marsjupitersaturn16

[marsjupitersaturn16]

FLIRTY HAIRDRESSER

cha woo-min x reader

note; just imagine if he had tattoos and he's your hairdresser.

YOU WEREN'T ACTUALLY planning to change your look today—just a spontaneous urge on a slow afternoon. Your reflection started to become boring: the same old faded dye, the same split ends. So you stepped into the newly opened salon that everyone has been raving about and imagined you would somehow spark spontaneity.

The bell chimed as you walked in, and you were greeted with a citrus shampoo and lavender scent. Some stylists pointed their attention to you and smiled appreciatively. However, your gaze really fell on the man standing before the styling chairs.

Cha Woo-min.

He was tall, sleeves rolled just enough to expose minimal tattoos on his forearms. Rings decorated his fingers—stylistic and silver, nether too glam, but again... definitely noticed. His hair looked effortlessly tousled, as though he had a stylish awakening. He looked like he could walk off the pages of a fashion magazine, not out from behind a salon chair.

"First time here?" he asked, voice silky as he casually motioned you to take a seat. His tone was lighthearted and friendly, but his eyes remained longer on you than necessary.

You nodded. "I just felt like trying something new."

"Come on, I'll take care of you," he said, pointing to one of the chairs. You settled into it as he tossed the cape on you and clipped it into place with his expert ease.

His name tag on his apron said Woo-min, and he pointed to it, grinning and dancing with his eyes. "I'm Woo-min, by the way. Your hair is in safe hands."

When he said it, you believed it. "What were you thinking?" he asked, fingers beginning to comb your hair gently, working his way through the texture, the length, and any damage you were trying to not be embarrassed about. "Trim? Change the shape? Color?"

"Something different," you said. "I'm bored of this color. I want something... completely new and compliments my skin tone."

He nodded, ponderous, already pulling out swatches and palettes. "I think you would look great with something that's a little softer. Maybe a warm ash brown or a muted honey beige. Let me show you some options," he said. You watched how his brows furrowed in concentration, like your hair was a canvas and he was already painting it in his mind. 

And god—his hands. Strong, ringed fingers that strolled past your neck every now and again as he sectioned your hair, always in a featherlight touch, but enough to give goosebumps down your arms. You did your best not to fidget under his gaze, under the warmth of his attention.

When he began cutting, it was all soft snips and chit chat—he asked where you were from, if you had dyed your hair a lot before, what made you want to walk in today. But then he showed you to the washing station, and that was when you were elevated.

The water was just the right temperature, his fingers masterfully kneading your scalp as though he had memorized where the pressure points of your head were.

You didn't realize when your eyes closed, but you felt your entire self become liquid in the chair. Your fingers dug where they gripped the sides as his thumbs moved behind your ears and up toward your temples.

The head massage he gave was life-changing.

You wanted to cry.

Or propose.

Or maybe both.

"You alright?" he murmured, and his voice floated over, right next to your ear. You could only nod your head, unsure if your voice would come out coherent.

As he towel-dried your hair, his fingers brushed your nape again—intentionally? Probably not. But something about his action paused, as if he noticed the hitch in your breath, as if he wanted to.

"I'll dry it, put it up and style it, so you can see what it'll look like," he offered after a brief pause. He began walking you back to your original chair and moved with that same casual self-assuredness, but there was something in his eye that hadn't been there when you first walked in.

You settled back into the chair in front of the mirror, watching his reflection—this stranger, this charming, tattooed stranger, this one with silver rings on his fingers, named Woo-min, who already had his hands just a bit too familiar with your hair, and maybe with your heart too.

As Woo-min blended the dye, you observed him in the mirror—engaged, careful, a few strands of his own hair escaping from beneath his beanie once again. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing a fresh set of tattoos down his forearm.

Something floral, maybe?

You were unable to concentrate on the specifics when he looked like that. He returned to your chair with the bowl and brush in hand, balancing it awkwardly as he smiled at you with a crooked smile. "Ready?"

You nodded and he carefully wrapped a towel around your shoulders, tucking it in. "This will take a little while, so I hope you don't mind me chatting with you for a bit."

"I don't mind at all," you replied maybe with too much enthusiasm. He began at the back of your scalp, dividing your hair and lightly adding the cool dye.

"Oh by the way," he continued, nonchalantly, "I really like your earrings, and your necklace- so good because it fits with everything else, it's stylish without being too much," he finished.

You blinked, caught off guard. "Oh... thanks."

He smirked. "And by the way, love the outfit, you're pulling it off."

You could feel your cheeks heat up in response to his words  and particularly when he had to lean a little more closer to reach a different section of your hair. But his tone shifted, now teasing in nature and lowered a little more. "But this hair though..."

"You mean...?" you prompted, a little bit skeptically.

"It's kinda crying for help," he laughed, stroking the dye in gingerly. "Intense—not in a bad way, your hair is beautiful. But it is dry as fuck."

You gasped a little. "What!?"

"I'm just being honest!" he laughed. "Don't worry, I'm going to take care of it. I'll put some toner and some protein treatment in. And it won't damage it anymore than it already is. Promise."

"You better," you puffed, crossing your arms—which was useless because you were literally wrapped in a cape like a burrito. "I trust you with my life here."

He laughed. "Your life, huh? No pressure. I'll be try my best not to mess it up."

The other stylists were busy, attending to their own clients while Woo-min stayed with you the whole time, checking the color all while chatting in between. He told you about how he got into hair, how he didn't like school but enjoyed the feeling of making people feel better about themselves. How he worked at a few other shops before helping his friend open this place. 

You shared a little too much—enough to feel like this didn't have to be merely small talk. There was something else there, something that hung in the air for just a beat more than he needed to look at you.

Eventually, it was time for the dye to set. He did wash it out like he said with conditioning and treatments. He rinsed your hair treating it like spun silk. Then he dried and styled your hair, using a diffuser and his hands, fluffing your hair to create shapes and develop the soft waves as if sculpting them. When it was time for the reveal. He spun you around in the chair, turned you  to the mirror.

You were blinking. You, actually blinked. "Whoa..."

"Yeah?" he asked, now watching your reaction intently.

"I look...different", you said, "but in a good way."

"You look hot", he said nonchalantly while correcting you, and you almost choked. He brushed a few strands from your cheek, and your eyes met again in the mirror.

There it was—that look again. That pause. That little something that said, this could be more than a one-time hair appointment.

He stepped away to grab the mirror for the back view, and when he returned, he held a business card between two fingers. "Here. Just in case you wanna come back—for a treatment or touch-up."

You took it. It was sleek, black and white, with the salon's name on the front.

But when you turned it over...

Woo-min.

personal line: xxx-xxx-xxxx

(text me if you're bored. or if your hair gets dry again.)

Your lips twitched.

"Slipping your number to all your clients?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

He winked. "Only the ones with cute earrings and terrible haircare routines."

You kept it cool. You tried.

But then you flipped over the card, saw the neat handwriting, noted the "text me if you're bored" comment, and realized it was his personal number—then the heat rushed to your cheeks, just like that.

Your fingers clenched around the card, doing your best to ignore the smug little look he left on his face as he leaned against the counter. You paid for the treatment, still slightly dazed from the combination of the best head massage of your life, a full hair transformation, and a flirtatious stylist who may or may not have been undressing you with his eyes at some point (in the most tasteful way possible, of course).

As you thanked the receptionist, one of the other stylists walked a client out—nodded politely, let them leave. That was it. No big send-off, no special attention.

But then you turned toward the door, card still tucked into your hand, and—

 

He was already there.

Woo-min stood, one hand on the glass, lazily shoving it open for you with a measured sort of confidence, the other hand tucked in the pocket of his black apron. The wind shaped his bangs on the ends, and the sun caught just the right amount of ink on his forearm so that it was a little distracting.

"You sure you like it?" he said, his chin slightly tilted.

You nodded quickly and pulled some hair behind your ear. "Yeah... I really do. Thank you."

He watched you for a second—the way you were sucking on the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling too much.

"Good," he said. "I usually don't open the door for people, by the way."

You blinked. "You don't?"

He shook his head and there was a playful smile on his lips. "I guess you're special."

You completely lost it with quick blush and muttered a flustered "Bye" and stepped into the cool air, the glass door softly thumping behind you as you walked out. As you walked away, you couldn't resist looking at the card again, your heart racing wildly at the thought.

Text him if you're  bored? 

You were already composing something in your head.

Should you wait an hour? A day? Was five minutes too desperate?

...yeah, okay, maybe ten minutes.

────୨ৎ────

Your limit was nine minutes and forty-three seconds.

That was as long as you could take. You found yourself perched on your bed, stylized hair freshly tucked over your shoulder, eyeing the card like it was about to disappear from the floor. You tapped on messages for two seconds, and then, typed the following message.

you : are you seriously diss on my hair that hard and then flirt with me? bold move.

Sent.

Then you tossed your phone to the side onto the bed like it was a bomb ready to explode. Except within the limit of a minute, it dinged back.

Unknown Number: already miss me?

Your stomach dropped. Then it did a backflip. And then, it combusted. You snatched your phone like it had a secret for you and read the message as your eyes widen. You weren't sure if it was the sheer audacity or the smirk you could hear through the screen, but you were already typing.

you: you wish. but i really do look hot now. so thanks, hair god.

An immediate response.

woo-min 🖤: hair god? now you're trying to turn me on. you're welcome tho. you really do look hot. I should have gotten a picture for my portfolio.

You blinked. How was he somehow both sweet and also so much? It didn't feel sleazy at all. Just cheeky. Like he was letting you in on a joke the rest of the world didn't understand.

You bit your lip.

you: you could've just asked to take one.. or is that your excuse to see me again?

There was a pause.

woo-min 🖤: maybe i don't need an excuse. but if you want to come back next week, i'll "check on the color." or whatever. bring that necklace again. it looked good on you. so did the way you blushed.

You threw your phone face down again. And then immediately picked it back up because this guy was dangerous. In the most infuriatingly charming way. And somehow? You already knew that you'd be back at that salon next week.

A week later. You had been nonstop texting.

Every day. Every night. Random memes. Pictures of his and your cat. A close up of his hand with his rings on display, holding a coffee cup (which he definitely sent on purpose).

A mirror selfie you took after you re-styled your hair with his reply.

woo-min 🖤: stop. I'm already down bad. this is bullying.

And here you were—walking down the street toward the salon expecting a quick hello or intermediary touch up. And instead—

You saw him.

Sitting outside the salon.

No apron, no scissors, just Woo-min, a fresh black coat over a graphic tee, rings still on, hair perfectly done, a coffee in his hand—and sunglasses pushed up on his head like he just walked out of a damn music video.

You slowed your walk. He looked up at you and smiled. Stood. "Took you long enough."

You blinked. "Wait. You're... not working today?"

He shrugged and walked over to you like it was so obvious. "I'm off."

You squinted at him. "Then... why am I here?"

He smirked. "You said you wanted to get your color checked, right?" His fingers brushed against your hair gently, mock inspecting. "Yep. Still hot. Let's go."

You blinked again. "Wait—wait, is this a—?"

"A date?" He grinned, casually linking his hand with yours as though it were the most thrilling thing in the world. "Yeah. You didn't think I would keep flirting with you just over text, did you?"

You stared at him, stunned and a little woozy. "...You're ridiculous."

"Yeah. But you like it." He pulled you toward the little café next door where a tiny table already had two drinks and a half-eaten pastry on it (you were late, sue him).

At some point between the croissants, the little laughs you shared, and him leaning over to wipe a crumb off your lip a little too casually — he pulled out his phone.

"Okay," he said, tapping on the camera app. "I never got a picture of your new hair."

You blinked. "Wait—you wanna take it now?"

"Mhm." He leaned in next to you, tossing his arm around the back of your chair, trying to angle the camera. "But I want one with both of us in it. So you remember who made you look this good."

You tried to roll your eyes—but the camera clicked mid-laugh, catching the exact moment you turned your head toward him in fake-annoyance while he was already grinning at you.

It wasn't just a hair pic.

It was you two.

And somehow it already looked like it belonged in a frame.

[marsjupitersaturn16]

박성훈 ──── MILLION DOLLAR LOVE ◟ or, a collection of my rich boy hoon fics

note · there is no order for reading, all the entries can be read as standalone fics. there is no taglist, angsts will be marked with a ★ i don't take reqs, however suggestions for anything under this trope are much welcomed. happy reading !

spoiled rotten ◟ sunghoon is drunk and is trying to break into your room through the balcony.

secret never kept ◟ sunghoon likes getting detentions.

pretty face ◟ all the trouble sunghoon gets himself in lands him in your arms.

couple code ◟ sunghoon pouts when he's jealous.

more tba . . .

[marsjupitersaturn16]

박성훈 、COMPATIBILITY TESTS

there is a fault in your names.

featuring ⋆ rich boy ! sunghoon x fem reader

genre ⋆ fluff, skinship

note ⋆ brought the HOON back. not the best work in the series but hope you enjoy it nonetheless ><ㅤ SERIES

“sixty-three,” your boyfriend looks at the phone screen condensingly, his lips jutting out in a pout as quickly as his brows furrow at the number. “try it with just hoon and your name,”

“sunghoon, it’s—” you try to reason with him for the seventh time this morning but it’s of no use. you barely even get to finish your sentences because of his stubbornness.

“no! no. i’m not letting this go until we get that hundred percent,” he’s almost whining now, half frowning and half pouting.

he’s stubborn, he’s adamant. you figure there isn’t much to argue about when you are head to head with sunghoon.

“it’s just a compatibility test,” you refresh the page, shaking your head as if to surrender.

he clicks his tongue. “and we are very compatible,”

sunghoon fell for you because you were a little mean to him over a project. your words were laced with exhaustion and a drive to achieve perfection. as for him, he had already found it in you.

you can smack his butt in front of the council and he would probably gaze at you longingly. he lets you play with his hair even if it means he has to redo it. you can document your entire day in his phone and post his silly pictures on your account and he would not bat an eye.

your parents don’t get along but he still asked you for a dance in the charity gala hosted by his family, and you had gladly given your hand to him even though it was half out of spite.

sunghoon truly thinks there is no one as compatible as the two of you, and would take it up with the heavens if he had to.

you enter your names on the website again, making sure to add just ‘hoon’ instead of his full name— he is sitting wide eyed and anxious as if this decides this entire life ahead.

well, for sunghoon, it probably does.

“sixty-seven percent,” you add with an exasperated sigh, giving him a look that clearly spells ‘let’s stop.’

“are you sure you’re spelling our names correctly?” you scowl at his words but his expression is nothing like he is giving up. sunghoon would fight for you, even if it’s really not that serious at this moment. “let me try,”

and your boyfriend thinks something will change if he keeps trying. it has to— the two of you are a match made in heaven.

cruising amidst family rivalry and the good for nothing guys that try to get your attention, sunghoon’s love has found its way to your heart. he feels like a warrior, the luckiest person alive to be the one you had given your heart.

he is the happiest person alive to see his name next to yours. although right now, it’s everything that is stressing him out.

your head rests on his shoulder as he types your names with proper care before pressing ‘calculate’ and you click your tongue when you notice a small blunder. “it’s sunghoon and not seunghoon. you’re spelling your own name incorrectly,”

there’s a quiet pause while he goes over the letters, and then his eyes zoom in on the number.

his brows burrow and his heart skips a beat, not sure if it’s in dread or delight.

“yeah, but why is it ninety-eight percent compatible?” his eyelids squint at the screen, contemplating the biggest decision of his life. “should i change my name?”

and you slap his arm playfully while a huff falls off your lips. “don’t be silly,”

“i mean, it’s not—”

and with the slide of the door across the frame, his words are cut short. sunghoon watches the new student that walks right behind the teacher.

he listens, sees, jaw dropped and eyes blown open.

choi seunghoon, as the guy introduces himself.

sunghoon’s entire world shifts a little to the left.

this has to be a joke, your boyfriend tells himself. why would you be more compatible with the guy who is literally just sunghoon’s name spelt wrong?

hell, he is not changing his name. sunghoon despises the idea of you being ninety-eight percent compatible with every other seunghoon that exists.

he wants you all to himself.

sunghoon shifts a little closer to you, a bit quiet, a tad bit more irrational— he takes the phone from you and kisses your hand. “we need to change your name, baby,”

[marsjupitersaturn16]

The Plot Twist - Lee Heeseung x F!Reader x Nishimura Riki

They stole my header? Perfect. I needed a reason to outdo myself anyway.

You could already picture him with his dark, messy hair buried between your legs, that wicked mouth pulling you straight to heaven. A soft moan slipped out as you arched into the touch, eyelids fluttering open, ready to see him. But blonde? Heeseung wasn’t blonde.

content warnings - dark!Heeseung plus dark!Niki, noncon turned dubcon, forced oral, mean dom heeseung, needy niki, threesome, hair pulling, degradation, creampie, breeding kink, lots of dirty talk.

word count - 3.4k

Heeseung was the picture-perfect boyfriend. Dependable, sweet, the kind of guy who remembered your coffee order and actually asked about your day and he listened. You could count on him for anything. Need a ride at 2 a.m.? He was there. Forgot your umbrella? He’d show up with two, just in case. Honestly, you had zero complaints. Well…almost zero.

There was just one thing you couldn’t stand. A single, stubborn splinter in your otherwise pristine boyfriend fantasy and that was his friends. God, his friends.

And at the center of that circus was Ni-ki. That little shit. The human embodiment of a group chat you wish you could mute. He had this uncanny talent for showing up uninvited, inserting himself into every conversation like he was the main character, and delivering sarcasm like it was his full-time job.

He wasn’t just annoying. He was the kind of annoying that made you want to pray for patience and punch a pillow all simultaneously.

No matter how perfect Heeseung was, every time Ni-ki opened his mouth, you found yourself questioning your life choices... and your boyfriend’s taste in people.

At first, Ni-ki was kind of shy around you…which, honestly, you chalked up to nerves. You were, after all, the first real girlfriend to be introduced to the group. The others? Mostly flings, a few questionable hook-ups, and one girl whose name no one could quite remember. But you? You were different. Official. And maybe that threw him off?

You figured the age thing might help. You were closer to Ni-ki than the others in that regard, so you tried. Really tried. You made the effort, you brought up games he liked, asked about movies, even tried laughing at one of his half-hearted anime impressions. But he made it weird. Like weird-weird.

Backhanded compliments that felt less like icebreakers and more like ice picks. You assumed he was just socially awkward, maybe trying to be funny in that clumsy, teenage-boy way. But after a while, the pattern became clear: he only acted that way with you.

And that’s when it hit you. Ni-ki didn’t like you.

Heeseung, bless his rose-colored-glasses heart, kept reassuring you. “That’s just how Ni-ki is,” he’d say, like that explained the passive-aggressive snipes or the exaggerated sighs every time you joined in a conversation. Still, you gave it your best. You showed up. You engaged. You offered thoughtful commentary on his favorite games only to be met with a shrug and a “that’s not really your genre, is it?”

So, eventually… you stopped trying.

You kept your opinions to yourself. Sat a little quieter when he was around. Smiled politely but stopped reaching out. And funny enough? it got worse.

The backhanded compliments stopped, which should’ve been a win. But instead of mellowing out, Ni-ki leveled up. He went full-blown sarcasm bitch on you.

Now, if you asked something as innocent as, “Hey, can we go see that new movie this weekend?” he’d hit you with a deadpan: “Can you?” Like he was your parole officer and you’d just violated a condition of your release. It drove you absolutely mad.

You started fantasizing about flipping a table. Or smacking him with the remote. Or both. You could practically hear your inner voice narrating, “And that’s when she snapped, Judge.”

But you didn’t.

Because no matter how much Ni-ki grated on your nerves with that sandpaper wrapped in smugness shit, he was Heeseung’s best friend. And you didn’t want to be that girlfriend. The one who came in and started issuing ultimatums. Me or you friends? yeah you didn’t want to be one of those. So, you left it alone.

Grinned. Bared it. Tried to summon your inner zen. And when that didn’t work? You thought happy thoughts. Really happy thoughts. Like Ni-ki accidentally walking into oncoming traffic. Just... hypothetically, of course. 

Which brings us to tonight, it was supposed to be movie night. Just you, your boyfriend, and the latest horror flick that promised more actual scares than jumpscares. You had your oversized hoodie on, a throw blanket ready to swaddle yourself like a human burrito, and a bowl of popcorn nestled perfectly in your lap. It was supposed to be perfect. Just the two of you.

So when there was a knock on the door, you prayed to every god in the universe that it was the pizza. But the gods? Yeah, kindness isn’t really their thing. So when you saw the smile. That smile. That specific smile Heeseung threw over his shoulder as he headed for the door. The one that said he already knew who it was. The one that made your stomach sink faster than a doomed horror movie protagonist walking into a dark basement.

Your hopes didn’t just die. They spontaneously combusted. Because you just knew. This wasn’t a pizza delivery. This was a Ni-ki situation. And suddenly, the horror movie wasn’t the scariest thing on the agenda.

He walked in smiling like he hadn’t just crashed your night. Like the evening hadn’t been reserved for you, your boyfriend, and a horror movie. Ni-ki strolled through the door with all the confidence of someone who’d been invited which, apparently, he had. He shot you a smirk. Not his usual smirk, either. This one was… new. Sharper and that threw you off more than it should have. Then, the real plot twist: he greeted you.

“Hey,” he said, casual as anything. You just stared at him. He’d never greeted you before. Not unless you counted eye rolls and monosyllabic grunts. Still slightly stunned, you murmured, “Hi,” back.

Heeseung came up behind you, kissed your cheek in that soft, boyfriend-y way that always made your pulse do a double take, and mumbled, “He didn’t have plans and felt kinda lonely, so I invited him last minute. Hope you don’t mind.”

You minded. Oh, you definitely minded.

But you played it cool because that’s who you were: composed, understanding, non-possessive girlfriend of the year. (You’d like your award mailed, thanks.) Ni-ki made himself right at home on the couch, plopping down beside you like he paid rent. You gave him the most olympic-level side-eye you could manage without moving your head.

Then, when Heeseung sat down on your other side, you snuggled in close. Partly for warmth. Mostly for territorial reasons. Heeseung smiled at you, soft and dimpled and devastating. Damn it. That smile made your knees weak even when you were sitting.

The movie started playing. Ni-ki reached for popcorn like he hadn’t just invaded your peace. And you? You prayed the horror on screen would be more tolerable than the one sitting beside you. 

Watching the movie with Ni-ki turned out to be… surprisingly bearable.

He didn’t say much (that was a miracle of miracles) unless the main character made one of those painfully dumb horror-movie choices. You know, the kind where someone hears a noise in the basement and decides to investigate alone with a flickering flashlight and zero survival instinct. And, to be fair, his commentary was kind of funny. Begrudgingly.

For a while, it was almost... nice. But then the masked killer was revealed, and just like that, the tension flatlined. No more mystery. No more suspense. Just a long, slow unraveling of plot and blood.

You got bored. Your eyelids started staging a protest. And before you knew it, your head was on Heeseung’s shoulder, your body tucked into his side, wrapped in his warmth like the safest little burrito on earth.

He didn’t move. Didn’t shift. Just let you stay curled against him, arm around you like he was guarding your dreams. And in that moment, Ni-ki and his sarcasm, the movie, the whole weird energy of the night… it all faded. Because Heeseung made you feel safe. Which, frankly, was better than any plot twist the movie could’ve offered.

You were floating in a dreamless haze when you felt it your stomach tightening, a slow, delicious heat coiling low. Something was happening to you, but your mind was too foggy to figure out why. Then, the sensation of hands, warm and knowing, sliding up your thighs. Oh. Your breath hitched. Heeseung.

You could already picture him..his dark, fluffy hair between your legs, that sinful mouth of his dragging you to heaven. A soft moan escaped you as you arched into the touch, your eyelids fluttering open, expecting to see him.

But—blonde hair? Heeseung wasn’t blonde.

Your brain short-circuited. You tried to sit up. Key word: tried because the second you moved, strong arms wrapped around you from behind, pulling you flush against a firm chest. A familiar, honey-sweet voice whispered in your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

“Just relax, baby. Let Niki make that pretty pussy come.”

Your entire body burned. “H-Heeseung—what the hell—” But your protest melted into a breathless moan as Niki’s tongue dragged over you, slow and filthy, unraveling you inch by inch.

Heeseung chuckled against your neck, his grip possessive. “Shh, sweetheart. You’re doing so good for us.” His lips brushed your pulse point, his voice dropping to that sinful, sweet-dirty rasp that always made you weak. “Look at you, taking Niki so well… Bet you didn’t even know you could feel so good, huh?”

You whimpered, fingers twisting in the couch. Niki groaned against you, his hands digging into your hips like he was starving. “Fuck—so perfect. Can’t get enough.”

"Niki, stop—please."

He doesn’t listen. Instead, he kisses your thigh again, his lips warm and insistent. "Baby," he murmurs, his voice deep, rough with want. "The way your body’s reacting… I can’t help myself. I wanna see you fall apart." His dark eyes drag down your body, slow, possessive, and all you can manage is a weak, "Huh?" breathless, already unraveling.

When you realize you can’t get through to him, you turn your head, seeking Heeseung. "Heeseung—what the fuck are you doing? Stop him—" Your words break between moans, shaky and desperate.

But Heeseung just smiles, sweet and sinful. "I’ve wanted to watch him fuck you for so long," he admits, his voice honey-thick, fingers brushing your cheek. "And this? God, it’s more than I ever dreamed."

You trembled, caught between the velvet pull of his voice and the relentless drag of Niki’s mouth between your thighs. Your protests had long since dissolved into breathless moans, your body betraying you completely.

Heeseung’s hand slid up to your throat. “You feel that?” he whispered into your ear. “How your body’s trembling?  That’s need. Craving. You want this. You’re mine, and I’m giving you to him. Doesn’t that turn you on?”

You whimpered, shaking your head, but your hips said otherwise rocking up, chasing every sinful flick of Niki’s tongue. You could feel him smile against you, cocky and starving.

“Such a fucking dream,” Niki groaned, his voice muffled against your skin. “Tastes like sin… like she’s meant to be ruined.” His tongue curled again, and you cried out, your fingers clawing at the cushions, the pleasure too much.

“Heeseung,” you gasped, trying to hold on to something—anything. “Please, I—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he crooned, one hand cupping your cheek, the other trailing down to your chest, brushing over your nipples with maddening care. “You’ll come when I say, just like always. You know that, right?”

You nodded helplessly, already falling apart.

“Good girl,” he purred, kissing the shell of your ear. “Now stay still. Let Niki taste every fucking drop. I want to see you lose yourself, right here in his mouth with my hands on your throat so you remember who owns you.”

The words hit you harder than any touch, unraveling you completely. Your body writhed between them, Niki’s grip bruising, Heeseung’s voice the only anchor as your climax built.

Your glossy eyes stare up at him, pleading, but he just leans in, pressing a soft gentle kiss to your lips but underneath it, that unspoken truth: You don’t have a choice in this. He moved his mouth to your ear, his words a velvet caress. "You look so pretty like this, baby. You have no idea how good you are for us, do you?"

"Why don’t we put that mouth to use?" Heeseung murmured, sweet as honey, before his grip turned cruel. He stood abruptly, sending you tumbling back onto the couch, dragging you to the edge until your head hung over the armrest. Your pulse throbbed in your throat.

Niki groaned when you were pulled away from him, but he didn’t stay gone long his mouth found your pussy again like it was the last thing he’d ever taste. "Fuck, you’re so wet," he muttered against you, needy, desperate, his tongue working in filthy, practiced circles.

Heeseung loomed above you, upside down from your vantage point, all sharp angles and dark eyes. Even like this, even when you wished things were different your body betrayed you. He looked good, and the way he gripped your jaw made your breath hitch. "Open," he said, sweetly at first, almost coaxing. Then, as soon as you obeyed, his voice dropped to something rougher. "That’s it. Take it."

He slid into your mouth with a shuddering groan, his fingers tightening in your hair. The stretch of him on your tongue, the way Niki was devouring you between your thighs it was all too much. You came with a muffled cry, shaking, and Heeseung let out a dark laugh.

Your glossy eyes stared up at Heeseung, silently begging but he only smiled, tender and cruel, brushing a soft kiss to your lips. It should have felt kind. But it didn’t. It felt like a promise.

A promise that you had no say in what came next.

"You look so pretty like this, baby," he whispered into your ear, his voice like silk over steel. "You have no idea how good you are for us, do you?"

Your breath stuttered in your chest.

"Why don’t we put that mouth to use?" Heeseung murmured, all honeyed affection, but his grip turned brutal in the next instant. He stood and yanked you down with him, letting your body collapse back against the couch. Before you could catch your breath, he dragged you by the hips until your head hung over the armrest, disoriented, dizzy, pulse hammering in your throat.

Niki groaned in protest when you were pulled from his mouth, but he didn’t stay away for long. His hands returned to your thighs, spreading them open again like a gift he wasn’t done unwrapping. “Fuck, you’re so wet,” he muttered, reverent and ravenous, as if he hadn’t just had you moments ago. “You’re making a mess, baby.”

Above you, Heeseung loomed, shadowed in golden light. From your upside-down vantage, he looked even more dangerous those sharp cheekbones, that dark stare, those lips quirked in something cruel and so pleased. Even now, even when you knew you should resist, your body begged for more. And Heeseung knew it.

“Open,” he said, voice warm, coaxing. You did because obedience had become instinct. But the second your mouth parted, his voice dropped into something darker. “That’s it baby take it.”

He slid past your lips with a hissed curse, thick and hot on your tongue, and your eyes fluttered shut as his fingers tangled in your hair, anchoring you. He didn't thrust. Not at first. He just held you there as you gagged on him.

Because Heeseung liked to watch you struggle. He liked to see the tears slip from the corners of your eyes as he pushed deeper, your throat fluttering helplessly around him. “Good fucking girl,” he groaned, hips rocking slow and deep. “Fuck, you were made for this.” And then Niki’s tongue curled just right, his fingers digging into your thighs to hold you still and the orgasm slammed into you like a train.

Your scream was muffled around Heeseung’s cock, your entire body tensing, then trembling as wave after wave of pleasure shattered through you.

Heeseung laughed low and dark, pulling back just enough to let you breathe, his thumb stroking over your lips. “Look at that—coming with your mouth full. God, you’re perfect.”

Niki didn’t stop. Heeseung didn’t stop. You couldn’t think, you could only feel.

"God, I love fucking this mouth," he growled, thrusting deeper, making you gag. His sweetness was gone now, replaced by something meaner, hungrier. "Look at you—can’t even breathe, can you? But you’ll take it. You always do."

You felt Niki shift beneath you, his hands gripping your hips, pressing closer. "You can fuck her," Heeseung panted, never slowing the brutal pace of his hips, "but you don’t get to come inside her. That’s for me. Understand?"

Niki whined against your skin as he slipped inside you. 

Heeseung’s fingers twisted tighter in your hair, forcing your throat to arch, your mouth to stretch wider around him. The salt-bitter taste of him flooded your senses, his hips snapping forward with a rhythm that left no room for gentleness. Your eyes watered, lashes sticking together, but he didn’t let up just watched, dark satisfaction curling his lips as your body struggled to take him.

"That’s it," he murmured, voice rough as gravel. "Look at you—can’t even fucking think, can you?"

You couldn’t. Not with Niki fucking you, his hands digging into your hips as he thrust up into you, his mouth still wet from where he’d been licking you open. Every drag of him inside you was electric, too much and not enough, your nerves alight with the kind of pleasure that bordered on pain.

Heeseung’s thumb pressed against your chin, forcing your jaw wider. "Deeper," he ordered, and when you choked, he only groaned, his free hand sliding down to grip your throat, feeling the way he stretched you. "Fuck, you’re perfect like this."

Niki’s breath hitched against your stomach, his fingers bruising as he held you in place. "She’s close," he panted, voice wrecked. "I can feel it—fuck, she’s squeezing me so tight—"

"I know," Heeseung said, his own voice strained. "But she doesn’t come until I say." His grip on your hair yanked your head back, forcing your gaze up to his. "You hear me? You hold it. You take what I give you."

You whimpered around him, your body trembling on the edge, every muscle coiled tight. Niki’s thrusts turned erratic, his control slipping, but Heeseung’s free hand shot down, fingers digging into Niki’s shoulder. "I said," Heeseung growled, "you don’t come inside her."

Niki let out a broken noise but obeyed, pulling out at the last second, spilling against your thigh with a shudder. Heeseung’s laugh was low, pleased. Heeseung pulls out of your mouth, and you gasp, struggling to catch your breath but the air rushes right back out when his hands clamp down on your hips, fingers biting into your skin. Your legs dangle uselessly before hooking around his waist, dragging him closer.

"That’s it," he murmurs, sweet as honey, brushing your hair back. Then, just as your lips part to sigh, his voice drops, dark and rough "Hold on tight, baby. Gonna ruin you." He slams into you, filling the empty space Niki left behind, and your vision whites out. His rhythm is punishing, hips driving into you like he’s chasing something, like he’s angry. 

"You like that?" Heeseung’s voice is a taunt now, fingers digging bruises into your thighs. "Like being fucked like this? Like a cheap little thing?" You whimper, nodding, but he snarls, "Say it."

"Y-yes—" "Yes, what?" He swats your hip, sharp enough to sting. "Yes, I like it—" "She loves it," Niki cuts in from behind you, voice dripping with something filthy. You try to turn, but Heeseung shoves you back down onto the couch. It creaks beneath you, the fabric rough against your back., his grip possessive.

"Eyes on me," he orders. "You don’t need him. You need this." His thrusts turn erratic, brutal. "Gonna come inside you, mark you up so good—you want that?" You’re babbling now, nails scraping his shoulders. "Please, Heeseung, please—" "Fuck," he groans, and then he’s spilling into you, hot and claiming, his breath ragged against your neck.

Besides you, Niki lets out a low, needy laugh. "Guess I’m cleaning up his mess again." Heeseung’s lips curl against your skin sweet once more, almost tender. "Should I let the rest of the boys use you," he coos. "Fuck I think I’m gonna call them."

[marsjupitersaturn16]

i recently decided to write a nhc go kyungjun fic that i was originally going to post here or on ao3 since wattpad lowk fell off but wattpads the most easiest platform to write on so i posted on there and i have no idea how even promote it💔

my @ is the same on wp but anyway here’s a few snippets from it if anyone would be interested:

[marsjupitersaturn16]

You’re not one of them… right?

Go Kyung-jun x Fem!Mafia!Reader | Genre: Suspense, Angst, Hidden Romance, Thriller | Warnings: Violence, intense emotional conflict, blood, slight possessiveness, near-death scare, implied romance

Part 2 [Coming soon]

🎪🎪🎪🎪🎪🎪🎪🎪🎪🎪🎪

Before the game began, you and Kyung-jun existed in secret.

It wasn’t romantic in the traditional sense he wasn’t the flowers and love notes type. But in the shadowed edges of the school where no one dared look, he’d grab your wrist, pull you into an empty stairwell, press his forehead to yours, and breathe out, “You’re the only one I trust in this whole goddamn place.”

You weren’t stupid. You knew he was dangerous charismatic, cruel when needed, always calculating. But with you, he was… quiet. His hands would tremble when they traced your cheek. He’d kiss you like he was starving and then pretend you didn’t exist in front of others.

Still, it was real. You felt it.

Even now.

Even in this game of death.

💋💋💋💋

Day 4 — 8 Survivors Left

The gymnasium air was thick. Blood-stained mats and broken glass lined the floor. Bodies gone. The screams still lingered in your head.

You sat in the far corner, quiet. Watching. Listening. You had survived by being invisible. Forgettable.

They called you a background character. And you let them.

But in your chest, your heartbeat pounded with the guilt of a single truth: You were mafia.

The rules were clear no exposing fellow mafia. You hadn’t killed. Not yet. But you’d voted. And every time your hand raised, you saw Kyung-jun’s eyes somewhere across the room. Calculating. Watching.

He didn’t know.

He couldn’t.

He asked you once, voice low, sharp:

“You’re not one of them… right?”

You’d looked him in the eye and lied: “I’m a civilian.”

His eyes darkened, jaw clenched. But he believed you.

Maybe because he needed to.

💋💋💋💋

Woo-jin had lost it.

Paranoia did that. He’d cornered you in the storage hallway, eyes wide, breath shaking.

“I know it’s you. You haven’t voted against a single civilian.”

“That’s not true.”

“You voted for Jae-min… and he was clean. Kyung-jun protects you, but he’s not here right now, is he?”

He raised the bat.

And in that split second, you thought ‘This is it’…

You weren’t supposed to die yet. You were careful. You weren’t even targeted.

But the bat never hit you.

Because Kyung-jun’s arm was suddenly there, slamming into Woo-jin’s ribs so hard it cracked.

The scream echoed.

And then thud the bat hit the ground. Kyung-jun’s hand gripped Woo-jin’s collar, dragging him back and slamming him into the wall.

“Touch her again and I’ll break your spine.”

Everyone stared.

Silence.

No one had ever seen Go Kyung-jun lose control like this. Not even when he was voted against. Not even when he lost allies.

But here he was eyes blazing, chest heaving because someone had dared raise a hand to you.

And now, they were looking at you. Differently.

You felt the shift. In suspicion. In interest.

You were no longer invisible.

💋💋💋💋

He found you behind the gym, where the air smelled like mold and smoke.

He didn’t say anything. Just sat opposite, and stared at you.

“You lied to me,” he said after a long silence. “You said you were a civilian.”

You froze.

“Kyung-jun—”

“Don’t.” He took a step closer. “If you say it again, I might really lose it.”

You swallowed, chest tight. “I didn’t want you to look at me the way you look at them.”

His jaw tightened. “You think I care what your role is? I only care if you’re alive.”

That cracked something in you.

“You would’ve hated me—”

“I hate everyone, Y/N. Except you.” He said said softly.

And then he kissed you.

Rough. Desperate. His hands trembled on your waist like he didn’t know how to feel anymore. You kissed him back like it was your last night on earth.

Maybe it was.

He pulled away, pressing his forehead to yours, breath shallow.

“You’re mafia. Fine. I’ll kill every civilian left if I have to just don’t die on me.”

Your voice shook. “Even if I voted against your friends?”

His eyes burned into yours. “They weren’t my friends.”

Then softer:

“You’re the only person I’ve ever looked for in the room first. Even before the game.”

Your fingers curled around his hoodie. “I’ll make it to the end. I promise.”

“You better,” he said. “Because if you die, I’ll burn the whole school down just to follow you.”

End…

Masterlist

——————————————

🎪 Ringmaster’s Warning: No Copycats in This Tent 🎪

[marsjupitersaturn16]

lettre pour toi

summary: a shy high school senior accidentally slips a love letter into the wrong locker, thinking it belongs to her crush park sunghoon — but instead, it ends up in the hands of lee heeseung, a notorious delinquent who takes the letter seriously and declares them a couple on the spot, starting an unexpected and chaotic love story.

pairing: lee heeseung x fem!reader

genre: high school au, romance, fluff, crack, slowburn, light angst.

warnings: delinquent!heeseung, possessive behavior, kissing, stolen first kiss, mild language, emotional tension, misunderstandings, power imbalance.

wc: 5k

love was in the air at mok-hae high school, quite literally, and maybe even overwhelmingly so. the long-awaited valentine’s day festival had finally returned after years of being nothing more than a forgotten tradition, and this year, it felt like the entire campus had bloomed with rose petals and heart-shaped confessions. students wandered the decorated halls hand-in-hand, lockers were covered in pastel-colored post-its with anonymous messages, and every classroom buzzed with excitement and hushed whispers about who had confessed to who. it was only halfway through the day, and already a third of the school had somehow ended up with an official partner, flowers in hand and bright smiles on their faces.

and you? well, you had made a promise to yourself that you wouldn’t let this day end like all the others — watching from the sidelines with a heart full of longing and a mouth too afraid to speak. no, this time would be different. this time you were going to confess. and not to just anyone — to him. park sunghoon.

he was a year older, part of the senior class, and although you’d barely spoken more than a few words to him since you met, he had quietly occupied the center of your world for longer than you cared to admit. tall, graceful, effortlessly charming with that soft black hair and soft eyes that somehow managed to look cold and warm at the same time, he was the kind of boy you only read about in shojo manga or saw staring out the windows in coming-of-age dramas.

girls liked him, boys respected him, and teachers always gave him that subtle look of admiration. but you? you worshipped him. silently, from afar. like a secret you folded and refolded in your chest so many times it had started to fray around the edges. he was everything you weren’t — confident, eloquent, easy to notice — while you were soft-spoken, painfully shy, the kind of girl who always chose the back corner seat and barely raised her hand in class. even your friends sometimes forgot you were in the room unless you were directly spoken to.

you remembered the exact moment your feelings for sunghoon began — it had been almost a year ago, a rainy monday afternoon when you had clumsily dropped your entire backpack just as the dismissal bell rang. your notebooks had scattered across the hallway, papers soaked in the puddles of muddy water students had tracked in, and no one had stopped. no one, except him. sunghoon had crouched down without a word, helped you gather everything with quiet precision, and gently handed you your favorite pen, the one you thought you'd lost, as if it were something precious.

he hadn’t smiled, not really, but he did meet your eyes and said, "be careful next time, yeah?" before disappearing into the crowd like some angel sent to rescue you for no reason at all. your heart hadn’t been the same since.

so now here you were, clutching the result of three sleepless nights — a love letter. a real, handwritten, hopelessly sincere love letter on soft pink paper, tucked inside a plain white envelope decorated with heart-shaped stamps you had spent an embarrassing amount of time aligning perfectly. it was all there, every single one of your feelings spelled out like an open wound, raw and trembling. how you’d admired him from afar, how much that single moment of kindness meant to you, how much you dreamed of him possibly — maybe — liking you back. you hadn’t dared to sign it with your full name, but you hoped he’d know. or maybe you hoped he wouldn’t. you didn’t know which would be worse.

"wait— a letter? you’re seriously going to give him a letter?" yoojung’s voice was almost a screech, her eyebrows practically disappearing into her hairline as she stared at you with a look of horror. she had nearly combusted when you showed her the envelope, her hands flailing like you had just told her you were about to perform open-heart surgery on yourself in front of the entire school. you felt your chest tighten and the tears sting the back of your eyes, your already-fragile courage crumbling under the weight of her reaction. it wasn’t even her fault — you knew this about yourself. you were sensitive. too sensitive. years of being teased, of being told you were too quiet, too weird, too invisible had turned your shyness into something permanent. you were the kind of person who apologized for existing too loudly. how could you ever hope someone like sunghoon would even remember your face?

"i can’t just say it to his face! i’d start stuttering and then probably start crying in front of him, and then i’d die, yoojung!" your voice cracked, cheeks burning in humiliation, hands tightening around the letter like it was both your salvation and your doom. you could already imagine it — your voice barely audible, his polite but confused expression, the silence stretching too long before he gave you that gentle, apologetic rejection that would haunt you for the rest of the school year. yoojung sighed, dramatically, tossing her head back like she was starring in her own soap opera, but you knew she didn’t mean it cruelly. she just didn’t understand. she was loud and brave and spoke without fear. you weren’t like that. never had been. and maybe never would be.

it had taken you everything — absolutely everything — to walk down the quiet corridor, envelope clutched tightly to your chest like it was a ticking bomb rather than a simple piece of paper filled with shaky handwriting and hearts drawn in red ink. locker number 151 sat at the very end of the hallway, beneath the slanted sunlight coming through the windows, looking strangely ordinary for something that belonged to the boy who had taken up residence in your dreams every single night.

you told yourself, again and again, that no one would be there to see you, that no one would notice or care, that it was just a letter and people left letters all the time, especially on valentine’s day. but your body refused to believe your thoughts — your hands trembled uncontrollably, your knees felt weak, and your heart slammed against your ribs like it was trying to escape. it was pathetic.

even now, in this empty hallway, with no one watching, the simple act of slipping a piece of paper through a locker vent made you feel like you were committing some kind of crime. you hesitated. once. twice. three times. until finally, with one last breath and eyes squeezed shut, you shoved it in through the thin metal slit and turned on your heel, running back toward your classroom like your life depended on it.

you had told your teacher you needed to use the bathroom, a lie that came too easily when your stomach was already twisted in knots. luckily, the hallway had been deserted, a rare miracle in such a busy school, and no one had seen you sneak out or rush back.

you reached the physics lab just as the bell rang, your breath caught in your throat, palms damp, the image of locker 151 burned behind your eyelids. the festival was over now — the booths were being taken down, students were returning to their regular classes, and reality was setting back in like a cold breeze after a dream. it was done. the letter had been delivered. whether sunghoon would read it or toss it without a second glance… well, that wasn’t something you could control anymore.

but the shaking didn’t stop. even as you sat back in your seat, trying to focus on the board, your fingers still twitched, your heart still raced. it was stupid, really. you hadn’t even spoken to him. you hadn’t done anything brave. and yet it had felt like tearing your own chest open and handing your soul to someone who probably wouldn’t even look at it. part of you wanted to cry — not because anything had gone wrong, but because even this, this tiny, invisible thing, had taken so much out of you. what kind of girl breaks down from something so small? what kind of girl can’t even confess properly?

you were still deep in those thoughts, staring blankly at your half-scribbled notes, when it happened.

"YAH!" the voice was loud, sharp, cutting through the ambient hallway noise like a blade. you barely registered it until another voice followed — harsher this time, irritated. "why the hell are you ignoring me? i’m talking to you!"

a loud thud echoed against the wall next to your head, and you flinched violently, your body freezing on instinct as you turned to find the source of the sound. there, towering just a few inches away, stood a boy you had never seen before. his hand was still pressed against the wall, palm flat where he had slammed it next to you, caging you in with his presence. his eyes were dark, unreadable, but piercing in a way that made your breath hitch. something about him was wrong, or maybe just too much — like staring into the sun for too long. he wasn’t smiling, not exactly, but there was a curve to his lips that felt amused, twisted, like he was already in on some joke you hadn’t been told yet.

“you’re y/n, right?” he asked, voice smooth but indifferent, almost bored as his gaze slowly traveled down the length of your body and back up to your face. you nodded before you could stop yourself, throat too tight to speak. your heart pounded again — not with nerves this time, but with something closer to fear.

he clicked his tongue, then reached into the pocket of his uniform jacket and pulled out something that made your stomach drop straight through the floor.

"‘i’ve liked you for so long… your eyes, your smile, the way you helped me that day… please, just once, give me a chance to be by your side. i promise i’ll make you happy…’” he read in a flat, mocking voice, and your blood ran cold. your letter. your letter. in his hands. being read aloud like a joke. your eyes widened in horror as you stared at the page — the pastel paper, the little doodles, the goddamn bunny stickers. this was supposed to be private. it wasn’t even his. how the hell had he gotten it?

“wh–what the—? give that back!” your voice cracked, raw and panicked, but when you lunged forward to grab the letter from his hands, he casually stepped back, raising it just out of reach like he was playing with a child. your hands fisted in frustration, tears welling up again, but this time they weren’t from shyness — they were from rage. humiliation. shame. he was laughing now, not loudly, but with a quiet scoff that made your skin crawl.

“so you did write it,” he muttered, stepping in close again, so close that his breath hit your cheek and you instinctively leaned back. “cute. kind of dumb, but cute.”

“i said give it back! that’s not yours!” you shoved at his chest with both hands, and he finally slipped the letter into his back pocket like it meant nothing, like your heart wasn’t bleeding inside that fold of paper.

“you’re so average it hurts,” he said, eyes still locked on yours with a strange intensity. “but sure, why not. i’ll go out with you.”

you blinked, stunned. “what—?”

he winked, shameless. “you heard me.”

then, without another word, he turned and walked off, leaving you standing there, trembling, humiliated, confused, and still empty-handed. you didn’t even know his name. you didn’t even understand what had just happened.

you didn’t remember how you made it back to the classroom — just that one moment you were standing frozen in the hallway, the aftershock of humiliation still rattling through your bones, and the next you were pushing the door open with trembling hands, your head low, your throat tight, your eyes brimming with tears that threatened to spill the second anyone looked at you. yoojung was the first to notice the state you were in. she turned to you with a lighthearted comment already forming on her lips, but the second she saw your face, the words died in her throat. instead, she stood up, eyebrows knitting with concern as she grabbed your wrist and tugged you toward the back of the classroom, where hyojung was hunched over her notes.

"what happened?" yoojung asked, voice sharp but careful, her grip tightening slightly around your sleeve as you sat down next to her with shaking knees, trying to breathe through the panic swelling in your chest. hyojung looked up too, alarmed, and you hated the way their eyes widened when they really saw you — the red around your eyes, the way you couldn’t quite meet their gaze, the way your hands fisted in your skirt like you were trying to stop them from flying to your face.

"he—he took it," you croaked, voice barely audible, and even though you tried to steady it, your lips quivered. "he has my letter. he read it out loud. he… he said he’d go out with me. but i— i didn’t even write it for him."

yoojung blinked, her mouth opening slightly. "wait— wait, slow down. who took your letter?"

"i don’t know his name," you confessed, swallowing hard, your voice trembling more with every word. "he just… he showed up. he slammed the wall and scared me half to death. he said my name like he already knew me, and then he pulled out the letter— my letter— and started reading it, right in front of me. and then he said... he said i was too normal, but he’d date me anyway. and then he walked away. like it was nothing. like—like i was nothing.”

your voice cracked again, and hyojung instinctively reached across the table to squeeze your wrist gently, her thumb rubbing a small circle on your skin. yoojung was already digging for tissues in her bag, pressing one into your hand as you tried to hide your face in your elbow.

"jesus…" yoojung muttered under her breath, her tone darkening with anger. "what the hell. describe him. did he say his name at all? maybe he’s from another class—"

you shook your head weakly. "no… i’ve never seen him before. he was tall. kind of broad-shouldered, but not huge. he had black hair, like… kind of messy. his eyes were really intense. he just stared at me, and it felt like i couldn’t move. like i was frozen. he had this— this smirk. like he was enjoying it."

the room felt too bright, the voices around you too loud. even though you were surrounded by people, all you could feel was that stupid, smug look on his face, the weight of his body so close to yours, the letter being read like a script in some cruel prank show. you wanted to disappear. vanish. melt through the floor. you hadn’t asked for this.

"wait a second," yoojung said suddenly, narrowing her eyes. "start from the beginning. where did you put the letter?"

"his locker. i— i snuck out during class and put it in locker 151. that’s sunghoon’s locker, right? i mean, i thought it was. i’ve been walking past it for months now…"

"locker 151…?" yoojung turned slowly to look at hyojung, who was now frowning deeply, tapping her chin as if trying to recall something.

"i’m in the 140s," hyojung said. "mine’s 148. and i think… if i’m not wrong, 151 doesn’t belong to park sunghoon. sunghoon’s locker is like… down the other wing, near the gym. the upperclassmen lockers are split by hallway."

your heart dropped. no. no, that couldn’t be right. you’d walked past that locker for weeks — you knew where sunghoon usually stopped, where he tied his shoelaces, where he sipped juice before practice. it had to be his.

"then whose locker is 151?" yoojung asked cautiously.

hyojung paused for a moment, then her expression darkened. "i’m not one hundred percent sure, but i think it belongs to lee heeseung. class 4. you’ve heard of him, right?"

you shook your head, mouth dry. "no… i don’t know any lee heeseung…"

they both looked at each other, their expressions shifting from confusion to dread in seconds.

"shit," yoojung whispered. "that guy. i’ve heard about him. he got suspended two weeks ago. got into a fight in the boys’ bathroom with one of the second-years. busted the other guy’s nose. i thought he dropped out or something. but he’s back?"

"yeah," hyojung added, voice low. "people say he’s… trouble. like, the kind you don’t want reading your love letters."

you stared down at your hands, your brain trying to piece together the horror of it all. it wasn’t even sunghoon’s locker. the letter had gone to the wrong person. and now heeseung thought you were in love with him. that the letter was for him.

you felt sick.

"you guys have to help me," you said suddenly, your voice shaking harder than before. "please— please help me. i don’t know what to do. i’m so scared. he’s going to think i’m serious. he’s going to mock me even more— and he won’t even give it back— and i didn’t mean to—"

"hey, hey— it’s okay," yoojung said quickly, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and pulling you close as hyojung moved to your other side. "we’ll figure something out. maybe… maybe you can just talk to him. explain that it was a mistake. tell him the letter wasn’t meant for him."

"he didn’t even let me speak," you murmured into your sleeve. "he wouldn’t listen. he smirked. he said… he said i was ‘too normal’ but he’d go out with me anyway. like it was a joke. like i was some boring girl that didn’t matter."

they didn’t know what to say to that. they just sat with you in silence, the weight of it all sinking in. you didn’t know lee heeseung. but now, because of one stupid locker mix-up, he knew you.

you should’ve waited a little longer. maybe asked yoojung to walk out with you or just stayed inside until most of the school was empty, but you were too anxious to think straight, too desperate to be away from everyone and forget the burning humiliation that had stained your entire afternoon. you clutched your bag close to your chest and kept your head down, pretending you were invisible as you moved with the crowd of students heading toward the gates. it was almost working. almost. you were just a few steps from freedom when—

"hey."

his voice, low and unmistakable, cut right through the noise of the hallway, making your blood run cold. your body stiffened as you caught a glimpse of him leaning casually against the front gate, his hands in his pockets, his head tilted slightly like he’d been waiting specifically for you. your instinct screamed to run, to blend into the crowd and disappear, but the second you turned your head the other way and picked up your pace, you heard his footsteps—slow, heavy, deliberate—following behind.

you didn’t get far. his fingers hooked into the strap of your backpack, tugging you back without much effort, and you gasped, stumbling slightly as he pulled you to a stop. when you turned, he was right there, closer than you wanted, eyes sharp, brows knitted—not quite a glare, but certainly not a smile.

"what’s your deal?" he muttered, tilting his head. "first you write me a letter with all that cheesy, sappy crap, and now you’re acting like you don’t even know me?"

you opened your mouth to speak, to tell him—again—that it was a mistake, that the letter wasn’t meant for him, that you didn’t even know his name until today. but before the words could form, he cut you off.

"and just so you remember," he added, tapping the side of your head with two fingers in a way that made you flinch, "i already said yes. you confessed, i accepted, so we’re dating now. that’s how this stuff works, right?"

you blinked at him, completely at a loss. what. you felt the heat rise to your cheeks again, this time from a mix of panic and absolute disbelief. "w-we’re not dating! i didn’t— i mean, the letter wasn’t for—"

"yeah, yeah, excuses," he waved a hand dismissively, then started walking. you stood frozen for a second before realizing he wasn’t leaving—he was walking with you. "come on. i’ll walk you home."

"you don’t need to—" you began, trying to protest, but he suddenly reached out and grabbed your hand. your hand. like it was the most normal thing in the world. you immediately pulled back out of reflex.

he didn’t look surprised. only raised a brow and muttered, "fine. don’t hold my hand. we can do it the lame way." then, before you could react, he gripped your arm just above the elbow and started walking again, dragging you along like some stubborn little kid being pulled to detention.

"y-you don’t have to walk me— i don’t even live close—"

"shut up," he said flatly, not looking at you. "i asked you where your house is. you’re gonna show me or you want me to guess?"

your mouth opened and closed a few times, but ultimately you surrendered, muttering your address under your breath. he nodded, keeping his pace steady, still holding your arm as if afraid you’d try to bolt.

the walk wasn’t long, but it felt like an eternity. the whole time, your brain was running laps trying to figure out what he wanted from you. was he mocking you? playing some kind of joke? trying to get back at you for the letter? his grip wasn’t painful, but it wasn’t exactly gentle either. still, he didn’t push or tease you as much as you expected, just walked quietly, sometimes glancing at you from the corner of his eye like he was thinking hard about something but refusing to say it out loud.

about halfway there, he suddenly stopped, causing you to stumble slightly. he released your arm and looked down at you with an unreadable expression.

"you don’t like being touched, huh?" he asked. there was no sarcasm in his voice, just a blunt observation.

you hesitated, then nodded. your skin was still tingling where his fingers had been, and not in a good way.

he let out a sigh and shoved his hands into his pockets. "fine. i’ll walk next to you. happy?"

you blinked, unsure how to respond, and he began walking again, this time matching your pace instead of pulling you along. the silence returned, but it wasn’t heavy like before. if anything, it felt like a strange kind of… effort. like he was trying to not be too rough. which, for someone like him, probably took energy.

just as you were starting to feel slightly more at ease, he dropped another bomb on you.

"i get that holding hands is too soon or whatever," he said casually, looking ahead with a blank face. "but you better get used to the idea. later on, we’ll be doing more than that."

you stopped dead in your tracks, heart leaping into your throat. "w-what?!"

he turned to you slowly, eyes glinting with that same smug expression from earlier. "you heard me."

"what do you mean 'more'?!" your voice cracked, and he stepped closer, bending slightly so his face was only inches from yours. the way he smiled this time was less mocking, more… mischievous. and it made your stomach twist into a thousand knots.

"who knows?" he whispered, then chuckled softly, like he was enjoying the way your brain was spiraling. "kissing, maybe. sleepovers. sneaking out. things couples do."

your face was now burning red, and you nearly tripped trying to take a step back. "i-i told you— the letter wasn’t even for—"

"yeah, yeah," he said again, walking ahead like he didn’t care about your explanation, like he’d already decided it didn’t matter. "too late now. you picked me, so you’re stuck."

you wanted to scream. cry. evaporate. but deep down, beneath the panic and confusion, something else stirred. it wasn’t attraction—at least not yet—but something dangerous. something you didn’t understand. lee heeseung wasn’t just a school delinquent. he was unpredictable. and you’d just become his new favorite game.

you were still trying to recover from the sheer chaos that was walking beside lee heeseung — heart racing, cheeks on fire, trying to process the absurdity of everything he’d said — when he suddenly reached out again, this time gently tugging on your sleeve. “where is it?” he asked, glancing at the rows of quiet houses as the late afternoon sun started to melt into soft pinks and golds. you swallowed nervously and pointed to the corner, your voice barely above a whisper as you mumbled, “just past that turn, the grey gate with the vines.”

he didn’t respond right away. instead, as you reached the last stretch of the sidewalk, he suddenly grabbed your hand, stopping you in your tracks with a firm pull. you gasped in surprise, turning to look at him in confusion just as he took a step forward and used his grip to pull you toward him — so suddenly, so carelessly, that you lost your balance and stumbled right into his chest. before you could fall completely, strong arms wrapped around your waist and caught you easily, holding you steady like it was the most natural thing in the world. you barely had time to blink, your face only inches from his shirt, your breath caught in your throat.

“h-heeseung?” you started, your voice small, confused, your body stiff against his. “what are you—”

but you didn’t get to finish the question. he was already lifting your chin gently with one hand, his fingers warm against your cheek, and before your brain could catch up with what was happening, his lips were on yours.

your eyes widened, breath trapped in your chest as time seemed to slow down around you. his kiss wasn’t tentative or shy — it was confident, unhesitating, filled with a kind of raw emotion that made your legs tremble. his hands were firm, one cupping your face with surprising care and the other still resting against your lower back as he leaned in closer, deepening the kiss slowly, as if he was tasting you like something rare. your heart was thudding so loudly you could feel it in your ears, and your fingers clutched at the fabric of his uniform jacket, unsure whether to push him away or hold onto him tighter.

it was your first kiss. your very first kiss. and it had just been stolen by the most unpredictable boy in your entire school — the delinquent, the troublemaker, the one who scared half the campus and had probably never said anything sweet in his life. lee heeseung. of all people. and yet… it wasn’t harsh. it wasn’t cold. it was… dizzying. warm. overwhelming. and you hated that a part of you — a very quiet, hidden part — didn’t want it to stop.

when he finally pulled away, it wasn’t abrupt. he lingered close, your foreheads nearly touching, his breath mixing with yours in the tiny space between you. your lips were tingling, slightly swollen, and you lifted your hands to cover your mouth instinctively, your cheeks now painted with the deepest shade of red. your eyes were wide and glossy, still trying to process the heat, the softness, the unfamiliar ache in your chest.

heeseung looked pleased. no — he looked smug. he licked his bottom lip slowly, like he was savoring the taste, then murmured, “you taste sweet.”

you blinked rapidly, face aflame, your heart barely holding itself together inside your chest. “w-what—?!”

“mm, i wanna kiss you again,” he said bluntly, already leaning forward as if ready to do exactly that. you squeaked in panic, stepping back quickly and trying to escape, but he was faster, his arms wrapping around your waist again and pulling you close with one smooth motion that made your breath catch. “nah, don’t run,” he muttered against your temple, his tone lower now, almost affectionate, like he was getting used to having you near. “not when you look this cute after a kiss.”

you squirmed a little, still overwhelmed, but his arms were strong and warm around you, and somehow… you didn’t feel unsafe. flustered? yes. humiliated? probably. but not afraid. not when he held you like that — like you were his. like it was normal.

he dipped his head and kissed you again, this time slower, softer, like he wanted you to melt into it, and you nearly did. your hands hovered between your bodies before settling gently against his chest, not pushing away this time, just staying there, holding onto the reality that this was happening — this impossible, ridiculous moment was real.

and when he finally pulled away, his lips brushing yours as he whispered, “you better get used to this,” you couldn’t even bring yourself to argue. you just stared at him, breathless, stunned, and a little enchanted despite yourself.

he let you go at last, stepping back with a lazy stretch and a grin that could only be described as devilish. “see you tomorrow, girlfriend,” he said casually, already walking away like he hadn’t just turned your entire world upside down. you stood frozen on the sidewalk, one hand still over your mouth, heart racing as you watched him disappear down the street.

and just like that, without meaning to, without even realizing what you’d started — you found yourself at the center of a strange, twisted, confusing story. a story that began not with a confession, but with a letter meant for someone else. a story that shouldn’t have happened.

and yet, it did.

that was how your very first love — strange and chaotic and sweet in the worst possible way — began with lee heeseung.

and somehow, you had a feeling… this was only the beginning.

[marsjupitersaturn16]

bangs perm niki you are so loved; im a bangs niki enthusiast

[marsjupitersaturn16]

TOOTM  one. to keep a promise

! ko kyungjun x fem!reader

a/n. this shit took so long omfg. whoever said writing was easy can suck my nonexistent left nutsack.

"i don't get why this is even a discussion."

"oh, cmon! you don't think the conflict around it is interesting?"

"whether its interesting or not doesn't matter because this shouldn't be an existing argument. if your partner or someone you love commits a murder and there's serious evidence pointing back to them, how could you just act like it's not even there?"

"dude, you're missing the point entirely. the question is not about what you would do in that situation, it's about what you should believe."

"that's so stupid. the only factor you should need is evidence. it doesn't matter if the accused is a long time friend, your partner, or even your child. sure, your judgment on their character is still relevant, but if their fingerprints were found at the crime scene there's just no way you can objectively ignore their culpability. at that point, you should either believe your partner is guilty or at best remain undecided."

"in that case, would you say that following the evidence is morally required?"

"absolutely."

"you don't think there might be other ethical factors to consider?"

"for example?"

"even though the evidence is strong, there's still a chance they might not be guilty. imagine how it would feel like to be innocent and have no one believe you, not even your own partner! by not supporting them you run the risk of seriously hurting them on a crucial time of need. and consider what this lack of trust would do to your relationship. could you really go on after seriously suspecting–and believing–they're a murderer?"

"are you saying you'd rather ignore the crimes of your partner, even when the truth is staring you in the face, just for the sake of love?"

outside of the ethical dilemma resonating through yoon yn's headphones, the girl shifted around on her seat. her limbs felt numb from remaining unmoving for so long and, even though the only companion by her side was her bag, the compact space paid no mercy on her back. 

after finding a comfortable position she set her eyes on the view outside the window. sunlight hued over the fields of grass and the occasional farm, making the rural landscape imitate a painting in motion shaped by the most gentle brush strokes. the scene felt so engrossingly peaceful, she could almost feel the gale caressing her features despite the glass separating her from the world. 

yn couldn't help but thank the scene–and the long lasting battery of her headphones–for giving her something to focus on, seeing as the ride to the resort her class was directed towards had resulted to be such an otherwise tiresome one. 

"YES!"

an obnoxious voice popped yn's bubble in spite of the maximum volume she'd set for her podcast. distracted by the sound she turned to glance at the very back of the bus, where the students grouped up at the last row of leathered seats frowned in unison at heo yool–who mocked them with the cheekiest grin one could imagine. judging by their sullen looks, yn figured the citizens had lost yet another round of mafia, a game they'd been playing for who knows how long.

she recalled when her classmates had urged her to join the game the moment she stepped into the bus, which she declined, prioritizing her tranquility over the headache she knew they'd give her, yet promising she'd join in the next time. 

after figuring out the source of that ruckus yn set her focus back on her podcast, purposely missing the eyes of the guy she'd been avoiding to the best of her abilities for days now.

just a few rows behind her, kyung jun's eyes never left yn as she disappeared between the sea of heads flooding the bus, and his scheme of intentionally leaving the space by his side unoccupied for her came to mind, especially remembering how his grand plan backfired when that fucking basketball-star-wannabe gave up his seat for her.

that annoying prick just couldn't get the memmo, couldn't he? to him, hyun ho had always been a nuisance; a pest that treaded on yn's heels at every chance he got–even when she used to hang onto the feared delinquent's arm.

"they're so loud," kyung jun muttered. he'd been trying to settle down the bittersweet echoes of his mind since the start of that damned school trip, in vain, since the blaring voices behind him made the flare that was his temper even harder to quell than any of those memories.

luckily, he needn't lift a single finger to make the commotion stop, and he was able to get some peace of mind thanks to his lackeys acting as spokesmen for his aggravation. 

on the other side of the large vehicle, kim so mi sneakily took pictures of the class president. 

"hey look, isn't he gorgeous?" the vice president called, showing what was sure to be one of her new favorite pictures to her friends seated behind: park ji soo, cha yoo joon and park woo ram. "doesn't this belong in a magazine? how can he look so gorgeous?" so mi repeated with a dreamy sigh, looking at her screen.

"i will tell jun hee tomorrow that you took a photo of him," woo ram threatened with a playful smile.

"oh yeah? what if i tell yn about all the videos you have?" so mi replied, pointing at the camera that always hanged around the guy's neck. 

"please do, maybe i'll finally seduce her."

"oh my god," exclaimed yoo joon, "you are so delusional."

"why?" he lifted one of his hands in response to the very serious offense.

"dude, you barely talk to her."

"woo ram, you have the same chances of getting with yn as me and yoo joon of breaking up." ji soo stated.

the guy in mention glanced at his girlfriend, seemingly unaware of the joke. "that's zero, right?" question to which ji soo only rolled her eyes.

"i don't care what you say," woo ram brushed off. "i know she's the love of my life."

"ko kyung jun!" called out so mi.

like a tiny animal trying to save itself from a threatening predator, woo ram jumped to the empty seat by his side, hiding from the vandal's peripheral as much as possible while the rest of his companions laughed.

"fuck, kim so mi!" he cried out, "you trying to get me killed?"

"relax, he's not even looking," revealed the vice president with a cheeky smile.

as if they'd rehearsed it, the four students turned around to catch ko kyung jun's eyes still set on yoon yn, and by the looks of it, he didn't have any plans to cease his staring.

"not seeing them together is kinda weird," yoo joon pointed out.

"does anyone know why they broke up?" so mi asked to her peers, who all looked at each other expecting an answer none of them had.

"whatever," dismissed ji soo, "yn is better off without him anyway."

"yeah, she's been around us a lot more since then." agreed so mi.

"i bet kyung jun barely let her talk to us."

"right? he looks like the controlling type."

"i would never treat her like that." acknowledged woo ram, making his way back into the conversation only to get beaten back down by the three others.

the time inside the bus seemed to work differently than the rest of the world. minutes and hours mixed up in a disorienting spectacle that at least seemed to follow the sun setting over the horizon. 

when they finally arrived to the resort, the only source of light were the numerous lamps adorning the streets and the inviting shine of the building before them.

with the bus door finally opened, the students of class 2-3 thronged the exit with overwhelming excitement. the trip had been longer that the teacher had promised and everyone was ready to get comfortable on their temporary rooms. of course, that included yn, who unfortunately had to wait for the rest of her classmates to take their suitcases out of the loaded trunk since her luggage ended up dropping to the back during the ride.

after everyone collected their belongings, the girl was able to retrieve her case at last. it was somewhat heavy but the tiny wheels at the bottom made it easier for her to slide the valise out of the bus' compartment. taking out the retractable handle, yn rolled her suitcase for at most six steps before someone else got ahold of it.

"what are you doing?" she questioned, but the guy simply walked away while pulling her luggage along and up the stairs.

"kyung jun." 

at the sound of his name, he stopped. walking towards him, yn stood right between the entrance and the suitcase-stealer. 

"what do you think? i'm helping you."

"i can do it myself." yn chided, staring him down harshly.

kyung jun had received many looks like that one throughout his life. from parents, teachers, students... they were all identical, ranging from disappointment to resentment and back. he was used to it. it was his day to day, how could he not be? yet he never imagined the same eyes that used to watch him with so much endearment would scrutinize him so cruelly. 

"you used to love when i carried your stuff." he reminded her, scanning yn's face for a spec of something–anything–he hoped could save him from the pain her gaze struck him with.

the girl let out an exasperated sigh. why couldn't he leave her be? why was it that, no matter how much she wanted to distance herself, he always found a way to squeeze back into her life? 

yn grabbed the handle of her suitcase and pulled. she wanted to leave, to get away from his side and free herself of his piercing eyes. unfortunately his strength surpassed hers, and she was forced to stay as he kept his grip.

"can you let go?" 

"yn," he asked but the girl just focused on the luggage he kept hostage. "can we talk?"

"about what?" she sneered, speaking with as much disdain her troubled feelings allowed.

"you know what." 

once again, she sighed. his antics were so infuriating; always pushing down the barrier she tried to put between the two. 

"not now."

"then when?" he instantly snapped back, then took a deep breath to stop his grating tone. "you always say that but then you ignore me for days."

"look, i don't have time for this." for the second time, she attempted to retrieve her case. "i promised i'd help with the preparations for the class picture, so–"

"oh, c'mon," and still, he pulled back. "since when do you care about this school-spirit-bullshit?"

he was right, yn never involved herself with whatever activities the school came up with. time and time again, they'd skipped so many classes as to not get involved with all those school projects they both deemed as meaningless, deciding to spend their mornings strolling around parks and nearby shopping districts instead. but that wasn't an option anymore, and yn needed some way to blurr the images that kept torturing her with the agonizing nostalgia of a broken relationship.

"promise me we'll talk. tonight." 

"sure," for the third time, she attempted to take back her luggage. but his answer was the same.

"no, yn. promise me."

with every fiber of her being, yn summoned the last shreds of her patience and met his gaze. his eyes held her captive, beseeching her in silence to unravel the troubles he was willing to share with no one but her, and the hypnotic pull of his gaze weakened her willpower to resist.

"i promise." she reluctantly gave in.

as kyung jun finally released the carry-on, yn didn't even bat an eye before snatching it up and walking away. however, as she made her way into the resort center, she couldn't help but feel frustrated with herself for falling for his tricks. all the effort she had put into avoiding him seemed to have gone down the drain so quickly, leaving her feeling defeated.

not wanting kyung jun to catch up to her, yn rushed inside the building. 

warm lights illuminated the vast entrance, composed by a lounge area with leathered sofas that accentuated the beige walls with brighter colors and a water dispenser conveniently placed next to the cushioned seats. at the center, a beautiful statue engulfed by faint blue lighting towered over everything below. the perfectly crafted marble giant was impossible to miss, looking like a still guardian watching over the resort's grounds. yet that didn't stop yn from overlooking the sign with the qr code needed for the resort's wifi and facility app.

following the arrows pointing out the way towards the elevator, yn got in and pressed the button labeled dormitories. the heavy doors slid and shut before the steel cage trembled, signaling its vertical movement. suddenly, the girl felt the air tighten inside her chest, twisting her lungs in a way that seemed to strangle them. oxygen got caught up in her throat as images of cables snapping and an imminent fall to her death plagued her mind. in, out, in, out. yn's breath increased as rapidly as tidal waves when the lights malfunctioned and in between flickers, she saw a dark figure out of the corner of her eye. 

the moment she snapped her head back to take a look, a faint bell announced the door sliding open. taking in the air as steadily as she could, yn grabbed her suitcase and escaped the cage of death. frightened and disoriented, she questioned if what just concurred has been a quick fever dream or reality. and if it wasn't, why did her mind torture her like that? as far as she knew, never in her life had she experienced something that'd cause this crippling fear of high spaces. so why...?

she shook her head and brushed off the uncanny feeling, dismissing it as a consequence from the tiresome trip and forcing herself to focus on finding the room she shared with ahn na hee and kim so mi, who'd invited her with overwhelming coercion. compared to the elevator ride, figuring out her way to her dormitory was a piece of cake. the girl left her stuff in an empty corner and took the stairs down towards the gymnasium. there, instead of getting scolded by the teacher like she expected, what greeted her was a plethora of different activities performed by her classmates. 

in the middle of the room, a group of students flawlessly danced to the rhythm of the songs reverberating from a large speaker, followed by lee joo young and choi mi na silently fighting for the spotlight, and being interrupted by ko kyung jun, who apparently had nothing better to do than to mess with their practice by turning off the music while his two loyal followers, shin seung bin and kim jin ha, played a very dedicated match of ping-pong.

on opposite corners of the gym, jin da bum, choi joo won, lee yoon seo and oh jung won were consecutively separated in two pairs, all conversing with their respective best friends. up on the second floor, cha yoo joon and park ji soo, who never seemed to stay away from each other, watched from above. on the stage, band members im eun chan, nam yeon woo and baek eun ha dabbled with their instruments to make sure everything was perfectly in tune. lastly, jang hyun ho and kim dong hyun busied themselves by organizing all the sport equipment laying around.

"yoon yn!" called kim jun hee from a large set of tables surrounded by the other members of the student council which, of course, included kim so mi and her friend ahn na hee.

with no sight of their teacher around yn walked stress-free to said table, although not before catching park woo ram pointing his camera right at her, which made the guy hastily turning to film someone else. 

"you're here," the class president stated. "we thought you got lost or something."

"sorry, i got caught up with something." yn replied. she didn't really care about these preparations, but she did promise to help, and yn wasn't the type to use that word lightly.

"yeah! i was going to text you but we've been so busy preparing everything." so mi ranted, sprinkling salt into the wound.

"i can see that," yn commented, deciding to ignore so mi's backhanded scolding.

"what happened, though? did you really get lost?" na hee asked. 

"no, i got stopped by kyung jun."

"oh, right. he was a bit late too now that I think about it."

"is that jackass bothering you again?" hyun ho, who'd come closer to the table just as yn approached, joined in and put a hand on her shoulder.

"no," yes. "everything's fine."

truth be told, yn would rather drop dead than having to deal with kyung jun. however, she knew that telling her classmates about it wouldn't lead to a positive outcome. after all, the only person who had the courage to confront the delinquent was hyun ho, and, given their history, yn was certain his involvement would only make matters worse.

in another area of the bustling gym, the noticeable trio of vandals were causing a ruckus in the corner. as they tossed a basketball back and forth, jin ha hurled the ball at kyung jun, who was too busy gawking at yn's arrival to notice. the ball smacked him right in the chest–a painful reminder of how his focus seemed to always follow after her. 

"shit, my bad!" jin ha exclaimed.

their leader squatted to grab the ball at his feet and got back up only for his gaze to fix back towards the girl who constantly distracted him and, of-fucking-course, hyun ho standing right next to her, as always. the sight made his blood boil and his knuckles turn white as he clenched the basketball in his hands, while his rapid heartbeats deafened any coherent thought telling him to settle down.

seeing this, jin ha and seung bin looked at each other before the latter sighed and came closer to his friend. throwing one arm around his shoulders, he spoke:

"why don't we go outside, man? get your head out the gutter."

"yeah," kyung jun agreed, seeing seung bin was clearly trying his best to support him. perhaps he was right, some air would probably do him good right now. "let's go." was the last thing he said before disappearing through the gymnasium's exit, just in time to miss the teacher entering from the other side.

after informing the class presidents about a problem regarding the other bus full of students set to accompany them on this field trip, he left, clearly in a panic because of the unexpected turn of events.

in the meantime, most of class 2-3 remained in the gymnasium. no more than a few minutes went by before the dancing group, who now were fixing their hair and makeup while sitting on the floor, called yn over. ever since they found out about her break up, the girls had been offered her to go out again and again, an opportunity they took to invite her to join their club with not-so-subtle comments. 

"oh yn, you should hang out with us more!" were the kind of utterances she always received from the class' cheerleaders.

mi na had insisted on brushing yn's hair. taking the empty stop in front of her classmate, she felt the bristles effortlessly flowing through the roots of her hair to its ends. the conversation was an amicable one. the girls often taking their time to butter up yn and saying how cool it'd be to have her in their club–until the self proclaimed hairdresser decided to dive into something she'd been curious about.

"hey yn."

"yeah?" she answered, eyes closed while enjoying the soothing sensation of the hairbrush.

"why did you and kyung jun brake up?"

mi na found herself at a loss for words when she faced the disapproving and critical stares of the entire group. why would you ask that? their glares yelled in silence, making her feel like she just made a terrible mistake.

"that's between him and i, mi na." yn abruptly ended the change of topic.

why did they break up? that's a question she'd been asked countless times ever since her classmates took note of their separation. a query yn remembered avoiding like a plague, long before this trip. only this time, a strange, guttural discomfort buried into every corner of her brain as she noticed a spec of something missing, unable to put together if the same evasion came as a reflex or because she couldn't answer it herself.

"right," mi na's shame, reinforced by the brutal glares of the other girls, took over her face as her cheeks flushed. "sorry."

luckily for her, just as her face morphed into a cherry tomato, a painful ringing roared through the speakers before the absence of light engulfed the high schoolers in deep darkness.

"c'mon! what is this?" one said.

"what's going on?" asked another.

"hey, turn the lights on!" resonated a voice from above.

a loud clang similar to a metal pipe hitting a hard surface echoed over the four walls, followed by the piercing shrieks of several people. helping themselves with the flashlights provided by their phones, the students revealed a white figure in the middle of the room.

"quit joking around." before any more screeches could be heard, hyun ho launched a basketball to the sheeted ghost, making it fall to the ground just as pathetically as your average cartoon villain.

with the precision of a well-rehearsed act, the room was suddenly lit up, revealing the mischievous culprit behind the childish prank. and lo and behold, it was none other than heo yool.

the collection of complaints from everybody present synced in a perfect expression of annoyance and the occasional insult. 

"guys, listen carefully." the class clown™ gathered his classmates' attention as he stood from the ground. "i've heard that, a long time ago, a high school girl killed herself here," he explained, playing the role of a surprisingly talented storyteller. "so there's a few things you should never do: don't look at the mirror and turn around at midnight. and if someone grabs your ankle when you're sleeping, don't look down. if you break these rules," he turned to the group of dancers. "a ghost will pop up!" dashing towards them with the form of a rogish halloween scare actor, he was met with the frightened squeals of the girls.

yn, whose interest in the paranormal had never been deep enough to scare her, grabbed mi na's hairbrush and hurled it towards heo yool. an action that encouraged the rest of the class to throw everything they had at hand, along with some despicable remarks and the teasing laugh of the insufferable rascal.

defeated by heo yool's stunts, the students decided they've had enough as one by one they exited the gym. 

"are you coming, yn?" so mi asked.

the girl nodded before answering, "i'll be there in a minute. i want to get some water first."

at the entrance, so mi and yn parted ways. she approached the water dispenser and took one of the cardboard cups provided by the machine. ever since the lights of the gymnasium had turned off, the girl noticed an unusual taste in her mouth that reminded her of her frightening fever dream at the elevator. she felt it at the back of her neck: something eerily creeping behind her at every given moment. was it possible that heo yool's story actually got under her skin? trying to brush off the uncanny sensation, yn took a sip from the refreshment in her hand.

"yn!" 

the call startled her, making the water get caught up in her throat. she coughed and patted her own chest as the liquid scraped its way down her larynx, like a tiny bug trying to escape a spider's web. once able to compose herself, yn glanced towards the voice.

"im so sorry!" joo won panicked in a stutter, "i didn't mean to do that, are you ok?"

"im fine." she wiped the water from her lips with her long sleeve. 

joo won and his companion standing behind, da bum, stared at her in silence.

"do you want anything or...?" 

a simultaneous no and a yes echoed trough the entrance, followed by a confused frown from the girl and whatever silent conversation the two guys were displaying with their eyes. 

"do you think maybe you could," joo won took his sweet time to mutter his next words, as if scared. "talk with kyung jun?"

"excuse me?"

what the fuck...? did kyung jun put them up to this?

"we just, well," the spokesman of the duo halted. "we gave some money to his friends a few days ago and we just don't want to bother them."

oh.

"so you bother me?" 

"no, no!" da bum spoke promptly and grabbed his friend's arm, pulling him along as he took a few steps to leave. "it's ok, yn. we won't bother you."

joo won released himself from da bum's grasp and walked towards yn. "please," he pleaded, holding one of her hands tightly with both of his. "he'll listen to you."

right as her heart started beating with enough sympathy to care for their situation, the front door opened. seung bin, jin ha and kyung jun walked into the building, the latter playing around with a basketball.

the three delinquents would've kept their saunter if it weren't for yn's presence, which made the group's top dog stop in his tracks. his companions did the same and all stared at the situation unfolding right in front of them. kyung jun's eyes stayed on the hands holding yn and after noticing his threatening glare, joo won leaped away from her.

"what's going on?" asked the fearful leader.

"you owe them money?" yn countered, her eyes flickering between the trio.

"what?" the blonde one laughed, brushing off the accusation. 

"they do!" joo won blamed, but instantly went back to his helpless self when met with the bullies' threatening scowls. "please, i just need it for my tuition."

the firm glare of the girl pierced through the tough act of the tamer vandal, making him drop his facade as he approached the feeble boy, closed fist in the air.

"fuck, man! we're on retreat, why are you asking us for money now?"

"yeah," seung bin joined in, defending his friend. "what are you, a loan shark? we told you we'd give you interests. give us some time, dipshit!"

kyung jun, who'd only taken the role of observer until that moment, put down the basketball he held and intervened to slap both of his lackeys' heads. "did you do sports betting again? huh?"

like scolded puppies, seung bin and jin ha faced the floor as they stepped aside.

"da bum," he called, and the guy lifted his head to stare at the bully. "did you lend them money too?"

"huh?" as kyung jun stalked closer, da bum's heart raced faster with every step. his eyes frantically scanned the room, desperately seeking any distraction from the intimidating figure slowly closing in on him. "yes. but i can wait for my money. there's no rush." with a lump in his throat, da bum braced himself for whatever was coming next.

"how much?" kyung jun's open hand grabbed the side of da bum's face, forcing the terrified boy to look right at him. "ill pay you back."

"you will?" da bum stuttered.

"of course," his grin turned into something sinister, which allowed only da bum to see because of their proximity. "in return play basketball with me, yeah?"

he faintly smacked his victim's face twice before coming up to yn. "everything's alright here, yn. see? no need for this." kyung jun reached out to hold her hand but she pulled away before any contact could be made. 

was she really so revolted by him she wouldn't even let him touch her? accepting his defeat, kyung jun hid his hands inside his jacket's pockets. 

"right," yn looked at da bum and joo won, who were currently being pushed around by the other two, before turning back to kyung jun. "in that case, i'll get going." 

"you're not coming with me?" just as yn started to walk away, his words pulled her back in.

"i'd rather not."

"are you sure?"

with a swift nod, kyung jun signaled seung bin and jin ha to go ahead and, bringing along the poor students they were about to torment, they disappeared down the hallway.

they were left alone, just like kyung jun liked it. only them, with nothing and no one around to interrupt their precious time together.

not a single second did he stop looking into her fiery eyes, which only seemed to hold a hostility that antagonized his own devoted regard.

"it's almost midnight."

both held each other's gaze, which kyung jun took as an invitation to step towards the girl. he stopped right in front of her and, unfortunately, yn's heart betrayed her mind as she internally screamed for it to cease its raising beats. 

kyung jun's hands raised to yn's face, completely forgetting her previous rejection. for a second, he thought of apologizing, since she'd made it clear time and time again how much she now despised his presence. but how could he apologize for something he was barely conscious of? he couldn't help himself, not when she was merely inches away, not with her. maybe if he insisted–if he didn't give up–she'd finally understand why staying apart was never the world's plan. 

"you promised me. remember?"

his hands were close. so close he could feel his fingertips grace her cheeks, a touch so minuscule, yet enough to make his skin crawl with anticipation. 

he was too close. 

yn stepped back just as she felt the fleeting spark. she would be dammed if she ever allowed him to touch her again, in more ways than one. or at least that's what she told herself as she fell right into another one of his tricks. kyung jun knew her well; too well for her liking. and with such measly words she found herself helplessly cornered by her own self-discipline and morals.

fucking bastard.

up in the vast dormitory area of the resort center, different groups of people were each caught up in their own conversations, without a single care in the world or the impending sinister feeling hanging over their heads like an invisible wrecking ball about to crash and destroy every single thing they ever cared for.

in her room, lee yoon seo was finally able to lose herself in her novel when her phone pinged. slightly annoyed by the distraction she took a closer look to her home screen, which displayed an app in process of downloading.

"i told you i didn't need this." she showed the screen to her roommate.

"it wasn't me." jung won answered, just as astounded.

our perspective changes and now we observe a group of various students, all gathered in one room. the class couple, the cheerleaders and members of the student council all sharing snacks and stories between them in perfect harmony until a knock interrupted. 

"come in!" allowed the vice president.

"hey guys," the door opened, reavealing hyun ho accompanied by his best friend, dong hyun, who stayed on the hallway behind him. "has anyone seen yn?"

"how come you don't know? you're always following her." mocked woo ram before taking a handful of chips from one of the various bags scattered around the room.

"you're one to talk." ji soo muttered, which provoked woo ram to throw a scrambled napkin her way.

"i'm serious." hyun ho replied, "i've tried texting her but this wifi doesn't even work."

"she told me she was going to get some water, isn't she downstairs?" just as so mi finished her sentence, one by one every phone in the room chimed.

notifications spread throughout the resort like a 14th century pandemic, resonating around every room as if imitating the never ending bells that announced the beginning of the end.

back in the gymnasium, joo won stood shaking below the basketball hoop with his friend by his side, eyes shut tight as neither dared watch the nearing hit from the ball.

"joo won, stay right there." kyung jun sneered as he prepared himself to throw. he looked up, targeting the net as he bent his knees, faked a jump, and sent the ball right into the boy's stomach.

joo won kneeled in pain, groaning and grasping his abdomen with both hands in his best attempt to soothe the aching sensation puncturing his body.

yn watched the situation unfold as she sat on the rubber gym flooring, otherwise cold if it weren't for seung bin's zip-up laid out below her. it had been kyung jun who'd instructed the blondie to give up his hoodie, since yn declined on taking his own. not a single word was heard from the girl ever since stepping into the gym as the trio took turns tormenting their two victims, until now.

"i didn't come here for this, kyung jun."

almost ten minutes had passed and she was still waiting for kyung jun to approach her and start the conversation he so adamantly pushed onto her.

"c'mon yn, let me give it one more shot."

he must've lost his fucking mind, thinking he had her wrapped around his finger to waste her time in such a way. fed up, yn got up and snatched the basketball out of his hands before throwing it away. it rolled towards jin ha, who immediately picked it up to quite the sound of the bouncing that only seemed to raise the tension of the ex-lovers' quarrel.

yn opened her mouth to give kyung jun an ultimatum, a last opportunity out of her remaining patience, when a sudden ding emitted out of her skirt's pocket. she would've payed no mind to it if it weren't for the other five identical sounds that propagated right after.

each person in the room took out their phones and faced their screens, which displayed a virtual envelope eagerly waiting to be opened. 

TAP TO VIEW YOU ROLE, read the text below.

"wasn't this the resort's app?" asked jin ha, to nobody in particular.

resort's app? 

she never knew about any app.

"mafia?" seung bin laughed from his spot at the floor and showed his screen. "what's this about?"

"what the fuck is this?" kyung jun mumbled with a frown, clearly confused.

yn brought one hand to the back of her neck as the abnormal sensation from minutes ago reappeared. goosebumps started breaking out throughout her skin and every cell on her body seemed to tremble uncontrollably while she stared at the little black mirror on her hand. which, as she would soon find out, reflected the last version of herself with any shred of purity.

🏷️ @flaneurpastel - @jwijii - @watamotee33

© to @divineei on tumblr; do not repost or steal

[marsjupitersaturn16]

Feathery

Pi Han Wool x f!reader

Summary: The most dangerous boy at school develops an interest in a girl who’s his complete opposite and invites her to the prom.

Note: I don’t even know how this idea came to me, I was thinking about Lumière and Plumette. AND GOD I’ve been gone for so long I’m so sorry 😭 It’s insanely hot right now and I swear I’m too tired to even breathe.

This whole thing weirdly feels like “Golden Brown”

⸻

The bell had just rung, but the campus was quieter than usual. At Yusung Technical High, silence meant one of two things:

Either the inspectors were on campus…

Or Pi Han Wool was walking the halls.

Today, it was the second one.

This guy didn’t even carry his bag over his shoulder. He didn’t need to—who was gonna say anything? He was the shadow of the whole damn school. Hands in his pockets, strolling like he owned the place. When he passed a classroom, some students didn’t even dare look out. If you locked eyes with him, it felt like you’d just made the worst mistake of your life.

But that’s when he saw you.

You were pinning notes to the bulletin board in front of your class. You had a handful of colorful post-its—blue, orange—and one was just slightly crooked, and you looked ready to fight it into place.

You were in uniform, but… some people just wear it differently, you know? Your skirt hit just at your knees, your shirt was ironed, collar slightly open. Your hair was tied up but two strands insisted on falling into your face.

Something shifted inside Han Wool.

First thought: “Who is this girl?”

Second: “Why have I never noticed her before?”

And the third… the third was a little messier.

His heart.

See, Han Wool’s heart wasn’t the kind of place that welcomed softness but the moment he saw you, something inside his chest—something tiny, quiet—melted for a split second.

He felt it. And it made him uncomfortable. Kinda pissed him off.

He turned to Min-hwan, his voice low and cold as always.

“Who’s that?”

Min-hwan glanced your way and smirked.

“Oh, her? Club president. Writes for the school paper, I think. I forgot her name. She’s like, model student material. Why?”

Han Wool didn’t answer. Didn’t feel the need to.

But his mind whispered:

“Fuck… how the hell did I never see this girl before?”

You were still messing with the board. At one point, you looked up. Your eyes didn’t wander. They went straight to Han Wool.

He was looking at you and you were looking back.

There was no judgment in yours. No fear.

Just… curiosity.

“I’m gonna burn this girl,” Han Wool thought.

And maybe he was right. His world was flammable.

Fighting. Strategy. Pressure. Control.

Everything either broke or burned.

But you? You were featherlight. Soft. Sweet. The kind of thing that’d go up in flames with the slightest spark.

So he didn’t approach.

But from that moment on— He started watching you. Closely.

⸻

In the days that followed, he saw you everywhere. You had no idea.

Reading by the window during lunch, walking slow through the hall, fixing your bag strap as you left school..

One time, you even slipped—and caught yourself on the wall just in time.

He remembered all of it.

One day, Min-hwan asked:

“Dude, what is up with you? You’ve been staring at the same spot for weeks.”

Han Wool scowled, shrugged.

“I dunno… she pisses me off. She’s too innocent. Too pure…” He trailed off, chuckling.

Min-hwan laughed, but Han Wool didn’t.

Because you really were too delicate for him. But soon enough, he was the one who’d strike the first match.

⸻

The poster went up. Big bold letters. Bright colors.

And when you saw it, your eyes widened just a little.

“PROM! 💐”

“Yusung students only. Formal wear required.”

You couldn’t help the little flutter in your chest. These things were rare for someone like you. You were quiet, kept to yourself. Always tucked away in your books, head bent over club work, watching the courtyard from a distance during lunch.

But something about the idea of the dance… it touched you. Because even the most reserved person—deep down—wants to feel like “someone” for a night. Wants to wear something pretty, lock eyes with someone while music plays, dance… Even if it’s just for one song.

But while you were dreaming… the rest of the school? They were already going feral. Especially the girls.

There weren’t many girls to begin with but once the news broke?

“Who’s asking who?”

“If you dance with Pi Han Wool, you’re basically famous.”

And yeah—just as you guessed—he got the first ask.

⸻

Han Wool was sitting in the back garden behind the school, perched on one of those old benches. Standard school uniform. Tie loose. Fresh bandage on his cheek. Min-hwan beside him, fiddling with a little bead gun like he was bored out of his mind.

Two girls approached, hesitantly. One looked like she’d bitten her own tongue.

“Um… Han Wool, would you… maybe wanna go to the dance with me?”

Han Wool barely lifted his head.

“No.”

The girl froze. Her friend touched his arm, tried again:

“Just for one night—could be fun—”

Han Wool turned slowly. His eyes? Ice.

“Don’t touch me.”

They shut up.

Backed off.

Ran.

Min-hwan snorted.

“Damn, you went hard. Good though. They’re nuts.”

Han Wool didn’t reply. His mind was elsewhere.

⸻

Same day. Same courtyard. Just a little further down.

You were there.

Sitting alone. Bag on your lap. Doodling something in your notebook.

Han Wool didn’t say a word. Just walked over with Min-hwan. Their steps were slow. Like they’d planned it.

You didn’t even notice at first. Only when the shadow crossed your page. You looked up.

Two boys were standing in front of you.

Min-hwan was smirking, clicking his little bead gun. Click. Click. Click.

But it was Han Wool that got your attention. Broad shoulders. Perfectly fitted shirt. But his eyes… They were dark, focused, locked on you.

“Get up,” he said.

Your body stiffened. What was going on?

“Um… did I do something?”

Han Wool stepped a little closer. There was no threat in his voice—but his whole presence was a kind of threat. Still… this time felt different.

“No. I just wanna ask you something.”

You looked away. Slowly stood up. Your hands trembled. Your heart pounded.

Min-hwan kept clicking the toy. Han Wool turned his head. Min-hwan shut up. Pocketed the toy and walked away.

Now it was just you, him and the silence.

Neither of you spoke at first. Then he looked at you, dead serious:

“Got a date to the dance?”

Your brain short-circuited. What the hell did he just say?

“No… I mean… I wasn’t really planning to…”

That’s when he looked at you differently.

Softer. One word:

“Come with me.”

You blinked. Was this a joke? Was he messing with you? But no. He looked serious. No smirk. No play. Just a boy, asking. And then he added:

“Don’t overdo it. But be pretty.”

You swallowed.

Didn’t say yes.

Didn’t say no.

But he turned around and walked away. Left you standing there, heart banging against your ribs.

“Pi Han Wool just asked me to the dance.”

⸻

The gym sparkled. Streamers hung from the ceiling, looking cheap in daylight, but under those lights? They glittered like crystal. The air was thick with excitement.

Boys in suits—some barely fitting. Girls, transformed.

You…

Looked at yourself one last time in the mirror. Soft curls. Simple makeup. But your eyes… They were dreaming.

Your dress wasn’t short. Wasn’t long either. Brushed your knees when you walked. Your shoulders bare. Elegant. A single pearl necklace rested at your throat—something you gifted yourself that morning.

One deep breath— And you stepped into the gym.

Everyone was there and every eye found you.

Mouths parted. Whispers passed.

“Isn’t that the quiet girl?”

But you didn’t hear them. You were looking for him.

And right then, In the crowd, in the noise..

He walked in.

Black suit. White shirt, no tie. Clean shoes. Hair that looked like it’d been styled, but still held that effortless mess.

People moved for him. Like they always did.

But he didn’t look at anyone. He was looking for you. Slow steps. He stopped in front of you. Didn’t look down. Just… looked. One second. Then cleared his throat.

“You look beautiful.”

His tone was a little less icy than usual. Like the words were hard to say—but he meant them.

His eyes?

They said: You’re the one I chose.

You dipped your head. Cheeks warming. Couldn’t quite meet his gaze. You smiled. And for the first time… You weren’t afraid of him.

Then the music started.

A waltz. Slow, deep. The kind that tugs at your chest from the first note.

Couples gathered on the floor.

Han Wool held out his hand. His palm was rough—but steady. You looked at it. Then at him.

And took it.

You stepped together onto the dance floor. The gym’s polished wood glowed beneath your feet. When he placed a hand on your waist, you flinched. Eyes shut for a moment. But he paused.

Didn’t move further. Didn’t want to scare you.

He could crush you. But he was trying not to.

That was what hit you the hardest. You were close. So close you could hear him breathe. You stopped avoiding his eyes. Looked up. Met his gaze.

“You’re not as bad as they say,” you said. The words just came.

“I mean, I’ve heard stuff. That you scare people. Threaten teachers. But right now… I don’t know. You don’t seem that bad.”

He didn’t answer right away. His eyes drifted to nothing. Then returned to you.

Quietly, firmly:

“You’re wrong. I’m that bad.”

You blinked.

“Really?”

He nodded slightly.

“I’m not a good person. I don’t go easy on anyone.”

Then softer. Almost a whisper.

“Except you.”

Those words… Just two. But they set your chest on fire.

You were embarrassed. But not happy. Because you understood. He wasn’t trying to be good. But for you? He was trying to be harmless.

⸻

The music ended. The gym buzzed. But you…You were in a silent world.

The dance was over. But for you, everything had just begun.

⸻

The moon hung heavy in the sky. The gym was nearly empty. The crowd was gone. Laughter faded. Dresses stuffed into bags.

You hadn’t left. You were sitting on an old wooden bench behind the school. Just you and him

Your back straight. Hands folded in your lap. Han Wool leaned back, eyes turned toward the sky. The wind was soft. Still chilled your skin. But something deeper was making you shiver.

“Why me?”

Your voice was soft, but clear.

“Why did you ask me, out of everyone?”

He didn’t answer right away. Checked the words in his mind.

“Because you’re nothing like anyone I know… You’re the exact opposite of me.”

His eyes held weight. Like even saying that took energy.

He went on:

“And you know what they say. Opposites attract.”

You dropped your gaze. Scuffed the dirt with your shoe. Another pause. Then, quietly—

“I’ve heard a lot about you…”

Your voice cracked a little. But there was no judgment. Only wonder.

“You’ve done a lot of bad things… And you’re still being this gentle with me. It’s surprising.”

Han Wool let out a breath. Ran a hand through his hair. Talking about this stuff wasn’t easy for him. It just… wasn’t something he did.

“Because when I look at you, It feels like you’d break if I touched you wrong.”

He looked at you. Really looked.

You turned away. Confused. Scared of your own thoughts but you had to say it. That thing that had been sitting inside your chest, slowly forming shape.

“I’m afraid you’ll burn me.”

He froze. Held his breath. Eyes narrowed. He didn’t break But he thought.

Then he leaned just a little closer. Gently touched your shoulder.

“You should be,” he said.

“Because I can’t help it sometimes. I’m used to hurting the people around me.”

Then softer.Almost confessing.

“But if I hurt you… It’ll feel like I hurt myself.”

Silence fell. The air between you changed. Not cold but heavy.

Then, for the first time… With no smirk, no sarcasm, just plain honesty, Pi Han Wool looked you dead in the eyes.

“Will you go out with me?”

[marsjupitersaturn16]

✰ ٠ ࣪⭑____. "Enhypen reaction to crush not picking up on their flirting".

Pairing: enhypen x fem!reader

Genre: Fluff, Comedy, Mildly Frustrated Love

Word Count: 2,400 words

Warnings: None (except for some secondhand embarrassment and soft boys getting ignored 🥲)

Disclaimer: this blog is a fanfiction haven, and everything posted here is purely a work of fiction. The characters, settings, and worlds belong to their respective creators unless otherwise stated. No copyright infringement is intended.

Heeseung

You and Heeseung were at an arcade, battling it out in the basketball shootout game. Heeseung was winning — smugly so — but his attention wasn’t really on the scoreboard.

“Loser buys dinner,” he smirked, tossing another ball effortlessly.

“Oh? You mean you're already planning to lose?” you teased.

Heeseung grinned. “Nah, just planning to eat dinner *with you.* Romantic dinner. Like... a date.”

You gave him a thumbs up, grabbing another ball. “Cool, I’ve been craving ramen anyway.”

He blinked. “No, like—”

Swish.

“—A *date,* date,” he emphasized, leaning in. “With candles. Maybe I’ll even wear a button-up.”

You laughed. “That’d be hilarious. You’d look like you were going to a job interview.”

He stared at you for a second, the ball frozen in his hands.

“Y/N. I’ve been flirting with you for, like, *three weeks.* I complimented your lips *twice.* What more do I need to do, tattoo ‘I like you’ on my forehead?”

You blinked. “…Wait, seriously?”

He dropped the ball. “Finally!”

Jay

You were at a cooking class he had dragged you to “just for fun,” though the way Jay kept adjusting your apron and brushing your hand with his, you were starting to suspect it wasn’t just about pasta.

“Here, let me help,” he said, standing behind you, his arms reaching around yours as he guided your hands kneading the dough.

“Uh… I can do it,” you said, laughing nervously. “It’s not *that* hard.”

Jay smirked. “I know. I just wanted to be close to you.”

You smiled absentmindedly. “That’s sweet. You’re always so friendly.”

He literally had to pause mid-knead.

“Friendly?” he repeated, blinking.

You nodded, wiping flour on your cheek. “Yeah. Like a best friend.”

Jay looked like he’d aged 10 years in a second.

“I’m trying to be *flirtatious,* not *friendly,*” he muttered under his breath, then louder: “Y/N, would a *friend* text you goodnight with a heart emoji every day for a month?”

You tilted your head. “Oh! I thought you just liked aesthetic texting.”

Jay dropped the dough.

“I need a drink,” he sighed.

Jake

The two of you were walking his dog Layla through the park, the sun starting to set behind the trees. Jake had been trying to make it romantic — slow steps, light touches, endless compliments — but you just kept talking about the dog.

“She’s soooo cute,” you squealed, picking Layla up and kissing her head. “She’s basically your daughter.”

Jake grinned. “Yeah, I hope our kids are this cute.”

You blinked. “Wait, *our* kids?”

“Hypothetically,” he added quickly. “Y’know… if we were, like, married or something.”

You laughed. “You’re funny.”

Jake’s smile faltered. “No, but seriously. Like, what would you name our first dog?”

You lit up. “You’d let me name it? Okay, I’d pick Waffle.”

“…Not the *dog,* babe. *The baby.*”

You stopped walking. “Jake?! Are you okay?”

He groaned and ran a hand through his hair. “Forget it. I’ll just write you a love letter at this point.”

Sunghoon

At the indoor ice rink, you and Sunghoon were doing lazy circles around the rink, bundled up in scarves and mittens. He skated backward in front of you with a cocky smirk.

“Need help staying balanced?” he offered, extending his hands.

“Nah, I’m good!” you said proudly, wobbling a little but staying upright.

Sunghoon sighed and skated closer. “I just wanted an excuse to hold your hands, but okay.”

You frowned. “Huh?”

He rolled his eyes. “Never mind.”

You stopped at the edge of the rink, sitting on the bench to adjust your skates. He flopped next to you, letting out a dramatic sigh.

“You know, I’ve been trying to flirt this whole time,” he muttered.

You glanced at him. “Wait, when?”

He gestured wildly. “The way I said your nose looked cute red from the cold? The hot chocolate I brought you? The skating lessons?”

“I thought you were just being nice,” you replied innocently.

He dramatically leaned back, muttering to the ceiling. “Nice. I’m trapped in the friendzone of my own romantic movie.”

Sunoo

You were at a tiny bakery with Sunoo, decorating cupcakes at the corner booth. He had already covered his in pink frosting and tiny edible hearts.

“See this one?” he said, holding up a cupcake. “It’s inspired by you. Sweet and cute and has a little flower — because you’re my flower.”

You beamed. “Aww, that’s so poetic. You should write that down.”

Sunoo blinked. “I mean, I could just say it on our wedding vows.”

You laughed. “Omg, imagine!”

“I *am* imagining!”

He smiled through clenched teeth, watching as you obliviously returned to frosting your own.

“You’re so good at this,” you said, licking icing from your finger.

“I'm also good at flirting. Not that you’d notice.”

You looked up. “Wait… *that* was flirting?”

Sunoo dropped his cupcake dramatically. “How are you the smartest person I know and *still* so clueless?!”

Jungwon

The two of you were in a bookstore, sitting in the café section with two steaming drinks and open novels. Jungwon had chosen the spot specifically because he wanted to be close enough to whisper.

“Want to read this line?” he asked, sliding his book toward you. “It kinda reminded me of you.”

You read it aloud: “*‘She was the sun on my stormiest days, and I never wanted her to leave.’*”

You blinked. “Wow. That’s beautiful. You sure have good taste in books.”

He looked at you like you’d missed the most obvious hint in history.

“I… picked that quote *because of you,*” he explained slowly.

You frowned. “Because I’m warm and sunny?”

He leaned closer. “Because I *like* you, Y/N.”

You laughed. “Aww, I like you too.”

He squinted. “No. *Like.* *Romantically.* I’ve been trying to confess since chapter one.”

You nearly choked on your latte. “Wait, THIS is a confession?!”

He groaned, covering his face with his book. “I’m gonna start highlighting my flirting from now on.”

Ni-ki

You were both in his room, playing video games and sharing a bag of chips. Ni-ki had been trying to act cool all day — showing off his combos, nudging your arm, bragging about his high scores — but you were laser-focused on winning.

“Bet you can’t beat me,” he teased, elbowing you lightly.

“You’re on,” you said, grinning. “What do I get if I win?”

He paused. “A kiss.”

You stared blankly. “From who?”

He blinked. “From… me?”

You laughed. “You’re so silly.”

Ni-ki froze.

“Y/N. I literally just said I want to kiss you.”

You shrugged. “Yeah, as a joke.”

He paused the game. “*No.* Not a joke. I’ve been dropping hints for weeks.”

You gave him a confused look. “You have?”

He groaned and flopped back on his bed. “I need subtitles for my flirting or something.”

[marsjupitersaturn16]

TW: Contains themes of infidelity/gaslighting/lying and possible death of a character.

don't like? don't read

-

June 5th, 11:37 pm

I walk into the apartment hastily, taking my heels off in the doorway before locking the door with a click. That's when the eerie quietness of my space suddenly hits me, causing me to halt my steps before moving further into the living room. The sinking feeling in my gut told me that something was terribly wrong, nausea gnawing at my insides as my eyes took in the dimly lit apartment. And that's when the events of the past few months came flooding through, as though a dam had just been opened.. or perhaps collapsed.

Maybe the weight pressing on me wasn't just fear but also guilt that I had been suppressing long before this cursed day. You see, I hadn't exactly been living the most honest life. Having been living together with my boyfriend of 3 years, heeseung, one would assume that I was happy. And trust me, I was, atleast for a short while. But as the strong feelings of love faded into the minutiae of our day to day lives, and the novelty of our relationship faded under the demanding pressures of life.. I found myself seeking more. Seeking something or someone different.

That's when I met Riki. Young. Full of life. Very unlike.. Heeseung. He was fun, always there when I needed him, whether it be physically or mentally. Not that my boyfriend wasn't but you know, we all long for something new and exotic. Something exhilarating. Riki was a great distraction when life got too tough and taxing. He didn't carry the same baggage that Heeseung did, and I didn't have to put up a front with him. I could just.. be and he won't have a problem with it. We never fought either, unlike what I had with Heeseung. So as the days went on, my attention drifted from him to this new guy that demanded it. Date nights were canceled, I even forgot our last anniversary and promises soon followed as I tried convincing my boyfriend that I still loved him.

And my god, I thought I was slick. I thought I was smart enough for him to never find out. But as I take another step into the cold and dark living room, the sudden realisation that I had perhaps.. miscalculated my own cunning comes tumbling down. Yes, it seems silly to connect the unusual stillness as a byproduct of my infidelity but as I feel his stare drilling holes at the side of my face, I know not to doubt it.

I slowly turned towards figure leaning in the hallway, my eyes focusing in the dark as it barely makes out the smooth delicate features of my boyfriend. I find my breath quickening at the sight of his smile. One that didn’t reach his eyes. The usual warmth in his orbs was now replaced by a menacing glint, his body tense in a predatory stance as though it was waiting to snap at given moment. And if my eyes aren't decieving me, I can also faintly make out the wet trails of tears down his face. He found out.

You know how else I knew that he had discovered about my unfaithfulness, right by the second I walked into the living room? The puddle of cold sticky liquid I had stepped into and the strong stench of iron that permeated into the cold dense air. I don't have the courage to look down.

-

(Poor Riki. Why was he meddling in grown people's relationships anyway? Let's just hope nothing bad happened to our protagonist.. right?)

[marsjupitersaturn16]

through rose-coloured glasses [P.SH] v.4

synopsis: After falling asleep on Sunghoon’s lap, you wake up to a conversation you were never meant to hear. Hidden in the quiet murmurs of the living room, Sunghoon exposes the truth—you were never more than a convenience, a distraction. The weight of his cold words shatters the illusion you had clung to for so long, leaving you heartbroken and afraid. As you flee the room, Jay follows, offering the warmth and comfort Sunghoon never did. With Jay by your side, you begin to see the truth: love isn’t supposed to hurt like this. And maybe, just maybe, it’s time to finally let go.

toxic!sunghoon x (not so)naive!reader x jay | wc: 1.4k | cw: emotional manipulation, gaslighting, toxic relationships, possessiveness, abuse of power in a relationship, self-doubt , insecurity, mild violence (psychological), themes of control and dependency, angst(fluff at the end with jay though..!!!)

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The living room was unusually quiet for a group of people, the tension hanging in the air thick enough to suffocate. The members were scattered around the room, some lounging on the couches, others standing, but all of them seemed to be quietly talking about something—something you weren’t meant to hear.

You had been curled up on the couch, exhausted from everything going on. You had found solace in the warmth of Sunghoon beside you, his hand resting on your head while you drifted off to sleep in his lap. It was supposed to be peaceful. But everything was about to shatter.

As your mind drifted between sleep and waking, you started to hear snippets of conversation. The murmur of voices caught your attention, and you could just make out what was being said in the living room.

“Is he really still doing that to her?” Jake’s voice was the first to cut through the silence, his tone calm but filled with concern. “She’s been acting so different lately, like she’s not even herself anymore.”

Sunghoon’s voice was next, low and dismissive. “It’s not like she’ll ever understand. I’m just keeping her around because it’s easy. She’s so predictable. I don’t have to try. She believes everything I tell her.”

Your heart sank, the words cutting deeper than anything you’d ever expected to hear. He doesn’t care about me. The realization hit like a ton of bricks, and you could feel the weight of it sinking in.

“You can’t keep treating her like that,” Jay’s voice joined in, firm but careful. “She doesn’t deserve it, Sunghoon. You need to stop leading her on if you’re not serious about her.”

Sunghoon’s response was filled with frustration, a sigh escaping him. “I don’t need to be serious with her. She’s not that important. She’s just a distraction. She doesn’t even realize it.”

Jake’s voice was soft, yet full of empathy. “Man, you’re really pushing it. You know how much she cares for you. You’re playing with her emotions, and it’s not right.”

You stayed as still as you could, hoping they wouldn’t notice you were awake. But your heart was pounding too hard, the sting of Sunghoon’s words still burning in your chest. You wanted to leave, to get as far away from the suffocating air around you, but your body wouldn’t move. You couldn’t move.

The conversation continued, each word they spoke about you echoing in your mind.

Sunghoon scoffed, a cold laugh leaving his lips. “She’s too clingy. I told her I was busy, and she still expects me to drop everything for her. It’s annoying. I don’t need her pulling at me all the time.”

Jay’s voice softened, though there was still a firmness to it. “Sunghoon, she’s not pulling at you. She’s just trying to get the love she thinks you’re giving her. If you really care about her, you wouldn’t treat her this way.”

But Sunghoon wasn’t listening. He was beyond the point of caring.

You couldn’t take it anymore. The betrayal, the hurt, the realization that everything you had believed in was a lie. You quickly stood up from Sunghoon’s lap, not sparing him a glance, and rushed out of the room, unable to hold back the tears. Your feet moved without thinking, and before you knew it, you were in the hallway, trying to catch your breath, trying to make sense of everything that had just happened.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Jay’s voice broke through your panic as he appeared in front of you, his presence a welcome comfort. He didn’t ask, didn’t push you to explain. He just knew you needed space.

You shook your head, tears blurring your vision. “I—I didn’t know he felt that way. He… he doesn’t care about me. He never did.”

Jay didn’t say anything at first, just pulled you into a gentle embrace, offering the kind of comfort that felt like home. He rubbed your back soothingly, whispering soft reassurances. “You don’t deserve to be treated like that. You’ve always been there for him, and he’s been using you. You deserve better, sweetheart.”

Your shoulders shook with the weight of the words, and Jay held you tighter, grounding you as you tried to calm yourself.

“I’m sorry you had to hear that,” Jay murmured. “But I need you to know something—Sunghoon’s not worth your tears. He’s not worth your heart. Don’t let him define you.”

You tried to pull away, but Jay wouldn’t let you go. He kept you close, his voice unwavering. “Sunghoon’s your past. Let him go. I’m here for you, alright? You’re not alone in this.”

You nodded, not trusting your voice just yet. But Jay wasn’t finished. He gave you one last squeeze before pulling away slightly, looking at you with a mix of concern and determination.

“Stay here for a bit, yeah? Let’s talk this out. You don’t have to go back there right now.”

You weren’t sure where to go or what to do. Everything felt so overwhelming, like the rug had been pulled out from under you, and you were falling, unsure if anyone would catch you. But Jay was here. Jay wasn’t going anywhere.

As you followed him into the living room to sit down, you could hear faint murmurs from Sunghoon and the others in the background, but Jay was standing strong between you and everything that was hurting. He wasn’t going to let you go back to the toxic mess that Sunghoon had created.

When you entered the living room, the atmosphere changed immediately. Sunghoon, who had been oblivious to your exit earlier, looked up, his face twisting in a mixture of annoyance and apathy. “What’s going on?” he asked, his tone cold.

Jay stepped forward, his eyes meeting Sunghoon’s with a firm stare. “Cut it out, Hoon. She’s done. You’re not going to keep playing with her like this anymore. She deserves respect.”

There was a moment of silence. Sunghoon looked like he was about to snap back, but Jay’s stance was unwavering, and something in Sunghoon’s expression faltered. Finally, Sunghoon scoffed, muttering something under his breath, and turned away.

Jay turned back to you, his expression softening. “You don’t need him, sweetheart. Not anymore.”

You nodded slowly, feeling the weight on your chest lighten a little, knowing that Jay was right. This wasn’t love, and it never had been. But there was a future ahead, one where you were strong enough to move forward, even without him.

[marsjupitersaturn16]

[marsjupitersaturn16]

happy for you.

[marsjupitersaturn16]

𝙧𝙤𝙤𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙩𝙚.

⤷⤷ 𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 niki feels like he's just existing. until.

𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨.ᐟ roommate!misunderstanding!niki!⋆understanding!fem!reader!

𝘵𝘺𝘱𝘦.ᐟ angst????? fanfic (ITS OVER 1500 WORDS OKAY?????) fluff riki is mysterious ooo aura riki self sabotages mwhahaha riki is misunderstood reader doesnt pry but tries to help idk i just wanna write some juicy delicious sadness 👅👅

𝘴𝘵𝘷𝘳𝘳𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘴.ᐟ HEYYY guys u dont hate me right *crickets* IM SORRY MY EXAMS R IN 2 WEEKS BUT AFTER I PROMISE U GUYS HAVE MY FULL UNDEVOUTED ATTENTION I PROMISE I LOVE U ALL OKAY 💗 REBLOGS+LIKES+COMMENTS APPRECIATED!!!!! wrd count۶ৎ 2 805

YN

the first time i met niki, he didn’t say much.

back then, i thought he hated me, but looking back, it was quite out of character for him to even acknowledge my existence. 

he just stood there in the hallway, with his headphones around his neck and a box in his hands. he stared at me—with that same far-away look in his eyes which seemed to always linger—and nodded slowly. not a friendly nod. just a small nod, like he was telling me—okay. you’re here. you’re my roommate.

that was it.

that’s how it had always been.

me and niki had always quietly co-existed—not close, not distant. 

he had his space, and i had mine.

we both knew what to do—and what to not do.

monday? there was always a cup of tea left on the counter for me.

friday? i made sure there was always a snack on the counter for niki to take—since he seemed to forget to eat before dance practice.

that's how it always was.

was.

something changed. i don’t know what, but things were different. 

we still had our own spaces, our own hobbies, our own things to do.

but sometimes, niki would come and sit on the sofa with me. sometimes, he'd pass me his charger without me asking. sometimes, he left me little notes, reminding me of things, even i myself, didn’t know were happening—but he did.

once, he knocked on my door just to hand me the last slice of pizza. said he wasn’t hungry, even though i’d seen him eyeing the box all evening.

and sometimes, when i couldn’t sleep, i’d hear his music playing softly through the wall.

some nights, i think he played it louder on purpose. just loud enough for me to hear.

he was different—but not in a bad way.

———

it happened on a tuesday.

i stood in the kitchen, staring at the kettle.

it was broken.

it took me five minutes to realise that the usual high-pitched screaming of the kettle wasn’t happening—the water wasn’t boiling.

before i could even touch the kettle and possibly smash it to pieces, i heard a voice behind me.

“it’s the switch,”

i turned around.

niki was standing there, hair damp, hoodie sleeves pushed up to his elbows, arms folded. he didn’t meet my eyes.

“you have to push the switch down twice. the first time it doesn’t stick.”

i blinked. not because of what he said, but because this was the first time i’d heard him say anything that wasn’t a mumbled ‘thanks’ or a cough that sounded suspiciously like ‘night’.

he stepped past me, flicked the switch, waited.

the kettle rumbled to life.

“see?”

i huffed a laugh, “you could’ve told me that two weeks ago. would’ve saved me from drinking cold tea.” i grimaced. 

niki shrugged. “you looked determined. i didn’t want to get in the way.”

then—barely a twitch, but it was there—a smile.

i stared. not long. just a second.

“thanks.” i said.

he just hummed, finished what he was doing and left.

left like it was normal.

left like nothing had happened.

but something did.

now, every time i stood in the kitchen, staring at the kettle, i couldn’t help but remember.

———

the next time it happened was soon after.

it was a thursday.

i was sat at the table, hunched over a pile of notes, sheets spread for miles.

nothing was making sense.

“you keep doing that.”

my head shot up. i hadn’t even realised niki was here. but he was.

there he was, sat across from me, phone in hand, same unreadable expression.

“what?” i said, confused.

“you keep doing that,” he repeated, “you keep biting your lip and sighing like the piece of paper personally wronged you.”

i stopped chewing on my lip. he was right.

“you’ve been watching me?” i asked, a small smile on my lips for a reason even i didn’t know.

“well you’re kinda hard to ignore,” he shrugged, “you sigh pretty loudly.”

i gave him a look, but there was nothing behind it.

“what are you working on?”

“presentation.”

“want me to listen to it?”

i stared.

“so you can make fun of me after?”

“so i can help.”

i blinked. blinked again. niki raised an eyebrow, and waited.

so i talked.

and he listened.

and helped me.

pointed out where i stumbled along my words, where i rambled, when i rushed.

when i finished, he nodded.

“not bad.”

coming from niki, it felt like an accomplishment.

i mumbled a thank you and got back to my work, expecting him to leave. he didn’t.

he sat there quietly, scrolling through his phone, stealing one of the cookies from my plate.

it was silent.

but it didn’t feel like it.

not anymore.

———

things began to change.

sure, they changed before, but now they were really changing.

niki was changing.

he talked to me more. left me things. stayed near me more often.

noticed things even i didn’t.

like how i stopped using my favourite mug after it chipped.

the next day, a nearly identical one appeared in the cupboard. no explanation. no note. it was just there.

or how he stopped playing music late on the nights before my big exams.

or how he always knew what i was craving.

i didn’t even realise we were close. not until i caught myself waiting for him, just to see him, just to speak to him, just to be with him.

i didn’t even realise i began to repay the favours.

i didn’t realise that i began to leave him an umbrella when it was raining. that i began to order his favourite, even when he didn’t ask. that i began to wait for him to arrive home, just so we could talk.

i didn’t even realise. when i probably should’ve.

———

it was late when i had finally gotten back.

so late that i didn’t expect niki to still be up—but he was.

he was sat there, in his usual spot, eyes glazed over as he stared at the flickering tv. that was until he heard my keys on the table.

he blinked. shook his head. looked up.

we met eyes. i offered a smile. he returned it. patted the spot next to him. i gratefully accepted it.

we didn’t speak for a while. we didn’t have to.

niki nudged me and pointed to the ramen on the table.

i blinked in surprise but thanked him all the same.

it was still hot, evident by the steam coming from the bowl. did he know what time i’d be home?

we sat in silence, the distant flickering of the tv lighting up our faces.

“i think i’d miss you if you moved out.”

i stopped chewing for a moment. “i’m not moving out.”

“i know.” he said quietly, but his eyes still held that same melancholy feel.

silence.

his words hung in the air, his voice still ringing in my ears. his tone sad, like he cared.

“i’d miss you too.” i whispered, my heart racing for some unknown reason.

niki looked up in surprise. “you would?”

i nodded slowly. “of course i would.”

niki just stared at me for a moment before looking back at the ground.

“i think i’m in love with you.”

i sat there for a moment, not daring to move, let alone breathe. he said it so silently i thought i was imagining it, but after he got up, cheeks pink, i knew i couldn’t have.

and with that, niki wished me a goodnight and disappeared into the darkness, leaving me alone with my racing heart and thoughts.

———

it had been two days since that night.

two days since niki said those words.

two days since my brain had done nothing but replay those five quiet words over and over again.

“i think i’m in love with you.”

and then he left. just like that.

no follow-up. no “just kidding.”

no nothing.

i hadn’t seen him since.

so, naturally, i felt like i was going insane.

“yn. breathe.” jake half-laughed.

i eyed him in annoyance, but i couldn’t be mad at him—after all, he did listen to me rant for a full twenty minutes.

“i don’t even know what he meant!” i cried, burying my face in my hands, “like… who says that and leaves? he just left me there!”

jake laughed softly, but it was kind. understanding.

“well… maybe he was scared.”

i looked up. “of me?”

he shrugged. “of his feelings. of you not feeling the same.”

i mumbled a quiet oh.

i should’ve realised. why he was so silent all the time. why he barely spoke to me. he didn’t hate me. he hated himself. hated himself so much he didn’t think he could love.

i blinked. something in my chest tugged.

“come here,” he said, holding out their arms. “you’re spiraling too much.”

i hesitated, then gave in—let myself be pulled into a hug. it was comforting. safe. just like jake.

it was silent for a moment.

that was until i heard the sound of keys and something else drop.

i jumped away from jake, and looked up.

niki.

there he stood, hood up. expression unreadable. completely still.

his eyes flicked between me and jake.

between the closeness. the hug.

his jaw clenched.

something dark flickered in his eyes.

“oh,” he said, voice low. too calm. “sorry. didn’t mean to interrupt.”

and before i had chance to explain, a chance to tell him how i felt, he disappeared into his room. door closed and locked.

and just like the space between us became wide again.

———

it wasn’t until jake left that i noticed it.

the bouquet.

small. a little crushed. a few petals scattered near the door.

roses.

deep red, like a bruised heart. wrapped neatly, delicately—thoughtfully.

and yet they sat there, half-hidden in the shadow of the shoe rack, forgotten.

no note. no explanation.

but i didn’t need one.

not when i knew.

not when i remembered the sound that fell alongside the keys.

he brought me flowers.

and he dropped them the second he saw me with someone else.

dropped them quickly—just as quickly as he lost his trust in me.

———

i didn’t talk to niki. i didn’t think he’d want to anyway.

i rarely saw him nowadays—which was probably for the best—and on the rare occasion that i did, he disappeared as soon as i saw him.

he didn’t mention anything about that night. or anything about the bouquet. he didn’t say he was angry—but i could tell.

i could tell by the way he avoided me, like i was a disease, or how he wouldn’t even touch the snacks i left him on the counters.

it was like he was trying to forget about me—piece by piece.

the niki i knew was gone.

and all i had left of him was the slowly, wilting roses hidden away in my the back of my closet like a secret i was too scared to throw away.

———

it was midnight when i finally saw him again.

he was in the kitchen.

there he was, hood up, hair messy, arms folded as he stared at the kettle with that same look i adored.

“niki?” i whispered, like it was a sin for me to even utter his name.

he flinched, but didn’t turn.

“can we talk?”

silence.

“please. i-i just need to explain..”

he laughed. but it was bitter, like i was a cruel joke. “explain what?”

“that it wasn’t—what you saw, with jake—”

“you don’t need to explain,” he said, finally turning to face me. his eyes were tired. cold. “i get it.”

“no, you don’t.”

“don’t i?”

his voice was louder now. sharper.

“you think i didn’t know? i saw the way he looked at you. saw the way you looked at him. i was an idiot for thinking it meant anything.”

“it did mean something—”

“then why didn’t you say anything?”

that shut me up.

“you just let me stand there, like a fool for even believing i had a chance. you let me say everything—everything i ever felt—and then—nothing.”

“niki—”

“i let you in. and now i feel like a fucking joke.”

his chest was heaving. hands clenched. his eyes were glistening, like he was on the brink of tears, but was holding them back to retain any dignity he still had.

“i trusted you.” he whispered, voice cracking, “and i don’t think i can ever do that again.”

and then he was gone.

———

the sound of his door slamming was louder than it should’ve been. it echoed in my mind—like a reminder that i did this and that it was all my fault.

i didn’t move. i couldn’t. i just stood there, rooted to the kitchen floor, like if i waited long enough he might come back. might tell me it was all okay.

but he didn’t.

the silence was suffocating. the kettle clicked off. the rain came down heavier.

i broke.

the sob pushed its way out of my chest before i could stop it.

my knees gave out.

i hit the floor hard, clutching the edge of the counter like it would keep me from shattering.

each cry hurt more than the last. i cried until my lungs hurt. until my throat was raw.

i cried and cried and cried.

but still that ache didn’t leave my body.

i stayed on the kitchen floor until my fingers went numb and my eyes stung too much to stay open.

i don’t even remember how i got to bed.

but i remember—remember how niki looked at me.

like i was nothing to him.

———

the next morning was cruel. the morning sun was bright and welcoming, but in a way it felt like it was taunting me—like i didn’t deserve happiness.

i kept my head down when i walked into the kitchen. not because i wanted to avoid him. but because i wasn’t sure i could look him in the eye and not fall apart again.

niki was already there. quiet. tense. like always.

he didn’t speak. didn’t even look at me.

or so i thought.

“were you—”

he froze.

“crying?”

i felt my throat close up. the words stolen from me before i’d even had time to think about what i wanted to say. i couldn’t speak. so i didn’t.

i just kept my head down—hoping, praying, niki would just leave me alone. because, lately, he’d been real good at that.

“yn.” he said firmly, “look at me.”

his hand held my chin—firmly, but he didn’t hurt me, not this time—and looked at me. really looked at me. i saw his eyes flicker across my face, as if trying to memorise each of my features.

something shifted in his expression—barely—but it was there.

guilt. pain. regret.

he let go of me and left.

again.

———

niki left. again.

the door slammed shut, a firm reminder of our distance.

i didn’t know if he’d come back. 

i didn’t follow.

maybe i should’ve.

but i didn’t.

i curled up on the sofa, knees to my chest, heart too tired to ache properly anymore. just for a moment, i told myself. just until he comes back. just until it stopped hurting.

i don’t remember falling asleep.

but i remember waking up.

the lights were off, apart from the soft orange glow coming from the kitchen window.

and niki—

niki was sat across from me.

sat on the floor. there was a bouquet of roses in his lap.

slightly crumpled.

like he couldn’t decide whether to give them or throw them away.

he didn’t speak for a while. neither did i.

he just sat there. watching. like if he looked away, i might disappear.

“you came back.” i whispered.

“you were still here,” he said, softly.

my throat tightened.

he looked down at the flowers. then back up at me.

“i was wrong,” he said, voice low, cracked. “about jake. about you. about everything. i said things i didn’t mean. i hurt you.”

i sat up slowly.

“i hurt you too.” i whispered.

he blinked. swallowed.

“i never stopped caring,” he whispered. “even when i was angry. even when i tried not to.”

silence.

then he stood, slowly walked over, and gently placed the bouquet in my hands. his hands grazed mine ever so softly—like he was hesitant to leave them there.

“i know it’s late,” he said, “but—i still love you.”

i looked down at the roses. their fragrant scent filled my nose. sweet. they were a little bruised, a little wilted at the edges—like they’d been held too tight by someone who didn’t know how to show love gently.

they were fragile, but still beautiful.

just like him.

“you’re not too late.” i smiled, “you’d never be too late niki.”

“i love you too.”

[marsjupitersaturn16]

really controlling and possessive bf jay and y/n cant even fight him cause he takes care and comforts her the best😛😛

honestly i need this icl

MDNI

════════════════════════════

Your life started feeling less like your own and more like something curated by him a long time ago, polished and planned down to the last detail. Jay's hand is in everything. The apartment you live in, the clothes hanging in your closet, the yoga mat rolled neatly by the window—all filtered through his preferences. And he never hides it. He doesn't need to.

He buys you a car, a matte black one you never would've picked yourself, and had it delivered with a big ivory bow on top. Every Sunday, he takes it to get detailed himself, always filling the tank and slipping a couple hundred-dollar bills into the middle console. "For when I'm not around," he says like that ever happens.

You try to buy something small one afternoon—just a purse you thought was cute—and he spots it the moment you walk in the door. "That's ugly," he says flatly, already pulling out his phone to process the return. "I would've bought you something prettier if you told me you wanted a new one." And he means it. He already has the sales associate on the phone before you can argue.

Groceries? He's got someone delivering them. Fitness? You've got three classes a week—a private pilates class, spin, barre—prepaid months in advance. All you have to do is show up. He even checks your step count at the end of the day, not because he doesn't trust you, but because he cares. At least, that's what he says, murmuring it against your hair while you sit curled into him on the couch.

"Did you eat today?" You nod.

"What'd you have?"

"Um... a smoothie?" He raises a brow. "That's not food, baby."

You call him Jongie and that’s the only time he softens instantly, brushing your cheek with his thumb and kissing your jaw with a sigh. And no matter how controlling he gets, you can't ever seem to bring yourself to push back—because he's always right, always ready to comfort you, always doing everything in your best interest.

And when you do sulk, refusing to look at him because he replaced all your snacks with nutritionist-approved alternatives again, he just picks you up, sets you on the kitchen counter, kisses your knee, and says, "Tell me what you want, baby. I'll get it for you. But you're still eating clean first."

Jay doesn't just take care of you—he cultivates you. From the supplements he drops into your palm every morning to the fruit and water-rich dinners he insists on making himself "You're glowing, baby. That's me, you know that, right?", he treats you like something that belongs on display. Beautiful. Cared for. His.

And he proves it every time he pulls you into the sheets like it's part of some routine only he gets to orchestrate.

Tonight's no different.

The lights are dimmed low, music from his playlist murmuring through hidden speakers, something warm and slow. He moves you like he's practiced it and maybe he has. He spreads you open over those clean white sheets, kissing down your stomach, murmuring every now and then how soft you feel, how good you smell, how your skin tastes like strawberries and citrus because he planned for it to.

"See?" he murmurs between your legs, voice low and reverent as he presses his tongue against you like he's savoring a wine he aged himself. "Told you it'd be worth it. You taste so fucking good, baby—been feeding you right, haven't I?"

You whimper something incoherent, thighs twitching against his shoulders, but he just laughs quietly, gripping your hips harder to hold you still. "What? Can't speak now? I keep you so well-fed, so taken care of, and this is what I get? A little moan?"

And then he does it again. Deeper. Slower. Licking into you like he's dragging the flavor from a ripe piece of fruit, like you're something he grew, plucked, and peeled just for this.

It's intimate. Indulgent. Almost scary, how completely his you feel.

After, he's slow to move, wiping you clean with a warm cloth like always, murmuring praise against your skin while you tremble under the weight of his care. And then, like clockwork, he tucks you into his chest, kisses your hair, and pulls your favorite blanket over both of you.

"You need water," he says softly, thumb brushing your jaw. "That body's mine—I'm not letting it run low on anything."

You nod, still hazy, and he presses another kiss to your forehead, already reaching over to grab the bottle he placed by the bed earlier.

It's always there. Everything you need—before you even know you'll need it. Because Jay doesn't just love you. He maintains you. Like he'd fall apart if you ever stopped letting him.

His hand tightens a little. "You are my favorite thing I've ever taken care of."

And he means it. He handles every piece of your life because no one else does it right. He books your appointments—your facials, your blowouts, your waxes.

He gives you everything. So the moment someone makes you cry, he doesn't just get angry. He gets offended.

Because how dare anyone break something he's worked so hard to keep whole?

You weren't trying to test him. Not really. But he'd been so busy lately, all wrapped up in meetings and deadlines and reschedules, and you were starting to feel like a side piece in your own relationship.

So when that friend—the one you know he hates—invited you out for dinner, you said yes. You didn't tell him. You didn't post. You just went.

You even turned off your location. But then you get worried when he doesn’t text or call

You come home to low lights and silence. Jay's on the couch, in all black, one arm stretched across the backrest and a glass of neat whiskey in his hand. The fireplace is on. The air feels wrong.

"Hey," you start softly, stepping out of your shoes.

"Turn around." You freeze.

"Phone," he says. Still quiet. Still calm. "Now."

You hesitate for a second too long, and his eyes lift to meet yours. They don't flicker or even blink.

"You can tell me where you were, or I can find out."

And you know he will so you hand it over. He doesn't scroll—he taps. Opens your texts, your maps history, your hidden album. He already knows, he just wants to see.

When he finally sets your phone down, he doesn't speak. Just pats the cushion beside him. You sit slowly, heartbeat in your throat. Jay doesn't look at you. He just tips his glass and says, "You think I do all this for fun?"

Your brows furrow. "All what—?"

"This." He gestures vaguely. "Pay your bills. Buy your food. Dress you. Keep track of you. Do you think I do that because it's easy?"

"I didn't think—"

"No," he cuts in, soft but sharp. "You didn't."

And then he finally turns to face you. His voice drops even lower. "You turned off your location for someone I told you not to see. After everything I do to keep you safe. After every time I warned you."

He exhales through his nose, slow and furious. "I treat you like something precious, and you act like you're disposable."

You flinch..

"Look at me," he says. You do. His voice softens a little—but only in volume. "I take care of everything so you don't have to think about this world the way I do. I watch for every little danger, every little manipulation, so you don't have to. That's what I do. And all I ask—all I fucking ask—is that you let me."

Silence.

He slides his hand over your thigh. Warm and heavy. "I know you think it's too much sometimes. I know you think you're still independent. But baby, that ended a long time ago." You blink up at him, lips parting.

"You belong to me. All of you. Even your time. Even your disobedience."

His thumb presses just above your knee, right where your dress ends. "I'm not mad you went," he murmurs. "I'm mad you lied."

You feel your throat tighten. "I won't punish you," he adds. "You're already punishing yourself. I can see it all over you."

You nod. You are. You hate the ache in his voice.

He softens just enough to let you fold into him, burying your face in his chest like you always do.

But then—he adds, "She won't be part of your life anymore. You know that, right?”

It's not a question. He rubs your back, gentle again. Like nothing even happened. Like he didn't just remind you of how deep his hold really goes.

He loves you. Intensely. But that love comes with weight.

So when your private pilates instructor gives you a rare, tight smile at the end of today's session and says,

"He'll be pleased,"

Your heart soars.

Because you need him to be.

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• a/n: guys i want this for MYSELF