#weak hero class 1 fluff

[08luvmailz]

★ ﾟ๑ I'D DO ANTHING JUST FOR ME TO SEE YOU AGAIN ୧ ⊹ ࣪

ᡴꪫ which yeon sieun sees you visiting him ୧ ⊹ ࣪ first part ／ party on you ୧ ⊹ ࣪ second part ／console me, and then i'll leave without a trace ──⠀ angst to fluff , set on ep7 of s2 , depictions of self harm , bullying , graphic scenes ⸝⸝ ◜◡◝ i got sick ... so i couldn't finish writing yesterday. please do make some requests <3

reader will be called dokja ／ because in reader in korean is dokja

For an entire year, she had tried everything to make herself feel whole again.

For someone, so bright — her smile had become rare, something she stored away in a locked box, fearing it would shatter if she opened it.

The fluorescent lights in the hallway buzzed above her, and the cold linoleum floor echoed each step as if the empty school itself whispered her name. Every corner held eyes that whispered behind tilted heads; every passing shoulder carried a story she used to be part of. She walked through that river of eyes like a stone sinking silently, carrying the weight of whispers in her chest.

She remembered how it felt at first, when the quiet ache had swelled like a balloon inside her ribs. She had tried to stretch it with excuses – busying herself with homework until her hands cramped, munching down snacks until her stomach ached, even jogging until her legs turned to jelly – anything to squeeze out a little satisfaction.

But nothing made the emptiness truly leave. It was like trying to fill a black hole with water; every drop vanished before it could make a ripple. In class, she doodled nothing except the back of her mind on the margins of her notebook: a heart that wouldn’t fill, a mouth that wouldn’t smile.

During lunch, while others crowded around tables trading jokes and laughter, she found a quiet corner.

The cafeteria lights and clatter of trays felt distant, as if she watched it happen in someone else’s dream. She chewed slowly on her rice, its dull flavor on her tongue.

She wondered if they were wondering why she ate so slowly, or thought she must eat quickly to stay strong. In her head, she counted the seconds between bites, hoping to feel any sensation more than the gnawing void inside.

She would glance on the table near her, It was the table they used to sat on. But she quickly disregard the gnawing pain of memories her brain kept locked in.

She heard the rumors.

Kids at her locker thinking she couldn’t hear, imagining her knuckles bruised from something they didn’t understand, lips curling into cruel stories.

She was the shadow stretching long across the hallway’s bright walls – not quite human, not quite monster. Some were scared to approach, afraid she might lash out with hands that had, one time, raised to defend something small and precious.

Each morning felt like climbing a hill she could never reach the top of. Even the sun casting light through her kitchen window failed to warm her insides. Her reflection in the mirror as she put on her uniform was a girl with tired eyes, the kind that quiet mornings and too many secrets give you.

She wondered if the corners of her mouth had forgotten how to go up. On some mornings, she pinched her palm with her nails just to feel a flash of anything real, a proof that she was still there and not just an echo.

She often thought about who she used to be, or who she wanted to be.

Sometimes, in rare moments alone in the afternoon, she would hum a tune she once loved, and for a breath she’d almost believe everything would be okay again.

But when the bell rang and the hurried footsteps as the hallway became empty, reality clung to her again like a cold coat. She straightened her spine, squared her shoulders, tried to make herself small and unnoticeable so she could disappear into the background.

It was easier this way – so people wouldn't come closer anymore.

As the year dragged on, she built a quiet routine of coping.

Some days, after the final bell, she would find a hidden corner of the library and bury her face in a book, leaning into the paper and print so she could hold a whisper of someone else’s story.

Other days, she walked home along side streets, feet crunching on gravel, head down so that the roofs of houses blurred her vision and no one would say her name.

At night, before sleep stole her away, she sometimes imagined a dinner table where just once someone passed her plate without a warning glance. Those dreams faded by dawn, leaving only the morning ache.

She watched the other students as if from behind glass. They passed her in the halls—heads held high, friends jabbering shoulder-to-shoulder. They worried about tests, cram schools, summer vacation or going out.

Sometimes at night, late when everything was dark and the house was empty, she touched the scars she kept hidden on her wrist. They were faint lines, as if she had cut herself just enough to feel. Enough to remember that I’m here.

The ache in her stomach and heart became the same longing, and she ached to feel anything but hollow. Yet morning would come, as it always did, and she would tuck those memories back inside her ribcage and wear her uniform once more.

She was careful now.

Careful to walk in the center of the corridors so no one had reason to crowd her. Careful to keep her voice low if a teacher asked her a question.

She preferred to blend into the pattern of her desk in class or the gray cement wall outside the school, so that anyone might forget she was there at all. She told herself that being invisible was the least she could offer the world.

Sometimes when she passed a reflection in a store window, she stared at the girl who looked back with hungry eyes and wondered if that was her, really, or just another stranger pulling a cart alongside the frozen aisles of life. She envied how warm and bright her classmates appeared in her imagination, as if they wore their warmth and hunger on their tongues without any effort.

She started learning how to ride Suho’s motorcycle a month after everything happened. Not because she had a reason. Just because sitting still made her feel like she’d disappear.

It wasn’t easy. Her hands weren’t made for handlebars or throttle grips, and the engine always roared too loud for her quiet head. But she kept practicing. Around the block, then across the neighborhood, then down the same roads Suho used to ride when he was still—

She doesn’t finish the sentence. She just keeps riding.

Sometimes she visits his grandmother first, carrying grocery bags that dig red marks into her palms. They don’t talk much—just share the silence like old friends do. She helps clean, picks up the mail, waters the plants that Suho forgot to before everything fell apart. And then, like ritual, she visits the hospital.

She doesn’t bring flowers anymore. That stopped after the fifth week. Now it’s just her, a quiet chair, and Suho’s breathing. She talks sometimes, about nothing. About school. About how the vending machine’s been out of her favorite drink for a week straight. About the bike.

She took the job to keep her mind busy. A delivery service. Something that paid just enough and asked for nothing back. Using Suho's helmet that's too big on her because she couldn't used the pink helmet he brought for her, a schedule, and a willingness to keep going even when you’re tired.

She took the job because she wanted to make up for what she didn’t do—what she should’ve done back then. Maybe if she earned enough, it could at least cover Suho’s expenses for a few months. So when he woke up, he wouldn’t have to think about wasting time trying to make money again. He could just rest, catch up with everything he missed.

That was the idea. That was a brilliant plan.

Oh, how wrong she was.

It was hard to juggle everything—school during the day, taekwondo classes after, then deliveries until late. Her body ached more often now. Sleep became something borrowed, not earned. And sometimes, when she stared too long at her schedule, she wondered how Suho managed to do it all.

Then she let out a bitter chuckle.

Right. He didn’t study much.

He tried—she remembered that. Showing up to class with tired eyes, scribbling half-hearted notes, pretending to care when the teacher called on him. But studying was never the plan for him. He wasn’t built for libraries or lecture halls. He was planning to survive. To make a living. To take care of the people he loved, even if that meant running himself to the ground.

Now here she was, retracing his steps. As if mimicking his life could somehow bring him back. As if it could undo what happened.

But the truth was, she wasn’t doing this because it was right.

She was doing it because she didn’t know how else to grieve.

She was doing it to remember that she still lived for him—the only one.

It wasn’t like she suddenly believed in responsibility or wanted to prove something to her parents—they didn’t care either way. They nagged her about it at first, asking why she had to deliver food like some desperate kid. She told them she was trying to live like an adult now.

That was a lie.

What she really meant was: I need to do something that hurts a little. Something that makes me feel like I’m still here.

She picked up the helmet, looked at the old bike, and thought, If I could ride it well enough, maybe it would feel like Suho was still beside me.

At times, when she was in the saddle delivering food, her route veered past Sieun’s old neighborhood before she could stop herself. The engine’s hum would carry her right to the curb beneath that familiar streetlamp where they once sheltered from rain.

She’d cut the engine and sit in silence, remembering how he held the umbrella too high—as if standing close was its own kind of risk. She’d force a small, aching smile, tell herself it was only a shortcut on the map.

Other days, she’d pull up behind a low brick wall, park the bike with a screech, and leap off, ready to startle him. But in her memory, his voice would reach her first: “Too loud,” he’d said, never bothering to turn around.

So she’d shake off the pain, clip her helmet on again, and push forward—deliveries waiting, regret left to catch up on its own.

Most of all, she rode just like Suho used to—late into the evening, weaving between streetlights and memories. Each package she carried was fuel for her guilt, her promise to cover weeks of missed chores and unspoken goodbyes.

She was learning to ride the weight of her grief as surely as she learned to handle the throttle: both made her body ache, but at least it meant she was still moving.

She remembered, when she smiled at the mirror for the first time in a long while.

It wasn’t a triumphant smile—more like a small, crooked thing, half-formed and unsure, but there nonetheless. The bathroom was filled with the sharp scent of drugstore dye, gloves stained with streaks of artificial chestnut. She worked in silence, dragging the brush through her hair, clumsily but with care, as if repainting herself would somehow peel away the weight she carried on her shoulders.

When she finished drying it, the strands fanned out like paper—too soft, too light, the color warmer than she imagined. Under the cheap lighting, it almost looked orange. She stared at her reflection, blinked once, and let out a short, surprised laugh.

She looked like she was wearing a wig. Like a stranger trying on someone else’s softness.

She remembered when the three would glance at her when she questioned them if she would look good in a light brown haired color. The two nodded and Beomseok complimented her with a thought, then Suho—that bitch.

Said, "If you ever dyed your hair. You would look like wearing a wig"

She chuckled to herself that a kick was met on his face after he made a comment.

And yet... something about it made her pause. Not in shame. Not in regret. But in that fleeting, suspended moment where grief and girlhood blur.

It didn’t fix anything. But it made her feel like maybe she could try again.

Even if it was just hair.

Even if it was just for a second.

Then, it started.

The bullying.

The girls started again, their voices high and biting, a chorus of yapping dogs circling, teeth bared but too afraid to bite. Each word they threw at her was a stone, meant to make her crack. But the cracks were inside. The outside? The outside was numb, cold—so cold it almost felt like she wasn't even there. Not until the bathroom, cornered between the walls, did she feel the heat of her own anger rising.

Not at them.

No, not at them.

At herself.

She hated how she'd let it get to this point. How had she become this quiet thing—this thing that let them talk, let them push? If it were the old her, she'd have torn them apart by now. Fists flying, voice roaring. She would’ve been the storm they couldn't handle. She would’ve shown them what it meant to not be afraid.

A year ago, she would have struck first—fists flying before thought. She would have tasted the shock in their eyes as blood bloomed on her knuckles. But that girl was gone. Now she stood still, back pressed to cool porcelain, heart hammering a fierce rhythm against her ribs.

But not now.

Now, silence was all she could afford them. Giving them her attention, her energy—it felt like losing, like handing them the power to keep dragging her back into their pit. So, she waited. Let them bark, let them jeer.

She was waiting for the one to make a move. She could feel it coming. The sharpness of her breath, the way her lip trembled under the weight of what she wanted to do.

The fluorescent light hummed overhead, and the walls felt too close, as if they meant to press her in. She looked at them—low laughs, the scrape of heels on tile. Shadows swept across the stalls, narrowing in on her.

They surrounded her: girls with cigarettes dangling from their lips, eyes bright with cruelty. Their words stung—whispers of psycho, freak, worse. Each insult landed in her chest like a stone.

Her lips were dry, chapped beneath the heavy lipstick, so bright it almost hurt to see. She imagined, for a moment, what it would look like—if that lipstick were smeared with blood. Her blood or theirs, it didn’t matter. The thought of wiping it off with their mocking laughter, of seeing them eat their own arrogance, was a sickening sort of satisfaction.

The laughter, the cigarette smoke curling around their words—it all burned her. She didn’t need to move, didn’t need to react. But the fantasy? The fantasy was enough. They'd never know the rage coiled inside her like a snake, waiting for the right moment to strike.

But that moment never came. And she realized, standing there, that maybe it never would. She was a prisoner of her own calm.

She paused, breath steadying, and Suho’s voice cut through the noise in her head. “If they corner you, don’t let them control the space. Use anything around you. Make them intimidate you.” Not her teacher’s drills—Suho’s words, like a lifeline.

She straightened her spine. Every inch of her stood tall: shoulders back, chin up, eyes locked on the ring leader. The others fell silent, startled by the sudden shift in the air. She moved forward, step by deliberate step, until she was toe-to-toe with the girl who’d cornered her.

Her voice was low, rough from disuse—but clear.

" You done spouting bullshit? "

The hallway seemed to hold its breath. The girl’s smirk faltered as a tremor of hesitation rippled through the circle. And for the first time that day, She felt something bloom behind her ribs—not fear, but a fierce, electric calm. The world had tilted back into place. She owned this moment. And they knew it.

The girl scoffed, a bitter sound curling from her lips like smoke. Her voice trembled, mechanical and unsure, stuttering as if caught between fury and fear. “What did you say?” she asked, trying to hold the edges of control, to wear confidence like armor—though it barely clung to her.

“You just keep talking,” she spat. “Saying things you don’t even understand. You’ve got the ego of a man compensating for something small—so small. Always acting like you're above everyone, but you’re nothing more than a coward in a mask.”

Her anger was wildfire now, unchecked and consuming. She moved fast—too fast—reaching out to strike, to make the moment hers again. But the other girl was faster. Calm. Cold. She caught her wrist mid-air, twisted it hard.

There was a snap—sharp, sickening.

A breath caught in the girl’s throat.

She screamed in pain then came the kick, swift and brutal, sending her stumbling backward, wounded pride trailing behind her like a torn ribbon. She hurled in pain clutching her hand as she lay on the ground.

And then—silence.

She had the space she needed. A clear path to run, to disappear, to let this be over.

But she didn’t move.

Not yet, she isn't done.

They circled her like wolves, four against one, grinning with the kind of confidence that came in packs. Cheap perfume, chewing gum, and bad intentions hung thick in the air.

The first came charging, wild and loud. She sidestepped, smooth as water, and swept a leg out low. The girl hit the ground with a thud, her pride landing harder than her body. As another was baffled but lunged—fists swinging, rage without form. She caught her wrist mid-swing, twisted, and sent an elbow into her ribs. The sound that followed was breathless, raw.

The third tried to out-think her. She went low, hands reaching for ankles, but didn’t see the spin. A heel cracked across her jaw with the grace of violence learned in silence. She folded, crumpled, still.

The last girl hesitated.

She could’ve run. Could’ve walked away with just a bruise to her ego.

“Don’t,” she warned, softly. Like mercy.

But pride struck first, than being humble.

She attacked—and in seconds, she was face-down, her wrist bent behind her back, the ground cold and unforgiving. Her face met with the cold disgusting floor where many student stepped in.

She exhaled.

She looked at them with no compassion, she knelt and plucked a crumpled cigarette pack from one of their jackets. Held it up between two fingers like something dead.

“Pick them up,” she said.

No one answered, nor moved.

She exhaled with a look of annoyance.

She stood over them, still as a statue, the echo of violence humming in her bones. Around her, the bathroom was silent save for their ragged breathing—tile cold beneath scraped palms, smoke clinging to the walls like ghosts.

“PICKED THEM UP!” she shouted, voice cracking through the air like a whip.

It boomed off the tiled walls, reverberating through the stillness. The room swallowed the sound, but it stayed there, vibrating in the bones of those crouched on the floor.

They moved slowly, heads bowed like scolded children, fingers fumbling for the torn paper and crushed filters. One by one, they gathered the pieces.

She didn’t blink. Didn’t move.

"Eat it." she commanded at them, as the other stare at her in fear. Others obeyed too quickly afraid to have more blooming bruises on their faces.

But the one who had confronted her—the first to strike, the first to fall—didn’t look away.

She sat against the tiled wall, cradling her broken wrist with the other hand, eyes burning with fury. It wasn’t fear in her face—it was defiance. Pride refusing to kneel, even in defeat.

Blood at the corner of her lip. Breathing sharp. Hate alive in her throat.

She walked toward her—not rushed, not cruel, just deliberate. Controlled. Her knees bent with a soft thud against the tile as she knelt before the girl. A single cigarette still burned on the floor, its ember a fading eye. She picked it up between her fingers, unflinching as the heat kissed her skin.

“Still holding onto that pride?” she asked, almost gently.

She caught her face in one hand, fingers gripping her cheeks, steady and strong. Thumb pried her mouth open.

“No more talking.” She murmured at her, and smiled at her. Sickingly.

The cigarette went in.

Smoke. Ash. Pained gasped. Burning tongue. Silence.

She watched her chew it—eyes wet, teeth grinding through heat and paper and humiliation. The taste of defiance turned to ash on her tongue.

She held her gaze the whole time at her. Chewing at her own pride.

Then she let go.

Her fingers slipped from the girl's face like a dying breeze. And then, without fury—only finality—she slapped her. A clean, echoing sound that cracked through the heavy stillness like a gunshot in a chapel. No rage in it. Just closure. She rose to her feet, slow and composed, the chaos behind her shrinking as if it had never touched her.

At the door, she paused.

The air in the bathroom was thick—smoke curling like ghosts above the flickering light, blood and ash staining silence. The girls were curled inward, pain folding their bodies like paper. Eyes wide, throats dry. Beaten, but still watching.

She turned to face them one last time.

“Tell a teacher,” she said, voice low but thunderous, coiled with quiet venom. “And it won’t just be my fists or my feet kneeling to your faces.” Her eyes swept over them—each one trembling, pride shattered and stinging beneath the skin.

“I’ll make sure you can’t even look in the mirror without choking on what you see.”

A breath.

“I will kill you.”

No screams. No theatrics. Just that promise—quiet and unshakeable.

Then she stepped through the doorway and disappeared. The door slammed behind her with the force of a verdict. The lock clicked shut, sealing the room like a tomb.

She walked slowly, each step measured, as though the weight of her own actions had yet to fully settle. Her heartbeat still echoed in her chest, a steady drum beneath the skin. The rush, that surge of power, still coursed through her veins like fire, bright and consuming.

But she remained composed.

Her breath, though quick, was steady, like the calm after a storm. The chaos of the bathroom—those faces crumpled in pain, the smell of smoke and defeat—was already fading into the periphery of her mind.

Her fingers, still tingling from the force of the slap, brushed against the cold metal of the doorframe as she passed. Her body knew what it had done, but her mind? Her mind was already someplace else, already turning over the pieces like a puzzle that had just been solved.

She didn't regret it. Not in that moment.

She didn’t need to look back.

She just have to keep moving forward.

Its been a year.

After endless of orders, knocking on doors, she fell asleep face-down on a half-finished worksheet, the highlighter uncapped and bleeding neon yellow into the page.

When she slept, she was impossible to wake—like the world could end outside her window and she’d sleep through the fire. It had become her escape, her only silence. But not tonight.

Her phone rang loud and sharp, slicing through the quiet like panic often does. She stirred, groggy and annoyed, until her eyes caught the caller ID: Hospital.

She blinked.

Hospital

Her heart didn’t stop—it collapsed.

She answered without thinking, her voice breathless, the fear already creeping up her spine. “Hello?”

The voice on the other end was formal, wrapped in professional indifference. “Hello. Is this Dokja-ssi’s phone?”

Her breath hitched. Something about the tone felt wrong. Off. Too careful. “Yes—yes, this is her. I’m Dokja. Why? What’s going on?” she asked, already standing, legs shaky, the panic flooding her veins.

“There’s been a complication,” the voice replied, each word like a crack in her chest. "Patient Anh Suho, is in a critical condition, Unfortunately, Sieun-ssi responded but he didn't came. Are you able to come?" The nurse voice replied.

For a second, time slowed. Then it shattered.

She didn’t respond. The call had ended. Or maybe she had ended it. She couldn’t remember. Her limbs moved on instinct. She didn’t change clothes. She didn’t think. She just ran.

She ran like she did the night everything fell apart.

She ran like apologies could catch up to prayers.

She ran like her heart would stop before she made it.

She ran even if her tears wouldn't stop streaming until her eyes became blurry at the sight.

She called and called Suho’s grandmother, but the line rang endlessly. The silence on the other end pressed against her ears like grief.

When she burst through the hospital entrance, breathless and wild-eyed, she was met with chaos—blurred voices, sharp lights, the dull smell of antiseptic, and somewhere behind it all, fear.

A nurse met her halfway, calm hands reaching to steady her. "Dokja-ssi? "she asked gently, guiding her to a seat. She nodded, unable to speak.

Then everything came too fast— loud shouts, jarring footsteps.

Too real.

She couldn’t move. Couldn’t blink. She just stood there, rooted to the floor as the world blurred into chaos.

Through the small square of glass, her eyes locked onto the scene like it might disappear if she looked away. Suho’s body, too still on the stretcher, wires snaking across his chest. The defibrillator pads were already in place. The sound of machines echoed even through the door, shrill and unrelenting.

She saw the moment his heart flatlined.

The jagged spike of the monitor became a flat line.

"He's in cardiac arrest!"

Doctors shouted orders she couldn’t understand, but her body translated their panic anyway. Hands moved fast, efficient and desperate, as if time could be bribed to give them more.

His chest lifted—once, twice—under compressions, and she could barely hear the nurse behind her asking her to sit down.

But she didn’t. She couldn’t.

All she could do was stare at the blinking lights, watching as they flickered like dying stars in a collapsing sky. He had always burned so bright. And now—Now he was fighting to stay lit.

Tears clung to her lashes, but she didn’t cry. Not yet. Not when he was still in there. Not when he might still wake up.

She placed a hand against the glass.

“Suho,” she whispered like it was a promise. Like her voice could reach him where machines couldn’t.

She didn’t know how long she stood there. Could’ve been minutes. Could’ve been forever. Time twisted itself into knots.

All she knew was that she had never felt so helpless.

Inside, the doctor called for another round. The paddles pressed to his chest.

Clear.

His body jolted.

She flinched.

Her knees gave out before she even realized she was falling. The cold linoleum kissed her skin, and her fingers clawed at the base of the emergency room door—desperate, aching, as if she could tear through it and pull him back with her own bare hands.

“Suho,” she choked out, once, then again—until his name was no longer a name, but a prayer dragged through broken sobs.

Her body folded in on itself. Shoulders shaking, forehead pressed against the wood like it could listen. Like maybe if she stayed close enough, he’d hear her crying and come back just to scold her for it.

She wailed quietly at first, then louder, all the grief she had buried beneath discipline and duty unspooling in the rawest of ways. She gripped the doorframe like it was the only thing keeping her tethered to the earth, nails digging in until her knuckles turned white.

Her voice cracked, mouth trembling as she whispered, “Please… please don’t go.”

No one answered.

Only the muffled chaos of the emergency room beyond the door. The soft buzz of machines still fighting to keep him here. The frantic shuffle of shoes and fabric and sterile urgency.

She quickly kneeled, blood in her throat and prayers in her lungs. Asking the universe, begging God, “If you're here, save him.”

Not long after, the noise settled. The beeping of machines, the shouting of doctors, the chaos in the emergency room all blurred into a dull hum as Suho’s heart slowly found its rhythm again.

She sat there, knees still trembling beneath her, as a nurse gently approached her. She had no words to offer, no comfort to give, but the way she placed a steady hand on her shoulder said enough. It was an anchor in a sea of uncertainty.

“Suho’s stable now,” the nurse said softly, but her voice was still kind, despite the exhaustion that clung to her like a second skin. “He’s in critical care, but the immediate danger has passed.”

“His vitals are steady. We’ll monitor him, of course.” The nurse’s tone was reassuring, but she couldn’t shake the cold dread that clung to her, the fear that, at any moment, everything could tip back into the unknown.

The doctor stepped in next, his presence steady but brisk, offering the facts as they were. “His heart stopped for a few moments, but we were able to stabilize him,” he said, glancing at the monitor and then at her. “We’ll continue monitoring him closely for the next few hours. He’s strong. He’ll pull through. But it’s too early to say much more.”

She nodded, the weight of his words settling into her bones. But her mind couldn’t quite rest on the relief; it was tangled in the knots of everything she had felt before this moment, the panic, the helplessness, the feeling of losing him before she even had the chance to understand what he truly meant to her.

She managed to speak, though her voice felt foreign. “Can I see him?”

The nurse and doctor exchanged glances. The doctor nodded. “Just for a moment. He’s sedated, but we’ll allow a brief visit.”

As they led her to Suho’s room, She felt her legs heavy, like she was walking through water. When she reached the threshold of his room, she stopped, standing there in the doorway for a moment, watching him. The sight of him—his face pale but familiar, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath the monitors—was almost too much to bear.

But she stepped inside. Slowly. Quietly. As if afraid that if she moved too fast, she would wake from this nightmare too soon.

There, in the quiet hum of the hospital room, she sat by his bed, her hand carefully brushing through his hair.

She didn’t speak.

She didn’t need to.

All she could do was stay. And wait.

"You scared the shit out of me, you bastard." Her voice cracked, soft but heavy with the weight of everything she had felt in the past few hours.

A bitter chuckle escaped her lips, her fingers trembling as they lingered on his hand, still warm, still steady. The tears she had held back now fell freely, pooling on the edges of her lashes before they slipped down her cheeks.

"I thought... I thought I was going to lose you," she whispered, the words raw and honest, the fear she hadn’t known how to voice finally spilling from her. "I didn't know what I'd do without you."

"You always make me worry, don’t you?" she said, her voice quieter now, almost a fond reproach, as if she was talking to herself more than to him.

The sterile room felt colder now, quieter, but her presence by his side warmed the space. She could almost pretend that things were normal, that this moment was just one of those fleeting, quiet moments they used to have—when everything felt right, when there was nothing but them, no chaos, no questions. Just the quiet hum of being together.

"If you scared me like that again, i will kill you." she murmured, her hand brushing over the cool fabric of his hospital gown. "Please, wake up."

But silence was the loud answer.

Soon, she would hear his voice.

Again.

Soon she left the room, as the doctor checked his vitals.

She stepped away from the cold, sterile walls of the waiting room, seeking solace in a quiet corner where she could break without being seen. Her breath caught in her throat as her body trembled, each sob a sharp, painful release of everything she had held back.

She pressed her hand against her mouth, trying to muffle the sound, but it was useless. The grief, the fear, the desperate prayer to some higher power—she couldn’t contain it any longer.

"Please," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Please, don’t take him too."

She was lost in her own panic, until her gaze lifted, and through blurred eyes, she saw them.

Three figures in the distance, standing near the entrance of the waiting area.

Their presence felt like a strange disruption, their calm demeanor a stark contrast to the storm inside her. She quickly wiped her tears away, forcing herself to steady her breathing, her chest still tight, aching from the earlier rush of emotion.

She couldn’t show them the cracks. Not now. Not here.

Her eyes darted to the sound of heels clicking against the floor, the sound sharp and confident as it drew closer. Without even looking, she knew.

She recognized the familiar cadence, the polished, poised steps of someone who had a presence that filled the room. And when she heard the words, soft yet piercing, she couldn’t stop herself from glancing over.

“Sieun,” his mother’s voice echoed, a quiet, clipped tone that made her blood run cold.

Her heart stopped for a moment, suspended in time. She didn’t move. She didn’t dare.

She had to stay still. To breathe. To keep herself from trembling at the sight of his mother, at the thought of Sieun.

As the woman turned, disappearing into the hallway, the rest of them—those familiar figures from long ago—remained.

She heard those words again, echoing in her chest like a cracked bell, "Don't worry. He's stable now."

But “stable” felt hollow—an empty promise carved from glass. It pressed against her ribs until she could hardly breathe. Stable meant he had already teetered on the edge.

Stable meant the world had nearly slipped him away once, and could do so again.

In that moment, the corridor’s light blurred into silver dust, and every step she took felt haunted by the question: What had broken him, and could she piece him back together?

Her legs moved before her mind could catch up, standing up as the need to know, to understand, burned through her chest. She walked toward them, each step hesitant but determined, her feet carrying her forward as if they knew the path she needed to take.

When she reached them, her voice was steady, but the question she asked felt like it came from someone else, someone too broken to stop herself.

“What happened to Sieun?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper, though she hoped it didn’t sound as fragile as it felt.

Her eyes caught theirs, scanning each face, searching for a truth that had eluded her. And for a split second, in that fleeting moment, she realized how deeply she had missed them, how much she had needed to see them. But all she could focus on was Sieun. Where was he? Was he okay?

They met her gaze, each face shifting with something—pity? Worry? It was hard to tell, but she needed to know. She had to know.

The first met her gaze for an instant—his head shaved close, eyes hard—before he looked away. The second hunched forward, hood drawn tight, fingers drumming an anxious rhythm against his knee. The third leaned back, arms crossed, but his glance flickered to her like a startled bird.

“Who are you?” the one wearing a blazer asked, voice cautious.

Her throat constricted. “I—” She forced the words out. “I’m just asking if he’s okay.”

“Why do you care?” the first boy challenged, sharp eyes narrowing.

“I was his friend,” she whispered, voice thin as spun glass. “Please… just tell me.” They exchanged hesitant looks, the silence stretching between them like a wound.

“We weren’t there,” the boy with folded arms finally said, each word weighed by uncertainty. “Someone brought him in. He… hasn’t woken up yet.” She bowed her head, letting the news settle like snow in her chest.

The boy with a fur jacket on as his voice softened, almost a murmur: “You close to him, then?” She blinked at him, She didn’t know how to answer him. Are you close to him? — the question wasn’t cruel, just curious. Simple. But it rattled something. She would've said we are, once. It would’ve been easy. Natural.

But they weren’t.

Not anymore.

So the silence stretched for a second too long, and she could feel it waiting — the question, the boys, even the fluorescent lights buzzing above. “I was,” she said. Quiet. Honest. Maybe too honest. She didn’t know what else to say. Nothing she could say would explain it anyway.

The words hung in the air behind her as she walked, not really expecting them to understand.

The three boys watched her go, but none of them tried to stop her. It wasn’t like they could.

As she neared the hallway where Sieun’s mother had disappeared, the heels clicking sharply on the tile floor were unmistakable. The woman, tall and dressed in black, walked with a certain kind of authority, but there was something fragile about the way she moved — like even the weight of her own footsteps might be too much for her.

She didn't hesitate. Her legs carried her forward, and before she could second-guess herself, she was standing at the door where his mother had entered.

By the time she reached the door — the same one his mother had disappeared through — her hand was already on the frame, fingers trembling.

She leaned in.

The glass was small, but clear enough to steal her breath.

There he was.

Sieun. Still. Pale. Wires crawling across his skin like questions with no answers. Machines blinking quietly beside him, a soundless rhythm of worry. Her stomach turned. Something inside her dropped.

Her breathe hitched.

Him too?

And she didn't even know.

Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes before she could blink them back, stinging sharp and sudden. Not just because of the sight. But because it felt like some invisible thread had snapped — and she hadn't even realized it was still there until now.

It hit her like a quiet betrayal.

She used to pride herself on noticing things—on knowing when people were hurting even if they didn’t say it out loud. But this?

She hadn’t known a damn thing.

She didn't know what happened.

There was no warning. No signs. Just a body behind glass. A boy who once walked beside her now laid out like a question without an answer.

Her chest ached. Not sharp, just hollow.

She wondered if he tried to reach out. If he hesitated before deleting her number. If he thought about her at all.

Would it have changed anything?

Would she have come running sooner, if she knew?

She didn’t even know what floor he was on until she heard his name from someone else's mouth. And now here she was, heart pressed against glass, breathing in grief like it was her fault she didn’t notice him slipping.

She didn’t notice the door open. Not until a voice sliced through the haze, sharp and clean like a blade pressed too close to skin. “What is it?” The woman’s tone was brisk—businesslike, wrapped in steel—but not cruel. Not yet.

And for a moment, she couldn’t answer. Couldn’t speak. She stood there, breath caught halfway, spine tense like she’d been caught somewhere she shouldn’t be.

What was she supposed to say? That she was standing outside the room of a boy she hadn’t seen in months, one who used to walk beside her like a shadow, now lying still behind glass like a stranger? That she didn’t know why she was here, only that her feet wouldn’t let her go anywhere else?

But none of that would sound right. None of that would explain the tears she hadn’t wiped away, the guilt tightening her chest, the ache of realizing she was too late.

“…What happened to Sieun?” She asked the question again, but it felt heavier this time. More desperate.

The woman paused.

Sieun’s mother glanced at her, with a mask of recognition.

“You...” Sieun’s mother said softly, her voice filled with the weight of years of distance. “You’re the girl who visited us... a year ago?”

She nodded, her throat too tight to speak.

“I was,” she managed to say, her voice barely above a whisper.

The woman paused, studying her carefully. There was something in her gaze—concern, perhaps, or understanding—something that made her feel exposed in a way she hadn’t expected.

Sieun’s mother’s eyes softened for just a moment, her expression unreadable, but there was a kindness in the way she spoke next.

But at her first question, her jaw tensed — a small, silent betrayal of everything she refused to let slip. There was a flicker in her eyes, something restrained and quiet, like a dam holding back too much water. She gave a slow shake of her head — not dismissive, not angry — just tired. The kind of tired that lived in the bones, not the muscles. The kind that grief makes permanent.

For a moment, the hallway felt too still. The soft mechanical murmurs behind the walls seemed distant, unimportant. Time hung suspended in fluorescent light and stale air.

Then, finally, Sieun’s mother exhaled — low, controlled, as if she could force herself to stay composed with nothing but breath.

“He’s in a bad state,” she said, and the words landed with the weight of something half-buried. “Unconscious when they brought him in. He got hit by a bus, thankfully it wasn't that critical. But the doctors are trying. They’re doing what they can.”

The ache hit without warning — a sharp, invisible thing that cracked down her spine like lightning. She didn’t know when she started shaking. Only that it hurt to stand still, and it hurt more to listen.

She wanted to ask more. A thousand questions pressed behind her teeth, begging for air. But none of them mattered. Not right now.

“Do you... want to see him?” Sieun’s mother asked, her voice softer now, like she understood what it meant to be left behind by someone still breathing.

“Yes.” Her voice came out too fast, too fragile. “Please. I— I need to.” The older woman gave a quiet nod and turned, her steps slow and heavy. And the girl followed, unsure if her knees were steady enough to carry her through the weight of the moment.

Behind every step was a memory. Behind every breath was something she wished she’d said.

But ahead… ahead was the hope of seeing him again — and maybe, just maybe, a chance to fix what time and silence had fractured.

“Are... are you a friend of Sieun’s?” Sieun’s mother asked, her voice faltering slightly. “I always believed something must have happened... between the two of you.”

The words hit her like a punch to the gut, a sharp reminder of the distance she had put between them, a distance that had been as much her doing as anyone else’s.

“I used to be his friend,” she replied, her voice faltering, unsure of what else to say. Sieun’s mother’s eyes softened for just a moment, her expression unreadable, but there was a kindness in the way she spoke next.

She steps slowly toward Sieun's room, her heart racing in her chest, and each step feels heavier than the last. The guilt still lingers, but she pushes it aside, forcing herself to focus on the present. She can’t afford to think about the past anymore. Not now.

The reality of what’s happening hits her—she’s finally facing Sieun after all this time, after everything that’s happened. She doesn’t know what she’s going to say, or if she’ll even be able to say anything at all.

But she knows one thing for certain: she has to be there for him, even if it’s just in silence.

The sterile smell of the hospital room fills her senses. The sound of beeping machines and the soft rustle of sheets are the only noises that break the stillness of the room. She looks at him, lying unconscious in the hospital bed. His face is peaceful, but his body is marked with signs of his struggle.

It’s hard to look at him—he looks so fragile, so far from the boy she used to know. She’s reminded of all the things left unsaid, of the friendship that was lost, and the connection that never truly faded, even when she thought it had.

His mother gave a small nod, saying nothing, only shifting slightly to offer the empty seat beside her.

She sat down, the chair cold beneath her, the air colder still.

Silence erupted in the room—not hollow, but thick. The kind that fills your lungs until it’s hard to breathe. Machines hummed gently, steady and indifferent. But everything else felt still, like the world had paused just outside these walls.

She didn’t look at him right away. She couldn’t. Her hands rested in her lap, fingers laced tightly together, as if they were the only thing keeping her grounded.

She heard sieun's mother sighed softly, a mix of relief and lingering worry in her voice. “The doctor says it wasn’t critical, but his nervous system was affected. He’s been having trouble...” Her voice falters a bit.

“...trouble sleeping.” Her voice barely above a whisper, heart racing at the realization. As she finished Sieun's mother sentence. Her eyes widen in surprise, as if a flash of recognition crosses her mind. “Did Sieun tell you this?”

She shakes her head, a bitter laugh escaping her lips, though it’s drowned in the ache of regret. “No, I haven’t talked to him... not since he switched schools.” She glanced at her lap, fiddling at the edge of her t-shirt, afraid to look at her.

A pause, her gaze softening, yet heavy with understanding. Her voice becomes quiet but firm, almost as if she’s been waiting to say this. “The moment I saw you standing at our door... I knew you had a connection with him. I don’t know what happened between you two, but I could tell you meant a lot to him.”

She is struck by her words, her heart sinking in guilt. She bows her head into her lap, the tears threatening to spill over. She couldn’t hold it back anymore, not with all the emotions swirling inside her, not after everything she wished she’d done differently.

Her voice lowers with empathy, a soft sadness in her words, as she takes a cautious step closer. “Sieun’s always been reserved... He’s never been good at opening up, especially when it matters the most. That’s how he is... always locking everything inside.” She paused as she glanced at the girl's appearance.

She trembled, shoulders tight, voice barely holding beneath the weight that had sat on her chest for far too long.

“I... I let my pride get in the way,” she whispered, each word splintering against the silence. “I didn’t talk to him when I had the chance... I should’ve, but I didn’t. I thought he’d be fine—like he always is. I told myself he’d figure it out. But now—” her breath hitched, “now he’s in here, like this. And I wasn’t there. I wasn’t even close.”

Her hands lifted, covering her face as the tears finally broke through, warm and merciless.

She hated herself for waiting. For hesitating. For thinking there would always be more time.

The silence they once shared now felt like punishment. A distance she could’ve closed, but didn’t. And now the air between them was filled with wires and machines and too many what-ifs.

If only she’d said something. If only she hadn’t let fear speak louder than her heart.

Now, it might be too late to say any of it at all.

Her voice was calm—steady in a way that only someone who had learned how to carry pain without letting it break them could manage. It reached her like a soft touch, like the kind of comfort that doesn’t need to be loud to be heard.

“It’s not your fault,” she said, not accusing, not dismissive—just honest. A breath left her lips, weary but full of knowing. “You can’t predict everything. Especially with someone like Sieun.”

She paused, as if weighing her next words with care.

“Sometimes... people need to fall a little. Walk into the dark by themselves before they can find their way back. That’s not on you. You can’t carry that alone.”

The words lingered in the quiet, gentle but undeniable. A truth that she hadn’t let herself believe. She had been so sure it was her failure, her silence, her pride that led to this—but maybe... it wasn’t all hers to hold.

Then, softer now, almost like an offering:

“If you were once his friend... maybe you still are. Maybe that hasn’t changed. It’s not too late. He’s been through more than we know, but maybe—just maybe—seeing you now will remind him... that he’s not alone. That someone still cares.”

And in that moment, the she felt something shift—not the ache, not the guilt, but the helplessness. It didn’t fade completely. But it loosened just enough to let hope slip in.

She feels a sudden rush of uncertainty—an ache that rises to her throat and threatens to pull her under. Should she stay? Should she leave? What right did she have to be here, after everything?

Her pride claws at her, whispering that it’s too late. That she should walk away quietly, like she always did. But something deeper—something older and softer—fights back. The part of her that still remembers his tired eyes, his rare half-smiles, the way he tried even when no one else saw it.

Regret crashes against her chest like a wave, but it’s no longer paralyzing. It’s a reminder. Of time wasted. Of words left unsaid. Of the cost of silence.

She glances at Sieun’s mother, who doesn’t speak—just waits with that patient, knowing gaze. Her breath stutters, but her feet don’t move. Something has shifted. The guilt is still there, heavy and sharp, but now it’s tethered to something else—resolve.

She can’t go back. She can’t undo the past.

But maybe... she can be here now.

Maybe this is the moment that matters.

For a moment, the room is silent again. The machines continue to beep steadily, and the she wonders if Sieun can hear her. Wondering if maybe, deep down, he knows that she’s here, that she’s trying. Her eyes start to blur with tears, but she blinks them away.

She stands by his bed, her hands shaking slightly as she places them on the edge of the bed, as she closed her eyes and whispered.

"I'm sorry, Sieun-ah"

The next day felt like a blur.

She quietly steps into the sterile hospital room where Suho still lies, unmoving. She finds solace in the mundane, almost as if speaking about ordinary things could bridge the chasm of everything that had happened recently.

She talks to him, her words flowing easily, the way they used to when everything was simple. She tells him about her day—how the schoolwork felt heavier than usual, how his grandmother seemed well despite the worries she had about him. And she mentions Sieun too, his mother, how strange it felt to walk that line between regret and the need to reconnect.

“I saw his mom yesterday,” she continues, her voice softer now. “She said he’s not critical... but his nervous system’s been hit harder than I expected. He’s having trouble... sleeping. I didn’t know, Suho... I thought I was the one to blame for everything.”

She doesn’t expect an answer, but the words feel like they needed to be said.

She pauses, blinking away a few tears, but laughs softly to herself as she recalls the comforting words of Sieun’s mother. “She said I wasn’t the cause of it... that people sometimes have to go through things alone before they come back. I guess... I didn’t think it would be like this.”

The quiet hum of the machines fills the silence as she sighs, her shoulders slumping as though the weight of it all is settling in. She leans back, taking a long breath, her exhaustion creeping in after days of emotional strain.

Her eyes flutter closed, and before she knows it, the chair becomes a quiet refuge, the steady beeping from Suho’s side becoming the lullaby she never thought she’d need.

Her hand, instinctively, rests on Suho’s, and in the quiet of the night, she falls asleep. It’s not the restful sleep of peace, but the kind that brings temporary relief—a brief escape from the chaos of everything around her.

And even if it’s just for a moment, she finds some comfort in the familiarity of the space, the stillness, and the softness of hope that maybe, just maybe, things will begin to heal.

She stirred awake slowly, but didn’t move. The heaviness in her limbs wasn’t from sleep—it was from everything else. Her head remained rested against the hospital bed, her hand still loosely curled near Suho’s.

The room was dim, still caught between the fading night and the gentle glow of morning.

The door creaked open quietly. She heard it but didn’t open her eyes. Part of her wanted to turn, to see—but she stayed still. Maybe it was fear. Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe it was both.

Then, his voice.

“Suho… I’m sorry I’m late.”

Her breath caught in her throat. That voice, distant yet achingly familiar, dragged her right back to every moment she spent waiting—for answers, for closure, for him.

She felt like she couldn’t breathe. Her heart thudded painfully in her chest, her fingers twitching slightly.

And then, the second wound.

“I’m sorry, Dokja-ah.”

It was said softer, like a ghost brushing past her.

She heard the shuffling of shoes, the sound of someone about to leave. Her pride could’ve let him walk. Her anger, too. But grief, time, and the ache of everything unspoken pushed her forward.

She sat up slowly, eyes still fixed ahead, and her voice—tired but sharp—cut through the sterile room, as the machine beeping echoed.

“Took you a year to say that?”

The footsteps paused. Silence stretched—long enough for her heart to pound in her ears.

He froze.

The sound of her voice—raspy, fragile, but laced with something unmistakably raw—stopped him in his tracks. He faced her, still seating on the chair faced forward. She didn’t look at him.

Not yet.

Her eyes stayed on Suho, like she was still guarding something, or maybe just trying to keep herself from unraveling.

A long silence passed before she finally turned her head, just slightly. Enough to see the outline of him in the soft light.

Her gaze didn’t soften, but it didn’t harden either. It just held.

“I waited,” she said, barely above a whisper. “Not for an apology. Just… something. Anything.”

Her hand brushed lightly against Suho’s, grounding her. She didn’t want to cry. Not again. Not in front of him.

“But you disappeared,” she continued. “Like none of it mattered. Like we didn’t matter.” Her voice wavered, but her words stayed steady. “You don’t get to walk in and say sorry like that’s enough.”

She wasn’t yelling.

She didn’t need to.

Her silence hurts the both of them.

She looked at him then, fully—and for a moment, he looked like the boy she used to know. And someone else entirely.

Still, her next words weren’t bitter. Just… tired.

“I don’t know what you want from me, Sieun.”

And beneath it all, she meant it.

Do you even know what you left behind?

He stood there, caught in the doorway like someone who didn’t belong in the scene he'd wandered into. His hands twitched at his sides, empty. Always empty when it came to her. And yet, somehow, this felt heavier than any fight he’d ever taken.

Her words didn’t cut—they lingered.

Hung in the space between them like mist over a lake he was too afraid to step into.

He wanted to speak.

He wanted to explain.

What could he say that wouldn’t sound like an excuse?

So he just looked at her.

The way her shoulders curved inward now. The way her voice cracked like a fault line trying to stay closed. The way she kept glancing at Suho—as if he were the bridge between them. As if he was the only one allowed to still believe in them both.

He swallowed the guilt, thick and sharp. “I didn’t know how to come back,” he said, barely above a whisper. “And when I finally did… I wasn’t sure I deserved to.”

She didn’t respond—not right away.

But her looked says it all, "You didn't even try?"

So he took a step closer.

“I didn’t stop caring,” he murmured. “I just… didn’t know how to carry it without breaking.”

"You think I didn’t notice, but I did," she said, her voice low, not shaking, not angry—just tired. The kind of tired that sits deep in your bones, where no sleep can reach.

She let out a breath, almost a laugh, but it was hollow.

"I just didn’t want to believe it. So I made excuses. I told myself you were busy, or overwhelmed, or just... thinking things through. I waited. I gave you space. And you took it—so much space there was nothing left of you. No message. No call. Not even a goodbye. Just... absence. You left, and I stayed behind trying to stitch something back together that I didn’t even break." Her hands were still clenched at her sides, but her shoulders had slumped slightly, the weight of it all pulling her down again.

"Do you know what that feels like?" she asked, not looking at him now. "To lose everyone, one by one, and then have you—you—just disappear like you were never part of any of it? Suho ended up in a hospital bed. Beomseok vanished like smoke. Yeong-i stopped answering. And then there was just me. Alone. And you were supposed to be the one who stayed." She turned her head toward him, finally meeting his eyes again.

"I waited for you. I waited so long, and it got quiet. So quiet that it hurt. I’d stare at my phone for hours. I'd start typing something to you and delete it before I sent it. I’d run out of reasons to pretend like it was okay, like you were coming back. But I still hoped. Isn’t that sad? I still hoped." Her voice wavered now, just a little. But she didn’t let it fall apart.

"I kept asking myself, what did I do wrong? Was it something I said? Something I didn’t say? Should I have asked more questions, held on tighter, yelled, cried, anything? I was folding myself into pieces trying to find the version of me you wouldn’t walk away from." Her breath caught, but she blinked it back.

She didn’t cry.

She didn't want to anymore.

"And now you're here, and you look sorry, but sorry isn’t a time machine. Sorry doesn’t put things back where they were. Sorry doesn’t tell me why you thought I couldn’t handle the truth when I was already surviving the wreckage you left behind." She took a step back.

"You left. You made that choice. And I lived with the silence. Don’t come back now and act like you were the one hurting."

She stood now, walking past the bed until she was closer to him—arms still at her side, fists clenched.

She shook her head, a bitter laugh slipping past her lips before she could stop it. It sounded smaller than she expected. Tired, too.

“I waited,” she said, the words sitting heavy in her throat. “Every day, I waited for you to come back. And when you didn’t… I started to hate you. But worse than that—I hated myself.”

Her voice thinned, the way it does when something old and buried rises too fast, too sharp. Like the weight of it had finally lodged in her chest and was pressing, hard.

“Because I kept thinking—if I’d just opened my mouth. If I hadn’t let my pride win. If I’d said anything instead of staying silent... maybe we wouldn’t be here. Standing like strangers, pretending we used to be something more.”

Sieun looked pale, like the guilt in his chest had found its way to his face. He looked like he wanted to reach for her, but didn’t. Couldn’t.

“I’m sorry,” he said. Softer now. Like he meant it, but didn’t believe it was enough.

She looked at him, hollow-eyed.

“I don’t need your sorry,” she said. “I needed you.”

The silence that followed didn’t feel empty. It felt deafening—like the aftermath of a scream. Like the room itself was holding its breath.

She turned away and wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her jacket, pretending the motion was casual. It wasn’t.

“If you’re going to leave again,” she said quietly, “just go now.”

“I’m not—” he stated.

“Don’t promise me things,” she snapped, too fast. “You’re not good at keeping them.”

That stopped him. His gaze dropped for a second, shame flickering across his face. But when he looked up again, something had changed. His eyes weren’t defensive or desperate. Just steady. Heavy with everything he hadn’t said until now.

“I know,” he said. “I know you did. You waited.”

He stepped away from the door, not closer to her—but toward the weight between them. Like he was choosing, finally, not to run.

“You think I didn’t want to come back?” he said, his voice quiet. “I did. Every day I told myself—just one message. Just one call. But then I’d remember the way you looked at me the last time. Like I’d already broken something important.”

She opened her mouth—maybe to argue, maybe to agree—but he kept going.

“I couldn’t face Suho. Or you. Or who I used to be. Because after everything fell apart, I thought it was my fault. I thought I ruined everything. And maybe I did.”

There was no anger in his voice. Just weariness.

“I told myself staying away was cleaner. That I wouldn’t hurt you more by showing up broken. But the truth is... I was just scared. Scared of being the one who couldn’t fix what he shattered.”

She didn’t speak. She just stared, hands clenched at her sides, like letting them relax might make all of this too real.

“I thought forgetting would be easier if I stayed gone. But I didn’t forget,” he said. “I just kept losing parts of myself, until there was nothing left that felt like enough.”

He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. His words came steady, quiet—but sharp enough to cut.

“I couldn’t face it. I told myself I was protecting you, giving you space, whatever lie made it easier to breathe. But the truth is—I was a coward. Not the dramatic kind, not the ones who run screaming. The quiet kind. The kind that slips out the back door and convinces themselves it’s mercy.”

He looked at her then, really looked—like maybe it had taken this long to let himself.

“I thought if I stayed away long enough, you’d stop needing me. That you’d forget whatever version of me you used to count on. That you’d move on, and I could pretend I didn’t break anything.”

She didn’t say a word. Her jaw was tight. Her eyes were red. But she listened.

“I saw Suho in that bed,” he went on, softer now. “I saw you next to him. And I realized how much I missed. How much I left you to carry. Alone. You always carried everything so quietly—I think I convinced myself you’d be okay without me. But you weren’t. And I wasn’t okay without you either.”

He took a step forward, not asking permission. Just letting her see that maybe—for once—he wasn’t hiding behind silence.

“I’m not going to make promises. I don’t think I have the right to anymore. But I will say this: I never stopped thinking about you. And I was wrong. You didn’t deserve that kind of silence. You didn’t deserve to feel like you were the one left behind.”

“I’m not here to undo it,” he said, voice low, steady. “I know I can’t. I know showing up now doesn’t erase anything.”

His gaze lingered on her—the shine in her eyes that wasn’t light, but tears; the shadows beneath them carved by sleepless nights; the way her hair had grown longer, falling like silence across her shoulders.

She looked heartbreakingly beautiful. Not in the way the world defines it, but in the way sorrow shapes someone who kept going anyway.

And it killed him—

That he was the reason her eyes were wet.

That her sadness wore his name.

She stood there, shoulders tight, something trembling at the edges of her expression. She wanted to scream. Or cry. Or fall into his chest and tell him to hold her like nothing ever broke. But all she could say was, “Then don’t leave again.”

He looked at her, really looked—no flinching, no turning away.

“I won’t,” he said. “Not if you want me to stay.”

The moment his words settled between them, she didn’t think—she moved.

Two steps. Three.

She crashed into him.

Her arms wrapped around his shoulders with a desperation that trembled. He froze at first, caught in the sheer force of her pain, then slowly—gently—his arms came up, holding her like she might disappear again if he let go.

Her voice broke between sobs against his shoulder. “I hate you… for disappearing from me.” Her fists curled into his jacket like she wanted to push him away and pull him closer at the same time.

“I hate that you left without a word. I hate that I waited. That I made excuses. That I let you take everything with you.” Sieun didn’t flinch. He just held her tighter, his chin resting lightly against the top of her head, grounding her in the way she didn’t know she still craved.

"I know" he whispered into her ear, as his hands rested carefully on her waist, "I hate myself too."

Her crying wasn’t loud—but it hurt. It was the kind of crying that sounded like years of swallowed grief cracking open in the arms of someone who once knew her heart.

And in that hospital room, with the beep of Suho’s monitors humming steady in the background, it was the most honest they’d ever been.

No more pride.

No more what ifs.

No more sleepless nights.

No more wondering.

No more pretending.

Just them.

The two of them.

And maybe Suho too.

Just them—tired, broken, but finally, finally not alone.

The sobs had quieted into soft sniffles. She didn’t let go at first—but Sieun gently pulled back, just enough to meet her eyes. His voice still low from everything that had been said. "I have to go."

She didn’t flinch. She just blinked, slow and steady, like she was trying to brace herself for something she already knew. “They’re waiting for you, aren't they.” she said to him.

That made him pause. His brow pulled in, confused. “Have you met them?” She nodded once, wiping gently under her eye with the edge of her thumb. Her voice softened, raw at the edges. “They remind me of Suho, Yeong-I and...Beomseok before.” She whispered like a broken tale.

There it was—the way his shoulders dipped, almost imperceptibly. Something in him shifted. A ghost passed between them. And for the briefest second, something rare flickered across his face: a smile. Small, hesitant. It didn’t quite reach his eyes, but it curled faintly at the corners, like it was trying.

Like it still hurt.

“You want to meet them?”

The question sat between them like glass. Fragile. Waiting.

She looked down, flexed her fingers once, then met his eyes again.

“Do you want me to?”

The air shifted—just slightly. It was still thick with history, but the weight of it wasn’t unbearable anymore. Something in it had softened. And for once, there was no panic in his silence.

He didn’t rush to answer. He just breathed.

“Yeah,” he said at last. “I think I do.”

She took a breath of her own, the kind that comes from choosing to stay, even when the past clings to your ribs. Then she stepped forward—close enough that their shoulders nearly brushed, not quite touching, but near enough that warmth moved between them again.

“Then let’s go,” she said.

So they did. No grand declarations. No clean endings. Just two people walking slowly through the quiet, side by side, carrying what couldn’t be fixed—but not alone this time.

They stepped into the lobby, their fingers still loosely threaded—barely holding, but not letting go. The world outside the hospital buzzed with fluorescent hums and distant footsteps, louder now, clearer somehow. And yet, the quiet between them was no longer something sharp. It was calm. Steady. A kind of peace.

Sieun’s pace faltered when he saw them.

Jun-tae stood with a gaze filled with worry. Go Tak was next to him—always alert, the crease between his brows softening the moment his eyes landed on Sieun. Baku sat on the bench, knee bouncing restlessly like he’d been trying not to bounce off the walls entirely.

Jun-tae noticed first.

“Sieun,” he said simply.

Go Tak straightened, the edge in his posture lifting slightly. “You okay?”

Sieun gave a small nod. His voice was low, but there was something solid in it now.

“Yeah. I'm pretty sure.”

He didn’t elaborate, but none of them needed more than that.

Jun-tae gave a tearful confession, she smiled at him. He was a nice kid. Then this guy—stands up and pats him like it was the most natural thing in the world. Saying that he doesn't need to worry about Sieun at all. Go Tak offered a small nod, concern folding quietly into relief.

“Took you long enough,” he said, voice just above a murmur.

This guy, Baku.

He stood with all the dramatic energy of someone who’d been holding back a performance, like the entire hospital lobby was his stage and he’d just found his cue. With a flourish only Baku could pull off, he patted Jun-tae’s shoulder—a casual gesture that somehow still managed to be loud—and then turned, eyes narrowing like he’d spotted something scandalous.

His gaze dropped to their hands—still loosely laced, still warm from all the unspoken things they hadn’t let go of yet. Baku’s eyes darted between them, growing comically wide. He pointed, slowly, accusingly, like he’d uncovered a government secret.

“WAIT—SIEUN—YOU—SHE—YOU HAVE A GIRLFRIEND?!”

Sieun blinked.

She blinked.

The hand-holding, still soft between them, hadn’t quite registered until that exact moment.

Sieun looked down at their hands like he was just now remembering he’d been holding hers. She didn’t let go, though. Neither did he.

Go Tak rolled his eyes with a sigh. Jun-tae chuckled softly even with tears brimming his eyes.

But Baku was already mid-spin, arms out, voice raised dramatically.

“Can we just take a moment to appreciate this development? Sieun! With a hand-holding—a hand-holding!—in public!”

Sieun groaned under his breath.

“It’s not like that.”

She lifted her chin a little, trying not to smile.

“We’re just close.”

Baku gave them both a slow, skeptical once-over before the corners of his mouth curled up into a knowing grin.

“It’s like the confession scene in Slam Dunk,” he said, voice dipped in exaggerated awe, clutching his chest as if overcome by the sheer romance of it all. “You know—when Rukawa says nothing but it’s everything? The hands, the silence, the undeniable tension—ah, iconic.”

She laughed at him, “…Rukawa never confessed.”

“That’s the point!” Baku cried, throwing his arms up. “The beauty is in the restraint! In the mutual understanding! In the unspoken emotions shimerring beneath the surface!”

Go Tak sighed, clearly done with this.

No one bothered correcting him again.

The group moved on, steps falling into rhythm. The jokes kept coming, the teasing never quite biting. And between all of it, their hands stayed where they were—still laced, still sure.

She smiled as she watched them—three boys tangled in their usual chaos, laughter sparking like old warmth in a place too quiet for too long. Her voice came low, almost a sigh dressed in fondness.

“Wah… he really is like Suho.” She murmured quietly but enough for Sieun to hear. At the sound of her, Sieun turned. His gaze found hers, lingering—not with surprise, but something quieter. Something like recognition. “You’re leaving?”

She nodded, the edges of her smile softening. “I should. I’ve been here too long… and you’ve got company now.” But he was already moving before she finished, closing the distance like a reflex he hadn’t forgotten.

“I’ll walk you out.”

The three looked at them, and just let them be.

They stepped into the hall together, silence pressing gently between them—not heavy, not awkward, just full of all the things neither of them had the courage to name.

Then, from behind them—

“YEAH, SIEUN—TAKE CARE OF YOUR GIRLFRIEND!” Baku’s voice rang out, unfiltered and obnoxiously proud.

Sieun didn’t miss a beat.

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

He stated, but his eyes glint at him. "Back off"

Baku grinned wider, unbothered. “So I can ask her out?” A sharp thwack cracked through the air as Go Tak smacked the back of Baku’s head, exasperated. “You idiot.”

She laughed, quietly.

And Sieun, for a moment, almost smiled too. He grasped tightly to her hand as they walked side by side.

The automatic doors slid open in front of them. The cold outside air kissed her cheeks, sharp and sobering. Sieun stepped out beside her, hands stuffed in his pockets, eyes cast toward the horizon like he was searching for something that hadn’t quite arrived yet.

They walked a few steps in silence, their shoulders not quite touching, but close enough to feel the presence of one another.

“I wasn’t planning to stay long,” she said quietly, watching her breath curl in the air like smoke. “But it felt hard to leave.”

Sieun looked at her. “I’m glad you didn’t.”

She nodded, eyes fixed on the ground. “I didn’t know what I wanted to say when I saw you again,” she admitted. “But it was never about the words, was it?”

“No,” he murmured. “It was about showing up.”

The silence this time wasn’t heavy. It hung between them like a thread, soft and delicate, but strong enough to hold something unspoken.

She paused near the curb, the edge of where she had to go. He stopped with her.

“Text me,” she said again, barely above a whisper. “Even if it’s just one word.”

“I will.” This time, she smiled—not wide, but real. She took a step backward, eyes still on him.

“Take care of them, okay?” He nodded. “I will.”

And when she turned to leave, he didn’t stop her—not out of apathy, but trust. Trust that she would turn around if she ever needed to, and he’d be there.

Sieun stood beneath the washed-out glow of the awning, the light pooling softly at his feet. He didn’t call her name. Didn’t move. Just watched as she walked into the night, her figure slowly swallowed by shadows and streetlight.

She didn’t look back. Not at first.

But a few steps before the crosswalk, she stopped. The kind of pause that wasn’t hesitation—it was decision.

Then she turned.

Her eyes weren’t bright with tears, and her expression held no drama. Just a kind of quiet knowing. She walked back toward him, deliberate, steady. When she stopped again, it wasn’t hesitation—it was declaration.

From her pocket, she pulled something small.

Then—flick—the arc of motion was smooth, unceremonious. It landed in his hand with the soft clink of metal.

A black punch ring.

Sieun blinked down at it, the cool weight settling into his palm. He didn’t need to ask why. Her voice came low and firm, laced with something fiercer than sadness. “You can’t possibly win with just a ballpen, Sieun-ah. I don’t know what you’re fighting for… but you better win.”

And just like that, she turned.

No goodbye. No glance over her shoulder.

Only the echo of her footsteps and the charged silence she left behind.

Sieun stared at the ring, the hard curve of it pressing into his lifeline.

And then—just barely—a smile found its way to his face.

Not joy. Not hope.

But the kind saying that he was ready.

Ready for her.

Reay to face it all.

After all, he is a hero. A weak one.

♡ note ───── I'd do anything just for you to be mines again. I felt sadness pour into me. When you became a stranger, I knew that you'd be leaving me. Then you became a danger, I felt sadness pour into me.

♡ note ── hope you enjoy it, this would be the last part <3 Probably there would be another one but in S3

───── ★ requested by : @heeknow @alwaysgenerousvoid @snowflakemoon3 @yeon103 @kellystyles18 @littlebluebird2000 @hollxe1 @dripoftheseus @enhajungwonheart @energydrinkstastegood @zuwizy @trasshy-artist @cassieeelim @myouiwp @dutifullyannoyingstrawberrie @rexxiiia @aple-piie @sarangs-world-02 @enhacolor

[slytherinshua]

WEAK HERO CLASS 1 TEXTS

genre. smau. fluff. angst. warnings. there's angst so be warned (esp in beomseok's part lol). i tried to portray the characters as accurately as possible but it might not be perfect. and spoilers for all of whc1!! pairing. sieun x reader. sooho x reader. beomseok x reader. a/n. why am i in my smau era lmfao i also rly wanna rewatch this im ngl (do i want pain??? help.) tagging @wheeboo cause angst and @evalevaeva cause also angst (why do i love u both when you've written such horrendous fics).

SIEUN

SOOHO

BEOMSEOK

↳ k-drama taglist: @yeonjuns-redhair,, @wolfmoonmusic,, @edensgardenn

[luvxkdrama]

— unspoken

pairing : yeon sieun x reader

warnings : none, pure fluff

word count : 1.4k

summary : even though Sieun wasn’t the boyfriend to openly hold your hand on the street or hug you in the school hallways, he showed you love in the most unspoken ways. And you cherished these moments more than anything.

a/n : i just finished watching whc2 and i’m so happy with the ending. I loved this kdrama so much.

—

Sieun’s house was always a little too quiet, but you never minded. It made moments like this feel more intimate. The low hum of his desk lamp he specially moved to the living room, the occasional rustle of pages, the soft clicking of pens—it was a quiet kind of closeness you grew to love. And truthfully, you’d grown used to this silence ever since the two of you started seeing each other.

Today wasn’t any different. You sat cross-legged on the floor across Sieun who was flipping through a practice exam booklet with furrowed brows, highlighter in hand, fully immersed in the quiet rhythm of studying. His brows always furrowed when he studied, and something about that little detail made you want to stare longer than you should.

You had your books open too, a pencil twirling between your fingers, but most of your focus was on him. You weren’t even pretending to study at this point—just watching how his eyes moved, how his lips pressed together in concentration and how his hoodie sleeves were pushed up to his elbows.

“Is something wrong with the exercise?” he asked suddenly, catching your gaze without even looking up from the page.

You blinked, caught, but you nodded anyway. “Mhm.” you replied, nodding even though you hadn’t read a single question. “Totally confusing.”

He closed his book gently and moved beside you, taking your textbook without waiting for permission. You scooted a little closer, heart racing more from his closeness than from any actual academic confusion. You leaned in, resting your chin on your palm and you lips tugging into a small smile.

“What part?” he asked, eyes scanning the question.

“All of it.” You answered.

He started explaining, quietly, patiently. His voice was smooth, his finger moving across the page as he broke down each step. But you didn’t catch a word—your focus stayed fixed on him, not even glancing at the formulas.

“You’re not listening,” he said flatly after a few seconds, eyes flicking to meet yours.

“I am,” you lied, grinning.

He narrowed his eyes just a bit, not annoyed, but definitely unamused. “Then tell me what I just said.”

“…Something about the square root of something?” you blurted out, leaning slightly closer with a dramatic sigh.

Sieun exhaled, almost a laugh, but not quite. More like a breath caught between amusement and surrender. He didn’t respond. Just shook his head softly and went back to explaining.

Your story hadn’t exactly started with a confession. There were no butterflies-in-your-stomach speeches or dramatic realizations. It just… happened.

You weren’t even sure when it shifted from one-sided pestering to a relationship. Maybe it was all those late library study sessions, or the times you shared your snacks during break, or how you always waved at him even when he never waved back—at first.

The truth was, you’d kind of forced yourself into his quiet little world. Bit by bit, like sunlight creeping in through half-closed blinds. You didn’t knock, you just sort of let yourself in—loud, bright, and annoyingly persistent.

He resisted, of course. Gave you those flat stares, dry responses, and more than once told you to stop talking so much. But then came the little moments—how he started waiting for you outside class, the way he sat just a bit closer at lunch, how he texted you first just once and never really stopped.

So when he kissed you for the first time, it didn’t feel like a surprise. It felt like something that had been waiting to happen all along. Quiet, slow, and certain.

Sieun had long returned to his side of the table, diving back into his book with the same silent intensity he always carried. His eyes flicked across the lines, and the only sound in the room was the soft scratching of his pen as he scribbled notes.

You, on the other hand, lasted a solid thirty minutes before your patience cracked.

With a loud sigh, you dropped your pen and slid down until your back hit the floor. You sprawled out like a starfish, letting your arm flop to the side as you stared up at the ceiling.

Sieun glanced over, pen paused mid-word, looking completely dumbfounded. He didn’t say anything at first, just raised a brow and blinked slowly like he was trying to process whether you had actually just given up and collapsed on his floor.

“…What are you doing?” he finally asked, voice flat but clearly confused.

“I’m tired of studying,” you groaned, throwing an arm over your eyes. “I didn’t come here to write equations till my brain melts.”

“Then why did you come?”

You peeked at him from under your arm, a small smirk curling on your lips. “To spend time with you.”

Sieun blinked again, this time his gaze lingering on you a little longer before looking away. You thought maybe he was going to ignore it like he always did, brush past your teasing, but his hand paused on the corner of his page, like something in your words stuck.

“You could've just said that,” he muttered, eyes back on his book—but you saw the way his ears tinted just slightly pink.

You grinned, crossing your arms over the table now from your seated spot on the floor. “You’re blushing.”

“I’m not.”

“You totally are.”

“You’re annoying.”

“But you still love me” you teased.

He looked at you then—deadpan as always. “Delusional.”

You just laughed. It was so easy being around him, even with his wall up. Maybe especially because of it. Each word he gave you felt earned. Each look, every small shift in expression—it all meant something.

“So what exactly does that mean? How do you want to spend time with me?” He blinked, leaning his back slightly against the couch.

You looked at him for a second, then without a word, stood up and moved around the table. He followed your movement with his eyes, and before he could say anything else, you plopped down beside him. Close—closer than usual.

Then, gently, you leaned your head against his shoulder, letting out the smallest content sigh. Both of your arms wrapped around his, holding it close like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Like this,” you murmured. “This is enough.”

There was a beat of silence. The kind that hung heavy, not uncomfortable, but full of something else. Sieun didn’t move, didn’t say anything right away. You could hear the soft click of the clock on the wall, the hum of the fridge in the kitchen.

And then—you felt it.

A quiet shift.

His shoulder barely moved, but you felt it. A small pull at the corner of his lips.

You turned slightly to look up at him.

“Are you… smiling?”

Sieun exhaled through his nose, subtle but unmistakable.

“You’re imagining things,” he said.

But the faint curve on his lips betrayed him.

You grinned and tightened your grip on his arm just a little. “You so are.”

“Don’t get used to it,” he muttered, eyes flicking away, his smile not leaving his lips.

You stayed like that for a while—curled up beside him, your head on his shoulder, arms wrapped around his. At first, it was quiet—comfortable, easy. But it didn’t take long before you started talking. Random stories, the kind that didn’t need a point.

Sieun wasn’t the most talkative, and you still carried most of the conversation, but he listened—really listened—and when he spoke, it was warm, thoughtful, a little dry but always sincere. He’d answer with a soft laugh, or a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Sometimes he’d shake his head at your teasing remarks, and other times, he’d quietly add his own take, making you laugh.

It was one of those moments where time didn’t feel real. Just the two of you, tucked into the corner of his quiet world, talking about nothing and everything.

Even though Sieun wasn’t the boyfriend to openly hold your hand on the street or hug you in the school hallways, he showed you love in the most unspoken ways.

And you cherished these moments more than anything.

[nyoru]

━━━ TEACH ME, TOO

ㅤsypnosis ⁝ㅤㅤa curious question turns into something much more intimate — with su-ho being surprisingly good at teaching.ㅤㅤ〝 cw.ㅤㅤprotected sex, oral sex ( f & m rec. ), light praise kink, best friends to ??ㅤㅤ﹪ㅤㅤ𝖺𝗁𝗇 𝗌𝗎-𝗁𝗈 × 𝖿!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

you met su-ho during orientation week — he was late, loud, and still somehow the most magnetic person in the room. you were the opposite. quieter, awkward, unsure where to stand, too anxious to even hold your own schedule right-side-up.

you remember it clearly: him crashing into a folding chair, laughing too hard, calling your name like he already knew it. he made you feel like you belonged in a room you had just started shrinking away from. and that’s all it really took.

from then on, it was you and su-ho. always in the same frame. your classmates joked about it constantly — if they saw one, they expected the other. he became your person, the one who waited outside your labs, the one who shared earphones on the train back, the one who’d text ‘yo dummy u eat yet’ at ungodly hours like it was part of your daily survival.

you were different, but you got each other. he’d distract you during exams, you’d calm him down before presentations. it just.. worked. and maybe that’s why no one ever suspected anything deeper. not even you.

you were used to being mistaken for the girl who liked si-eun — he was the calm one, the smart one, the one people admired from a distance. and truthfully? you did admire him.

it was hard not to. but it never made your stomach flip. not like the way su-ho looked at you sometimes. not like the way he’d lean back on his arms, grin at you sideways, and say things like “what, you thinking dirty thoughts or something?” just because you zoned out for two seconds.

you laughed it off like always. he joked about everything. teased like it was his default language. but lately — lately, it’s been harder to ignore how warm your face gets. how your chest does that annoying twisty thing when he slings an arm over your shoulder. how you catch yourself wondering if he actually knows more than he lets on.

because the thing is — you don’t know anything. not really. not when it comes to sex. not beyond vague textbook definitions and secondhand stories from friends. you never bothered asking before. it always felt far away, not something meant for you.

until you realized you didn’t want to be left behind.

until you realized you wanted to understand.

and more than that — more than anything — you wanted to ask him.

you weren’t sure why at first. maybe it was because su-ho always made you feel safe, even when you were dumb or confused or too flustered to speak. maybe it was because he never made you feel stupid for not knowing.

maybe it was because part of you, deep down, knew he’d be honest. or maybe it was just the way he said your name sometimes. like he was waiting for you to ask something — anything.

you don’t know when exactly it started. the way your eyes would linger on his lips when he laughed. the way your heart did that unexplainable flutter when he licked honey off his thumb one morning during breakfast. it wasn’t about romance. it wasn’t about being in love. it was about wanting to know. about needing to understand.

and su-ho.. su-ho was the first person that came to mind.

it’s little things, really. the things you used to ignore. like how su-ho always sprawls himself out across your bed when he visits, like it’s his own. he’ll toss his phone aside, prop himself up on one elbow, shirt riding a little too high, and say, “you’re not gonna fail your midterms if you lie down for five minutes. c’mon.” and you’ll cave. you always do. you’ll end up beside him, shoulder to shoulder, his knee brushing yours.

he never moves away. there’s no reason to panic, you tell yourself. you’re friends. he’s like this with everyone. maybe he just doesn’t care about personal space.

maybe the way his voice dips a little when he calls you “baby” is just a joke. he says that to strangers too, doesn’t he?

but then there are the nights he talks quieter. like when you’re both half-asleep after cramming for exams, the light from your desk still casting a soft gold against the room.

he’ll mutter something like, “you’re too cute when you’re sleepy, y’know that?” and you’ll freeze. because it doesn’t feel like a joke. not then.

and maybe he doesn’t realize the effect he has on you. maybe he doesn’t see the way your breath catches when he leans over your shoulder to check your notes, the warmth of his chest ghosting your back.

maybe he doesn’t notice the way your thighs press together when he lounges back and pats the space between his legs with a casual, “you can sit here, dummy. I don’t bite.”

but you notice.

you notice everything now.

you notice how he smells — like warm fabric softener and that faint trace of cologne he probably thinks you don’t recognize. you notice the way his hands look when he’s typing or fiddling with his rings.

you notice how low his voice can drop when he’s serious — or when he’s annoyed, like that time someone tried to flirt with you at a party. he got quiet. didn’t say anything for ten minutes after.

just passed you your drink and stared across the room like he was trying to set something on fire. and yet, even with all of that — with how aware you’ve become of him — you still don’t know how to bring it up. not the way you want to.

not the way it’s started echoing in your head at night, in the quiet moments between being awake and asleep.

you’ve had dreams. not always clear, not always intense — but enough. enough to wake up and feel heat between your thighs, confusion in your chest. enough to leave you sitting there, alone in your sheets, wondering what it would feel like.

to be touched.

to be wanted.

to be taught.

and for some reason, you can’t imagine anyone else doing it but su-ho.

not si-eun, not a stranger, not someone from a checklist. just him. the boy who knows your favorite drink and the password to your phone. the one who holds your wrist when you’re walking through crowded streets. the one who grins like he’s never met someone funnier than you, even when you’re not trying.

you’re not in love, you don’t think. but you do think about how it would feel to be touched by someone who already knows all your soft parts.

who’s already seen you at your most unguarded. who calls you “trouble” in the same breath he offers you his last bite of food.

you wonder — if he touched you, would it still feel like friendship? or would it finally feel like the answer to everything you’ve been too scared to ask?

it happens on a thursday. nothing particularly special about it — your classes ended early, your hair’s still a little damp from a rushed shower, and su-ho’s on your bed again, hoodie sleeves pushed up, legs stretched long like always.

he’s scrolling through something aimlessly on your phone, and you’re sitting at your desk, pretending to be preoccupied with your laptop, but mostly just staring at nothing.

there’s something different in the air today. maybe it’s just you. maybe you’ve been holding it in too long. you’ve gone through every possible version of this in your head: how to say it, how he might react, what it would mean.

maybe he’d laugh. maybe he’d tease you for the rest of your life. or maybe — just maybe — he’d say yes. and it’s that maybe that makes your stomach twist.

that makes your fingers tighten around your mug and your tongue feel too big for your mouth. you don’t look at him when you finally say it.

“can I ask you something?”

your voice comes out smaller than expected. like you’re already regretting the thought. he hums lazily, doesn’t look up. “you just did.”

“no, like—seriously.”

that gets his attention. he shifts, sits up a bit straighter, and turns to you, brows raised. “you good?”

you nod, too fast. “yeah. yeah, just—”

the words feel heavier in your mouth than they did in your head. this felt easier when it was 1am and you were half-asleep and desperate. now, with him actually looking at you, it feels like you’re about to step off a cliff with your eyes wide open.

“can you teach me?”

he blinks. “teach you what?”

you don’t really know how long you sit there, legs tucked under you on the edge of your chair, while su-ho stays crouched in front of you like he’s not even thinking about how awkward that must feel for his knees.

there’s something in his eyes that you haven’t seen before — not even when he’s being overly gentle, not even when he’s drunk and slurring jokes and leaning his weight on you like he trusts you to carry it..

“so,” he starts again, voice low, a little careful. “when you say ‘teach,’ what exactly do you mean?”

you hesitate, then — in the quietest voice you’ve ever used — you say, “about sex.”

the silence that follows is unreal. like the air thins, like time stalls for a second too long. you want to hide. maybe crawl under your desk. maybe vanish entirely. but then you hear him shift again, a soft rustle of fabric, and when you finally glance at him —

his expression isn’t mocking, it isn’t judgmental, it’s just still. quiet, a little wide-eyed, like he’s trying to make sure he heard you right.

“wait,” he says, voice low. “you’re serious?”

you nodded, your throat is dry. his brows furrow slightly, but there’s no laughter, no teasing. just something unreadable flickering across his face. he leans forward, elbows on his knees, eyes searching yours.

you swallow. “I mean—like, I know what sex is, obviously. I just…” you trail off, scrunching your face. “I don’t know what it’s actually like. or how to do it. or what’s supposed to feel good. i’ve never done anything. not even with myself.”

his brows lift, surprised — but not in a mocking way. if anything, he looks more thoughtful. his voice stays quiet, almost too gentle.

“you’ve never?”

you shake your head. “no.”

“not even kissing?”

“not really. maybe like… dumb little pecks in high school. never something serious.”

su-ho exhales slowly through his nose and leans back a little, settling cross-legged on your rug now, chin tilted up to still meet your gaze. “okay. wow. okay.”

“is that bad?”

“no,” he says quickly, firmly. “not bad. not at all. it’s just—” he runs a hand through his hair, a little stunned. “i didn’t know. you never seemed like someone who’d be shy about stuff like this.”

you shrug, suddenly very interested in your desk lamp. “I guess I just never trusted anyone enough. or cared enough. until…”

you don’t finish the sentence. you don’t have to. he looks at you for a long moment. and then his expression softens.

“okay,” he says again, slower this time. “so you’re not asking me for a hookup. you’re asking me to… guide you?”

you nod.

“and this is what you want?”

you glance at him, then down at your hands. “I think so. but I don’t want to regret anything. I don’t want it to feel like… just a lesson. like you’re doing me a favor or something.”

he shakes his head, almost laughing under his breath. “believe me,” he mutters, “if I didn’t want it, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation.”

you look up. “you’d want to? with me?”

he rolls his eyes a little, teasing now. “you’re cute, you know that?”

your heart jumps stupidly.

but he’s already reaching for your hand, holding it between both of his like it’s nothing — like it’s something he’s always wanted to do but never got around to.

“look,” he says, thumbs brushing slow circles into your skin. “if we do anything, I want it to be because you feel safe. because you’re curious and I get to help you understand your body. not because you think you’re behind or missing out.”

you nod again, slower this time. “I just want to feel close to someone. and I… I guess I trust you the most.”

his smile turns soft, so soft it feels like a hug.

“then we’ll take it slow,” he murmurs. “you set the pace. we talk through everything. and we stop whenever you feel weird, no questions asked.”

your chest tightens in the best kind of way. not scared. not shy. just warm. like you’re really being held, even without his arms around you.

“can I ask things?” you say. “like, stupid things?”

“you can ask me anything,” he says. “even if it’s what that little flap on condoms is for.”

you laugh, a little too loud. “you know I almost asked you that once.”

“I know. I saw you hovering over the search bar in incognito mode.”

you groan, tossing your head back, but su-ho’s grinning now, bright and proud like he lives to make you flustered.

“so, okay,” he says. “i’ll answer stuff. we’ll go slow. and we’ll make it, y’know… a learning experience. a good one. no pressure. no tests at the end. just…” he pauses. “just me and you. figuring it out together.”

you squeeze his hand back, and when you finally look up again — his eyes are still soft. still watching you like you’re something rare and good. and for once, you believe it.

the first time his mouth finds its way between your legs, it’s nothing like what your imagination tried to prepare you for.

there’s no rush, no hunger, no mess of fingers fumbling to strip you bare all at once. just su-ho, kneeling at the edge of your bed, coaxing you to lie back while his hands trail slow up your thighs, his eyes never leaving yours.

“i’m gonna teach you how to enjoy this,” he murmurs, thumbs pressing softly at the inside of your knees to spread them apart. “and how to tell me what feels good. okay?”

your voice comes out small. “okay.”

he leans down, kisses your knee. then a little higher. then a little higher than that.

you’re already wet — he makes some low, surprised noise when he slides your underwear down and sees it for himself — but he doesn’t tease. doesn’t smirk or comment or make you feel like this is some joke.

instead, his hands keep you open, warm and steady, while his mouth lowers between your legs like it belongs there. the first press of his tongue to your slit makes you twitch.

“oh—”

“it’s okay,” he says, voice muffled but soothing. “just relax. tell me if anything feels too much.”

and then he starts again.

soft, slow licks at first, more about getting you used to the feeling than chasing anything. you feel like you’re floating — like your whole body’s pulling taut, breath catching every time he flattens his tongue against your cunt and draws a long stripe up through your folds. when he finds your clit, you nearly jolt again, gasping.

“there?” he murmurs. “that sensitive?”

you nod quickly. “yeah—y-yeah.” he hums, and the vibration makes you arch slightly.

“good,” he says. “it’ll get more sensitive the more turned on you are. it’s not about pressure—it’s about rhythm. like this.”

he circles it gently with the tip of his tongue, again and again, unhurried, careful not to overwhelm you too quickly. his hands stroke over your thighs, calming you as your body stutters and writhes. the sounds coming from you are soft, unsure, breathy little moans that escape before you can stop them.

he lifts his head only briefly. “you’re doing so good, baby. i’m proud of you.”

that single sentence makes your heart squeeze, makes your hips lift up for more. he smiles, then goes back in — and this time he’s firmer, more purposeful. you can tell he’s been holding back, and now that he knows you’re okay, he gives in a little more.

suckling your clit between his lips, tracing his tongue in slick circles, pausing every few seconds to hear how your breath catches, to listen to what makes you moan.

you’re not even thinking when you whisper, “I feel something—i think—”

“let it happen,” he whispers against you. “don’t be scared. let it build.”

and when it does — when the knot inside you snaps and everything floods hot and sharp and overwhelming — you feel his hands hold you down, grounding you, his mouth never leaving you until it all ebbs and your legs are shaking.

you don’t even realize there are tears in your eyes until he’s crawling up your body, wiping them away gently.

“too much?”

you shake your head. “no. that was… that was so good.”

he kisses your forehead. then your lips. “told you.”

you laugh breathlessly. “you’re actually a really good teacher.” he smirks at that, but it fades into something softer. more thoughtful.

“wanna try something now?” he asks, settling beside you. “you don’t have to, but if you want, I can show you what I like too.”

you nod. “yeah.. I want to. teach me, I asked for this, remember?”

he breathes out slowly, like he wasn’t expecting you to say yes so quickly.

“okay,” he says. “c’mere.”

he guides your hand down first — shows you how to unbutton his jeans, how to ease them down. his cock is already hard, flushed, leaking at the tip, and when your eyes widen, he grins.

“it looks big,” you mumble.

“it won’t hurt,” he promises. “not if we go slow. and besides, i’m not asking you to take it all. not yet.”

you swallow. “so… what do I do?”

he leans back slightly against the pillows, voice a low rumble now.

“start with your hand,” he says. “wrap your fingers around it, gentle. just like that—yeah. perfect.”

you’re fascinated. it’s hot and heavy in your grip, pulsing a little when you stroke up. su-ho groans, a quiet sound that sends a jolt straight between your legs again.

“use your thumb,” he pants. “over the tip. fuck—that’s it. damn, you’re a fast learner.”

you watch his face as he reacts to every little thing you try, how his jaw clenches when you squeeze a little, how his chest rises when you lick a tentative stripe up the length of his cock.

he guides you without pressure, encouraging you softly, telling you what feels good, what he likes.

“use your mouth,” he breathes. “just the tip. go slow, baby. just like that—fuck.”

his hand settles lightly at the back of your head but doesn’t push, just rests there, as you wrap your lips around him. it’s warm, salty, a little overwhelming — but the way he moans your name makes you want to keep going.

he’s so vocal, breathy and praising between gasps. “you’re doing so good,” he whispers. “so pretty like this. your mouth feels so fucking nice—shit.”

you hollow your cheeks, experiment with your tongue, and when you glance up at him, when your eyes meet his while you suck slowly, he curses under his breath and pulls you off with a shaky hand.

“if you keep going,” he says, voice wrecked, “i’ll come. and I don’t wanna come yet.”

you smile, dazed, lips slick with spit. “was i good?” he laughs, short, breathless, affectionate.

“you’re perfect.” and then he leans in to kiss you again, deeper this time.

“you okay?” su-ho asks again, quieter now, brushing your hair away from your face. his thumb strokes your cheek while his other hand rests over your waist, the heat of his palm grounding you, still holding onto the last of your breathless high from before.

you nod. “mm-hmm.” then softer, “more than okay.”

he smiles, then leans in and kisses you gently — slow, like he’s giving you time to change your mind, even now.

but when you kiss him back with that same neediness you’ve been carrying since you first asked him to teach you, his hand slides lower, resting on your hip.

“you wanna keep going?”

you nod again. “yeah. I… I think I want to try.”

his gaze scans your face. you know he’s checking for nerves, doubt, fear — but all he finds is a quiet kind of trust. something that makes his voice go softer when he speaks again.

“okay,” he says, “but we talk first. that’s part of it too.”

you blink. “talk?”

he nods. “before sex. especially your first time. communication makes everything better. safer. and honestly?” he grins a little, “hotter too.”

you bite your lip. “what do we talk about?”

“a few things,” he murmurs, kissing down your jaw. “protection first.”

he shifts away for a moment, reaching for his backpack on the floor. he pulls something out — silver foil, crinkly — and raises his brows at you like he’s been waiting to use it for this exact moment.

“su-ho,” you say slowly, “why do you have a condom in your backpack.”

he snorts. “remember the frat party? si-eun and I saw it in the cr, he didn't want it so I picked it up.”

you roll your eyes. “you guys are idiots.”

“probably,” he shrugs. “but at least i’m a responsible idiot.” you watch as he sets the condom gently on the nightstand, not rushing to open it.

“we use this,” he says, “every time. unless we both get tested and talk about it first. cool?” you nod. “cool.”

he smiles. “good. next topic: positions.” you blinked, “there’s more than one?”

his laugh is soft, affectionate. “there are a lot. but for your first time, we should pick one that feels safest and lets me see your face. missionary’s the classic. I can also be on my knees with your legs over my thighs. or we can spoon. slow and close.”

you flush, trying to picture any of them. “you choose. I trust you.”

his gaze warms at that, softening again in that way you’ve only ever seen in rare moments.

“then we’ll go slow. missionary. but we can adjust anything if it gets uncomfortable. just tell me, alright?”

you hum a quiet okay, and then he leans in closer. “next,” he says, voice lower now, “I wanna know what turns you on.”

your eyes widen. “I—I don’t know yet?” he nods, unbothered. “that’s fine. that’s what this is for. we’ll find out together.”

his fingers trail up your bare thigh again, light and thoughtful. “some people like rough. some like being praised. some like being told what to do. or doing the touching. or slow teasing. you reacted to my voice earlier, when I praised you.”

you flush, remembering.

“I think you like being talked to,” he murmurs, his voice dipping, lips brushing your ear. “you like feeling good and hearing how good you’re doing. am I right?”

you breathe out shakily. “yeah…”

he smiles, kisses your neck. “good. that’s a start. anything you don’t want to try?”

you think. then shake your head. “i’ll tell you if something feels off.”

“perfect,” he says, then kisses you again. this time, his body presses more firmly into yours, and you can feel him — his cock heavy against your thigh through his boxers, thick and pulsing with restraint.

“last question,” he murmurs. “do you want me now?”

you meet his eyes. “yes.”

he nods once, slowly, and then everything moves like a softened blur: his fingers easing between your legs, gently checking, making sure you’re still wet, still relaxed. then him rolling the condom on with practiced care, breath hitching when your hand lingers on his hip.

when he kneels between your legs, you shift beneath him, legs opening, heart thudding in your chest.

“you sure?”

“yes,” you whisper again, this time steadier. “please.”

he exhales slowly — then reaches to guide himself to your entrance. “deep breath,” he says softly. “just relax.”

you did, and the first push is slow, barely there, until your body stretches around him. it’s strange, at first — tight, full, unfamiliar — but he holds still, whispering praise, letting you adjust.

“you feel amazing,” he breathes. “so warm, so tight. doing so good, baby.”

he kisses you through the sting, rubs your clit gently to distract you, and only when you nod again — wordless, aching — does he move. slow. so slow.

you feel him first, hovering over you, his body heat settling around you like a blanket, his fingers brushing your cheek so gently it almost makes you shiver.

the moment feels quiet, almost suspended in time, as if the air around you recognizes the shift — how the weight of what you’re doing finally lands between your ribs and expands there, soft and all-consuming.

su-ho’s gaze, as always, is steady and sure, but there’s a kind of reverence in his expression now, something new that makes your heart skip.

his hands are careful, so careful, as he rolls the condom down the length of his cock, fingers trembling slightly despite how composed he always seems. he aligns himself to your entrance, his eyes not leaving yours even once.

“tell me the second you feel uncomfortable,” he whispers, voice already low and thick. “and if you want to stop—”

“I won’t,” you murmur, fingers curling around his wrist where he steadies himself beside your head. “I just… want to know what it feels like. with you.”

he breathes out through his nose. closes his eyes for a second. and when they open again, they’ve darkened, not with lust alone, but something deeper. a kind of hunger laced with restraint. a kind of want that you know he’s held back for a while.

his hips move slowly, guiding the tip of his cock to your entrance, where you’re already soaked for him, eager and warm and open. he pushes in slowly, inch by inch, stretching you gently, pausing when he feels your breath hitch.

“okay?” he asks again, jaw clenched tight, the muscles in his forearm straining as he holds himself still.

you nod, voice barely a whisper. “keep going.”

so he does. gradually. so slow that every bit of him feels distinct as he slides into you — the stretch, the burn, the fullness of it. you gasp softly, head tipping back into the pillow, one hand flying to grip the sheets while the other stays pressed against his chest, feeling the thrum of his heart.

he doesn’t move for a long second once he’s fully inside, buried in you to the hilt. you can feel him shaking slightly, his breath warm against your shoulder, a soft groan vibrating in his throat as he tries to stay still.

“you’re so tight,” he finally breathes, and it sounds like a confession. “feels like you’re made for me.”

you feel yourself clench at his words, and he groans again, deeper this time. you nod, giving him permission, and that’s all it takes — he starts to move, slow and steady, each thrust a gentle press of his hips against yours, a roll rather than a sharp snap. the drag of him inside you is like nothing you’ve ever felt, so overwhelming and yet addictively good, like it lights something up inside you you didn’t know was there.

your legs wrap around him without thinking, pulling him closer, and the new angle has him hitting a spot that makes your mouth fall open. he notices immediately, adjusting again to make sure every thrust brushes right there.

“right there?” he asks, voice strained, lips brushing your ear.

“yeah,” you gasp, arms wrapping around his back now, clinging. “feels so—su-ho, please—”

“fuck,” he breathes, hips pushing deeper now, grinding down just enough to make your entire body tremble under him. “you’re so warm. you’re doing so well, baby.”

the endearment makes your stomach twist in the best way, and when his thumb drifts between your legs again, circling your clit in slow, practiced movements, it pushes you closer to the edge so fast your vision blurs.

he watches your face the entire time. every expression, every sound. he’s studying you with the same intensity he brings to everything else, but this time, it’s just for you.

“look at you,” he murmurs, watching the way your face twists with every grind of his hips. “taking all of me. like you were made for it.”

you moan, and he groans in return — like he’s feeling how much you want this. his pace picks up a little. not rushed, just deeper. more deliberate. your walls pulse around him and he curses again, biting back the urge to just let go.

“you don’t even know what you do to me,” he grits out, pressing his forehead to yours. “every sound you make—every little gasp—it’s fucking perfect.”

you can barely answer him, too focused on the slow roll of his hips and the weight of him inside you. but your hands move on their own, clutching his back, your nails dragging lightly across his skin.

he gasps. “shit—do that again.” you did, and he thrusts deeper. you whimper his name, and his rhythm stutters.

“you close?” he asks, thumb still moving, his cock grinding into that perfect spot over and over again.

“so close,” you manage, hips bucking up against his. “su-ho, i’m—”

“cum for me,” he whispers, his thrusts picking up, still deep but just a little faster now. “let me feel you.”

and you do. everything tightens, your legs locking around his waist, your walls clenching down on him so hard he groans your name like it’s a prayer, his forehead falling to your shoulder.

you tremble under him, your climax washing over you in waves, and it’s only a few thrusts later that he follows, hips jerking forward as he cums deep inside the condom with a low, desperate sound.

for a moment, the only sound in the room is your breathing, tangled and uneven, in sync. he stays there, bodies still connected, his weight resting gently over you, careful not to crush you but unwilling to pull away just yet.

he presses a kiss to your temple. then your cheek. then your shoulder. “you okay?” he asks again, softer this time. almost reverent.

you nod slowly, arms still holding him close. “yeah. better than okay.”

he exhales, and you feel the tension drain from him all at once. “you were… incredible.”

“you too,” you murmur, smiling into his neck. “best lesson ever.”

he laughs softly, and you feel it echo in his chest. “we’ll have to review next week, then.” you roll your eyes but kiss his jaw anyway.

you’re both still wrapped up in each other, limbs tangled and breathing gradually slowing down, the quiet hum of the night pressing in around you like a gentle lullaby. you didn’t move for a while, just letting his body settle over yours, the weight of him heavy and warm and safe.

his chest rises and falls in slow, even breaths right against your back, and you can’t help but feel a kind of calm you didn’t expect — like all the noise inside your head has finally quieted down. it’s strange how something so simple as just being held could feel like the most important thing in the world.

his fingers begin to roam gently, tracing soft, aimless patterns on your arm. the touch is featherlight, like a whisper, but it grounds you in a way nothing else can. you let your hand find his, fingers curling around his palm instinctively, and he squeezes back, the pressure steady and reassuring. no words are needed right now — the silence between you is comfortable, filled with understanding and something close to reverence.

“you did really well,” his voice is low, thick with a tenderness you haven’t heard from him before. “better than I expected.” there’s a pause, and you can hear him swallow the hint of vulnerability in his own admission. “i’m proud of you.”

you smile softly, your breath catching when he presses a gentle kiss just below your ear, the warmth of his lips lingering there like a promise. “you made it easy,” you say, voice barely more than a breath, but you mean it. it’s not just his skill — it’s how careful he is, how present, how much he respects you.

he shifts slightly, pressing another kiss against your temple, then your cheek, slow and deliberate like he’s memorizing every inch of your face. “we’ll go at whatever pace you want,” he murmurs, fingers weaving through your hair, the touch light and soothing. “there’s no rush here. this is your time. your experience.”

you close your eyes and lean into him, letting the softness of his words and the warmth of his skin wash over you. there’s no pressure, no expectations — just this quiet bubble of safety and trust you never knew you needed but always wanted.

your fingers trace lazy circles on his forearm, feeling the taut muscle beneath his skin and the steady beat of his pulse. “thank you,” you whisper, meaning more than just the moment. for the patience, for the care, for being the first person who made you feel like you could explore this without fear or shame.

he hums softly, lips brushing the nape of your neck, sending shivers down your spine. “I want you to feel comfortable. to know that with me, it’s always okay to ask, to say no, to take a break—whatever you need.”

you nod against him, the trust between you deepening with every word. “i’m glad it’s you,” you say quietly. “I don’t think I could’ve done this with anyone else.”

he smiles against your skin, the movement gentle and full of warmth. “and i’m glad it’s you.”

time stretches around you both, slow and easy. you talk in hushed tones about everything and nothing —

about your favorite music, the dumb jokes he made that morning, su-ho’s surprising seriousness when it comes to protecting the people he cares about. your voices blend together like a quiet symphony, filling the room with something real and alive.

eventually, he shifts, pulling you closer into a warm embrace, your faces mere inches apart. “class tomorrow together, yeah?” he asks softly, thumb stroking along your collarbone. “i’ll walk you to every lecture. maybe we can grab something after.”

you smile, heart fluttering in a way that feels new but right. “i’d like that.”

it felt easy, honest. like something real could start from this, not because you were rushing into anything, but because there was trust here. because with him, it didn’t feel scary. it just felt right.

[starliteonearth]

A lot of people seem to think Sieun's and Suho's relationship is just sweet and lovey dovey and nice, and completely miss the darker, violent side of their connection. For hurting Sieun, Suho breaks Yeongbin's hand like nothing and sits there completely unbothered while that boy cries in pain at his feet. For hurting Suho, Sieun smashes Wooyoung's ankle with a dumbbell and leaves him screaming on the floor, utterly uncaring. Both are capable of great violence and are deeply obsessed with each other to the point of unleashing it on others with no fucks given.

[vargrblood]

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎page ──── three

약한영웅 characters when you cry while patching them up ˳ ۫ 𓈅

includes class 2 + suho 𔓕 gn!reader 𔓕 w.c 3.4k+

genres — established relationship, fluff, hurt / comfort

click to continue reading! 𔓕 based on this request

warnings. mentions of blood, injuries, bruises, dacryphilia (?), canon-typical violence.

──────── ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ yeon sieun

Baku had called you, his voice was weighed with worry as he told you Sieun was hurt badly and unconscious. Your heart had sunk right there, the world had become blurry. Everything that came out of Baku’s mouth through the phone sounded so far away, as if someone had put your head underwater. you had felt like your legs would give up any second.

You had rushed with some first aid to Eunjang right away, fighting the fidgety feeling and anxiety you felt the entire bus ride. When you reached the secret hangout room you found three of the four boys hurt, one of them— your Sieun, lying down, and unconscious.

You had questioned and scolded them but they knew your anger came from a place of concern. Juntae had said that he and Gotak were fine, he had half-lied. All three of them had come to some unspoken agreement to leave you with Sieun alone to patch him up.

Your chest tightens as you settle near Sieun, slowly moving his hair out of his forehead to look at his wounds. Red bruises abloom on both his cheeks and forehead, gashes on both his cheek bones and a busted lip— just what was he upto?

You start by cleaning his chin and hands with wet wipes. You then disinfect his face and forehead, your breathing becomes heavier. You don't know how to clean his lips properly, after all you're not a medical professional, so you just opt to clean the area around his mouth properly. Your eyes start to burn a little, your heart is getting heavier each passing second.

Sieun’s eyes flicker open, his gaze is far away but he soon notices your presence, you are trying to rip a bandaid out of its packaging. He calls out your name, his voice is shaky and hoarse.

You turn towards him, a wave of relief washing over you as you notice him awake. He tries to get up but you push him down to rest, your attempts are futile as he sits straight anyway. He looks dazed.

“Sieun-ah,” You say, you don't add anything else, unable to think of a proper statement. Your eyes start to burn again, you try to blink it away but instead tears start to trail down your cheek. Sieun mirrors your expression. His eyes redden as tears collect.

“I’m sorry.” He utters, raw and pained. Your chest tightens and a lump forms in your throat.

“It’s okay, I am here now.” You breathe out, your voice is weak despite nothing being okay, you try to be strong.

“No, no, I am sorry.” His words are a little slurred and drawled as repeats. You take his hand in your own, holding it gently, you start to run your fingers over his hand in soothing motions. Your touch is feather light, as if you're afraid that you'll break Sieun. He stops you and grips your fingers lightly with his own, signaling for you to respond. Your vision is getting a little blurred but you hold it in for Sieun’s sake.

“Okay.” You say, your voice is weak. “I accept your apology. Now, let me put this bandaid on you.”

Sieun switches from holding your hand to gripping your sleeve between his fingers. You peel off the wrapper and put the bandaid on his cheekbone gently. Sieun’s eyes start to water. You wipe them with the back of your fingers before they can fall past his under eyes.

“They… your tears… they will burn your wounds. So, stop, okay? There's no need to cry, okay? I am here now.” You speak softly.

You usher him to lay down, his hand holding onto yours firmly. He does not want to let you go. You bring his hand towards your face and press a faint kiss on the back of his hand. His grip loosens slightly as he passes out again.

──────── ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ahn suho

To say you were pissed would be an understatement. You were beyond angry at this point. As you put a dressing on his forearm, Suho finally breaks the silence.

“Wanna go to noraebang?” Typical Suho. Typical Suho behaviour. Always trying to change the topic.

“No.” You say.

“C’mon, I’ll take you to eat ice-cream after.” He tries to persuade you, taking your hands in his own, entwining softly. Subtly indicating that he doesn't want to talk about this, trying to put on an act to pretend that this never happened.

“No.” You repeat standing your ground.

He pouts as you retreat your hands and continue to apply ointment on his scratches.

“No use in pouting. I thought you were over this shit, beating up people and getting hurt.”

He doesn't respond so you refuse to meet his eyes. You start to apply some gel on the scratches of his face and he starts to pucker his lips, asking for a kiss. You put your palm on his lips.

“Stop it.” He licks your palm instead—? You withdraw your hand and smack him.

Wiping your hand with his uniform, you go back to applying the gel. Suho realises you're both awfully close, your face near his own. He looks at you, your face, how you have a little pout and how your eyebrows are furrowed as you delicately apply the ointment on him.

He notices how your lips tremble a little and your eyes are blinking a lot. Are you holding in your tears?

“Hey.” He holds your wrist. “I’m–”

“What?” You finally break– tears brim and fall out of your eyes. This time, you pretend. You pretend that you are not crying. You try to go back to patching him but his hold on your wrists is too strong.

“Hey, hey.” He utters softly, his voice sounds apologetic.“I’m… sorry. I know I told you I won't do this anymore but… it just happened.”

You bite the insides of your cheeks avoiding his gaze and silently sniffle and Suho’s heart breaks.

“Oh my.” He mutters under his breath, his hands quickly reach your face, palms holding your face like you were some fragile porcelain. His thumbs wipe your tears tenderly.

“I’m sorry, Y/n-ssi.” And with that, he kisses your nose. “It won't… I'll try to make sure it does not happen again.” He kisses your forehead next. “So, now please,” He kisses your philtrum, “Please, stop crying. It breaks my heart to see you like this.”

He continues to kiss your face until you break into giggles.

──────── ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ seo juntae

Juntae looks at you like a puppy kicked by a human, eyes downcast and filled with tears, feeling as though it was something that was his mistake. His eyes don't leave your hands.

You are fuming. Brows furrowed together, you are taking long breaths to calm yourself down. You angrily rip off a medicine’s covering and Juntae gulps.

You turn your face towards him and he looks at you and then, quickly looks away. He feels guilty.

You both are on a bench in a park near the pharmacy you just visited. Juntae got beat up by some bullies and you had dragged him to the pharmacy despite him saying it was okay.

Juntae wonders if you're mad at him. You're not. You know that.

You take off his glasses, gently putting them away. You start to dab away the dirt and blood from his face, your touches are feather light. He winces. He thinks it ticked you off because you stop and discard the cotton ball.

“I know… that it hurts you every time I get…hurt. I'm sorry.” He says, you look away. He's afraid he might lose you if this continues, he doesn't want that to happen ever. He holds your hands, clasping your fingers with his own.

“Please don't be mad at me.” It breaks something inside of you.

Your anger melts and turns into something else. It turns into the tears in your eyes, you hold them in. Your nose feels tingly and your mouth feels strangely wet. Your lips are pursed, you are taking in his words, letting them settle in your mind. They feel heavy. You take a deep breath as the tears threaten to fall. You face him again.

This time the look in your face is not of annoyance but of hurt, your brows are no longer furrowed together, your eyelashes are wet with tears that might fall any second. Juntae feels guilty.

“I am not mad at you.” You say and then it happens. The tears start to cascade down slowly. Juntae’s lips quiver. You take your hands back and wipe your tears.

“I don't know why you think I'm mad at you. I'm just… frustrated about this situation. I worry for you, Juntae-ya. Every few days you show up with these new wounds and bruises, I feel sad. I don't know what you're up to, but…” You stop as you don't know what to say.

Juntae feels as if his insides got ripped out and seared, his eyes start to water instantly at this sight. Just how could he be the reason of your tears?

His hand reaches out hesitant towards you, shaking a little and it finally finds your back. He starts to rub you with one hand and takes out a napkin with another. He uses it to wipe your tears.

“I…am sorry. Please don't cry.”

──────── ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ go ‘gotak’ hyuntak

“Does it cost money to be careful?” You mumble under your breath but they're still loud enough to be heard by Hyuntak. You did it intentionally.

“What? Aren't I supposed to be the one nagging you?” He sounds offended. “And if it really did cost money, you’d be evading–” You respond with a smack on the top of his head before he can even finish.

“Beggars can't be choosers.” You confuse him.

“That's literally not how the saying works. Ah–” You're now pulling his right ear.

“Can you stop abusing me?” He grumbles.

“Can you stop abusing me?” You mock him snottily.

Gotak realises there's no point in arguing with you further so he doesn't say anything. Instead, he looks away as you work on patching him up. You put gauze around his arm and some bandaids over his knuckles. You soon start to clean his face and that's when he finally turns towards you.

A q-tip is between your thumb and index finger layered with some gel, you're gently applying it to the corner of Gotak’s lips. He suddenly becomes hyper-aware about everything and his skin prickles with goosebumps.

Gotak realises that your sole focus is on his lips and blood rushes to his face, his ears reddening with every passing second. This close proximity isn't something that's rare but it's something that's not frequent either. Your dynamic has always been like this—too shy to be close and too committed to be farther than an arm’s distance.

Gotak takes in your features. Your eyes are glassy but focused on his lips and your nose seems a little red. Your bottom lip is between your teeth to stop it from trembling. You look like you're on the verge of crying. Shit.

“So, um…” Gotak starts, his intention is to distract you so you don't end up actually crying.

You hum in response. You finish up taking care of his lip and put away the q-tip in a plastic bag. Gotak looks at you, unable to muster up his words. He should’ve thought before starting to speak!

“So, yeah.”

You look at him incredulously, eyebrows raised but eyes still glassy, tears still sticking to your lashes.

“What?” You say.

You hear Gotak mumble a small Fuck this before he pulls you into his arms. One of his hands snakes through your back to your head, holding it gently. Gotak starts to pat you slowly. He then kisses the crown of your head.

“I’ll be careful next time.”

“Yeah. You better be.”

──────── ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ park 'baku' humin

Baku had showed up to your home bloodied and bruised with his stupid injuries and wounds. You had led him to your living room, your parents weren't home fortunately. You wouldn't have to explain why there was a badly beat up boy in your living space.

This brings you to your current predicament— crouched in front of Baku as he sat on the sofa, cleaning the dried blood clinging to his knuckles. You work in silence and Baku lets you. He doesn't speak and neither do you. You don't ask or question. He doesn't tell you what happened.

But the silence is oh so suffocating. There is a lump in your throat that won't go down now matter how much you swallow and tears are pricking the inner corners of your eyes. After you're done cleaning his hands you settle yourself on the sofa and start to clean his face.

Baku is strong, that is a fact. He never loses, that is another fact. But he is not invincible or immune to getting hurt. He bleeds and bruises just like everyone else. He feels pain too. That is evident in how he winces when you apply cream on his knuckles before you put on a bandaid. That is also evident in the way he hisses in pain when you dab the cut on his face with a cotton ball covered in disinfectant.

It is also evident in the way his heart aches when he notices your hands trembling and your eyes watering. You sniffle involuntarily. Baku wants to scratch his face. His eyes become glassy.

He calls out your name delicately as if it was a glass sculpture that could break if his voice was any louder.

And your tears spill. You bite your bottom lip to try and hold it in but there's no use.

Humin takes the cotton ball from your hand and places it on the center table. His hands wrap around your torso and he pulls you into his embrace. No words are exchanged. Sometimes, words aren't needed to communicate. Actions are enough.

With your head on his chest and his arms around you firmly, he pulls you under his chin. He lets you cry it out. You must be scared after seeing him hurt so badly.

He starts to run soothing circles on your back with his hand until you calm down.

“I’m sorry.” He says finally breaking the silence. “I won't get hurt this badly next time.”

“So you plan on getting hurt again?”

──────── ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ geum seongje

You are everything Geum Seongje is not– quiet, kind and gentle. Maybe that's why you're both together. Opposites attract or something.

But Outside Geum Seongje is different from Inside Geum Seongje. Inside Geum Seongje is reserved just for you. His words don't bite and he kisses with his lips instead of his fists. His eyes don't carry that crazed look, but a look of comfort and relaxation. He's not the adrenaline crazy wolf but a person who seeks softness and love.

One might think Seongje is the antonym of words like love, gentleness, kindness, softness etc. but that would be false. Seongje loves in his own way. He is cruel, yes, but there is certain gentleness when he pulls you into hugs. Geum Seongje knows mercy too. He is not soft like others but his edges and sharpness dull a little every time he's with you.

Maybe that's why he always seeks for you when he's injured. You offer him a quiet haven in your heart for nothing in exchange. You don't judge him. You don't ask questions. You don't look at him with fear or inferiority.

That's why he always crashes at your apartment after a big fight. You patch him up and offer him a warm meal. You offer him warmth no one else ever does.

Seongje looks at you confused. Your eyes are red and flowing with tears as you clean his bloodied knuckles. He does not understand why you're crying. But you look pretty, he doesn't want to question anything.

“I won, you know.” He breaks the silence.

“Yeah, I know.” You say, holding in a sniffle.

“So why are you crying?”

“Because you're hurt?”

Bloodied knuckles, busted lip, a black eye and different reds blooming under his skin on his body.

“You lack a sense of self preservation.” Seongje doesn't reply, he just studies your features. There's something unreadable in his expression. He silently acknowledges what you said as true. He doesn't know what to do when you sniffle and when your tears don't stop.

When you're finally done patching him up, you get up. He holds your wrist.

“The vegetables will get charred.” You say referring to the veggies on the pan you left unattended to focus on Seongje.

“Stay.” The ‘Please’ is left unsaid.

──────── ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ na baekjin

It isn't common for Baekjin to get into fights. And it is more uncommon for him to come back scathed– you see, Baekjin doesn't get his hands dirty. He rarely does so. And it's rarer for him to get hurt. His moves are always calculated and precise, there's no room for surprises or to get hurt for that matter.

So it is quite a moment when Baekjin enters his office with a gash along his cheek, walks towards his desk and crouches down to pull out a first aid box and puts it in front of you on the glass table, calmly. You look at him dumbly.

“Like am I…?” You start but then trail off, because obviously, he meant for you to patch him up.

“I don't see a mirror in here.” Whoa, Na Baekjin can be sarcastic if he wants.

“Then sit down, sir.” And with that Baekjin settles down next to you on the black leather couch of his modest office.

There's distance between you, you gesture with your hands for him to come closer and he follows. You break the distance between you both by pulling his face closer to yourself to inspect his cut and Baekjin notices how your face curls up in pain.

“You’re lucky it wasn't that deep. You’d have to get stitches on your pretty face.” Baekjin doesn't respond to your statement, but his gaze softens. A little smile forms on his face but it dissolves right away.

You start by wiping off the blood that trickled down towards his jaw and Baekjin closes his eyes—feeling your soft touches. One of your hands holding his face while the other wipes away the blood, there is a certain domesticity to this which he cherishes. Not that he would admit out loud. But it's evident in how his shoulders relax a little when you're nearby and how his fingers always try to find yours in the quiet moments when you're alone.

For a second, Baekjin wonders if it was not for the Union, would you two get to be normal? Act like those schoolmates who are dating— holding hands in the hallways, holding hands under the table in the cafeteria and sneaking off to the secluded corners of the school to make out.

He is pulled out of his thoughts when you say something, your voice sounds a little shaky and weak.

“I won't use the disinfectant, it’ll burn too much, so I'll use this cream… instead.”

He sees your eyes brimmed with tears, eyelashes heavy with tears weighing them down. His gaze softens.

“You are crying.” He says in a matter-of-fact tone.

“I am not! Atleast, not yet.”

“You worry for me too much.”

“You say it like it's a bad thing.” Your tears fall.

Ok, fair enough, Baekjin thinks. You're the only one who can get him tongue tied. If he can worry for you, then you can too.

He wipes the tears with the back of his hands, his touch is tender. You hold onto his hand, not letting him take it back, leaning into his touch.

“I love you.” You sniffle. His thumb rubs away another tear.

“I know. I love you too. I won't get hurt again.” He says. His voice doesn't have the edge he uses with others. A special voice just for you.

His gravity pulls you closer, heads tilting in unison, just a few centimetres apar–

A knock and the door opens.

“Am I interrupting something?” Geum Seongje. Motherfucker.

You groan.

Baekjin sighs.

note Ꮺ

longest work till now! i switched to regular font instead of subscript because personally reading text that small for so long strains my eyes. i also posted my stuff on wattpad, so if you use it, please support me on there too!

taglist. (join it here!)

@mariii-0001 @pavitrata @hanwoolvhs @svtf1lms @sadesutopia

also requests are open! im working on them so feel free to send in some requests. read more about requests here.

[juliettejwnewinesa]

Lap Lesson

baku version hyun-tak version seongjae version yeongbin version wooyoung version beomseok version

Pairing: Ahn Suho x Reader (Y/N) Setting: Private tutoring session, late afternoon, empty classroom Genre: Smut, Tension, Accidental Orgasm, Obsession, Teasing POV: Third person (Y/N-focused) Length: One-shot ~4,000 words

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Y/N never intended to end up in Suho's lap.

It started out simple. Just a study session. She was helping him prep for an exam. That was all. But Ahn Suho had a way of pulling people in with his silence. He wasn’t the type to flirt or tease—he didn’t need to. He looked at you once and your stomach flipped like you'd been caught doing something wrong.

And maybe she was.

Because at some point, she stopped reading from the book. Her words slowed. She leaned forward. Their knees brushed.

And he didn’t move away.

“Suho,” she said softly, “you’re not paying attention.”

His eyes met hers. Dark. Focused.

“I am now.”

Her heart skipped.

The classroom was dead silent. Outside, the sun had dipped past the windows, casting long shadows over the floor. She shifted her weight, legs swinging slightly under the desk.

Suho didn’t blink.

“You keep looking at my mouth,” she whispered.

“You keep licking your lips.”

His voice was low. Controlled. But his fingers clenched faintly at the edge of the desk.

Something inside her snapped.

“Then stop looking,” she said, standing.

He tilted his head, challenging.

She didn’t back down.

She stepped between his legs.

“Y/N,” he said, voice hoarse. “That’s not a good idea.”

“You haven’t told me to stop.”

He didn’t.

She slid onto his lap slowly. Testing.

His hands didn’t move. Not at first. But his thighs tensed beneath her. His breath caught.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he muttered.

“Then play with me.”

Their mouths met in a crash of heat.

He kissed her like he’d been waiting all year for it. Rough. Controlled. Like he knew if he let go, he'd ruin her.

She didn’t care.

Her hands tangled in his hair, lips parting with a gasp when he sucked on her bottom lip. His grip finally broke—hands sliding up her waist, palms flat against her ribs. Steady. Warm.

And then she moved.

She didn’t even mean to. Just a shift of her hips, instinctive. But the friction made them both freeze.

Her thin skirt had ridden up. His uniform pants were straining. There was barely any fabric between them.

Suho swore under his breath.

“Y/N…”

She looked at him, pupils blown wide.

“You like that?” she asked, breathless.

He didn’t answer. His hand gripped her waist tight. Not pulling her away—just holding. Like he was trying to breathe through it.

She rolled her hips again.

His head tipped back.

“Fuck… don’t—”

But she was already doing it again.

Slow, lazy grinds. Back and forth. Her panties were soaked. She could feel the heat of him through his pants, and the pressure was… addictive.

She whimpered, trying to keep quiet.

His hands slid to her hips, guiding. Not stopping.

He was breathing hard now. Eyes clenched shut. Jaw locked.

“If you keep doing that, I’m gonna—”

She kissed him hard.

And kept going.

She didn’t mean to.

But the rhythm, the friction, the heat of him underneath her, how his hands gripped her tighter each time she moved—it built too fast.

Her thighs trembled. She gasped his name, forehead against his.

“Y/N…?”

Then it hit her.

A wave of heat. Her whole body tightened.

She came.

Right there.

On his lap.

Her hands flew to her mouth, muffling the sound. Her body shook, grinding once more through the aftershocks before she collapsed against him, panting.

Silence.

Then:

“Holy shit,” Suho said, voice stunned.

She hid her face in his neck.

“I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t apologize.” His arms wrapped around her. “You have no idea how fucking hard it was not to flip the desk.”

They sat there for a moment.

Her legs still shaking. His breathing still heavy.

Then she felt something.

A hot, sticky wetness between them.

She blinked. Pulled back.

“Suho?”

He cleared his throat.

“Yeah. I came too.”

She stared at him.

“From that?”

His eyes met hers, dead serious.

“You grind on my lap and moan my name like that, what the fuck do you expect?”

She burst out laughing.

He kissed her again.

Harder this time.

@speedywizardland

[pushinpieta]

“i’m gonna tear into your soul” - weak hero class NSFW (scenarios)

warnings: MDNI, ADULT characters, fem reader, swearing, fingering, overstimulation, cowgirl, thigh riding, cunnilingus, edging, handjob, blowjob, cum eating, gagging, rough sex, backshots, spanking, sadism, masochism, creampie, unprotected sex, rough sex, p in v, pet names (slut, baby)

a/n: i hope you guys enjoy???? 😳 characters: sieun, suho, gotak, baku, juntae, seongje, baekjin

SIEUN - fingering

sieun had your body studied down to the very bones. he spent hours with his fingers between your thighs to memorize all the spots that made your toes curl. comically enough, sieun somehow always managed to keep his composure. calm, collected, cool, lidded-eyes trailing down all your sensitive parts until you shivered in embarrassment all while shoving his fingers deep in a cruel pace. a stark contrast to his gentle demeanor.

in a way, it felt as if he were teasing you with his watchful eyes. taunting you. making you run from it.

two of his fingers curled upwards, prodding at your sweet spot in an agonizingly slow rhythm, as if he were beckoning you to come. which you were— in another way. you were quite literally about to come as he massaged your thighs with one hand while the other was knuckles deep in your soaking wet pussy.

a broken cry left your lips, “sieun! right there!”

“here?” he asked, pumping right into the place that had you clenching your thighs with his hands between them.

“mhm!” you nodded shakily, grinding up into his hands.

your clit rubbed right against the heel of his palm causing your hips to jolt and jerk from the stimulation. electricity shot through your body with each calculated pump. you were close. so close. eyes falling shut, you gripped onto the bed sheets, throwing your head back in a raw sob, wracking your vocal cords.

your orgasm struck you like lightning, sending waves down your spine. goosebumps shot through your skin, feeling an odd cooling sensation run down your skin. sieun, however, did not stop his fingers from moving in and out of your slicky cunt, relishing in the vulgar wet sounds coming from between your legs. a slight, unnoticeable smirk creased his face as he studied your every move. observing the way you gasped every time his fingers slightly pulled out and the way your back arched against his hands when he pushed it back in with force, hitting just the right spot.

“s-sieun— no more—!” you cried out in a pathetic attempt to stop him.

“just one more.” he uttered, ignoring the way you tried to smack his arm away.

his fingers were sticky, beginning to prune from being dug into you for hours on end. you wondered how much longer you could last, it felt as if you had nothing left to give. body growing slack and shaking from overstimulation.

a light slap to your clitoris made you squeal, jerking your hips down to run away from sieun’s fingers. he worked mercilessly, waiting for you to break and shatter under his hold. he slapped again, sending more shockwaves throughout your core.

your eyes fluttered shut, the overwhelming stimulation rolling in your stomach. you were gonna come. again.

“i-i’m gonna come…” you whined, warning sieun who seemed pleased with your response.

“then come.” he breathed out, sultry eyes watching your body stutter with each thorough pump.

and you came. hard.

you cried out, not caring that your neighbors could probably hear you and know exactly what was going on behind the walls but you couldn’t care less. a burning sensation coursed through your muscles, tugging at you from over exertion and pleasure. throat sore from screaming out sieun’s name.

as sieun pulled away, he watched you tremble, lips quivering. he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss on your forehead. a reward for behaving and taking it so well.

“you did good,” he said, shoving his arousal-slicked fingers into your mouth, “taste yourself.”

“hmfff—“ you gagged around his fingers, tasting yourself.

tongue pushing against his sticky fingers.

“good girl.”

SUHO - cowgirl

there was a primal urge that possessed suho every time you climbed on top of him. his chest heaved up and down as you straddled his lap. you’ve done this many times, it almost felt routine. but for suho, each time felt like the first. a sort of excitement that never wore out no matter how many times you did it. he could never get enough of watching you hovering over him with your sly eyes, brows knitting in concentration.

suho thinks you look the most beautiful like this.

you swallowed, lining up his rock-hard cock to your entrance. the tremble in your hands didn’t go unnoticed by suho as he grabbed you by the hips, rubbing smooth circles to relax your nerves. it always worked.

“you got this, baby.” he cooed, impatience gnawing in his voice.

and once you’ve sunk yourself in, the feel of his length caused you to yelp. with his hands still on your hips, you slowly, steadily, began bouncing up and down on his shaft. your walls squeezed in on him greedily.

suho’s head fell back against the headboard of your shared bed. my wife’s so perfect he thought to himself, tightening his hold on you. moans left through your lips at the way his cock curved right up into your sweet spot, tip slamming into it over and over until you began to writhe. a low groan rumbled from suho, his mouth parted open as labored breathes filled the room. he helped you bounce up and down on him, thrusting his hips up tirelessly.

“s-suho!” you cried, smacking him on the chest.

“you like that, don’t you?” he smirked, grabbing a handful of your ass in this hands, squeezing on it as hard as he could.

“y-yeah.” you nodded frantically, picking up your pace.

“such a good girl,” he praised, moving a strand of you hair to tuck it behind your ear.

he pistoned upwards into you, working his own hips. taking a short glance up, he practically came right on the spot seeing the dazed look in your eyes as you rode him. he pulled you closer to him, kissing the crook of your neck hard enough to leave colored spots all over it. you whined, when he grabbed your ass to guide you up and down on him.

“oh, baby,” he breathed, “you’re clenching so hard i might just come.”

“d-do it.” you dared, losing your ability to form a coherent sentence.

he obliged, throwing his head back with a grumble, cock twitching inside your plush walls as he released his load inside of you.

“fuck—“ he gasped, “you’re so fucking good to me.”

he didn’t let himself relax and fall back after his orgasm, no. he continued to work his hips along with yours, grinding at the perfect angle until you began to dig your nails into him, an indicator that you were soon to break.

“suho—“ you stuttered, trying to grasp onto anything as the overwhelming pleasure traveled through your core, bubbling low in your stomach.

“shh, now it’s your turn.” he encouraged, plopping you upwards then downwards.

then you came with a cry. his favorite sound. a sound that he could hear forever and never get tired off.

your cunt twitched, milking his cock as he helped you ride out your high.

“atta girl.” he tapped your cheek, helping you fall onto your back next to him in the bed with a tired sigh, “you ready for round two? this time i’ll do all the work.”

“do you ever run out of stamina, suho?” you answered, feeling sleep weigh on your eyelids but the desire for him much stronger.

“nah.”

GOTAK - eating you out

gotak could get off just from being buried between your thighs for hours on end. he isn’t even stroking himself or anything, he’s simply working on pleasing you and somehow, for him, that’s enough. he loved every second that was spent working his tongue between your folds. feeling experimental, he tried everything, zizag motion, small circles, big circles, vacuum. name it.

your fingers combed through his raven hair, tugging at the roots with a desperation that screamed for more “gotak, i’m close.”

“hmff,” he latched his mouth away from your pussy to look up at you, “hold it in a little longer.”

with that, his mouth was back on your cunt, tongue swirling everywhere. cat-licking on your clit, causing you to jolt up into his mouth. a hum of satisfaction came from the man below you as he used his tongue to spell out his name on your clit.

G; you spasmed. O; his spit trickled down your center. T; his tongue lapped right where it made you see stars. A; your back arched off the bed. K; you cried out.

“i can’t hold it in anymore!” you panted, feeling as if there was ice cold water being poured all over you, “i’m gonna come!”

he gripped your thighs, ignoring your words, digging his tongue in all the sensitive places. each time you tried to run away from it, he pulled you back, teasing you until you cried and gave in to him.

“what did i tell you?” he spoke to your pussy, “i told you to be patient, didn’t i?”

“but—“ you wanted to just close your eyes and cum but gotak would stop each time you were close, edging you until you were shaking from frustration and need all at once.

it was sickening.

“tsk, no buts,” his voice vibrated through your cunt, “if you behave, i’ll let you come.”

“gotak!” you cried in protest when his lips were back to sucking and nibbling on your sensitive part.

you knew once he glared at you through his lashes that this would last forever if you didn’t oblige, so you laid there and took it obediently.

BAKU - thigh riding

“humin—“ you whined, rutting into his thigh.

“you can do it…” he assured, one hand playing with your tits while the other caressed the side of your face.

you were fully clothed, dressed in shorts and a t shirt yet, the lewd movements you were making on humin made you feel bare. naked and watched. he positioned you on his upper thigh, where it was the easiest for you to rub and grind your clit.

your hips moved languidly against him, feeling the desperate pressure building up. the layers of clothing held a barrier of sort, making you feel frustrated and aroused at the same time. you wondered what fucked up part of your brain made you enjoy this agonizing moment. feeling like a rabid animal in heat as you desperately fought for release. all humin did was bounce his legs, prodding at your clothed cunt until you were jutting down on him with desperate whimpers. begging for him to do something. anything.

usually humin would. he was a giver. he loved to give. especially to you. but seeing the neediness in your every move, you had awoken something in him. uh oh.

“humin, please,” you begged, not sure what for.

“hmm, you’re almost there, though,” he looked down, noticing the wet spot on his grey sweat pants from you, “keep going, i’ll help you if you can make yourself come doing this first.”

“you’re so mean!” tears pricked your vision, feeling small under his gaze.

“sorry, baby, but you just look so cute.” he smiled, kissing you on the cheek, “you make it hard.”

in fact, you did make it hard— his cock hard.

you groaned, rubbing yourself on him greedily until you felt that familiar coil in your stomach. one that made your eyes glue shut in concentration. you moaned, picking up the pace on his thighs. suddenly— your eyes flew open when humin began bouncing his thigh in a faster pace, making your sensitive clit twitch in your panties. soon, you’d fall off if you didn’t grip on him so you did, wrapping your arms around his neck in a tight embrace. it felt intimate as you held onto him for leverage.

pride filled up humin as his girl held onto him for dear life. climax nearing with every bounce and grind. then it finally came, the result of your hard work. your orgasm. it shuddered through your spine, exploding in your stomach. you gasped into humin’s neck, getting overwhelmed by the pleasure and his scent—all of it tangled together arousing you farther. the wetness in your panties felt sticky and lewd.

humin pulled away with an astonished look, “damn, that really got you off, babe.”

“shut up. you didn’t even help!” you whined, wiping away the stray tears from the corners of your eyes.

“i so did,” he defended, eyes warming from seeing you look exhausted, “how bout’ i make it up to you?”

“by doing what?” you asked.

he lifted you up and gently threw you onto the bed. you squeaked in surprise, giggling from the ticklish feeling of his fingers creeping up your thighs.

“by doing this.” he answered, greedily ripping your shorts and panties off.

JUNTAE - getting a handjob

it was always easy to get juntae all vulnerable like this. with your hands stroking his shaft, each pump causing him to stutter and cling to you. his eyes were rounded, glazed with tears from the sheer pressure. you had been at this for a while now, overstimulating juntae until he cried for you to stop. he knew, though, that he wanted more.

your hands moved up and down his length, wet from your spit lubricant. he was staring up at you. the only sounds coming from his mouth was gasps and whimpers.

“i-i’m gonna—“ he gasped at the sudden pick up of speed on his twitching cock.

“go on, finish your sentence.” your provocative eyes bore down on him, making him shrink smaller under your glare.

“gonna c-come!” he barely managed to get his words out, pathetically bucking into your fist to chase his release.

“cute.” you giggled, watching his red-faced expression.

he hastily thrusted into your hand, desperation causing him to spiral. your movements slowed every time he was close. teasing him.

frustration kicked him in the stomach but there was no escape from you. you’d drag him back and stroke him until all he could see was white and run out of words to speak. he stilled himself, hoping you’d go faster again.

once you did, he groaned. his face contorted in pleasure as you smirked down and jacked him off as rough as you could. juntae’s hands shot up to cling onto you as you fist-fucked his poor dick.

twitch

you smirked as white beads of cum erupted from his tip, leaking all over his sensitive cock.

“aw baby, you’re so cute.” you teased, thumbing his wet tip until he shuddered and twitched.

SEONGJE - blowjob

seongje is evil. pure evil.

he had you on your back, on the edge of the bed with your head tilted back at an uncomfortable angle, making it near impossible for you to breathe. regardless of that, he forced your mouth open, pushing the head of his cock past your lips with a low groan.

“that’s it.” he said, voice shaking from the wet and warm feeling of your mouth taking in his cock so obediently.

every movement he made had an intention, thrusting leisurely into your throat like it was his personal glory hole.

“you’re taking it like such a good slut.” he grinned, sly eyes observing the way you struggled to take his entire cock.

you gagged feeling his tip hit the back of your throat. a tear slipped from your eyes as you tried your best not to pass out. his balls tickling the tip of your nose.

arousal spilled between your thighs tasting him.

seongje chuckled as if he could tell you were wet and completely turned on getting used up like this.

“you like that, huh?” he asked, voice teasing and labored.

he threw his head back with a grin, throat bobbing as seongje swallowed hard. you wrapped and swirled your tongue around his cock, sucking on the tip. a guttural groan vibrated from his chest, shaking your core. you snapped your thighs together, turned on out of your mind.

seongje held your head in place with both hands against the edge of the bed so that you didn’t slip off, still pistoning his cock in your mouth mercilessly. you lolled— or at least tried to loll your tongue around his tip like a lollipop. pulling away with a ‘pop’ while seductively looking up at him.

like a hungry wolf, seongje snarled, teeth out and all, staring hungrily down at his helpless prey.

“fuck, sweetheart…” he watched the way his cock disappeared in and out of your pretty and swollen lips, “you’re so fucking hot.”

“hngfff—“ you choked, air scarce in your lungs from seongje’s animalistic thrusts.

your head hung loose. you felt like a toy. seongje’s toy. there wasn’t much for you to complain, though. this was exactly where you wanted to be.

“keep looking at me with those pretty eyes,” he panted, pleasure shooting through his veins.

he closed his eyes with a sigh of satisfaction, head thrown back as if he were taking in victory. seongje was close, he could cum any second especially when you looked up at him through you tear-lined lashes.

his eyes twitched, desire controlling his movements.

“shit—“ he chuckled breathlessly, taking hold of your head to slightly position it upwards.

you sobbed into his cock in response, unable to feel or see anything. either way, you worked your used-up mouth, pushing seongje to the very edge. he gasped, twitching embarrassingly.

a menacing laugh rumbled from within seongje’s chest as he watched you lose your mind. pathetically taking his length until it reached into the deepest part of your throat, making you choke and gag.

grinning like the sadist that he was, seongje fell silent, shuddering as he came all over your face. hot, white liquid painting your pretty face like a marking. you were his toy to play with. his to use.

you licked the stray droplets around your mouth like a thirsty cat, eyes glued on seongje. he watched you like a hawk, eyes wide like a maniac. he took his finger, gathering all the remaining cum from your chin to shove it into your mouth.

you whined, sucking his fingers with a hum. lashes fluttering like butterflies.

“you were made for me.” he whispered, lifting you up from the bed into his arms, “every part of you was made for me. only me. do you understand?”

“y-yes,” you nodded up at him, still recovering from the aftermath of getting whiplashed by his cock.

“good.” he said, a rare tender side of him emerging as he kissed your forehead while sitting you down on the bed.

your head throbbed, neck sore, and your lips puffy and wet with spit and seongje’s cum, yet, you enjoyed every second of suffering and pleasure.

BAEKJIN - backshots & spanking

slap slap slap

it was one of those days where baekjin came home agitated and moody. stressed from dealing with the union. the irritation tightened his stiff shoulders.

when he walked through the front steps of your shared-home, not giving you a second to even greet him. he shoved you against a wall, devouring you kiss after kiss, all teeth and tongue. his tongue latched onto your neck, leaving dark spots everywhere.

with hurried steps, he carried you to your bedroom with an urgency that screamed— demanded now!

frustration soaked every thrust into your gushing cunt. all you could do was shut up and take it. bent over with your ass up in the air. your back arched against baekjin’s hips as he pummeled into your sorry hole. muffled cries erupted from your lips, tears soaking the pillow.

baekjin shoved your face against the pillow. you couldn’t breathe nor make sense of anything other than the feel of baekjin’s tip punching your g-spot until all you could think about was him and his cock. in the mixture of pleasure and desire, he threw in harsh slaps to your ass.

over and over.

“b-baekjin— slow down,” you choked out, tears streaking your face that was mushed up into the pillow.

“can’t handle this?” you knew from his taunting voice that he raised a brow in amusement.

“p-please?” a sob broke out from your throat as you clawed the bedsheet for support.

spank

a harsh slap to your ass caused you to lift your head up and moan. the sharp pain stinging your raw skin. it all felt so wild and rough.

“keep begging and i just might,” he proposed, grabbing you by the hips to start pounding harder into you.

the slapping sound of his hip against yours filled up the bedroom. bed creaked loudly. the headboard banged against the wall.

you worried that the bed would give out and break from the sheer force of baekjin’s thrusts.

your lips wobbled, overwhelmed by the mixture of pain and pleasure. your mind swirled, between the line of consciousness and unconsciousness.

baekjin was vicious and demanding. if he wanted something, he would get it no matter what. his hands raised up, striking your ass with another painful spank.

in response, you moaned loudly. your walls clenching around him. a vice grip on his cock, luring him closer to his release.

“please please please!” desperation seemed evident in your shaky voice as baekjin slammed into your velvety walls.

“mhm, keep going.” he hummed, landing another spank to your surely bruised bum.

“baekjin!” you whined, walls clamming down against his length, clenching tight.

“this turns you on?” he scoffed seeing the way your body reacted to each slap, “what a masochist.”

he finally gave you what you wanted, happy with the way you complied so well. his hips slowed, thrusts becoming more measured and slow. you could feel every inch of him, his veins, and the curved angle of his cock nudging your insides.

“g-gosh— think i’m gonna—“ with another final blow to your ass with the palm of his hand; you came, body giving out.

your muscles felt taut with fatigue as baekjin fucked you through your climax.

he folllwed, coming deep inside of you, filling you to the brim. he groaned, his palms soothing out the red hand prints on your ass. his cold demeanor turned warm, massaging your shoulders. gently, he turned you to face him, laying you flat against his bare chest.

“here, get under the covers,” he kissed your cheek, pulling the covers over your nude bodies, pressing himself against you, “get some rest, now.”

[neilissevered]

hi!! I was wondering if you could pls write a fanfic of sieun x reader pls, where he randomly snaps at her and says something hurtful, and then the reader leaves but gets captured by the union guys and sieun regrets what he said, could it please be angst to eventual fluff please, thank you 🤍

ˋ°•*⁀➷ ALL I NEED

He never said the words, but you felt them—in the way he showed up, hands trembling, heart breaking, and in the way he kissed you like a promise he was finally ready to keep. Full fic, whc2, established relationship, hurt/comfort, reader gets kidnapped by the union, they make out in the end This can be a part 2 to SCARS AND SOUVENIRS but it can be read as a stand-alone fic Yeon Si-eun x gn! reader wc: 5k+ tw: depictions of violence, death threats, and kidnapping masterlist

“Si-eun, do you want to grab some food before we go home?”

Your voice was soft, casual, but laced with something warmer—something more intentional.

You barely glanced up from your phone as you spoke, lazily checking the time. The final bell had rung ten minutes ago. Most of the class had already filtered out, their chatter echoing faintly down the hallway as backpacks zipped and chairs scraped across the floor.

It was the first day at Eunjang High.

Orientation day. Which basically translates to: show up, get your name called, then sit around doing absolutely nothing.

And yet—there he was.

Yeon Si-eun, still hunched over his desk, furiously scribbling equations like he was trying to earn early admission to university. The late afternoon sun spilled across his notebook, casting warm stripes across the paper and his too-pale skin. You blinked at the sight of it. He looked almost sepia-toned, like a photo too old for this classroom.

You’d already packed up your things. Your bag hung loosely off your shoulder as you moved to the desk behind his, dropping onto the surface with a soft thud.

“Seriously?” you muttered, half to yourself. “You do know this is the part where people go home, right?” You tried to tease, it usually works.

But he didn’t look up. He didn’t laugh. He didn’t even grunt in acknowledgment. His pen scratched across the page like he was trying to outrun something…his own mind, maybe. You watched him for a moment, lips pressing into a line.

He wasn’t enjoying this school. That much was obvious. The students were loud, nosy, and way too touchy for someone like him. So far, you’d both stuck to yourselves. A team of two. Silent solidarity.

But even teammates needed breaks.

You slid off the desk and stepped around to the front of his. He still hadn’t looked up. Your eyes softened as you took in the tense slope of his shoulders, the tight set of his jaw.

Without a word, you reached out and gently placed your hand over his—his non-writing one. You felt the subtle twitch beneath your palm, but he didn’t pull away. That, at least, was something.

“Si-eun,” you said, gently, “you need a break. We can continue this at your apartment, okay? Loosen up a little. It’s day one. We don’t eve—”

“I’m not hungry.”

His voice cut through the warmth like ice. Low. Dismissive. Sharper than it needed to be.

You blinked, caught off guard.

He never used that tone with you.

Slowly, your eyes found his face, but he still wouldn’t meet yours. Just kept staring at the numbers in front of him like they offered him an escape hatch.

You didn’t let go of his hand. If anything, your fingers curled a little tighter around his.

“You haven’t eaten properly in days.”

That’s when he snapped.

“Stop watching me like I’m going to break.”

His voice wasn’t loud. But it landed like a punch.

“I’m fine,” he said, more forcefully now. “I don’t need you monitoring me every second.”

The sting hit quickly, but clean. You didn’t flinch. You just stared down at him, the lines of your expression softening—not in hurt, but in understanding. Like you were watching a wounded animal bare its teeth to hide a limp. The transition to the new school was hard, which is why you made sure you planted yourself beside Si-eun at all times.

Both of you cared deeply for each other.

“…Okay,” you said quietly. 

Your fingers slipped from his. No dramatics. No accusations.

Just a quiet release.

You turned away and began to gather your things—slowly, methodically. As if giving him time to regret the words, though you knew he probably wouldn’t. Not yet.

“I’ll give you space, then,” you murmured, offering him a tired smile he never looked up to see.

And then you left.

No slamming door. No final look over your shoulder. Just your fading footsteps and the soft creak of the classroom door sliding close behind you.

And silence.

The silence lingered, thick and unmoving, settling into Si-eun’s chest like a lead weight he hadn’t realized he was already carrying. He stared at the door long after you left, your absence ringing louder than your voice ever did. He didn’t mean to snap. Not really. The words had come out before he could stop them—sharp, defensive, unkind. And now they echoed back at him like guilt in disguise.

He’d been on edge for days. Tense in his own skin, sleep slipping through his fingers like sand. You didn’t know why, and he didn’t want you to. He thought you both left all that behind—the bruises, the blood, threats of gangs in the halls.

But this school was no fresh start. If anything, it was a reminder. Eunjang High had long been a target. And now that the two of you had transferred in, people were watching. Waiting.

And Si-eun hated that.

He hated that you were being pulled into it again. That you were tied to his side like gravity. That every time you stood beside him—offering warmth, concern, loyalty—it painted a bigger bullseye on your back. You, always looking out for him. You, reaching for his hand even when he didn’t deserve it.

The thought that you might get hurt just for being close to him made something twist in his gut. And instead of protecting you, he pushed you away.

Again.

A few days had passed since that afternoon, and Si-eun was starting to realize just how much he hated how easy you were with him.

Not careless. Not naive. Just... forgiving. Too forgiving, maybe.

You didn’t argue. Didn’t demand a reason. You didn’t even raise your voice when he snapped. You simply accepted the distance like it was something natural, like you expected it from him. And that quiet understanding twisted something deep inside his chest.

He could still see you, always near, but just far enough.

You hadn’t disappeared. You still showed up to class, still passed by him in the halls. Still offered soft nods when your eyes met his, but your smile never quite reached your eyes anymore. You didn’t sit beside him. You stared out the window during lessons like you were somewhere else entirely. Your laughter, once a steady rhythm in his day, was gone. Swallowed by the silence he created.

And yet...

You waited.

Not obviously. Not desperately. But in the way you lingered a second longer when you passed by. In the way your gaze would flick toward the empty seat beside you before looking away. How you still brought an extra snack with you, placing it quietly on the corner of your desk, untouched until the bell rang.

As if holding onto the hope that maybe, just maybe, he’d take the seat next to you again.

You waited for him, even when he pushed you away.

And he didn’t know how to deal with that. Because you should’ve given up by now. Should’ve called him out, told him he was being cruel. But you didn’t

You were still you. Just... quieter now.

Si-eun hated it.

He missed your voice, your strange, unexpected questions. Missed your reckless midnight knocks on his door, the way you'd laugh as you fell onto his couch like it was yours. Most of all, he missed how alive things felt when you were close.

But more than anything, he hated that you made him feel like he was still worth waiting for. Even when he didn’t believe it himself.

He knew he wasn’t good with words. Your relationship had always lived in the quiet gestures. In the way you’d bring him snacks without asking, or how he’d automatically move to your side when you walked down a crowded hall.

Neither of you ever needed a confession to understand what you meant to each other.

Maybe that was why he never said anything when you stayed over at his apartment that night. Why he just held you in the dark, his fingers tracing soft, silent shapes across your back. Promises he couldn’t say aloud, but hoped you felt anyway.

He thought that was enough.

Now, he wasn’t so sure.

So here he was.

In his small kitchen, standing stiffly like a malfunctioning robot, facing an open bento box like it was about to judge him and his instant noodles cooking skills.

His phone was propped up against a mug, playing a YouTube tutorial titled “Adorable Bento Box Ideas That’ll Melt Hearts 💕”. The woman’s voice chirped instructions with impossible cheer, and Si-eun was trying his best not to throw the rice at the wall.

This had been his plan. His brilliant plan: make your favorite food, pack it cutely, and show up with an apology in the form of edible sincerity because knowing what you liked was the easy part.

Actually making it?

Not so much.

He’d woken up ridiculously early—before sunrise. His kitchen now looked like a battlefield. Rice grains stuck to his elbow. A carrot shaped like a heart had somehow ended up on the ceiling. At one point, he was seriously considering using tweezers to adjust the angle of the tamagoyaki.

He also made sure his mom and dad were already gone because he wouldn’t live another day if they found him cutting up sausages in the form of a tiny squid.

It had taken him over two hours to cook everything and another thirty painstaking minutes to assemble it all, hunched over the bento like he was defusing a bomb.

Each part was placed with surgical precision. He was so focused that he didn’t even realize he was holding his breath until the final cherry tomato was set in place.

He stepped back and stared at it.

It was… actually kind of cute.

Embarrassingly cute.

There were little food dividers and a bunny-shaped onigiri that looked vaguely judgmental, but—it was done. He wrapped the box in a cloth the color of your favorite hoodie and held it up, inspecting it like he had just handcrafted an engagement ring.

He was embarrassed. He was nervous. His hands smelled like soy sauce and regret.

But at the very least, it was his way of saying: I’m sorry. You matter to me. Please don’t leave.

“…If you don’t like this,” he muttered to himself, glaring at the rabbit-shaped rice, “I’m never cooking again.” He doesn’t mind retaking the CSATs over and over again, and he would honestly choose that over assembling another Bento box.

The rabbit offered no encouragement.

With what little time he had left, Si-eun threw on his uniform, still mentally reciting the bento checklist as he slipped the lunchbox into his bag. His heart sat awkwardly in his chest—heavy, nervous, hopeful. You’re going to like it, he told himself. Hopefully.

What was that saying again? The way to someone’s heart is through their stomach. It was clinging to it like it was gospel.

Once he got to school, he tried to act normal. Calm. Composed.

He failed miserably.

He kept glancing at the classroom door every time it opened, eyes flicking up with that small hope—maybe that’s you. But every time, it wasn’t. And with each passing minute, his focus cracked a little more. The textbook in front of him might as well have been blank. All he could think about was you. And what he’d say when you finally walked in.

Words weren’t really his thing. He knew that. But he was trying—especially with you. He figured if he couldn’t say everything, he could at least show it.

That bento box was his apology in full color. His awkward, hand-packed declaration that he was sorry for pushing you away. That you mattered more than he could say out loud.

The first week at Eunjang had been hell for him.

But he waited.

And waited.

The teacher had already started the lesson, and your seat was still empty. He told himself you were just late. Slept in, maybe. Took a detour. That was all.

By lunch, the nerves had curdled into something heavier—concern.

The bento had gone cold. He hadn’t touched it. It just sat on the edge of his desk, untouched and painfully neat, like it was mocking him. He checked his phone again.

Five messages. Two missed calls.

Nothing back.

And that wasn’t like you. Not at all.

You always replied—sometimes even before he hit “send.” You’d once told him you liked when he messaged first, that it made your heart race a little. But now?

Radio silence.

No typing bubble. No read receipts. No trace of you.

And that was when the worry turned into dread.

Something was wrong, and Si-eun knew it.

He didn’t hesitate.

His chair scraped loudly against the floor as he shoved it back, grabbing his bag with a sudden urgency that made heads turn. The teacher barely got out a concerned “Si-eun?” before he was already halfway out the door, not even sparing her a glance.

He didn’t care. Something was wrong.

He could feel it in his chest, tight and coiling like wire. His instincts were screaming, and he didn’t waste a second arguing with them. What if something had happened to you? What if his silence, his stubbornness, had cost him something he couldn’t fix?

He was already running before his mind could catch up with his legs. His bag bounced painfully against his shoulder, breath shallow as he tore through the school gates and down the familiar streets.

You always walked this way. This was your route. He scanned every corner, every alley, every crosswalk like he expected to see you just… standing there. Waiting.

But you weren’t.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. He yanked it out with shaky fingers—only to find an email notification. Not you. Not even close.

He kept running.

A thousand thoughts slammed into him at once. Maybe you’re sick. Maybe you forgot your phone. Maybe you’re just mad at him and avoiding him. Maybe you’re fine—

But no. No, it wasn’t just silence.

It was the wrong kind of silence.

By the time he reached your building, his shirt clung to his back with sweat. His pulse thundered in his ears. He took the stairs two at a time until he finally stood in front of your door—panting, eyes wide, heart clawing up his throat.

He raised his hand to knock.

But stopped.

The door… it was ajar. Barely.

His stomach dropped.

He called out your name, voice tight with fear, already knowing you wouldn’t answer.

He pushed the door open.

The air was too still. Too quiet. And your apartment—

Wrecked.

Not ransacked—but wrong. Your things were still here, scattered across the floor like there’d been a struggle. Couch cushions tossed, your bag overturned, books torn from shelves. It looked rushed. Violent.

He called out your name again, louder now, not caring if his voice cracked. Desperation and anxiety seeped into every word, his tone trembling with a frantic edge. He needed to see you, to find you anywhere.

His footsteps pounded over debris as his eyes darted wildly through each room. Bedroom—empty, eerily silent. Bathroom—no sign of you, just cold emptiness. Closet—open and untouched, as if waiting. 

His breathing grew ragged, each inhale sharp and desperate. His throat constricted, the feeling of suffocation closing in like a vice.

Where were you?

What did they do to you?

He was sweating now, not from running, but from the sheer panic washing over him in waves. Every second felt like it was slipping through his fingers. His chest ached with the weight of a thousand what-ifs. This was his fault. If you were gone…if they took you—he—

Something in the air shifted.

A smell.

Faint… but sharp.

Smoke but not fire.

Cigarettes.

His stomach twisted as he followed it through the mess and into the dining area, where the smell was strongest.

There, on the table.

Two cigarette butts in an ashtray. One was already snuffed out. The other was still burning, smoke curling lazily into the air like a signature left behind.

Next to it was a torn scrap of paper. The edges were jagged, like it had been ripped from a notebook in a hurry. Scrawled across in messy, ink-blotted handwriting—

An address.

Si-eun’s hands trembled as he picked it up. The paper felt heavier than it should’ve. Like it was soaked in everything he feared.

They’d left it on purpose.

This wasn’t just a warning.

It was a message.

And he ran like hell.

Si-eun didn’t think—he couldn’t think.

The city blurred around him as he sprinted through alleyways and across intersections, ignoring horns, ignoring people shouting at him when he nearly collided into them. All he saw was that address. All he heard was the pounding of his own heart, louder than his footsteps, louder than the sickening silence of your absence.

When he reached the building, his breath hitched.

A warehouse—old, decaying, half its walls covered in flaking paint and rust. The chain-link fence around it sagged in places, barely holding up. It looked like it had been forgotten by time, but clearly, someone was still using it.

He could hear them before he even touched the door.

“Oh? I think loverboy’s finally here.”

A low laugh followed, thick with mockery and smoke.

Si-eun didn’t hesitate. He pushed the metal doors open so hard they groaned against their hinges, the sound sharp and jarring in the stillness of night.

Inside, the air was heavy with smoke and sweat and something worse—fear.

Two guys stood in the middle of the warehouse, cigarettes dangling from their lips like sneers. But all Si-eun saw was you.

You were on the ground.

Tied up.

Trembling like a cornered animal.

Your body was slumped, sweat dripping from your temple, your clothes stained with dirt and the grime of the concrete floor. A bruise—deep and angry—wrapped around your arm like a mark of violence, evidence of how roughly you’d been dragged here. You looked exhausted. Shaken.

But when your eyes found Si-eun, they lit up—not with hope exactly, but with something stronger.

Bravery.

Even in that state, even with your body shaking, your gaze held fire. Defiance. You had fought.

And the proof was all over them.

One of the guys had three red slashes down his forearm, still bleeding. The other kept flexing his jaw like it had been hit. Blood was caked beneath your fingernails, dried and cracking. You hadn’t made it easy for them. You refused to be just another victim.

“Damn,” the first one muttered, shaking out his wrist. “Fucker scratches like a damn wildcat.”

The other exhaled smoke through his nostrils, smirking at Si-eun.

“Yo, Yeon Si-eun!” he called, voice oily. “You ever teach your little lover some manners?”

They laughed again—low, grating, like nails on a chalkboard.

And all the while, they still smoked. The warehouse reeked of it. The stench clung to the air like poison. And every time they leaned in too close to your face, you flinched, recoiling like it physically hurt to breathe the same air as them.

Si-eun saw red.

His fists clenched at his sides, nails digging into his palms. Every cell in his body screamed to move, to destroy, to tear them apart for what they’d done to you, for every bruise, every tear, every second you spent afraid and alone.

He stepped forward, slow and controlled, but his eyes were deadly.

“You made a mistake,” he said, voice low.

The taller thug scoffed, cracking his knuckles.

“Yeah? And what’re you gonna do about it?” 

Si-eun didn’t answer.

“You fucking mute?” One of them spat then suddenly—

One of them grabbed you.

Si-eun tensed.

Rough fingers tangled into your hair, yanking you up from the ground.

You screamed—not loud, not panicked, but sharp with pain. Your knees scraped along the concrete floor as the man dragged you forward like a ragdoll, forcing you upright. Your eyes met Si-eun’s, wide and desperate, your lips trembling as your bound hands tried in vain to brace yourself.

“Move again, and I’ll slit their damn throat right here,” the thug growled, pressing a bruised knuckle under your chin like a threat. You flinched. Si-eun’s body was frozen, but his eyes sharpened, calculating everything. Distance. Angles. Open hands. Breathing patterns.

“Oh, that got your attention,” the guy sneered. “You’re not that smart after all. This one’s gonna die because of you. That’s what you get for playing hero.”

Si-eun stepped forward.

“Let. Go.”

His voice didn’t shake. It was quiet and measured.

And suddenly, Si-eun moved.

No words. No hesitation.

His eyes had already scanned the room—the layout, the scattered crates, the exits, and most importantly, the distance between himself and them. His breathing slowed. He stepped lightly, measured, like a wire pulled taut but not yet snapped.

The taller one came at him first, cocky and sluggish—telegraphed. He shouted and rushed in, cigarette still dangling from his mouth.

A mistake.

Si-eun ducked under the wild swing, pivoting sharply on his heel, and drove his elbow straight into the guy’s solar plexus with brutal precision. The man doubled over with a choked grunt.

Si-eun didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the back of his head and slammed it down into his rising knee.

Once. Twice.

The guy crumpled like paper.

The second guy tossed you away, letting go of your hair, and reached for a metal pipe nearby, grabbing it with a grin.

“Let’s see how smart you are with your brains scattered all over the floor!”

He charged.

Si-eun grabbed a nearby broken chair leg from the ground.

They clashed.

Steel against wood. Splinters flew. The pipe clipped Si-eun’s shoulder, but he sidestepped, used the momentum against the guy, and kicked the side of his knee.

A sickening crack echoed.

The man screamed, stumbling—but Si-eun was already moving, crouching low and swinging the chair leg up, hard, across his jaw. The pipe clattered to the ground. Blood followed.

The man dropped.

Si-eun stood over him, chest heaving, the makeshift weapon still in his hand. The entire fight had taken maybe twenty seconds.

And now, silence.

The kind that rang too loudly in the aftermath.

Si-eun’s breath came out in shallow bursts, chest rising and falling as his adrenaline began to crash. But the second his eyes landed on you, everything else vanished—blood, bruises, pain—it all dulled beneath the sight of you curled on the cold floor, wrists bound, trembling, but alive.

He dropped to his knees beside you without hesitation.

Fingers shaking, bloodied knuckles scraping against the rope, he began untying the knots with silent urgency. You flinched when he brushed against your skin, but you didn’t pull away. Neither did he. His hands trembled more than yours did.

He was bruised—busted lip, a cut above his brow, his school shirt torn at the shoulder—but none of it mattered. Not to him. Not now.

Because you were here.

Alive.

And as soon as the last rope fell from your wrist, his thumbs moved instinctively to trace the angry marks the bindings left behind—his touch light, careful, reverent. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, wide with guilt, with something like disbelief. Like he wasn’t sure you were real, like he’d been holding his breath for days and finally just remembered how to exhale.

He whispered your name, like a prayer, like a plea, voice raw.

You didn’t let him finish.

“I know,” you said softly, hands reaching for him—one cupping his bruised cheek, the other tangling in his hair to bring him closer.

His lips parted. “I’m sor—”

“I know, Si-eun,” you repeated, firmer this time, but still gentle. “It’s okay.”

You leaned in, pressing your forehead to his, and the world finally stilled.

There were no more voices. No footsteps. No fire alarms in his chest. Just this—your foreheads pressed together, breath mingling, his hands cradling your arms, your touch cradling his heart. He closed his eyes, let his breathing slow until it matched yours. Steady. Real.

The tremble in his hands faded.

A long, quiet moment passed. Then, finally, he pulled back just enough to whisper, “Let’s go.”

You nodded.

He helped you to your feet, arm sliding carefully around your waist to steady you—but really, he just needed to keep holding you. Maybe to convince himself he hadn’t lost you. Maybe because, after everything, he finally understood he didn’t want to let you go.

And you let him.

The walk back to Si-eun’s apartment was quiet but not the heavy kind weighed down by tension, but the kind that felt like exhaling after being underwater too long. Each step together steadied your breath. Each glance exchanged without words said, a reassurance: You’re safe now. We’re safe now.

When he told you to stay with him for a while, you didn’t question it. Your place was a mess…trashed, torn apart, haunted by what had happened. It would take time to fix, and you didn’t want to be alone. So you just nodded. A small, quiet part of you even felt something like warmth stir in your chest at the thought of being near him again and this time, without silence hanging between you.

Now, here you were.

Si-eun sat in his desk chair, shirt sleeves rolled up, jaw set but not in his usual, guarded way. He was still. Almost calm. The first-aid kit lay open across the table beside you, its contents half-used, wrappers and gauze scattered like the remains of battle. You hovered in front of him, focused on his bruised and bloodied hands.

Your own injuries were minor—scrapes, bruises, things that would fade. But his… his told a story. You could see it in every split knuckle and raw cut: he hadn’t held back.

You dipped a clean towel in warm water and gently pressed it to the dried blood on his hand, dabbing carefully. He didn’t flinch—but you felt the way his fingers twitched beneath your touch.

Neither of you spoke.

The only sounds were the quiet hum of the desk lamp, the soft clink of the glass bottle of disinfectant, and your breath, steady and focused, like treating him was the only thing anchoring you to the present.

But Si-eun?

He wasn’t looking at the cuts or the gauze. He was looking at you.

The soft glow of the lamp painted you in gold. Your eyes furrowed in concentration, your lips slightly parted as you worked in silence. And somehow, the sight of you like this—so gentle, so here—made it easier to forget the sting of the alcohol on his open wounds.

You moved on to the deeper gash on his shoulder where the pipe had caught him. You reached for the antiseptic and paused, eyes flicking to his.

“This’ll sting,” you warned quietly.

He didn’t move. Didn’t even blink.

“I don’t mind,” he murmured.

And he meant it.

As long as it was your hands that held him.

Comfortable silence then settled between you two and then—

“Thank you,” he murmured suddenly.

You paused, hands still over the bandage. “For what?”

“For… waiting.” His voice was low. Rough. “Even when I pushed you away. You didn’t give up on me.”

You looked at him then. Really looked.

There was something in his expression that you rarely saw—guilt and gratitude, both bleeding through the soft lines of his face. His shoulders had dropped slightly, no longer held in the usual stiff tension. He wasn’t looking away anymore. He was letting you see him.

You smiled, small but sure. “I knew you’d come back.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed, gaze dropping to your hands before flicking back up. “I didn’t think I deserved it.”

You moved closer without thinking, hands still resting lightly on his bandaged arm. “You don’t have to deserve me, Si-eun,” you said quietly. “You just have to let me stay.”

Something cracked behind his eyes. You didn’t need to hear the words to know he was saying yes. You already knew.

So you leaned in—soft, slow, and certain and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Not desperate. Not rushed. Just a quiet promise, folded between healing and the steady hum of light.

When you pulled back, his eyes were still closed for a moment. Then they opened, softer than you’d ever seen.

Then, as if suddenly remembering, Si-eun shifted. He leaned down, reaching beneath his desk to retrieve the bag he’d tossed aside earlier in all the panic.

From it, he pulled out the carefully wrapped bento box—its once-warm contents now cooled, a little out of place in the middle of the tender quiet between you. He stared at it for a second, lips parting slightly as if debating whether or not to give it to you.

It had gone cold. Maybe even a little stale. But it was still yours.

Or… he could just make another one. One that was warm. Perfect. Deserving.

“I was supposed to give you this earlier,” he said finally, placing it gently on his table like something fragile. Something precious.

You blinked, surprised. “Hm?”

He motioned toward the wrapped cloth. “Open it.”

You did. Carefully unwrapping it, your breath caught when the bento box came into view. Each part of the meal was neatly arranged—almost painfully meticulous. It was your favorite food. And though it had shifted slightly out of place, the effort still shone through: the little animal shapes, the colors, the thoughtfulness stitched into every grain of rice.

“…Si-eun,” you breathed, gaze flicking up to him, eyes wide with both awe and disbelief. “Did you make this?”

He scratched the back of his neck, ears burning red. “I followed a tutorial..but, yes.”

You stared at him. Then stared back at the food. Then back at him again.

Si-eun,” you repeated, this time in a tone that made him shift in his seat nervously. “I want to kiss you so hard that you’ll forget your name.”

He blinked.

Then let out a soft, breathy laugh—half disbelief, half relief. The tension cracked like glass between you, and the corners of his mouth tugged up in that rare, boyish smile you loved too much.

“Does that mean you like it?”

“Well, I can do more than kiss,” You teased while winking at him playfully. Already, you were lifting the chopsticks he included. “This is the best thing anyone’s made for me. Ever.”

“Wait—let me heat it for you—“

You quickly took a bite, not caring if the food had gone cold. It was still delicious and you showed your approval by dramatically humming.

Si-eun looked away, biting back a smile so big it made the cut on his lip sting. But he didn’t care. You were eating. You were smiling. And you were here.

Maybe that was enough.

“Oh my gosh—this is reallyyyy good,” you said between bites, savoring every piece like it was heaven-sent.

“Don’t talk while your mouth’s full,” Si-eun muttered, though his eyes betrayed him, watching you with that quiet fondness he never quite knew how to hide around you.

You looked up at him, grinning as you chewed. “Hmm… what can I do to repay my hero?”

He opened his mouth, about to insist he didn’t need anything. He never did, not from you—but then something flickered behind his eyes. A boldness rare and sudden.

“…Maybe that kiss?”

You paused for only a beat, then gently set the chopsticks aside. “Say less.”

In one swift, fluid motion, you leaned in—hands pressing lightly against his chest as you closed the distance. His hands found your waist like they were made for that space, holding you steady. Your breath mingled for just a second.

And then you kissed him.

It started slow, soft, his lips careful, almost reverent against yours. But the moment you deepened it, threading your fingers into the fabric of his shirt, he matched you—mouth parting, breath catching, body drawing nearer like gravity had taken over.

He exhaled shakily against your lips, one hand sliding up your back to cradle the nape of your neck, fingers threading through your hair as if grounding himself. The kiss turned heavier, lingering. More emotion than either of you had ever said aloud. Every tilt of his head, every pull of your body against his, told you exactly what he felt—what he couldn’t bring himself to say.

When you finally pulled away, lips still brushing, your foreheads pressed together, breath mingling in the warm quiet.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t have to.

You smiled softly, fingers grazing his jaw. “You forgot your name yet?”

Si-eun’s lips curved, just slightly. “No.”

You leaned in again—another kiss, gentler this time. A promise wrapped in warmth.

And as the soft hum of the night settled around you, you stayed close. Not quite speaking. Just breathing, kissing, laughing into each other’s skin, the weight of the past days slipping off your shoulders like shed armor.

The rest of the world could wait.

For now, it was just you and him—and the quiet, golden glow of something finally blooming.

an: Thank you for reading until the end!! I love Si-eun so muchh broo he’s so fine shyt 😭 comments and feedbacks are always appreciated!!

[hannie-berrie]

Courtside Confessions 🏀❤️

18+ Minors DNI

Pairing: Hoomin (Baku) X F reader

Genre: smut, protected sex, college, semi public, school’s changing room, cocky but romantic Hoomin wants you hihi

Warnings: semi public sex

wc: Around 3.2k ?

Disclaimer: I made this for a friend (YAYYY) thanks to my pookie who’s reading this, ya know who you are! For other readers, sorry my first language isn’t English, so please excuse any mistakes I make or weird sentence structures I might’ve made!!

It was one of those golden evenings where the air in the gym practically filled with anticipation. The stands were full, the music was loud, and every time Hoomin touched the ball, the crowd went wild.

He wasn’t just good at basketball, he lived for the crowd’s cheers. Every spin move, every no-look pass, every high five with his teammates was a performance.

The grin on his face practically gleamed under the gym lights. The confidence? Off the charts. The cockiness? Absolutely earned. The attention? He was soaked and could almost drown with it.

But still, even in the middle of the game, his eyes searched the bleachers until they found you. He’s kinda like an idol, everyone swears they’ve made eye contact with him, or swear they caught his attention.

You were already looking at him, holding up a sign you’d made just to mess with him. Big bold letters: “Try not not get hit by the ball, big head” You blew him a sarcastic kiss.

He laughed mid-play, actually missed a pass because of it, and got elbowed in the ribs by a teammate.

Worth it.

After the game, everyone surrounded him, teachers, friends, total strangers. A lot of girls of all grades jumping in the crowd, hoping to get an interaction with him. But he weaved through the chaos like he always did, looking for you like a magnet.

You were waiting in the hallway just outside the locker room, leaning against the cool brick wall like you had all the time in the world.

“Look who it is,” you hiss as he approached, gym bag thrown over one shoulder and sweat still shining on his neck and forehead. “I noticed you missed a bunch of shots, wonder why the crowd still applauds you” you joke

Hoomin gave you that signature smirk. “Are you jealous of all the attention I get, or just mad I didn’t wink at you mid throw?”

“Your ego is so fambloyant I thought it was the sunlight hitting me through the window” you retorted, but you were already smiling.

He stepped closer, invading your space just enough to make your heart skip. He said, voice low. “You always keep your eyes on me.”

That earned him an eye roll, which he clearly loved. You tried to play it cool, but the warmth radiating off him was too hard to ignore.

Especially when he leaned one arm above your head against the wall as if there wasn’t plenty of room next to you to lay against the wall. His head tilting enough trying to make you nervous.

It was always like this with Hoomin. A constant flirtatious energy in the air, playful but electric. He flirted with everyone, but when he flirted with you, it felt personal. Or maybe that’s what each of them felt like.. maybe you were just as delusional as all the others.

You both stood there, close enough to feel the heat between you, the hallway quiet like the calm after the storm. He glanced down at your lips, then back at your eyes.

“You keep playing games,” he starts, “but every time you show up to my games, sit in the front row, wear my number… I know you’re not just messing around.”

You puffed just slightly. “Maybe I like watching you.”

“Yeah?” he asked still out of breath, eyes not leaving yours “What else do you like?”

You didn’t answer right away. Your heart pumped hard in your chest as you stared at him, his loud breath only sounded more serious. He wasn’t just being cocky anymore, he was being real.

“I like it when you’re not trying to impress everyone,” you said quietly, finally breaking eye contact from the pressure. “When you’re just… this version of you. With me.”

His breath caught.

“God, you make it hard to keep my cool,” he muttered, suddenly reaching up to push a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers brushed your cheek, warm and slow.

You felt your whole body tense at the intimacy of it, your usual witty retort completely gone.

“I like it when you mess with me,” he added. “But I love it when you look at me like that.”

“Like what?” you asked, genuinely curious, your voice smaller, vulnerable.

“Like you see past all of it.” He gazed from your left eye to your right, like it was the entry to your soul.

The air between you was different now. Hoomin leaned in, close enough that his lips grazed your cheekbone. “I could kiss you right now,” he whispered, his voice shaky.

You swallowed hard. “You’re all sweaty.”

He laughed, warm and throaty. “You like it.”

Maybe you did. You didn’t answer.

His hand dropped to your waist, fingers brushing over your shirt lightly, almost testing you. You shivered instantly, trying not to show it but the smirk that spread across his face told you he noticed.

“Come with me,” he said, tugging your hand gently. “Locker room’s empty now.”

You raised a brow. “You’re inviting me into a sweaty locker room? How romantic.”

He leaned in close again. “I’ll make it worth your time.”

Your heartbeat quickened. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of how flustered you were, but the truth was, you wanted to follow him.

Even though you always teased him.

Even though you claimed you weren’t impressed.

Because this wasn’t just the cocky basketball star anymore. This was Hoomin, with his ridiculous grin and his stupidly perfect smile and his rare, unguarded moments that made you melt.

And when he looked at you like that, like you were the center of his universe, it was hard not to give in.

So you followed him.

And for once, you didn’t feel like messing with him at all. He couldn’t believe how easily you’d listen to him without making little comments.

Hoomin had half the school wrapped around his finger most days, flirting came as easy as breathing.

But with you? Every comeback you gave him, every playful joke, every little smirk you gave him, it knocked him off his game in ways a basketball couldn’t match.

The locker room was quiet, dim except for the faint overhead light humming above the rows of lockers. He dropped his bag with a loud sound and turned to you, taking in the way your eyes scanned the space, curious, but you also felt out of place, this is a boy’s restroom.. pretty much.

“You know,” his cocky tone softened, “You’re the reason I missed so many shots” he dried his face with a towel

You tilted your head. “Why’s that?”

He was hesitant, not his usual kind. He almost looked.. shaken up? Vulnerable even. “You make jt hard to focus” He was only more and more confusing. He’s far from the type to beat around the bush but it’s like he was hiding the craziest secret from you right now.

He just closed the gap between you, one hand finding the small of your back, the other rising to cup your jaw. His thumb brushed your cheek as he leaned in suddenly, slow, sincere, and soft, giving you every chance to pull away.

Your eyes widened, the sudden gesture making your body warmer than it already was. But you didn’t pull away.

The kiss started soft. Testing the waters. Plump lips pressed against yours with focus, like he was memorizing how you tasted. But then your hand fisted in his shirt, and that was it, he deepened the kiss, lips parting, breath unbeat with yours as he pulled you in tighter.

Everything slowed down.

He felt the way you sighed against his mouth, the way your hands moved from his shirt to his waist, gripping lightly like you didn’t want him going anywhere.

He wouldn’t have even if you asked him to.

When he pulled back, just a little, he rested his forehead against yours. Both of you breathing harder now, caught in the moment. Looking at your pretty zoned out face from up close.

“God, you drive me insane,” he murmured. “You always act like I don’t faze you, but then you’re looking at me like that and I—” he broke off, laughing softly. “You make me so uncertain, like no other”

That look, vulnerable, wide-eyed with uncertainty but hope he gave you? It was lethal.

“I make you uncertain?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“I’m scared of making mistakes when it comes to you” he said without hesitation.

And then, because he couldn’t help it, he kissed you again. This time, slower. Deeper. Your hands slipped around of his boxer line, fingers brushing over the warm skin of his back. His breath hit against your lips.

“Careful,” he murmured, smiling into the kiss. “If you doing that, I won’t be able to let you leave for a while.”

You giggled, you actually did. And that did something to him he didn’t expect. Not lust. Not hunger. He looked at your smile in admiration, trying to print the image in his mind like you were going to dissipate into thin air the next second.

You could feel the tension in his muscles, still buzzing from the game, and he could feel your heartbeat, fast, just like his.

“You’re not just a game to me, you know that, right?”

You nodded, “Yeah. I know.”

You laughed at him a little, “Who knew the cocky basketball star had a soft side?”

He grinned. “Shut up and kiss me again.”

And for the first time in a long time, the noise in Hoomin’s world faded, and all that was left was you.

He may say he doesn’t want to play with you, but gosh did he kiss like he played, confident, fast paced like he did this many times before, but full of passion and something close to affection.

Your fingers drawing little circles on his back his his boxer line again, and your hands slid underneath the fabric.

“You like messing with me,” he said between kisses, lips brushing along your jaw, your throat, down to your collarbone. “But you’re all flustered now, huh?” He loved to tease you more than anything in this world.

You tried to respond, but you held your breath as his teeth grazed your skin.

“Mmhm, that’s what I thought,” Hoomin stepped back and threw his jersey over his head and tossed it somewhere away.

He pressed you gently against the lockers, a hand sliding beneath your shirt, fingertips skating up your back. His touch wasn’t rushed, it was reverent. Like he’d been imagining this and didn’t want to screw it up by moving too fast.

Your shirt soon left you and was throw somewhere along his.

After so much heated kissing, his head rest on your naked shoulder, letting the both of you catch your breaths, hearts pounding in sync.

“We don’t have to go further,” he took your hand, still breathing in the crook of your neck “We can just… stay here.”

You looked up at him, brushing his sweat damp hair back with your fingers. “I want to” the words slipped out your mouth quicker than you could even realize it.

The next moments blurred together, your too peeled away, fingers tracing lines of skin, heat building between soft laughs and murmured names. Hoomin just wanted to take care of you, there were moments where he’d stop just to look at you, to brush his thumb over your lip or trail his fingers down your side.

And you, Gosh you were just as guilty of it. Letting your guard drop, your playful mask melt away, realizing just how much you’d wanted to be close to him like this, under all the jokes and signs and flirting.

6:37pm

Half an hour of just feeling each other went on and you haven’t realized that you were both only wearing your lower underwears.

The whole school was probably home by now so you didn’t have to worry about getting caught. The gym had closed a while ago, after the game.

Both of you were light headed from all that intense kissing. Hoomin took a moment to analyse the current situation.

It felt like a fever dream, he had you all for himself after so much eager and hesitation. His fingers found their way down between your thighs, teasing you with his ring finger. His other hand traveled behind your back, pressing your bodies together.

The small and teasing circles he drew around your bud soon caused heat in your panties and he let out a sigh.

“Fuck If I knew I could have you like this, I would’ve done this long ago, you drive me nuts” you only whined in response, thoughts dissipating like he was blowing them away.

His breath became more controlled, his touches precise and his words intended, like he has set himself a mission to send you beyond your limits.

When your head rolled back, you felt his presence lower down your body, his breath on your lower stomach area, and his finger moving your pantie to the side.

You looked down in surprise not expecting him to have kneeled down crotch level, his lips met your inner thighs a few times before digging into your core.

“Shit H’min slow down” his kisses on your bare skin flew raw. His kisses felt more like he was making out. Hands gripping your thighs to keep you steady and stable as he ate you like you were his last meal.

A wave of pleasure washed over you, forcing your back into a slight arch, his face burying itself further into you. When you twitched, he made sure to control your body enough so he wouldn’t lose the build up he’s made on you.

Your heavy breaths transformed into mumbles and soft moans he swear he could die for. In this moment, time felt inexistent, you had no idea how much time had passed by. Maybe you should worry, but you simply weren’t able to when you had the boy of your dreams, tongue twisting around you, looking deep into your eyes, just waiting for your hums of approval.

Your hand naturally wraps itself through his hair, tightening your grip everytime you felt you got closer to your end. His eyes flickering under the slight pain but he’s not one to complain.

When he noticed your lips parting and legs slightly trembling, he knew you were close, so he gave his tired mouth all he’s got one last time, room filled with the noise of his lips sucking so passionately.

He doesn’t give you time to recover from your sudden release he’s already searching (digging) through his bag for protection.

“One second baby I got it”

The sudden nickname had your already flaming cheeks turn pink. He wasn’t even trying, the right words just came to him at the right times.

Ripping the condom wrap with his teeth, he checks up on you once again. “You sure this is okay?” You just nod at him, with what he thinks are the prettiest eyes he’s ever met.

There isn’t much hiding behind his boxers anyway, his bulge is way too obvious you can mentally prepare yourself. He takes his rocking hard crotch in his hands and pumps himself a few times, teetch biting his lower lip from the pain of how hard he was.

Your help him slide the condom on his dick, it was on the larger side, probably average length but bulky. Your arms wrap around his neck, anticipating the sharping pain in between your legs but he plunges his lips on yours again, to distract you from hurting.

He’s not the quiet type, he wants you to know how good you make him feel and loves for you to reciprocate it. He groans and moans deeply against your lips as he buckles his hips up and down in you at a slow place, giving you time to adjust.

When he feels your grip loosen enough around his length, he speeds up his pace, the noisy skin slapping sound taking over and almost making your head spin.

You could feel him in your depths, and it wasn’t as uncomfortable as you thought it would be, maybe the kiss made it better or he just has his way with you.

Hoomin’s hands grip your thighs and without a warning his lifts you up the cold floor and wraps your legs around his waist. Maybe he was flexing a little too hard, or he could never get enough closeness with you.

He couldn’t help but grunt a little everytime he thrusts into you, feeling himself completely losing his sanity every minute that would pass.

You were too dumb fucked to think properly, “fck baby you can’t look at me with those eyes, I won’t last long” you weren’t doing it on purpose, the feeling of his buried inside you is better than anything you’ve ever felt before. And the way he could just handle you the way he wanted to, gosh you could have a climax from that alone

He puts you back onto your feel when his arms tire out, turning you around like he owed your body and knew exactly how to fold you. You were facing the wall, his hands attaching to your hips like they were his sole source of stability and he entered you again, this time was much more easy, he could practically slip in from how wet you were.

Hoomin’s first instinct was to lean down and bite your ear. “You’re lucky everyone’s gone by this time, you’re so loud I bet even the upstairs classes would’ve heard you” he mocks you but thrust hard into you when you open your mouth to argue back

“fucking you so dumb you can’t answer me?” He teases the fuck out of you as he always had. And even worse when you reach your second climax. Your knees felt like they were about to fail you, vision blurry and hands gripping onto absolutely- nothing.

“That’s right baby, you’re doing so good, I’m close too hold on just a little more, you can do this” Hoomin’s swallowing back moans threatening to escape through every bit of sentence and dirty talk he gave you.

His pace soon got saccadic, hips bucking into you at a messy speed, losing his rhythm. And with a few last thrusts he completely loses it, eyes shutting, trying to take all of the feelings, your pretty voice mixed with the heat of your body glued against him but also his pride and stress release hitting him.

He didn’t have to worry about doing things wrong with you anymore, he knew you were crazy for him the same way he was for you.

⸻

Wrapped in one of his hoodies, curled up beside him on the bench after everything slowed down, you felt it for the first time, not just desire, but something deeper humming quietly beneath it all.

And when he pulled you close again, kissing your temple and whispering something stupid just to make you smile, you knew you liked him, a whole fucking lot.

Part 2 - Meet and Greet

MASTERLIST HERE

[alpali]

pulling them by their belt loops !

sieun

You were on your stomach, lying on sieun’s bed. It was finally a day where you both could just chill and be with each other. No exams, no thoughts, just each other. “Sieun!” You yell from his room, he was making ramen for the both of you as you tried to find something to watch for the two of you. You pad over to his kitchen, finding him stood over the stove, watching the noodles carefully. You smile at how cute he looked. Before you can even try to scare your boyfriend, he turns around blinking at you. “what ya doin’.” You try to play it off, resting your head on his shoulder. “they’re almost done.” He says lightly, glancing at you. His lips curving at your failed attempt. You hum, pulling back so he can finish up the noodles. He places them into bowls, turning around with yours in hand. “It’s a little hot so be careful.” He looks at you with those cute doe eyes of his. You smile warmly walking over to him. You gently grab the bowl out of his hands, placing it on the counter. He watches you with confusion written all over his face, eyes blinking at you. Sieun can’t even register what happens next. You just slyly slip your fingers in his belt loops, pulling him into a kiss. It’s quick but playful, it has you pulling away with a smirk. His eyes are a little wide and of course blinking at you. His cheeks and ears flush a deep red, his brows furrowing a bit. “W-What was that for…?” He tried to question, trying to ignore how warm he’s feeling. You shrug. “Just wanted a kiss.” You smile, happily grabbing your noodles. “You’re not uncomfortable? You should change into sweats.” All he can do is nod, his head down as he sputters away. He needed this moment to recollect himself.

suho

Maybe it was a little silly for the both of you. But you both had silently agreed to this little war between you both. Harmless of course, but still competitive. Sure it was cliche but you both enjoyed every second of it. All of this being on who could make each other the most flustered. On a daily occasion you both would catch each other off guard. Laugh about the stupid acts you’d pull on each other after. But today you had a plan. And you were going to succeed. Suho knew much that your smirk didn’t mean a good thing. “What’re you planing huh?” He said to you as he organized the utensils in his grandmas restaurant. It was well over closing hours, leaving just the two of you alone. “What’re you talking about?” You laughed, passing him chopsticks so he can place them where they needed to be. “I know that smile baby. I’m no rookie.” He wiggled his finger. You giggled, stopping in your tracks. This caught his attention, making him glance up at you. “What’s up—” He was going to say before your hands looped between his belt loops, pulling him towards you. He let out a sound of surprise, eyes going wide when your lips met his. You kissed him passionately, one hand untangling from his belt hoop to caress his face. When you pull away you’re only an inch apart. He’s breathless, eyes still lidded. His cheeks are pink, gazing down at you with need. He lets out an airily chuckle. “That’s what you planned?” He says in amusement. “Mhm. Did it work?” You say, grazing his lips. “Yea. It did.” Is the last thing he says before pulling you back in.

humin

You were annoyed. scratch that—pissed. You just wanted to have nice date with your golden retriever of a boyfriend at this nice cafe. But god this girl would not stop hitting on him. You clicked your tongue for the millionth time. Watching as the barista terribly hits on your boyfriend. He was just trying to get your guys drinks and come back. But she had other plans obviously. You chew at your lip, watching as she grazes his arm, laughing a little too loud. “You’re so cute! We should definitely hang out sometime. You’re definitely my type.” Ok. Bold. You would honestly love to see what your boyfriend would say but you weren’t having it. You get up and walk with a little more urgency toward him. Before he can even open his mouth. Your finger hooks one of his belt loops, catching him off guard. “Hm?—oh! Babe—” Your lips meet in a harsh kiss, Humin’s on autopilot. His eyes closing, trying to savor the kiss. You crack an eye open to see the girls face contort in horror—you smile. He’s a little dazed when you pull back, blinking rapidly. You grab your drinks, moving back to your seats. He slides in next to you, turning to you. “Whatever you did over there was really hot.” He laughs, rubbing your leg soothingly. You sip on your drink with a pout. “You know I was just gonna tell her I had a girlfriend and point to you but you stole the show.” He kisses your forehead. “Whatever Humin.” You grumble. “Aww come on baby don’t be jealous! Not after that stunt you pulled.” Somehow you’re the one blushing over this???

gotak

“baby i gotta go.” Gotak said for what felt like the millionth time. Your lips just wouldn’t leave his and honestly he wasn’t complaining. But Baku would kill him if he didn’t show up for practice. You groan. “Just one moreeee.” You drag out. “I still need to change! Practice is gonna start soon.” He said in between your kisses, his resolve slowly slipping. I mean realistically the consequences wouldn’t be that bad right…? You don’t reply, your hands playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. Shamelessly making out with your boyfriend outside the entrance to the gym. You break the kiss and he smiles softly at you. “I’ll stop by your house after practice ok?” He says slowly pulling away. You just stare up at him, silently pleading. He’s gonna go insane. “Fine…basketball wins today.” You pout but not before you get one last kiss in. So you smoothly tug your boyfriend on to you by his belt loops. Giving him one last longing kiss. He’s stunned after, not fully pulling away from you. He laughs, gently resting his head on your shoulder. “Gosh, you’re a lot to handle you know?” He can’t ignore the way his heart is pounding out of his chest. You run your hands through his hair, as he reluctantly stands up. “Have a good practice!” You smile. “I don’t even know if I’ll be able to focus after that…” He says more to himself than you. “I’ll be by later ok? I love you.” He pecks the crown of your head. “I love you too.” Before you leave you peak your head in, waving to Baku. “Stop distracting him!” Baku points at you, you stick your tongue out and Gotak laughs. What was he gonna do with you.

© alpali

[08luvmailz]

SOON ! edited : console me, and then i'll leave without a trace

part one ˊᗜˋ party on you

───── ★ requested by : @heeknow @alwaysgenerousvoid @snowflakemoon3 @yeon103 @kellystyles18 @littlebluebird2000

[sknyuz]

Can you please do the prompt "three words. just say the three words." With Na Baek-Jin but make it enemies to lovers and full of yearning😭😭💗

prompt — “three words. just say the three words.” pairing — academic rival!na baekjin x reader genre — academic rivals to lovers, highschool, mutual pining, soft angst cw — academic pressure, tension, one kiss, just that type of yearning where you almost hate both of them for it wc — ~700 notes: i wrote this on someone else's laptop so sorry if the layout or my writing is a lil wonky ToT this was pretty rushed/not proofread

masterlist | join the taglist | request a fic

you and baekjin have been neck and neck for as long as you can remember. same grade, same extracurriculars, same perfectly neat handwriting across test papers the teachers always returned with that look, the one that silently said, again? you two?

he always rolled his eyes when they called your names together, like it was a curse, and you did the same.

still, somehow, every quiz bee, every debate tournament, every single research camp—you ended up beside him. not by choice. just... fate, or bad luck, or the fact that your scores matched to the decimal.

you told yourself you hated him. but sometimes, you caught him looking. there are stolen moments that you two share. like that one time, late night in the library, when you both reached for the same textbook and your hands brushed—and neither of you moved away.

or the time you caught him staring at you mid-question during the final round of an academic bee, and he looked so focused, like he was memorizing your face instead of the answer.

and then there was that out-of-province regional thing last fall—when they messed up the room assignments and you two were forced to share a bed in some tiny guesthouse. the silence was thick. your backs were to each other. but sometime in the middle of the night, you woke up and he was facing you, but neither of you moved.

and now, senior year. your last nationals together. you’ve both just won it all—a team victory, but the only hand you felt trembling slightly against yours was his. his knuckles brushed yours during the final round, and you should’ve pulled away. but you didn’t, your fingers intertwined as you bowed together, closing off your championship run.

later, when the noise dies and the cameras are gone, you find each other alone behind the auditorium. he’s still in his blazer, medal heavy around his neck. the low light hits his profile just right—jaw clenched, throat bobbing.

"you didn’t have to stay back," you say quietly, as you organized the notes in your bag. “everyone’s at that hot pot place by now.”

"i know," he replies, just as quiet. "but... i knew you would."

you scoff. “of course you do.”

he studies you in that quiet, calculating way he does before a competition—except now, there’s no scoreboard, just the way his eyes soften like he’s tired of pretending.

"you know, bakejin, i kinda hate this," you whisper. it slips out. too raw, too real.

"what?"

"this thing between us." your voice wavers. "i mean, do we really still see each other as rivals, or is this just an excuse to keep whatever this is going?" you say, motioning between you and him. “we’re seniors now, baekjin. not kids.” a few months from now you won’t be winning competitions with him, sneaking glances at him while you studied for the next—hell, you might never even see baekjin again.

but baekjin takes a step closer, and your heart starts counting every second like it’s timed.

"then say it," he murmurs.

you blink. "say what?"

"three words," he says. "just say the three words."

your heart stutters.

"i hate you?" you offer, shaky.

he exhales—sharp, almost annoyed. not at you, but at the space between what you’re saying and what you mean. “no.”

you pause.

you know what he means. you know exactly what he means.

but you’ve spent so long pretending you didn’t.

he speaks first, his voice is quieter now. more raw than you’ve ever heard it.

"i love you."

the words land heavy. like a confession and an accusation all at once. and god, the way he looks at you after—like he’s bracing for the moment you walk away. like he already expects you to run.

but you don’t.

you step in, closing the distance. you let your fingers graze his—not by accident like earlier onstage, but deliberately.

"then i love you too," you say, as your other hand reaches up to curl your fingers around his tie, pulling him into a chaste kiss. you were both winners, after all.

if you liked this, i appreciate a reblog as well :3

note: i accidentally posted this while doing last minute edits lol so i edited it some more and decided to let it stay up instead of reuploading. ig i offer this as a token of my appreciation for the love surrounding my weak hero class works <3

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[luvxkdrama]

— sidelines

pairing : yeon sieun x reader

warnings : bit of angst, mentions of hospitals

word count : 3.7k

summary : sieun spent his days watching life from the sidelines, content with having nothing to lose. That’s until you arrived, and suddenly, he couldn’t bear the thought of losing the one thing that made him feel alive.

a/n : i highly recommend to listen to "sidelines" by Phoebe Bridges while reading this xx (if you’ve read my fanfic “unspoken”, you can consider this one as a beginning of their love story!)

—

You weren’t exactly excited to start another school day at Eunjang High. It wasn’t like anyone looked forward to it, but at least most people here had their little groups, their cliques, their drama. You didn’t.

Not even because you were shy, just selective.

It was easier to stay out of things when most of your classmates had their hands in something shady, fights, trouble, things you didn’t want to be wrapped up in. Most people were either too loud, too aggressive, or just... not your kind of company. You kept to yourself. And you were fine with that.

But today, your peace was interrupted when you stepped into class, early enough to avoid the hall crowd, only to find someone sitting at your desk.

You paused mid-step, pulling out one of your earphones.

The guy had his head down, arms folded like he’d been asleep there all night. He didn’t even flinch at the sound of the door.

You narrowed your eyes slightly. About to speak up when you caught a few murmurs behind you.

“Apparently he’s a genius.”

“Huh? Then why transfer here?”

“I heard he killed someone.”

You glanced sideways. The source of the whispers - two guys known for making up multiple rumours - caught your eye and quickly looked away, pretending they weren’t just gossiping two feet away from you.

You sighed and walked toward your desk. You weren’t superstitious, and you weren’t about to get into a rumor spiral on a Monday morning.

You reached the desk, second row from the back, and gently tapped the guy on the shoulder.

Nothing. So you leaned down a bit. “Hey.”

Finally, he stirred. Slowly, as if gravity worked harder on him than the rest of the world. His head lifted just enough for you to see his sharp half-lidded eyes.

You kept your voice neutral. “This is my desk.”

He blinked at you once.

Then looked away.

Then laid his head back down.

You stood there, frowning. Not because he ignored you, exactly - more because you had no idea what kind of interaction just happened.

After a second, you simply sighed and nodded to yourself, grabbing your bag to sit in the desk directly in front of him. It’s not like it was worth to pick a fight for a desk.

You put your earphones back in and was about to pull out your notebook to study some more material before the teacher comes, when you realised you had left it in the drawer of your desk.

You exhaled through your nose, already annoyed by that out of ordinary Monday and pulled out one earbud again before leaning back just enough to tap on his arm a second time. Maybe a little firmer this time.

This time, he didn’t lift his head, but you heard a faint sigh escape him.

You blinked, unimpressed.

“Okay?” you muttered, voice just loud enough for him to hear, “You’re the one who stole my desk? I just need the notebook inside it.”

He shifted slightly, slow and clearly reluctant, but eventually lifted his head just a little to lazily reach toward the drawer beneath the desk for your notebook.

His fingers brushed over the inside surface, then paused. Nothing. He glanced inside with a sliver more interest this time, hand searching again. Still nothing.

You narrowed your eyes, shifting your weight to one leg. “Move a sec.” you said, not exactly aggressive, just impatient.

You stepped forward and leaned down next to him, resting one hand on the edge of the desk for balance, your other brushing a few stray pens aside as you peered into the drawer yourself. He stiffened a little at how close you were standing, your presence very much in his personal space.

You leaned further, your hair nearly brushing his shoulder, lips slightly parted in thought as you scanned the empty drawer.

You clicked your tongue. “I swear I left it here-”

You paused, then smacked your forehead lightly. “Wait. No. No, I left it on my bookshelf.” You sighed and straightened up with a dramatic groan, brushing off your skirt and glancing at him for the first time.

And that’s when your eyes met.

He was already staring at you. Not startled, not nervous—just watching. Quietly. Unreadable.

You meant to say something, maybe a thanks or a joke, but the words kind of stuck for a second.

Because now that you were actually looking at him, really looking, he wasn’t quite what you’d expected.

That was the first time you actually saw his features.

His features were oddly soft, despite the deadpan expression. His eyes weren’t cold like you expected. They were wide and dark, kind of doe-like beneath the messy fringe of his hair. His skin was annoyingly clear, and his lips were full and soft-looking.

You blinked.

He blinked back.

Then, clearing your throat, you took a step back, “Right. My bad.” you said flatly, waving your notebook-less hand in a vague gesture before returning to your new desk in front of him.

No reply. Just quiet breathing and the faint creak of him shifting in his seat again, lowering his head on his arms.

You slipped your earphones back in and leaned your cheek against your fist, trying to get back into the zone. But the silence behind you felt just a little different now.

Sieun stared at you a few more seconds before diving back into the arms of Morpheus, trying to stay unbothered by your sudden approaches.

He wasn't used to being noticed, not necessarily in the shy kind of way, more like he just didn't care to step into the spotlight. People were messy, unpredictable and often crossed lines that were then hard to redraw.

So he watched from the sidelines, kept his head down and slept through the noise. It was easier this way.

That same evening, you were leaving the school’s library later than usual. Finals were creeping closer, and you had more materials to catch up on than you liked to admit. The sun had already dipped below the buildings, and the streetlights had flickered on in their usual lazy rhythm.

That’s when you saw him.

Sieun, earphones in, hoodie on, hands stuffed in his pockets, walking a few paces ahead on the empty sidewalk. You weren’t even sure it was him at first, but the way he dragged his steps, the slight slump of his shoulders… yeah, that was definitely him.

Your brain told you to just go home but your feet moved before you could think twice about it. You picked up pace, caught up to him, and gently tapped his shoulder.

He turned, a little startled, pulling one earbud out. His expression shifted the second he saw it was you, eyebrows lifting slightly, not quite a smile, but something softer than his usual stoic.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, voice low but not unfriendly.

You grinned. “Following you, obviously.”

His eyes widened, not dramatically, but enough to make you laugh, glancing away sheepishly before adding, “I was just heading home from the library.”

You fell into step beside him, talking like it was the most natural thing in the world. He didn’t say much, but he didn’t put his earbuds back in either.

A few minutes later, you passed the small family-run restaurant you’ve gone to since you were a kid.

“I’m starving,” you said, already slowing your pace. “I’m eating here.”

He nodded slightly, like he was about to walk away.

But before he could, you slipped your arm around his—lightly, barely more than a hook—and guided him toward the door. He didn’t resist, but you felt him stiffen slightly, eyes glued to where your arms touched.

You greeted the older lady at the counter with your usual grin. She lit up at the sight of you and already began preparing your usual.

“Double it this time!” you called before heading toward your usual table and finally letting go of Sieun’s arm.

You sat down, still smiling, still talking about how your teacher gave a three-page worksheet for fun. But mid-sentence, you noticed him—still standing, his expression unreadable.

“I should go.” he said suddenly.

You blinked. “What?”

He shifted on his feet. “Thanks, but I have to go home.”

You frowned. “The food’s good, I swear. You’ll regret it!”

Sieun let out a soft sigh. Not annoyed, not angry, just tired.

“I don’t know why you’re like this,” he said quietly. “But I’m not looking to make friends.”

It wasn’t harsh. Just matter-of-fact. Like he was trying to set a boundary that even he wasn’t fully convinced of.

Your smile faltered, just for a second. You nodded slowly, but instead of pushing back, you just looked at him with a quiet calm.

“I didn’t say I was trying to be your friend,” you said, voice light, but steadier than before. “I just didn’t wanna eat alone.”

He stared at you a beat longer. Then another.

And then, slowly, wordlessly, he pulled out the chair across from you and sat down.

You didn’t say anything for a few minutes as you noticed his small glances toward the door and the tension still clinging to his shoulders. But then you slowly started talking about a new story of yours, not expecting a response anymore, just making him comfortable in your company.

He didn’t laugh. But he listened. You could tell from the way his eyes would twitch at certain points, or how he shifted ever so slightly when something you said caught him off guard.

Then the food came, steaming bowls, a dozen tiny plates with pickled radishes and crispy kimchi, all warm and familiar.

You looked at him. He didn’t move. He just stared at the tray like he wasn’t sure what to do with it.

Without a word, you picked up your chopsticks and reached across his tray, placing a few of your favorite side dishes on top of his white rice. Nothing dramatic, nothing too much—just a quiet gesture. You didn’t say anything, just went back to eating your own meal, eyes on your bowl, giving him space to catch up.

For a moment, he didn’t move. And then, slowly, almost hesitantly, he picked up his chopsticks. You didn’t look up, but from the corner of your eye, you saw him take a small bite of the rice you topped, chew, and swallow.

You smiled. Soft and barely-there.

He didn’t say a word. Neither did you. The restaurant filled the silence for you—soft clinks of metal bowls, the faint hum of an old TV in the back, the quiet muttering of the older lady behind the counter.

But for the first time in a long time, Sieun didn’t feel like he needed to leave right away. He didn’t feel the itch in his spine to retreat. He just stayed. Ate. Sat across from someone who didn’t expect him to be more than what he could offer.

That evening didn’t change everything. He didn’t suddenly start texting first or waiting outside classrooms like some eager cliché. He still kept to himself, still stayed quiet, still lived on the edge of everyone’s world. But somehow, you started to slip into his orbit without asking permission.

The classroom was half full when he walked in, earpods tucked in, expression unreadable. Same as always. But when he sat down, he noticed it.

A small pack of vitamin gummies on his desk. The same kind you were chewing the other day in the restaurant.

He stared at it. Then at you—already seated in front of him, pretending very obviously to tie your shoelace even though both shoes were still on.

You peeked back at him. “You gonna eat them or just burn a hole through the wrapper?”

He blinked once, slow. “You put this here?”

“Do you see anyone else giving you stuff to take care of your immune system?”

Silence. Then, Sieun reached out, slowly picked up the pack, and tucked it into his pencil case, avoiding your gaze.

Later that week, you caught up to him just after last period ended, your steps quick against the linoleum.

“Hey, wait up!” you called.

He didn’t. Not really. But he didn’t speed either which was new.

You fell into step beside him, out of breath. “You walk like someone’s chasing you.”

“I am.” he said without thinking.

You blinked. “Huh?”

Sieun didn’t reply. You tilted your head.

“That was... was that a joke?” you asked.

He stayed silent. The corner of your mouth twitched.

“I didn’t think you could do that!” You exclaimed, smiling excitedly.

Still no response. But the way he turned his face slightly toward the window told you he was hiding something. Perhaps the tiniest smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

The next shift in your dynamic happened by accident.

You were sitting under the small pavilion just outside the school gate, waiting for the rain to calm down. Most students had already left, but you’d forgotten an umbrella.

Sieun, earbuds in, walked past, only to stop halfway down the steps when he saw you. You waved your phone in the air. “No signal. Can’t even call for a ride.”

He stood there for a beat, then slowly walked back. Opened his umbrella.

You blinked. “Wait, are you—?”

“Come on,” he said, eyes not meeting yours.

You stood quickly, scrambling over, squeezing under the small umbrella with him. “It’s gonna be a tight fit.”

“Then walk fast.”

You were halfway down the block when you looked up at him. “I’ll pay you back for this heroic rescue. One day.”

“You already did.”

“What? When?”

“The food. That night.”

“Didn’t think it was that special.” You chuckled.

“You’re the first person who took me out to eat something.” He admitted, his grip on the umbrella handle tightening slightly. “So it felt special to me.”

And in that moment—feet splashing in puddles, your shoulder brushing his, raindrops ticking against plastic—you realized the hard walls Sieun has been building up so hard throughout his entire life, were finally starting to fall apart.

The following week, you didn’t appear at school on Tuesday. At first, Sieun thought maybe you were just late. But class started. Then lunch passed. Then the final bell rang.

No teasing pokes to his ribs. No gummy vitamins tossed onto his desk. No sudden voice asking if he'd finally figured out how to smile.

And yet the silence was louder than anything you ever said.

He found himself packing his bag slower than usual. He kept glancing at your empty desk as though you’d come sprinting in, out of breath, waving some excuse and asking if he missed you too.

He didn’t.

But maybe he did.

By the time he left the school building, his hands were already fishing out his phone. The screen glared back at him in the soft evening light, showing your last five messages, each one as chaotic and cluttered as your speech.

He’d replied, once. “You’re dramatic.” to which you replied with an offended sticker.

This time, for the first time, he typed first:

“You were absent today.”

He stared at the screen, thumb hovering, unsure of what exactly he was supposed to send as he wasn’t the best with words.

Then, his phone rang. He answered fast, too fast, maybe. But he wasn’t met with your voice.

“Hello? Is this… Sieun?”

He frowned slightly. “Yes?”

“I’m Y/N’s mom. I found her phone. I figured someone named Sieun would probably wonder since she’s been in the hospital since this morning…”

His world stilled. The word echoed, too loud in his ears. Hospital.

“What hospital?”

Y/N’s mom didn’t even have the time to explain what happened before Sieun hung up the call with trembling fingers. His brain couldn’t even process her tone or phrasing, the only word that rang loud in his head was hospital.

He ran.

Ran past the gates of Eunjang, past busy streets and honking cars, ignoring the burn in his lungs and the ache in his legs.

When he reached the hospital, sweat sticking to the back of his neck and breath shallow, he didn’t stop to think about how crazy he must’ve looked. He walked up to the front desk with shaking hands, giving your name, waiting while they looked it up. His heart drummed against his ribs like a warning.

Room 207.

He made his way there, steps slowing the closer he got. The quiet of the hospital hallways made the tension worse.

When he stood in front of the door, his hand hovered over the handle. He wasn’t even sure what he’d say, or if he even should be here.

But he opened it anyway.

And there you were.

Laying down on the narrow hospital bed, eyes closed, IV hooked up to your arm. Your lips were parted in soft breaths, a blanket pulled up to your chest, your hair a bit messier than usual.

Sieun’s breath hitched. His feet locked in place.

He’d never seen you like this. Still. Quiet.

You always filled every space you walked into with noise, movement, warmth — and now you were just… still.

His chest tightened so hard it hurt.

Then, your brow furrowed and you let out a soft groan, shifting under the blanket. You stretched with a whiny noise, eyes fluttering open.

You flinched when you saw someone standing there.

Then smiled. “Hey!” you exclaimed, rubbing your eyes, “you scared the hell out of me. You look like a ghost.”

But the moment you registered his expression, not angry, not sarcastic, just scared, your smile slowly fell.

“…Sieun?”

He didn’t speak. He just stared.

You blinked. “Oh, right. Okay. I’m fine, I promise. I just fainted this morning because apparently I overworked myself. No sleep, too much coffee, etc.” You waved a hand. “They gave me some IVs, made me nap for hours, and now I’m fine. Look.” You stretched your arms up and wiggled your fingers. “Alive and functioning.”

But Sieun didn’t respond right away.

He walked closer slowly, eyes never leaving your face.

Then, finally, he spoke, his voice low, hoarse, like it got lost somewhere on the way there.

“I thought something happened to you.”

A long silence.

You softened, your lips parting. “I’m really okay. You didn’t have to run all the way here.”

“I did.” he snapped.

You stared at him.

Not because he snapped. But because it wasn’t like him to raise his voice, not even like that. It wasn’t loud, not really. But it was shaken.

“Sit for a minute.” you said softly, patting the chair next to your bed.

Sieun hesitated, his eyes flickering to the seat in the corner of the room, but finally he let out a long sigh and settled on the chair next to the bed — not quite next to you, but closer than he’d usually get.

“I’m sorry,” you said quietly, watching him. “Didn’t mean to worry you like that. I swear, I’m fine now. Just… a bit dramatic with the whole fainting thing.”

He didn’t answer at first. Just sat there, hands on his knees, gaze fixed on the IV line as if it offended him.

You tilted your head. “Are you mad at me?”

“No.” he muttered.

“…You sure?”

He nodded once.

But you weren’t convinced.

“You know you didn’t have to come here.” you added carefully.

“I know.”

“…But I’m glad you did.”

Finally, that got his attention. He turned slightly, eyes meeting yours. They looked tired, not physically, but something heavier.

“I wasn’t gonna come.” he said after a pause, voice low.

“Wow, thanks!” you teased gently, hoping to ease whatever tension was still coiled in him.

But he didn’t even crack a smirk.

“I wasn’t gonna come,” he repeated, “but the second I heard the word hospital, I just… moved.”

You blinked, surprised at how honest he sounded.

“I’ve never—” He paused. “I’ve never ran for anyone.”

You opened your mouth, then closed it.

“I didn’t think I cared that much,” he finished quietly. “But I do.”

The room fell still.

You didn’t know what to say. You always teased him for being unbothered, unreadable, cold even. But now — now he was just a boy who didn’t know what to do with a feeling that showed up without warning.

You reached out, lightly tapping his knee with your fingers. “Well… you care,” you said softly. “And that’s kinda nice to know.”

He looked at your hand. Then at you.

You smiled. “Even if it took a hospital bed to get you to admit it.”

That earned the tiniest huff from him — not a laugh, not really, but close. A slight release of breath through his nose. For Sieun, that was basically a chuckle.

You leaned back into your pillow, watching him.

He didn’t move. Just stayed there, hand still clenched, like he didn’t know how to unwind from the day’s weight.

“Want me to scoot over?” you offered, patting the mattress.

He blinked at you like you were insane.

You snorted. “I’m kidding! … Unless?”

He shook his head, but you swore the corners of his mouth twitched.

You reached for your water bottle, took a sip, then tilted your head toward him. “You can stay a bit, if you want.”

“…Yeah,” he said after a long beat. “Okay.”

And just like that, the silence between you shifted — from tense to comfortable. And Sieun stayed.

Not because he had to.

But because he wanted to.

He sat there with his hands resting on his knees, eyes finally steady, no longer darting or restless. For the first time in a while, his mind wasn’t busy with numbers, deadlines, or that pressure to be something. It was just you. The sound of your voice, the faint beep of the IV machine, and the soft pull in his chest that he didn’t want to shake off.

All this time, he’d been watching the world from the sidelines �� moving through it without ever really touching it.

But then you came into his life.

And now, for the first time… he wanted to know what it felt like — to want to stay.

To want something more.

Because now, he had something to lose.

You.

[rose24207]

Excuse me, dear?

Summary: A kind and hardworking girl working in a women’s clothing department helps a sweet grandmother find a blouse in the right size, and when the grandmother’s handsome grandson comes to pick it up, he’s instantly captivated by her warmth and charm, sparking an unexpected connection.

Ahn Suho x reader

Part two

A/N: Fun fact: This is me in real life, but without the romance and Suho.

Navigation

You don’t know what’s more exhausting—the fact that your shift started at 10 a.m. and you’ve already restocked the clearance rack five times, or the way customers loudly complain about how “messy” the store is… while throwing cardigans on the floor like it’s a sport.

A woman in her 50s sighs dramatically as she steps over a crumpled blouse.
“It’s like a war zone in here,” she says, voice deliberately loud enough for you to hear. “No pride in presentation anymore.”

You paste on your best retail smile and nod.
“Yes, ma’am. Let me know if I can help you with anything.”

She ignores you, of course.

With a sigh of your own, you kneel down to start folding again. You’re a full-time student, juggling classes and this part-time job, and though your feet hurt and your smile is starting to twitch at the corners, you refuse to let this place break you. You have bills to pay and a dream to chase.

You’re halfway through sorting a pile of misplaced cardigans when a gentle voice draws your attention.

“Excuse me, dear?”

You look up and meet the warmest eyes you’ve seen all day. An elderly woman with perfect silver hair and a soft lavender sweater is holding up a blouse—pastel blue, floral, elegant.

It’s one of the newer arrivals, definitely more suited for her generation than the TikTok-hyped mini dresses you keep finding stuffed into the wrong sections.

“Would you happen to have this in a medium?” she asks sweetly.

Your smile turns genuine. “Let me check for you.”

You pull the scanner phone from your lanyard and beep the tag. The small screen loads slowly, spinning like it knows your patience is thin. Finally, the inventory appears.

“Good news,” you say. “We have two mediums left—one in the stockroom and one on this floor. I’ll go hunt them down for you.”

The woman beams, crinkles by her eyes deepening.
“You’re a doll, thank you. I tried looking, but these racks make me feel like I’m in a maze.”

You laugh lightly. “You’re not wrong.”

You dash off to the far side of the floor first, and sure enough, you find the blouse tucked behind a dress on the wrong hanger. With practiced hands, you bring it back to her, holding it up triumphantly.

“Here you go! Medium and wrinkle-free.”

She claps her hands together. “Perfect. My grandson will be thrilled.”

You raise an eyebrow playfully. “Is it for him?”

She laughs, and it makes you giggle too. “No, dear. I’m too old to go upstairs and back down, and I still want to look nice when I see my friends. He’s going to pick it up for me a little later.”

“That’s sweet of him.”

She hesitates. “Would you mind terribly if I left this behind the counter? I know it’s not usually allowed, but I didn’t want to drag it through the entire store.”

You glance around. Technically, it is against policy, but she’s been kind and polite—rare commodities on this floor. You smile and lean in slightly.

“I’ll stash it for you behind the register. Just tell your grandson to ask for the floral blouse his grandmother left.”

She winks. “You’re an angel. I’ll tell him exactly that.”

She pats your hand gently before heading to the escalator. You watch her go, a warm feeling blooming in your chest.

Maybe today won’t be so bad.

About twenty minutes later, you’re helping a stressed-out customer look for a specific black blouse that’s apparently been discontinued.

“Are you sure you don’t have it?” the woman asks for the fifth time.

You keep your voice light. “It looks like we’re out in this store, but—” you tap your screen, “—our sister store down the street has it in your size.”

She lights up. “Really? That’s not far!”

You nod. “You can either go there or call ahead and ask them to put it on hold for you.”

“Oh my gosh, thank you. I thought I was going to have to settle for something else.”

You smile. “No settling on my watch.”

She laughs—a genuine, grateful sound—and waves as she heads for the exit.

You breathe out, proud of yourself for helping her without crumbling under retail pressure. You turn back to your task before… only to find a guy standing there waiting.

He’s leaning against the register counter with his arms crossed, wearing a simple black hoodie and jeans, his dark hair slightly messy but undeniably intentional. His gaze flicks up to meet yours the moment you notice him.

“Oh!” you say, stepping closer. “Sorry for the wait, I was helping someone with an item.”

He smiles slightly, eyes warm but curious. “No worries.”

There’s something… familiar about him. Not that you’ve met him before—but his face could belong on a poster. You ignore the flutter in your stomach and ask,

“Are you here for the floral blouse?”

He nods. “Yeah. My grandma said she left it with someone nice downstairs.”

You grin. “Then you must be the grandson.”

You duck behind the counter and pull out the carefully folded blouse, still on its hanger, the tag neatly pinned.

“She was lovely. Had the best manners I’ve seen all day.”

He laughs—a low, soft sound—and takes the blouse from your hands, brushing your fingers slightly. “That sounds like her.”

He pauses, glancing at the blouse, then back at you. “You folded this?”

You nod. “Guilty.”

He looks impressed. “You did a better job than most of the packaging I’ve ordered online.”

You snort. “You should see me on a good day.”

There’s a moment where neither of you speaks. He’s just… looking at you. Not in a creepy way—just surprised. Or struck, maybe. Like he expected someone else. Someone older, maybe grumpier. Not a pretty girl with tired eyes and a shy smile.

“I’m Suho, by the way,” he says, breaking the silence.

You blink, a little caught off guard. “Oh. Nice to meet you.”

He offers his hand, and you shake it lightly. “I’m… just y/n.”

“Just-y/n works.”

Your face warms. You glance away, suddenly very aware of your scuffed black flats and the wrinkle in your shirt from bending over racks all morning.

“Your grandma has great taste, by the way,” you add quickly, trying to change the subject.

“She does,” he agrees, still watching you. “But I think she also has matchmaking instincts.”

You laugh, surprised. “Excuse me?”

“She told me, ‘The girl downstairs is so sweet. She has kind eyes.’” He shrugs, trying to look casual, but his ears are pink.

You’re half flattered, half flustered. “Well, I try to keep my eyes from rolling at rude customers, so that’s nice to hear.”

That earns you a real laugh from him, deep and warm. “You’re funny.”

You shrug. “Survival tactic.”

He lifts the bag with the blouse inside. “Well… thanks for the rescue. She’ll be happy.”

“Anytime,” you say, tucking hair behind your ear.

Suho hesitates, like he wants to say more, but then gestures to the escalator. “I should head up before she buys more things just to make me carry them.”

You smile. “Have fun on the third floor. The kids section is wild.”

He points at you, backing away. “You do have kind eyes. She was right.”

You laugh, watching him disappear around the corner with your heart fluttering embarrassingly in your chest.

Two Days Later, you’re working another shift when you hear familiar laughter near the register. You glance up, and your breath catches.

Suho.

He’s holding a coffee in one hand and a small paper bag in the other, looking right at you like he expected you to be here.

“Hey,” he says, sliding up to the counter.

“Hi,” you say, surprised but smiling. “Back for more floral blouses?”

“Tempting, but no.” He places the coffee on the counter. “For you.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Me?”

“You looked like you could use one last time. And… I figured it was a good excuse to come back.”

You take the drink slowly, warmth creeping up your neck. “Thanks.”

He slides the paper bag over next. “Also, I grabbed one of those crazy chocolate croissants from the third floor café. Don’t tell the kids.”

You laugh. “I won’t if you won’t.”

There’s a beat of silence. You feel him watching you again.

“Look,” he says, suddenly shy. “I don’t usually do this. But… I wanted to know if you’d maybe want to grab lunch sometime? When you’re not saving grandmas and scolding messy customers.”

You blink. Then smile.

“Are you asking me out because I folded a blouse really well?”

“I mean,” he grins, “it was a pretty impressive fold.”

You tilt your head. “And if I say yes?”

“Then I’d say your kind eyes are just the start.”

Your cheeks burn, but you nod slowly. “Okay. Lunch sounds nice.”

Suho beams. Like you just handed him a winning lottery ticket.

“You have no idea how relieved I am right now,” he says.

You laugh. “Just promise not to complain about my department being messy.”

“I’d never,” he says solemnly. “I saw what the customers do firsthand. It’s basically a jungle down here.”

And for the first time in a long time, you feel seen.

Not just by a customer, not just by a cute guy—but by someone who watched you do your job with grace, who waited while you helped others, and who still thought you were pretty great.

Kind eyes and all.

Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @ipushhimback, @ladyoflynx, @lewishamiltonismybf, @cmleitora, @same1995, @amatswimming, @llando4norris, @dr3wstarkey, @hurtblossom, @ernegren, @esposamultifandom, @darleneslane

[mournaeve]

❝ almost, always ❞

paring : yeon si-eun (weak hero) × gn!reader

genre : fluff, mild angst/hurt-comfort, emotional miscommunication, slow burn

warnings : mentions of emotional exhaustion/burn out, emotional whiplash but make it quiet and poetic, excessive eye contact with a emotionally constipated boy, 9/10 confession (where's the last 1, no one knows)

synopsis : Two people, both quiet in different ways, six missed chances, one almost-confession—and a love that grows in the silence between what’s said and what’s meant.

joy speaks : hi, and welcome to my first fic <3 genuinely hope you like it. don't be a silent reader!

1. The first time you met Si-eun, you were stealing Baku's snack and threatening to bite Gotak. Not seriously, of course, but with the kind of conviction that only came from a lack of shame and too little sleep.

Your mouth still tasted like instant noodles and regret. Your hair was a chaos theory. Your hoodie?—stolen from Baku, smelled faintly of laundry detergent and sweat, like a boy who lived his life in motion and never washed anything properly and also had a giant yellow pikachu on the front.

You didn't notice him at first.

No, at first you were too busy lying on the classroom floor, narrating your slow descent into madness because Gotak had, in your words, 'emotionally betrayed you' by siding with Baku over what was clearly your bag of chips. Baku, naturally, just sat on your back and told you to accept death with dignity.

Then you saw a pair of shoes. Clean, white, very still. Not fidgety like Gotak's or scuffed like Humin's.

You tilted your head up, squinting from the floor like a raccoon caught under fluorescent light, and there he was.

Expression unreadable. Face sharp in that quiet way—like something drawn in pencil and not yet colored in. Si-eun. Yeon Si-eun. You knew his name only because Gotak had once whispered it like he was talking about a ghost who might hear him.

He didn’t say anything. Just looked down at the mess on the floor, you, mostly, and blinked.

You, still on your stomach, gave a small wave.

"Hey. I swear I'm not usually like this."

He didn’t laugh. Not even a twitch of the mouth. But you swore later, swore, that his eyes lingered for half a second too long. Like he was trying to decide whether to ignore you or classify you as some new species.

Maybe both.

That was the first time. You didn’t know yet that it would become a pattern—him appearing silently, you saying something ridiculous, the two of you orbiting each other like mismatched planets with slightly wrong gravity.

But in that moment, on the floor of a classroom you barely stayed awake in, with Baku sitting on your back and Gotak looking vaguely concerned for everyone’s sanity—

—you thought, 'huh'

He’s kind of cute when he looks confused.

◎⫘◎

2. You didn't expect to see him again. Not so soon, not without the buffer of Baku's laughter or Gotak's nervous commentary or the chaos of you being your usual, spiraling self. But there he was, outside the convenience store, earphones in, staring at the gum rack like it had personally offended him.

You stopped short. He didn't look up.

And for reasons you couldn’t explain even under emotional duress, you didn't keep walking. You hovered.

Like an idiot.

"Didn't peg you for a mint guy," you said finally, voice casual, like you hadn’t just debated crossing the street to avoid standing next to him and his inexplicably intense aura.

He looked up, slow. Blank expression unreadable. Those same pencil drawn beautiful eyes.

Then, flatly, "I'm not."

You blinked. Looked at the gum in his hand. "You've been holding that for like three minutes."

"I was spacing out."

"Oh."

Beat.

You nodded, like that explained the universe, and turned to grab a bottle of water. Behind you, you could feel his silence — not heavy, just… neutral. Like air that hadn’t decided if it was humid or cold.

"I wasn't following you, by the way," you added without being prompted, twisting the bottle cap as you rejoined him at the register. "In case your survival instincts kicked in."

Another pause. He looked at you.

"I didn't think you were."

You laughed — too loud, too fast — and instantly regretted it. "Right. Cool. Great. Just clearing that up, y'know, for the record."

"I don’t think about you that much."

And there it was.

You froze mid-step, plastic bottle crinkling in your hand. A second too slow, your brain tried to patch the damage: he didn't mean it like that. Probably. Hopefully?

"Oh," you said, smile cracking just slightly. "No offense taken. I also don't, like, catalogue your whereabouts or anything. That would be psychotic."

He gave you a look, like he was either very confused or wondering if you were having a stroke.

You both stood there, the cashier watching, deeply done with both your energies.

Si-eun finally paid for his gum. That he definitely didn’t want.

And you stood holding a bottle of water and the first bruise of misunderstanding, shaped like a boy who said things without malice but still managed to dig a little too deep.

Later that night, Baku asked why you were chewing mint gum with a dramatic sigh.

You told him it was an aesthetic choice. You didn't mention Si-eun. Not yet.

◎⫘◎

3. It happened because Gotak's mom called.

Loudly. On speaker. In the middle of the table, right as he was halfway through explaining some physics concept that sounded like witchcraft. He panicked, unplugged his charger wrong, and blew the socket.

And just like that, the lights went out in Baku's room.

Chaos. Swearing. Baku tripping over a dumbbell. You, laughing until your ribs hurt. Gotak apologizing to the socket like it had feelings. Juntae being all flustered while trying to keep the others in check.

Eventually, they both left to 'buy snacks and air out their humiliation.' You were too tired to follow.

And Si-eun didn't leave.

He stayed sitting on the floor, back against Baku’s bed frame, eyes unreadable. You weren’t sure if he didn't move because he was comfortable or because inertia had claimed him.

You sat across from him, the silence sitting with you like a third presence. It wasn't uncomfortable. It just… was.

You cleared your throat. "You always this quiet?"

He didn’t answer immediately. Then: "Do you always talk this much?"

Your jaw dropped. "Are you saying I talk too much?"

"No," he said, and blinked, slowly, "I'm saying I wasn't aware human lungs could handle this level of dialogue per minute."

You gawked at him.

He didn’t look smug. Or mean. Just… factual. As if he were reading weather data.

You threw a pillow at his face.

He caught it with both hands, unimpressed.

"I'm gonna take that as a yes," you muttered, curling into a cross-legged huff.

Silence again.

You should’ve let it drop. But something in you always needed to make sense of things. Of people.

"You don't like me, do you?" you asked.

He looked up at that. Not startled. Just puzzled.

"Why would you say that?"

You mentally snorted 'I wonder why."

"I don't know. The gum comment. The lungs comment. The general 'I'm enduring your presence like a particularly inconvenient fire drill' energy."

His brows furrowed slightly.

"That's not what I meant," he said. "I don’t dislike you."

"But you don't like me."

He looked at you for a moment too long.

"I don’t not like you."

It was the kind of answer that made your brain run into a wall. You opened your mouth. Closed it.

"…Wow," you said. "Poetry."

He frowned faintly, clearly confused why you sounded so sarcastic.

You didn't push it. But when Baku and Gotak returned and flopped dramatically into the room with ice cream and shame, you laughed louder than you meant to.

And you refused to meet Si-eun’s eyes for the rest of the night.

◎⫘◎

4. You were wearing another hoodie.

Not Baku's this time — a different one. Slightly too big. Worn in the elbows. Charcoal gray with a weird bleach stain near the zipper. Not your usual look.

Si-eun noticed it immediately.

He didn't say anything, of course. He just stared.

You were too busy trying to untangle Gotak's wired earphones (how did they still exist?) while sitting on the cafeteria bench, ranting about something inconsequential — probably the school vending machine robbing you again. Baku was making jokes, as usual. Gotak laughed too loudly, as usual. Juntae was swinging his legs adorably like a child waiting for his mother to provide him with candy.

Then a boy walked past. Said your name. Smiled.

You looked up. "Oh—hey. Thanks again for the hoodie."

Si-eun's gaze didn't shift. He didn't ask. He didn't need to.

You caught it in the twitch of his fingers, the flick of his eyes, the way his entire body went very, very still.

Later, in the hallway, he stopped next to you. Not with you — next to. A detail you couldn’t unfeel.

"Is that your boyfriend?" he asked, tone flat.

You blinked. "Who?"

"The guy. With the hoodie. The one you smiled at like he invented oxygen."

You snorted. "No. He just lent me this when I spilled coffee on my shirt this morning."

He nodded. Slowly. You waited for a follow-up. It didn’t come.

Instead, he walked away with his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched, that silent wall rising like it always did when he didn't understand what he was feeling.

You stared after him, eyebrows pulled together.

You weren't his. He wasn't yours.

But still, you wanted to yell down the hallway,

'I would tressure your hoodie, if you ever offered it.'

◎⫘◎

5. It was raining the way it only rains in cities—sideways, rude, unforgiving. You hadn't meant to forget your umbrella. You were just late, and your brain had been full of other things. Like him. Like the hoodie thing. Like the way he hadn't spoken to you in two days. You were treading recklessly on the thin line between friends and strangers who know each other because of their mutual friends. No matter what you tried, attempted at, maybe to bring you both closer and not be strangers or just be his friend- he would always retract. Push you away with words or build walls around his heart that were too big and impossible not to notice.

You were soaked through by the time you reached the courtyard gate. Shoes squeaking, hair clinging to your face, hoodie (not his, not anyone's) weighing you down like a wet dog sweater.

Your heavy wet eyes widened at the sight before you.

Si-eun.

Standing under a small blue umbrella like the sky had personally chosen to leave him untouched.

You stopped. He didn't wave, or smile, or call out. Just lifted the umbrella a little higher.

You stared. Your heart twisted sideways.

"…Are you offering me that?" you asked, cautious.

"I wouldn't be standing here if I wasn't."

You blinked. Walked over. Shoulders tense.

He didn't say anything. Just turned slightly, so the umbrella covered half of your body. His half was still mostly dry. You were dripping.

After a minute, you exhaled. "You didn’t have to wait."

"I know."

"…I thought you were mad at me."

"I'm not."

"I thought you didn't want to talk to me anymore."

"I do."

You were quiet.

Then you whispered it. Half a joke, half a plea:

"So this is... pity, huh?"

He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at you, eyes sharp and unreadable.

You couldn't hold the silence.

You stepped out from under the umbrella. "Forget it. I'm fine."

Rain hit your skin like needles. Cold. Fast. Real.

He didn't follow. You didn't look back. And by the time you got home, soaked to the bone and furious with yourself, it was too late to ask him what he really meant.

◎⫘◎

6. It was late.

Too late to be in the library. Too late for the lights to still hum this way, for the floor to be cold against your knee pits as you sat between shelves with your hoodie bunched up beneath you like a failed pillow.

You weren't crying.

But you were close. That tight-throated silence. That wet weight behind the eyes that made everything feel distant. The kind of sad that didn"t have a name. The kind that didn't explode — just leaked.

He found you anyway.

You didn't ask how.

Si-eun stood there, backpack still on, hair a little rumpled, shirt collar tugged loose like he'd either run or paced in circles before finding you.

He didn’t ask what was wrong. He just sat beside you. Close, but not close enough to touch.

After a long, long moment, he said, low,

"I'm not good at this."

You blinked. "At what?"

"This. Talking. Reading people. Knowing the right thing to say."

You looked at him, sharp, surprised. His voice didn't waver, but it wasn't calm. It was something else — strained. Steady, but brittle at the edges.

He went on, "I don't realize when I'm being too blunt, or too distant. I've… ruined a lot of things that way."

You didn’t speak.

He stared at his hands.

"I used to think it didn’t matter. Not anymore. That being quiet kept things simple. But you—"

He stopped. Swallowed. "You confuse the hell out of me."

Your breath hitched.

"You talk like your words are racing to escape you. You say things I don’t know how to answer. You make me feel like I’m always three steps behind and—and I hate it."

The silence rang.

Then, quieter:

"But I hate it more when you're not around."

You didn't move.

You didn't say anything.

Your brain tripped over itself. Every version of you — the loud one, the jokey one, the brave one — went silent. And in that stretch of hesitation, Si-eun stood.

He didn't look at you.

"I shouldn't have said that," he murmured. "I knew it would come out wrong."

He walked away before you could tell him it didn't.

Later, lying in your bed, face buried in a damp hoodie, you whispered it,

'But it didn’t come out wrong at all.'

◎⫘◎

6. It started with silence.

Not the usual kind — not Si-eun's quiet that felt full of thinking, full of weight. This was emptier. Distant. Clean, like someone had wiped the board.

He'd stopped showing up to group study sessions. Stopped responding to your messages. Left early from lunch. Didn't make eye contact in the hall.

You told yourself he was just busy. That midterms had fried his brain. That he'd drop a deadpan one-liner in your DMs any second now.

He didn't.

When you finally cornered Baku and asked what was going on, he just shrugged — unconvincingly.

And so, armed with indignation and mild sleep deprivation, you found Si-eun after school, outside the campus gates, hoodie up, hands in pockets, looking like a ghost of himself.

"You’re avoiding me," you said.

His eyes flicked up. Then away. "No, I'm not."

"You are." You laughed — humorless. "Jesus, Si-eun, at least lie with conviction."

He was quiet for a beat. He exhaled quietly, "I thought you might want space."

"From you?"

"You looked uncomfortable. Last time. When I said… all that."

You stared. Mouth open. Head buzzing.

"That’s why?" you whispered. “You thought I was uncomfortable?”

He didn’t meet your eyes. "You didn't say anything. So, I figured I'd made things weird."

You exhaled, slow. Almost a laugh. Almost a scream.

"You idiot," you said, soft.

He flinched — just slightly. Gazing up with his eyes, 'god damn his eyes, were they always this beautiful?'

You looked away before your voice could crack. "You didn't make it weird. I did. I didn't know what to say, but that doesn't mean I didn't want to say something."

He didn't answer.

The wind was cold. The sky was turning gray, like it couldn't make up its mind.

You looked at him again.

"You always do that," you said. "Assume how people feel and then act like it's confirmed data."

"It's easier than asking."

"Well, maybe next time, ask."

He looked at you then.

Like he heard you for the first time.

But still, he didn't move. And neither did you.

The moment passed like a train that didn't stop.

You both walked away feeling like you’d missed something important.

Because you had.

◎◎⫘◎◎

1. It didn't happen at some climactic hour, in some big cinematic way.

There was no rainstorm this time, no bruised hallway lighting, no tension humming between the inches of silence.

Just a classroom. Late. Empty. Gold evening light spilling sideways through the windows, dust drifting in slow motion. The kind of warmth that didn't burn — just sat in your bones like an old memory.

You hadn't meant to fall asleep.

You'd only meant to rest your eyes. Just for a second. But the warmth got to you — the sunlight, the still air, the safety of a quiet room without anyone needing anything from you. You drifted.

When you opened your eyes again, Si-eun was there.

Sitting on a chair beside the desk. Back against the wall. Book in his lap. Head tilted slightly toward you.

Not watching. Just being.

Your first instinct was to speak. Crack a joke. Break the softness with your usual deflection.

But for once, you didn't. You just looked at him. Let the quiet stretch.

He closed the book.

"Bad dream?" he asked, voice like a whisper folded in linen.

You blinked the sleep out of your eyes. "Not really. Just... weird."

A pause.

"Felt like I was floating."

He nodded. Like he understood.

You sat up slowly, wincing a little at the crick in your neck.

He reached into his bag and passed you a water bottle without a word.

You took it. Sipped.

He didn't fill the silence. He didn't shrink from it either. Just sat there with you, like he had nowhere else to be, no one else to become in that moment.

And then—"Thank you," you said.

He looked at you, eyebrows lifting just slightly. "For what?"

"For... not leaving."

It came out so softly you weren't sure it even reached him.

But his eyes held yours, steady.

You took in his eyes, his eyes were a study in contradiction — sharp in thought, but soft in shape, always watching like they were learning you in real time. Slightly wide, dark, and quietly luminous, like they held whole libraries of things left unsaid. They didn’t flicker much when he spoke — they lingered, honest in a way his voice never quite managed.

And when he looked at you, really looked, it felt like standing barefoot in the middle of something sacred.

Like silence could be tender. Like you could finally stop explaining yourself. Those eyes didn’t ask for words. They just understood.

Then he added, not quickly, but like it had been waiting:

"I wasn't going to."

Nothing more. No sudden hand grabs, no confessions, no dizzying declarations. Just that.

For the first time, there was nothing to correct. Nothing to fix.

You both stayed there. In the gold-lit quiet. In the stillness that didn't ask for answers. Just presence.

And this time — finally — you both understood.

◎◎⫘◎◎

2. It was dark by the time the rooftop emptied out.

The others had gone. Baku, Gotak, Juntae— loud footsteps, louder laughter, the crunch of snack wrappers left behind. The kind of after-school chaos that made everything feel alive. But now it was quiet. That dusky, hush-hour kind of quiet, where even the wind didn't bother to speak.

You stayed behind to clean up. He stayed behind for... something else.

Neither of you said it.

Si-eun was leaning against the railing, hood pulled halfway up, hair catching in the breeze. You were stacking drink cans into neat, metallic towers and pretending not to feel the weight of his gaze on your back.

"You always do that," he said.

You blinked. "Do what?"

"Stay behind. Fix things no one notices."

You smiled — crooked, tired. "Someone has to."

Silence again. Not heavy. Just full.

"I used to think I was fine alone," he said. Quiet. Almost to himself. "That being alone meant being safe. That silence meant control."

You straightened. Slowly.

He didn’t look at you. Just kept talking, eyes on the horizon where the sky bled orange into navy.

"But it’s not quiet when you're gone. It's louder. It’s—"

He cut himself off. Bit his lip. Exhaled sharp.

You waited.

"I don't know how to say it right," he admitted.

"You don’t have to."

"I want to," he said. "I—"

He turned then. Finally looked at you.

"I think about you. All the time. In the middle of things that don’t matter. Like math problems and weather reports and the noise in the hallway. You just show up. In my head."

Your throat tightened.

He stepped forward — one pace. No more.

"If you asked me what we are," he said, "I don't have the word. But I know what I want it to be."

You didn't breathe.

"-and if you don’t feel the same, that’s fine. I'll try to not think of it" His voice cracked slightly, "But I don't want to keep pretending this is nothing."

You looked at him.

"I feel it too."

He smiled.

Actually smiled.

Not the polite curl of the corners of his lips he wore in passing, but the real one, the one that came slow and reluctant, like it wasn't used to being let out. It broke across his face like sunlight through fog, fleeting and precious, the kind of thing you only caught if you were paying attention.

Now that it happened, everything softened: the edges of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders, the guarded quiet in his eyes. It was a smile that felt like a secret, like you’d been trusted with something he didn’t give away easily. A quiet admission that, for a moment, he let himself feel joy — and let you see it.

And in that soft rooftop dark, with cans clinking quietly in your hands and the wind threading through your sleeves, you realized something simple:

There was no misunderstanding anymore.

There was just you.

And him.

And everything you hadn’t said — finally, beautifully heard.

◎◎⫘◎◎

@mournaeve 2025, I don't allow translations or reposting of my work however reblogging is fine :)