, it made the ground sloshy and slippery and it made his quirk basically obsolete when he was younger and harder to use the older he got. there was absolutely nothing fun about that. and you'd always tell him the same exact thing.

"i like it 'cus i just do." you'd respond simply. he always raised a brow at you, but let it be. he couldn't change your mind about it and that was it.

with his proposal plans down the gutter, you're cuddling bed. you yawn in his arms, the tapping against the window putting you at ease. katsuki can admit it's not ear grating, but he'd much rather it just—not rain at all. and he wishes that so much more now, stupid fucking rain..ruining his fucking plans to fucking marry you..

"why do you like this shit so much ?" he asks you the question he's been asking you for years now as you lay against his warm chest. he doesn't mean to do it, only realising he's been asking you this practically all his life after the fact. and it makes him realise how long you've been together when you calmly respond the way you always have, cheekily smiling up at him.

you stick your tongue out at him "i like it 'cus i just do."

oh. fuck.

katsuki doesn't know exactly why that sets him off. maybe because the fact you've been together for two decades makes him emotional. maybe it's because throughout all these years your answer hasn't changed and you haven't changed and your feelings haven't changed for him. you still smile up at him, you did when you were kids when he'd asked you to be his wife with those cheap ring pops he'd begged his mom to buy. you did in middle school even when he thought you had a crush on izuku for a while and it made him act in such an embarrassing way he doesn't want to remember it, but he does anyway. you smiled up at him when he'd asked you out with the chocolates he'd spend hours working on, making them perfect for you. and when he'd told you to just move in with him because "you're basically here all the time anyway."

you've always been there, and he's always loved you. since the day you'd mesmerised him so much at six years old he had to talk to his mom about you.

katsuki absolutely fucking hates rain, and he doubts that'll change anytime soon, and it ruined his perfect proposal. but he can't hear the rain in his ears anymore when he abruptly flips you onto your back to kiss you. all he hears in the tiny giggles you let out when he smacks three wet kisses onto your lips before diving in for a longer one. i love you, they say. he can only hear your fingers sneaking into his hair and scratching at his scalp and the happy sigh you let out when he runs his tongue across your lips.

"m'breath stinks," you mumble drowsily, katsuki grumbles, pulling away just far enough to tell you "i don't give a fuck." and diving in again. you squeal in surprise. it's all he hears.

"fuckin' love you." he grunts against your lips, you hum, briefly able to pull away to catch your breath to tell him you love him too, and pulling him closer to you, the rustling of your sheets, yours and his, is all he hears.

"yeah ? you love me ?" he whispers, going to nibble at your ear. he's all over you, pressing sloppy kisses along your neck and you giggle, "mhm, love you." you sigh.

"fuck.." he breathes again, bringing his face back up to yours he presses his forehead to yours "fuck—so," he places another kiss to your lips, he gulps "so marry me."

and then you blink at him "what ?" you breathe heavily, softly chuckling. and the rapid beating of his heart is all he hears, but then your eyes go glossy and you whisper, voice broken and wobbly "..what ?"

he huffs to himself, his hands search for yours and intertwine when he finds them. like the day he'd pulled you over to his mom so he could ask her to let you come over to play at his house. like when you'd offered it to him when he took you to prom and you looked more beautiful than he could ever utter. he wonders how you'd look during your wedding. he's thought about it more times than he can count.

he takes a deep breath, not pulling away "i wasn't supposed to tell you like this, fuckin rain.." he scoffs. "but—fuck, i just—you've always been there, always been with me. since i was a snot nosed fuckin' brat and at times were you shoulda left my ass." he's forgotten the shit he wanted to say, simply blurting out what's on his mind. he feels a little bad, because kirishima had helped him with his speech, but his heart beats too hard to care.

"but m'glad you didn't. m'glad you didn't before and i'm glad you haven't now 'cus i love you so fuckin' much." you let out a giggle mixed with a little sob at his constant nervous cursing and it makes him smile lightly too.

"i know there are times where i've been a pretty shit boyfriend but..but i mean it, y'know ?" he sniffs a bit, and you shake your head "you've never been a shit boyfriend, suki. just a bit of a pain in my ass sometimes," you giggle but your eyes are overflowing with tears. he chuckles and fights back tears of his own with a sniffle again.

"yeah, major pain..but even still i—when i told you i wanted you to be my wife back when we were kids, i meant it. an' when that fuckin loser tried to ask you out on valentines day in middle school, i wanted to knock his fuckin' teeth in." he smirks, and you try to hide your laugh with a gasp "wanted to tell him you were mine."

"you're such a baby. i remember how pouty you were about it."

" i wasn't pouty," he rolls his eyes, his smile doesn't disappear. he wipes away a tear about to roll down your cheek before you can get his your shirt sleeve wetter then it already is "you could've just told me back then," you whisper, holding onto the hand on your cheek and pressing a kiss to his palm. katsuki feels his heart swell.

"i should've told you a lot of shit back then," he laments. he remembers when shigaraki put holes in him and the constant flashes of you on his mind. when he woke up in the hospital and you'd been there and he just couldn't tell you those three words. he'd figured that since you were both alive, he could tell you later when shit was less..messy.

except shit kept getting messier, and then when katsuki blew a hole into his heart he'd wished he could've told you how much he loved you.

but then he had gotten another chance, another chance to be with you. to be the best damn boyfriend in the world like he'd promised you he'd be, to make you happy, and he didn't care if shit got even messier, he didn't care to be scared. when he woke up with his mom and dad, a doctor and you. everything else blurred in his mind and despite your runny nose and your mix of how much you'd missed him and how worried you were but also scolding him on how much of a dummy he was, katsuki couldn't help but smile.

his mom still teases him about how the first words that he'd blurted out after waking up from his operation getting chastised by doctors were "fuck, i love you."

"but, i won't regret not telling you shit anymore. i won't wait any longer either," he kicks out of the sheets, reaching for the lowest drawer of his nightstand to pull out a little red box, grabbing you with him and placing you down right in front of him. he kneels down on one knee, like when he used to tie your shoelaces for you because you didn't know how to, and how he does to this day because 'you want to crack your head against the side walk so bad, but i don't wanna see that shit.'

he grabs your hand, and with a wobbly voice asks you "will you marry me ?"

and finally, katsuki stops hearing his own heart beat and hears the gentle tapping of the rain, still pouring, but it puts him slightly at ease when you nod and squeal out a 'yes !'

<33

[luviestarz]

lee haechan fic recs! part 2 ❤︎

note! : used all the old fics i could find that i enjoyed

❤︎ Love at First Bite…literally!? - @huangberryyy (Wherein Haechan finally gets the chick flick moment he dreamt of. Or wherein Haechan finally understands the appeal of being bitten by bitches.)

❤︎ the bet - @tyonfs (you and lee donghyuck created a bet that stated you two would have sex if he made the winning shot. now, you’re pinned up against the lockers, about to do the one thing best friends don’t do, and you definitely shouldn’t be wanting more.)

❤︎ Babe Watch [M]  - @milfgyuu (You and Haechan both have big plans this summer. You’re going to earn yourself a spot on the infamous Baywatch team and Haechan’s deadset on getting the girl. It just so happens that both your plans intersect quite nicely.)

❤︎ [8:02pm] - @nctsworld (in which a spontaneous dance in the kitchen with donghyuck sparks a revelation about how you feel about him.)

❤︎ beware the panty perv ♡ ldh x reader - @guanana (there’s a mystery at hand! it seems like your panties have been vanishing into thin air whenever you need them most? angry that your favorite pairs of panties are going missing, you decide to put on your detective hat in hopes of finding the mysterious lingerie bandit. but between all of the guys that you sleep with— you can’t seem to pinpoint who the culprit could be. it couldn’t possibly be your absolute geek of a tutor for calculus, right? nah.)

❤︎ september 19. - @hyucks-archive

❤︎ SURE THING (L.DH) - @domjaehyun

❤︎ young gods (l.dh) - @606fm (in the midst of committing felonies in the dark, lee donghyuck—your literal partner in crime and ride or die for life—manages to snag your heart in the process without you even realizing it. i mean, what the hell did you expect from seoul city’s most notorious robber?)

❤︎ [7:43am] - @aesthyuckic

❤︎ haechan is obsessed with you. - @haechurch

❤︎ the right one. (m) - @starryhyuck (donghyuck doesn’t like you going on dates with anyone else, especially lee jeno. you’re supposed to be his. and only his.)

❤︎ meow haechan using a lot of tongue meow meow  - @ofjunemoment (or: you’re thinking of getting a tongue piercing, but you’re not sure how haechan feels)

❤︎ attention - @pinkynana (gamer boys are the easiest target for you. they barely interact with any other woman so the moment you find out haechan was a gamer boy, you promised to sit on his lap any time he wanted to.)

❤︎ free falling - @sunpopz (your friend haechan has been acting kinda weird lately.. does it have anything to do with you? maybe it does, considering he keeps looking at you like you're gonna kill him any second. well, that and he randomly liked a three month old picture of you.)

❤︎ haechan — just for you (m) - @hyuckmov (because haechan thought you were irresistible when you were clever, if only because he knew he was the only one who could make your brain go empty.)

❤︎ Started With A Kiss - @sundaysundaes (Rookie actor, Lee Haechan, desperately wants to get the lead role in the highly anticipated upcoming TV drama. He’s sure he has what it takes to fill the part. Acting as a hero? No problem. Pretending to overcome his traumatic experience? Consider it done. A bed scene? Easy—wait, no. That might be a problem. But he should be fine as long as he gets to rehearse, right?)

❤︎ if I lose my mind - @slightlymore (you’ve never cared much for your dreams. they were always confusing nonsense you forgot in the morning. this until you started to have the same dream again and again and again: a lobby, pleasant elevator music in the background, many golden doors, a handsome young man welcoming you and asking where you wanted to go that night. his name was haechan and apparently you weren’t supposed to know that, let alone fall in love with him.)

❤︎ this is the story of how we fell in love, apparently. - @navyhyuck (running a youtube channel with your best friend isn’t easy, not when he’s like a ticking time bomb that’s constantly bubbling up something new. what’s worse is that you’ve had a crush on him for the past three years.)

❤︎ face sitting - @haetkeeper

❤︎ pervert (M) - @haechannielove (you confront haechan on his disgusting and constant objectification of you.)

❤︎ Pearlescent - @d-nghy-ck (A shoreline sunset spent cozied up against Hyuck dives deep past surface level. His lips profess his heart’s intent; his eyes reflect waves dancing in iridescent glimmers; his love whispered into your skin evokes heated passion.) 

❤︎ i love it, starboy - @staargirlblog (slight yandere! idol! haechan x fangirl! reader)

❤︎ college boyfriend!haechan - @lvlyynim

❤︎ perv!haechan - @4everhyucks

❤︎ My Boy. - @prodbymaui (A series of failed relationships and you were this near of giving up on love. But then here comes little Donghyuck and his persistence. Maybe-- he was the one fated to you, after all.)

[myjjongie]

✶ PLAYING GIRLFRIEND ── l. heeseung

IN WHICH: your best friend heeseung, who also so happens to be a player. needs a girlfriend to ward off all the girls on valentine’s day. who better to help him? you of course!

PAIRING: bsf player!heeseung x bsf fem!reader GENRE/WARNINGS: lowercase intended !!, one shot, skinship, fake dating, best friends, pining, fluff, slight friends to lovers, slow burn (???) WORD COUNT: 1.4k ₊⊹♡ EVIE'S NOTE: another day another 10 am post cause i can't handle a decent sleep schedule... late vday one shot i never intended to make LOL. like the way i saw a love and deepspace fanart for caleb with this scenario and got inspired. my brain refuses to think on its own, but god forbid i see something good... my brain goes "yeah write that." man... but alas here's another heeseung one shot for the masterlist :3

it was valentine’s day. a holiday you didn’t dislike nor particularly cared for. it was just another day in february to you.

but for you, one person usually made the day eventful. the person in question? your best friend heeseung, well precisely your childhood best friend. he had always been known throughout your school years as a notorious player. which meant heeseung’s locker always happened to be filled to the brim with chocolates every valentine’s day.

by the end of the holiday there was no need to sulk over receiving nothing. after all, you’d always end up eating heeseung’s fair share of chocolates. even if he was a player of sorts. he showed true appreciation for what the girls gave him. due to that, a pile of chocolates would form on his desk at home every year.

even after becoming college students, the chocolate giving didn’t end. around this time last year, heeseung received almost 40 chocolates. along with 20 confessions... once heeseung and you arrived back at his place that year. the annoyance was evident on his face. it started to be too much for him. he realized denying every girl that confessed to him was more work than thanking them for a menial gift.

so here you both were, less than twenty four hours before valentine’s day. standing in front of heeseung’s bathroom mirror. matching shirts. matching rings. and quite possibly the stupidest plan conceived by him yet.

glancing up from your phone, you met heeseung’s gaze in the mirror. “hee there’s no way this is gonna work… i’m your best friend. almost everyone. no everyone on campus knows that.”

heeseung hummed out a response as he continued to style his hair nicely. a faint smirk on his lips as he enjoyed the moment. what you didn’t know was that heeseung developed the biggest crush on you after high school. heeseung was aware of the fact he would never be able to tell you his feelings. after all in your eyes he was your playboy best friend. nothing more than that.

but by some miracle he convinced you to be his girlfriend for valentine’s. even if the title was fake in it’s name. he still felt like it was a win win situation to him.

“come on, don’t say that yn. it’s believable! the player guy best friend, finally falls for his girl best friend. what’s there not to believe?” heeseung couldn’t help but let out a scoff while finishing up his hair.

“yeah okay. very believable…” your arms crossed at his horrible explanation. no one in their right mind would believe that the, lee heeseung had fallen for his best friend.

heeseung turned around from the mirror to face you. “alright come here.” his hand stretched out beckoning for you to come over.

you briefly rolled your eyes. still feeling the plan was idiotic. taking his hand, heeseung lightly tugged you forward in front of him. your frame now flushed against his wider body.

your body stiffened slightly. becoming hyper aware of how close heeseung was. he was your best friend. that’s how you viewed him your whole life. but that fact alone couldn’t change that, as frustrating it is to admit. heeseung is genuinely attractive.

“so the only way for this whole ordeal is to be as natural as possible. which is for me to wrap my arms around you.” once heeseung explained what needed to be done. his arm snaked around your waist. holding you firmly against himself.

your face softly heated up as the space between you both lessened. realizing now would be the time for the photo. you brought your phone up from your side. shaky fingers opening up the camera app. making sure to get a good angle before snapping a photo, heeseung stopped you.

“wait yn. you’re barely putting effort into this.” heeseung’s lips turned into a slight pout. you couldn’t help but eye him in the mirror. turning away the moment his eyes met with yours. his hold on your waist tightened at your reaction.

“well what else am i supposed to do? isn’t this fine?”

“not really. your arms look really awkward. here let me help. maybe if i do this it’ll look better.”

before you could protest, heeseung wrapped his arm across your chest. the pose with out a doubt looked possessive. as if he was silently declaring that you were his. no one else’s. your heart slightly fluttered at the feeling. yet you hated that it did. you knew heeseung wasn’t being serious in his actions. he just needed a cop out from all the girls that bothered him now.

heeseung continued on to explain taking the task seriously. “now like this you can put your hand on my forearm. i think my arm that’s across your chest would do.”

using your free hand, you placed it where heeseung instructed you too. taking another glance at the mirror. you both did look like a couple. the matching shirts to the matching rings, he managed to obtain. really sold the deal.

“oh yeah. we definitely look like a couple. told you we’d be pull it off.” a sly smirk was spread across his face. his smirk lingered. noticing the way you slightly jumped when his fingers grazed against your waist. he didn’t expect you to be so antsy in his grasp. not that he was complaining though.

heeseung then rested his chin on top of your head. putting on a cheeky smile, ready for the photo. “ok this is a good pose.”

“geez. i can’t believe this might actually work.” you hated to agree with him. but you and heeseung fit the picture of a couple. if this tricked everyone tomorrow you were bound to eat your own words. finally you snapped a couple photos. in between those few minutes heeseung suggested different poses as well.

there were ones where his back would face the mirror as he hugged your body. your frame being engulfed by his wide shoulders. another one he created with you, had him pose with his face in your neck. the illusion of it made it seem as if he was kissing your neck. once finished heeseung scrolled through all the photos. his face having satisfaction all over it.

“yeah. these are really good. we did a good job. if no girls bother me tomorrow, i have you to thank for the rest of my life yn.” heeseung lowered the phone, flashing you a bright smile.

“yeah yeah. i’m just surprised you put so much effort into this. even so far as to getting rings…”

“hey what can i say. i’m a stickler for perfection. also wear the ring tomorrow. just incase.”

“sure will do. well im going home now! hope your stupid post goes well!”

finally getting back home after heeseung’s did you really take a good look at the photos. you couldn’t help but continuously stare at the first photo you took. it was odd on how good you both fit with one another. even more odd how you somewhat missed his touch. missed the way his arm wrapped around your waist as if he was really your boyfriend.

realizing what you were thinking, you quickly dismissed it. heeseung is your best friend. nothing more nothing less. not to mention he’s a player. even if said player is genuinely nice to woman... but that didn’t matter. you had a set boundary and truly needed to stick to it.

soon valentine’s day came and went. during the day you checked heeseung’s post. the photos he chose were good, too good... not to mention the caption that was paired with the post. it read “spending the day with her”, accompanied with too many heart emojis to seem natural. were people really gonna buy this? finally finding heeseung on campus, you immediately noticed his empty arms.

“no way…” you stood infront of him utterly shocked. not believing what your eyes were seeing.

“told you they would believe it.” his arms opened out, showing off the movability of his empty arms. “this totally means you gotta act like my girlfriend for a bit.” heeseung teased as he rested his arm around your waist.

the post worked… for the first time in what felt like forever, heeseung was spending valentine’s alone. did this mean you’d have to keep up the act? are you really gonna have to play girlfriend for longer than one day? there was no way you agreed to something far more complicated right?

perm taglist ( open! refer to this post ) . . . @ikeulove @leehsngs @nickiminajleftasscheek @ijustwannareadstuff20

©myjjongie 2025

[starlitkitten]

♡ The things they do for you ♡

(It's my opinion on them :), and im sorry i only included the "popular" ones, i have totally no idea of the others. :( )

~♡~♡~♡~♡~

Karasuno

Daichi - carrying heavy stuff for you like your bag, boxes or other things.

"Just give it to me. I'll carry it, okay?"

He's just so capable and wants to show it off.

Sugawara - buying you sweets. All the time. And then he eats a bit of them, claiming it as "shipping tax" or whatever.

"Please? Can I have a bite?" With the most angelic face ever.

Asahi - tying up or braiding your hair for you. He is surprisingly - or not - good with this. He can style your hair anytime any way you want.

"Come on love, its gonna look good. You're so pretty."

Nishinoya- gets you flowers randomly. Not always from flower shops. Sometimes he has a dandelion or a tulip and hes like:

"I brought it for you. Its just as pretty as you are." With the biggest grin ever.

Tanaka - okay it may be weird. But he always has a spare pair of your pants or shirt. He knows you are clumsy, that accidents can happen etc. So he can help out if you need.

"Oh baby... you have coffee all over you again. Come on I have spare shirt for you." Laughs at you but then immediately helps you out.

Kageyama - he always buys you the small things that reminds him of you. Small keychains, candles, small trinkets. Everything. He may not speak much but he cares a lot.

"I bought this for you. Its your favorite."

Hinata - he writes you notes. All the time, and hides it in your locker/ desk/ bag etc.

"You're so cute today."

"I miss you"

"Date tonight? :)"

Tsukishima - makes a playlist for you. Filled with songs that reminds him of you. He's not good with words, but he can show his love this way.

"This song reminded me of you."

"I wanna kiss you to this song."

Yamaguchi - he has an extra of your lipstick or lipgloss/ chapstick on him in case you forget it. (Or whatever you use :))

"Hey don't stress. I have one on me. I bought it yesterday for you."

Nekoma

Kuroo - small gestures: walking on the road side of the sidewalk, holding the umbrella for you, charging your phone, lending you his hoodie.

"Can't have you sick, can we? I don't want to be without you in school" with his signature smirk.

Kenma - names his in game characters after you. So that way he can always have you with him.

"Don't... don't laugh..." But you laugh because it's so sweet and so him.

Yaku - he actually makes you food and brings it to school every day. Especially if you love to eat. But he does it anyways. He loves taking care of the ones he loves.

"I made this today. For you." With a soft smile.

Yamamoto - he always has tons of hairties, hairpins, hairbands or hairclips. Whatever you use, he has.

"Uh... let me get one for you. Ah! Here. Its in your favorite color."

Lev - always. Always walks you home. Or to the shop. Or wherever you're going, he goes too. He always talks too. He is excited to spend this time with you or even hold your hand.

"I'll walk with you... again. So tell me about your day."

Aoba Johsai

Oikawa - totally plans all the dates. You never have to think about it. He knows your interest. You'll never have a boring date. He will check all the routes and the weather too.

"Get ready love we are having a date tonight."

Iwaizumi - he remembers your preferences. About coffee. Whether you like warm or cold, your favorite desserts and the favorite side of the bus you like sitting.

"Brought you coffee." With a soft smile.

Matsukawa - sends you voice messages. Prefers this over texting.

"I miss you."

"Take care of yourself."

Hanamaki - buys matching stuff all the time. Necklaces, keychains, even matching slippers.

"Look we are matching now! We look so good."

Shiratorizawa

Ushijima - giving you piggyback rides when you are tired.

"Are you tired? Come here baby." He says as he leans down, letting you get on his back, holding you securely.

Tendou- buys you that iconic shirt with the text "I ❤️ my boyfriend" and makes you wear it to his matches.

"Yess! That's my girl, that's right."

Semi - I'm sorry if im wrong but I think he writes you the most grut wrenching love letters and poems. He actually sends the letters on mail.

"My dearest girl..."

Fukurodani

Bokuto - he actually stays quiet when you need quiet, and just holds you. And when you need that, he makes you smile and laugh.

"Oh...It's okay baby owl. Come here." (Also has the most ridiculous names for you)

Akaashi - ties your shoelaces, zips up your jacket, helps you put on your coat/ hoodie, or helps you take off your high heels etc.

"Almost done sweetheart. Here you go." He says as he clasp your high heels and kisses your knees.

Inarizaki

Kita - remembers every important date. Exams, meetings, your parents', siblings' birthday, your period, etc etc.

"Baby tomorrow is your dentist appointment... in case you forgot."

Atsumu - he makes you paper rings. Totally. Or with clay. He is just a silly boy in love when it comes to you.

"Look what I made you today!" With a bright grin, giving you a paper ring.

Osamu - learns to cook your favorite food, bake your favorite cookie. He cooks you your comfort food when you're sad/ overwhelmed, etc. Also cuts your fruit/ toast into heart shapes.

"Hey darling. I hope you're hungry. I made your favorite."

Suna - he tries your interests. Reads, tries singing, tries video games, or different sports, tries to draw or whatever is your hobby.

"Like this..? Oh shi-" he messes up and chuckles.

~♡~♡~♡~♡~

I hope y'all enjoyed it.

[wendichester]

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ so highschool,

summary. strangely enough, dean will be staying in the same place for more than a week. it seems like you caught his eye

pairing. teen!dean winchester x reader

wordcount. 477

notes. i was thinking of turning this small lil drabble into more parts. what do you think? let me know if you're interested ehe ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You hear him before you see him—Dean Winchester, the new guy, the one who showed up a month ago and has already carved his name into the school like he owns the place. Girls whisper about him in the hallways, and guys either want to be him or want to fight him. He’s built a reputation fast: charming, cocky, a little dangerous.

And, apparently, persistent.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Dean drawls, leaning against the locker next to yours like it was put there for him specifically.

You don’t spare him more than a glance, shoving your history textbook into your bag. “Not interested.”

Dean chuckles, undeterred. “C’mon, you don’t even know what I was gonna say.”

You turn to him then, raising an eyebrow. “You were gonna ask me out.”

His grin widens. “Damn, you’re good.”

“And I said no.” You click your locker shut, shifting your bag higher on your shoulder. “So, if you’ll excuse me—”

Dean steps in front of you, not blocking your path exactly, but making it clear he’s not done. “Hold on, now. You didn’t even let me give my pitch.”

You sigh. “Your pitch?”

“Yeah. I’ve been working on it.” He tilts his head, watching you like you’re a puzzle he’s determined to solve. “Okay, picture this: you, me, a classic drive-in movie—real romantic, right? You get to pick the film, I don’t even care if it’s some sappy chick flick. After that, we grab burgers, fries, a milkshake to split—hell, I’ll even let you have the cherry on top. Then I take you home like a perfect gentleman.”

You fold your arms, unimpressed. “And how many girls have you used that exact line on?”

Dean smirks. “Would it make you feel better if I said just you?”

“No.”

“Ouch,” he says, placing a hand over his heart like you just stabbed him. “Alright, alright, I get it. You’re immune to my undeniable charm.”

“Glad we’re on the same page.”

He doesn’t move. If anything, his eyes soften, like he’s actually looking at you for the first time instead of just working another angle. “Most girls around here fall over themselves the second I flash a smile.”

You shrug. “Most girls around here have bad taste.”

That gets a laugh out of him—real, genuine. “Okay, I deserved that.” He exhales, running a hand through his hair before fixing you with something dangerously close to sincerity. “But listen, I’m not gonna give up that easy.”

You roll your eyes. “Of course, you’re not.”

“Damn right. Because, sweetheart, I don’t just want a yes. I wanna earn it.” He winks, stepping back just enough to let you pass. “So, go ahead, keep turnin’ me down. I’ll be right here, tryin’ again tomorrow.”

And with that, he’s gone, whistling as he walks away, leaving you with the distinct, frustrating feeling that this is far from over.

⋆.˚ ★— read part 2

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @taurus0queenie33 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @krabog ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles ⋆ @lyarr24 ⋆ @hauntedrose555 ⋆ @chevroletdean ⋆ @dulcescorderitas ⋆ @blackmarketfruitrollups ⋆ @impala67rollingthroughtown ⋆ @rulesareshadesofgrey ⋆ @nervoussystems ⋆ @daryls-luvrr ⋆ @sunnyteume ⋆ @drakelover78 ⋆ @angelblqde ⋆ @mostlymarvelgirl ⋆ @whisperingdaze ⋆ @funkenniffler ⋆ @bossyblondie ⋆ @lieutenantchaos ⋆ @iluvnewtie ⋆ @dyhsversion ⋆ @lovewolfspirit ⋆ @kayleighwinchester ⋆ @s0urw00lf ⋆ @cursednevermore ⋆ @img14 ⋆ @onelonelybitch ⋆ @americanvenom13 ⋆ @iluvdeanwinchester ⋆ @idk6505 ⋆ @devilslittlehelper ⋆ @cloverleaf20 ⋆ @giggles1026 ⋆ @idontwannabehere7 ⋆ @beakaleak32 ⋆ @ocelotlist51 ⋆ @lelapine ⋆ @pwin098 ⋆ @lacysretribution ⋆ @globetrotter28 ⋆ @aerinu ⋆ @i-love-gvf ⋆ @bejeweledinterludes ⋆ @chi_raz ⋆ @lemonswinchester ⋆ @4k1vrr

[arlestial]

❝lavender haze❞

synopsis : Rin begged Ego to let you assist to one of his training games. But he wasn’t quite fond of your interactions with a certain player..

pairing : Rin Itoshi x genderneutral!reader •— Blue Lock

tw : A mix of fluff and comfort, with the slightest bit of angst (jealousy themes, possessiveness)

word count : 2700~ words

author-note : Hi !!! It's been so long, I missed writing so much... I finally passed my final exams, and I'm now in vacations; I’m going to Austria today. My blog is like- a blue lock obsession at this point lmao but ngl i like it that way. Btw, I’ve seen the movie and I'm just plain disappointed ? It was short asf, and the animation... well, we don't wanna talk about it. Reblogs and comments are highly appreciated :) sorry if it’s bad btw !! Anyway, take care of yourself ♡

A rare, smug smile appeared on RIN ITOSHI’s lips; a smile that immediately triggered his teammates, who looked at each other, dumbfounded. They weren’t used to observe him with such an expression written on his usual stern features; as soon as he left the locker rooms, whispers emerged in the sweaty air, begging for an explanation.

"No way he did," Isagi contested with a frown and a disapproving tone, much to Bachira’s dismay.

"I’ve seen it with my eyes," The other retorqued, "Believe me. He smiled, dude. I’ve never seen him smile before."

"We’re gonna get fired from Blue Lock. I swear— he wouldn’t be happy if it wasn’t terrible. He’s a sadist."

"No worries, my dear Isagi. We’re going to elucidate this mystery together," Bachira replied with a proud smirk of his own; Isagi sighed at his friend’s antics.

"Maybe it’s personal."

"It’s never personal enough for us not to be nosy !" The dual-haired boy nearly gasped, "Our duo is unstoppable."

With more or less desire to intrude Rin’s life, Isagi joined Bachira into a rather quick — and disappointing — mission, to solve the mystery around the cold-hearted guy’s smile, a smile they had the chance to witness.

"Ah. Itoshi asked Ego to let his partner see the next training game. I didn’t know he would be this enthusiastic once Ego accepted."

Anri’s revelation should’ve been a relief for the two men — they wouldn’t be expelled of the program. Thus, Isagi had been surprised and confused when he noticed Bachira’s quiet attitude.

"Aren’t you supposed to be delighted you discovered the truth ?", The raven-haired boy asked, curious, as they walked in the corridor to join their rooms again.

"I didn’t even have time to feel the thrill of the investigation," the other whined.

"At least we know he has a partner. It’s… let’s just say it’s surprising someone like him could ever get someone."

"Someone like me ?"

The sudden third voice scared the two men off, and they jumped. Of course, it was Rin. Always there at the worst moment. Isagi gulped.

"H-Hey, I didn’t mean it like that—"

"What Isagi was trying to say, is that we’re not picturing you as the lovey-dovey type of guy, you know ? Not a good boyfriend or something."

If Isagi could facepalm right now, he would, "Thank you for your help, Bachira, it’s even worse now", he replied in a murmur.

"Who said I couldn’t be the "lovey-dovey type of guy" ?", Rin huffed in his usual cold tone, "and a good boyfriend ?"

"Everyone," the two others responded at the same time. Rin rolled his eyes in annoyance.

"So, y’all just sat down and talk about who could be a good partner or not ? That’s probably why you’re still fucking losers at soccer."

Bachira held Isagi back, amused by his eagerness to show Rin "who’s the real loser between them". Rin walked away confidently, and above all, enlivened by Ego’s answer. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t looking forward to it, the butterflies already flying eagerly in his stomach in anticipation.

RIN ITOSHI’s belly butterflies died in an instant. It wasn’t fair. At all. He had been longing for you since weeks now, months even; he negotiated with Ego for who-knows-long, trying to find a way to make you come to a training game of his — so that he wouldn’t have to search for you in a huge crowd of exasperating, futile, and bland people. And here he was, watching you from afar talking with Isagi Yoichi. He cursed under his breath. This dude had nothing to do with you. He was nothing compared to Rin; a mere guy, with limited soccer skills and knowledge and experience and — why were you talking with him anyway ? When he was right there, waiting for you. The training have haven't even started yet, and playing with Isagi left a bitter taste in his mouth. He threw a hard glare in your direction, which you immediately noticed; you waved at him with a smile, and it nearly made him melt. It would've if he wasn't this upset in the first place. Bachira called for Isagi, and the raven-haired boy returned to the field with a smile. If he could, Rin would definitely wipe the smile off this random guy's face.

RIN ITOSHI tried not to let this affect him. But the prominent and everlasting burning sensation in his chest clouded his mind, making him loose his focus each time his eyes would fall on either Isagi, or you. And god knows how much he had missed you, how he needed to touch you now, to feel your skin just against his — to kiss you endlessly, and his gaze softened by pure reflex as he noticed you were staring at him. He felt guilty, to entertain such hideous resentment towards you, while you were just there for him, as beautiful as the day he left you in your shared apartment to join Blue Lock again after his short break. Was he jealous? It couldn't be. Why would he be jealous of Isagi? He was better than him in everything. Atter 45 minutes, when they all got a short break from the match, Rin refused to say a word. He was always rather quiet - but now, it felt a bit weird. He just stared at Isagi with a cold gaze, and the other boy frowned. When they had to join the field again, Isagi stopped Rin, a hand laying on his shoulder.

"Hey, is everything okay? If it's about the score of earlier, I already said -"

"Look," Rin cut out quickly, his tone slowly shifting to an irritated one, "I don't want to hear your fucking voice."

Isagi's brows were now even more furrowed in confusion,

"What the.. I did nothing bad, dude. If you're upset, that's not my problem. Deal with your childish feelings alone, I don't know."

Childish feelings ? It was deeper than that. Much to Rin's own surprise, he grabbed Isagi's collar, dragging him closer with a menacing look. He didn't know, did he ? How much Rin loved you, how much he required your whole attention. Maybe it was childish indeed, selfish even, to desire to be your whole world. The only one you would ever think about. If he could make you his forever, he would; and at the same time, you had every right to talk to other people, be friends with anyone, you were free after all. But that wouldn’t rub out the aching feeling in his heart, seeing you smile with someone else, having a good time with someone who wasn’t him. Maybe because in the very end, he was scared of losing you. Of you, finally realizing you deserved far better than what he could give you. He was distant, sometimes. He hurt you too much, argued with you on futile things, left for Blue Lock for months, he was a huge mess, and still, you wanted him. It was a mystery for Rin, but he wouldn’t ever complain. He was too engrossed in your love and affection, and somehow, even if he knew it was fundamentally wrong, he’d never wish for you to realize what you truly deserved. Because it wasn’t him. And he couldn’t bare to see you enjoying your life with someone else other than him.

"I’m going to end your pathetic and meaningless existence so quickly you won’t have time to take another breath," Rin spat sharply, "I’ll politely advice you not to approach them ever again — don’t want your disgusting germs to infect them, understood ?"

With these words, Rin yanked him away and joined the field, leaving a widened-eyed Isagi behind him. As soon as the game ended, the whole Blue Lock team began gathering their water bottles, heading to the locker rooms. Rin stayed behind, since he wanted to spend some time with you before your departure. When you both were finally alone, you walked down the stairs, and Rin immediately engulfed you in his arms. One hand was grabbing your side, the other resting on the back of your head, pulling you close. He sighed, inhaling your familiar perfume — it was his favorite, the one he gifted you recently — and pressed a delicate kiss to the crown of your head.

"I missed you so much," He declared, or more precisely, complained, and you chuckled, embracing him just as tightly.

"And I missed you even more," you responded, loosening your embrace to look at him. He could die for this fond look in the depths of your irises. You didn’t have to ask; his hands reached for your cheeks, tilting your head backwards to kiss you gently, yet, eagerly, a pleading for your tenderness. You kissed him back, amused by his move. He was usually the reserved type, especially in public — even if the whole stadium was empty now. Your lips parted to welcome his tongue inside, deepening the kiss even more, a slow dance mimicking his need for you. He kissed your forehead softly when you two broke away from one another.

"What happened earlier ? With Isagi. I thought you were gonna fight."

The question tensed him. Of course you had to bring it up. He stroked your cheek delicately, as if you’d shatter if he wasn’t careful enough.

"Nothing, love, don’t worry. I was just—"

"He told me about it, Rin."

You cut him, and he winced. Ah. That was a problem. He swore he discerned a tint of disappointment in your eyes, but it faded away too rapidly for him to search for it again.

"I thought we said no lies between us."

"I know, darling", he could only mutter. You gently took his wrists, then his hands, intertwining your fingers together.

"Am I not reassuring you enough, Rin ? I won’t ever leave you. Especially not for a guy I just met. You know that."

"More than enough," the memory of your smile and laugh when Isagi cracked a joke made him sigh, "it’s hard to believe sometimes. That’s all."

You nodded; with his lack of self-esteem, how was he supposed to believe you, anyway ? It was a constant fight against the insecurities crawling in the pit of his soul, however, you would never let them win. He suffered enough alone, now that you were there with him, you’d be in the frontlines.

"But it’s still true. I’m lucky to have you, Rin. Maybe one day you’d finally recognize that."

At this moment, he wanted to tell you he was lucky to have you, but he didn’t dare, especially not when he saw you reaching for him again, your arms around his neck. He let himself drown in your arms and comfort, soothed by your heartbeat — at this very precise instant, he swore his heart was beating for you. And if you wanted it on a silver plate, he’d gladly do so.

"I’m sure his joke wasn’t even that funny."

You chuckled, "maybe not better than yours, I must admit."

Not far away, two boys were spying on the scene; their investigation had been more successful than what they ever hoped for, "maybe he’s not that bad, after all."

"I thought he was going to choke me to death."

"Oh, he could."

RIN ITOSHI was a possessive man. Somewhere, he wanted you to rely on him, and him only — to be the only source of your happiness. He never had something to call his; you were the first. And he fully intended you to be the last.

[skylin-files]

girl code ⋆ na jaemin

pov: your best friend's former situationship started hitting you up. what could go wrong?

pairing: college student!jaemin x college student! yn

featuring! winter of aespa, nct members

note: this is part three (final part). i hope you like it; your comments will be highly appreciated. ♡

check other parts here: part 1 | part 2

── .✦

You found yourself zoning out in the cafeteria, barely touching your food, while both Haechan and Mark watched you with concern.

Winter’s silence—ignoring you and not replying for two days—wasn’t helping either. Perhaps luck was on your side, as your lab class with Jaemin had been postponed due to your professor’s flu.

Occasionally, you’d cross paths with Jaemin in the hallway. You tried to appear neutral, but the heavy weight in your stomach was impossible to ignore every time you saw him. At the same time, you couldn’t deny how much you secretly liked feeling his gaze linger on you as you turned away.

It had been two days since Mark sent the group photo and two days since you last heard from Winter.

It was the end of your final class, and as you placed the last of your things in your locker and slammed it shut, you nearly jumped at the sight of Jaemin leaning casually against the locker next to yours.

"Hey," he greeted, his voice soft. You blinked, trying to steady yourself, and whispered back, "Hey."

You watched him as he straightened up from his relaxed position, seeming to wrestle with his thoughts, hesitating before speaking.

"How are you?" he asked. His tone held a subtle weight, as though he wanted to ask more but held himself back. You hadn’t been replying to his messages like you used to, and though he clearly noticed, he chose not to press further.

"I’m okay, just busy," you answered—a tired, overused excuse. It was obvious Jaemin didn’t believe you, but he only nodded in response. "Can I get you a coffee?" he offered.

Did you want to say yes? Absolutely. But was it the right thing to do? You weren’t sure. Caught between the pull of a heart yearning for love and a mind that kept shutting it out, you felt a pang of helplessness.

"Sure," you murmured, almost to yourself, the word slipping out with a faint sense of defeat.

── .✦

"One americano and an iced caramel macchiato for Jaemin," the barista announced.

Jaemin gathered both drinks, and while you went to the restroom, he placed them at the table by the time you returned. The two of you settled into a cozy seat at a café near campus, the same place where you and Winter usually hung out. As you sat there, your thoughts drifted to your best friend, and a somber look crossed your face, which Jaemin quickly noticed.

"We haven’t seen much of each other lately," he remarked, though you couldn’t quite read his expression.

"Well, our professor has the flu," you replied. Jaemin simply nodded, taking a sip of his drink.

The silence lingered for a while, and once again, it felt like he was on the verge of saying something but was hesitating. Finally, he spoke up. "I missed you."

As you were about to take a sip from your cup, you froze for a moment, the cup hanging just a few inches from your lips.

"I missed you too, Jaemin," you replied, though deep down, you couldn't help but feel that developing feelings for Na Jaemin might be the most ironic twist fate had thrown your way.

"I want to be upfront," he started, and you could feel your heart race. "I’m not sure if you're intentionally ignoring me or if I did something wrong," he added.

"Your actions toward me have been confusing." You cut him off, attempting to conceal the real reason behind your behavior—the fact that you knew about him and Winter. As you spoke, you noticed Jaemin’s eyes soften.

"I know," he replied softly. "That’s why I’m here. I want to clear everything up."

For a moment, you found yourself wondering if what you had said was just an excuse, a way to justify your actions. Deep down, you realized that part of you was also eager to discover if Jaemin felt the same way about you as you did about him.

"The things I’ve done with you, the things I’m doing now, and the things I’m about to do—I'm not doing any of this just to be friends," Jaemin confessed. "I wanted to be clear and be 100% honest with you, because this is how it needs to be for it to work."

Hearing him speak so openly, you knew exactly where this conversation was headed.

"Your best friend, Winter... remember when you said she had a situationship here on campus?" Jaemin asked. You could only nod, finally bracing yourself to hear the confirmation.

"That was me," Jaemin admitted. You weren’t sure whether to feel heartbroken, knowing that your best friend was the failed situationship of the first boy you'd ever liked, or relieved, remembering how Jaemin had opened up about his past situationship with you.

"You told me that your first and last situationship was one of your biggest regrets. You said you didn’t want to go through it again, that it was pointless, a waste of time. That was Winter?" you asked, and Jaemin nodded in response.

Was it wrong to feel a sense of relief at his answer? He was clearly over your best friend, yet you couldn’t shake the guilt that lingered deep inside.

"I want to be completely honest with you," Jaemin said. "I like you, and if you feel the same, I’ll do everything I can to make it work. But that can only happen if I tell you this."

Both of you understood the consequences. You hadn't known that Jaemin was Winter's past situationship, and Winter hadn’t even mentioned it when you showed her the picture of you and Jaemin together. As for Jaemin, he was aware that you and Winter were best friends, but his feelings towards you all came naturally, and his intentions were sincere—what he felt for you was real.

"I'm sorry I couldn't tell you sooner, but now that what I feel for you is clear, I knew you needed to know," Jaemin said.

His words made your heart sink. You appreciated Jaemin for being honest, but at the same time, you couldn’t help but feel a wave of sadness. Winter, your best friend for years, couldn’t even face you or talk to you about it over the phone.

You never understood why girls would lose their minds over a boy, not until Na Jaemin came into your life. You could only smile wistfully, never expecting to find yourself caught up in this kind of situation.

"I actually knew since two days ago," you finally confessed to Jaemin. "Winter, she’s been ignoring me. She even soft blocked me and my friends on social media," you added, referring to Haechan and Mark.

You paused for a moment, then looked at Jaemin and said sincerely, "Thank you for talking this through with me," feeling a deep sadness in your stomach. "But I need some time," you added, almost as if you were saying it to yourself rather than to Jaemin.

He nodded in response, and you could see a smile on his face, though it carried an undertone of sadness. "I understand," he replied.

You left the café and as you walked a few blocks away, the rain began to pour. Quietly cursing, you realized you didn't have your umbrella. But when you checked your bag, you found one tucked inside.

It wasn't yours, but it looked familiar.

You sighed as you realized it must have been Jaemin's—he must have placed it in your bag while you were in the restroom.

── .✦

The rhythmic sound of the cheerleading team's synchronized movements echoed through the gym as they practiced. For the past few days, Winter had dedicated all her time and focus to cheer, as if nothing else mattered.

When practice finally ended, she sat on the benches while the rest of her teammates left. She was alone in the gym, at least until footsteps echoed in, though she didn’t initially pay much attention. It wasn’t until the footsteps stopped in front of her that she looked up from her phone—it was Jaemin.

Winter froze as Na Jaemin stood in front of her in the university gym. "Are you lost?" she asked with a chuckle, trying to mask the uneasy feeling swirling in her stomach.

"We need to talk," Jaemin said plainly. Winter couldn’t stop the frown that formed on her face, starting to piece together the real reason he was there. Jaemin wasn’t there for her—he was there because of her best friend.

"If you’re here to tell me to talk to my best friend, then you should just leave," Winter snapped, standing and hastily gathering her things.

"You’re selfish, you know that?" Jaemin’s words caught her off guard, but she continued packing, determined to ignore him.

"You cut me off when I wanted to court you properly. And now that I’ve started liking someone who’s ready to commit the way I am, you’re acting like you’re the one who’s been dumped," Jaemin said, his usual calm demeanor replaced with frustration.

"She’s my best friend!" Winter lashed out, nearly throwing her things in her anger as her voice echoed in the empty gym. Jaemin and Winter locked eyes, tension crackling between them.

"This is the first time she’s liked a guy, but I know she understands what girl code is," Winter said, her voice faltering. Even as the words left her mouth, she felt foolish. Jaemin had never truly meant anything to her; their connection had been casual. Yet somehow, her pride and ego felt bruised, as if her very identity had been challenged.

"If you wanted her to follow girl code so badly, why didn’t you confront her about it?" Jaemin shot back, his tone sharp. "Why did it have to be me telling her about us? Why did her other friends have to find out before she did? You weren’t honest with her."

"I was honest! Not entirely," Winter countered, her voice rising in defense. "But when I said you two looked good together, I meant it. You did look good together." She paused, her voice trembling now. "But that doesn’t mean it didn’t make me feel sick to my stomach," she admitted, her frustration spilling out in every word.

Her hands trembled as she spoke, guilt crashing over her. Winter felt like the worst friend, the worst person, for the way things had turned out. She hated the way she felt but couldn’t deny it.

"You two looked so good together that it started to hurt," Winter admitted, her voice heavy with emotion. "But I don’t have the right to feel that way because I was the one who cut you off. We had nothing, and I didn’t do anything to change that. I didn’t stop her from seeing you."

Winter’s frustration was palpable, but it wasn’t directed at Jaemin or her best friend—not really. Deep down, she was angry at herself, though she desperately wished she could blame someone else. The weight of her own choices and inaction bore down on her, leaving her overwhelmed with regret.

Winter felt a wave of helplessness as she locked eyes with Jaemin, her mind briefly imagining what it might have been like if she had given him a chance—if she had taken him seriously. But reality pulled her back, and she could only shake her head in resignation.

"Just take care of her," she said softly, her voice heavy with emotion.

"I know you will, but please, take care of her. She's been looking out for me for years, and she deserves someone who will do the same for her." She was referring to her best friend. Clutching her gym bag tightly, she turned and walked out of the gym.

Jaemin stood frozen in place, the sound of the gym door slamming shut echoing in the empty space. Letting out a deep sigh, he pulled his phone from his pocket.

Your name was on the screen—the call was still ongoing. You had heard everything.

Every word, every emotion in Winter’s voice, every part of the conversation. You had heard it all.

── .✦

Your lab classes had resumed, but Jaemin was no longer seated beside you. At first, it stung, but then you realized why he had moved. He was doing it for you—giving you the time and space you said you needed.

Days passed, and you could still feel his gaze linger on you when you weren’t looking. The moment you no longer sensed his eyes, you found yourself testing your luck, stealing glances at him as if trying to grow accustomed to admiring him from a distance.

It was bittersweet, almost cliché.

A sadness settled over you as you wondered: Is this your reality with Jaemin? To admire each other from afar? The thought crept in—perhaps you and Jaemin were better at yearning for each other than at actually being together.

Not long after Jaemin spoke to Winter, you received a message from her. It was brief, only a few words:

Winter: “I’m sorry. I hope I can talk to you properly soon. I love you.”

You didn’t bother replying. It was clear she wasn’t ready to have an honest conversation or fully confront the situation. And as much as it hurt, you knew you had to face it on your own.

Weeks passed, and another group task was assigned during your lab class. As usual, everyone was instructed to write their partner's name on a piece of paper.

Glancing around the room, you noticed Jaemin's seat was empty. Your grip on the pen tightened as an internal battle raged between your heart and mind. Letting out a quiet sigh, you decided to follow what you truly wanted.

Carefully, you wrote your name on the paper. Just below it, you added "Na Jaemin."

Staring at the name, you gave a small nod before rising from your seat to submit it to your professor.

"He won’t mind, right?" you murmured to yourself, hoping you were right.

── .✦

Jaemin sat in the cafeteria with his best friend, Jeno, who was happily devouring his lunch.

“Are they not eating lunch today?” Jaemin asked, glancing at his watch. He was referring to you and your friends, who usually occupied the far end of the cafeteria.

“She’s in the library,” a familiar voice chimed in, followed by the loud clatter of a food tray being slammed onto the table, startling both Jaemin and Jeno. The voice belonged to Haechan, who had appeared out of nowhere, with Mark trailing closely behind, carrying his own tray.

“Be careful,” Jeno muttered, giving Haechan a side-eye, but Haechan merely shrugged as he and Mark casually settled into the seats across from Jaemin and Jeno.

“Why are you guys sitting here?” Jeno asked, giving Mark, his classmate, a friendly grin afterward, pointing toward the end of the cafeteria where Haechan and Mark usually sat. Both Jaemin and Jeno looked at them, confused by the sudden change in routine.

"You were looking for us, right? It would be easier if we sat closer to you," Haechan joked.

"It would have been easier if you brought your friend with you," Jeno retorted, referring to you, earning a glare from Jaemin. "As Haechan said, she's in the library," Mark added.

An awkward silence settled over the table until Haechan broke it, clearing his throat to grab Jaemin's attention. "Do you still like her?" Haechan asked casually, causing Jeno to nearly choke on his food at how blunt Haechan was.

"What?" Jaemin responded, and Mark rolled his eyes at the answer.

"One of our seniors is planning to ask her out," Mark added, prompting another "What?" from Jaemin, this time it was so loud that people nearby started giving them puzzled looks.

"Yeah, so you'd better get your act together. A month is plenty of time for space, right?" Haechan teased, casually chewing his food.

"Oh, and she wrote you down as her lab partner, so I guess that's your cue to stop this silent treatment," Haechan added, prompting Jaemin to jump out of his seat, leaving his food untouched as he rushed to the library where the duo had said you were. He had only missed one lab class, and this is what he returned to.

Jaemin silently thanked his lucky stars. If he had been there, would you still have written his name as your lab partner? No one could know for sure, but he quietly appreciated the universe's strange twist of fate—giving him a headache that day, which kept him from attending the class and the calls.

Jeno simply watched his best friend dash off, shrugging before going back to his food. He then looked at Mark and Haechan sitting across from him. "So, is it true that one of your seniors wants to ask her out?" Jeno asked.

"Nope," the duo replied in unison.

── .✦

Peeking through the library, Jaemin let out a sigh when he didn't see you. You must have already left. With lab class not until tomorrow, Jaemin considered texting you but hesitated, thinking it would feel strange to reach out after a month of silence. He decided to wait until the next day instead.

As the last period ended and he walked through the campus gates, Jaemin sighed again when rain began to drizzle. He scratched the back of his neck, deciding not to waste time by waiting for the rain to stop. It wasn’t too heavy, so he kept walking, feeling the droplets on his skin. Pausing at the stoplight, he waited for the signal to turn green. That's when he noticed the rain no longer falling on him.

Looking up, he saw you holding an umbrella over his head.

"You shouldn't walk in the rain, you might get sick," you said, making Jaemin freeze for a moment as he realized it was you. The umbrella he had placed in your bag during your last meeting at the café was now in your hands.

"I don't want my lab partner missing another class," you added, trying to sound casual, but the blush on your cheeks betrayed you.

Jaemin couldn’t help but smile, a wave of happiness swelling in his chest. He nodded and reached for the umbrella, but your hand brushed against his, making him hesitate. Without thinking, he ended up holding the umbrella for both of you.

"Thank you," he said, his heart racing slightly. You could only smile in response, at a loss for words.

It had been some time since you were this close to Jaemin, feeling the warmth radiating from his body as you both shared the umbrella. Jaemin’s phone vibrated, a notification popping up. You couldn’t help but shake your head slightly, a bigger smile spreading across your face when you saw it was a message from Jeno.

Jeno: “Thank me later! She asked me about your last class.”

Jaemin smiled at the text before turning off his phone, his expression suddenly shifting to one of seriousness.

"Is it true that a senior wanted to ask you out?" he asked out of nowhere.

You looked at him, clearly confused. "What? What senior?" you replied, bewildered.

Jaemin studied your face for a moment, sighing as he realized Mark and Haechan had been playing a prank on him. "I hate your friends," he muttered, pulling you closer so you wouldn’t get wet from the rain.

── .✦

You and Jaemin resumed talking comfortably after that, with the two of you becoming lab partners again. Thankfully, Jaemin didn’t mind, and in fact, he was quite happy about it. He started sitting with you again in class, and during breaks, your friend group began sitting together with Jaemin and Jeno.

The attraction between the two of you? It was clearly still there, but now the signs were more obvious.

Jaemin no longer hesitated to hold your hand, kiss the back of your hand—whether it was randomly, out of boredom, or as a simple gesture to show his adoration for you—buy you lunch, carry your bag, and walk you home like before. He’d share his headphones with you, always finding a reason to walk by your side, even if it meant taking the longer route. Na Jaemin would take note of all the small things you liked, showing just how much he cared.

You weren’t being subtle either. Instead of admiring him from afar, you now had the chance to admire him up close as he focused on the lab report beside you. You’d make little excuses to talk to him, always try to sit next to him, finding small ways to be near him. You’d even send him little texts just to check in, and when you saw new art galleries or exhibits in town, you’d share them with him, suggesting that the two of you go visit together.

These are just a few of the many ways the two of you express your growing feelings for each other. After a few weeks, Jaemin began courting you, showing you just how serious he was about his feelings. This time, you chose to follow your heart.

Whenever you were with Jaemin, you’d find yourself staring at him for a while, watching a soft smile form on his lips whenever he caught your gaze. Every moment spent with him was filled with gestures of affection, and each one made your heart flutter with happiness.

── .✦

It was a special day—the annual cheer team competition, a major event for universities, where cheer teams from different schools came together to compete.

Your and Winter's universities were among them.

Since Winter was part of her university's cheer team, you knew you'd be seeing her today. Although you hadn’t spoken to her since her last message, you often found yourself checking her social media to keep up with her. From her posts, you could tell she’d been busy with cheer and had started partying less. You even came across a post where she had tried baking—a new hobby she had taken up to keep herself occupied. Sometimes, you wondered if she thought of you as much as you thought of her, or if she ever stalked your social media or checked in on your friends' posts to see how you were doing.

“Hi, here’s a free cupcake for you!” one of the students from another university said, offering a cupcake with their cheer team's name on it.

“Oh, but I’m from a different university,” you chuckled.

The person smiled and insisted, “This is a friendly competition! Take it.”

You accepted the cupcake with a thank you and made your way to your seat, where your friends and Jaemin were already waiting.

You glanced at the cupcake, noticing it had the logo of Winter’s cheer team on it. A soft smile crossed your face as you realized it was from her team. You missed Winter so much.

As you began nibbling on the cupcake, you shared it with Jaemin, unaware that Winter herself had baked it. She and her team had made the cupcakes for their supporters, and she knew you'd be there. Winter could only smile to herself as she watched you in the crowd, munching on the cupcake she had made.

Winter noticed Jaemin sitting beside you, opening a bottle of water for you while you enjoyed the sweet treat. This time, she didn’t feel that uneasy knot in her stomach. Her smile wasn’t bittersweet; it was genuine.

Fuck Girl Code.

Na Jaemin was truly looking after you, just as she had hoped.

"I hope you don’t think of me too much, I don’t want you to be sad over someone like me," Winter whispered to herself, watching as you and Jaemin laughed at something, Jaemin kissing the back of your hand as if it were second nature.

Suddenly, your eyes met Winter's. You were taken aback to see her looking at you, but instead of turning away or ignoring you, Winter gave you a warm smile. You returned the smile, and maybe, for now, that was all that mattered.

── .✦

tags: @carelessshootanonymous @taliaamara @zgzgzh @tinyzen @urlocalbeaner5 @profoundruinsunknown @lovesuhng @moryymor @haechanmybaechan @mmjhh1998 @cottonjaems @darumdarimdaa @hyucksnctzen @cherryynoir @haechanahceah67 @cigarettesafterjae @eternoange1 @yananluvclub @doubledoie @t-102 @nosungluv @aracy @haesluvr @charlunaotte @hyuksworld @maarslvr

[igwb]

A Black Eye & Two Kisses. (II.)

"keeping guns in his locker, and he denies it, like it's actually important, but he lied 'cause i sure did watch him."

pairing: jeon jungkook x oc

genre: strangers to lovers au, angst

summary: you thought jungkook would be different, that he would show you another side of men but as the days passed, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he might not be as different as the rest.

word count: 23K

warnings: angst, set in the 90s, mentions of; sexism, patriarcal society, shitty husbands/men in general :(, violence, child abuse, jk becoming suspicious & his story explained (my poor bby♡)

playlist: the boy with the thorn in his side, forwards beckon rebound, chihiro

author's note: this isnt a one shot! you can find the first part here;

part I. part II. part III.

You were still floating in the haze of last night when the first rays of sunlight slipped through the thin, ineffective curtains. Blinking against the light, you let out a small chuckle, still unable to fully process what had happened. But the warmth in your chest quickly faded when you reached out beside you and found nothing but empty sheets.

Panic set in almost immediately. Your heart pounded as you threw the covers off, your mind racing to the worst possible scenario. Not again. Not after everything.

“Stupid Jungkook,” you muttered under your breath, rummaging through your backpack in search of a clean pair of jeans, your hands shaking slightly. “If those men don’t kill you on Friday, I swear I’ll be the one—”

“So now you wanna kill me, sugar?”

His voice came from behind you, laced with amusement, and you spun around so fast you almost tripped. Standing there, hair damp from the shower, bare chest glistening with leftover droplets of water, Jungkook smirked at you. He was wearing only his jeans, belt still unbuckled, looking completely unbothered. Meanwhile, you felt like a complete fool for immediately assuming the worst.

“You idiot,” you huffed, smacking his thigh in frustration. But your annoyance was quickly replaced with concern as your eyes traveled down to his stomach. The bruise from last night was even worse in the daylight, a deep, ugly shade that made your chest tighten. His eye was nearly swollen shut now, and the cut on his lip, just beneath his piercing, looked painfully raw.

How many times had he come home looking like this? How many more times would he have to if he didn’t find a way out? You hated seeing those dark bruises stain his golden skin, and you silently vowed to never let it happen again.

“Come on, we need to go to the pharmacy and clean that up,” you said, nodding toward the bruises on his stomach and face.

Jungkook scoffed, grabbing a towel and tossing it lazily onto the bed. “We don’t have money for that, honey,” he reminded you, his tone almost mocking, but there was something bitter underneath. The reality of the situation was suffocating.

Your shoulders slumped as you let yourself fall back onto the bed with a heavy sigh. He was right. Even something as simple as treating a wound required money—money neither of you had anymore.

You let yourself fall back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling as the weight of the situation finally settled in. Last night had been a blur of warmth and safety, but now, reality was creeping in, forcing you to face the consequences of everything that had led you here.

“What do you owe them?” you finally asked, voice quieter than you intended.

Jungkook hummed in response, seemingly unbothered as he settled between your legs, his fingers lazily playing with the hem of your t-shirt, occasionally brushing over your belly button. His touch was light, teasing, and he chuckled like a child amused by his own game.

“Jungkook,” you sighed, grabbing his hands to still them. “Be serious.”

He only smirked in return, clearly enjoying how easy it was to distract you. Instead of answering right away, he leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek before pulling away entirely, walking toward the small table by the window.

You sat up, watching his back, frustration bubbling inside you. How could he act so casual when the situation was this dire?

“800,000 won,” he finally admitted, his voice flat.

The number hit you like a slap.

Your breath caught in your throat, and you felt your stomach drop. “Jungkook,” you gasped. “Are you serious?”

“I’m glad you’re not overreacting,” he muttered, rolling his eyes as he leaned against the table, refusing to meet your gaze.

Your hands clenched into fists against the sheets as you tried to wrap your head around it. 800,000 won. And only one week to get it.

“How the hell are we supposed to find that kind of money?” you asked, panic creeping into your voice.

Jungkook didn’t answer right away. Instead, he just exhaled slowly, as if he had already accepted the inevitable. But you weren’t ready to give up yet.

There had to be a way.

Jungkook ran a hand through his damp hair, exhaling sharply. “I may have some ideas,” he admitted, though his voice lacked any real confidence. “But if it goes wrong… it’ll be even worse.”

You stepped beside him, glancing out of the motel window. The view wasn’t anything special—just dim streetlights flickering over empty sidewalks—but it gave you something to focus on instead of the panic creeping into your chest. The thought of what would happen if you didn’t find the money made your stomach twist painfully.

No. That wasn’t an option.

You took a deep breath, straightening your shoulders. “I might have an idea too,” you said, turning back to him. “But you need to accept it without throwing a tantrum.”

Jungkook scoffed, crossing his arms over his bare chest, smirking at you like he wasn’t standing on the edge of a cliff. “Go on, then,” he challenged.

You hesitated for only a second before speaking. “My mom can—”

Before you could even finish, Jungkook pushed himself off the table with an angry scoff, pacing around the small room.

“For real?” He spat your name, his frustration dripping from every syllable. “You seriously wanna go back there and ask them for money? The same people who threw you out like a goddamn dog?”

You sighed, bracing yourself. You knew he’d react like this.

“My mom would do it,” you insisted, gripping his shoulders firmly, forcing him to look at you. “She’d do anything just to piss off my dad. I’m sure of it.”

Jungkook’s jaw tightened as he poked his tongue against the inside of his cheek, the way he always did when he was trying to hold something back. Then, with a sharp shake of his head, he muttered, “I don’t want your stupid daddy’s money.”

Shrugging off your hands, he stepped back, putting space between you. His expression hardened, frustration flickering in his dark eyes. “I’d rather die than accept a single won from a man who disrespects women.”

His words hit like a slap, and for a second, you just stared at him. Part of you wanted to argue, to tell him that pride wouldn’t save him when those men came knocking—but another part understood. Understood why Jungkook would rather take a beating than owe a man like your father anything.

Still, you refused to just stand there and let him throw away his only chance.

“So what? You’re just going to accept your fate?” You scoffed, shaking your head in disbelief. The thought alone was impossible to stomach.

Jungkook let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Fuck yes, why not?” he threw back sarcastically, his expression unreadable.

Your fingers twitched at your sides—you wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake some sense into him. But before you could, he sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Of course not,” he muttered.

“I’ll work my ass off like a goddamn man,” he added, finally tugging a t-shirt over his bruised torso.

Something in you twisted at his words. The way he spat out the word man like it was something that determined his worth, like it meant he had to suffer to prove himself. It made you want to gag. You were starting to hate everything about toxic masculinity, especially when it came from him.

You pulled on your jeans, grabbed another shirt, and threw it over your head before standing tall in front of him. “Then I’ll work too,” you said, voice firm with determination. “I’ll help you find the money myself, without asking anyone. And you won’t have a say in it.”

Jungkook leaned against the table, watching you with an amused smirk, one eyebrow slightly raised. He couldn’t believe how stubborn you were—so angry, so determined, so ready to prove yourself. It was frustrating, maybe even reckless. But at the same time, something about it made him want to fight even harder, made his chest feel tight in a way he wasn’t used to.

“Where exactly do you think you’ll work, huh?” His voice was teasing, but there was an edge to it. His mind immediately jumped to the worst possibility—the one job he would never, ever associate you with.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, tying your sneakers. “A bar, a coffee shop, anywhere that’ll take me.”

Jungkook’s jaw clenched at that. A bar. He could already picture it—drunken men, leering stares, hands that didn’t know boundaries. The thought alone made his stomach turn. But he knew better than to argue, knew better than to act like one of those men who tried to control women. You had already lived under that suffocating grip for too long.

After a long pause, he sighed, running a hand through his damp hair before finally meeting your eyes. “Go to Sukchul.” His voice was serious now. “He’s the only man I trust to take good care of you.”

“What about you?” you shot back, tilting your head slightly as you watched him. Your heart softened at the thought—if you had to work somewhere, at least it would be with Sukchul, the old man who had always treated you kindly. A place where you felt safe, where you wouldn’t have to put yourself in dangerous situations just to survive.

Jungkook shrugged, a casual smirk playing on his lips. “I’ll find something else. Don’t worry about me,” he assured you before leaning in to kiss you softly. His hand found yours, fingers lacing together effortlessly. “Let’s go, independent woman,” he teased with a grin, pulling you towards the door.

You couldn’t help but smile, warmth spreading through your chest. The words sounded beautiful—almost unreal—coming from a man.

As you walked hand in hand toward the old man’s shop, a small flicker of hope started to take root in your chest. It was fragile but steady, growing with every step. Maybe—just maybe—things would turn out okay. Maybe Jungkook would be safe, and you would be too. If you worked hard enough, if you pushed through, you could gather the money, put this nightmare behind you, and finally start the life you both deserved.

But you didn’t dare voice your thoughts. Speaking them out loud felt like tempting fate, like inviting the universe to take it all away before it even had a chance to happen. So instead, you just squeezed Jungkook’s hand a little tighter, letting the warmth of his skin ground you.

He glanced down at your hands as you swung them gently between you, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. “What’s that for?”

You only shook your head with a small smile, unwilling to break the moment with words. Instead, you let the quiet understanding settle between you, filling the space with something that felt an awful lot like hope.

The soft chime of the bell echoed through the small shop as you stepped inside. Almost immediately, Sukchul emerged from behind the counter, his pace slow and measured as always, but his grin widening at the sight of Jungkook.

“Ah, Kook!” he greeted, his voice carrying a note of relief. He gave Jungkook a firm tap on the shoulder before turning to you with a small smile of acknowledgment. He might not remember your name, but he knew who you were—and that was enough.

Jungkook, still holding your hand, lifted it slightly toward the old man, his grip tightening just a little. “She wants to work with you,” he said, his voice tinged with something shy, almost hopeful.

Sukchul’s gaze flickered between the two of you, his expression unreadable at first. He let out a low chuckle, then turned on his heel, making his way back behind the counter.

A long moment stretched between you, heavy with anticipation. You knew you weren’t the usual type to work in a place like this. Maybe he’d refuse. Maybe he’d laugh at the idea.

But then, finally, he spoke.

“I’d be happy to have you by my side,” he said simply.

The breath you hadn’t realized you were holding escaped in a quiet sigh of relief.

Jungkook immediately bowed, a deep, respectful gesture, and you followed suit, gratitude filling your chest. You had no idea what the coming days would bring, but at least for now, there was a plan. There was a chance. And sometimes, that was enough.

Jungkook turned you around gently, his hands resting on your arms as he looked into your eyes. His voice dropped lower, softer, filled with something raw and real.

“I’m so fucking proud of you,” he murmured, leaning in as if to kiss you. But at the last second, he seemed to remember Sukchul was still nearby, so instead, he awkwardly patted your head, making you roll your eyes with a small laugh.

As he turned to leave, you instinctively grabbed onto the fabric of his shirt, your fingers curling around it as if holding onto him could stop him from going.

“Wait, Jungkook,” your voice came out shakier than you intended.

He stopped immediately, turning back with concern already etched into his bruised face. You could see it in his eyes—he thought you were going to back out, that you were going to tell him you couldn’t do this after all. That you didn’t have to.

But that wasn’t it.

“Where are you going?” you asked instead, your gaze traveling over his face, trying to memorize every detail like he might disappear the second he stepped out that door. The thought unsettled you, that terrible, lingering fear that one day, he might not come back.

“Finding work, sugar,” he said with an exaggerated grin, despite how swollen his lip was and how his eye was nearly shut. The sight was so ridiculous you couldn’t help but smile.

“Be careful,” you warned, your grip tightening for a second. “Don’t do anything too dumb.”

He chuckled, but before he could respond, you glanced over your shoulder, checking to make sure Sukchul was no longer behind the counter. And when you saw that he wasn’t, you quickly leaned in, pressing a kiss to Jungkook’s lips before he could react.

It was soft, fleeting, but enough.

You couldn’t help the wide smile stretching across your lips as you walked back to the motel, crisp bills clutched tightly in your hands. You kept counting them over and over again, as if the numbers might change, as if seeing them again would make it all feel more real.

There was something deeply satisfying about it—money earned by your own hard work, not given, not borrowed, but yours.

80,000 won. You were certain of it. But still, you counted again, just to be sure.

If things continued at this pace, you could gather two-thirds of Jungkook’s debt on your own. And if you added whatever money he managed to make, you might even have more than enough—for him, for you, for whatever came after this.

You pulled the lollipop Sukchul had given you from your lips, the sweet taste lingering as you smiled up at the neon lights flickering above the streets. The same ones that once felt suffocating, their artificial glow a reminder of everything you hated about this place.

But now?

Now, they didn’t seem so bad. Now, they marked the streets you walked with purpose, the world you were learning to navigate on your own terms.

This place would be your home for the next week.

Maybe even longer.

You push the door fully open, stepping inside with a proud grin, still shaking the bills in your hand. The door hadn’t been locked, which meant Jungkook was home. Your eyes flicker to the worn-out boots by the entryway, a sight that immediately reassures you.

“Kook!” you sing-song, excitement bubbling in your chest. “Look!”

But he doesn’t turn right away. His back is to you, shoulders tense, his movements rushed as he fumbles with his backpack. Something about the way he moves—quick, deliberate, almost frantic—makes your smile falter.

You slow your steps, watching him more closely now.

“Jungkook,” you say again, this time more firmly.

At last, he turns. His breath is uneven, and as he moves, you catch the subtle motion of him tucking something behind his belt before hurriedly pulling his shirt down over it.

“Hey,” he exhales, as if trying to sound normal, but you don’t miss the way his voice strains, like he’s just been caught doing something he shouldn’t. “How was it?”

Your fingers tighten around the money in your hand.

Something is wrong.

You shake your head, pushing away the uneasy feeling creeping up your spine. You don’t want to let whatever he’s hiding ruin the happiness still buzzing in your chest. Instead, you toss the bills into his hands, watching as his eyes widen slightly before a slow, proud smile spreads across his bruised lips.

Without hesitation, he steps closer, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. The warmth of it lingers, making it harder to question him.

You throw yourself onto the bed, stretching out with a deep sigh. Your feet ache from standing all day, and before you can even complain, Jungkook is already sitting at the edge of the bed, taking your foot into his hands and massaging it gently.

For a moment, you let yourself enjoy it. The quiet care in his touch. The way his thumb presses into the sore spots with just enough pressure to ease the pain.

“What did you do?”

His fingers pause for half a second before continuing, and you catch the way his tongue rolls over his lip ring—a habit of his when he’s thinking too hard.

“I found something that’s gonna pay so well,” he says, exaggerating his tone like he’s telling you the best news in the world. His voice is dramatic, playful even. “After this, when my life isn’t hanging by a thread, we could even go to Jeju.”

Before you can respond, he suddenly throws himself onto you, wrapping his arms around you tightly. He presses a quick kiss to your lips before rolling onto his back, his eyes drifting to the ceiling as if lost in thought. Then, almost hesitantly, he speaks.

“Wait… are you even planning on staying with me after… that?”

You blink at him, taken aback by the question. As if he really thought you’d just walk away.

Without a second thought, you turn onto your side, cupping his face between your hands, your fingers spread wide across his cheeks. His skin is warm beneath your touch, his jaw slightly tense.

“Of course, idiot,” you scoff, rolling your eyes. “You really think you’re getting rid of me that easily?”

At your words, a slow smile stretches across his lips—one of those rare, genuine ones that make his eyes crinkle at the corners. He shakes his head slightly, almost in disbelief, before pulling you down into another kiss, this one deeper than the last.

It starts soft—gentle presses of his lips against yours—but then he tilts his head, his grip tightening ever so slightly on your waist, and the kiss turns heated. Your hands slip down from his face, tracing over his jaw, his throat. You feel the way his pulse stutters under your touch.

Jungkook groans softly when your lips trail down to his neck, pressing warm, open-mouthed kisses against the skin there. His fingers twitch against your hip, gripping a little harder like he’s trying to ground himself.

“Shit,” he breathes out, voice raspier now, “you’re gonna be the death of me.”

A soft laugh escapes your lips as your fingers trace the lines of his torso. You settle onto his thigh, your grip tightening on the hem of his shirt, ready to pull it over his head. But just as you start to lift the fabric, Jungkook’s hand wraps gently but firmly around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks.

“Wait,” he breathes out, clearing his throat before pushing himself up into a sitting position.

You frown, searching his face for an explanation. “What’s wrong?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he runs a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. His jaw clenches, his tongue running over his lip piercing—a nervous habit you’ve come to recognize. And then, without meeting your eyes, he shakes your hands off his shoulders and looks away.

Something twists in your chest at that.

“Jungkook,” you say more softly now, your voice dipping in concern. “Talk to me.”

He exhales sharply through his nose. “I just—” He stops himself, clicking his tongue in frustration before forcing out a dry laugh.

You sat back on your heels, watching him pace the small room like a caged animal, his hands running through his hair, his jaw clenched.

“You’re acting like a freak right now,” you huff, frustration bubbling in your chest. “Just tell me what’s going on.”

Jungkook stops abruptly and turns to you, his eyes filled with something unreadable—fear? Guilt? Desperation? He crosses the space between you in two strides, his hands landing on your shoulders, his grip not tight but firm enough to ground you.

“You have to trust me,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, pleading. “Please.”

His gaze searches yours, wide and vulnerable, and your heart clenches at the way he’s looking at you—like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if you don’t say the right thing.

You inhale sharply, exhaling through your nose as you hold his stare. Every instinct in you screams to push for answers, to demand the truth. But instead, you sigh, nodding slowly.

“Okay,” you breathe out, the word heavy on your tongue.

But deep down, something in your chest tightens—a lingering feeling that whispers you shouldn’t let this go.

The bell above the door chimed and without hesitation, you made your way to the storage room to greet the old man. It was only your third day working at the shop, but seeing Sukchul had already become a source of comfort—something familiar in the midst of all the uncertainty. You were grateful it was him and not someone else.

The morning had started like the others: waking up alone in the motel room, Jungkook already gone. You didn’t ask questions anymore, at least not out loud. He was doing whatever job he had found, the one he still refused to give you any real details about. But you trusted him—you had to.

“Hey, darling,” Sukchul greeted, his voice warm as he stepped inside, carrying a large box in his hands.

You quickly moved to take it from him, placing it on the counter with ease. “What’s this?” you asked, already prying open the lid.

The moment your eyes landed on the contents, a breath of excitement escaped you. “Damn,” you whispered in awe, carefully lifting one of the vinyl records from the stack. The sleeves were slightly worn but well-preserved, the kind of treasures collectors would fight over.

“You like them?” Sukchul chuckled, watching your expression with amusement.

“Like them?” You shook your head, flipping through the records with admiration. “It’s my dream to have a collection like this.”

The old man hummed in response, moving to help you unload the box onto the shelves.

“And a shop like yours, too,” you added, glancing around the store with fondness. It wasn’t big or flashy, but it had character. It felt like a place where people came to escape, to find something special among the shelves.

Sukchul shot you a knowing look. “Good thing you’re close with Kook, then.”

You raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to elaborate as he wiped down a shelf before carefully placing a record in its new spot.

“He’s the closest thing to family I’ve got,” he admitted after a moment. “I don’t have kids of my own, so I always figured I’d leave this place to him someday.”

You stilled at his words, warmth blooming in your chest. The thought of Jungkook inheriting this place—of having something stable, something that truly belonged to him—made you smile. He’d never had that before.

“He’d be so happy,” you murmured, meaning it.

Sukchul turned to you then, his sharp eyes softening as he observed you. “You kids seem to get along well,” he remarked, a teasing glint in his gaze.

Your cheeks flushed instantly, and you tried to busy yourself with the records, but the old man’s knowing grin only grew wider.

“Jungkook, he’s a good boy,” Sukchul’s voice cuts through the silence, making you freeze in place. There’s something in the way he says it, a tenderness in his voice that you hadn’t expected. As he speaks, you can feel yourself hanging on to every word, though you try not to. There’s something invasive about hearing these details, but it’s too late—you’re already drawn in, craving every piece of the puzzle that is Jungkook’s life.

“Life hasn’t been easy on him,” Sukchul continues, his gaze distant as he sets down a record. “His mother was a sweetheart,” he smiles softly, his eyes softening as he remembers her. “But his father… he was a terrible man.” The words hang heavy in the air, a mixture of sorrow and regret, as Sukchul pauses to remember her and the man she had married.

You glance down, your stomach twisting. For a moment, you can’t help but picture your own father in place of Jungkook’s—so much darker, colder. You know deep down that Jungkook’s father was far worse than yours. At least your father never killed your mother. But sometimes, the lines blur, and you wonder if the cruelty, the hatred, is so far removed from the day-to-day suffering that it almost feels too normal.

You try to shake the image of your own home from your mind, but it’s hard. You know all too well how many men beat their wives, how many women live in fear, trapped. The thought of it makes you feel nauseous. You hate the idea that one day, it might be your own mother in the same situation as Jungkook's one. That fear, that uncertainty—it clings to you, even as you try to push it away.

Sukchul’s voice pulls you back to the conversation, his tone quieter now. “With Jungkook, too,” he adds, his face darkening as he finally addresses the truth you hadn’t dared to ask about.

You freeze, your breath catching in your throat. “What do you mean?” You can feel your heart beat harder in your chest. Your mind flashes back to what Jungkook had told you—his father didn’t care about him. He wasn’t even worth the effort because he was a man, too strong to be controlled.

Sukchul turns to you, his expression somber, yet kind. He seems to hesitate for a moment, as if debating whether or not to share more. Finally, he speaks again. “His father never wanted him to be anything but a shadow,” he says quietly. “He never treated him like a son. He only saw him as something to control, to break. It was all about power for him. Jungkook couldn’t win against that kind of man.”

Your throat tightens at his words. Jungkook’s entire life, it seems, has been spent fighting for his humanity, trying to scrape together any sense of self-worth against a backdrop of rejection and violence. It makes you ache for him in a way you can’t even describe. And it makes you want to wrap your arms around him, to tell him that he’s safe now, that he doesn’t have to fight alone anymore.

You swallow hard and, without realizing it, you find yourself asking the question you’d been dreading to ask. “How was his father with him, exactly?” The words come out almost in a whisper, as though you’re afraid the answer might shatter you.

Sukchul’s eyes soften when he meets your gaze, but his voice remains steady. “His father… he didn’t care for him at all. Jungkook was never good enough, not strong enough, not obedient enough. His father’s love came with a price, and Jungkook couldn’t—and wouldn’t—pay it. That made him weak in his father’s eyes.”

The revelation hangs in the air between you both, the silence thick with the unspoken reality of what Jungkook has lived through. And for a long moment, you don’t know what to say. There’s nothing you can say that will make it better. The truth is painful—too painful for you to bear.

Sukchul seems to notice your hesitation, the discomfort settling on your face, and he gives you a small, sad smile. “I don’t mean to burden you with all of this, but Jungkook deserves to know that not everyone is like his father. He deserves to know that there’s kindness left in the world.”

You can feel the weight of his words sinking into you. You nod, but inside, your heart is heavy, weighed down with the knowledge that Jungkook, despite all of his strength, has carried so much more than anyone should have to. And yet, he’s still standing. Still fighting.

“I’ll make sure he knows,” you finally say, your voice steady, though your heart feels like it’s shattering all over again. You have to be strong for him, just like he’s been strong for everyone else.

Sukchul looks at you, nodding in approval. “I know you will.”

After a few moments of heavy silence, you finally find the courage to ask the question that’s been gnawing at you. “Do you know where his father is now?” you ask, your voice tight, betraying the anxiety building in your chest. The thought of Jungkook ever facing that man again—of him being forced to confront the one person who had caused him so much pain—was unbearable. You could never imagine allowing that to happen. Jungkook deserved so much more than to face the one who had made him feel weak, worthless, and alone.

Sukchul scoffs, a harsh sound that seems to come from deep within his chest. “Far away from here,” he mutters, as if the thought of that man is enough to ignite the anger and frustration that Jungkook has carried with him for so long. The old man rolls his eyes, a bitter expression clouding his face. “After he…” He stops for a moment, closing his eyes as if to shield himself from the painful memory, his hands pausing mid-air. For a brief second, it feels like the room itself holds its breath, waiting for him to continue.

“He just left,” Sukchul finally says, his voice breaking slightly. “Didn’t care that his son would have to grow up alone, without a home. Without anyone to protect him. He just disappeared into the night, like a coward.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. You already knew the man was terrible, but hearing Sukchul’s account of his abandonment, of the way he let his son suffer without a second thought, makes you feel a surge of anger you didn’t know you had. It’s a cruel thing to do to any child—to just walk away and leave them to face the world with nothing but empty promises and the ghosts of a broken past.

A sense of sadness fills you, the reality of Jungkook’s past hitting you even harder now. How could anyone do that to their child? To leave them like that, abandoned and unwanted? The injustice of it all stirs something deep within you—something protective. You would never allow Jungkook to feel that kind of abandonment again. You would never let that man back into his life.

The evening air was cool against your skin, but the warmth in your chest kept you steady as you walked, your thoughts consumed with Jungkook. It was like the universe had shifted slightly, and now, no matter what happened, it seemed like every thought, every breath was centered on him. He was everywhere, woven into the very fabric of your days, more than just a presence—he was a part of you, a beautiful part that had attached itself to you in ways you never imagined.

You had never believed in love at first sight, or any of the romantic notions that people dreamed about, but with Jungkook, everything felt different. He had snuck into your life quietly at first, but now, it felt like the most natural thing in the world to want him close. To need him there, to be near him. It was like he had filled spaces inside of you that you didn’t even know were empty. And even though you had been through so much together already, you knew you were only just beginning to learn about each other. Yet, despite that, you already felt something strong, something undeniable, growing between you two.

You paused in front of a beautiful garden, the delicate, fragrant flowers stretched out before you, their colors vibrant against the evening sky. The scene was peaceful, untouched, as if this little part of the world belonged to no one but the flowers and the stars above. It was the perfect place to find something for Jungkook—something meaningful, something that would show him what you felt inside. You may not have money anymore, but you knew the one thing you could give him that would speak volumes: a gesture, a symbol of your love.

With slow, deliberate steps, you moved forward, heart pounding a little faster with every inch closer you got to the garden. The flowers, in all their glory, seemed to call to you, and you could feel the same quiet, certain energy of the night wrapping itself around you. You weren’t sure what kind of flowers you were looking for, but something about the idea of picking one felt right. It felt simple. Pure. Just like the first night you shared together under the mountains, with only the moon above to witness your connection. That was when everything started to change. That was when you first felt the deep, unspoken bond begin to form between you.

You glanced around, making sure no one was watching, hoping your luck would hold out. The thought of being caught didn’t scare you, but the idea of ruining something so small and meaningful just because you took it for granted made you cautious. The garden, despite its beauty, was not yours, and you knew it was wrong to take something from it without permission. Still, the feeling in your chest pushed you forward.

Reaching down, you carefully plucked a soft purple flower from the ground, its petals delicate between your fingers. It felt like a promise, like a piece of your heart in bloom, a small offering to someone who had unknowingly grown so deep within you. It wasn’t about the flower itself, but the gesture. The thought behind it.

You couldn’t wait to see his face again, to hand him this small, beautiful token of your feelings. You just knew he’d appreciate it. You hoped it would be a moment you’d both remember.

And as you made your way back to the motel, flower in hand, you couldn’t help but feel that familiar flutter in your stomach. A feeling that you knew by now was love, the kind that was growing, blooming, and maybe, just maybe, it would last.

As you stepped in front of the motel, the last thing you expected was for someone to collide into you, knocking you off balance. The impact was sudden, forcing the small flower from your grasp, sending it fluttering to the ground. Before you could even reach for it, a heavy boot came down, crushing it beneath careless steps.

You froze, your lips parting in silent disbelief as you watched the petals crumple under the weight of the stranger’s stride. He didn’t stop, didn’t even spare you a glance. Just kept walking, his broad shoulders cutting through the dimly lit hallway, his presence an unmovable force that paid no mind to anything in its way.

Your first instinct was to snap at him, to demand he at least acknowledge what he had done. But you knew better. Men like him—cold, indifferent, towering with an air of entitlement—never bothered with consequences. They moved through life unchallenged, their carelessness something the world had long since learned to excuse.

So, you bit your tongue, swallowing down the sharp words burning in your throat. It wasn’t worth it. Not here, not now. You had never been the type to cower in front of Jungkook, had no trouble standing your ground with him, but with a man like this? A stranger whose power came not from love but from the silent threat of what he could do? No. You weren’t stupid.

You simply clenched your fists at your sides and watched as he disappeared out the door. Moments later, the roar of an engine filled the air, his car speeding off into the night. The tires kicked up loose gravel, a few stray stones skidding toward you, as if mocking the way you had been so effortlessly dismissed.

Only when the dust had settled did you finally allow yourself to exhale. Slowly, you crouched down, reaching for what was left of the flower. It was ruined now—the delicate petals torn, the stem bent and broken beyond saving. The small, simple gift you had wanted to give Jungkook had been destroyed in a matter of seconds, crushed underfoot like it had never mattered at all.

“Motherfucker,” you muttered under your breath, the words tasting bitter as they left your lips.

You stared at the flower for a long moment before finally letting it go, watching as the wind carried the damaged petals away. There was no salvaging it, no way to undo what had been done. But maybe, just maybe, it didn’t matter. Maybe Jungkook didn’t need a flower to understand what you felt for him.

With that thought, you straightened your back, brushing the dust from your clothes before stepping forward. Whatever tonight had in store for you, one thing remained certain—you couldn’t wait to see him again.

The door to your room was slightly ajar, a thin sliver of darkness spilling into the dimly lit hallway. Your steps faltered as a cold dread crept up your spine. Something felt wrong.

Your breath hitched when your gaze dropped to the doorknob—small droplets of blood smeared across the metal surface, stark and unforgiving against the cheap, peeling paint.

For a moment, you couldn’t move.

Your stomach twisted painfully, nausea creeping up your throat as your mind raced through the worst possibilities. Every nerve in your body screamed at you to turn around, to run, but your feet betrayed you, moving forward before you could think twice.

With trembling fingers, you pushed the door open, careful not to touch the bloodstained knob.

“Jung—” His name barely made it past your lips, coming out in a shaky whisper before you heard it—low, pained groans and quiet curses slipping through the partially closed bathroom door.

Panic surged through you, your heartbeat deafening in your ears as you rushed forward.

Your breath caught in your throat the moment you saw him. Jungkook was sitting on the floor, leaning back against the shower with his legs stretched out in front of him. His bare chest rose and fell heavily, glistening with sweat. His hands—his hands were covered in blood.

Your eyes traveled lower, stomach churning at the deep gash across his right side. A needle and thread were clutched between his fingers, the makeshift stitches half-done, his skin raw and angry where the wound split open.

He lifted his head at your sudden presence, his dark eyes hazy but sharp, assessing your expression.

“Shit,” he muttered, pausing in his work as he took in your pale face.

You dropped to your knees beside him, your backpack slipping from your shoulder, forgotten in the urgency of the moment. Your hands hovered uselessly over his wound, shaking too much to even reach for him.

“What the hell happened?” Your voice wavered, but you barely noticed.

Jungkook let out a breathy chuckle, though it was strained, his lips twisting in something that wasn’t quite amusement. “It’s nothing, sugar. Just a scratch.”

Your stomach flipped. A scratch? His skin was split open, bleeding freely, and he called it a scratch?

Your fingers twitched, aching to press against the wound, to help in any way you could—but the sight of so much blood made your head spin. The coppery scent was overwhelming, and suddenly your stomach lurched, bile rising in your throat.

Jungkook must’ve noticed, because his bloodied hand reached for yours, gripping it weakly. “Don’t pass out on me,” he murmured, a teasing edge to his voice despite the obvious pain he was in.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to stay grounded. You had to push past the nausea. You had to help him.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, you met his gaze. “Let me do it.”

You had a million questions running through your mind—where had he been? What had happened? Who had done this to him? But none of them mattered right now. Right now, all you cared about was stopping the bleeding.

With shaky fingers, you grabbed the needle, barely holding it at the tips to the blood. Jungkook’s breath was ragged, but he still managed to guide you through it, his voice tight with pain.

The first attempt was disastrous.

As soon as the needle pierced his torn skin, Jungkook let out a strangled groan, his hand instinctively gripping your wrist in a bruising hold. His body tensed, muscles flexing under the strain, and he hissed out a string of curses that made your heart clench with guilt.

“Shit, fuck—!” His jaw clenched, breath coming out in sharp gasps.

“I’m sorry, Kook, I’m so sorry—” Your voice cracked as you tried again, forcing yourself to stay steady despite the way your hands trembled. The sight of his blood, the sound of his pain—it made you want to break down.

But you couldn’t.

So you sucked in a deep breath, gritted your teeth, and pushed through the nausea pooling in your stomach.

You had to do this.

Swallowing back your nerves, you guided the needle through his skin, this time steadier, smoother. Jungkook sucked in a sharp breath but didn’t protest.

“You’re doing good, sugar,” he murmured, voice hoarse but laced with reassurance. “Just keep going.”

And you did.

As soon as you finished stitching his wound, you dropped the needle onto the floor like it had burned you, your fingers shaking from the tension. Without a second thought, you yanked your t-shirt over your head, using the fabric to wipe away the blood smeared across his stomach. You hated the sight of it—the deep red against his skin, the way it felt warm and sticky under your touch. It made your stomach twist painfully.

Jungkook exhaled a ragged breath, his head falling back against the cold tiles of the shower wall. His whole body trembled, his muscles rigid as he fought against the pain.

“Jungkook,” you called softly, but his eyes remained shut. Panic flared in your chest. You gave his cheek a couple of light slaps, trying to keep him alert. “Hey, don’t pass out on me—stay with me.”

A small, lopsided smile tugged at the corner of his lips before he forced his eyes open, lids heavy with exhaustion. His hand found your bare waist, his grip weak but reassuring.

“I’m good, baby,” he murmured, though the way his body swayed against yours said otherwise. “Just… gimme a second.”

“Can you stand up?” you asked, your voice softer now.

He nodded sluggishly, and without hesitation, you wrapped your arms around his waist, bracing yourself as he leaned against you. His weight was almost too much, but you gritted your teeth and held firm.

“Alright, come on,” you encouraged, guiding him out of the bathroom step by step.

You barely made it to the bed before Jungkook collapsed onto the mattress with a heavy sigh, his body sinking into the worn-out sheets. You stayed by his side, still holding onto him, as if letting go meant he’d disappear.

You guided his head onto your chest, and he settled against you without hesitation, as if this was where he belonged. His left arm wrapped loosely around your waist, his breath warm against your skin. The weight of him, the steady rise and fall of his chest, was the only thing keeping you grounded. His soft fingertips brushed against yours, a quiet reminder that he was here—that he was still breathing, still alive.

But the thought of what could have happened if you had arrived just two minutes later made your stomach clench painfully.

You closed your eyes, your fingers gently combing through his silk hair as your mind wandered. If you were to lose him, if he were to slip through your fingers like smoke, you knew you wouldn’t survive it. The thought alone was unbearable.

Then, your mind drifted back to Friday.

Your gaze flickered down to his face, the bruises darkening his skin, the way his eyelashes rested so delicately against his cheek despite the pain he had endured. He looked so soft like this, so human. How could anyone want to hurt him? How could someone look at Jungkook—someone whose heart was so big, whose presence was so warm—and wish to kill him over something as meaningless as money?

His life was worth more than that. More than anything.

Your grip around him tightened instinctively, pulling him impossibly closer. You blinked rapidly, trying to push back the tears threatening to spill, but they burned in the corners of your eyes, stubborn and unrelenting.

If Jungkook reminded you of a flower, it would be a rose.

A beautiful, delicate thing—so vibrant, so captivating—that you would reach out and take it into your hands, breathing in its scent, feeling the softness of its petals. But roses had thorns, and Jungkook was no exception. He had built his own armor, layer after layer, sharp and unforgiving, to protect himself from a world that had tried to crush him too many times. And if you weren’t careful, if you held on too tightly, those thorns would cut you open.

And yet, knowing all of this, you still couldn’t let him go.

Your night had been restless, haunted by the lingering fear that clung to you like a second skin. Every time you drifted off, you would wake up again—eyes immediately searching for him, ears straining to catch the soft rhythm of his breath. You held your own breath each time, waiting, listening, only allowing yourself to exhale when you heard the steady rise and fall of his chest. It felt almost maternal, like checking on a newborn, making sure he was still there, still alive.

But now, sleep was out of reach.

The thought that someone could come and hurt him again—or worse, hurt you both—left your stomach twisted in knots. You stared at the ceiling, willing yourself to push the thoughts away, but they only pressed harder against your mind.

Beside you, Jungkook shifted, a low sigh slipping past his lips as he blinked an eye open. His voice was rough with sleep when he spoke. “Can’t sleep?”

You hummed in response, turning your head to look at him. He pushed himself up, sitting against the headboard as he turned on the small bedside lamp. The dim glow softened his bruised features, but it didn’t ease the tightness in your chest.

“Why?” he asked, as if nothing had happened.

A scoff left your lips. Sometimes, you hated how he tried to brush things off, how he pretended to be unfazed, like his own life didn’t carry the same weight as everyone else’s. And more than that, you hated the world for making him believe it.

“Because I came home and you were covered in blood, Jungkook,” you snapped, your voice sharper than you intended.

He only shrugged, leaning onto his side with a small wince, propping his head up with his hand. “I’ve had worse, you know?”

Your jaw clenched. “I don’t care. You still got hurt, and I don’t want you to get hurt.”

For a second, he just looked at you, then a lazy grin spread across his face—one of those stupid, playful grins that usually made you want to kiss him. But right now, it only made you more frustrated.

“You’re cute,” he teased, his fingers tracing absent patterns over your stomach. “You care that much about me?”

You took a slow, shaky breath, staring at where his fingers danced over your skin. When you finally answered, your voice was quieter but firm.

“Yes. I do.”

His lips traced a slow path along your shoulder, leaving warmth in their wake. You shivered under his touch, but before he could go any further—before you lost yourself completely in the haze of him—you spoke.

“Who was it?”

Jungkook sighed and flopped onto his back, fingers absentmindedly drumming against his stomach. “Some asshole I got into trouble with,” he muttered, his voice laced with nonchalance.

Your brows furrowed. “Some asshole?” You turned onto your side to face him, searching his expression for anything that might give you a clearer answer. “How many men have you gotten yourself into trouble with, Jungkook?”

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. “It’s nothing, really. You know how they are—bruise their ego just a little, and suddenly, they act like you’ve declared war on their entire bloodline.”

You frowned, suspicion creeping into your voice. “And what did you do this time? Stole from him, too?”

The words had barely left your mouth before Jungkook shot up, the casual demeanor melting off him in an instant. His dark eyes locked onto yours, filled with something sharp and unforgiving.

“For fuck’s sake,” he snapped. “So it’s always me, huh?”

You opened your mouth, ready to explain that you hadn’t meant it that way, but he didn’t give you the chance.

“It’s them,” he bit out. “They’re the problem. The rich bastards like your daddy.” His voice dripped with mockery, the words landing like a slap.

Your spine stiffened, and anger coiled hot in your chest. “Maybe you should be more careful,” you shot back, sitting up now, your pulse hammering in frustration. “You act like the whole world is against you, but—”

You watched as he threw the sheets off himself, standing up despite the pain that made him clutch his stomach. His eyes burned with something sharp, something reckless.

“I won’t let myself get walked over like you did your whole life.”

His words cut deeper than any wound.

The words echoed in your chest, setting fire to every nerve in your body.

You shot up from the bed, heart hammering against your ribs as anger surged through you. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Jungkook scoffed, shaking his head as if you were too naïve to understand. “It means I won’t sit back and take shit from people just because they have power. I won’t bow my head to some rich asshole who thinks money makes him untouchable. Not like—”

He stopped himself, but you knew what he was about to say. Not like you.

Your blood ran cold. “You think I had a choice?” you spat, voice laced with disbelief.

Your chest rose and fell with heavy breaths. He didn’t understand. He couldn’t. He hadn’t lived in your skin, hadn’t spent years learning how to survive in a world that never let you win.

“You don’t know what it’s like to be powerless,” you shot back, voice shaking.

He let out a bitter laugh. “Are you serious? You think I don’t know what it’s like?” His fingers curled into fists at his sides. “I grew up with nothing. I had no home, no family, no safety. My own father beat me bloody and left me to rot, he killed my mom because he felt like it, and you wanna talk to me about power?”

You swallowed hard, your anger twisting into something else. Something closer to guilt. But the fire inside you refused to die.

“You don’t get it,” you whispered, shaking your head. “Survival isn’t just about fighting, Jungkook. Sometimes, it’s about knowing when not to.”

His eyes softened for a second—just a second—but then his walls shot back up, and he scoffed. “Yeah? And what has that ever gotten you?”

You clenched your fists, blinking back the sting in your eyes. “It got me here. With you.”

Jungkook’s breath hitched. For the first time since the argument started, he looked at you like he wasn’t sure what to say.

For a moment, the room was silent except for your ragged breaths. Then, without another word, he turned his back to you, running a hand through his hair.

“I need some air,” he muttered, grabbing his hoodie from the chair.

Your stomach dropped. “Jungkook—”

But he was already walking to the door. And when it shut behind him, you felt like he took all the air with him.

You pulled the sheets over yourself again, as if they could shield you from the cold that had nothing to do with the breeze slipping through the cracks of the motel window. The air felt heavier now, thick with the weight of words that had cut too deep, leaving wounds neither of you knew how to tend to.

You knew you’d go to him eventually. You always did. No matter how heated the argument, no matter how much his words stung, something in you would always pull you back to him. But right now? Right now, you couldn’t face him.

You understood why he was angry. Jungkook had never been given the privilege of stability, of safety. He’d fought for everything, carved his place in the world with clenched fists and bloodied knuckles. And in his eyes, you—no matter how much you had suffered—would always be someone who had been given a life he never had.

But that didn’t mean his words hadn’t hurt. It didn’t mean he had the right to make your struggles feel small. He knew what it was like to live in a world that saw you as something lesser, something disposable.

You curled into yourself, biting your lip to keep the emotions at bay. The night stretched on, silent and still. Somewhere outside, Jungkook was probably pacing, cursing under his breath, maybe kicking at the gravel in frustration.

And eventually, you would go to him.

Eventually, you would remind him that you weren’t his enemy.

You don’t even make it two minutes before grabbing your sweater and denim, the cool air pressing against your skin as you step outside. Jungkook is sitting on the edge of the small stone wall in front of the motel, his fingers curled around a cigarette, smoke drifting in the night air.

The moment you step closer, his eyes ignores you, and you can see the tension in his face. You can’t help but scoff, “Very mature, Jungkook.”

“Yeah, maybe I should ask for some education from them if I’m so—” he starts, but before he can finish, you jump on the wall beside him, shooting him a pointed glare. He immediately gets the message and shuts up, the smirk that had been tugging at his lips fading.

You rest your head on his shoulder, and for a moment, everything feels like it’s slowing down, the world falling away just to make space for the two of you.

“Im sorry,” you whisper softly, your voice breaking the silence between you. “I shouldn’t have asked you to shut down when I know how much it hurts.”

Jungkook’s body stiffens slightly before he throws the cigarette on the ground. He then shifts, moving his head to rest gently on yours, and for a moment, everything feels right again, as if this is exactly where you both needed to be.

“I’m sorry too,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough. You can hear the sincerity in his words, feel the weight of them pressing against you as much as the silence that had hung between you earlier.

In the stillness of the night, you both let your mistakes hang in the air, unresolved yet somehow understood.

Jungkook turns your head gently, his lips pressing against yours in a soft, fleeting kiss. It isn’t rushed or demanding—just a reassurance, a silent promise that you’ll both be okay.

You’re not used to this kind of gentleness. The idea that problems could be solved without shouting, without fists, without bruises. That love could be given without fear. Your parents had always shown you that things were fixed with a slap, not a kiss. But with Jungkook, it was different. It was easy.

As you both make your way back to the room, his fingers laced through yours, a quiet warmth settles in your chest. But just as you reach the door, your body suddenly tenses.

Your heart stops.

Your grip on Jungkook’s hand tightens as your breath catches in your throat.

Because there, just a few steps away, walking out of the motel in the dead of night—

Is your father.

Jungkook felt it immediately—the way your entire body stiffened, how your fingers gripped his with a force that was almost desperate. Your breath hitched, your eyes wide and unblinking as you stared at the tall figure walking ahead.

Your father moved with his head hung low, his shirt slightly unbuttoned at the top, his steps unhurried but purposeful. It was clear he didn’t want to be seen.

But you saw him.

And suddenly, as much as you had tried to ignore it, as much as you had spent years avoiding the thought—there was no doubt anymore.

He was like them.

Like every man who saw women as disposable.

Like every man who took what he wanted and walked away without looking back.

Your stomach churned, bile rising in your throat. Because you knew. Even without seeing the room he had come from, even without hearing the exchange of money or the whispered goodbyes—you knew.

Your father was no different.

You turned away, unable to bear the sight any longer, your breath coming out in short, uneven gasps. The weight of it—the truth, the disgust, the betrayal—pressed down on your chest, suffocating.

Jungkook pulled you into him, nestling you against the crook of his neck, his arms wrapping around you protectively. The moment the first tear slipped down your cheek and dampened his skin, he felt his own heart shatter.

His jaw clenched as his dark eyes followed the man’s retreating figure, his hands twitching at his sides. If you weren’t here, trembling, vulnerable in his arms, he wouldn’t have thought twice. He would’ve walked straight up to that man and made him feel just an ounce of the pain he had inflicted.

Even though your father was nothing but a stranger to him, Jungkook already knew what kind of man he was. The type who would look down on someone like him. Who would scoff at his anger, his presence, his existence.

But Jungkook didn’t care.

He hated the man.

More than before.

More than he hated most men.

Because he had seen what that man had done to you. And Jungkook could never forgive that.

The day dragged on endlessly, every second stretching into what felt like an eternity. The usual warmth you found in working with Sukchul had faded, replaced by a dull, persistent ache in your chest. It was Wednesday now, and for two days straight, your mind had been consumed by thoughts of your father. But more than him, you thought of your mother.

Did she know?

Did she turn a blind eye, or had she convinced herself of a lie to keep surviving?

The rhythmic ticking of the clock echoed in your ears, a reminder of time slipping away. No matter how much you tried to push it from your mind, Friday loomed closer. And with it, Jungkook’s fate.

You had gathered a decent amount of money. Enough to give him a chance. But what about Jungkook? He was still so vague about his job, refusing to give you details no matter how many times you asked. The only thing he kept repeating was how well it paid.

You trusted him. You really did.

But you also knew that blind trust wasn’t enough—not when his life was at stake.

And you were done staying in the dark.

Whatever he was doing, you had to know. Because if he was putting himself in danger, you weren’t going to stand by and let it happen.

Jungkook had been acting strange.

Leaving before you even had the chance to wake up. Coming home when you were already in bed, staring at the ceiling, trying—and failing—to fall asleep.

Your mind was a battlefield of worst-case scenarios, endless possibilities circling in your head like vultures, each one worse than the last. And the only thing that ever silenced them was his presence beside you.

But lately, even that had become a rarity.

The only time you caught a glimpse of him was when he would slip into the bathroom, careful not to make a sound. He thought you were asleep, but you weren’t. You would watch him through the mirror, noting the fresh bruises blooming on his skin, the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers trembled slightly as he splashed water onto his face.

And it was killing you.

That was why, the moment you woke up that morning to find his side of the bed cold and empty, you made a decision.

You were going to follow him.

Sukchul hadn’t questioned it when you told him you wouldn’t be coming in today. The moment you mentioned Jungkook, worry flashed in his eyes, but he only nodded.

“Go,” he said simply, as if he understood everything without needing an explanation.

And so you did.

You followed him from a safe distance, careful to keep your steps light and your presence unnoticed.

Jungkook walked with purpose, his backpack slung over one shoulder, his posture tense. Every few steps, he glanced around, his sharp eyes scanning the streets as if he expected someone to be watching.

He was cautious. Too cautious.

It only made your anxiety grow.

What was he so afraid of? Who was he looking out for?

And more importantly—what was he about to do?

You watched as Jungkook disappeared into the alleyway, your heart pounding in your chest. You hesitated, afraid that if you followed too closely, he’d catch you. So you stayed put, counting the minutes.

One… two… three…

When he finally emerged, something was different.

His backpack was gone. And so were his clothes.

The black hoodie he had been wearing was replaced by a fitted long-sleeve t-shirt, and his usual denim had been swapped for a pair of black trousers. Only his boots remained the same.

You swallowed hard as you watched him climb the stairs of a random apartment complex, his movements quick and precise, like he knew exactly where he was going.

Your pulse quickened as you rushed into the alleyway, eyes darting around for any trace of Jungkook. Then, you spotted it—his backpack, carelessly discarded into a rusted bin like it meant nothing. A cold pit formed in your stomach as you hesitated for a second before reaching inside, fingers fumbling through the fabric. His hoodie, his jeans—everything he had been wearing earlier.

Before you could process the unsettling thought, voices echoed from the stairwell above. You barely had time to duck behind the bin, pressing your back against the cold wall as you strained to listen.

“Our typical motherfucker,” an unfamiliar voice sneered, his tone dripping with amusement. Laughter followed, mingling with another—Jungkook’s. The sound sent a shiver down your spine.

You clenched your jaw, forcing yourself to stay still, even as your mind screamed for answers.

“Do what you want with him. She doesn’t give us anything special to follow,” the man continued, his words cryptic, yet ominous.

Your fingers curled into Jungkook’s hoodie, knuckles turning white. She? Who were they talking about? And him—who was the man they were discussing?

Then, Jungkook’s voice cut through the tension. Steady, indifferent. “Consider it already done.”

Your breath hitched. You didn’t recognize him in that moment. There was no warmth, no hesitation—only cold certainty. It terrified you.

You waited, pressing yourself against the cold metal bin, your heart pounding in your chest. The voices above grew quieter, and you risked a glance toward the staircase just in time to see the unfamiliar man disappear into the apartment complex.

He was young—not much older than Jungkook—but old enough to have seen things, to have done things. He carried himself with a kind of confidence that came with experience, but not the kind built from a stable life. No wedding ring, no signs of a man with a family waiting for him at home. Just another lost soul in this world, much like Jungkook.

The silence stretched on, two minutes of nothing but the distant hum of the city.

It was now or never.

Taking a deep breath, you carefully stepped out of your hiding spot, your body tense as if expecting someone to jump out at you. Your feet carried you forward before your mind could catch up, your only goal now to find him. You had to.

It wasn’t hard to spot him amidst the busy crowd. His dark hair stood out, and his black outfit seemed out of place among the well-dressed people around him. He looked like he was trying to blend in, but his attire only made him stick out even more. He wasn’t trying to hide. His gaze flicked down to a paper in his hand, eyes scanning it before he kept walking, heading toward a neighborhood that reminded you of your old one. A place that felt familiar but distant now.

He came to a stop in front of a house. It was tucked away, hidden by overgrown bushes, and he crouched down, his movements quick and purposeful. You stood there, your breath catching in your throat as you watched him unzip his backpack and pull out something that made your heart skip a beat.

He took out a shoulder holster with a practiced ease, strapping it onto his chest. The gun, heavy and cold, gleamed in his hand for a brief moment before he slid it into place. He didn’t flinch, didn’t hesitate. The action was so casual, like it was second nature to him now.

Jungkook, who had always seemed so full of contradictions—so gentle and yet capable of such violence. It was like watching someone you loved slowly lose themselves, piece by piece, to a world you didn’t understand.

You felt the urge to approach him, to call out and tell him to stop, to beg him to leave whatever this was behind, but you couldn’t. Not now. Not when you saw the man he was becoming in front of you.

Instead, you stood frozen, watching from behind the corner of a building, your heart heavy with fear and a sense of loss you couldn’t shake off. You wanted to save him, but you didn’t know how.

Jungkook never had a say in his own life. His father never let him forget how weak he was, how useless he seemed to be, and how he wasn’t manly enough. The words were like daggers, sharper because they came from the one person he should have been able to look up to, to feel safe with. He was only eleven when his father’s cruel words first cut deep.

But it wasn’t just his father who shaped his world. His mother, gentle and loving, always knew when he needed her most. She would be there, a soft light in the darkness of his father’s criticisms. Whenever he cried, feeling small and lost, she would hold him close, reassuring him that it was okay to be sensitive, to feel deeply. “Don’t tell your dad,” she would whisper, “and let’s go get ice cream.” And so, with a small hand clasped in hers, they would slip away from the house, the weight of his father’s harshness momentarily forgotten.

They shared secrets, laughter, and tears over ice cream, the simple joys of childhood that Jungkook would cling to, knowing they were the only moments where he didn’t have to be someone else. His mother taught him that he was allowed to feel, that his gentleness wasn’t something to hide or be ashamed of. It was something his father despised, but to Jungkook, it was the one thing that made him feel human, feel real, even in the face of all the hate he received from the person who should have been his protector.

Jungkook’s hatred toward men began when he was just seven years old, the first time his father’s fist landed on him. It wasn’t just a bruise on his skin; it was a scar that dug deeper into his heart. From that moment on, he began to associate every man, every male figure, with the same cruelty. His teachers, classmates, even strangers on the street—whenever they got too close, his body would tense, and he would start crying, clutching his thumb tightly against his mouth as if that small act could offer him any comfort, any sense of safety in a world full of men he no longer trusted.

His mother, always the protector, would rush to the school whenever his cries grew uncontrollable. He had become a disruption in the classroom, but it wasn’t his fault—how could it be? His emotions had a way of spilling out when the fear took over, when the memories of his father’s abuse resurfaced. She’d gather him in her arms, her touch gentle as she ran a hand through his hair, soothing him in the only way she knew how. Then, without any explanation to the teachers, she’d take him home. She couldn’t bear to tell them the truth. She couldn’t risk them taking him away, the only thing that kept her from falling apart. Jungkook, despite everything, was her only hope, her only reason to keep going.

She knew the truth, deep down. She was acting out of fear, selfishly keeping her son close because he was the one thing in that house that made her feel like she wasn’t completely alone. She could never admit it, though. She never let anyone see how desperate she was to protect him, even if it meant staying in a home that was more prison than sanctuary. Every time she took him away from school, every time she shielded him from the world outside, it was because she didn’t want to risk losing him—her child, her hope, her salvation.

She had finally reached her breaking point. After years of enduring the torment, the silence, and the fear, she couldn’t take it anymore. That night, Jungkook’s sobs pierced through the thin walls of their small, crumbling home. His fragile heart, always so sensitive, had been crushed once again by a classmate’s cruel words. He had always been so easy to hurt, so vulnerable to the world around him. And now, in the midst of the quiet night, his cries filled the house, echoing in his mother’s ears as she sat in the dim light of the living room.

His father, meanwhile, was oblivious to the pain his son was enduring. He sat slumped on the couch, a can of beer in his hand, the bottle nearly empty as he let the alcohol do the talking. He could hear his son’s wails, but they did nothing to stir his conscience. His response was anger.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, his words slurring as he tossed his beer glass against the wall. The loud crash made Jungkook’s mother flinch, her body instinctively tensing at the sound. Her eyes were wide with panic, but she couldn’t seem to find the strength to move. She was so used to the violence, the rage, but every time it happened, it shattered her all over again. She bit her nails, trying to distract herself from the helplessness creeping in.

Jungkook’s cries only seemed to fuel his father’s anger. He shot up from the couch, his body stiff with rage, and as he stumbled toward the door to their son’s room, he spat, “I swear I’ll kill him.”

The words hit her like a slap. In his drunken haze, he was threatening their son—her precious boy. The thought of him going into that room, storming in with the same fury he always carried, was too much to bear.

In a surge of desperation, she stood up, her legs shaky, and rushed to intercept him. With hands trembling but determined, she grabbed him by the shoulders, trying to hold him back. “No,” she whispered, her voice barely above a breath, “It’s my fault he’s like this…”

Her eyes welled up with tears, her chest tight with helplessness. She couldn’t let him hurt their son again. Her heart was breaking for both of them. She had always been the one to protect him, but this time, the realization hit hard. She had kept him safe, but she had done it by shielding him too much, by not stepping in sooner, by not protecting him from the monster in their home. And now, it was coming to a head.

“I protected him too much,” she whispered through a choked breath, her words falling heavy between them. “Kill me!” she suddenly shouted, her voice raw with anguish. “If someone has to die, it’s me!”

Her heart ached with the weight of her plea. She would take it all if it meant saving him, if it meant saving her son. The anger, the frustration, the helplessness—all of it could be on her. If it meant keeping Jungkook safe, she’d sacrifice herself. But instead, her husband just stared at her coldly, the alcohol still clouding his judgment.

Without another word, he left the living room, leaving her standing there, her legs weak beneath her. Her body trembled as she heard the door close behind him, but she knew this moment of peace would not last. It never did. It was only a matter of time before he would come back for their son again.

With the echo of his footsteps fading away, she let out a long, shaky breath, feeling the tension in her shoulders begin to release. But it wasn’t over. It would never be over until they were away from this place. She rushed to Jungkook’s room, where the muffled sounds of his cries filled her ears, and found him sitting on the bed, his small frame trembling. His eyes were wide, filled with confusion and fear, his cheeks flushed from crying.

“Mom?” he whispered, his voice fragile, like he wasn’t sure whether to expect comfort or more pain. His once bright eyes were now bloodshot and swollen from crying.

“Baby,” she croaked, crouching down beside him, her hands shaking as she gently touched his face. Her heart broke all over again at the sight of him, at how small he seemed, at how much pain he carried for someone so young.

Without another word, she reached for his little backpack and began packing it with the things that would bring him comfort. His favorite bunny plushie, the one his father always mocked him for carrying, the one he held onto for dear life every night when his father’s rage threatened to engulf him. She stuffed it into the bag along with a few other familiar things—his drawing book, a set of colored pencils, a worn-out blanket.

“Do you want to go eat ice cream?” she asked, forcing a smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. She needed to give him something, anything to cling to.

Jungkook, still sniffling, nodded, his eyes wide and uncertain, but he took her hand and followed her out the door. His trust in her, in the only person who had ever truly protected him, was unshaken. And as they walked down the hallway, heading for the door that would lead them to a temporary escape, she promised herself that she would do whatever it took to keep him safe. Even if it meant leaving everything behind.

She would protect him—no matter the cost.

Together, they made their way to the Han’s house. The Han family had always been kind to them. Sukchul, the grandfather, was the only man Jungkook seemed to have any trust in, and Hyerim, his wife, had always treated them with such warmth. In a world where men had mostly let them down, the Hans were a beacon of normalcy, a reminder that not all men were like the one she was trying to escape.

When they arrived at their modest home, she didn’t need to say much. As soon as she knocked, Hyerim opened the door, her face immediately reflecting concern as she saw the state of her and Jungkook.

Without hesitation, she explained what was happening, and although Hyerim didn’t ask for details, her eyes spoke volumes. She could see the fear, the desperation in her friend’s face, and without another word, Hyerim handed her the keys to the car. She knew the urgency in her voice, the panic that was barely held together by the need to protect her son.

“Take care of him,” Hyerim said softly, her voice laced with understanding. “You know you can always come here.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, her throat tight with gratitude.

Jungkook didn’t speak a word as they got into the car. He climbed into the passenger seat silently, his eyes blank, too exhausted and hurt to ask what was going on. She could feel the weight of his silence, how heavy the air between them had become in such a short time. She could only imagine what he was thinking, how much he was trying to hold it together. He was only a child, and yet, he had carried more weight than any child should ever have to bear.

As she started the engine and pulled out of the driveway, her foot pressed hard on the gas. The car shot forward, the tires screeching slightly as she sped through the familiar streets. Her heart was racing, the thudding in her chest a constant reminder of what was at stake.

Her eyes flicked over to Jungkook every few moments, trying to read him, trying to figure out what was going on behind the blank stare. But he wouldn’t look at her. He kept his gaze straight ahead, his hands clenched in his lap, his fingers twitching from the anxiety. She wished she could tell him everything would be okay, but she didn’t know if she could promise that. She didn’t know if anything would be okay until they were far away from here, until they were safe.

Jungkook never imagined his twelfth birthday would be spent in such a grim, cramped motel room—dust settling on the worn furniture and the stale smell of the air making his stomach churn. It wasn’t the day he had dreamed of, and it certainly wasn’t what he deserved. But in that moment, as he sat there on the edge of the bed, his heart softened just a little when his mother stepped into the room, holding a small cupcake, the candle flickering brightly on top of it.

“Happy birthday to you, my Kookie,” she said, her voice a little shaky but filled with love. The bright smile she gave him was the only thing that kept the room from feeling completely bleak, though the exhaustion in her eyes couldn’t be hidden. She tried not to let her mind wander to the price she had to pay to be here with him, the sacrifice it took to rent that bed for the night, to get that cupcake and candle. Every penny counted, and every smile from Jungkook was a reminder of the reason she kept going, even when the weight of the world was crushing her.

She had hoped, for his birthday, they could at least sleep somewhere safe, somewhere clean—something that felt like normal for once. The car had been their home for the last week, and Jungkook’s complaints had become a constant soundtrack in the background of her thoughts. He hated it. She hated it too, but there was little she could do.

She couldn’t work a traditional job, not with the way things were. So, she did what she had to. She gave what she could. Her body, her warmth, her time—anything to scrape together enough for them to survive. She tried not to think about the toll it took on her, tried not to think about how the men who walked away after they were done with her left her feeling empty inside. But it was worth it. Every single time Jungkook’s smile lit up, every time she saw him happy for a moment—she told herself it was worth it.

And now, watching him blow out the candle, making a wish with a shy grin, she realized something. No matter where they were, as long as they were together, there was still a kind of magic in the moment. For just a second, they were free from the weight of their circumstances.

Jungkook’s eyes met hers, and in that brief exchange, she saw the love and trust he had for her, despite everything. It made all the sacrifices worth it.

“Thank you, Mom,” he whispered, his voice soft, but the sincerity in it made her heart ache. She nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat.

“You’re welcome, baby,” she replied, her voice trembling, but she pushed through it. She smiled at him, a genuine smile this time, because, in this moment, they were okay. For now.

Jungkook grinned, and for the first time in a while, his eyes sparkled with a light that wasn’t dimmed by fear or doubt. That was all she needed. That smile, that moment, was enough to get her through another day.

“Let’s eat it,” she said, grabbing a fork and cutting into the cupcake, the frosting smearing slightly as she handed him the first piece.

Together, they ate, the simple sweetness of the cupcake offering a rare moment of peace in their chaotic world. Even in the worst circumstances, they still had each other. And sometimes, that was all they needed.

The moment the door crashed open, the world seemed to shift into something dark and unrecognizable. His father’s presence filled the room like a storm, overwhelming everything in its path. Jungkook’s mother froze, her body tense with dread, knowing exactly what was coming.

“You fucking slut,” he spat, his words sharp and venomous, as he threw the small table with the cupcake across the room. The sweet, innocent little moment they’d managed to create was shattered instantly, just like everything else in their lives. “How dare you fucking go away from me?” His voice was dripping with disgust and rage, and it wasn’t just directed at her—it was like he hated everything she was, everything she did, everything she tried to be.

Jungkook, his tiny heart pounding with terror, scrambled to hide behind the headboard of the bed. His hands trembled as he pressed them over his ears, trying desperately to block out the sounds, trying to block out the reality of what was happening in front of him. He held his bunny plushie close to his chest.

The shouts, the punches, the cries of pain—all of it blurred into a sickening hum in Jungkook’s ears. He closed his eyes tightly, curling up into himself, hoping somehow that by shutting everything out, he could make it stop. But it didn’t stop. The sound of his mother crying, the muffled thuds of slaps and punches, each one more violent than the last. His heart ached with each passing moment as he cried silently, feeling utterly helpless, knowing that he couldn’t protect her, couldn’t protect himself.

Time seemed to stretch on forever, and it felt like the darkness had swallowed everything whole, leaving only the pain and terror. But then, after what seemed like an eternity, there was a sudden, chilling silence. The shouting stopped. The sounds of the violence ceased, and all that remained was the thudding of his own heart in his chest, a reminder that he was still there, still alive, still hurting.

And then his father appeared in front of him, his face twisted with disdain, his presence looming like a suffocating shadow. Without a word, he walked up to Jungkook, his hand raising before coming down with a hard slap. The force of it left Jungkook reeling, his cheek stinging as he stumbled back. His father didn’t even look at him after that. He just stood there, cold and distant, as if Jungkook’s existence meant nothing at all.

“You’re nothing but a disturbance,” his father muttered, his voice devoid of emotion, as if the words didn’t even matter anymore. “Do whatever you want. You won’t last long in a world like that anyway.”

And with that, he left. He turned on his heel and walked out of the room, leaving nothing but a trail of destruction in his wake. Jungkook was left there, in the aftermath, his mother’s lifeless body beside him.

Jungkook’s anger grew like a fire that could never be extinguished. From the moment he witnessed the violence his father inflicted on his mother, he made a vow in the deepest corners of his heart: to never trust another man, to never allow himself to be vulnerable to the kind of cruelty that men like his father carried.

As he grew older, his anger transformed into something else—something sharper, darker. His pain drove him to make himself into something different, something stronger. He covered his body in tattoos, a visual representation of his defiance and his anger. Piercings adorned his face, as if he could pierce through his pain and somehow make it more bearable. The more he changed on the outside, the more he pushed his rage inward. He looked for fights, not just with men who would give him trouble, but with anyone who dared to challenge his perception of himself.

He sought out men to fight, people who he knew would be easy to rile up. He would provoke them, knowing they would retaliate. But the real satisfaction wasn’t in the violence itself—it was in proving to himself that he could overpower them. Jungkook knew, deep down, that when it came to men, he could never let his guard down. He had to be stronger than them. He had to make sure they knew that no matter how hard they tried to break him, he could stand up for himself.

When he threw punches, he always scoffed at how easy it was. Men like them—pompous, self-assured—were nothing more than a punching bag. They relied on their strength to intimidate, but when faced with someone who didn’t flinch at the thought of pain, someone who had endured far worse, they crumbled. Jungkook relished in that moment of power. It felt like justice—like every man who hurt someone would eventually pay for it, in one way or another.

That was how Jungkook found himself standing in the pristine halls of a vast, cold house, the walls echoing with emptiness. His mind was sharp, his thoughts focused solely on the task at hand. It wasn’t his first mission, and it wouldn’t be his last, but something about this one felt different. The woman’s plea had shaken him, her voice cracking under the weight of years of suffering. He’d heard similar stories before—stories that made his blood boil, that set a fire in his chest.

She had barely told him anything—just enough to point him in the right direction, just enough to know where he needed to go and who he had to face. But it was enough. Jungkook didn’t need much more than a name, a face, and the knowledge of what had been done. He didn’t need to ask questions or hear the full story. He already knew what kind of man he was dealing with.

He reached the room where he knew the man would be. His heart didn’t race; it didn’t need to. He wasn’t afraid of men like this anymore. He had learned to channel his anger into something productive. It was about precision, about being the action behind the words that so often fell on deaf ears.

He opened the door without hesitation.

Inside, the man was lounging on a leather chair, a drink in hand, as if he owned the world. His arrogance was palpable, his face one of entitlement. The moment Jungkook stepped in, his eyes lifted, narrowing in confusion, then in recognition.

“Who the hell are you?” the man sneered, his voice dripping with condescension.

Jungkook didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. The man’s eyes widened as he took in the sight of Jungkook’s calm, unyielding expression. He could tell something was different—this wasn’t just some random intruder. This was someone with a purpose.

Without warning, Jungkook moved. In an instant, he was standing in front of the man, his fist connecting with the side of his face with a force that sent him crashing to the floor. The man gasped for breath, looking up in disbelief.

The man tried to stand, reaching for a weapon, but Jungkook was quicker. He grabbed the man by the throat, lifting him off the ground with ease, his fingers tightening around the fragile neck.

“You’re nothing,” Jungkook whispered, his voice icy cold. “You’re weak. And you’ll never hurt anyone again.”

In his world, women held the power, providing clear instructions on how they wanted things to unfold. Jungkook’s role was simple: to carry out their demands without question. And what they asked for, more often than not, was the death of their husbands.

Without a second thought, he drew the gun from his holster and fired, the bullet finding its mark between the man’s eyes.

Within minutes, other men arrived to handle the aftermath, taking care of the body. That wasn’t his responsibility. He was the one who acted, the one who made sure the job was done. The action-taker.

You ran back to the motel, your heart racing, before you could see him leave the house. You were overwhelmed with confusion. Jungkook, in your eyes, wasn’t capable of violence. Even though you knew he had been in fights before—like that one time in the alley when they took his bike, or when you walked into the motel to find him stitching up his own wounds—he always seemed to be the one getting hurt, not the one causing it.

The thought sent a shiver down your spine. The image you had of him—gentle, kind, a boy who’d never harm anyone—suddenly shattered, leaving you with a cold, unsettling feeling you couldn’t shake.

He came home earlier than usual, his presence filling the room before you even heard his footsteps. The moment his hands slid around your waist, you felt a sudden urge to pull away, but you stayed still, frozen in the warmth of his touch. He was dressed in his usual attire, and that ever-present playful smile tugged at the corners of his lips, as if nothing had changed, as if everything was still light and carefree.

“You had a good day?” His voice was soft, almost soothing, but it didn’t reach you the way it normally did. He plopped down onto the bed casually, kicking off his boots and setting his backpack beside him. His movements were so natural, so familiar, but all you could focus on was the sight of that backpack. The same one that probably carried the remnants of his darker side—the side you hadn’t truly seen, but felt creeping at the edges of your mind.

Your gaze lingered on it, the thought of where he’d been, what he’d been doing, and who he’d become when he wore that outfit—the one that made him capable of violence—made your stomach twist with a sense of dread. It was all too much. The image of the gentle, playful Jungkook you thought you knew was starting to crack, splintering into something darker, something you hadn’t expected.

“Sugar?” His voice cut through your thoughts, a note of concern creeping in as he noticed your unusual silence. He furrowed his brows, a frown beginning to form. “What’s wrong?” The words were simple, but they felt like a lifeline thrown to you in the midst of a storm, and you weren’t sure whether to grab onto it or let it slip through your fingers.

You exhaled sharply, your breath shaky as you sank down onto the bed, burying your face in your hands. The weight of everything pressing on you felt suffocating, like you could hardly breathe.

Jungkook crawled over to you, concern etched deeply on his face. He reached out, gently placing his hands on your shoulders, his touch warm and comforting in contrast to the turmoil inside you. He kissed the top of your head softly, his lips lingering there for a moment before he pulled back slightly.

“Hey, what happened? Was it Sukchul? Did he do something to you?” His voice was soft, filled with a quiet urgency, as though he needed to fix whatever was wrong. His eyes scanned your face for any sign of distress, and the thought that anything could have happened to you made his mind race in a hundred directions. He wasn’t thinking straight, wasn’t sure of anything, but one thing was clear: he needed to protect you, even if it meant doing whatever it took.

You pushed him away gently, your body tense as you looked up at him with wide, almost frantic eyes. “Fuck, Jungkook, no,” you said, your voice tinged with disbelief.

He frowned, a furrow appearing on his brow as he leaned in slightly, trying to bridge the distance between you. “You need to tell me if something happened, something I don’t know about. If someone—”

“So what? You’ll kill him too?” The words came out before you could stop them, sharp and biting, a rush of anger and hurt spilling from you. The instant you spoke, you froze, the weight of your own words hanging in the air. You shut your mouth quickly, as if regretting the outburst, but the tension still lingered, suffocating.

Jungkook’s eyes went wide at your words, as if they struck him deeper than anything else you could’ve said. He opened his mouth to respond, but for a moment, no sound came. He stepped back, his lips trembling slightly, as if trying to make sense of what you’d just said.

Jungkook’s grip tightened on your wrist, his fingers almost painfully firm, but his eyes… his eyes were soft, filled with something close to desperation. He was silently pleading with you, begging for you to understand.

“What do you mean?” His voice trembled, barely above a whisper, as if saying the words aloud might make it all too real. His breath was shallow, like he was holding on to something, afraid that if he let go, the truth would spill out in ways he couldn’t control. Not that he didn’t trust you, but because he couldn’t bear the thought of you seeing him as something you should be afraid of.

You refused to meet his gaze. The weight of his hold made it feel like the air was closing in around you. You tugged at your wrist once more, but he didn’t release you. His eyes were still fixed on you, pleading for understanding, for something he wasn’t sure how to explain.

“Jungkook, please,” you whispered, your voice breaking slightly as the distance between you felt insurmountable. You didn’t know what you were asking for, didn’t know how to stop the flood of emotions rushing through you.

Then, in an instant, he stood up abruptly, and the sudden motion made you flinch, your heart racing in your chest. His tone was sharp, as if trying to convince both of you that there was nothing to fear. “Wait, seriously? You think I would hurt you?” His voice was a mix of disbelief and frustration, the kind of frustration that came from feeling misunderstood.

“I don’t know you.” The words came out in a rush, raw and honest. It felt like a slap in the face, but it was the truth. You didn’t know him, not the way you needed to. You only knew the parts he chose to show, the parts that made you feel things you couldn’t quite put into words. But the rest? The side that might be capable of violence, of things you couldn’t even imagine? You didn’t know that Jungkook, and that thought was enough to make your heart ache.

You stepped back slightly, your chest tight with emotions you couldn’t control, trying to create some kind of distance from the confusion swirling in your mind.

“Well maybe if you let me explain—”

“What do you want to explain?” you interrupted, your voice sharp, but there was a tremor of fear in it that you couldn’t hide. “That you’re a monster just like every other man here?” Your words hit him like a punch, and you could see the flinch run through him. His eyes darkened, a coldness creeping into them as he heard you compare him to the very thing he hated most—his rival, the men he despised.

“Do you even do this for money, or for your own pleasure?” you asked, your voice trembling, but the anger inside you was hard to ignore now. You needed answers, and you needed them to be true, no matter how much it hurt.

The question seemed to throw him off, as if you had hit him with something unexpected. He opened his mouth, then closed it, as though the lie he had been telling himself and others was on the tip of his tongue. But this time, the lie stayed stuck. He couldn’t bring himself to say it, not to you, not now.

“Be honest for once,” you said, your breath shaky but your eyes not leaving his. You could see the hesitation in his face, the battle between his usual deflection and the truth that was forcing itself out.

Jungkook lowered his head, his gaze dropping to the floor as if he couldn’t meet your eyes anymore. It was in that moment, in the silence that stretched between you both, that he finally spoke the words you were terrified of hearing.

“Because I want to. Money is a plus.”

The words hit you like a wave, your body freezing in place as the meaning behind them sank in. If he was doing it for money, you could almost understand, because you knew his life in danger. But this? This was different. This felt like a choice, and it was a choice that made your stomach twist.

You grabbed your backpack, your hands shaking as you hastily packed your belongings, trying to escape the suffocating tension in the room. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think straight, and the only thing you knew was that you had to leave.

Jungkook was there, his presence overwhelming, his hands gently cupping your face, forcing you to meet his eyes. Those eyes. The same doe-eyes you had come to love, the eyes that once made your heart flutter, now filled with pain and confusion.

“Where are you going?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, the words breaking through the thick air, on the verge of tears. His fingers trembled as they hovered near your cheek, begging for an answer that made sense, but there was no way to make sense of this.

“I want to go home,” you muttered, your voice shaky, trying to pull away from his grasp as you moved frantically around the room, gathering the rest of your things. You could feel your chest tighten with each step, each moment that passed.

“Home? You can’t be serious,” he scoffed, disbelief clouding his voice. “Your father’s a bastard and—”

“At least he’s not a fucking killer!” you snapped, your words cutting through the air like a knife. You turned to face him, pointing an accusing finger at his chest, your body trembling with anger. “Don’t tell me what’s right for me when you should be the one I should be running away from!”

You grabbed the plastic bag with the money you had won and you tossed it at his feet, the crinkling sound of the bag hitting the floor echoing in the silence that followed.

“Here,” you spat, your chest heaving with rage. “Take that.”

He didn’t even acknowledge the money as it fell at his feet. Instead, he dropped to his knees, his body sagging, and his head hung low. His silence was deafening, the weight of your words settling in the space between you both.

“The money I fucking worked for your stupid life!” you shouted, your voice cracking with the sheer intensity of your emotions.

He stayed kneeling, the tears you had been holding back now threatening to spill. His lips parted, but nothing came out. You had shattered something inside him—something that even he hadn’t been ready to confront.

And you couldn’t stand there anymore. You couldn’t stand to watch him fall apart, because the truth was, you were falling apart too.

You closed the door behind you with a quiet click, the weight of it sinking deep into your chest. Each step you took away from the motel felt heavier than the last, as if the walls were closing in around you. Shame clung to your skin, suffocating you with every breath. You didn’t even know if you were still welcome in your own home anymore.

Your father’s words rang in your ears, a reminder of how unwanted you had become in his eyes. His cruel dismissal was something you’d never be able to forget, but despite it all, the thought of returning home was the only thing you could hold onto right now.

With every step, you wondered if your return would only confirm that you were nothing more than a burden, unwanted and lost. But you kept walking anyway. Because it was the only place left where you might find something to hold onto. Even if it was just the walls, the stale air, the broken pieces of a home that was no longer yours.

You felt a strange mixture of relief and guilt when you saw your mother open the door. Her expression was cold, and her eyes narrowed when she saw you standing there, but she quickly pushed the door wider, letting you in without a word. There was no warmth, no embrace, only a faint flicker of something behind her eyes that you couldn’t quite place.

“He isn’t here,” she said curtly, not bothering with a greeting, her tone sharp and detached. Her movements were quick, almost frantic, as she grabbed you by the shoulders and steered you into the house, guiding you towards your room without a second thought. “You shouldn’t be here. What happened?” The faintest trace of concern flashed in her eyes, though it quickly vanished behind her guarded expression.

The words were stuck in your throat for a moment before you spoke, the realization of what you had learned about men “I was wrong,” you said softly, your gaze dropping to the floor. “They’re not one better than the other.”

Her hands were on your chin before you could even react, forcing you to look at her. Her fingers dug into your skin with surprising strength as she locked her gaze onto yours, her eyes searching you in a way that made you feel exposed. “Does he hurt you?” she asked, her voice calm but there was an edge to it—a raw, demanding edge that you had never heard before.

The words flew from your mouth without hesitation, fueled by the raw confidence and certainty you felt in that moment. “Never.” The anger in your response surprised even you, as if your own heart had built a wall in defense, not just for Jungkook but for yourself. You were almost angry that she would ask such a thing, even though, deep down, you knew why she was concerned.

Her grip loosened slightly, but her face remained stern. She looked at you for a long moment, as if weighing the truth in your eyes. Then, after what felt like an eternity, she spoke again, her voice a bit softer, yet still tinged with that same determination. “Then he is better than them,” she said, her words almost resigned, as though she had already come to that conclusion in her mind.

“Your father made it clear, he doesn’t want you there,” your mother finally says, her voice low and resigned as she stands up from the bed. She walks over to the window, peeking through the blinds to see if your father’s car isn’t parked outside. She lets out a heavy sigh. “I can’t keep you hiding here for long. Things would be terrible for me if I did.”

She gestures towards the bruises on her arms. Your body tightens with rage at the sight, and something inside you burns. Anger floods your chest, but you stay silent, the truth sinking in. She had to keep quiet. She had no choice.

She presses her fingers to her temple, brows furrowing as though she’s trying to come up with an escape, a way out. “My hairdresser…” she starts, her voice suddenly shifting. You look up at her, confused. She smiles, but it’s not the smile you’ve grown used to. It’s something unfamiliar, almost like she’s found the solution to her problem. A spark of something new. “You know Park Yejin, right?”

You nod slowly, your mind struggling to catch up. Yejin was the small woman your mother always went to for her haircuts. The one place where your mother could be herself, if only for a moment, away from the suffocating presence of men. Yejin’s shop wasn’t just a place for hair—it was a sanctuary for women. A place where they could sit together, laugh, and share stories without fear of being judged or watched. It was the rare space where they could be free, even if just for a little while.

You remember the joy in your mother’s eyes whenever she returned from those visits. She would always speak about Yejin with such warmth, telling you how the other women in the neighborhood would gather there, all of them gossiping and laughing, sharing a rare kind of freedom.

Your mother’s eyes gleam now as she thinks of something, a plan forming in her mind. “She’s a good person,” she continues, almost to herself. “She wouldn’t turn you away.”

“I’ll come to see you tomorrow,” she said, her voice filled with an odd sense of finality as she moved toward the window. She opened it wide, the cool air rushing in. “Climb out here, follow the same path, and you’ll find her.”

Her words were clear, almost rehearsed, as though she had thought this through many times before. Without hesitation, you nodded and swung your leg over the windowsill. Your heart pounded in your chest, unsure of what you were walking into, but trusting her in a way that only a child could.

Following the directions your mother had given you, you made your way through the winding streets. The same familiar neighborhood that you had grown up in, where everything felt safe and comforting, but now it seemed different. You were walking through it with a new purpose, your thoughts swirling with confusion and uncertainty. Each step felt heavier than the last, but you kept moving forward.

Finally, you reached Park Yejin’s shop, nestled between two other small buildings. The warm light from inside filtered through the windows, casting a golden glow onto the sidewalk. You could see the faint silhouettes of women inside, their laughter and chatter muffled by the walls. This was it. This was where your mother had found her moments of freedom, her small haven away from the chaos.

Taking a deep breath, you stepped forward, lifting your hand to knock on the door. The moment felt surreal, as if everything was leading you to this point. The woman who had been your mother’s safe space, now holding the key to your escape.

You quickly explained your situation, the words tumbling out as you felt the weight of everything that had led you here. Park Yejin, without hesitation, opened the door wider, letting you in without a single question when you mentioned your mother’s name. It was as though she already understood.

She guided you inside, offering you a glass of water, the cool liquid a soothing relief as it ran down your throat. She led you to the back of the shop, where a soft beige couch rested against the wall. The simple, cozy space seemed like a world away from the chaos you had just left behind.

Without a word, she handed you a blanket, its warmth wrapping around you like a hug. It was the first time today that your heart finally began to slow down, the tension in your chest starting to ease.

You sank into the couch, the exhaustion of the day catching up to you. Your mind raced with everything that had happened—your mother, Jungkook, the things you’d said, the things you’d learned. It was all too much.

“Rest,” Park Yejin said quietly, her voice gentle but firm. “You’re safe here.”

You nodded, your eyelids heavy with exhaustion. You didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, but for now, you allowed yourself to close your eyes and drift into a fragile, peaceful sleep.

Kim Taehee was a woman consumed by anger, a rage that had burned within her from a very young age. A rebellious spirit that refused to bow to the limitations society and family imposed on her. She had always known, deep down, that she didn’t want to fall into the same destructive spiral her mother had lived. Yet, despite her fierce resolve, she eventually found herself bound by the very chains she swore to avoid when she chose to marry Lee Minhyeok.

At first, everything seemed perfect. He was kind, promising her the life of luxury and security she had always dreamed of. Beautiful houses, expensive jewelry, and a life of comfort that seemed too good to be true. For a while, it was a fairytale—she felt cherished, important, and above all, loved. She thought she had found a man who truly cared for her. But like all fairytales, this one was fleeting.

The moment she gave birth to their daughter, everything changed. Minhyeok, once so attentive and loving, became distant and indifferent. He had gotten what he wanted—a child. He had only ever wanted one, and after that, her role was reduced to nothing more than the mother of his child. No longer the wife, no longer the woman. She was just a vessel, a caretaker for their daughter, nothing more. The love they once shared withered away, and Taehee found herself trapped in a marriage that had lost all its meaning. She became everything she despised—just like her own mother.

Her rebellious fire, the one that had always burned so brightly within her, only grew fiercer with time. She was no longer content with being a mere shadow of herself. The woman who once dreamed of a life of autonomy and power now sought more than mere survival. She sought freedom, control, and, above all, the power to change her fate.

As she climbed the stairs of the apartment complex, a smile tugged at her lips. Her lipstick, a deep red, was perfect—bold, unapologetic, just like her. She had long fantasized about a space where she could take charge, a place where she could dictate her terms, and the men inside would bend to her will. She had imagined this for years, but now it was becoming a reality.

It was almost a dream came true when while Kim Taehee sat in the salon chair, her hairdresser carefully wrapping a curler into her hair, she half-listened to the hum of the hairdryers around her. Her fingers drummed against the edge of the magazine she was flipping through. It was the only place where she could exist without the weight of her marriage bearing down on her—without the suffocating presence of her husband.

Her friend, who had been quietly getting her hair done at the station beside her, leaned in close. Her voice dropped to a hushed whisper, filled with an air of secrecy. “Taehee,” she began, her eyes scanning the room before settling back on her. “My husband… he’s dead.”

At first, Taehee froze, she was ready to apologize. But then her friend began to laugh, and with that, something inside Taehee clicked. The air between them shifted, and she could see the satisfaction in her friend’s expression.

Taehee let out a soft laugh too, unsure whether it was from disbelief or the strange relief creeping into her chest. She leaned closer, lowering her voice. “What do you mean? How did that happen?”

Her friend leaned back, looking around as if checking for anyone else who might be listening before she spoke again, this time in more of a confidential whisper. “I did it. I had him killed—paid men to do it for me. Men who’ll do anything for money. I told them everything, everything they needed to know. And now, I'm free.”

The words hung in the air for a moment, heavy with unspoken truths. Taehee’s heart pounded, the reality of what her friend was saying sinking in. “You really had him killed?” Taehee murmured, her voice shaky, but inside, a new excitement was building.

“Yeah, Taehee. Just like that. We made the deal. They took care of it. And now I can do whatever I want, without him breathing down my neck. I'm free.”

Taehee let the words settle in her mind. It was almost too surreal to comprehend—until she looked around at the other women in the salon, who had gathered to listen. The three of them erupted into laughter, mocking the situation, laughing about the man’s death, about how easy it seemed. In a space where women often shared their secrets, their frustrations, and their gossip, this was just another story, another tragedy turned into something absurd.

But Taehee’s mind was far from the laughter around her. While the others continued to mock her friend’s late husband, she was lost in thought. Her heart raced, her mind spinning with ideas and possibilities. Could it really be that simple? Could she also find a way out? A way to be free from the suffocating grip of her marriage?

For the first time in years, the spark of rebellion flickered in her chest, rekindled by the stories of men willing to kill for a cause—willing to erase the obstacles standing in the way of freedom. In that moment, her mind was already racing, already devising plans for her own escape. She didn’t have all the pieces yet, but she knew one thing: if others could do it, so could she.

She looks at the paper in her hand, her friend’s handwriting scrawled across it with the address she was supposed to go to. With a deep breath and a heavy heart, she knocks on the door.

The door opens, and a young man stands there, his sharp, cat-like eyes studying her with a penetrating gaze. For a second, the silence between them feels thick, almost suffocating, before he steps aside and gestures for her to enter. The click of her heels echoes through the small apartment as she steps inside, the faint smell of smoke and the dull hum of city life seeping through the walls.

On the couch, another man lounges lazily. He’s younger than the first, dressed in a tight black shirt, one long sleeve and the other bare. His chest is adorned with a holster, and he’s smoking quietly, the cigarette dangling lazily from his fingers.

Taehee notices his disheveled appearance—his eyes are red, his hair a mess, and there are bruises on his face. His doe-eyed gaze seems oddly familiar, but she can’t place where she’s seen him before.

The first man finally speaks, his voice deep and calm, as he sits himself down at a desk, his eyes never leaving her. “So,” he begins, folding his hands in front of him, “I’m sure you know what we’re doing.”

She meets his gaze, unsure of how to respond but knowing there was no turning back now.

Taehee shook her head, finally finding the strength to stand taller, her posture changing as she squared her shoulders.

She took a cigarette from her own packet, her fingers trembling slightly as she brought it to her lips. The small, familiar motion grounded her, and the smoke was almost comforting as it filled her lungs. Exhaling slowly, she leaned back against the wall, her voice steady but firm as she began explaining how she found them—and why she needed their help.

“My husband,” she began, her voice low. “I need him gone. And I don’t care what it takes.”

The man sitting at the desk—his eyes calculating, patient—nodded, absorbing her words. He didn’t interrupt, letting her speak freely. When she finished, he leaned back, eyes narrowing slightly.

“Tell me,” he said, his voice smooth but with an edge, “what makes you think you can trust us? And why now? What changed?”

Taehee straightened, her gaze unwavering. “I’ve been living in a prison for too long. I can’t keep pretending that things will get better. I need him out of my life, once and for all. You’re my only way out.”

The man at the desk exchanged a glance with the other one, the one with the bruised face. He took a long drag from his cigarette, eyes still locked on Taehee.

“We’re not in the business of doing favors,” the man at the desk said, his tone sharp. “But if you’re serious, we need to know everything—how, when, and where. Every detail matters. One wrong move, and it all falls apart.”

Taehee nodded, her expression cold but determined. “I know what’s at stake. I’ll give you everything you need.”

She watched as the man jotted down some notes, preparing to make her request a reality. The weight of her decision was heavy, but for the first time in years, she felt like she was finally taking control of her life.

She provided them with every detail they needed—when he would be home, where he usually spent his time, the places where he could be found without delay. Her heart raced with a dark sense of satisfaction, the anticipation growing as she laid out the plan.

“Make him suffer,” she said, her voice steady but cold, as she tapped the ash from her cigarette into the ashtray on the desk. Her gaze never wavered as she continued, her words laced with a cruel finality. “Don’t kill him right away. I want him to feel every ounce of pain before the end. Let him beg for mercy.”

A smile tugged at the corners of her lips, and it was almost unnerving—this smile wasn’t the kind of expression you’d expect from a woman in her position. The two men exchanged a glance, their eyes flicking between each other, both surprised by her intensity. Most women who came to them were broken, scared, or hesitant. But this one—this woman—was different. She was calm, almost eager for the outcome.

Jungkook, however, was more focused on something else. He wasn’t just listening to her words; he was studying her every movement, every subtle change in her expression. He knew her. There was something about her that seemed familiar, something that resonated deep within him. As he watched her speak, something clicked—a recognition. Her posture, her coldness, her sharpness—it all reminded him of someone. You.

The way she held herself, the fire in her eyes, the way she seemed untouchable despite everything she had been through—it was eerily similar to you. He could see it now—the rebellious spirit, the drive to survive.

It wasn’t just a sense of familiarity—he knew her.

His gaze sharpened, and he stepped forward, slowly crossing the room toward her. There was no mistaking it now. This was her. This was the mother he had heard so much about.

“Any children we should be aware of?” Jungkook asked, his voice low, his tone more serious than before. His eyes were fixed on her face, studying every detail, looking for any sign that she was lying. He couldn’t afford to miss anything.

“My daughter is safe,” she said firmly, and Jungkook let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He was relieved, but that relief didn’t last long.

“But while that fucker is still alive,” she continued, her voice growing colder, “I can’t guarantee she will stay safe. I need him out of my life. I need him gone so I can protect her, to care for her the way a mother should.”

Jungkook nodded slowly, a quiet understanding passing between them. His thoughts aligned with hers. It was everything he needed to know before he spoke again.

“I’ll do it,” he whispered, the resolve clear in his voice.

The older man nodded in agreement, and with that, the plan was set. Jungkook knew his next move, and nothing would stand in his way.

It would happen on Thursday night. Tomorrow.

Your mother had told them everything—how he always came home early that day, how work finished earlier than usual. On Thursdays, he was often exhausted, too drained to even raise a hand against her. It was the one night where silence filled the house instead of violence. The perfect day to strike.

But after it was Friday and it wasn’t just any other day for Jungkook.

It was the day he, too, would have to face the men who wanted him dead. A confrontation he had been preparing for, one he had always known was inevitable. But that didn’t matter. Not right now.

He had a job to do first.

He would make sure the bastard was gone before he even thought about his own fate. If he had to die, so be it—but not before he saw this through. Not before he knew that you were safe.

If finishing this mission meant risking it all, then he would. Without hesitation.

“Still okay?”

It was the first thing he asked when Jungkook stepped into the dimly lit apartment. He always checked in before they did something they couldn’t take back.

Jungkook gave a firm nod, not a hint of hesitation in his movements. He double-checked his gun, ensuring it was fully loaded before strapping the holster securely across his chest. His fingers slipped into his half-finger gloves, tightening them as if they were part of a ritual.

“I did,” he said, his voice steady, offering silent reassurance to the older man.

There was a pause before the man exhaled a slow drag from his cigarette, observing him through the haze of smoke.

“You seem different today,” he finally noted, tapping the ash into an overflowing tray.

Jungkook didn’t respond, merely raising an eyebrow as he adjusted the straps across his shoulders.

The man sighed, his tone turning more serious. “Listen, Jeon.” Jungkook’s fingers twitched at the sound of his last name. He hated it—hated what it reminded him of, who it tied him to.

“The woman paid well. She’s determined. If you mess this up, it won’t end well.”

“I know,” Jungkook said simply. His voice carried no doubt, no room for error. He clapped the older man on the shoulder before stepping toward the door.

Outside, the night awaited.

Jungkook was grateful the streets were empty. He always preferred to do this kind of work under the cover of darkness. Sometimes, he didn’t have a choice—some targets lived their lives in broad daylight, forcing him to move under the sun. But tonight, the absence of light was a relief. He could already feel guilt creeping into his chest, tightening its grip around his heart.

He thought of you. Your face. Your eyes, the way they looked at him before you left. Did you know? Had your mother told you what she had planned? He hoped—God, he hoped—you did. Because if you knew and hadn’t tried to stop it, maybe that meant you understood. Maybe, in some twisted way, you agreed with what he was about to do.

The house loomed ahead, dark and silent except for a single light near the entrance. Just as your mother had said. A signal. An invitation.

It was unsettling how methodical she was, how she had orchestrated everything from start to finish like she had done this before. He had worked with desperate women before—women who barely spoke above a whisper when they gave him their husbands’ schedules, who hesitated, who broke down before the deed was even done. But your mother? She was something else entirely.

Jungkook made his presence known with a quiet knock, and almost immediately, the door creaked open. She stood there, her manicured fingers pressing lightly against her lips, a silent nod directing him inside.

It was easy. Too easy.

Most times, he had to break in, move like a shadow through unfamiliar halls. But here? Here, he was welcomed like a king into the home of a man he was about to kill.

She didn’t speak, just pointed toward the living room. And there he was—sprawled on the sofa, mouth hanging open, his breath a slow, rumbling groan.

Completely unaware that his life had just run out of time.

Jungkook’s gaze flickered around the house, taking in every detail with sharp precision. But when his eyes landed on the family portrait hanging on the wall, his breath caught in his throat.

It looked like something out of a picture frame catalog—perfect, polished. A family that seemed whole. Your hands rested on your father’s shoulder, your smile bright, your eyes shining. You were beautiful.

But Jungkook knew better.

To anyone else, that smile could be convincing. But not to him. He had seen your real smile before—the one that made your nose scrunch, your eyes crinkle at the corners, the one where your teeth showed in an unguarded, genuine laugh. The one you gave when you were truly happy.

This? This was rehearsed. Controlled. A mask.

Your mother watched him, her brows furrowed in silent observation. He had been calm, detached, efficient throughout the planning of this whole thing. But now, he was standing there, staring at a photograph with more care than he had shown the entire night.

Then, she followed his gaze. Her daughter.

And suddenly, it clicked.

Her lips parted slightly as she finally recognized what had been nagging at her since the first moment she saw him—the familiarity in his face, in his eyes. Doe-eyes, fixated on the girl in the photograph.

It was him. The man you had clung to and the one you had apparently run away from.

“She’s pretty, isn’t she?” Your mother’s voice was quiet, almost testing.

Jungkook’s breath hitched. He tore his gaze away from the portrait, shaking his head quickly as if to rid himself of the distraction. Focus.

He felt like an idiot for letting his thoughts drift when he was supposed to be here to kill a man.

“I’m doing it for her,” your mother murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. She cast a quick glance toward the living room, ensuring he was still asleep. Then, with unwavering certainty, she met Jungkook’s gaze. “So think about her while you do it.”

Jungkook didn’t respond—he only gave a sharp nod before stepping forward.

It should have been easy. It had always been easy. But now? His heart felt heavier than it ever had before.

Your mother lingered by the doorframe, watching intently, her arms crossed as if bracing herself for what was to come. She wanted to witness it—the moment the man who had caged her for so long finally felt powerless. She was waiting for Jungkook to make the first move, for the violence to begin.

Jungkook’s eyes flicked one last time to the family portrait on the wall. His breath came out slow, controlled, but his chest burned with restrained emotion. His gaze locked onto yours—the same eyes that had glared at him with betrayal as you walked out of the motel room. The same eyes that had widened in fear when you realized what he was capable of.

Then, he thought about your father.

The man who had thrown you out into the night like you were nothing. The man who had slaped your cheek without remorse. The man who had made you suffer in ways Jungkook couldn’t even begin to understand.

And suddenly, the guilt in his chest burned into something else entirely.

Without hesitation, he seized the sleeping man by the collar, yanking him upright. The sudden movement jolted him awake, but before he could even process what was happening, Jungkook threw him down with brutal force. His back slammed against the corner of the coffee table, the sharp crack of bone meeting wood echoing through the silent house. A muffled groan of pain escaped him as he writhed on the floor.

Jungkook didn’t hesitate.

He stepped forward.

Jungkook’s fist met the man’s face with brutal force, knuckles splitting against skin and bone. The impact jolted through his arm, but he barely felt it. The man beneath him groaned, weakly trying to grab Jungkook’s wrist in a feeble attempt at defense. It was useless. Jungkook didn’t stop. His jaw clenched, teeth grinding as he threw another punch. And another. And another.

A sharp, ringing laughter broke through his daze.

Jungkook’s breath hitched. His vision, which had been tunneled on the bruised and bloodied face beneath him, flickered to the side.

Your mother was sitting on the edge of the coffee table, legs crossed, a cigarette between her manicured fingers. Her lips curled into a smirk, eyes alight with something that unsettled him. She took a slow drag, exhaling smoke as she tilted her head.

“Add more pain,” she murmured, her voice smooth, almost amused.

Jungkook’s grip on your father’s throat tightened instinctively. The man beneath him coughed, a wet, gurgling sound as blood dribbled from his mouth. His swollen eyes barely opened, his expression a mixture of confusion and agony.

Jungkook didn’t look at him.

He looked at her.

His stomach twisted.

This was not the reaction he had come to expect. He had seen women filled with rage, with desperation, with grief. Women who sought vengeance through gritted teeth, who flinched at the sight of blood but swallowed their fear for the sake of justice. Women who paid him because they had no other choice.

But she? She was different.

She wasn’t crying. She wasn’t trembling.

She was enjoying it.

Jungkook could see it in the way her lips curled, the way her eyes gleamed with something almost… eager. The way she leaned forward slightly, as if she wanted a closer look at the damage he was inflicting.

It unsettled him.

He thought he was the monster. The killer. The animal. He had believed it himself, accepted it, worn it like a second skin. But now, sitting here, watching this woman—your mother—smile at the suffering before her, he felt something foreign settle in his chest.

Disgust.

For the first time, he wondered if maybe he wasn’t the real monster in the room.

Jungkook’s mind was spiraling.

He couldn’t understand it. You were their daughter? You, who recoiled from violence, who looked at him with something close to fear when you found out what he had done? How could someone like you come from people like them—one cruel, the other heartless?

His breath shuddered as he loosened his grip.

The man beneath him gasped sharply, chest rising and falling in ragged, uneven breaths, his body trembling from pain but still clinging to life.

A sharp sound of heels clicking against the floor.

“The fuck are you doing?”

Your mother’s voice sliced through the air, cold and sharp as she loomed over him. The amusement in her tone was gone, replaced with something more threatening. She stubbed out her cigarette in the glass ashtray with unnecessary force, eyes narrowing in fury.

“I want him dead.”

Jungkook stayed still.

His body felt heavy, his hands limp at his sides. He was kneeling over your father, straddling him, his head hanging low. He could finish it—one final blow, a bullet to the skull, an end to it all.

But he couldn’t.

Not when he saw your face in his mind.

You may have hated your father. You may have wished him gone, but death? Death was different. It was permanent. Unforgiving. No matter how much he deserved it, Jungkook knew the weight of it would stay with you. He knew the burden of living with the knowledge that someone took your parent away from you. That someone played god with their life.

And that someone would have been him.

His fingers twitched at his sides. His jaw clenched.

He couldn’t do that to you.

“Are you even listening to me?” Your mother’s voice dripped with venom now, her patience thinning.

“I—”

A flash of movement.

Pain exploded across his jaw as your father, fueled by desperation, threw a weak but determined punch. His knuckles collided with Jungkook’s face, sending his head snapping to the side.

The room seemed to still for a moment.

Jungkook inhaled slowly, tasting blood. Then, exhaled.

Your father had the upper hand now.

Jungkook barely had time to react before another punch landed, this one more forceful, knocking his head back. Pain burst through his skull, sharp and dizzying.

“Who the fuck are you?” your father roared, voice raw with anger and desperation as he grabbed Jungkook by the collar, shaking him.

Jungkook’s fingers fumbled for his holster, for the cold metal of his gun. His vision was blurry, but he knew if he could just—

CRACK.

The sound was sickening.

The weight on top of him slumped suddenly, heavy and lifeless.

Jungkook blinked rapidly, his breath ragged, tasting blood on his tongue. He smelled it first—the thick, metallic scent of it filling his nostrils—before he saw it.

Your mother stood above them, her chest heaving, fingers tightly clasped around the heavy glass ashtray. Its edges were darkened, slick with blood.

Jungkook’s body stiffened as he processed what just happened.

The back of your father’s head was caved in. Blood pooled onto his shirt, soaking into the fabric like ink spreading over paper. His body was completely still. Silent.

Jungkook spit out blood onto the floor, his breath shaky. His ears were ringing.

For the first time since entering this house, he wasn’t sure what terrified him more—what he had done, or what she had done.

There was no turning back now.

One of your parents was gone. Erased from existence in an instant. And even if Jungkook hadn’t been the one to deliver the fatal blow, he had still been part of it. He had still held the gun in a way.

The weight of it crushed him.

He felt sick—dirty. Like the blood soaking into the carpet had somehow seeped into his own skin.

And what made it worse—what made his stomach churn with something close to disgust—was that your mother didn’t seem to care.

She let the ashtray slip from her fingers, the sound of it hitting the floor sharp and final. She didn’t tremble, didn’t even hesitate. There was no shock on her face, no guilt in her eyes. Only cold satisfaction.

Jungkook sank onto the floor, ignoring the lifeless body beside him. His chest heaved, his mind racing.

“What the fuck was that?” she snapped, voice sharp and accusing. “I paid you, and you—”

“I can't hurt her!” The words ripped out of him, raw and desperate. His hands clawed at his hair as he doubled over, his body shaking with sobs.

He was a monster.

And the worst part?

He had no idea if you would ever forgive him.

At that, her frantic pace came to a halt. It was as if the weight of her actions finally struck her—like she was just now realizing the gravity of what she had done. Her mouth fell open, her eyes wide with disbelief.

“Oh no,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “Fuck, what did I do?”

Jungkook could only watch in disbelief, his eyes narrowed. She was a lunatic, pacing frantically around the room, her fingers tugging at her hair like she was losing her mind. She had been so cold, so calculated, but now… now she was unraveling, and it was only making him more confused.

Without warning, she dropped to her knees in front of him. Her hands gripped his face, and the sensation made his skin crawl. He hated it. He had always loved it when you touched him, your fingers gentle and warm, but this? This was suffocating. The coldness in her touch was a stark contrast to anything he had ever known.

“Listen,” she urged, her voice a mix of desperation and confidence, her eyes scanning his face like she was studying him, gauging his reactions. “She can’t know it was me.”

Jungkook’s breath hitched.

“I’m her only parent now,” she continued, her grip tightening on his face as if she could will him to understand. “I promised her—I promised I would take care of her. And now I will. No matter what it takes.”

He wanted to scream. He wanted to throw her hands off of him, demand she understand the mess she had made. But instead, he was silent. His heart raced with guilt, with confusion, and with fear. Fear for you—because in the end, this wasn’t about her. It was about you.

“It was you, you did it, okay?” she snapped, her hands tightening around his face, forcing him to meet her gaze.

Jungkook recoiled, pulling his head back in disbelief. “What—” he began, swatting her hands away, his heart pounding in his chest.

“You heard me,” she said, standing tall, her voice cold and firm. “I’ll give you money, whatever you want, but—”

Her words fell on deaf ears as Jungkook stormed toward her. His anger surged, raw and uncontrollable, as he grabbed her by the shoulders and shoved her into the kitchen. The force of his movements made her stumble slightly, but she didn’t falter, only meeting his eyes with an icy stare.

“I don’t want your money,” he spat, his voice trembling with fury. “How can someone like you even think you can take care of her? A cold, heartless bitch like you?”

Your mother’s hand lashed out with lightning speed, striking him hard across the cheek. The sharp sting of the slap burned his skin, but it was nothing compared to the weight of her words.

“Because you can?” she retorted bitterly, her voice laced with venom. “With all the blood on your hands? Don’t act like you’re any better than me.”

Jungkook froze. Her words cut deeper than the slap ever could. His hands trembled with rage, but now, something else gnawed at him. Something darker. What was he doing? How could he judge her when he was no different? His actions were just as guilty, and the weight of it hit him like a ton of bricks.

“So either you run away, leave her life, or I tell the police it was you,” she threatened, her voice sharp, each word cutting through the air like a blade. “They won’t ask any questions. You scream trouble,” she sneered, her eyes scanning him with a judgmental gaze. “You’re the perfect culprit.”

Jungkook’s heart raced, a mix of anger and panic flooding his chest. He could already feel the weight of her words sinking in. She was right—his appearance, his bruised face, the tattoos and piercings that made him look like nothing more than a criminal; to anyone who didn’t know him, he was the ideal scapegoat. All she had to do was point the finger, and he’d be the one to take the fall.

He refused to be imprisoned for something he didn’t commit. It would be unjust, unequal—everything he had spent his life fighting against. He wanted fairness, not a life where he was sent to jail simply because he had nothing—no money, no home, no power.

“I’ll leave her,” he finally says, the words heavy in his chest. The thought of running away again feels different this time, more painful. He had spent his entire life moving, escaping, but now, it felt impossible to walk away. For the first time, there was something worth staying for—someone to care for, someone to love.

Your mother smiled, her hand resting coldly on his shoulder, guiding him toward the door. “When will the men come to take care of the body?” she asked, her voice almost casual, her smile unnervingly calm.

Before Jungkook could respond, she pushed him out of the door with a swift, practiced motion. He stumbled back, feeling a mixture of anger and confusion. Inside, she sat down on the couch again, eyes focused on the lifeless body of her husband, as if waiting for the next step to unfold—calm, patient, and completely detached.

He stood frozen, his body tense and rigid, eyes locked on the door. Anger surged through him, every fiber of his being clenched as if ready to explode.

“Jungkook?”

The sound of your voice hit him like a punch to the gut. His heart stopped, his palms suddenly drenched in sweat. His thoughts became a blur, a chaotic storm of confusion and guilt. He couldn’t even bring himself to turn around, to face you.

Your voice—quiet, shaky, full of vulnerability and worry—pulled him back from the storm inside his head. He wanted to answer, wanted to make things right, but all he could do was stand there, paralyzed by the weight of the moment.

[lxvebun]

Highschool au brainrot with sukuna. Please hear me out-

╰┈ Not completely proofread. Sukuna x gender neutral reader<3 fluff! Let me know if you guys prefer small or big text for brainrots like this♡

꒰ა High school jock Sukuna! who had been failing his tests and was now facing the very real threat of being benched if he didn’t bring his grades up. His usual cocky grin faltering slightly as he carried himself around school with a nervous scowl.

The name Ryomen Sukuna stared back at you from the slip of paper the teacher handed to you, their eyes filled with a sense of pity, knowing Sukuna was not the easiest to get along with. The note simply read: “Please, tutor him for the upcoming tests.”

High school jock Sukuna! who was absolutely terrifying to approach. He towered over most, his sheer size enough to make anyone think twice before stepping into his space. With a permanent furrow in his eyebrows, making it look like he was always on the edge of starting a fight, and a sharp voice with an even sharper tongue. Intimidating already, he became even more so around his team—loud, confident, untouchable. Not wanting to deal with that many eyes on you, you decided to wait until after practice, when the hallways had fallen silent, and you wouldn't have the weight of other people’s eyes on you… just his.

High school jock Sukuna! who had lit up in a way you hadn’t been expecting when you explained that your teachers had assigned him to you for tutoring. The edge of confusion in his eyes cleared almost instantly, replaced by something more like relief. He was quick to exchange numbers with you, even quicker to ask if you had time that Friday after practice.

High school jock Sukuna! with whom you surprisingly found yourself in the midst of a blossoming friendship. Yeah, he was rough around the edges, with his jagged personality, sharp tongue, and lack of patience for anything he didn’t find interesting. But when it was just the two of you, tucked into a corner of the library, it was almost like he softened a little. He listened carefully when you explained things to him, followed your instructions on homework, albeit begrudgingly, doodled on the corner of your notebooks, overhauled his backpack to share his snacks, and what you thought would be a nerve-wracking few hours every week turned into something you actually looked forward to.

High school jock Sukuna! who’s crushing so incredibly hard on you, but you’re completely oblivious to it. Perceiving it more as him just being friendly. </3

And really, it’s so painfully obvious he likes you—he doesn’t even bother hiding the way he stares when you’re explaining something, and there’s a certain warmth in his gaze that makes your heart flutter, but you brush it off. </3

(Really, it's a miracle his pupils haven’t turned into little heart shapes yet.)

He’s just glad he’s keeping his grades up with your help so he can continue to play in his games. You convince yourself as he flashes a fanged smile and shoots you a wink as you pass each other in the hallways.

Sukuna just doesn’t want to deal with the hassle of having another tutor assigned to him. He doesn’t want to go through the exhausting process of explaining what he finds difficult in his subjects over and over again to a stranger. Your mind rationalizes as he offers to carry your bag, not giving you any time to respond before he slung the heavy thing over his shoulder with a casual grin. His arm now wrapped around your shoulder. The warmth of his touch lingering as you both walked to the library for your usual study session

It’s just Sukuna trying his best to be friendly and convince you to stay and tutor him. That’s all it is. You're sure! But then… that doesn’t explain why his team jersey, with the bold, bright lettering spelling out his name, is currently neatly folded up in your locker, adorned with a messy little note in familiar handwriting that reads:

“Wear this for me at the game?” ♡

Your fingers hover over the fabric, the weight of it suddenly feeling a lot heavier than it should...໒꒱ ⠀

[struwberrii]

How do you think Tendo would react to a cheesy note someone left in his locker?

reacting to cheesy notes left in their locker ˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆

sorry for replying to this supa late, i haven’t been as fixated on haikyuu so much recently (ᵕ—ᴗ—) but i am replying to all new requests now <3

characters: ushijima, tendou, semi, shirabu, goshiki

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ

ushijima!!

probably wouldn’t even notice it in his locker for a few days LMAO

once he finds it though he feels flattered that someone went out of their way to write a note for him and make him feel special

with that being said, he then goes on to lose the note somewhere in his backpack then accidentally throws it away like 2 days later and forgets the note ever even existed

guys he cares i swear

tendou (*^^*)♡

probably initially panics at first because he thinks it’s a prank and someone’s waiting around the corner to laugh at him

after a second he reads it and has to laugh at how corny the note is (😭😭)

also extremely smiley for the rest of the day because someone left a note in his locker for the first time ever!!

after determining that the note is real and not a joke he’s set out on a mission to find who left this in his locker….. he has a few questions

semi ヾ(☆▽☆)

also panics when finding the note because he doesn’t want anyone around him to accidentally see it

would read it outside and also giggle to himself at the cheesy message

still the fact that he was left a note made his day tremendously

leaves an equally cheesy note in your locker in exchange

shirabu ( `ε´ )

honestly he’s probably irritated he has to deal with this now

would still read the note but thinks it’s more of a waste of time to bother entertaining this (╥﹏╥)

reads the note with the straightest face ever, maybe scoffs then throws the note away

never tells anyone about this encounter ESPECIALLY not tendou

better luck next time </3

goshiki ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧

he is over the moon to open his locker and find this note

reads it in the bathroom and almost squeals out loud despite how cheesy the note is someone still went out of their way to leave a note

literally brags to everyone that will listen

cannot stop smiling to himself for the rest of the day (bros a cutie patootie)