grandlightcandy

[grandlightcandy]

yes yes im a sunoo bias myself and I actually never asked in Tumblr before lol

i was wondering if you could do a yandere stalker sunoo like in a school situation? Cus I can't be the only one that thinks that sunoo fits an obsessive psycho personality 😝

No no he ABSOLUTELY fits that sort of vibe. Like, so cute and friendly, then absolutely batshit behind the scenes hehe. I got you! (Also I'm SO SORRY this took so long, I had this header made for ages and then got caught up with work. Sorry!!)

Closer - Kim Sunoo

TW: General yandere behavior, stalking, delusion, unwanted kisses, stealing (senior year, both are 18)

Masterlist

Sunoo thought you were radiant. Absolutely radiant, like sunshine personified. Some people might think him odd for having such an opinion, especially since you were quiet and tended to keep to yourself, but Sunoo would fight them tooth and nail until they understood exactly how warm and wonderful you were.

How it was you who greeted Sunoo first when he arrived at your school all those years ago. Others had flocked to him of course, as they always did. Drawn in by his smile and his extraverted nature, plucking at his cheeks and cooing, telling him just how polite and wonderful his voice sounded. He'd had such things told to him his entire life and, while he always appreciated the love of others, he also had grown accustomed to it. Everywhere he went, the same thing.

You're my age? Oh, I thought you were younger with how cute you are!

You can dance too? And sing? What can't you do, Sunoo?

You're so friendly! I can always depend on you!

Sunoo had those who didn't like him of course, mostly other boys who thought him too soft around the edges or that his interests were unbecoming, but Sunoo knew well enough not to be bothered by such things. He knew who he was, and he didn't need others to tell him.

But you didn't tell him who he was. Who he should be. Who he was expected to be.

No, you just sat with him quietly as he walked over to take a breather from gym class. You were fiddling with the hem of your shirt, pursing your lips at the sight of a thread out of place. Sunoo peeked over, humming, and spoke up. "I can fix it, if you want."

"Hm?" You looked up, surprised at someone talking to you. "Fix it?"

"Yeah. My mom taught me how to sew, so..." He trailed off, smiling welcomingly at you. It was painted all over your face just how introverted you were, your eyes darting around nervously and your fingers fiddling even more. You dipped your head.

"That's sweet. I can figure it out, though..." He noticed something interesting about your language then. 'That's sweet.'

Not 'you're so sweet' or 'that's nice of you' said in that enthused, too-happy to gush over him way. Just an observation that the action he took was nice, not attributing it to him immediately.

Maybe it was stupid to read so much into such a small statement and its phrasing, but Sunoo's observation was proven accurate as he tried to talk more to you.

"I went to the carnival this weekend! They asked me to perform for the kids there, so it was pretty fun."

"Oh, you did? Sounds fun. Must have taken a lot of work to get that good."

Not 'you're so talented,' not 'I wish I was as talented as you,' or even 'Wahh... I'm sure the kids loved it, Sunoo!'

Truth be told, he had put a lot of effort into it.

You didn't make assumptions, just listened and complimented and then shrunk back into yourself like you weren't the first person in his whole life to create a preconceived notion the millisecond you met him.

He didn't get much chance to talk to you that day, nor the next, nor for a long time after. You two had gym together, sure, but aside from that your schedules were completely different for a long time. There was no time to rush up and talk to you, especially since you seemed too skittish and he felt he might need a reason.

All the same, Sunoo still saw you. Still appreciated you, more and more as he saw the parts of you others didn't. The way you smiled softly to yourself when you were proud of something you'd made or a grade you'd gotten. The little squeal you let out when your college of choice answered back and accepted you. The way your nose scrunched when people were too loud, the way you hummed to yourself when you settled down to study in the library, the way your hair blew around your face when you walked home, the way you greeted your mother with a hug every time you saw her, the way you fed the same stray cat every time you went to the park, even when it was raining, the way-

Sunoo could go on and on about you. About your cuteness, your warmth, the moments where the breath was knocked out of him by how beautiful you were. And he did! Just... not verbally.

Sunoo had never been a shy person. Not really, anyways. Quiet sometimes, sure, humble other times, but not shy. But with you? He felt like a floaty mess. And on top of that, he was scared of scaring you off. You were so shy comparatively, and he feared he would break down if you rejected his presence. So instead, he found a different outlet for his admiration.

Sunoo scrap booked.

Every little new thing he noticed about you he wrote down. Every picture he took of you looking your best- which was everyday!- he pasted down into his journal. He swiped the pencils you left behind and doodled pictures of you inside with them. Washi tape and pressed flowers, markers and stickers, anything and everything to try and decorate pages of YOU and express just how much he loved you.

He didn't think that all those things could ever show his desire, but it was at least a hint. Something to compliment your features as he longingly stroked a finger down your polaroid face and giggled to himself in the dead of night.

He did all this, and it did curb his need to approach you, to bask in your light, but at the same time he was... getting antsy.

Sunoo needed you like he needed air. Needed to be closer. First it was peeking through your windows, trying to see how you lived and catch sight of your cute face while you snored. Then it was invading your home, poking around and pretending like you'd invited him there. Him! Then he took things, things that he could pretend you gave him and things that reminded him of you. Oversized shirts he could use as pillowcases, the little figurine at the back of your shelf that you wouldn't miss, your favorite toothbrush...

Sunoo sat up abruptly, startled by the sound of steps coming up the staircase. He floundered for a moment, leaping off the bed and looking for somewhere to go. He couldn't escape back out the window, not in time at least. And there was no desk where he could hide, or a closet big enough, and the door was opening and-

"Shh, shh! H-Hey! It's ok!" Sunoo pressed you against the door, hand pressed over your mouth, tense and frantic. Almost instantly you were completely frozen in fear, wide eyes peering up at him, and the first thought through Sunoo's head was that he wanted a picture of that face to line his next page with. "It's just me. It's Sunoo, ok?"

You hardly breathed, but he could see your eyes tearing up. Panic, self-loathing, and sympathy rushed over him all at once. He shushed you over and over, gently pulling you from the door into his arms. Your hands hovered, wanting to shove him away but too frightened of what he might do in return.

Little did you know that Sunoo wouldn't dream of hurting a pretty hair on your little head.

"I'm sorry, I- I didn't want us to meet again like this-" He stammered, petting your hair as he pressed over your mouth with his other. He pressed his forehead to yours. The mere contact warmed his bones, settled deep in his chest, and despite his worry and fear he felt a smile spreading over his face. You were here, right here in his arms, and god did it feel good. "I just- I've really liked you for a while now and I wanted to see you..."

Sunoo leaned in, feeling your breath stutter against his hand, and pressed his cheek to yours. Soft, sweet, like a lover's nuzzle. He giggled as he pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek. Then to your forehead. Then your nose, your chin, the spot below your jaw. Peppering everywhere, trying to use you as an outlet for his love. Sunoo sighed happily as, after a moment of hesitation, he pressed his lips to yours. Then he leaned right back, practically vibrating with excitement.

"I just wanted to be closer."

[grandlightcandy]

Hi! I can't get Jungwon make ver. concept photo out of my mind esp the one where he's holding chainsaw. So, can I request a Yandere psychopath Jungwon where he's a serial killer and Y/N saw him while he's killing someone. Turns out Y/N is mute, and Jungwon took a liking of her and become obsessed with her. Thank you! hehehe

Wait this is such a good idea! Thank you for asking!

Curiosity Killed the Cat - Yang Jungwon

TW: general yandere behavior, somewhat graphic murder, mental instability

Masterlist

Today was hardly your first time meeting. Jungwon had seen you around before in passing, just as you’d seen him.

You worked as a florist, in a store just off the side of the woods that encompassed the north side of the town the both of you resided in. You didn’t work the desk but instead acted as the manual labor of the operation. Due to the lack of space in the small store, you often ended up arranging your bouquets and planting new bushes along the backside of the building, in the small alleyway that bordered the forest. Jungwon too frequented this path, and as such the two of you had seen and politely nodded and smiled to each other on many occasions before promptly forgetting about the interaction entirely.

But not this afternoon’s interaction. No, no, no…

Jungwon had an itch, you see. A sort of crawling, borderline hysteric feeling that would sometimes rise up inside him. He didn't know where it came from, was never able to identify it since it rose up in mid-childhood, but no matter how hard he'd initially tried to fight it, something always broke. A violent glee, a demented sort of excitement, thrill at the sight of blood and gore. Intrigue at the sight of despair and the complex emotions on the faces of his victims before they died.

Jungwon eventually decided to stop fighting that feeling. Instead he embraced it, and Jungwon became a predator. Meek and polite and smiley during the day, savage and terrifying and just as smiley during the night.

And tonight, like many nights before, Jungwon had to soothe that itch. How else could he maintain his perfect innocent facade, after all? So he picked someone he didn't particularly care for- a runner who jogged just a tad too close to dusk for his own good- and took him off the path in a clean movement.

He struggled of course, tried to yell out before Jungwon shoved a rag in his mouth, but it was no use. Jungwon may have a soft face, cute dimples and eyes that made all the local grandmas coo at him, but he was strong. Way stronger than this wiry runner, at least. Into the bushes he dragged him, the male thrashing, eyes wide and pleading. Jungwon pulled him all the way over to a clearing deeper in the forest, about three hundred feet from the town, and shoved him into the dirt.

"Hi there. I'm Jungwon. I don't think we've met." He smiled down at the male, pinning him with a knee at the sternum as he reached over his shoulder. He slid his pack off his shoulder and unzipped it. "We should get to know each other. I'm pretty good at reading people... bet I can tell which of these you'll prefer." Jungwon reached in, pulling out a knife. He unsheathed the hunter's blade, the metal gleaming wickedly in the pale moonlight filtering through the trees.

The runner screamed through the gag, thrashing harder, and Jungwon hummed.

"You don't like this one? How about this one?" Out came a handsaw, a buzzsaw for small tree limbs that Jungwon had chosen upon learning how quiet it could be.

And how destructive.

The resulting tears on his victim's cheeks made Jungwon smile. "Oh, looks like we have a winner!"

And then it began. Soft whirring, grinding bone and shredding flesh, hoarse screams muffled by the rag shoved halfway down his prey's gullet. Jungwon giggled and prodded at him, showing him each piece removed, setting them off to the side in a neat pile to be disposed of later.

By the time he passed out- or maybe passed away- Jungwon's hands were slick with rapidly cooling blood and his shirt more than likely needed to be burned. He patted at the male's cheek, cooing for him to wake up, that playtime wasn't over, and-

A branch cracked behind him.

Jungwon's head whipped around to see you, startled and stumbling, as you whipped around to try and run for the help that was so close by. You tripped, though, slamming into the earth and giving him enough time to lunge to his feet and tackle you against the base of a tree.

He expected you to scream out, to wail as you hit the ground, to do anything, as he primed his hand and wrestled you to face him so he could silence you.

But you didn't. Jungwon's shoulders relaxed, tension and fear at being caught melting away, because you were staring at him with wide, teary eyes yet weren't making a single sound. It was... strange. Fascinating. Cute, almost, the way you heaved in breaths and your pulse rabbited against where his thumb pressed into your throat. He recognized you then, vaguely. "It's you." He mumbled.

Jungwon, as previous stated, hadn't paid you much attention. Had marked you down passively as being attractive, as being quiet and hardworking as you hoisted heavy bags of soil and potted plants whenever he saw you. But now was the first time he really saw you.

And you weren't saying a word.

Were you in shock? Jungwon held the base of your head firmly, legs boxing you in against the roots of the tree your fingers clutched at so desperately, and peered closely at you. "Were you working late? Did you hear something? Is that why you came to investigate? Maybe I'll have to move deeper into the forest next time then... What's that saying? Something about a cat?" He mused passively. His palm cupped along the side of your face, ready to cover your mouth at a moment's notice, but for some reason he wanted to see if you'd talk. If you'd scream. What would you sound like? Would your voice be just as pretty as the rest of you, so beautiful under the moon?

Again, you didn't respond. Your mouth moved, gaping and closing as you tried to fight your gasping, panicked breaths.

"Don't tell me I scared you silent. That'd be boring." He mumbled, tilting his head. His eyes slid to your hands then, still wrapped tight around the roots like you were trying to claw away from him. Your fingers were moving, trembling, not quite forming symbols but definitely twitching around oddly. Like there was some sort of habit there. A thought occurred to him. Had he every actually talked to you before? He was sure he'd said hello a couple of times.

But had you responded?

Jungwon pinched your arm harshly, expecting you to cry out in pain. Your mouth opened, a gust of wheezing breath escaped, but there was no noise at all. Were you...?

"Can you tell me your name?" He asked finally, tone shifting from something predatory and dangerous to something much more akin to his daylight persona. Something you were familiar with, like he was trying to coax you into letting your guard down. You swallowed thickly, tears gathering in your eyes, and he watched as after a few long seconds your hand raised slightly.

Clench, unclench, and a few more motions he wasn't familiar with. He smiled at you, eyes crinkling, and his palm relaxed against your jaw. Less cautious, more intrigued. "Sorry, I don't know sign language. But I'm sure we can get to know each other some other way." He said, peering into your watery gaze. If you could make noises properly, he was sure you'd be whimpering. But instead you just sniffled, nose twitching in a way that reminded him so much of a bunny-rabbit.

"Shh, it's alright. I'm Jungwon, you know. We should get to know each other, don't you think?" He echoed the words he'd spoken earlier that night with a smile so similar, yet just barely softer, more genuine at the edges. He picked up a nearby rock, and you trembled and thrashed. "We'll talk later. Or I'll talk, I guess. Sleep tight!"

Wham.

Not too hard, not too soft, you were out like a light. Interestingly, you let out small snores almost instantly. So silent when awake, but snoring and curling in on yourself instinctively when knocked out cold. Jungwon pet your hair, blood catching on the strands and dying it darker, and tilted his head at your form.

You were... interesting. And with his itch sated for the night, he hardly wanted to get rid of someone so intriguing. He stood up, eyeing the body to his left, and stretched his back.

Cleanup time, then the two of you could retreat to his home and get cleaned up yourselves. He'd have plenty of time to research sign language then, and even more time to learn about you. The idea of doing such a thing curled in his chest like a sated cat, purring and warming his insides, scratching an already sated itch.

He whistled to himself, happier than he'd been in a long, long time.

[grandlightcandy]

hiii!!! :))

first of all i really luv ur writing, i found myself reading sm of your work even if i don't stan enhyphen!

I've seen that you accept requests for p1harmony and i've been so into the idea of jiung and keeho being yanderes lately that i literally feel the thoughts chewing away at my brain.

ughhhh i can see like jiung being someone you get to know on campus, and he's just so nice and you guys start to go out, and you're completley clueless about his obsession with you, in the meanwhile keeho had seen you months ago, working at a cafeteria near the campus, and he couldn't get you off his mind ever since then, when he sees that jiung starts going out with you he can't help but feel jealous, so he immediatley starts to get to know you and quickly becomes one of your friends, sliding into ud life as if he had always been there andd ugh idk i was just thinking all sorts of scenarios of them being jealous of each other and sabotaging each other's friendship/ situationship with you until they finally come to the conclusion that, what the helly, they're friends, they could both have you?!?@

omg sorry i yapped sm and i have no idea if what i wrote was correct whatsoever, english is not my first language so pls understand !💔

but wtv, if you could write something about this, or even simply yandere headcanons about them separately i'd be sooo happy, but if you can't for whatever reasons i understand perfectly ! 🩷

P1H DOESNT GET ENOUGH TUMBLR POSTS AND CERTAINLY NOT ENOUGH YANDERE I GOT YOU BOOKIE

Unhealthy Competition - Yoon Keeho and Choi Jiung

TW: general yandere behavior, stalking, gaslighting, isolating behavior, kidnapping

Masterlist

When you met Jiung for the first time, the two of you smacking into each other as you turned a corner, it truthfully wasn’t Jiung’s first time meeting you. He’d watched you from afar, gained a little crush that grew into something uncontrollable as he watched you in class.

You were just so sweet as you raised your hand to ask the professor questions, even if the professor had long since said it was alright to just blurt out comments. Then there were days where you were shy, shuffling into the back of the room instead of your usual seat towards the middle, your pencil tapping a near imperceptible rhythm as you listened. And then there were the moments where, in the midst of group work, Jiung would hear a tinkling laugh and look over from his own group- god, why couldn’t he be there with you?- and see your ears flushed as you cracked a joke or accidentally made a slight fool of yourself. You were clumsy and funny like that, something that gave Jiung just enough of a feeling of kinship, like maybe you two belonged together, to orchestrate the two of you finally interacting. Sure, he could approach you like a normal person, but you were so skittish he felt it best to just… accidentally meet you instead.

So you blushed and stammered as you helped him clean up his stuff, and Jiung waved away your concern with a happy smile as he offered to buy you a new coffee some time to make up for the one dripping on the sidewalk. He could see it in your eyes, that slight hesitance, so he told you not to feel too pressured and handed over what he’d managed to pick up. Your notebook, your pens, and a third notepad that was decidedly not yours. He’d made sure to write his number on the back just in case it got lost, so of course he received a text message later that afternoon.

And just like that, Jiung was in your life. He sat next to you in class, carefully getting you to open up. Half of it was from him trying, the other half from you seeing exactly what he had seen in you- you two were similar in a lot of ways, not too touchy and always just a little too embarrassing for your own good when trying to be social. So he was all too happy to sit in this little world with you, the two of you chuckling and texting back and forth in the back of the classroom on your quieter days. It wasn’t long before he was your best friend, something that happened in record time. And as a best friend, he could finally treat you to that coffee- a vanilla latte with cinnamon and one extra raw sugar packet.

Turns out, your barista was already extremely familiar with your order, and Jiung didn’t even get the chance to just ‘happen’ to guess your favorite. Jiung eyed the male’s nametag, something boiling in his stomach at the sight of you grinning happily at this ‘Keeho’ person.

Keeho eyed the male right back as you headed towards the table by the window that he’d oh so carefully saved for this time of day for you. He lifted his nose, huffing out an irritated breath, but smiled all the same at the customer. “What can I get for you?”

“Same as her.”

“We’re all out of vanilla syrup, sorry. Can I get you something else?” The male’s eyes darted to the syrup stand behind Keeho, spotting the still very full container. His eye twitched. Keeho smiled back passively.

“I’ll just have a regular latte then.”

“And what will be the name for that?”

“Jiung.” Keeho’s lips pursed into a smile just a tad too… unfeeling. He let Jiung pay, charged him just a bit more than normal, and scribbled his name on a cup in great jagged letters. When Jiung picked up his drink- iced, not warm like requested- Keeho pretended the male didn’t exist in favor of staring at you.

Honestly, Keeho was convinced he wouldn’t see this Jiung character come into the shop again alongside you. You were private like that, rarely appearing with anybody except for the occasional study partner for a project. It gave Keeho plenty of time to get to know you, the real you, as you curled up over a good book. The you that read cheesy romances and refused to dog-ear your pages. The you that was hyper aware of your surroundings, always shying out of the way so as not to be a burden. The you that wrinkled your nose when you laughed, and when you were alone even snorted a little. The you that greeted him with a bright smile all the time, even as your shyness gnawed at you.

Keeho fondly thought of you as his little customer, a possessive title that he never really paid much mind to.

But then Jiung kept appearing. He’d spot you walking by the coffee shop window, Jiung at your side. He’d see you in town occasionally, talking on the phone to Jiung. Even worse, Jiung would completely ruin yours and Keeho’s sanctuary on over half of your visits, whether it be through invite or by ‘coincidentally’ running into you in his shop. And eventually you paid more attention to Jiung on these trips, even taking to trying things other than your usual, waving away the latte he made just the way you liked in favor of some other bullshit.

Keeho felt he had to put a stop to this, especially with Jiung smiling so smugly at him over your shoulders.

So Keeho burrowed into your life as soon as possible. He got off work early, walking out alongside you, and offered to walk you home with a cookie as a subtle bribe. He was his usual charming self, joking and confident, finding every opportunity possible to stop the two of you and prolong the walk. Anything to get you to like him, anything to steal Jiung’s place. Somehow, by the end of that first walk, Keeho already had your number.

As you walked into your house, he seared the address into his mind.

Two days later, Keeho coincidentally ran into you and Jiung at the mall. The look on his face when you invited Keeho to spend time with the both of them? Priceless.

Jiung fucking hated Keeho. That leech had grabbed a hold of you and wouldn’t let go, wouldn’t let you be with the obviously better choice that was Jiung. Keeho was boisterous sometimes, entirely too confident, unafraid to be flirty and then back right back up and pretend it was a joke when you got flustered. He just couldn’t get rid of the guy.

Even worse, he swore the guy was using his tactics. Accidental run-ins, happening to have an extra one of your favorite snacks, slowly isolating you away from the rest of the nobodies who wanted to take up your time…

While Jiung did that in class, casually taking you under his arm and discouraging students from talking to you behind closed doors, Keeho was unafraid of clicking his tongue and telling you some bullshit comment just to get you to think that little bit more poorly of your friends and family.

Begrudgingly, Jiung felt Keeho was making his job a little easier. Begrudgingly, he got free coffees from Keeho because when he gave them to you, you asked for one for Jiung as well. Begrudgingly, Keeho was actually likable.

Jiung hated it, he really did. He was supposed to be proving that Keeho was all wrong for you, and yet the two of them had slowly stopped sabotaging each other. Instead, they worked in tandem. You didn’t have anyone else now. You hardly even spoke to your family. You went to class, then to the shop, then home, and on the weekends you hung out with them. When Jiung laughed and spun you around playfully, hands held so carefully on your waist, your cheeks flushed. When Keeho pinched teasingly at your cheek and wrapped an arm around your shoulders, your ears burned.

Much to both of their chagrins, they wouldn’t be nearly as close with you without the other.

And so maybe, maybe, that was why they decided to become roommates. Maybe that was why, when their hearts felt like they were bursting because they were so, so close and yet you still kept fucking shying away, it was Keeho who grabbed you and it was Jiung’s car you ended up in.

Jiung could tolerate Keeho as long as you were there, as long as you smiled weakly, indulgently at him as he peppered kisses over your cute face.

Keeho, in turn, could tolerate Jiung as long as you were there and he could tuck his face into your neck, holding you close like his personal teddy bear.

You maybe could escape one of them, but both? You’d sooner die trying, and neither of them planned on letting that happen.

[grandlightcandy]

Ok since I have so many likes on my Ni-ki stuff I thought I'd draw him for you! Here we go, just for my amazing followers! (Just a quick draw lol, don't have much time to fully render stuff rn)

[grandlightcandy]

Heyy can you do a oneshot where yandere ni-ki is set to marry reader, but both of them don't like each other and so they both don't really interact and then reader and yandere sunghoon start getting closer and now both of them are fighting for her........ And at the end both of them share her

This is my first time doing a request so I'm sorry if it's not super clear

No no you are all good! This is clear! Hope I delivered on it! (Also I’m ur first request!! Thank you for choosing me!!)

Belonging - Park Sunghoon, Nishimura Riki

TW: general yandere themes, death and gore, planned murder

Masterlist

Riki wasn’t the biggest fan of you, and you weren’t his either. Not that you hadn’t tried to like him, that was. When it was announced that you two were set to marry as per a contract made before you were even born, it was expected that neither of you were thrilled to have your freedom taken from you. You both already had so many expectations as heirs to chaebol families, so to have yet another shackle placed on you?

Yeah, neither of you liked it. But he didn’t have to be such an ass about it either, in your opinion.

You tried to be kind at first. You called him, texted him friendly messages, offered to go out to eat to get to know each other, and always smiled his way politely. But he always either didn’t respond, rejected your offers none-too-politely, or even acted like a spoiled brat and scolded you like you were one of his maids. God forbid you try to touch him at all. He’d dodge around you or glare at you. And around family, where you had to act at least amicable in the lead up to the wedding? He’d link arms with you, sure, but he’d be tense and would shrug you off as soon as possible.

So eventually you gave up and mimicked his behavior, and the two of you entered a stalemate. Neither of you talked or texted, and you completely dodged around each other when possible. When it wasn’t possible, you didn’t look at each other or touch each other. And when that wasn’t possible? You just gently grabbed the back of his wrist or tapped his shoulder, touch fleeting. Riki seemed happy with that, and you were too.

So what was the big deal about looking to Sunghoon for affection instead?

It’s not like you were trying to get with the guy. Wasn’t like you wanted to marry Sunghoon instead or anything, even if anyone but Riki would be better. No, you were just being friendly, enjoying as Sunghoon laughed at your jokes and bought you coffees when you two ran into each other. So what if you felt flattered as you realized that the ever stoic Sunghoon actually seemed to seek you out at times just to ask you if you saw his latest modeling job? You and he were friends, and nothing would change that, not even Riki’s tantrums.

The male inexplicably seemed to hate your relationship with Sunghoon. For the life of you you couldn’t tell why and had to just chalk it up to jealousy at Sunghoon being generally better than he was. More handsome, friendlier- a crazy thing to say considering the both of them were colder than ice for the most part- and more famous… surely that’s what had Riki’s panties in a twist. Or maybe it was just that sort of toddler mentality of ‘even if I don’t want to play with this toy, it belongs to me, so I’m not sharing.’

Strangely, you were pretty close to the real answer with that last assumption.

Riki was jealous. But jealous didn’t really cover it. He was envious. Covetous. Desirous. You were supposed to be his fiance, and here you were laughing at Sunghoon’s jokes, hanging off Park Sunghoon’s arm, texting Park. Fucking. Sunghoon.

Sure, he was pissed at the circumstances of your engagement. Anyone would be. Riki liked to mess around, to enjoy his youth, and yet all of that was snatched away without him even having input on who he’d be tied to. And really, he’d found you annoying at first. You were obviously just as miffed as he was, and yet you were acting fake. Smiling those fake smiles at him, acting like you really didn’t care, like you were happy to be with him when he was so miserable putting on a performance for his over-controlling parents.

Then you’d stopped being so fake. Had begun ignoring him too, the two of you living parallel lives. Seeing each other, occasionally coming close, but never touching. Just separating back out to your respective lives and biding time until the wedding. But the grass is always greener on the other side, and maybe that’s what made Riki realize exactly how interesting you really were.

All of a sudden he was watching from afar, and he could see every little detail. Your nose scrunch as you smiled, then the way your eyes widened as you caught his eye and the cute sneer you shot him. Your habit of grabbing the hem of someone’s sleeve whenever you laughed, leaning against them like you’d fall over otherwise. The way you picked at your bracelet when you were nervous, or fidgeted when the clothes your family forced you into to match for photos didn’t fit properly. All of a sudden, Riki was missing when those smiles, as fake as they might have been, were aimed at him.

So yeah, he resented Sunghoon. Hated the way that vampire-lookalike caught your eye and preened beneath your gaze. You were his fiancé, not Sunghoon’s. How could you even trust Sunghoon’s like you did? You hardly knew him. For all you knew, all Riki knew, he could be dangerous. That type of model who strung girls along and then ruined their lives. Because while you couldn’t see the hungry gaze Sunghoon aimed at you, Riki certainly could. And if he was going to have one good deed as a fiancé, it was going to be to keep you safe.

What he was about to do was to keep you safe. To keep you safe. His parents would kill him if the deal fell through. Your parents would- you would- Riki would KILL if something happened to you.

So that’s why he ended up following you to Sunghoon’s modeling job, watching from the side as you sat with the camera crew and Sunghoon struck those ridiculous poses. He lurked in the background, those around him hardly saying a word as they realized exactly who he was, and glared holes through the pretty-boy. Who did he think he was? His grip tightened on the switchblade in his jeans.

Then his eyes flickered right back over to you. You, sitting there smiling and cheering Sunghoon on like this was some sort of sporting event and you were his biggest fan. You, fawning over his photos and offering him sips of coffee. You, frowning now, scrunching in on yourself, because one of the camera men was wrapping an arm around your waist and whispering something that made you viscerally uncomfortable. Riki’s attention leapt from Sunghoon to that man. What the hell was going on here?

You inched away, quiet and unnerved, and the sight of you so affected instead of biting back or glaring like Riki was used to was…

When the shoot was done and everyone was dispersing, you already calling your driver, Riki forgot about the model and stalked after this new threat instead.

His heart pounded in his ears as he watched the male talk to someone on the phone, muttering about being on his way, about why on earth they couldn’t have just talked on set a moment ago. He didn’t really pay attention past that. The male walked into an office, Riki caught the door before it closed, and he entered.

Bang!

For a moment Riki was confused as blood splattered over his face. He’d just drawn his knife, the blade gleaming in the artificial light, but he hadn’t done anything. His eyes trailed around, bewildered, to see the camera man flat on the ground with his head caved in. Then his gaze trailed right up to rest on Sunghoon’s face, then the trophy in his hand, now dripping red.

For a long moment the two stared at each other. Stared at the weapons in the both of their hands. For a moment, Sunghoon seemed to weigh the option of caving Riki’s head in too.

But for some reason, Sunghoon paused. He didn’t really know why. He’d been planning on caving Riki’s head in before now, had been planning on moving that ungrateful bastard out of the way so he could have you all to himself. You always told stories of how rude Riki was, of how you wished you could just hang out all day with Sunghoon instead. You’d said the words jokingly, half-seriously, but the mere fact that you were unhappy because of this person was enough to make Sunghoon see red.

He didn’t really think of himself as a violent or even emotional person before you. Hell, he had the nickname “Ice Prince” for a reason, and it wasn’t just for his ice skating days. But you thawed him, had him giggling to himself as he shopped and thought of just how beautiful you might look if he bought something for you. Had his heart bursting, cheeks hurting as you laughed at his dad-jokes. You seemed so happy with him, so it was only natural that you’d be better off with him.

But here Riki was standing now, bizarrely seeming to have noticed the exact same fucker bothering you that Sunghoon had. Had followed that man with the intent of handling things just as Sunghoon had. Seemed to have that protective instinct, that same infatuation, that thrummed through Sunghoon’s veins.

How bizarre.

He should want to kill Riki even more now, really, now that he’d recognized the male as a proper rival. Now that the two were more similar than they thought. But instead he lowered the bloodstained trophy, and Riki lowered the knife. He cast a glance at the body on the floor.

“He’s still breathing.” He commented dryly. Riki nodded. Another pause. Then Riki was bending down, slicing across the back of his neck just below the skull, and it was over. Sunghoon sighed. “Help me clean this up?”

“Don’t you have maids for that?”

“They’ll say something.”

“Mine won’t. They know better. I’ll call some.” Riki pulled out his phone, shooting a quick text. Ah, a chaebol. Sunghoon had almost forgotten. He finished and looked back at the ice skater. “What now?”

“You tell me. You’re the fiance, aren’t you?” Slight bitterness crept into Sunghoon’s voice.

“And you’re liked better.” Riki shot back. Another slight pause, the two of them peering at the body.

The person both were willing to kill, to put aside their differences, just for you. Both realized that while they might not like each other, they both had something that could benefit you. That could benefit each other.

“I think I can help you.”

[grandlightcandy]

Maybe yandere niki with forced marriage trope, where the reader hates him at first (Cause it's forced) but soon she falls in love cause niki loves her like REALLYYY loves her. he's really sweet nd soft no matter how many times the reader avoids him or does something he doesnt get angry on her and tolerates it unlike how he is with others (he has anger issues when he;s with other people) and then blah this blah that, reader falls in love? he never hurts reader on shouts on reader? Idk something came into my mind (reallyyy sorry if this is too much) would love to see this in ur writing style!!!

YES THE FIRST REQUEST EEEEEK!

Coming right up 🫡

Under the Dragon’s Wing - Riki Nishimura

Warnings: General yandere themes, obsessive behavior, mentions of mass death

Masterlist

You didn’t want to marry Riki Nishimura. Sure he was royalty. Sure he was conventionally attractive. Sure he was tall and rich and the heir to the throne of this country and blah, blah, blah.

But considering his kingdom just killed half your people? Considering there was no warning, no conflict with his nation prior to the invasion? Considering that it was so sudden, so out of the blue, and that the first words out of his father’s mouth when they stormed into the castle were “My son wishes to wed your daughter. Agree to the marriage or face annihilation.”

You weren’t enthused at all. Instead, rage curled in your gut. Disgust made you feel utterly nauseous every time you laid eyes on the Nishimura heir. He was the reason your people had been slaughtered. He was the reason your family no longer ruled over their own nation. You hated Riki Nishimura.

You remembered the first time you met. You’d hated him then too. It was at a meeting between kingdoms, the children all left to mingle and socialize. At the time, you and Riki and a few others had been just a bit too young to focus on diplomatic relations, so you’d simply played in the gardens. You’d disliked Riki immediately. He was a sore loser, in your opinion. If someone won fair and square, he was quick to whine about a rock in his shoe or that they were playing wrong. If they didn’t immediately keel over and apologize or redo the round, his temper would flare and the good mood was ruined as he scuffled with that person. Of course, the maids and servants didn’t intervene out of fear of getting reprimanded, so the elder princes and princesses had to step in and pry Riki away.

You just stuck up your nose at him, scoffing at the behavior, and ran off to keep playing.

The next time you saw Riki, you two were older. Maybe around age ten or eleven. He was just as irritable and annoying, you found. One second smiling and giggling, the next snapping at some poor maid just trying to keep the floors clean. You'd had your first proper interaction with him then, telling him off for treating your favorite maid that way.

“She’s just doing her job! Don't be such a brat!” Riki stared at you, brows furrowed, and retorted.

“A brat? Who do you think you’re talking to? Who even are you?” He jabbed a finger at your chest then, face pinched in that snooty, arrogant anger. You pushed away his hand with a scoff.

“Heir to the Vandeltheim throne, stupid.” You remember sticking out your tongue at him, watching his face go red with embarrassment and irritation. He spluttered.

“Stupid? You little- hey! Where are you going? Don't ignore me!” You’d turned on your heel, stalking off to go back to hanging out with your friends in the parlor. Riki was left stammering, calling after you to try and get a reaction so he didn't seem childish, to no avail. Maybe that was when he took interest in you. A crush, maybe, even if he didn't want to name it as such because such an idea was gross at that age.

The next year, at the yearly banquet between families, you could feel Riki glaring holes into the side of your head. He seemed to be trying to get you to look at him, to pay attention, without wanting to look weak and approach you first. The next year, when you were both thirteen, he talked to you again. He'd mellowed out a bit, surprisingly. Still just as quick to be upset or irritable, but not quite as childish in your opinion. When he approached you at the stables, you sighed and put up with him.

“What do you want?”

Riki scoffed, crossing his arms and peering at you. “What’s with the attitude? I just wanted to know which one was yours, that's all.” He looked away, lips pursed, shoulders set. You assumed he’d pitch a fit or something if you didn't respond, so you did so.

“That one. Her name is Willow.” You motioned to a chestnut brown horse. For a royal steed, she wasn't all that glamourous. One color all over, with a mane of average length and swiveling, odd looking ears. But you loved her all the same, mostly because of her eyes. They were gentle, noble, possessing a quiet sort of strength. They just radiated warmth. You half expected Riki to jeer and laugh at the steed, but to your shock he didn't. He just nodded, face thoughtful. A moment of silence, and then...

“Fits you.” He murmured. You jerked your head to look at him sharply. He wasn't looking at you, just saying it to himself, and didn't really seem to be trying to be rude. But all the same, you took it as such.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Riki startled a little at your aggressive tone, and looked at you owlishly. But he sneered back all the same, tips of his ears red as he lobbed back a response.

“Well it’s short, isn't it?”

“You’re shorter than me.” You narrowed your eyes with a huff of laughter, patting him on the head before sauntering off elsewhere. Riki made an offended noise.

The next meeting? Riki didn’t approach you at all. And the next year was the same, the male just eyeing you carefully from afar. Then, when you were both sixteen, he interacted with you again. This time, it was a result of necessity. At this age, your parents were starting to push all of the children to really begin talking, making relationships to further your kingdom’s relations.

And to your surprise, Riki initially seemed much more mature. He’d finally shot up to be taller than you by a couple inches, something that kind of annoyed you, and he greeted you with a small smile and bow of his head. With his clothes finally pressed properly, he looked so much more like his role. He even greeted you as such, using your proper title and grinning like you were old friends. And yet, still, you saw his temper flare up, and the illusion was ruined. This time, a passerby stepping on the back of his shoe had him whipping around, glare much too harsh for the situation aimed right at them. You could practically see the gears in his head turning on how to get back at the noble, and the sight of that was enough to make you back off and leave him alone.

Riki wouldn’t leave you alone though. It felt like in every subsequent banquet, he was always beelining for you. Hitting you with dazzling smiles, eyes crinkling happily when you scowled back at him and told him to go away, not out of malice but just irritating amusement. Honestly, you couldn’t fathom why he kept hanging around you. Obviously, you hated his attitude. Hated how, when someone jostled your arm, his first reaction was to grab them harshly by their own arm and ask how it felt through gritted teeth. You smacked at Riki’s shoulder, glaring up at him- he’d gotten annoyingly tall- and run away.

You ignored him at the next banquet. Maybe that was what broke the camel’s back. Someone as spoilt as Riki just couldn’t handle it.

You were wed to Riki almost immediately upon the invasion. Even if you hated him, despised him, you couldn’t stand to have your people suffer. Riki was so happy, chuckling and even giggling as he freely wrapped his arms around you. He was grinning, eyes too fond, as he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours like you were the most precious thing alive to seal the wedding. You felt physically ill. Luckily enough, the spoiled brat didn’t force you into anything after the fact.

It was strange, really. How gentle he was with you, that was. For him to do something as heinous as destroy a kingdom just to get to you, you might expect a cruel, possessive man for a husband. Possessive might have been true, with how he tried to monopolize your attention, but he was never cruel.

At least not towards you. Those you grew close to, though? Those who bothered you? Anything that threatened his relationship with you? To save your own sanity, you had to block their fates out. There wasn’t much you could do about the matter, so you couldn’t keep torturing yourself over it, as horribly selfish as it might sound.

A month, two, three, then half a year.

Riki didn’t change. If anything, he became more doting. No other shoe dropped, no mask was removed to reveal the monster below. Riki was exactly what he seemed. Playful, flirty, giggly and teasing, the young prince doting over you all the time. Possessive, monopolizing, dark and cold towards everyone else. His temper would flare up, eyes like burning coals, and in the instant you stepped in to try and soothe things he’d go right back to being docile. The coals turned to warm sunlight as he peered at you.

Was it really hard to see why you began to have trouble hating him? When he treated you so kindly, bought anything he thought you might enjoy, took interest in what you liked just to feel closer to you… it was almost impossible not to feel something.

When Riki placed a quick, playful peck to your lips, you could have sworn he had a heart attack when you pecked right back. There was a long pause, his sharp eyes searching your face… and then Riki grinned so widely. His eyes crinkled, his shoulders lifted, and he spun you in circles in his arms.

“I love you, I love you, I love you!”

Instead of your usual apathetic, “I know,” you found your lips curling at his soft expression. “And I you.”

Was it such a horrible thing to enjoy living beneath the wing of such a foul creature, safe and comfortable as the world burned around you? Maybe. But you could hardly care anymore.

[grandlightcandy]

hii, yesyes i read your niki fic with arranged marriage trope! but i think they were royals in that? maybe this time normal people? or mafia? whatever you want it to be!

Absolutely! So a modern setting, got it!

Payment - Nishimura Riki

TW: general yandere themes, humans as payment, extortion, financial threats, death threats

Masterlist

Your family was in debt. That wasn’t supposed to happen. Your dad was supposed to take care of your family, was supposed to have given you a secure life, was supposed to have made that business he borrowed money for work.

Your elder sister was a commodity. That wasn’t supposed to happen. Your dad was supposed to fight tooth and nail so your sister didn’t have to belong to some jackass mafia member. Your sister wasn’t supposed to be crying as she packed her things in preparation for the final hand off. Your sister wasn’t supposed to be comforting your dad because really, he wanted to fight for her. But he had to think of you, your mother, and your baby brother. It was the last thing he could do to protect everyone from his mistake, and your sister had even bitten the bullet to help as well.

That was why you all were walking into a restaurant far too nice to be so empty, walking back into the back room, all of you carrying the belongings you hoped your sister would be able to keep. Guards stood like statues at the doorway to the private dining area, only giving a passing glance at your drawn faces before knowing exactly why you were there. In you went to see six people before you.

The head of the mafia branch your family had failed to pay off sat there at the table, a steaming cup of tea before him. Next to him was a much younger male, about your age, with probably the most bored yet predatory gaze you’d ever seen. Guards stood in each corner of the room too, guns at their belts. You felt like a child all over again as you instinctively settled behind your father, using his shoulders and back as a shield. Your sister, though, stood tall and as proud as she could.

You hated the realization you might never see such a brave person in your life again.

Silently, you all set down your boxes. The younger male’s eyes flickered to the wedding veil- your grandmother’s veil- poking out of one of them. He scoffed, eyes flickering up to your sister’s. He was the first to break the silence. “What, you think there’s gonna be some big wedding? This is just a contract. You’re not important.” His tone wasn’t malicious, but it was certainly derogatory.

“Riki.” His father spoke up, voice tired and firm. Riki shot him an icy glare.

“What? You’re the one requiring I have a spouse to take over, aren’t you? Just lift the tradition and I won’t have to have someone I don’t even love hanging off my arm.”

“Don’t be ungrateful.” The notion of the person actively choosing to ruin your family’s lives over money he had coffers full of trying to instill some sort of fucked up moral in his son was laughable. It was bizarre. Riki seemed to think the same, judging by his incredulous laugh. He tapped his nails on the table, sharp eyes turning right back to your sister’s form.

“Don’t look at me like I’m the one hurting you. Both of us are prisoners if I have to marry someone like you.” He said dryly, lips curling in apparent disdain.

You felt anger slam into you. Here was your sister, giving herself up willingly to help save your family from financial annihilation and potential death, and he was acting like this was a worse situation for him. You glared at him over your father’s shoulder, your father having angled his elbow into your stomach to silence the retort you had on your tongue. It was a silent, warning gesture.

This is bad enough, don’t make it worse.

So you stayed quiet, but it was as if Riki sensed your ire. His dark gaze snapped suddenly to yours through his bangs, and you felt like screaming at him and cowering away all at once.

His tapping stopped.

Then his head tilted, following his gaze to more firmly face you. All of a sudden, the rage was flooding out of you and giving way to a sort of dread that clawed at your insides. “Who’re you?” His voice wasn’t disdainful anymore. Just curious. And curious was terrifying.

Your father angled his body to hide you better. “Nobody. Let’s sign the contract.” Your sister nodded, stepping forward to take the seat in front of the two males. She was as elegant as ever, as if she was unbothered by everything. It made your heart clench.

“No. Answer me. Who are you?” Riki’s hand came up in a dismissive gesture, stopping your sister in her tracks. His eyes didn’t leave you.

“My other child. Can we- can we just sign the deal?” You could hear the worry in your father’s voice. You looked away from Riki, hoping it would curb his interest, but you could feel his stare like a brand. There was a long pause only broken by the sound of the chair scraping as it was pulled out. Before your sister could take a seat, though, he spoke up again.

“I want that one.” It was said so casually, with a sort of entitlement that left little else to discussion. The entire room felt like it froze. Your throat went dry and you looked up tentatively. Riki’s lips curled into a half-smile as he got your attention again. You didn’t know how, but that too-genuine looking smile of his was more terrifying than anything you’d ever seen.

“We- No- we already came to an agreement-!” Your mother was the one who spoke up, silent up until now.

“Is the contract signed or not?” Riki challenged, waving the piece of paper about like some sort of trophy. His smile stretched just a little wider, head tilting, like there was something amusing in seeing my family stutter and protest.

“You can’t just-“

“I’m not signing shit if it’s her who signs the contract.” Riki said, palm cradling his jaw. He shot a look utterly devoid of care at your sister. Before, there was a disdain and disgust. All of a sudden, though, it was just apathy. Then his eyes were back on you again, and just as suddenly his gaze was filled with emotions you couldn’t quite place. Intrigue, entitlement, hunger… his brow arched as the silence continued. His father eyed him carefully, judging his expression.

“You made a deal for one of your offspring and didn’t specify who. You want this paid? Do what my son says.” The leader said, tone detached and formal. Your sister was immediately irate.

“No. Deal’s off.” She hissed. She slammed the chair back into place and whipped around to gather us all up to leave. “We’ll find a way to make the money back, dad. We’re not playing their games.”

“This isn’t about money, you know.” Riki drawled suddenly. “This was about finding a convenient way for me to fulfill the requirements to become a proper heir.” It was dismissive. You were just a means to an end. Your face twitched in anger.

“Then find another family-“

“You refuse this and money won’t be the payment anymore. I want you.” Riki slowly stood, a lean and towering figure. He slid the contract forward, smiling that too-pleased smile the instant your gaze landed on him again. “Either sign it or the new payment is blood.”

His father watched, brow arched. Seemingly, this behavior was new to even him. But he didn’t intervene, just quietly taking a sip of his tea. There was a pregnant pause, the air tense. The guards seemed alert now, like their fingers were ready to pull the trigger the instant they were told. You swallowed thickly as your sister and father began pleading for them not to do this, your mother clutching your arm and quietly sobbing.

You made a decision. Trying to be as confident as your sister, you pulled your arm from your mother’s grasp and took an abrupt seat at the table.

“Don’t-!”

You scrawled your name in heavy-handed ink, the pen nib ground into the paper harshly. Then you shoved the paper back at Riki. Riki stared at the paper, then at you, eyes like hot brands as his face shifted from one of intrigued amusement to open glee. Like a child getting the toy they wanted. His eyes crinkled and he slid the paper over to his father. Then he was walking around the table towards you with easy, relaxed steps. Your sister stalked forward to try and act as a shield, but the click of a gun had her stopping in place. You tried to steel yourself as he came to a stop in front of you.

He grabbed the lip of one of the boxes your sister had set on the table. “What’s your favorite cake?” He asked suddenly. You were silent for a long moment, bewildered.

“What?” You finally whispered.

“Your favorite flavor of cake. What is it? I like chocolate, personally.” He hummed. Riki grabbed the same veil he’d been callously disregarding earlier. You wanted to rip it from his hands and place it right back in the ancient cupboard your grandfather had carved for your grandmother where it belonged. He held it up to your face, tilting his head as he observed you. “We’ll need to do some cake tasting for the wedding… I’m thinking a black and white themed event? Keep things elegant.” It was like he was already there, his gaze thoughtful as he ran through preparations. The change in attitude was so abrupt, so out of the blue, as he mumbled about catering in the vague direction of his father.

“What the hell are you talking about? You don’t want a wedding and neither do I! The contract is signed, so let’s just do what it says and ignore each other for the rest of our lives.” You finally speak up, voice hurried and obviously tinged with rage. He just smiles that pleased, borderline happy smile again, laugh lines appearing like they were mocking you.

“You speak!” He cheers softly. “Your voice is so nice…”

“Would you stop acting like that?”

“Like what?” He tilts his head almost innocently, like he can’t hear the sobs of your family behind you. “Like I’m happy for the wedding? Because I am. I’m getting to marry you, aren’t I?”

You splutter, bewildered and incredulous, that creeping dread back in full force. “You don’t even fucking know me!”

“But I will. Besides, you really think I’d ask for you so specifically if there wasn’t a reason?” All of a sudden he was stepping forward, encroaching into your space, staring down at you. You felt like he should be looking at you like a roach, like you were beneath him, but his gaze was eerily warm. “Ever heard of the phrase ‘ichigo, ichie?’” Again, his question felt sudden. Your nose wrinkled.

“No.” You tentatively responded, voice still heated.

“It means a ‘once-in-a-lifetime encounter.’” He hums. Riki reaches down, and you balk as he grabs your hand. His touch his gentle despite his calloused palms and long fingers, far too gentle for the type of person you know he is. Almost like handling fine china. Your palm is pressed to his chest, right over his heart. Personally, you don’t feel anything through the thick fabric of his clothes. Personally, you attribute that to his lack of heart.

“Let go of-“

“Can you feel it? My heart started pounding when I saw you.” His voice is murmured now, reverent in an unnerving way, a tone of voice nobody should ever have for someone they’ve just met. It’s the sort of emotion that you personally feel warrants an immediate trip to the psyche ward. The fact that it’s aimed right at you sends a shiver down your spine. “Everything’s boring these days… but you? You’re not.”

“You’re delusional.”

“You’re pretty.” The simple response has you firmly shoving at his chest to move him away, has a gun clocking, and Riki’s immediate reaction isn’t to reprimand you but to tug you along and pull you right into his arms. His cheek pressed to your hair, he sighs almost dreamily. “You can go, you know. You’re not needed anymore.” For a moment you’re confused until you realize he’s addressing your family. You shove at his stomach this time, but he’s like a boulder. Immovable.

Your family protests, of course. Then they yell and fight as the guards grab them harshly, pulling them from the room, and you call out after them, screaming that you love them. Before you know it, you’re crying into the chest you’re pressed against. Riki coos, fingers clutching at your cheeks as he pulls back to look at you.

“God, you’re even pretty when you cry…”

“Fuck you.” You choke out, glaring blearily at him. He just presses a kiss to your forehead, giggling lightly like you’re joking or playing around. He looks like the happiest man alive all of a sudden, like a mask has slipped away as soon as your family left, and more tears slip down your cheeks as you realize his expression mimics the expression you always dreamed your future lover would have when looking at you.

But this feels perverse. Feels dark. Insidious. Far too interested, far too appraising, far too loving for the situation.

“That comes later, babe. How about we just sort your wedding dress for now, huh?” His fingers pinch lightly at your cheeks. “Ah, I’m just so glad you’re mine. I’ll never let you go, you know. I’d rather rip my heart out.” A small pause, and then he speaks again with a toothy smile.

“Or someone else’s.”

[grandlightcandy]

Can i request you something? Jungwon but in Squid game au, he is VIP, and gets obsessed with the reader??

Hii! Of course, your request is absolutely awesome and I would love to draft this (mainly cus Im obsessed with Jungwon-) and I hope you like it! Play 'Seoul City' by Jennie while you read. Headphones in. Volume up. Lights dimmed. Let the strings sink in. Let the control crawl over your skin. Cus idk- it always vibes with me like the type of feeling when someone is falling in love with the one who's obsessed with them. It's toxic. Not healthy. Not love. But you still like them.

"Only listen to my general, oh-oh He says my attitude out of control Tell me what to do, Mr. General"

Idk these lyrics give 'yes sir, yes' energy. And it matches this fic saur well.

Title: Skin and Surveillance

Pairing: Yang Jungwon (ENHYPEN) × Female!Reader AU: Squid Game | VIP Jungwon | Dark Romance Content Warnings: [18+ ONLY / MINORS DNI] Obsession, Power imbalance, Manipulation & coercion, Dubious consent, Voyeurism, Restraints (rope, silk ties), Psychological control, Gaslighting, Possessive behavior, Degradation + praise, Toxic dynamics, Graphic smut, Blood mentions (Squid Game violence), Death of side characters, Dom!Jungwon, Reader is a Squid Game contestant Genre: Dark Romance, Smut, Psychological Thriller, Suspense, Dystopian Kink AU

The air in the VIP lounge was thick, velvet-slick and scented with cigar smoke, sweat, and sin. Gold fixtures glinted off champagne glasses. Between gilded animal masks and twisted smiles, the powerful sat like gods watching their bloodied circus unfold below.

And he, Yang Jungwon, sat among them. Younger than the rest, quieter, sharper. His mask rested on the table, untouched. He never wore it unless he had to.

He didn’t need to hide. Not when the world bent to his will.

His wine glass remained full. His fingers tapped against the table in a rhythm none of them understood. Because his eyes, obsessed, locked, calculating, were on a single monitor.

You. Player 305. Limping. Bloodied. Exhausted. Still breathing.

Still defiant. You dared look into the surveillance camera. Not with fear. With something darker. Something stronger.

Like you knew someone was watching. You were wrong.

Someone was choosing. “That one,” Jungwon said.

His voice was calm, barely audible above the thrum of laughter from the others. But his tone sliced through the noise. “Sir, the auction doesn’t open until—” “I said,” he repeated, not turning his head, “Tag her.”

The assistant’s hand hovered. Hesitated. Then a red stamp appeared next to your name. VIP INTERESTED. PRIORITY CLASSIFICATION. STATUS: CLAIMED.

“Really, darling?” murmured the Serpent, swirling absinthe. “You can’t just keep her like a pet.” Jungwon turned to her. Slowly. “I wasn’t asking.” His voice was ice under silk. Final.

You were supposed to return to the dorms. But the guards didn’t lead you there. Instead, you’re shoved, limping, bloodied, confused, into a golden lift that rises higher than you knew the facility even went.

When the doors open, the air shifts. Colder. Scented. And behind the velvet curtains and glass, they wait.

The VIPs. The bloodsuckers who think pain is some sort of entertainment. Where money is a playground and they are the only ones that can play.

A throne-like lounge. Gold-gilded masks shimmer under soft lights. A long table of rare liquors and untouched fruit. One by one, they turn toward you.

The Serpent rises first. “Well, well. This is the one?” Her eyes trail over your body. “She’s barely breathing.”

The Bull snorts. “She’s nothing. Seen ten like her. Bet she screams real nice, though.”

You stumble back, there’s nowhere to go. Then the Fox speaks. Jungwon.

From the corner, he stands. Still. Silent. No mask tonight. Just his face. Unbothered. Beautiful. Dangerous.

“Touch her, and I will burn this place to the ground.” The room quiets.

He walks toward you. Calm, but heavy-footed, like a predator indulging in control. You hated how stuck up he was. But you also loved it. And you hated yourself.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you whisper. “Neither should you,” he says, tilting your chin up with two fingers. “But here we are.”

The Peacock hums behind you.

“Are we really letting the child call dibs now?” “It’s not dibs,” Jungwon says, low and sharp. “It’s ownership.”

His fingers wrap around your wrist, softly. Too softly. It’s the kind of grip that makes you freeze.

“You shouldn’t be a player anymore,” he murmurs. “You should be a prize.” And the worst part? You don’t hate the idea. You hate how much you don’t hate it.

You’re back in the games.

No goodbye. No warning. Jungwon just lets the guards drag you away. “She has one more round,” he said coldly to the Serpent. “Let’s see how well she plays… knowing who’s watching.”

You’re thrown into the maze. Hide and Seek. The hallways are darker this time. The “Seekers” are worse.

This isn’t a game. It’s a hunt. And somewhere in the shadows, a blade slices through your side. You gasp, clutching your sides, breath heavy. You collapse. Blood pooling. Breath shallow. The announcement blares overhead, "Player 305. Eliminated. Player 099. Pass."

And somewhere far above, Jungwon watches, eyes darkening at every movement O99 makes. “She’s bleeding,” the Bull scoffs. “Disqualified.” “Dead,” the Hound corrects. “They always bleed out before sunrise.”

“She’s not dead,” Jungwon mutters, staring at the screen. “She’s mine.” He presses a button on the console beside him.

“Command: Rescue her. Now.” They argue. Protocols. Rankings. Fairness. Jungwon doesn’t care.

“Pull her out,” he growls. “Or I start slicing throats until I find someone who will.” The host. The frontman he calls himself. Is silent. His gray mask void of any movement. He silently presses a button.

You wake in silk sheets. IV in your arm. Your stomach wrapped. You’re somewhere between a palace and a prison. Jungwon sits by your bed. Still in his suit. Still with blood on his cuff.

“Why…” Your voice is hoarse. “Why would you do this?”

“Because you’re not a player,” he says softly, brushing hair from your face. “You’re a possession. And I don’t let what’s mine bleed in public.” The room he brings you to next is all glass.

You don’t notice the one-way mirror until after he’s stripped you bare and tied you down.

Silk ropes. Black, with red threading. A perfect contrast to your bruises.

He stands behind you, hand trailing up your spine, admiring the view.

“They’re watching,” he murmurs into your ear. “Every VIP. Every pig in gold. They want to know what makes you mine.”

You shiver.

“Let me show them.”

Your ankle’s wrapped. Your stitches are still fresh. But Jungwon doesn’t let you rest. Not really.

He brings you to a room laced in velvet, mirrors, and low light. The walls hum. There's a tension to the silence, like someone watching from behind the glass. Because someone is.

“Why are we here?” “Because you’re still a question to them,” he says, pulling the silk from the tray. “And I want to give them an answer.”

You flinch as he approaches.

“You’re hurt” “I won’t touch your wounds,” he whispers, lips at your temple. “But I will touch everything else.”

He ties your wrists first. Not rough. Not cruel. Just tight enough to remind you who holds the rope.

Each loop is deliberate. Black silk with threads of red.

He binds you over the plush velvet chair. Knees on the seat. Arms behind your back. Face angled perfectly toward the one-way mirror.

“They’re watching.” “Jungwon” “Let them.”

His hands trail your waist, slow as smoke. His lips find the skin behind your ear.

“Let them watch you fall apart for me.” The first touch is reverent. Fingers between your thighs, trailing through the mess of nerves already coiled tight. He doesn’t even undress completely. Still in that fitted suit. Still calm. While you shiver.

“You’re dripping, baby,” he says, voice sweet like venom. “Is it because you know they’re there? Or because I am?”

He rubs slow, then faster, working rhythm into you like a song only he knows. Your knees threaten to give out, but he grabs your waist, forcing you up, forcing you to face the mirror.

“Keep your eyes open,” he murmurs, tongue tasting the skin of your spine. “They need to see who you belong to.”

You cry out.

He fucks you with precision. No chaos. No cruelty. Just pure dominance wrapped in silk and sound.

He whispers filth in your ear. Calls you his prize, his secret, his only.

You can feel them watching. You imagine the Peacock scoffing. The Bull twitching with jealousy. The Serpent leaning in closer.

But none of them have you. Only he does.

“Say it,” he growls, hips grinding against the base of your spine. “Say who owns you.” “You” your voice cracks. “You do, Jungwon. I’m yours.”

He doesn’t stop until your legs tremble, your voice hoarse from begging. And only then does he untie you. Only then does he hold you.

You don’t remember falling asleep. But you wake up in warmth. Not peace, warmth. The kind that burns low beneath the skin. The kind that makes you sweat. You’re wrapped in silk. In his jacket. In his arms. His heart beats steady against your back, and for a terrifying moment, you wonder if you’ve stopped existing outside of this room.

There is no outside world. Just velvet, glass, breath. And him.

“You dream loud,” Jungwon murmurs against your shoulder, voice a slow ache. “Do you always beg like that in your sleep?” Your body tenses.

“Don’t.” He presses a kiss to your temple. “You’ll hurt yourself.” You pull away slightly. “This isn’t real.”

“It’s the only thing that is.”

His hand slips between your legs again before you can protest. No urgency this time, just slow, almost tender. Like he’s tracing possession into your skin. You gasp and reach for his wrist, but he catches your hand, pins it above your head.

“Don’t fight it,” he whispers. “I told you, I’d take care of you.” Your thighs quiver as his fingers work you open again. He watches, fascinated. “Still so wet. Are you that desperate to be ruined?”

“No,” you say, but it’s a lie, and he knows it. “You want to hate me,” he says against your throat. “But your body wants me more.”

He presses two fingers inside, curling them deliberately. Your back arches. “There she is,” he murmurs. You sob quietly into his jacket, heat building unbearably between your thighs. Every breath makes you feel owned. Consumed. And you hate how good it feels.

“I want them to watch again,” he growls into your skin. “I want them to see how I can make you unravel with just my fingers.” You shudder.

“They’ll never touch you. Never fuck you. Never own you. Only I get to do that. Understand?” You nod frantically, eyes wild.

“Say it,” he demands, curling his fingers deep. “Say it.” “You do,” you gasp. “You own me, Jungwon.”

“Louder.” “You own me!”

He pushes you to the edge, then stops. Your cry breaks in your throat.

“I want you to remember,” he says, mouth at your ear. “I choose when you come. I choose everything.” You almost break. But then his mouth crashes down, claiming yours in a kiss that isn’t sweet, isn’t kind, it’s punishment. And you melt into it, because hate and heat live too close together in your chest now.

Later, when you wake again, your wrists are unbound.

There’s food at the edge of the bed. Stew. Soft rice. Honey water.

A note.

“Heal. You’re still mine.”

But the cameras never turn off. You learn that quickly.

You bathe behind a screen, but the lights flicker, and you know someone is watching. You sleep with a blanket, but never feel alone.

And at night, Jungwon returns. Sometimes he touches you.

Sometimes he doesn’t. But always, he watches. One night, you wake up screaming. Memories of blood, of the maze, of Hyun Ju’s dying breath choking you alive.

You’re trembling. Cold. Alone. Until he’s there.

Jungwon. No words. No cruelty. Just arms around you. Breathing. Silent. And for the first time, you don’t resist.

You let yourself cry. And he doesn’t stop you. He doesn’t gloat. Doesn’t touch. He just holds you.

Because even monsters know how to cradle the things they break. The days begin to blur. Time doesn’t pass in this place, it curdles.

You don’t know what hour it is, or what round the other players are dying in. You only know the click of surveillance. The weight of velvet. The hum of speakers piping soft classical music through the walls as if this were a hotel suite and not a cell in gold trim.

Jungwon keeps you dressed in silk. But your wrist bears a mark.

Not a bracelet. A collar.

A thin silver band with a black sapphire set into its center. There’s no clasp. No lock. You didn’t feel him put it on. But it doesn’t come off.

It glows faintly when he enters the room. “You belong to me,” he says one night, wrapping your ankle in fresh gauze. “Every inch. Every thought. Every sound you make.”

You sit still.

Because somewhere inside you, the fire that once wanted to escape… wants to be chosen instead.

The next time he touches you, it’s different.

Slower. Crueler. The camera is on again, but you’re not scared of it anymore. He has you pinned over the chaise lounge, naked except for the collar. Knees spread. Arms bound in red velvet ties behind your back.

The room is dim. One-way mirror glowing.

“Look at yourself,” he whispers, gripping your jaw and turning your head to the reflection. “You’re not a player anymore. You’re not a person. You’re mine. My possession. My little display case of pleasure.”

He presses his hips flush to yours, his clothed body hard against your bare skin. And you don’t cry this time. You moan.

“Touch yourself,” he commands. Your breath catches. “My hands—”

“You’ll figure it out.” And you do.

You grind helplessly against the silk throw. Fingers twitch. Knees tremble. He watches, like a scientist watching a masterpiece unfold.

“You like being watched now, don’t you?” he says. “I hate it,” you whisper. “I hate you.”

He smiles. “Then come for me.” And you do. You cry out so hard your vision whites. He doesn’t even touch you. Not yet.

When you collapse, shaking and spent, he finally presses his mouth to the bruises blooming along your neck.

“I think we should show the others now,” he whispers. “Let them see who you belong to.”

The End

Masterlist

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

⟡ @tashmonellloveskpopboybands,⟡ @yuriloveshee, ⟡ @kookiesnkim, ⟡ @picklemafia, ⟡ @add-this-to-that, ⟡ @xxjoyridingxx,⟡ @enjakey, ⟡ @noidnoentry, ⟡ @avadie, ⟡ @enhaheart8, ⟡ @yourislandgirl, ⟡ @meowwwon, ⟡ @saodk ⟡ @inlovewithparkjisung, ⟡ @verycutesyverymindful, ⟡ @fleurdelises, ⟡ @queenvash, ⟡ @tyongielee, ⟡ @amzingjellyfish, ⟡ @enbplvr, ⟡ @6abriellaa, ⟡ @fateismoonstruck, ⟡ @trashlord-007, ⟡ @artemesiareads, ⟡ @d0einheadlights, ⟡ @miuuuw, ⟡ @butwhyareyoureyessosad, ⟡ @rainofcrime, ⟡ @darkblueblueberr, ⟡ @zone444girls, ⟡ @bombombakudanmeow, ⟡ @en-cityy, ⟡ @koya2000, ⟡ @tttbearblog, ⟡ @yb763, ⟡ @freakseung2001 ⟡ @nics-fxy, ⟡ @irers, ⟡ @seungsoftly, ⟡ @iyaiyaohhh, ⟡ @xnatqq,

✧༚ ˗ˏˋ 𐙚 ˎˊ˗ ༚✧✧༚ ˗ˏˋ 𐙚 ˎˊ˗ ༚✧✧༚ ˗ˏˋ 𐙚 ˎˊ˗ ༚✧✧༚ ˗ˏˋ 𐙚 ˎˊ˗ ༚✧✧༚ ˗ˏˋ 𐙚 ˎˊ˗ ༚✧

⟡ @rosepetals09, ⟡ @cherry-blossomfrag, ⟡ @mari-marimar, ⟡ @paradieseoul, ⟡ @microwavedstrawberries3, ⟡ @thatonerandomblondechick, ⟡ @heebambilee, ⟡ @simjaeyunsdoll, ⟡ @sinceresilverstrawberry, ⟡ @heeseungslefttoee, ⟡ @shayinthesims, ⟡ @larichard, ⟡ @noinspirationkisstoday, ⟡ @frenziedseerdesolation, ⟡ @wtfisgoingright, ⟡ @heekijakey, ⟡ @luvwonsito, ⟡ @cheetosthabratt, ⟡ @en-ner-jay, ⟡ @shouldergangsterrj, ⟡ @brennanmeijalover00,⟡ @wondash, ⟡ @kimuranishi, ⟡ @thep3rfectgirl25, ⟡ @doraemon02, ⟡ @rotttenhalo, ⟡ @oldeubois-blog, ⟡ @putrescentpoet, ⟡ @jinnibug, ⟡ @vayuzzz, ⟡ @kimmyaaaa, ⟡ @ppcarolina9, ⟡ @giagotthezoomies,

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⟡ @myheartiscoveredinmoss, ⟡ @moonstruckbae, ⟡ @dreamandrow, ⟡ @wuluhwuhmaster, ⟡ @miikio-o, ⟡ @myyosotiiss, ⟡ @vivi345, ⟡ @cherjnie, ⟡ @sorenijkl, ⟡ @wonwon1e, ⟡ @lynaka, ⟡ @cclm0808, ⟡ @nishimurazzz, ⟡ @prettygirlthings-world, ⟡ @kristynaaah, ⟡ @madsnowmad, ⟡ @rikimuraaaa, ⟡ @musvic, ⟡ @popii-star153, ⟡ @fwkiera, ⟡ @yenienha, ⟡ @clearartisansoul-blog1, ⟡ @taylsluvs, ⟡ @fancybonkwobblerwolf

[grandlightcandy]

I have a request....like a detective reader x mafia boss/criminal enha (any member but i would prefer Heeseung or jake 🤭) like he is captured during raid but is very laid back and knows he will be free in no time but he gets fascinated by reader who assigned as the detective for his case, causing him to stay longer to be by your side & gets obsessed...he doesn't say anything when you try to question him or anything for 2-3 weeks but then suggest a deal that he will answer the questions but for every question he gets to cum in her....and then you decide what you wanna do ahead🫠

ooohhh🤭so it's giving mutual obsession but can't have each other and im kicking my feet, thanks for your request teeheee. Might be a lil messy cus I was lowk multitasking and was losing my mind over Hee in cuffs NGL.

Title: The Devil’s Bargain

Pairing: Interrogator!Reader x Criminal!Heeseung (Enhypen) Genre: Dark Romance, Smut, Powerplay, Interrogation AU Rating: 🔞 18+ ONLY Warnings: Extremely explicit smut, Interrogation room setting (power imbalance, manipulation, danger), Chair sex, Rough sex, unprotected sex (Don't be a loner, cover your boner)hair pulling, handcuffs, Breeding kink / multiple creampies (he comes inside at least 5x), Corruption, degradation, possessive dirty talk, Orgasm control, overstimulation, Mild violence (grabbing, pinning, bruising), Praise kink, mocking nicknames (“darling”), Reader being teased with questions mid-sex, Dacryphilia (tears). Marking / biting. Exhibitionism vibes (semi-public location). Reader lowkey loses control of interrogation. Absolute filth. Like, feral. Basically: this is not soft sex, this is dark, messy, obsessive, interrogation-chair-breaking sex. Read at your own risk.

The interrogation room was cold. Sterile walls. Metal table. Two chairs bolted to the floor. The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed faintly, casting a pallid glow across the space. You’d been in dozens of rooms like this, questioned monsters in suits and street thugs with switchblades. You thought you knew the script. But then the door shut behind you, and you saw him again. Heeseung was already waiting. Cuffed to the table. Back relaxed against the chair, shoulders loose, head tipped back like he’d been bored until you walked in.

And then he saw you. That was when the smirk came. Slow at first, tugging at the corner of his mouth before curving wider. His gaze slid from your shoes, up your legs, over the curve of your hips, the lines of your blazer, the set of your jaw. When his eyes finally met yours again, they glinted dark, like you’d just stepped into a game you didn’t know you were playing. “Well, well,” he drawled, tongue brushing his bottom lip as if savoring the sight. “They’re really spoiling me, huh? Sending you to play with.” Your grip on the folder tightened. “I’m not here to play.” His smirk deepened, something dangerous sparking behind his eyes. He leaned forward, the chain on his cuffs rattling against the table, and lowered his voice to something intimate. “You will be.”

The first session yielded nothing. Not a name. Not a date. Not a scrap of information about his network. Every question you posed was met with silence, every demand countered by the slow drag of his eyes across your face, down your body, back up again. By the third session, his silence had become a taunt. By the seventh, it was suffocating. The other detectives grumbled about wasting time, cursed under their breath as they left the room with slamming doors and clenched fists. But you… you kept coming back.

And Heeseung noticed. Every time you slid into that chair across from him, he was already watching, smirk tugging like he’d been waiting just for you. His wrists cuffed, his body bound to a chair, and yet somehow it felt like he was the one in control. Like the interrogation wasn’t about breaking him, it was about how long it would take for him to break you. The days bled into each other. Morning briefings. Dead ends. Colleagues muttering under their breath about wasted time. Every officer you worked with had said the same thing: Lee Heeseung wouldn’t crack. He didn’t need to. The city was his chessboard, his people already moving pieces for him while he sat in your sterile little room, pretending to be a captive. And yet, he stayed. Every morning you opened the door, he was there. Waiting. Relaxed, smirk hovering like smoke on his lips.

Some days you told yourself you imagined it, the way his eyes lit up when you entered. That the curl of his mouth didn’t widen when it was you across the table instead of one of the others. That the air didn’t grow heavier the longer his gaze lingered. But deep down, you knew. He was staying because of you. The twelfth day was the worst. You’d been running on three hours of sleep, your body aching with exhaustion, patience worn thin. For once, you didn’t stop by the office before heading to the interrogation wing. Instead, you ducked into the vending machine alcove, punched in a few buttons, and came out holding two cups of coffee.

You weren’t thinking. One was for you, steaming bitter comfort against your palm. The other… maybe you grabbed it out of habit, maybe out of some misguided attempt to soften him up. A peace offering. A bribe. A feeble, desperate gesture from a detective running out of ways to chip at his silence. You pushed into the room, set the cups on the table with a quiet thud, and slid into your chair. That was when his smirk changed. Slow. Dangerous. Heeseung leaned forward just slightly, chains clinking against the table, his eyes locked on you with a spark of amusement so sharp it stole your breath. “Coffee?” His voice was velvet-smooth, thick with mockery and something darker underneath. He glanced down at the cup nearest him, then back up at you. His lips curved wider, almost fond, almost cruel. “Feeble effort, darling.” “As if caffeine could save you from me.” The word darling landed like a touch against your skin, too soft, too intimate for the sterile concrete room. Heeseung said it lazily, like he’d been waiting weeks to call you that, like it was inevitable.

You froze, pulse stuttering. “I didn’t bring it for you,” you said, sharper than intended. His smirk only deepened, as if your denial was exactly what he’d hoped for. He leaned back in the chair, letting the silence draw out until you felt pinned by it. “Of course you didn’t.” His gaze flicked deliberately to the cup again, then back to your face, eyes glinting. “And yet… here it is.” The air between you shifted. Thicker. Hotter. You gripped your pen harder than necessary, staring down at your file so you wouldn’t have to see the satisfaction in his smile. But you felt it anyway. Felt it crawl under your skin and settle in your chest, the certainty that this man, the one chained in front of you, wasn’t playing your game. He was playing his own. And you had just made your first move. Your stomach flips at the sound. You lean forward, trying to press into the professional mask you’ve worn for so long. “Talk, Heeseung. Or I’ll—” “You’ll what?” His tone is low, taunting, pulling at the frayed edges of your restraint. His eyes flicker dark as he tilts his head, chained posture still somehow dominant. “You’ve already given me everything I want. The way you look at me. The way you keep coming back in here.” His smirk deepens. “The way you tremble, even now.”

Your throat goes dry, because he’s right, you are trembling. The silence stretches, his gaze pinning you like prey. And then, before you can stop yourself, you step closer, fists tightening around your notes. His smirk only widens. The room had never felt so suffocating. Two weeks of silence. Two weeks of staring across at him, his wrists cuffed to the table, his body sprawled in that metal chair like it was a throne. Two weeks of your voice echoing against pale walls, bouncing off his silence and returning to you sharper than when it left.

You were unraveling. Today was no different, or at least it shouldn’t have been. You set your folder down, sat across from him, and began again. “Names. Dates. Operations. Where’s your money moving?” Nothing. He watched you the way a predator watches prey: not because he’s hungry, but because the chase is entertainment in itself. That infuriating smirk clung to his lips, stretching wider every time your voice tightened, every time you exhaled through your nose to calm yourself. You’d almost given up, pen tapping sharp against the table when his voice finally slid into the room. Low. Smooth. Velvet. “My work…” he said, and the sound of it after weeks of silence made your stomach flip, “…is everywhere. Everything you see, detective. The cash in your pocket, the food you ate this morning, the car that drove you here. Touch one thread…” His gaze lifted, dark eyes locking with yours, “…the whole web trembles.”

The pen stilled in your hand. You blinked once, twice, mouth parting before you caught yourself. He was talking, finally talking, and the words were useless. Just another riddle. Another taunt. “You’re wasting my time,” you snapped, though your voice betrayed you, thinner than you meant it to be. Heeseung chuckled. Actually chuckled. The sound was rich and sharp, sliding down your spine like a blade wrapped in silk. He leaned forward, chains rattling, and his smirk deepened until it was all teeth. “Maybe,” he said softly, “I’ll make it worth your while.” Your pulse hammered. “Excuse me?” He didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch. His tone dropped lower, conspiratorial, curling around your name when he said it.

“You want answers, don’t you? The whole file? The truth you’re so desperate for?” He paused, letting the silence throb. Then his smirk widened into something devastating. “Here’s my deal: for every question you ask, I get to cum in you.” The words landed like a punch. You inhaled sharply, spine stiffening against the chair, eyes darting to the mirrored glass behind him as though someone else had heard. But you knew. He was speaking only to you. His stare didn’t waver, didn’t soften. If anything, the longer the silence stretched, the more confident he became. Heeseung leaned back leisurely, as though he hadn’t just set fire to the air between you, and let the chains clink softly against the table. “Take it or leave it,” he murmured, smirk curling. “But you and I both know you’ll take it.” The first time he said it, you laughed. A sharp, incredulous sound that echoed too loud against the sterile walls.

“You’re insane.” But Heeseung didn’t laugh with you. He just leaned back in the chair, relaxed, the chain clinking softly as his cuffed wrist shifted. His smirk lingered, eyes dark, calm. “Maybe,” he said. “But I’m also the only one in this building who knows what you want to know.” You rolled your eyes, opened your folder, and tried to steady your breath. The more you ignored him, the more he thrived. It was a game you knew you shouldn’t play. And yet, when you pressed again, “Who’s moving your shipments?”, his mouth curved. “I’ll tell you…” He let the pause stretch, savoring the silence until your heart thudded painfully in your chest. “…if you let me cum in you.”

You didn’t come back for three days. You had other cases. Other suspects. Your colleagues jeered at your obsession, whispered that you were wasting time trying to break a man who’d never talk. But you came back anyway. And when you opened the door to find him waiting, lounging in the chair, his smirk widened like he knew you would. “Miss me, detective?” Your silence should have been answer enough. But he didn’t need you to say it.

That day, he spoke more. Not confessions, not evidence. Just… fragments. “They hide it under the docks.” His eyes never left yours.  “They’ve been watching your department for months.” Smirk curling, like it amused him to feed you scraps. “Someone close to you isn’t loyal.” A dagger of a sentence, dropped into your lap like it meant nothing. Every time your pen scribbled furiously, he chuckled. Every time you demanded more, his gaze darkened, lazy and knowing. “I told you the deal, sweetheart.” You slammed your hand on the table. “Stop saying that.” But he only leaned closer, voice dropping to a dangerous purr. “I will. As soon as you accept.”It became worse after that. Every session, he gave you just enough to keep you tethered. Always vague, always slippery, always making sure his words meant nothing without the next piece. And every time, he repeated it. “For every question you want answered…” His eyes flicked down your body, lingered, came back up slow. “…I get to cum in you.” You started dreaming about it. Not sex, at least, not at first. You dreamed of the room. The smirk. The way his voice curled around darling when he said it, like he was already inside your skin.You woke up some mornings with your pulse racing and your thighs pressed together, and you hated yourself for it. You told yourself it was manipulation. Psychological warfare. He was dangerous. Criminal. A man who could burn the whole city if he chose.

And yet you kept showing up. Folder in hand. Pen trembling in your grip. His smirk waiting for you like a promise. The day you broke started like every other. Folder in your hand. Coffee in the other. The sterile hum of fluorescent lights. You told yourself you were fine. That you’d ignore the smirk, the fragments, the way he made his chains look like jewelry instead of restraints. That you were in control. But the second the door clicked shut behind you, his eyes slid over your body slow and deliberate, and the corner of his mouth lifted like he’d been waiting for this exact moment. “Morning, detective,” he purred, voice lazy silk. “You look tired. Didn’t sleep well?”

You clenched your jaw, set the folder down, and forced your voice steady. “Tell me who runs your finances.” For a heartbeat, he just watched you. And then he chuckled, low, dangerous. “You know the deal.” Your pen trembled between your fingers. “I’m not playing your game.” His smirk widened, teeth flashing now, eyes glittering dark. He leaned forward, the chain rattling as his cuffed wrist slid across the table. “You already are.”

You should have left. You should have walked out and let someone else deal with him. But instead, the words slipped out before you could stop them. “Fine.” It was quiet, a whisper, but it changed everything. Heeseung froze, not in surprise, but in satisfaction. His smirk curved slowly, dangerously, until it looked carved into his face. He leaned back in the chair like he had all the time in the world, gaze raking over you, savoring the way your chest rose and fell too fast. “There it is,” he murmured. “My detective finally admitting what she wants.”

Your cheeks burned. “I want answers.” “And you’ll get them.” He shifted in the chair, spreading his legs just slightly, the chain rattling again as if to remind you he was still cuffed. His voice dropped low, intimate. “But not before I enjoy every second of you falling apart for me.” He didn’t drag you into his lap right away. No, Heeseung made you wait. He started with words, his voice thick and mocking, weaving through the sterile air like smoke. “Do you know how long I’ve thought about this?” His eyes locked on your lips. “Two weeks of you walking in here, trying so hard to look untouchable while I imagined you moaning into my ear.”

You shifted in your seat, heat curling in your stomach. He noticed. Of course he noticed. “Feeble effort, darling,” he whispered, echoing the coffee moment, and your stomach flipped. When he finally tugged you forward, pulling you into his lap, the cold metal of his cuffs clinked as he maneuvered you. You gasped at the sudden closeness, knees bracketing his hips, your body pressed against his chest. And then, he stopped. Didn’t thrust. Didn’t grind. Just held you there, caged by his cuffed hands, smirk pressed to your ear as his breath fanned hot against your skin. “I could fuck you right here,” he murmured, voice a slow burn. “Hard enough the whole precinct would hear. But where’s the fun in that?” You whimpered, hating yourself for it, but his smirk only grew. He rocked you once, just once, enough to make you gasp and cling to his shoulders. “Patience, sweetheart,” he teased. “If I’m going to answer your questions…” His lips brushed your throat, lingering, “…I’m going to take my time ruining you first.”

He lets the weight of it hang in the air, enjoying the way your breath stutters, enjoying the way your professionalism threatens to crack. And he doesn’t pounce immediately, he teases, takes his time. He leans back again, watching you unravel, knowing he’s planted the idea so deep in your mind that even if you walk away, it’ll haunt you until you come back. The first time you give in, it’s maddening, because he doesn’t just fuck you. He draws it out. Keeps you on his lap, hands pinned behind your back while you straddle him, controlling every slow rise and fall of your hips until you’re crying with frustration. And all the while, he’s whispering, “Another question, darling? Or should I make you beg first?” Your breath stutters. Against every rational bone in your body, you obey. You lower yourself onto his lap, straddling him, your thighs bracketing his hips. His chest rises slow and steady beneath you, and then, his cuffed hands slip against your lower back, palms spreading wide, metal biting into your spine as he drags you flush against him.

The first grind of his hard length against your core punches the air out of you. “Good girl,” he murmurs, voice a silken snarl, and it burns hotter than any insult he’s ever thrown. His lips ghost along your jaw, not kissing, just teasing. “Now… ask your questions.” You can barely breathe, let alone think. But his grip tightens behind you, forcing your back into an arch, your breasts pressing to his chest. His cock is already thick and straining against the thin barrier of your clothes, pushing up against your clit each time you shift.

Your voice cracks. “W-where… where were you on the night of the fire?” His grin spreads slow, wolfish. “Right where I wanted to be. Inside something hot and tight. Just like this.” He rolls his hips upward deliberately, making you gasp. Your nails dig into his shoulders. “Heeseung—” “Yes, darling,” he interrupts smoothly, nipping at the shell of your ear, his voice venom-sweet. “Say my name again. Louder.” You know this is wrong. You know you should stop. But the moment he thrusts up again, dragging your clit against his length, a broken sound tears from your throat. And he just laughs. Low, dark, victorious.

“See? You break so beautifully.”

The chair creaks under both your weight, metal groaning like it knows this isn’t what it was built for. Heeseung’s wrists are still cuffed, but that doesn’t stop him, if anything, it makes him worse. His long fingers clamp around both your wrists, pulling them tight behind your back, forcing your chest to arch against him. You can feel the chill of the steel where the cuffs dig into your skin as his knuckles press hard between your shoulder blades, holding you there like he owns you.

“So desperate, detective…” His voice is hoarse, taunting, curling heat right into your stomach. “Grinding down on the very man you’re supposed to break. Tell me—” His hips thrust up sharp, punishing, knocking a gasp right out of you. “—who’s breaking who right now?” The question burns, but your body answers before your mouth can. You’re clenching around him, soaking him, rocking harder onto his lap like you need every inch of him.

“Fuck, Heeseung—” you gasp, but he cuts you off, yanking your arms tighter until your back bows, his teeth dragging over the line of your throat. “Ask me again,” he growls. “Ask me what you came here for.” Your nails dig uselessly into air, wrists trapped behind you. “Tell me—fuck—what you’re working on,” you pant, moving around on his lap, the chair scraping under you. “Tell me who you’re with.” His laugh is sharp, wicked. “That’s not how you ask nicely, darling.” He pistons up into you once, twice, each thrust deeper than the last, and your head tips back, mouth open, voice spilling unrestrained moans. Heeseung drinks them down like victory. “You want information? You’ll bleed it out of me with that perfect pussy, won’t you?” He waits, savoring, dragging it out as he bucks into you slow and grinding, cock so hard it hurts. His mouth brushes your ear, hot and smug: “North side warehouse. Shipment comes Tuesday. That what you wanted, detective?”

Your whole body jerks, not sure if it’s from the intel finally spilling or from the brutal snap of his hips driving you into the chair. But he doesn’t stop. “Gonna make you cum on it,” he taunts, eyes blown black, sweat sliding down his jaw. “Gonna make you cum while I hand you everything. You’ll never forget it.” The sound you make is wrecked, desperate. Heeseung smirks wider, tightening the cuffs against your wrists until you’re arching, trembling, gasping into his mouth as he fucks the confession straight out of himself and straight into you.

The silence breaks first with the scrape of the chair’s legs on the floor, then with your own breath hitching when you step closer. too close. Heeseung tilts his head back, watching you like prey that’s wandered into his snare. “You’re bluffing,” you whisper, though your hands tremble when they hover near his chest. His smirk deepens. “Am I?” And before you can answer, he lunges, handcuffed wrists shooting up behind your back, the cold metal biting into your skin as he fists the back of your blouse and yanks you down onto his lap. You gasp, falling against him, your chest pressed to his, your legs straddling his thighs.

“Fuck—Heeseung—” “Say it again,” he rasps, nose brushing yours, his breath hot, the cuffs scraping at your back as he holds you pinned in place with nothing but brute strength and cocky certainty. “Say my name like that again.” You shudder, your lips brushing his before you finally crush your mouth against his. The kiss is nothing like you expected, it’s violent, consuming, all teeth and tongue. He groans into you, grinding his hips up, and you feel it then, his cock, thick and heavy, already straining against his pants.The interrogation room is suffocatingly hot now, the table forgotten, the file forgotten, the case forgotten. The only thing that matters is the way  his handcuffed grip forces you flush against him while he rocks his hips, desperate, dangerous.

“Fuck,” you whimper when you grind back, the friction sending shocks through you. “You’re insane.” “And you’re wet for it.” His teeth catch your jaw, biting hard enough to bruise. “Go on. Take my cock. You want answers, don’t you? Then fuckin’ earn them.” Your hands fumble at his belt, but he doesn’t help. He just sits there, watching, breathing heavy, the chains rattling as he forces your back arched against his chest. Finally, you free him, his cock springing free, thick and flushed, leaking already. Your thighs tremble as you position yourself. His grin grows wild, eyes gleaming like a predator tasting victory.

“Do it,” he demands, voice low, guttural. “Sit on it. Right now.” And you do. You sink down in one slow, devastating slide, his cock stretching you open inch by inch until you’re gasping, clinging to his shoulders, nails digging into his shirt. “Oh, fuck—” you cry out, the sound echoing in the barren room. His head falls back, jaw clenched, a groan tearing out of his chest. The cuffs bite harder as he holds you down, forcing you to take every inch until your ass is flush against his lap. “That’s it,” he growls, eyes snapping open to lock on yours, pure hunger written across his face. “You’re mine now. Every answer you get—you’re gonna choke on it while I’m buried inside you.”

And then he bucks his hips, once, hard, and your body jerks, your moan spilling out raw and helpless. Your thighs ache from the relentless pace, but Heeseung doesn’t slow down. The chair creaks beneath the violent rhythm, every thrust driving deeper, making your body quake with overstimulation. His handcuffed grip is brutal, iron bands holding your wrists pinned behind your back. You can feel the cold bite of metal when you arch into him, your chest pressed flush against his, nipples dragging across the thin material of his shirt.

“Fuck—” you gasp, breathless, “—Heeseung…” His smirk is feral, lips brushing your ear. “Say it louder. Let them all hear how good I fuck their perfect detective.” He slams up into you, and the words tear from your throat, broken moans, high and desperate, bouncing off the concrete walls of the interrogation room. Sweat slicks your skin, sticking your shirt to your body. Heeseung groans, his cock twitching as he buries himself inside you to the hilt, grinding his hips up until you see stars. “You feel that?” His voice is rough, low, commanding. “My cock splitting you open, stuffing you so full you can’t think straight.” He yanks your wrists higher, arching your spine, forcing your body to bend against him. “Answer me, detective.”

“Yes! Yes—” your reply comes in choked cries, words spilling as another orgasm rips through you, making your vision blur. “You’re—fuck—you’re inside me so deep, Heeseung—” He grins wickedly, watching you unravel. His hips snap up, faster, rougher, desperate. “That’s right. You’re dripping down my cock. You love being ruined by me.”

And then, he stiffens. His breath hitches against your throat, jaw clenched as he groans, “Fuck, I’m coming, take it, take it all—” His hips grind up, cock jerking inside you as thick, hot ropes of cum spill deep into your cunt. Your body trembles, clenching around him, milking every drop, your head thrown back as the raw filth of it drags you into another wave of pleasure. But he doesn’t stop. Even as he fills you, he keeps moving, grinding into your overstimulated body, watching your lips part and your eyes flutter shut from the intensity. Heeseung leans back just enough to see his cock disappear inside you again and again, cum spilling down to coat his shaft, only for him to shove it back inside you.

“Not enough,” he growls, voice deep and primal. “You’re going to take me again.”

Your legs shake, your breath a wrecked mess. “Heeseung—I can’t—” “Yes, you can. You’ll take it because you want it.” He smirks through gritted teeth, hips rolling in a way that makes you cry out again, helpless. “You’ll take every drop until you’re dripping with me.” And he fucks into you harder, chasing his second release without mercy, your bound arms keeping you trapped against him. His cock twitches inside you, pulsing with every throb of his veins as he leans down, lips brushing your ear, voice a low growl that makes your entire body seize up.

“You’re still holding back on me, detective. How many names do you want me to give? One? Two? Or should I fuck you until you confess first?” Your fingernails dig into his shoulders, head falling back as he rolls his hips deliberately—slow, punishing, then suddenly hard enough to force the chair to squeal across the interrogation room floor. The cuffs dig against your wrists where he’s pinned them, his hand steady, metal biting into your skin as a reminder that he still owns the rhythm. You try to form words, to get control, but your voice breaks on a moan instead. “H-Heeseung—” He smirks against your throat, biting down hard enough to sting before licking the mark. “That’s not an answer. Try again.”

The thrust that follows is brutal, deep, his cock hitting the spot that has you choking on air. You feel it everywhere, a fullness that makes your eyes roll back, makes your cunt clench around him so tight it drags another groan out of his chest. Heeseung’s restraint cracks, the smug grin faltering into something rawer, hungrier. “Fuck—look at you, wrapped around me like you were made for this. You like being questioned this way, don’t you?” Your hips move on instinct, grinding down onto him despite the ache in your arms. The slick, wet sounds echo shamelessly through the empty room, mixing with the scrape of the chair against the floor as his pace grows ruthless.

“Tell me the truth,” he pants, rutting up hard, his abs flexing under your touch. “You’ve been thinking about this since day one, haven’t you? Walking in here with your little coffee, pretending you were in control. Did you even realize how fast you gave yourself away?” You’re unraveling, clenching down, the orgasm building sharp and hot in your stomach. You manage a broken whisper, “Y-yes, I wanted this—wanted you—” That’s all he needs. He grips your bound wrists tighter, holding you down on his cock, thrusting up until your body jolts with every snap of his hips. His voice is guttural, harsh. “Good girl. Then take it. Take all of me—every drop—”

The orgasm rips through you, violent and shuddering, your cunt milking him so hard his jaw locks, his entire body stiffening. His hips grind into you as he spills deep, hot ropes flooding your walls, but he doesn’t stop. His cock stays hard, twitching inside you, and he groans against your mouth. “One,” he rasps, pulling back just enough to watch your face crumble. “That’s once. We’re not finished.” And before you can catch your breath, before the aftershocks even fade, he’s fucking into you again, using the mess of both your release to push deeper, faster, chasing another climax like he’s addicted to the way you squeeze him. The chair rocks violently, metal legs scraping against the concrete, and you know your legs won’t hold when he’s done. Heeseung kisses you, filthy and claiming, tongue forcing yours into submission.

“Five times, sweetheart. You’ll give me five.” Your body’s trembling, thighs burning from overstimulation, skin damp with sweat, and Heeseung, handcuffed, smirking like the devil, has already spent himself inside you again and again. You’ve lost count, but the wet, filthy mess dripping down your thighs is proof enough of how thoroughly he’s ruined you. And yet, his cock is still hard. Still thick. Still pulsing inside you. “You said five,” you whisper hoarsely, breath shaking. “You—y-you’ve had five.” His head tips back against the chair, grin stretching wide as he thrusts up into you again, slow and brutal, making you cry out. His cuffed hand still has your arms pinned behind your back, forcing your chest to arch against him, your nipples dragging across his shirt. His voice is low, dark velvet.

“I lied,” he drawls. “Criminal, remember? Never claimed to play fair.” Your walls flutter around him, betraying you with how good it feels even as you gasp, “H-Heeseung, I—I can’t—” “Yes, you can,” he cuts you off, hips grinding up hard enough to make the chair screech across the interrogation room floor. His teeth scrape your jaw, then your throat, biting down hard enough to bruise. “Because you love how I fuck you when you’re supposed to be in control. You love giving me the answers instead of the other way around.”

The words land like a brand on your skin, humiliating and true. Your pussy clenches down so tightly he growls, breath hot against your ear. “Fuck, you’re squeezing me dry.” His free hand comes to your hip, dragging you down harder onto his cock, forcing you to take him deeper, deeper until you feel split apart. “Go on then, Detective. Ask your last question.” Your voice trembles when you do. “W-Why me? Why…why won’t you talk to anyone else?” For once, he doesn’t smirk. Doesn’t tease. His lips brush your ear, his thrusts slowing, drawing it out until you’re on the verge of sobbing. His voice is raw, honest, terrifyingly possessive. “Because you’re mine,” he whispers. “From the moment you walked through that door with your little notepad and stiff shoulders, fuck, I knew I’d let the whole empire burn if it meant keeping you.”

Your body seizes around him at the confession, orgasm tearing through you one last time, violent and messy. Heeseung’s laugh is hoarse, broken, as he follows, spilling deep inside you again, so much it gushes back out between your thighs. His cock twitches, pumping you full until you can’t hold another drop. You slump against him, shaking, breathless, ruined. His cuffed arms wrap around your back, keeping you locked in place, keeping his cum inside you as long as possible. He presses his lips to your temple, voice smug again, but soft. “Guess that’s your answer, Detective.” And the sickest part? You don’t even want to leave the chair.

masterlist

⟡ @tashmonellloveskpopboybands,⟡ @yuriloveshee,  ⟡ @kookiesnkim, ⟡ @picklemafia, ⟡ @add-this-to-that,  ⟡ @xxjoyridingxx,⟡ @enjakey, ⟡ @noidnoentry, ⟡ @avadie,  ⟡ @enhaheart8, ⟡ @yourislandgirl, ⟡ @meowwwon, ⟡ @saodk  ⟡ @inlovewithparkjisung, ⟡ @verycutesyverymindful,  ⟡ @fleurdelises, ⟡ @tyongielee, ⟡ @amzingjellyfish, ⟡ @enbplvr, ⟡ @6abriellaa, ⟡ @fateismoonstruck, ⟡ @artemesiareads, ⟡ @d0einheadlights, ⟡ @miuuuw,  ⟡ @butwhyareyoureyessosad, ⟡ @rainofcrime, ⟡ @darkblueblueberr, ⟡ @zone444girls, ⟡ @bombombakudanmeow, ⟡ @en-cityy,  ⟡ @koya2000, ⟡ @tttbearblog, ⟡ @yb763, ⟡ @freakseung2001  ⟡ @nics-fxy, ⟡ @irers, ⟡ @seungsoftly, ⟡ @iyaiyaohhh, ⟡ @xnatqq,

✧༚ ˗ˏˋ 𐙚 ˎˊ˗ ༚✧✧༚ ˗ˏˋ 𐙚 ˎˊ˗ ༚✧✧༚ ˗ˏˋ 𐙚 ˎˊ˗ ༚✧✧༚ ˗ˏˋ 𐙚 ˎˊ˗ ༚✧✧༚ ˗ˏˋ 𐙚 ˎˊ˗ ༚✧

⟡ @rosepetals09, ⟡ @cherry-blossomfrag, ⟡ @mari-marimar,  ⟡ @paradieseoul, ⟡ @microwavedstrawberries3,  ⟡ @thatonerandomblondechick, ⟡ @heebambilee,  ⟡ @simjaeyunsdoll, ⟡ @sinceresilverstrawberry,  ⟡ @heeseungslefttoee, ⟡ @shayinthesims, ⟡ @larichard,  ⟡ @noinspirationkisstoday, ⟡ @frenziedseerdesolation,  ⟡ @wtfisgoingright, ⟡ @heekijakey, ⟡ @luvwonsito,  ⟡ @cheetosthabratt, ⟡ @en-ner-jay, ⟡ @shouldergangsterrj,  ⟡ @brennanmeijalover00,⟡ @wondash, ⟡ @kimuranishi,  ⟡ @thep3rfectgirl25, ⟡ @doraemon02, ⟡ @rotttenhalo,  ⟡ @oldeubois-blog, ⟡ @putrescentpoet, ⟡ @jinnibug, ⟡ @vayuzzz,  ⟡ @kimmyaaaa, ⟡ @ppcarolina9, ⟡ @giagotthezoomies, ⟡ @numberoneheeslut, ⟡ @lovestruck-sky

[grandlightcandy]

sunghoon + his glasses at soundcheck

[grandlightcandy]

I have been grinding some CUUUUUTE Aniteez designs lately, and there is more that my friends have made!! If anyone is interrested in PC holders, keychains and washitape, there is a post with everything we have here!! All info is on the post<33 Then you can pre-order some~

[grandlightcandy]

GO TO SLEEP ⌢ y.jw

話. late night calls w your bf.

﹙🍮﹚ ； idol!yang jungwon x 𝒻．𝗋𝖾𝖺 ◜ᴗ◝ fluff ˃˂ sleepy won, est rl◝

(うち) jungwon💔💔💔💔💔won💔💔 i love him

you blink slowly, barely awake as your phone lights up a little after midnight, and you don’t even need to check the name—you already know it’s him. only jungwon calls this late, when everything’s quiet and he can finally rest in his hotel room after a long day. you pick up, and his face fills the screen, his hair a mess and a blanket wrapped around his shoulders.

“you’re still awake?” you whisper, even though it’s just you two.

he smiles, small and tired. “i was gonna ask you the same thing.”

you laugh softly and shift under your own covers, propping your phone against your pillow so you don’t have to hold it. his voice is lower at night—warm and comforting. he rambles about practice, about how he thinks one of the cats outside their dorm has been following him, about how he ate too fast at dinner and got hiccups in front of everyone. it’s nothing special, but you listen to every drowsy little word.

“you should sleep early,” he says eventually, though his eyelids are already heavy.

“you first,” you whisper back.

there’s a pause, and then he huffs a little laugh, but it sounds more like air than anything. “you just don’t listen, huh?”

his words start getting slower, softer. sometimes he stops mid sentence, like he forgets where he’s going. you keep talking just enough to keep him with you, asking him little things. what song’s been stuck in his head, if he found that hoodie he lost, if he misses you. he answers, but his voice gets quieter each time.

“won?” you murmur after a while, when the silence stretches for too long.

the camera angle tilts a little as he shifts, but he doesn’t answer. his lashes rest against his cheeks, lips parted, breathing steady. he’s passed out.

you should probably hang up, but you don’t. instead you stay there with your screen glowing in the dark, watching the way he unconsciously curls closer to his pillow, blanket tucked under his chin. it feels almost too intimate, like you’ve slipped into a part of him only you get to see.

by the time your own eyes close, the call is still running.

the next morning, there’s a text waiting for you:

“wifi cut out last night lol.”

you send back the screenshot you took, his face soft in sleep, mouth slightly open.

“wifi, huh?”

it takes him three minutes to reply.

“…okay fine. maybe i just like falling asleep with you on the other side.”

[grandlightcandy]

Yunho’s supporting princess

[grandlightcandy]

full shot:

[grandlightcandy]

ATEEZ Being a Safe Haven for Queer Fans

Part 2: Interactions With Fans and Their Pride Flags (more)

[grandlightcandy]

TANGLED UP WITH YOU ── s. jy 𖢥 teaser ↳ teaser wc. 1.2k

pairing 𖢥 ₊°˖ spiderman!jake x f!reader ── .✦ fluff, rom-com, angst, miscommunication!trope, classmates to lovers ft. guy-in-the-chair!sunghoon

synopsis 𖢥 ⁺₊✧ keeping his secret identity...a secret? easy work. hiding his raging, massive, all-consuming crush on you? not so much. sim jaeyun has a lot on his plate: high school, late-night crime-fighting, a history final next week, and a painfully massive crush on his chemistry lab partner—you. and things are finally starting to look up—during the day, jake bonds with you over caffeine-fueled study sessions and at night, spider-man walks you home. but then you drop a bomb: you've got feelings for someone else. and that someone is...spider-man. and now, somehow, someway, jake is in a love triangle. with himself. turns out—falling for your lab partner and your friendly neighborhood hero? easy work. realizing they're the same guy? not so much.

warnings 𖢥⊹ ࣪ ˖ heavy on the miscommunication trope, so so much pining, the concept of 'casual' dating because yn is seeing both jake & spider-man in this....LOL, some fun elements/easter eggs from mcu's spiderman movies if you squint bc im a marvel NERD, some sad scenes bc no-im-not-standing-you-up-im-just-busy-getting-slammed-into-buildings-by-city-villains!

°˖➴ .ᐟ addie ── surprise surprise...it's been forever since i did a full fic and i apologize sincerely </3 i have a million (read: 7) wips right now and im working on three (3) OTHER ones outside of this one but i can't get nerdy spidey!jakey out of my head so...here's a lil sum sum until i finish the entire thing...hopefully within the next few weeks :') bare with me pls <3 also ty to my beloved anon for giving me this idea mwah ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂)⸝♡ ps. this is a longer teaser bc i owe everyone in statefarm nation a formal apology <3

𖢥⁺₊°˖ send me an ask or comment on this post if you'd like to be tagged ! + perms tagged at end of post!

snippet under the cut! ⋆˚꩜｡

"hi jake!"

jake's soul ascends.

he looks up (too fast), catches himself (too obvious), and tries to play it cool with a little nod and smile that definitely looks a little more like a grimace (too tragic).

"hey." nailed it.

you smile casually as you plop your backpack down on the lab table you share with him and start pulling out your notebooks for the day. and jake just stares ahead like a soldier at war. his hands are sweating. his feet are bouncing. his entire nervous system is screaming at him to say something, anything.

and as if the universe decided to play a casually cruel trick on him—

"...so what's your favorite color?"

"so, any fun weekend plans?"

both your voices overlap.

you both freeze.

turn to each other at the same time.

blink.

"oh—"

"—sorry, you go—"

"no, you first—"

"okay—wait—i, i forgot—"

silence.

you giggle.

jake wishes to melt into the earth and hopes he never reincarnates.

"i was just gonna ask," you say, a small smile still playing on your lips that it makes jake's brain actively start doing 360s, "if you're doing anything this weekend."

jake short-circuits.

say something. be mysterious. be cool. be normal. channel spider-man. but maybe...not spider-man when you talk to him. spider-man when he talks to everyone else.

"i'm...uh." he clears his throat. tries again. "probably just, y'know. working."

you tilt your head, eyes sparkling with curiosity, "working?"

"yeah," jake nods, too quickly for his own liking, then stops himself. "like—side gig."

if a side gig came with at least two new bruised ribs some nights and meant saving a city from criminals, but yeah, okay. sure. side gig.

your brows raise. "that's cool! what do you do?"

jake freezes.

panics.

what does he do.

he can't say spider-man.

he also can't say he has the molecular build of an eight-limbed arthropod and can stick onto walls with only his bare fingers.

and he definitely can't say i spend 70% of my free time thinking about you and the other 30% swinging off buildings.

"...delivery."

he says it like he's mysterious. cool. totally normal.

you blink. as if waiting, as if expecting him to elaborate.

he blinks back at you.

"delivering...what?"

"...pizza."

(and he did once deliver a stolen pizza order back to its rightful owner after webbing the thief to a lamppost. that totally counts.)

"oh," you nod slowly, giving him a genuine smile. "that sounds fun!"

jake gives a thumbs up.

mentally smacks himself in the face repeatedly.

but then, his brain suddenly catches up to the situation at hand and before he can stop himself, he blurts—

"wait—uh, why do you ask?"

and then you break eye contact, glancing down at your notebook, and jake pretends not to notice your fingers suddenly fidgeting with one of your many too-colorful pens.

"well," you start, and jake is trying his very, very best to ignore the fact that his senses can pick up on your heart beat. "we've got the final coming up next week, and i don't know—you always seem like you know what you're doing in class, so—"

she thinks im smart? oh my god. she notices me? oh my god oh my god oh my—

"—i was hoping maybe we could study together?" you look up at him again, your eyes wide. "or go over the study guide one last time or something. but it's totally fine if you're busy working! and that makes sense, you probably don't even need to study, you're, like, uber smart and stuff, so—"

"no."

your words come to a halt and your mouth is left slack.

jake smacks himself. mentally. again.

and again.

"...oh, um—"

jake coughs suddenly, a little too loud, a little too forced. "sorry! i mean—no...no, i'm not busy. yes, i'm down. down. to study. together. yeah."

he takes note in the way your shoulders slightly relax and the way you release a breath of what sounds like relief and amusement at the same time.

then, a soft smile makes its way to your face again, "okay! okay, cool!"

jake doesn't know if he should scream, sob, or launch himself into the sun.

he smiles back. "cool."

there's a pause.

"wait—but what about work?" your head tilts slightly, a soft crease forming between your brows.

shit.

"oh. right," jake mutters, clearing his throat as his hand casually brushes through his hair as if he thought this one through (he, in fact, did not).

quick, lie—wait, no. casual lie. lying is not cool. don't lie to the girl you like. you're simply protecting her. be mysterious. be cool. be normal.

"i'm...sure the pizzas will be okay for a night! yeah. they have flexibility. my job, i mean. not the pizzas. my manager's chill."

your smile brightens at his answer and jake decides launching himself into the sun is dramatic. in fact, he thinks the sun came out today just for him.

"okay! yay!"

jake also thinks his heart just tripped over itself.

"here, let me—" you rip off a corner of your notebook and start scribbling something down with one of your pens before sliding the slip of paper over to his side of the table, "—give you my number and you let me know when and where works best, yeah?"

and jake is simply a guy.

a guy entirely entranced.

it's the way you lean a little closer to the desk, tongue peeking out at the corner of your mouth in concentration. the way your hair shifts when you tilt your head, the gentle swish of it brushing over your shoulder. the way your bracelets softly clink together when your hands move. the way you smoothly push the small slip of paper with your number and name signed with a small smiley face towards him like it's no big deal.

jake stares at the paper like all those nights of manifesting finally paid off and this small slip of notebook paper is first proof that a manifestation journal really does work.

your name. your number. a tiny smile doodled next to it.

it's the cutest thing he's ever seen.

he looks at the note. then at you. then back at the note.

how did this happen. what did he say? was it the pizza lie? no, it couldn't have been the pizza lie.

"cool," jake eventually says, but he realizes he's said cool one too many times and it comes out so high-pitched, he's genuinely unsure if he said it out loud or just squeaked like a mouse.

and you just simply smile back at him, soft and sweet and light, and jake decides to revisit the potential idea of self launching into orbit.

and when the teacher enters the classroom, immediately starting the lecture, jake turns back to the front of the class, trying his very best to focus—

"pink."

it comes out as a low and soft whisper. jake's head jerks slightly towards you, and you're leaning in, just slightly enough for your shoulder to brush against his.

"...i—what?"

you smile, your eyes crinkled at their corners as you look at him, "my favorite color. it's pink."

then, you turn back to the whiteboard, already scribbling down your notes like you didn't just change the entire trajectory of jake's future.

jake doesn't move.

jake, in fact, doesn't hear a single word of whatever the teacher is saying about the synthesis and characterization of something-something-carbene-molecular-something.

all he knows is:

he's seeing you this weekend.

your favorite color is pink.

and tucked into the back of his phone is now a piece of corner notebook paper with your number on it.

and, of course, it's written in pink.

let me know if you'd like to be tagged !

tag list! (perms || those who asked to be tagged before!)

💌 🕷️ 🕸️ ─── @xylatox @vivimura @leehsngs @puma-riki @lezleeferguson-120 @enhaprettystars @laurradoesloveu @sievenderz @somuchdard @kristynaaah @hinryh @ltfirecracker @lov4hoon @taeheexx @freakseungi @chunkzdeluluwife @jakeflvrz @rikiimuraaa @grandcascadeparadox @enhawonnie @sunhrtss @jakeyyyjakexoxo @highway-143 @alex-is-sleeping @luhvletters @dazzlingjaeyun @iwishyourosesxo @wonnieswife @kristynaaah @enha4everr @theothernads @kwhluv @01209r @yeyushi @jellyoiz @rikifever @sugarrtalk @soobundle1009 || @ikeuholic @pjselee @ilovhoonie @dearestdreamies @wonuzu @bluberly @nishiimuraka @honeyikeu @lilscast @snghon @getoxo @enjakey

[grandlightcandy]

OVERPROTECTIVE

who are you── .✧˚ vampire!wonki x reader

SYNOPSIS── ｡𖦹°‧ poor innocent you. . . you didn't realize that guardian beings don't always come as angels. . .

( .✧˚ ) — genre fantasy fluff thriller yandere (if this constitutes?) wc 2.4k warnings suspense, thriller, violence, still fluffy, flirty reblog & comment

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ever since your 16th birthday, you’ve been feeling on edge.

when you were little, your mother told you about all kinds of legends and stories, one of your favorites being guardians. it is said that on a child's 16th birthday, they are assigned 1-5 guardians to help them for the rest of their life, since parents typically become less involved in their kids' lives.

it’s a story all little kids are told to cope with the idea of growing up and one day not being able to rely on their parents anymore. it’s a story everyone but you has outgrown. you want to believe it’s real. being lonely all your life, the idea that someone is always watching over you and making sure you’re okay is comforting; someone is always there to catch you. you wonder what your guardian (or guardians) looks like. you’ve seen a biblically accurate angel before, and they’re quite frightening, so you hope they look a little more. . . human.

you wonder what your guardian does when you sleep. do angels sleep too?

your friends call you childish. “they don’t even exist,” they say, but you choose to believe they do. you have to believe it, or you’ll go insane.

perhaps you also need an excuse for all the crazy experiences you’ve been having since the day of your 16th birthday.

ever since your 16th birthday, you have gotten everything you wanted, so much so that your friends call you the luck generator. as corny as it is, it’s true. you’ve been very lucky since that day.

on the day of your 16th birthday, everything went smoothly. every single person you invited came, even your friends who previously told you they wouldn’t be able to make it. every single one of their important plans was mysteriously derailed or canceled. at first, you thought nothing of this news. why would you think twice? it’s not like you did anything. you were merely a child, what could you have done? but then, the caterers accidentally made extras, the neighbors heard the commotion and gave you 300 dollars in birthday money, and there’s even an extra gift in your pile that no one seems to have any recollection of, which ends up being the best gift of the bunch.

ever since that day, your life has been different.

you ace every exam, you’re a straight-A student, you get gifts all the time, mysteriously showing up inside your locker or in your room; as if it has just physically manifested there, someone is always kind to you, you’re never lonely, and you always have friends. 

your life is perfect. . . 

kind of.

perfection seems to come at a cost, because since that day, you’ve been attuned to the feeling that someone is watching you. it has gone on so long–so persistent and stubborn–you forget it isn’t normal. you’ve gone through hoops and bounds trying to wash this feeling off your delicate skin, yet it lingers. coats the surface in a suffocating, viscous feeling of paranoia. you’re used to it. used to the way your hair stands up in your pores. at this point, the fear simply sits at the bottom of your stomach. nothing you can do, really.

it’s not just that, though.

whenever you get a boyfriend, for some reason or another, whether reluctant or urgent, they break up with you. everyone who wrongs you in some way pays for it tenfold. they come to you scared, apologizing for their lives, completely in ruin. they end up beat up and bleeding, they end up with some sort of physical or psychological trauma,

to the point where it scares you.,

and to drive it all home, whenever these things happen, something even better happens for you. like an act of comfort from no one in particular. 

‘but angels don’t hurt people,’ you think. 

but what other explanation is there? 

it’s not until one night, when the moon is full and the light cascades over your tear-stained face, that you find out what was watching over you all this time.

you see them clear as day, although the room is soaked in darkness and the light seems to cling only to you–seeking shelter and protection in your presence–you see them. they’re staring at you intently. they study you. unmoving. unwavering. 

you had been crying over a friend, one who betrayed you greatly for no reason other than jealousy,being better than you and bringing you down was her virtue, and it made you feel greatly insecure. you don’t have many close friends, unfortunately, so the ones you do have, you keep near and dear. even though you feel like you spend all your time trying to catch up to them, to be as smart as them, as pretty as them, as friendly as them, there’s always something you lack. you sob, so engulfed in your grief, you don’t notice the door opening.

perhaps they thought you wouldn’t see them, but now you stare at them. now, you wanna cry for a completely different reason.

“we didn’t mean to scare you, dear.” the man is blond and broad. his voice is gentle and soothing, but his demeanor frightens you beyond compare. he stands proudly, back straight and chin raised. he has nothing to fear, not even shame. as gentle as he tries to be, his gaze is fierce and focused. determination radiates off of him like heat does the concrete of your sidewalk in summer.

you shiver.

the other one is silent. stares at you with a tightened gaze. he inspects every inch of your being. his eyes don’t judge, but they analyze. his thick arms are crossed over his chest, and his head is tilted, as if to get a real good look at you, deeper and deeper into your soul. he’s thinking, and for some reason, that scares you more. he’s tall–almost freakishly. easily towering over you; even from across the room, he looms like doom and bad intuition. even the way his black hair sits on his head is menacing.

your tears fall as they stalk forward.

“please, don’t hurt me,” you say, meek as a mouse. they stop in their tracks, gazes softening into a puddle of sympathy.

“why would we ever wanna hurt you, darling?” the blond man sits on the foot of your bed gently. he looks at you sadly. your words seemed to have grazed his skin like a misfired bullet.

in all honesty, he is a little hurt, but he understands. you’re not really supposed to meet your guardians, especially not under these circumstances. most humans would be shocked by “uninvited” guests.

he scoots closer to you, and your breath gets caught in your throat. maybe if you stay still, he’ll leave. though you know that’s not the case, it seems like a better option than running. he leans forward ever so slightly. you can barely feel the bed dipping as he does so. he’s careful not to be hasty and scare you with any sudden movements. he knows you better than anyone, even your own parents, and he knows you’re as skittish as a cat. it’s even more apparent when you look at him with those big, glassy eyes of yours, tracking his every movement very carefully. although a bit reclined and guarded, you wait patiently until you make your next move, just like a kitten does with those they’re unfamiliar with. he holds his hand out like one would, like asking for permission to touch you. when you make no further movements, his thumb kisses the tears off of your left cheek, and you jump from the feeling, but you don't run, nor do you reclude any further; he takes that as a good sign. he moves his hand to caress the side of your face and pet you gently.

“see? you’re okay,” he smiles at you warmly, and even in this darkness, you see two gleaming, sharp fangs as white as snow, front and center in all their glory. you sniffle, but he simply wipes your tears again and pets your head to comfort you.

you’re so focused on him, you don’t notice the tall one making his way towards the bed until he’s right next to you. you jolt, a little cry escaping your lips unintentionally, but he says nothing, nor does he react to it. he simply takes his seat right next to you, snaking his arm over your small shoulder and guiding you into his chest. he kisses the top of your head with tender care as his hand slides up and down your side.

“i’m sorry, darling.” his tone is kind, but the bass in his voice startles you. the blond one chuckles at you, so attentive to every little thing you do. he scoots a bit closer to you.

they can both tell you’re a bit overwhelmed, but it’s okay. they know you well enough to ease your racing heart. you’ll fall asleep soon after; they can tell your eyes are already starting to get heavy.

“who are you?” you sniffle, “what do you want from me?”

they laugh at how cliché your question is because they think it’s cute. you’re a bit annoyed, however, at not being taken seriously.

they introduce themselves, and you find out that their names are jungwon and riki,

you also find out that they’re vampires.

you freeze up a bit. you’ve only heard of vampires in folktales and twilight (read: not that often), but from what you do recall, they’re malevolent and vicious creatures that will even kill just for fun.

you wonder how they got in your house, though. don’t they need to be invited in?

so you ask,

“b-but then. . . how did you. . don’t you need. . .” riki laughs into your hair, then reorients himself so that he can look you in the eyes as he speaks.

“we’re your guardians, dear. our bond to you is our invitation.”

guardians? but aren’t guardians supposed to be angels? everyone talks about guardian angels, so you assumed that all guardians are angels. you assumed that everyone dropped the “angel” cause it was a given–why say the whole phrase when you can shorten it? but apparently, that’s just not the case.

the confusion that worms its way onto your face makes them laugh, and jungwon pokes his finger into your cheek gently. you wonder why you ended up with two guardians. isn’t it usually the one? maybe you needed the extra help and adjustment. truth be told, you’ve always felt very lonely. you never really felt connected with your parents, making friends was hard, and life seemed to stress you out a lot, even as a baby. joy and love were not the first concepts you came to understand. instead, you understood distance and conditionality. you were alone most times, and your parents were often gone, whisking you off to some aunt's house, anyone in the neighborhood willing to watch you. any mistake you made was noticeable, and that was a crime. 

you know your parents love you. . . or maybe you’ve just assumed they do because that’s what you were told. parents love their kids, or they get rid of them. your parents are usually nice and supportive when you don’t make mistakes. that’s just the way things are. maybe you feel a bit lonely, maybe you feel scared, maybe you feel like you’ll never be enough. . .but that will go away with time, right? 

“no need to justify it. bad parents are bad parents.” 

can he read your mind?

“they’re not bad parents. . .they just. . .-”

“-are bad?” riki says it bluntly, in a way that cuts clean through your heart. you want to deny it. they love you, so they’re good parents, right?

“love has to be shown, too. not just spoken,” riki states in that blunt tone of his. his words are very matter-of-fact. he leaves you no grace or forewarning; he’s straight to the point. 

but although his words seem harsh, his hands caress your skin ever so softly, as if the skin on your face will tear if he so much as presses his fingertips in a little too hard. he glides his fingers across the side of your face as he pulls you into his chest once again.

“it’s okay. so long as we’re here, we’ll keep you safe, hm?” jungwon looks at you proudly. he does not doubt his ability to protect you. the number one priority for everything is you, and he’s willing to do whatever it takes to get you what you need and what you want.

“it’s okay if others disappoint you, we’re still right here.”

you begin to feel sleepy.

“you don’t need to worry about anything. we’ll handle it.” 

your brain feels. . . fuzzy. you’re too tired to dispute anything. life is stressful, and you just wanna sleep. the idea of not having to worry about anything anymore is quite alluring right now, and so is your pillow. your ability to think and reason is dissolving right before you, seeping through the folds of your brain. riki grabs your phone, like he’s done this many times before. you try to look up to see what he’s doing, but you’re just so tired. jungwon hushes you, he lays you down further, and brings the blanket up to your chin. you can hear your phone going off, one chime per second, but jungwon’s got all your attention hooked on him like a baby playing peekaboo. 

the distant ringing isn’t enough to bring you back to your senses.  you drown it out, even when riki urges jungwon to leave, speaking of something getting risky. . .“she needs to be dealt with immediately.”

whatever it is, it’s clearly not your problem, because jungwon kisses your forehead goodnight, telling you to get some rest, not to worry about waking up for school. they’ll be back for you in the morning, and you’ll be able to do anything you want, then. and you drift off into slumber as they leave through your window swiftly.

you don’t need to know where they’re going,

or what they're doing,

or who they’re going to see.

no matter how gruesome the crime is, how malicious and vindictive the motive, it’s not something they will ever let you worry about.

after all, it is their life purpose to protect you.

by all means necessary.