#ji-hye thoughts

[snowball-doie]

leslie voted. wayv cule baby daddy #1 is winwin.

[irmakkockan]

THE GLORY: IS THIS A SCALPEL IN YOUR POCKET OR ARE YOU HAPPY TO SEE ME?

Look, don’t expect any coherent reviews for this one - this is a rewatch and yet I remain a hopeless, lust-drunk mess. Every meticulously plotted revenge step feels like seduction - slow, deliberate, devastating. The Glory doesn’t just grip me - it drags me under, leaves me breathless, wanting, ruined.

I just want to do crimes and make out with both Yeojeong and Dong-eun. Maybe also swing by the UK once in a while to babysit Ye-sol and smash her dad. I DON’T KNOW GIVE ME A BREAK I AM HAVING MY BI AND POLY AWAKENING HERE AT THE SAME TIME.

Also, wdym “Tell me, who do you want me to kill first?” and “I’ll be your executioner” and “Use me” and “I’ll do anything you want me to do”?? WHO ARE YOU, YEOJEONG?? WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME??

And yes, I also wanted to see Dong-eun sleep with Doyeong at least once - but without making my baby Yeojeong unhappy. I DON’T KNOW. The sexual tension and THIRSTING FOR LITERALLY EVERYONE in this series made me just a little bit feral.

[world-smitten]

Welcome to Samdal-ri final thoughts

Photography is a niche creative industry, and like creative industries everywhere, there's going to be abuse of power. And no one does anything about it, because the abuser is good at generating income. In Welcome to Samdal-ri, Cho Sam-dal is hounded by the media based on "false" accusations of workplace bullying by her assistant - a nasty, reactionary premise. And the idea that Sam-dal, a popular, established photographer, wouldn't have the resources or the will to crush that assistant - whether she was lying or not, especially if she was lying - is delusional. But the show wants you to *feel sorry* for Sam-dal, this sweet soul set adrift in the harsh tides of vapid metropolitan Seoul, and it does so in the most tone-deaf, infantilizing way possible. Episode 1 was dumb as shit, but I stuck in until Episode 3 because Shin Hye-sun & Ji Chang-wook have lethal star power. When I picked the show up again, it was because I saw that one clip of Sam-dal and Yong-pil hugging & kissing in bed, and thought, oh! Chemistry! Maybe it gets better!

It doesn't. My opinion has pretty much stayed the same. Welcome to Samdal-ri wants to be funny, charming and heartwarming, but only manages to be embarassingly insincere. The direction can't figure out how to choreograph the big comedic setpieces it wants us to laugh at, and the script is so incoherent that it borders on amateurish. Then Shin Hye-sun and Ji Chang-wook step in, and they're funny and charming and warm. These are two well-matched performers with incredible charisma. The script writes Yong-pil and Sam-dal less like her love interest and more like her life coach, but SHS and JCW play the pair as 2 halves of the same organism. I rooted for their friendship even before their romance. Shin Hye-sun makes some stunning work of this material, and JCW was born to stare lovingly and tenderly. At some point, the story is simply too lost for them to carry it, but still, the effort was kind of amazing to watch.

I also really loved Shin Dong-mi and Yang Kyung-won as Jin-dal and Dae-yeong. If SHS and JCW are selling mediocre material, the material here is actually good and SDM & YKW play it so well. Like this show is genuinely funny whenever Dae-yeong opens his goofy mouth to opine after his ex-wife - the scene where he hallucinates her scaring off his brothers is a hilarious and perfect summary of his psyche. I expected them to remain on that level, until the story flips very effectively into Jin-dal's perspective and drops an interesting insight into their relationship. Dae-yeong loves his wife very much, but he's still a bumbling, thoughtless man from a wealthy family. A throwaway comment he makes about his in-laws' "disgusting" stew becomes a point of humiliation for Jin-dal, who takes emotional cruelty from his mother for daring to bring something polluting into her son's palette. He might be the black sheep, but he's still a child of this family. This is the bravest and most interesting thing Samdal-ri does, to implicate the lovable Dae-yeong as a very real part of Jin-dal's unhappiness as his wife. Naturally, the show, having walked right up to that point, retreats straight away, back into drunk conversations and increasingly unfunny hijinks. The very obvious conclusion to me was that Dae-yeong would give up his money and learn to live as a full, present adult, for the woman he loves. But instead, he returns back to his wealthy family (though he's lost enough of their money to be legally disowned), becomes the boss of the airline branch (though the entire show has been about how he should NOT be handling business), and his wife works for that airline (owned by the abusive family she hates). And there's a Saudi Prince thrown in there, somehow. Nothing's changed, not for Dae-yeong, not for Jin-dal. It's as if to say, yeah a man like Dae-yeong is only good for his money, and that's the only way he and a woman like Jin-dal can coexist. It's...realistic, I guess, but I don't think Samdal-ri realises how awful that ending is. Prime case of wanting to have your cake and eat it.

But also this: life is either ritzy like Seoul, like being a famous photographer or the wife of an airline CEO; or it's small and pithy like a near-empty village on an island. There's no middle ground, which is why Dae-yeong can't simply quit being a CEO and get a normal job. To depict the fall and rise of its characters, it fixes Samdal-ri and Seoul at ends of a binary, but even to that, it doesn't commit. Seoul is just this shiny place overrun by journalists. Samdal-ri is a town of working-class haenyos, but no one ever brings up money because they're too busy talking about how much Yong-pil likes Sam-dal. Sam-dal realises how much tourism has changed Jeju, but that doesn't complicate how she perceives the island or the home she's been away from for more than a decade. Yong-pil in Jeju, Sam-dal in Seoul, but neither place has any real presence, are little more than vague metaphors of an ill-defined rural/urban divide. How can their love take root without earth? Lol, yeah, maybe I am asking too much of another frothy Netflix crowd-pleaser, but it also want me to take it seriously so 🤷‍♀️ Here we are.

Anyways, to wrap this up, if you want a show about grown people going back to their parents with their tails between their legs, then just watch Once Again. It wears its heart on its sleeve, and manages to be funny and spontaneous without feeling like it's trying to squeeze sentiment out of you. And I started Summer Strike, mostly for comparison, and it's a show that at least knows what it wants to be.

[k-star-holic]

Mask Girl', Go Hyun-jung

[lemonsdietcoke]

Parting Gift - Player 230

Dark!Thanos/Choi Su-bong x Fem!Reader

This is part 2 of my mini series love ridden (you don’t have to read part 1 but it helps you get a deeper understanding of their relationship)

Warnings: Toxic relationship,Emotional manipulation and gaslighting, DUBCON/implied sexual misconduct, power imbalances and coercion,mentions of substance abuse,threats of self-harm, mentions of bruising, vomiting, unreliable memory

Summary: “It ended bad, but I love what we started.” A night out, was supposed to be a distraction, a step to moving on. Instead it leaves you questioning everything. Loosely inspired by Parting gift-Fiona apple

MINORS DNI!

A/n: ahhhh here it is! This is very much a wild ride so be prepared and get comfortable lol. Lmk if yall fw. I love feedback. Lmk what you think!!

……………………..

“Two years.”

It echoes in your head as you stare at your phone. The screen blinks, illuminating the dark, quiet apartment, and your reflection stares back at you. Hollow eyes. Lifeless skin.

You don’t even recognize yourself anymore.

Two years of late nights.

Two years of broken promises.

Two years of fights that always ended the same way — with you apologizing for things you hadn’t even done.

Two years of Su-bong.

The notifications keep coming.

Messages. Missed calls. Voicemails.

You blocked him a week ago. You had to.

Before that, you let the calls go unanswered. You left his texts on read. But after that voicemail, you couldn’t take it anymore.

It wasn’t just the things he said.

It was the way he sounded.

Drunk. High out of his mind. Slurring his words like he could barely get them out.

You’d heard him like that before, of course. Countless times. But this was different.

The shaking breath at the beginning of the message.

The muffled sound of a bottle cap hitting the floor.

The distinct rattle of a pill bottle.

And then his voice —

Low. Rough. Desperate.

“You know, if you don’t fucking answer me…”

There was a pause. You could hear him breathing.

“Maybe I should just end it all.”

Another pause. Longer this time.

The sound of pills being shaken in his hand.

“It’s in your hands now.”

You remember sitting on the floor of your new apartment, the phone clutched in your hands, shaking so hard you thought you might drop it.

That was the breaking point.

You blocked him.

It was hard. Very hard.

What if he was serious?!

What if he did it and it was your fault?!

But it didn’t stop the nightmares.

It’s been a month since the breakup, and you haven’t left your apartment in days.

The dishes are piled up in the sink. Your laundry is overflowing.

You haven’t brushed your hair in three days.

The weight of it all feels suffocating.

You thought leaving him would make you feel free.

Instead, you feel empty.

When your phone buzzes again, you ignore it.

It’s probably Ji-hye.

She’s been trying to get you to go out for weeks.

“You need to live a little,” she said last time you saw her.

But you don’t feel like living.

Still, when your phone buzzes again, you pick it up.

Ji-hye ★ˎˊ˗ (9:17 PM): Come out with us tonight. Please?

Ji-hye ★ˎˊ˗ (9:18 PM): There’s a new club opening in Itaewon. It’ll be fun.

Ji-hye ★ˎˊ˗ (9:19 PM): I’m not taking no for an answer.

You stare at the messages for a long time.

The thought of going to a club makes your stomach turn.

You haven’t been out in two years.

You haven’t been you in two years.

But the apartment feels too small.

Too quiet.

Too empty.

Fuck it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The shower burns your skin.

You scrub until you feel raw, as if you can wash away the last two years.

But no amount of scrubbing erases the bruises —

The ones he left on your heart.

When you step out, you wipe the fogged mirror and stare at your reflection.

Your hair is a tangled mess.

Your eyes are rimmed with dark circles.

You look like someone who’s been barely holding it together.

This isn’t who I am, you tell yourself.

You plug in your hair straightener. You do your makeup.

By the time you’re done, you almost feel like yourself again.

You rifle through your closet, pulling out a black dress you haven’t worn in years. It still fits — snug and short, hugging your body in a way that feels foreign after months of oversized hoodies and leggings.

When you step into your heels, you wobble for a second.

It’s been so long since you’ve worn anything but sneakers.

But when you look in the mirror again —

You see her.

The girl you used to be.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ji-hye and her friends are already tipsy when you meet them outside the club.

She squeals when she sees you.

“Look at you! You look amazing!”

You try to smile, but it feels forced.

The club is packed.

Neon lights pulse to the beat of the music.

Bodies move together on the dance floor.

Ji-hye hands you a shot as soon as you walk in.

“Drink up!”

You down it quickly, the burn making you wince.

“Another?”

Why not?

By the time you lose count, you’ve had at least six shots.

Maybe more.

You stopped counting after the first round of tequila.

The room spins slightly, but you feel good.

Better than you’ve felt in weeks.

You laugh with Ji-hye.

You dance with strangers.

For the first time in a long time, you feel free.

And then you see him.

At first, you think your eyes are playing tricks on you.

But when you blink, he’s still there.

Su-bong.

He’s standing near the bar, his eyes locked on you.

His hair is messy, his shirt unbuttoned at the top.

He looks the same as he always does —

Rough around the edges, disheveled in that careless way that made you fall for him in the first place.

But there’s something in his eyes —

Something dark.

Your stomach twists.

The room feels too hot.

You grab Ji-hye’s arm.

“Ji-hye. Is he…?”

Her eyes widen.

“Oh shit.”

“What the fuck is he doing here?”

She bites her lip, looking guilty.

“I didn’t know. I swear. But he’s friends with Seung-ho.”

She nods toward one of the guys in their group — a guy you don’t know well.

Of course.

Of fucking course.

Your heart pounds in your chest, a wild, frantic beat.

You down another shot, your hands shaking slightly.

Maybe if you ignore him, he’ll go away.

But he doesn’t.

When you look up again, he’s moving toward you.

You see him before he speaks.

The way he weaves through the crowd, his gaze locked on you like he’s on a mission.

You look away.

You try to pretend you didn’t see him.

But it’s too late.

He’s right there.

“Hey.”

His voice cuts through the noise, low and rough.

You don’t turn around.

You keep your eyes on your drink, your knuckles white as you grip the glass.

“I didn’t know you came here.”

He leans in closer, his breath warm against your ear.

Your whole body goes stiff.

“Fuck off, Su-bong.”

Your voice is steady, but your heart is pounding.

He doesn’t move.

Instead, he slides into the seat next to you.

Like he belongs there.

Like nothing happened.

“Come on,” he says, his tone light, almost teasing. “You’re really not even going to say hi?”

You turn to him, your eyes flashing.

“Why would I?”

He shrugs, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Because you missed me.”

You laugh, but there’s no humor in it.

“Missed you?”

You set your drink down, leaning closer.

“You left me voicemails threatening to fucking kill yourself. Do you know how fucked up that is?”

His expression doesn’t change.

He doesn’t flinch.

Instead, he tilts his head, studying you.

“Did it scare you?”

Your blood runs cold.

“What?”

“Did it scare you?” he repeats, his voice soft.

“Did you think I was going to do it?”

You stare at him, horrified.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

His lips twitch into something that might be a smile — but there’s no warmth in it.

“I just wanted to talk to you,” he says, his tone almost casual.

“And you wouldn’t answer. You wouldn’t talk to me.”

“So you thought threatening to kill yourself was the way to get my attention?”

Your voice is shaking now, anger and fear mixing in your chest.

He doesn’t answer.

Instead, he reaches for your hand.

And you’re too stunned to pull away.

“I missed you,” he says softly.

“I don’t know what to do without you.”

You rip your hand away, standing up so fast your chair scrapes against the floor.

“Don’t fucking do that.”

Your voice is loud now, cutting through the music.

“Don’t pretend you’re some fucking victim.”

His expression hardens.

“I’m not pretending.”

“You are.”

You step closer, your chest heaving.

“You always do this. You always make it about you. Like your fucking pain is the only thing that matters.”

He stands up slowly, towering over you.

“I’m in pain because of you.”

You scoff, shaking your head.

“That’s bullshit.”

“Don’t lie to yourself.”

His voice is low now. Dangerous.

“You love me.”

Your hands tremble at your sides.

“I don’t.”

“Yes, you do.”

He steps closer.

“I know you do. You wouldn’t be this angry if you didn’t.”

You hate how he gets in your head.

How he twists your words.

“I don’t love you,” you say again, but it sounds weaker this time.

He leans in, his breath brushing against your cheek.

“Then why haven’t you moved on?”

The question hits you like a punch to the gut.

And you don’t have an answer.

“Let’s go outside,” he says.

His voice is softer now, coaxing.

“It’s too loud in here.”

You hesitate.

“Please.”

He reaches for your hand again, and this time, you don’t pull away.

“Just talk to me.”

Your heart is pounding.

Your mind is spinning.

And against your better judgment —

You follow him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The alleyway outside the club smells like cigarette smoke and spilled beer.

You cross your arms over your chest, shivering slightly. The night air feels too cold against your skin, cutting through the warmth of the alcohol.

Su-bong lights a cigarette, his hands shaking slightly as he brings it to his lips.

For a moment, neither of you speak.

Then —

“What do you want from me?”

Your voice cuts through the quiet, sharp and strained.

He exhales a cloud of smoke, his gaze steady on you.

“I just want you.”

You laugh, bitter and harsh.

“Do you even hear yourself? You had me, Su-bong. You had me for two fucking years, and you—”

Your voice cracks.

“You fucking broke me.”

His jaw tightens.

“I never wanted to hurt you.”

“But you did.”

Your chest heaves, your breath fogging in the cold air.

“Over and over again.”

“I know.”

He takes a step closer.

“And I’m sorry.”

It’s the softness in his voice that undoes you.

That fucking softness.

Because for a split second —

You almost believe him.

“I never wanted to hurt you.”

His words hang in the air between you, soft and deliberate, like he’s trying to carve them into your skin. And you hate how much they make your chest ache.

You hate that it’s him standing here, saying these things. Again.

“You say that like it fucking matters.” Your voice comes out steadier than you feel. “Like it changes anything.”

He exhales smoke, eyes never leaving yours. “It does matter.”

“No, it doesn’t.” You shake your head, your arms tightening around yourself like it’s the only thing holding you together. “You’ve hurt me too many times for it to matter.”

A pause.

A flicker of something in his eyes.

And then, softly —

“I couldn’t stop.”

The words hit you harder than you want them to.

Your chest tightens, your mind flashing back to the nights he stumbled through the door, high and out of it, mumbling half-assed apologies through the haze.

“I don’t know how to stop,” he continues, his voice quiet. “Not without you.”

You close your eyes, willing the tears to stay put.

“You can’t keep doing this,” you whisper. “You can’t keep blaming me for your fucking choices.”

“I’m not.”

“Then what the fuck is this?” You gesture between the two of you, your voice rising. “What do you think you’re doing right now?”

“I’m trying to fix it.”

Your laugh is sharp, bitter. “Fix it? You can’t fix this, Su-bong. You can’t.”

He flinches at the way your voice cracks.

But he doesn’t back down.

“I can try.”

You shake your head, the weight of it all pressing down on you. The months of pain, the sleepless nights, the voicemail that still echoes in your mind.

“You’re fucking selfish.”

His jaw clenches, but he doesn’t deny it.

“You don’t love me,” you say, and it feels like you’re ripping your own heart out. “You love what I do for you. You love having someone to pick up the pieces when you fall apart. Someone to save you.”

“That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?” Your chest heaves. “You only ever show up when you’re desperate. When you need something. And I’m fucking done being that person for you.”

He takes a step closer, the cigarette forgotten between his fingers, burning down to the filter.

“I don’t want anyone else.”

You hate the way your heart twists.

“I want you.”

You shake your head again, but it’s weaker this time.

“I love you.”

And there it is.

Those three fucking words.

The words that used to make your heart explode. The words that used to make you believe in him, in a future that never existed.

“I can’t do this without you,” he says, and his voice breaks, just a little. “I’ve tried, Y/N. I’ve tried to be better, but I’m fucking lost without you.”

Your hands tremble at your sides.

“You’re only lost because you never tried to find yourself,” you whisper. “You’ve always expected me to do it for you.”

His eyes soften, that familiar vulnerability creeping in.

“I’m trying now.”

“No, you’re not.” You take a step back. “You’re trying to pull me back in. That’s all you ever do.”

A beat of silence.

Then —

“I miss you.”

The words cut through the night, soft and raw.

And you feel yourself wavering.

Fuck.

You press your palms to your face, trying to breathe, trying to steady yourself.

“You don’t get it,” you whisper. “You don’t get what you did to me.”

He takes another step closer, so close now that you can feel the heat of his body.

“I never stopped loving you.”

Your chest heaves, your heart pounding.

“I don’t want to hear that.”

“You need to.”

“No, I fucking don’t.” Your voice cracks, tears burning at the edges of your eyes. “What I need is to move on.”

His hand reaches out, tentative, trembling.

But when his fingers brush against your arm-

You flinch.

It’s instinctive.

A reaction you couldn’t stop if you tried.

And the look on his face?

It’s devastating.

He pulls his hand back slowly, like he’s been burned.

“I’m not him anymore.”

The words are quiet, almost desperate.

“I’m not the guy who fucked up. I’m not the guy who hurt you.”

“You are.” Your voice is soft, but firm. “You’ll always be that guy, Su-bong.”

His gaze drops to the ground, and for a moment, you think he’s going to give up.

But then he looks up again.

“I just want to talk,” he says. “Five minutes. That’s all I’m asking.”

You hesitate.

The rational part of you — the part that’s spent the last month piecing yourself back together — is screaming at you to walk away.

But your heart?

Your heart is still caught in the web he’s spun around you.

“ we’re already talking…” you slightly slur your words, the alcohol taking full effect.

“Five minutes,” he says again, softer this time. “At my place. Please.”

And against your better judgment —

You nod.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You wake to the sensation of weight.

Heavy. Suffocating.

An arm draped over your waist. A body pressed too close, warm breath against the back of your neck.

And for one blissful second, you’re still half asleep. Still caught in that hazy space between dreams and reality, your mind fogged over with sleep, soft and pliant.

But then your eyes open.

And everything sharpens.

The bedroom is dark — curtains drawn, faint slivers of morning light sneaking through the cracks. The air is stale, tinged with cigarette smoke and something faintly metallic. It smells familiar.

And the weight around your waist?

It’s Su-bong.

Your stomach lurches.

No. No, no, no.

You squeeze your eyes shut, your heart pounding in your chest, the dull ache between your temples throbbing harder with each beat. Your mind scrambles to piece together how the fuck you ended up here. The last thing you remember clearly is the club — Ji-hye pulling you onto the dance floor, shots of tequila burning your throat, the neon lights swirling around you.

And then —

His voice.

His hands.

And now you’re here. In his bed.

You hold your breath, every muscle in your body going rigid. His arm is still heavy across your waist, his hand curled loosely against your hip, fingers twitching like he’s dreaming.

Carefully — so carefully — you think maybe you can slip out from under him.

Carefully, you reach for his wrist, your fingers trembling as you try to lift his arm off you. The sheet rustles softly, the sound too loud in the suffocating silence. You freeze, your breath hitching.

He stirs.

A small, unconscious noise slips from his throat, his fingers curling slightly against your hip.

Your heart slams against your ribs.

Please don’t wake up.

You stay frozen, your body stiff, your breath shallow. His arm feels impossibly heavy against your waist, like it’s anchoring you to the mattress. Slowly — so slowly — you ease it off you, inch by inch, until it finally falls to the bed.

He murmurs something in his sleep, low and unintelligible.

You freeze again, your pulse roaring in your ears.

He doesn’t wake.

You let out a shaky breath, the sound barely audible, and sit up as quietly as you can. The room tilts slightly as you do, your head pounding with a dull, persistent ache. You press a hand to your temple, blinking against the dizziness.

The sheets are tangled around your legs, the fabric twisted and damp with sweat. You untangle yourself carefully, your fingers trembling, your movements slow and deliberate.

His body shifts slightly behind you, his breathing deepening for a moment before settling back into a steady rhythm.

Move.

You swing your legs over the edge of the bed, the floor cold against your bare feet. The hem of your dress rides up as you stand, the fabric wrinkled and twisted, clinging to your skin.

You glance back at him, your chest tight.

He’s still asleep.

But his face is turned toward you now, his hair falling into his eyes, his lips parted slightly. He looks softer like this, his usual sharp edges dulled by sleep.

It makes your stomach turn.

Focus.

You force your gaze away, scanning the room for your things.

Your phone.

Your purse.

Where the fuck are they?

The panic sets in slowly, creeping up your spine like cold water, inch by inch. You scan the room, searching for your things, but the room looks almost exactly the same as when you left a month ago.

Cluttered. Messy. The ashtray on the nightstand is overflowing. Empty bottles litter the floor. The same crumpled blankets. The same cigarette burns in the carpet.

Like time stood still.

Like he hasn’t moved on.

Your stomach twists painfully, nausea creeping in at the edges. You stand, your legs unsteady, your head pounding. The ache in your body — between your thighs, in the muscles of your legs — is impossible to ignore.

You take a step toward the bathroom, your hands trembling as you reach for the door handle. You need a moment to breathe. To think.

To figure out what the fuck happened.

The bathroom is as grim as you remember. The light flickers when you turn it on, casting everything in a sickly yellow glow. The mirror is streaked with water stains, the sink cluttered with half-used toiletries.

You close the door behind you, locking it with a shaky hand.

And then you catch your reflection.

Your lipstick is barely there anymore, smudged at the edges. Your mascara streaked under your eyes. Your hair is a tangled mess, the carefully straightened strands now knotted and frizzy.

But it’s the rest of you that makes your breath catch.

The dress you wore last night is twisted around your waist, the hem wrinkled and pulled too high. Your thighs are bare. You pull at the fabric, tugging it down, but your hands freeze when you see the faint bruises.

Finger-shaped bruises.

They’re light, barely there, but you know what they are.

Your stomach drops.

You lift the hem of your dress higher, revealing more bruises along your inner thighs. Some small, faint smudges of blue and purple. Some darker.

You press your fingers to them, your skin flinching under your own touch.

Did I fall?

Did I—

Your mind races, scrambling for an explanation, for anything that makes sense.

And then your eyes flicker lower.

Your underwear is backward.

You stare for a long moment, your brain struggling to catch up with what you’re seeing. The waistband digs awkwardly into your hips, the tag twisted around to the front.

You blink.

Once.

Twice.

Your stomach churns violently.

You lift the toilet lid, falling to your knees as you retch. There’s nothing in your stomach but bile, burning its way up your throat.

When you’re done, you sit back on your heels, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. The bathroom spins around you, your head pounding, your chest heaving with shallow breaths.

You reach for the sink, pulling yourself up slowly, your hands gripping the edge so tightly your knuckles turn white.

Your eyes flicker back to your reflection.

The bruises.

The backward underwear.

The ache between your legs.

Did we—

No.

No, no, no.

You grip the sink harder, your nails digging into the porcelain.

‘I don’t remember.’

That’s the worst part.

You don’t remember anything.

You remember seeing him at the club. You remember yelling at him, calling him out for the voicemail. You remember him pulling you outside, the alley reeking of cigarette smoke and beer.

And then it’s all a blur.

Flashes of his voice. His hand on your arm. The way he looked at you — dark, desperate.

But nothing else.

Your chest tightens painfully.

You want to leave.

You need to leave.

You unlock the bathroom door with shaking hands, your heart pounding in your chest as you step back into the bedroom.

But when you step inside —

He’s awake.

Su-bong is sitting on the edge of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees, his fingers tangled in his hair. He looks up when he hears you, his gaze locking on yours.

And the first thing you notice?

He’s sober.

There’s no haze in his eyes. No slurred speech. No unsteady hands.

He’s completely sober.

Your stomach twists painfully.

“Morning.”

His voice is soft, tentative.

Like he’s testing the waters.

You don’t say anything.

You take a step toward the nightstand, searching for your phone. Your purse. Anything.

But he stands up slowly, blocking your path.

“Hey.”

His voice is softer now, coaxing.

“You don’t have to run.”

Your hands tremble at your sides.

“I don’t remember anything,” you whisper, your voice cracking. “I don’t—”

“I know.” His eyes soften, his brows pulling together in that familiar expression of concern. “You were really drunk.”

Your heart sinks.

“What happened?”

He exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair. “You saw me at the club. You… you wanted to come back here.”

You shake your head, your stomach churning.

“I don’t remember that.”

You must’ve been really drunk because from what you remember you weren’t exactly happy too see him. How did you go from fighting with him to begging to be back at his apartment?

“You were drunk,” he says again, like it’s the answer to everything. “It’s okay. I took care of you.”

Your chest tightens painfully.

The bruises.

The backward underwear.

The ache.

“What do you mean, you took care of me?”

His gaze flickers away for a moment, his jaw tightening.

“You wanted to come back,” he says softly. “You told me you missed me. That you wanted to… you know. Talk. Figure things out.”

Your mind spins, scrambling to fill in the blanks.

“I don’t remember,” you whisper again, your voice shaking.

“I know.” He steps closer, his voice low, soothing. “It’s okay. I missed you too.”

He reaches for your hand, his fingers brushing yours.

You flinch.

But he doesn’t pull back.

“I missed you,” he says again, his voice softening. “I love you.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. They only hurt so bad because he was saying them now. After everything.

And for a moment —

You don’t know what to believe.

“You were wasted, Y/N.”

His words come soft, careful, like he’s tiptoeing around something fragile. His body language matches it — slouched shoulders, a furrowed brow, the faintest slump in his posture like he’s weighed down by concern.

Your stomach churns.

“I… I wasn’t that drunk.” The words feel hollow as they leave your mouth. A lie to yourself, as much as to him. You’d lost count at six shots. At least six. Maybe more.

His lips press into a thin line, a faint shake of his head following. “You could barely stand.”

Your hands curl into fists at your sides, knuckles trembling.

“I don’t remember…” You force the words out, hating how small they sound, how they let the power tip toward him.

He exhales slowly, running a hand down his face.

“I don’t know what you want me to say. You were crying. Saying you missed me. That you needed me.” He pauses, eyes meeting yours, steady and unwavering. “What was I supposed to do, huh? Just leave you there?”

The breath punches out of you. Crying? Saying you missed him? Needed him?

That couldn’t be true. That can’t be true.

But your mind betrays you. A flash of his hands steadying you on the dance floor. His voice coaxing you into the alley. The warmth of his hand brushing yours.

Pieces fall together, but the picture is fractured, missing the crucial moments. And that’s what he’s counting on.

“I don’t…” Your voice cracks, a fresh wave of panic rolling through you. “I wouldn’t—”

“You did,” he says firmly. Not loud, but firm enough that it cuts through your protest. “You were falling apart, Y/N. I couldn’t just—” He stops, dragging his hand through his hair like he’s trying to collect himself. “I had to help you.”

Help you.

The bruises on your thighs burn like a brand.

“By bringing me here?” you snap, your voice rising. “By—by—” You stop yourself before the question comes tumbling out: Did you touch me?

His face hardens just slightly, enough to send a shiver skittering down your spine. “I wasn’t going to let you go home alone. Not like that. You don’t even know what could’ve happened.”

“What do you mean what could’ve happened?” Your voice cracks, pitching higher, panic seeping in. “What did happen?”

He holds your gaze, and for a moment, his expression softens again. “Nothing happened.”

The words should feel like a relief. They don’t.

“Nothing?” Your voice is small, but there’s a sharp edge to it.

“Nothing,” he repeats, stepping closer. Too close. “You needed me, Y/N. And I was there for you. Like I always have been.”

Always.

Your mind spirals, reaching for anything concrete, any moment from last night that you can grab onto. But it’s all a haze, smothered by the tequila and the smoke and him.

“I don’t…” You press a hand to your temple, the ache blooming there sharp and relentless. “I don’t remember asking to come back here.”

His hand reaches out, brushing against your arm, and you flinch without meaning to.

His eyes darken at that. “You’re scared of me now?”

You want to say yes. But the word lodges itself in your throat, too big to swallow, too dangerous to spit out.

“I’m not scared of you,” you lie.

“Then why are you acting like this?” His voice is soft, low, almost tender. “I didn’t do anything wrong, Y/N. I just—” He stops, his jaw clenching. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay. And now you’re looking at me like I’m a fucking monster.”

He steps closer. You step back. The space between you feels like it’s shrinking, suffocating.

“Why am I here, Su-bong?” Your voice is stronger now, the edge of panic sharpening it. “Why the fuck was I in your bed?”

He tilts his head slightly, his brows knitting together like you’ve just said something unreasonable. “You wanted to be here.”

“No.” You shake your head, your chest tightening. “I didn’t. I wouldn’t—” Your voice cracks, the words tangling in your throat. “I don’t even remember coming back with you.”

His expression doesn’t shift. “You were drunk,” he says simply. “You don’t have to make this a big deal.”

You laugh — bitter, sharp. “Not a big deal?” The words tumble out before you can stop them. “Not a big fucking deal? I don’t even know what happened, Su-bong. I don’t—” Your breath hitches, your stomach twisting violently. The next words catch in your throat, almost too heavy to force out. “Did we—”

You can’t say it. You can barely think it.

“Did we have sex?”

He doesn’t react right away. Not outwardly. But you catch it — the faint flicker of tension in his jaw, the way his gaze shifts to the side before finding yours again.

“Why would you ask me that?” His voice is steady, but there’s something too measured about it, like he’s rehearsed this answer in his head a thousand times.

“Because I don’t fucking know,” you snap, your hands trembling. They curl into fists at your sides, shaking with every ragged breath. “My underwear’s on backwards, Su-bong. I have bruises. And you’re acting—” You stop yourself, your throat tightening painfully. “You’re acting like you did something.”

His jaw tightens again, and this time his tongue darts out, wetting his lips. He exhales slowly, dragging his hand through his hair.

“I didn’t do anything you didn’t want,” he says finally, his tone low but clipped.

It’s not an answer.

It’s not a fucking answer.

“What does that mean?” Your voice rises, panic flaring again. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“It means you wanted to come back with me,” he says, sharper now, a flash of frustration cutting through the veneer of calm. “You were all over me at the club, Y/N. I told you we shouldn’t—” He cuts himself off abruptly, his fingers raking through his hair again, the strands spiking in every direction. “But you wouldn’t let it go.”

Your stomach twists painfully, the nausea creeping back in full force.

“I wouldn’t let it go?” Your voice cracks, disbelief bleeding into every syllable. “You’re blaming me? You’re saying I—”

“I’m not blaming you.” He exhales sharply, his voice softening just slightly, like he’s trying to rein himself back in. “I’m saying you wanted this. You made that clear.”

“I don’t even remember!” Your voice breaks now, raw and jagged, splintering through the room. “How can I want something I can’t fucking remember?”

He steps closer, and this time you’re too stunned, too frozen, to move.

“Y/N.” His voice drops lower, almost pleading, his hand twitching at his side like he wants to reach for you. “You were drunk, yeah. But you weren’t—” He hesitates, his gaze flickering over your face. “You weren’t out of it. You knew what you were doing.”

The words settle over you like a lead weight, pressing down on your chest until it feels impossible to breathe. Your mind scrambles to piece together the night before, to fill in the blanks, but it’s all fog. Hazy flashes of neon lights and pounding music and his hand on your arm.

“I don’t—” Your voice falters, cracking under the weight in your chest. “I don’t know what to believe.”

His expression softens slightly, his shoulders lowering as he steps closer again, closing the gap between you.

“You don’t have to decide anything right now,” he says, his voice coaxing, soothing. He reaches for your hand, brushing his fingers against yours.

You flinch.

The motion is small, instinctive. But he catches it, his gaze darkening for a fraction of a second before he carefully, deliberately pulls his hand back.

“I don’t know what else to say to you,” he murmurs, his tone taking on a faint edge of frustration again. “I tried to do the right thing, Y/N. I could’ve left you at the club. I could’ve let you go home alone. But I didn’t.”

He looks at you, his eyes steady and unwavering, and you hate how much they make your stomach twist.

“I stayed.” He takes another step forward, close enough now that you can smell the faint trace of his cologne, mingling with the smoke and stale alcohol lingering in the room. “Because you needed me.”

You press your back against the wall, your hands gripping the hem of your dress so tightly it crumples in your fists.

“I don’t remember needing you,” you say, your voice small but sharp, each word cutting through the thick tension in the room.

His gaze drops to the floor for a moment, his lips pressing into a thin line. When he looks up again, there’s something different in his eyes. Something dark.

“Then maybe you should ask yourself why you’re here.”

The question hits like a punch to the gut, stealing the breath from your lungs.

You don’t answer. You can’t.

And in the silence that follows, he steps back, his expression shifting to something softer, more familiar.

“I missed you,” he says, his voice low, almost tender. “And I know you missed me too.”

“Just… stay.”

The word hangs in the air between you, heavy and suffocating.

Stay.

You want to run. You want to grab your things and get out of this apartment, out of this nightmare, and never look back. But your legs won’t move. Your feet feel glued to the floor, weighed down by doubt and fear and something else—something softer, something that aches when he looks at you like this.

“I don’t know if I can trust you,” you whisper.

His jaw tightens, his hands curling into fists at his sides. But when he speaks, his voice is soft. Vulnerable.

“I know.” His gaze drops to the floor for a moment, then back to you. “I don’t blame you for feeling that way. But I’m not the guy I was before, Y/N. I’m trying. I’m trying to be better.”

You hate how much those words hurt. How much you want to believe them.

“You shouldn’t have brought me here,” you say, your voice trembling. “I didn’t ask for this.”

“You did,” he says firmly. “Maybe you don’t remember, but you did.”

The words cut through you like a blade, sharp and cold. You don’t believe him. You don’t want to believe him.

But the tequila haze clouds everything, blurring the edges of the truth.

“Just give me a chance,” he says, stepping closer again. “Let me prove it to you. Let me—” He stops himself, his voice catching. “Let me fix this.”

Your throat tightens, the weight of his words pressing down on you, crushing.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” you whisper.

He reaches for your hand again, and this time, you don’t pull away. His fingers are warm, steady, wrapping around yours like they belong there. Like they always have.

“You don’t have to decide right now,” he says again. His voice is so soft, so careful. “Just stay. Please.”

Your chest heaves, your breath shallow and uneven.

And then—

Your phone buzzes.

The sound cuts through the tension like a knife, sharp and jarring. You jerk your hand away from his, your heart leaping into your throat as you spin toward the nightstand.

Your phone is lying there, screen glowing faintly in the dim light. Ji-hye’s name flashes across the screen.

Your stomach twists violently.

Su-bong doesn’t move. He stands frozen in place, his gaze fixed on you. You don’t look at him. You don’t want to see whatever’s written on his face.

You grab the phone, your fingers trembling as you swipe to open the message.

Ji-hye ★ˎˊ˗(9:04 AM): You good? Please tell me you didn’t go home with him.

Your breath catches, your chest tightening painfully.

“Who is it?” Su-bong’s voice cuts through the silence, low and steady, but there’s an edge to it now.

You don’t answer. You can’t.

Instead, you take a shaky step back, clutching the phone like it’s the only thing tethering you to reality.

“Y/N.” His voice is softer now, coaxing, but there’s a sharpness beneath it, something dark and unyielding. “Who was it?”

“Ji-hye.” The name barely makes it out of your mouth, your voice cracking on the second syllable.

He hums, low and quiet. “What did she say?”

You glance down at the screen again, the words burning into your retinas. You good? Please tell me you didn’t go home with him.

You don’t know what to say.

What can you say?

“Y/N,” he says again, stepping closer. His voice drops lower, quieter, like he’s trying to keep you from bolting. “Talk to me.”

Your chest heaves, your breath coming faster now. “I need to go.”

The words feel weak, hollow, and you hate how they tremble as they leave your lips.

“Go where?” His question is quiet, but there’s a weight to it that makes your stomach turn.

“Away from here.”

The second the words are out, his expression shifts. The softness in his gaze hardens, his lips pressing into a thin line.

“If you walk out that door…” He trails off, his voice cutting off like he’s biting down on the rest of the sentence.

Your heart races, panic rising in your chest. “What?”

His jaw clenches, the muscles in his neck tightening. “If you walk out that door, you’ll never see me again.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut, knocking the air from your lungs.

There’s a finality to them, an edge that cuts too deep. You don’t know what he means — if he’s talking about leaving your life or leaving altogether — but it doesn’t matter.

It scares you.

And he knows it.

His gaze stays locked on yours, unflinching, unwavering. “I’m serious, Y/N.”

Your phone buzzes again in your hand, the sound startling you. You glance down at the screen.

Ji-hye ★ˎˊ˗(9:06 AM): If you’re with him, just leave. I’ll come get you.

You swallow hard, the lump in your throat threatening to choke you.

Su-bong takes another step closer. “You don’t have to leave.” His voice drops lower, almost a whisper. “We can talk. We can figure this out. But if you walk away now…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, but he doesn’t have to. The threat lingers in the air between you, heavy and suffocating.

Your fingers tighten around your phone, Ji-hye’s message flashing like a lifeline in your palm.

“Y/N.” His voice is softer now, pleading. “Stay.”

You look up at him, your chest heaving, your mind spinning.

And in that moment, you don’t know what scares you more; the thought of staying, or the thought of leaving.

[amyzworldds]

Heyy hope you're doing well!! can you write about 14th member of seventeen being late to practice and the members lash out on her esp the leader line (scoups,woozi,hoshi) but what they didn't know was that y/n lost a family member the other day so shes really struggling with grief at the moment. THANK YOUUU 🩷🩷

Title: A Family Found in Grief

Masterlist

Y/N is shattered by her grandmother’s sudden death. Rushing to the hospital, she faces grief alone until her bandmates, initially upset by her absence, learn the truth and join her at the funeral. Pairing: Seventeen x 14th member Genre: Angst Warnings: This story contains themes of death of a loved one, hospital settings, and grief. WC: 4.5k

The night was heavy, a quiet blanket draped over Seoul, the city’s usual hum muted under the weight of exhaustion. Y/N, collapsed onto her bed in her modest apartment, her limbs aching from a relentless day. Photoshoots with blinding flashes, recording sessions that stretched her vocal cords thin, dance practice that left her muscles screaming, and a guest appearance on a talk show where she plastered on her brightest smile—it was all too much. Her phone lay silent on the nightstand, its screen dark, mirroring the exhaustion in her bones. She was moments from slipping into sleep when the sharp ring of her phone cut through the stillness.

“Who’s calling this late?” she muttered, rubbing her eyes as she reached for the device. The screen lit up with Mom. A faint smile tugged at her lips—probably another late-night gossip session or one of her dad’s corny jokes her mom loved to relay. She swiped to answer, her voice soft and groggy. “Hey, Mom, what’s up? Another dad joke?”

But the voice on the other end wasn’t warm or teasing. It was jagged, broken by sobs. “Y/N, sweetheart, it’s—it’s Grandma,” her mother choked out, her words trembling. “She’s in the hospital. It’s bad, honey. We’re on vacation, but we’re booking a flight back to Korea right now. Can you—can you go to her? Please, Y/N, she needs you.”

Y/N’s heart plummeted, the air sucked out of her lungs. “What? Grandma? What happened? Is she okay?” Her voice cracked, sleep evaporating as panic clawed at her chest.

“She collapsed,” her mother sobbed. “They don’t know yet, but it’s serious. Please, Y/N, go now. We’ll be there as soon as we can.”

The call ended, leaving Y/N frozen, her phone trembling in her hand. Her grandmother—her rock, her fiercest supporter. The woman who, when Y/N’s parents scoffed at her dreams of becoming a singer, sat her down and said, “You chase that star, my girl. Don’t let anyone dim your light.” The woman who watched every Seventeen performance on TV, no matter how small, and sent Y/N texts like, “My superstar, you made me cry with pride today.” The thought of her lying in a hospital bed, frail and fighting, shattered Y/N’s heart.

She stumbled out of bed, throwing on a hoodie and grabbing her keys. The drive to the hospital was a blur, her hands shaking on the steering wheel, her mind a storm of “What if I’m too late?” and “Please, Grandma, hold on.” The city lights streaked past, but all she could see was her grandmother’s warm smile, her weathered hands clapping along to Y/N’s first stage performance.

At the hospital, the sterile smell of antiseptic hit her like a wall. She ran to the reception desk, her voice frantic. “I’m here for my grandmother, Park Hye-sook. Where is she? Please, I need to see her!”

The nurse’s face was kind but strained. “She’s in the ICU, miss. The doctors are with her now. Please, take a seat, and they’ll update you soon.”

Y/N’s knees buckled, but she forced herself to sit in the cold, plastic chair in the waiting area. Her phone buzzed—texts from her sister, Min-ji, who was on her way. Y/N clutched the device, her lifeline to the outside world, but she couldn’t bring herself to call the boys or their manager. Not yet. This pain was too raw, too personal.

Minutes bled into hours. Y/N’s eyes burned from staring at the ICU doors, willing them to open with good news. Finally, a doctor emerged, his face etched with a seriousness that made Y/N’s stomach lurch. She stood, her legs wobbly, Min-ji arriving just in time to grab her hand.

“Are you Park Hye-sook’s family?” the doctor asked, his voice low.

Y/N nodded, her throat tight. “Yes, I’m her granddaughter, Y/N. This is my sister, Min-ji. Please, how is she?”

The doctor’s eyes softened, but his words were a knife. “I’m so sorry. We did everything we could, but your grandmother’s condition was too severe. Her heart gave out. She passed away a few minutes ago.”

The world tilted. Y/N’s knees gave way, and Min-ji caught her, both of them sinking to the floor. “No,” Y/N whispered, her voice breaking. “No, no, no, she can’t be gone. She was supposed to see my next comeback. She was supposed to—” Her words dissolved into sobs, raw and guttural, tearing from her chest. Min-ji clung to her, crying just as hard, their grief a shared wound.

“She was so proud of you, Y/N,” Min-ji managed through her tears. “She always said you were her greatest joy.”

Y/N’s mind flashed to her grandmother’s last text after SEVENTEEN’s latest performance: “My Y/N, you shine brighter than all the stars. Keep singing for me.” The memory was a dagger, twisting deeper. She couldn’t call her parents—they were probably on a plane, unreachable. It was just her and Min-ji, two girls drowning in loss in the sterile hospital corridor.

The rest of the night was a haze of heartbreak and duty. Y/N didn’t sleep, didn’t eat, didn’t think about Seventeen or the schedule waiting for her tomorrow. She forgot to text the boys, forgot to tell their manager she wouldn’t make it to morning practice. Her world had narrowed to this hospital, to the unbearable task of arranging her grandmother’s funeral. She sent messages to family members, her fingers trembling as she typed, “Grandma passed away tonight. Please come to Seoul General Hospital.”

One by one, aunts, uncles, and cousins arrived, their faces mirroring Y/N’s devastation. They took over some tasks—speaking with the funeral director, arranging transport—but Y/N couldn’t let go of the responsibility. “She’d want me to do this right,” she whispered to Min-ji as they sorted through paperwork, her voice hollow. “She always said I was strong enough for anything.”

But she didn’t feel strong. She felt like a child, lost and aching for the woman who believed in her when no one else did. The hospital lights buzzed overhead, cold and unforgiving, as Y/N sat by her grandmother’s side one last time, holding her hand, now still and cool. “I’m so sorry, Grandma,” she sobbed. “I should’ve been here sooner. I should’ve told you I love you one more time.”

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

The night had stretched into an eternity, each minute heavy with the weight of her grandmother’s absence. Her aunties began to arrive, their soft footsteps and murmured condolences filling the space, but Y/N barely registered their presence. Her heart was a hollow drum, beating only with grief.

Min-ji, her sister, slid into the seat beside her, gently taking Y/N’s cold hands in her own. “You okay, Y/N? I mean, I know you’re not, but…” Her voice wavered, her own eyes red from crying. She squeezed Y/N’s hands tighter, trying to anchor her. “Grandma texted me last night, you know. She was so excited, asking me to help her organize her Seventeen merch collection again.”

Y/N’s lips twitched, a ghost of a smile breaking through her daze. “She was obsessed with that collection,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. “Her house… it’s like a museum of us. Of me.”

Min-ji let out a soft laugh, though it was tinged with sorrow. “Yeah, every wall’s got your face on it. Posters, albums, that one giant cutout of you from the last comeback—she’d point at it and say, ‘That’s my girl, the brightest star in Seventeen.’” She paused, her voice cracking. “She even had a shelf just for the signed stuff. Remember how she’d call you every time new merch dropped, demanding autographs from every member?”

Y/N’s smile grew, bittersweet. “She’d call me at, like, 2 am, saying, ‘Y/N, I need Woozi’s signature on this photocard, and don’t you dare forget Hoshi!’” She shook her head, the memory warming her for a fleeting moment before the ache returned. “She loved you guys so much. She was our biggest fan.”

Their auntie, Soo-jin, approached quietly, her face etched with concern as she sat on Y/N’s other side. “Y/N, sweetheart, have you told your company yet? The boys? They should know what’s going on.”

The words hit like a jolt. Y/N’s eyes widened, her breath catching. “Oh no… I forgot,” she admitted, her voice barely audible. The thought of texting the members or their manager felt like climbing a mountain. Her phone sat heavy in her pocket, untouched since she’d messaged her family. “I… I can’t right now. I’m too tired. I’ll tell them tomorrow.”

Soo-jin’s brow furrowed, her hand resting gently on Y/N’s shoulder. “You need to rest, Y/N. You look like you’re about to collapse. Let us handle things here for a bit.”

Min-ji nodded, her grip on Y/N’s hand tightening. “She’s right, Y/N. You haven’t slept, and you’re pale as a ghost. Grandma wouldn’t want you running yourself into the ground like this.”

Y/N’s shoulders slumped, exhaustion winning over her stubbornness. “Okay,” she murmured, her voice small. “I’ll go home, rest for a bit. I’ll head to the company tomorrow to tell them, then come back to the funeral.”

Her uncle, Jae-ho, who had been quietly coordinating with the funeral director, stepped forward. “I’ll drive you home, Y/N. No arguments.” His tone was firm but kind, and Y/N didn’t have the energy to protest.

The drive back to her apartment was silent, the city’s lights blurring past like tears streaking down a window. Y/N leaned her head against the cool glass, her grandmother’s voice echoing in her mind: “You shine brighter than all the stars.” The words felt like a promise she wasn’t sure she could keep anymore.

When they reached her apartment, Y/N stumbled through the door, her uncle’s gentle “Get some sleep, kiddo” following her inside. She collapsed onto her bed, still in her hoodie, her heart a leaden weight in her chest. As her eyes fluttered shut, the image of her grandmother’s proud smile lingered, and sleep claimed her, heavy with grief and unspoken goodbyes.

The next morning light filtered weakly through Y/N’s curtains, but it did little to lift the heaviness that clung to her. She woke late, her body protesting from the chaos of the previous night. Her phone lay untouched on the nightstand, likely buzzing with missed calls and texts from the boys, who were probably at the HYBE building for their early practice. Seventeen’s schedule was relentless, and Y/N knew they’d be wondering where she was, but the thought of facing her phone—of facing anyone—felt like too much. Her heart was still raw, her grandmother’s absence a wound that hadn’t stopped bleeding.

After dragging herself out of bed, Y/N took a quick shower, the hot water doing little to soothe her. She pulled on a loose hoodie and a cap, tugging it low to hide her puffy, tear-streaked face. As she drove to the HYBE building, her vision blurred with fresh tears. Memories of her grandmother flooded her mind—her infectious laugh that could light up a room, the way she’d cook mountains of food for the members whenever they visited. “You boys and my Y/N work too hard,” she’d say, piling plates high with kimchi jjigae and bulgogi. “Eat up, or I’ll tell the fans you’re not taking care of my girl!” The thought of never hearing that laugh again made Y/N’s chest tighten, and she had to grip the steering wheel to steady herself.

She parked outside the HYBE building, wiping her tears with the sleeve of her hoodie before stepping out. Keeping her cap low, she slipped into the elevator, only to find their manager, Min-soo, already inside. She forced a small bow, her voice barely above a whisper. “Good morning, Min-soo oppa.”

He frowned, noting her disheveled appearance. “Y/N, you okay? You look… rough.”

Her throat tightened, but she pushed the words out. “My grandmother… she passed away last night. I was at the hospital.”

Min-soo’s face softened, his eyes filled with sympathy. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. My deepest condolences. Why didn’t you text me? I could’ve informed everyone, and you could’ve stayed at the funeral. You need rest.”

Y/N shook her head, her voice trembling. “I wanted to tell the boys myself. They deserve to hear it from me.”

Min-soo nodded, though his concern lingered. “The boys have been asking about you. They’re in the practice room, but… you haven’t told them yet, have you?”

“No,” Y/N admitted, her gaze dropping to the floor. “I haven’t had the chance.”

“Alright,” Min-soo said gently. “But, Y/N, you don’t have to push yourself. The company can give you a hiatus. We’ll post a notice later to inform the fans about your grandmother. You focus on your family for now.”

Y/N nodded, too drained to argue. “Thank you, oppa.”

The elevator dinged, and they stepped out. Min-soo gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder before she headed to the practice room. Her heart pounded as she opened the door, the familiar thump of music and the sound of sneakers squeaking on the floor greeting her. The boys were scattered across the room, sweat-soaked and visibly exhausted from hours of practicing new choreography. The air was thick with tension, and Y/N’s stomach churned.

Before she could speak, Seungcheol’s sharp voice cut through the room. “Y/N, where have you been? You’re hours late. We’ve been waiting for you!” His face was a mix of frustration and annoyance, his arms crossed tightly.

Hoshi, the performance unit leader, didn’t hold back either. “You know better than this, Y/N. We’re learning a new choreo, and it’s already a mess with one member missing. This isn’t just about you—it affects all of us.” His tone was stern, his usual playful demeanor buried under the weight of his responsibility.

Woozi, usually calm, added fuel to the fire, his voice clipped. “We can’t keep adjusting because someone didn’t show up. What’s going on, Y/N?”

The three of them stared at her, their annoyance palpable. Y/N stood frozen, her head bowed, the brim of her cap hiding the tears welling in her eyes. She knew she should’ve texted, should’ve warned them, but the weight of her grief had swallowed everything else. Hoshi shook his head and stormed out, muttering under his breath. Woozi followed, his expression unreadable, while Seungcheol gave her a lingering look, a faint smile that didn’t reach his eyes before he left too.

Y/N stood there, alone in the silence, guilt piling onto her already shattered heart. “It’s my fault,” she whispered to herself. “I should’ve told them. They don’t know…”

Before she could gather her thoughts, Min-soo reentered the room, his phone in hand. “Y/N, the company’s sending flowers to the funeral as a condolence. Can you give me the address?” He paused, glancing at the remaining members, who had frozen mid-stretch, their eyes snapping to Y/N. “I’ve informed the company, and we’re drafting a notice for the fans now.”

The room went deathly quiet. Joshua, his voice soft but laced with concern, stepped forward. “Wait… what happened, Y/N? Funeral? Is everything okay?”

Y/N’s throat closed up. She wanted to explain, to tell them about her grandmother, about the woman who loved them all like her own, but the words wouldn’t come. “Thank you, oppa,” she said to Min-soo, her voice barely audible, before turning and bolting out of the room.

In the hallway, she passed Hoshi, who called out, “Y/N, wait!” But she couldn’t stop, couldn’t face him or the others. Her exhaustion, her heartbreak, her guilt—it was all too much. She understood why they were upset; she’d left them in the dark, but the sting of their anger without asking why cut deeper than she expected.

She drove back to the funeral, her hands shaking on the wheel. At the venue, she changed into a black and white hanbok, the traditional mourning clothes feeling like a physical manifestation of her grief. As she stepped into the room filled with her grandmother’s memory, the weight of the day pressed down on her, and she braced herself to face the next steps alone, her heart still heavy with unspoken words.

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

Back at the HYBE practice room, the air was thick with tension and exhaustion. The remaining members stood in a loose circle, catching their breath after hours of grueling choreography. Seungcheol, still reeling from the earlier confrontation, turned to their manager, Min-soo, who lingered by the door. His brow furrowed with unease. “Min-soo hyung, what was that about a funeral? What’s going on with Y/N?”

Min-soo’s eyes widened slightly, surprise flickering across his face. “Wait, she didn’t tell you guys?” He paused, rubbing the back of his neck as the members exchanged confused glances. “Y/N’s grandmother passed away last night. She was at the hospital dealing with everything. That’s why she was late. She’s taking a hiatus for now, so we’ll need to adjust the choreography until she’s ready to return.”

The room fell into a stunned silence, the weight of the revelation settling over them like a heavy fog. Seungcheol’s face paled, his earlier annoyance replaced by a sinking guilt. “Nobody knew?” he asked, his voice low as he scanned the group. The members shook their heads, their expressions a mix of shock and regret.

Hoshi, who had just reentered the room, caught the tail end of the conversation. His usual energy was subdued, sensing the shift in the atmosphere. “What’s going on? What happened?” he asked, looking from Seungcheol to Min-soo.

Joshua, his voice soft but heavy, filled him in. “Y/N’s grandmother passed away last night. That’s why she was late. She’s at the funeral now, and she’s taking a break from the group for a bit.”

Hoshi’s eyes widened, his hand flying to his mouth. “Oh no… I didn’t know. I—I yelled at her.” His voice cracked, guilt washing over him. “I thought she was just… I didn’t mean to come at her like that.”

Woozi, who had been quiet, clenched his fists, his jaw tight. “None of us knew,” he muttered, his usual composure fraying. “I feel like such an idiot. We should’ve asked her what was wrong instead of jumping down her throat.”

Seungcheol nodded, his own guilt mirrored in his eyes. “We messed up. Big time. She’s going through hell, and we made it worse.”

The group fell silent again, the weight of their actions settling heavily on their shoulders. Min-soo cleared his throat, breaking the quiet. “I’m heading out to arrange the flowers we’re sending to the funeral. You guys… figure out how to make this right.” He gave them a pointed look before leaving the room.

Hoshi sank onto the floor, running a hand through his hair. “I feel awful. She’s always been there for us, and the one time she needed us to understand, we just… didn’t.”

Jeonghan, who had been quietly processing, spoke up, his voice gentle but firm. “We need to apologize. Properly. And we need to be there for her now. She shouldn’t have to go through this alone.”

The others nodded, a shared resolve forming. Seungcheol pulled out his phone, his fingers hovering over the group chat. “Let’s start with this,” he said, beginning to type.

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

At the funeral, the air was heavy with the scent of chrysanthemums and the soft hum of murmured condolences. Y/N stood quietly in her black and white hanbok, her parents now by her side, their faces etched with grief. Her mother held her hand tightly, whispering, “Your grandmother was so proud of you, Y/N. She’s still watching, you know.”

Y/N nodded, her throat too tight to respond. Her phone had been buzzing all morning with messages from close friends and comments from fans on her social media, where the company had posted a notice about her grandmother’s passing. The outpouring of love was overwhelming, but it couldn’t fill the void left by her grandmother’s absence.

Her phone vibrated again, and she glanced at it, expecting another condolence. Instead, it was the group chat. Seungcheol’s name popped up with a long message:

“Y/N, I’m so, so sorry about earlier. We had no idea what you were going through. We were frustrated, but that’s no excuse for not asking why you were late. We feel terrible for adding to your pain. Your grandmother was such an incredible woman, and we’re all heartbroken for you. Please accept our deepest condolences. We’re finishing up our schedules today, and we’ll come to the funeral to support you. We’re here for you, always. – Cheol”

One by one, messages from the other members flooded in:

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I didn’t know. We love you, and we’re here for you. – Hoshi”

“I feel like such a jerk. Please let us make this right. We’re so sorry for your loss. – Woozi”

“Y/N, we’re coming to be with you. Your grandma was the best. We’re so sorry. – Joshua”

Tears welled in Y/N’s eyes as she read the messages, a mix of relief and lingering hurt washing over her. She understood their frustration in the moment—they hadn’t known—but the sting of their words still lingered. Still, their apologies and promise to come to the funeral warmed a small corner of her heart.

She slipped her phone back into her pocket, turning to face her family and the mourners. The funeral parlor was filled with memories of her grandmother, but now, Y/N felt a flicker of hope that she wouldn’t have to carry this grief alone. The boys were coming, and despite the pain of the morning, she knew they’d stand by her, just as her grandmother always had.

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

The funeral parlor was bathed in the soft glow of candles, their flickering light casting shadows over the framed photo of Y/N’s grandmother, her bright smile a stark contrast to the heavy silence of the room. Y/N sat motionless, her eyes fixed on the picture, the weight of her loss anchoring her to the spot. Her phone, buzzing earlier with the boys’ apologies, lay untouched in her pocket. She couldn’t bring herself to respond—not because she didn’t forgive them, but because the grief was too consuming, a tide pulling her under.

As night fell, the sound of familiar voices broke through the quiet hum of the funeral hall. The Seventeen members arrived, their presence a gentle ripple in the stillness. Y/N didn’t look up, her gaze locked on her grandmother’s smiling face, but she felt them before she saw them—the warmth of their concern, the quiet shuffle of their steps. Her mother, her eyes red but grateful, greeted them at the entrance. “Thank you for coming, boys,” she said, her voice trembling. “Please, talk to Y/N. She’s… she’s not listening to us. She hasn’t eaten or rested all day.”

One by one, the members approached, their faces etched with sorrow and guilt. Seungcheol knelt in front of her, his voice soft. “Y/N, we’re so sorry about your grandma. She was one of a kind. We’re here for you, okay?”

Joshua followed, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “She was your biggest fan, Y/N. Our biggest fan. We’re so sorry for your loss.”

Hoshi, his usual spark dimmed by regret, added quietly, “I’m so sorry for earlier, Y/N. I didn’t know. Your grandma… she was like family to us too.”

Y/N remained silent, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, but their words wrapped around her like a warm blanket. Jeonghan, ever the gentle soul, sat beside her and pulled her into a hug, his arms steady and comforting. “Hey, you don’t have to say anything,” he whispered, his voice soothing. “But your grandma? She’s up there, probably bragging to all the angels about her superstar granddaughter and her thirteen chaotic grandsons.”

A small, broken laugh escaped Y/N’s lips, the first crack in her stoic facade. Jeonghan’s words painted a vivid picture—her grandmother, with her infectious laugh, proudly showing off Seventeen’s albums to a heavenly audience. “She’d totally do that,” Y/N murmured, her voice barely audible. “She’d say, ‘My Y/N’s the best, and don’t you dare forget her boys!’”

The others chuckled softly, gathering closer. DK, his eyes already glistening, chimed in, “Remember when she came to our concert and brought those homemade banners? I swear, she cheered louder than the entire stadium.”

Seungkwan nodded, his voice thick with emotion. “She made us that huge batch of tteokbokki backstage, and I’m pretty sure she told Mingyu his cooking could never top hers.”

Mingyu laughed, wiping his eyes. “She was right, too. I tried to get her recipe, but she just winked and said, ‘You’ll never know my secrets, pretty boy.’”

The memories flowed, each one a thread weaving a tapestry of love and laughter. Y/N’s resolve crumbled, and the tears she’d held back all day spilled over. She buried her face in Jeonghan’s shoulder, her sobs raw and unrestrained. “I miss her so much,” she choked out. “She was my everything.”

Jeonghan held her tighter, his own eyes misty. “We know, Y/N. We miss her too. But she’s still with you, cheering you on. She’ll be at every performance, front row in heaven.”

DK and Seungkwan, unable to hold back, joined her in crying, their tears a quiet testament to the love they all shared for Y/N’s grandmother. The other members gathered closer, forming a protective circle around her. Vernon rested a hand on her back, “We’re your family, Y/N. You’re not alone in this.”

Woozi, his earlier anger replaced by tenderness, added, “She’d want you to keep shining, you know. She always said you were her star.”

The boys stayed by her side, refusing to let her grieve alone. Mingyu and Dino disappeared briefly, returning with trays of food they’d prepared themselves—simple kimbap and fruit, but made with care. “You need to eat, Y/N,” Mingyu said gently, pushing a plate toward her. “Grandma would have my head if I let you starve.”

Y/N managed a small bite, the act feeling monumental under the weight of her grief. Her mother, watching from across the room, gave the boys a grateful nod. The members also helped with small tasks—arranging flowers, greeting mourners, and ensuring the funeral ran smoothly. A beautiful wreath from the company, adorned with white lilies and a ribbon reading “In Loving Memory,” stood proudly beside her grandmother’s photo, a gesture that brought fresh tears to Y/N’s eyes.

As the night wore on, Seungcheol noticed the dark circles under Y/N’s eyes. “Y/N, you need to rest. You’re exhausted.”

She shook her head, her voice soft but stubborn. “You guys are tired too. You had practice all day. You should go home.”

Hoshi grinned, though his eyes were still red. “Not a chance. We’re not leaving you. Besides, Grandma would haunt us if we didn’t take care of you.”

Y/N’s heart swelled, the warmth of their presence easing the ache just enough to breathe. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I don’t know what I’d do without you guys.”

Jeonghan squeezed her hand, his smile soft but unwavering. “You’ll never have to find out. We’re here, Y/N. Always.”

As the candles burned low, the boys stayed by her side, their laughter and tears mingling with hers. In the midst of her grief, Y/N found a flicker of solace in the family she’d built with Seventeen, a bond her grandmother had always cherished. And though the pain of loss lingered, their love reminded her that she wasn’t alone—and that her grandmother’s light would shine on through them all.

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

an: Hello, I’ve been receiving requests for a 14th member with a love interest in another member. Please bear with me; I’ve been thinking about what type of love story they’ll have and how it will start. If you have ideas, kindly send them my way—my mind has been blank lately, and I need some inspiration, send help! Also, could you request something different, like a non-idol or something other than a 14th member? I have over 40 requests just for the 14th member, and I don’t even know what to write first. Also, I’m planning to write for other artists or groups, so you can send those requests too, hehe.

[lost-in-thoughts03]

Falling for you // Hwang brothers

Previous part || Next part

Summary: The late-night conversation with In-ho and a reflection on the conflicts you have witnessed between the brothers. You are already finding the answers, and all you need is a little alone time before letting go.

" And I'm terrified for the first time and the last time in my only life."

Warnings: Angst, reflection, heartbreak, self-doubt, hesitation, crying, guilt, clarification, confession, grammatical errors

Your phone buzzed in your hand, the name Mr. Angry bird (In-ho) flashing across the screen. You stared at it for a moment, debating whether to answer.

After the conversation with Ji-hye, your mind was a mess, and you weren’t sure if you were ready to hear his voice.

But you answered anyway.

“ Why the hell are you calling me so late?” You grumbled, flopping onto your bed.

A low chuckle came from the other end. “ Missed me already?”

You rolled your eyes. “ Not in the slightest.”

He hummed, unconvinced. “ Then why’d you pick it up?”

Damn it.

You had no comeback for that.

Instead, you groaned, rubbing your forehead. “ Ugh, whatever. Since you’re here, let me ask you something.”

“ Go ahead.” He said, amused.

You hesitated for a second before blurting out,

“ Why me?”

Silence.

Then, a slow, exasperated sigh from In-ho. “ Here we go…”

“ I’m serious, In-ho.” You pressed.

“ Why…” You close your eyes, holding back the ache in your throat,

“ Why didn’t you make a move before? All those years…you were always there but you never…said anything.”

“ Why did you keep choosing me even after all the times I pushed you away? Why…did you stay?”

The line goes quiet. You hear a shaky exhale from his end.

“ I was scared.” He admits, his voice breaking.

“ You were so young back then…and me? I was already…older. I fell in love with you at the worst possible time.”

“ You were just this… bright, lively young adult chasing dreams. And I— I didn’t want to be the selfish bastard who ruins that.”

You bite your lip hard, tears filling your eyes.

In-ho continues, “ I kept thinking…what would everyone say? What would the world say if a man like me…dared to love someone younger? I didn’t want to be that person.”

“ So…I hid it. Every damn day, I buried it. Every time you smiled at me, every time you ran to my side…I wanted to hold you, tell you how much I loved you. But I couldn’t.”

His voice cracks. “ I couldn’t risk your dreams…or you looking at me like I was some…creep. So, I stayed where I thought was safe—for you.”

Your lips trembled, “ Then why didn’t you give up…when I kept pushing you away?”

“ I tried.” In-ho laughs bitterly,

“ God, I tried so many times…but every time I walked away, I’d find myself worrying about you. Wondering if you ate, if you cried, if you were happy. I couldn’t stop.”

“ No matter how much it hurt, I loved you more than my own pride.”

Silence falls, heavy and suffocating.

“ You always choose me…” You whisper, tears streaming down your cheeks.

“ Even when I didn’t deserve it.”

“ I chose you then, I choose you now…and I’ll choose you every damn day.” In-ho breathes, voice breaking,

“ I don’t care about the world anymore. I don’t care if they call me names or judge me…All I care about is you…living. Smiling. Happy. Even if it’s not with me.”

Your sob escapes before you can stop it.

“ In-ho…don’t ever say not with you…don’t…” You plead, voice cracking.

He stays quiet, but you can hear him crying too.

He chuckled. “ Are you crying?”

“ No.” You lied.

“ Liar.”

You huffed, sniffling. “ You’re really annoying, you know that?”

“ And yet, you haven’t hung up.”

You sighed, pressing your forehead against your pillow. He was right. You could have ended the call at any time, but you didn’t.

Because despite all the confusion, despite the mess in your heart, there was one undeniable truth.

You didn’t want him to go.

“…Can I ask you something?” You murmured.

“ Of course.”

You hesitated. “ If I choose you…are you sure you won’t regret it?”

His response was immediate.

“ I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

A long silence stretched between you, filled only by the sound of your breathing.

Finally, you whispered, “ Okay.”

“…Okay?”

You exhaled. “ Okay.”

And though it wasn’t a confession, though it wasn’t the grand answer he might have wanted—In-ho smiled.

Because for now, it was enough.

The silence that followed your quiet "okay" felt different—heavy, but not suffocating. It was like the weight of uncertainty was shifting, making room for something new.

Something that scared you just as much as it intrigued you.

On the other end of the line, In-ho let out a slow breath, as if he had been holding it the entire time.

" Okay." He echoed, and you could hear the faintest smile in his voice.

" I can work with that."

You scoffed, rolling onto your back. " You sound too smug for someone who just got the vaguest acceptance in history."

He chuckled. " I'll take what I can get. Besides, you're not exactly the easiest person to convince, you know?"

You bit your lip.

He wasn’t wrong.

Your mind was still a mess, tangled with memories of Jun-ho and the feelings you had held onto for years.

But then there was In-ho—always there, always waiting.

His patience, his persistence…his unwavering certainty in you.

Maybe your heart wasn’t fully ready yet, but maybe…just maybe, it was trying to be.

" Y/n." He murmured, his voice softer now.

" I’m not rushing you. I just want you to know…I'm not going anywhere."

A lump formed in your throat. " Yeah, I know."

" Good." He said, his tone lighter again.

" Now, are you going to get some sleep, or do I have to come over there and tuck you in myself?"

You snorted. " You wouldn’t dare."

" Oh, I would. You underestimate my commitment to annoying you."

Rolling your eyes, you sighed. " Fine, fine. I’ll try to sleep."

" Try?"

" Shut up, In-ho."

He laughed, and somehow, the sound felt like home.

" Goodnight, sweetheart." He said, voice softer this time.

You closed your eyes, a small smile playing on your lips.

" Goodnight, In-ho."

And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel so lost.

The call ended, but his words lingered—

“ I choose you now…and I’ll choose you every damn day.”

You sat there, phone resting on your lap, staring blankly at the floor as his voice replayed in your head—raw, vulnerable, full of years’ worth of love he tried so hard to hide.

And that’s when it hit you—hard.

It wasn’t Jun-ho who stayed.

It wasn’t Jun-ho who saw every version of you—broken, angry, hopeless—and chose to stay even when you pushed him away.

It was In-ho.

You used to believe that first love meant everything.

That the person you fell for first would always own the biggest part of your heart.

But…what did that even mean anymore?

What good was a love that stood still—paralyzed by fear, selfishness, or timing—while someone else bled for you every single day without asking for anything back?

Your chest clenched as fresh tears spilled, but this time…they weren’t just from heartbreak.

They were from guilt.

From relief.

From finally seeing the truth you kept blinding yourself from.

It was In-ho all along.

The man who chose silence over ruining your dreams.

The man who stood at the sidelines, loving you quietly, waiting for you to grow into the person you are now.

The man who, even now, was ready to disappear just to save you.

Your fingers curled into your chest as if trying to hold your heart together.

You sobbed—not because of the pain—but because of the realization:

You’ve already found your home. You’ve already found your person. And he’s been there this entire time...waiting.

You whispered into the empty room, voice shaking,

“ I…I’m so stupid…I kept chasing someone who didn’t stay, while the one who did…I kept pushing him away.”

The moonlight cast soft shadows across your face as you closed your eyes, breathing deeply.

For the first time, you weren’t confused.

You weren’t torn.

You knew who your heart was calling out for.

“ In-ho…it’s you. It’s always been you.”

You smiled through your tears, gripping your phone tightly, whispering into the night—hoping he’d hear you somehow.

“ Wait for me…I’ll tell you soon. I promise…I’ll choose you too.”

...

In-ho sat on the edge of his bed, phone still clutched in his trembling hands. His heart was pounding—not from excitement, not from relief—but from fear.

Your words replayed in his mind, over and over, like a puzzle he couldn’t solve.

" Why didn’t you make a move before?"

" Why do you keep choosing me, even when I pushed you away?"

He answered honestly.

But something about the way you asked…it didn’t sit right with him.

Like there was something you weren’t saying.

With a deep, shuddering breath, he ran a hand down his face, trying to clear his thoughts.

The weight of everything—of you, of Jun-ho, of the years he spent loving you in silence—was suffocating him.

A soft knock at his door broke through his spiraling thoughts.

" In-ho." His mother’s gentle voice came before she pushed the door open.

She carried a small cup of steaming tea, the familiar scent of chamomile filling the air.

“ You’re still awake?” She asked, setting the cup down on his nightstand.

“ You look…troubled.”

In-ho let out a dry chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “ That obvious, huh?”

His mother sat beside him, hands folded neatly in her lap, her eyes—soft, understanding—watching him closely.

“ Something’s on your mind.” She said simply.

“ And I have a feeling I already know what it is.”

In-ho swallowed.

His mother had always been perceptive.

There was no use hiding it.

With a deep sigh, he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “ Mom…what if…what if I’m setting myself up to lose?”

His mother tilted her head. “ Lose what, my son?”

In-ho let out a shaky breath. “ Her.”

Her expression didn’t change, but he saw the way her fingers twitched slightly—like she had expected this but still wasn’t sure how to approach it.

“ I love her, Eomma.” He admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

“ I loved her then, I love her now, and I—” His voice caught, emotions swelling in his chest.

“ I don’t know what to do anymore.”

His mother sighed, reaching over to place a warm hand on his knee. “ In-ho… I knew.”

He lifted his head sharply, eyes wide. “ You—”

“ I knew.” She repeated with a soft, bittersweet smile.

“ I saw it before you ever said anything. The way you looked at her, the way your whole face changed when she was around. You never had to tell me, my dear. A mother knows.”

In-ho exhaled shakily. “ Then you also know…she loved Jun-ho first.”

His mother’s expression darkened slightly, sadness creeping into her eyes. “ Yes.”

“ Then tell me, Eomma…what do I do?” He pleaded.

“ What if—what if after everything, after all these years, she still chooses him?”

His mother took a long moment before responding.

She reached out, taking his hands in hers.

“ In-ho…love is not about winning or losing.”

He clenched his jaw. “ Then what is it?”

“ It’s about giving.” She said softly.

“ Giving, even when there’s no certainty of receiving. You have already given her so much, my son."

" And if she chooses you, it will not be because you fought for her—it will be because she wants to be with you. That is love.”

In-ho’s breath hitched.

“ But…” She continued, hesitating now.

“ I also know that Jun-ho…he struggled with this too.”

In-ho stiffened. “ What?”

His mother’s expression was pained.

“ When he saw you two kiss…he was devastated. He came home drunk, crying, rambling about how he should’ve known, how he should’ve realized sooner."

" And then… he told me.”

“ Told you what?” In-ho demanded.

“ That you love her.”

Silence.

His heartbeat thundered in his ears.

Jun-ho knew.

He had known.

Even before In-ho admitted it to himself, even before he gathered the courage to act on his feelings, Jun-ho knew.

“ He was hurting.” His mother murmured.

“ And when I saw the bruise on your face after…I worried. I worried that my sons were breaking apart over love.”

In-ho clenched his fists. “ We were. We still might be.”

His mother shook her head. “ Not if you both choose to hold onto what truly matters.”

In-ho swallowed thickly, his throat burning. “And what if what matters most to me…is her?”

His mother’s eyes softened even more.

“ Then you wait. You wait for her to find her way. And if she chooses you, In-ho…it won’t be because of guilt, or because you pushed her."

" It will be because she truly wants to be with you.”

A tear slipped down In-ho’s cheek before he could stop it.

He was so scared.

Scared that you’d choose Jun-ho.

Scared that he would lose his brother again.

Scared that the love he carried for so many years would never be fully returned.

His mother squeezed his hands gently.

“ Whatever happens, my son…love her in a way that doesn’t make her feel like she’s a prize to be won. Love her in a way that makes her feel free.”

He closed his eyes, breathing deeply.

And for the first time in a long time…he let himself believe that maybe—just maybe—love wasn’t about who deserved whom.

Maybe it was about who stayed—who fought, who endured, and who was willing to love without conditions.

And he already knew his answer.

N/A: Y/n and Jun-ho met when they were 16. In-ho, on the other hand, began to like her when she reached her legal age—around the time Y/n was in her twenties. (I need to clarify this to avoid misunderstandings between the characters)

Y/n and Jun-ho's age right now: 23 (College students)

In-ho's age right now: 30 (I need to lower down his age to make it more accurate)

Tags: @maah-sama @colorwastaken @astronomicalastro-blog1 @nina357 @frontwomann

See u in part 22! 🔥

[semisslave]

♡ Give me your sound, making your song going loud... ♡ (pt. 2)

Contents: WLW, Guitarist!Se-mi x Singer!R

Warnings: none!

Part 1

After you woke up, you showered really fast. You put on a pink crop top, a short black skirt, pink boots, a black hat, pink sunglasses and a pink with black bag. You put on some makeup and stylize your hair. You were really nervous because of today's results (and seeing Se-mi again). You grabbed your phone and saw a message in your band's group chat

"Mi-na will pick everyone up at 12 pm."

You applied some perfume and waited for them to come. They picked you up and went to the same place as yesterday to announce the winner.

All the bands stood on stage, nervous. The announcer started naming the bands from least voted to most voted. He ended naming the other places and stopped in the two last places, the finalist, Lost kisses, and The Roselights. He said that they would continue after a break.

You go to the backstage with all the other bands, some of them were leaving disappointed and some others wished you luck. You just sat on a chair and started scrolling nervously through your phone, trying to distract yourself.

Se-mi walked towards you and sat beside you.

"We're both finalists now... I'm glad I have a decent rival"

Rival? Is that what you were to her after what happened yesterday?

"Yeah... Good luck, Se-mi." You said smiling

"I like your smile, I guess that'll be the only good thing about you winning."

You smiled and blushed. How could she be so mean and sweet at the same time?

"You smell nice. What perfume is it?"

"It's a mist... Strawberry pound cake from Bath & Body works."

"Sounds like something that could give me diabetes... But it suits you." She said jokingly.

"Thanks...?"

"Well... good luck, pretty girl" She said before she walked towards her band mates.

"What was that?!" Asked Ji-hye, one of your band mates.

"We were just talking..."

"I hate that bitch, she's always so mean to everyone... She didn't tell you anything bad, did she?"

"No, I'm okay."

"Good, we'll have to be on stage in 5 minutes and prepare to receive our answer... Let's just hope we win... I'll see you there."

Now, you were standing on the stage, nervous, waiting for the answer that could change your whole life

"Thank you to every voter who participated in choosing our next big band! We'll finally tell you who the majority chose... The winner of this competition is..."

You grabbed the hand of your band mate, Mi-na, trying to remain calm. Se-mi seemed very calmed even tho this could change her life too. She even winked at you when the countdown started on the screen.

3

2

1

"Congratulations to The Roselights for winning and becoming Sony Music's next artists!"

You hugged with your band mates, crying, and not believing what was happening right now.

Se-mi just stared codly but gave you a small smirk before leaving the stage with her band.

You felt kinda bad now.

You and your band went backstage after celebrating. You found Se-mi alone again sitting on a chair.

"Congratulations..." She said to all your band. They just ignored her but you didn't.

"Thank you, and I'm sorry..."

"Why would you be sorry?" She said lifting you chin for you to look at her. "Your band was great too, you deserve it."

You smiled and thanked her.

"I need to rest after all this stress, but we should hang out some day."

"That'll be great... Rest well, see you anytime soon."

Se-mi smiled and kissed your hand as a goodbye. Then, she left, leaving you blushed and confused.

"She really is an opportunist" Said your band mate Hye-ju

"What do you mean?" You asked confused.

"I mean... We won and now we're signing with Sony Music, and suddenly she decides to be kind to us after all this time being rude. She's using us, using you to secure a place in this industry... She'll become your friend and then probably will try to ride on your fame after we debut."

"I never thought it that way..." You said thinking about it, it could be right or it could be wrong, but it hurted you.

"You're way too innocent when it comes to seeing through people, ___." Said Hye-ju after grabbing her things. "Are you coming to drink with us to celebrate?"

"No, I'll pass this time. I'm really tired."

"Well, next time it'll be... You must be really tired because you never reject a drinking invitation" She says chuckling as your band mates got into the car.

"I... I am"

You went back to your house thinking about what happened and what Hye-ju said about Se-mi... Was that true? You knew people had sex without giving it a meaning or developing feelings, but the way she took care of you after it was what made you feel butterflies. How she cleaned you up being extremely delicate, how she kissed your forehead after cleaning you up, how she brought you home making sure you arrived safe and sound and how she called you pretty every chance she had... Fuck, you were in love.

Many weeks passed after your band signed with Sony Music and now was working in their debut album under Sony Music.

Your "friendship" with Se-mi got stronger, even tho you still had some doubts on her intentions, you couldn't say no every time she asked you to go to the mall, to a restaurant or to fuck to relieve stress.

This time you were leaving her apartment that she shared with her band mates. She went with you to the elevator and said goodbye to you outside the building. You were walking until you noticed Se-mi's favorite headphones in your bag. You started doubting if you should return it to her now or just wait until the next time you see her. You decided to go back since they were her favorite ones.

You arrived to her apartment door but just when you were about to knock you heard something, something you wish you didn't hear...

I know this is bad, don't remind me 😭🙏

Listen to Cotton Candy by Loossemble btw, that's where the title came from (Promoting my girls)

Promise I'll drop a part 3 soon

[bts-0t-7]

Sharing The Moment | MYG

Pair: Yoongi x reader 

Summary: You and your son went to D-Day 3 to support Yoongi. Your son stole the show after appearing on stage and ARMY was absolutely… swooned. 

Genre: fluff, established relationship, parents au, married au

WC: 1169

Before the both of you stepped into the stadium, you could feel the ground vibrating from all the fan’s anticipation. The arena felt alive before the real show even started. It was the last day of Yoongi’s D-Day tour in Seoul and all the fans were there early. Whether is it giving out fanmade gifts, food, or drinks, they - Is that a tangerine in her hand? And is that a whole bag of it?!

The atmosphere was electric but for you, today was something even more special. You were not only here as a fan but also as Yoongi’s family. While ARMY’s certainly had eagle eyes, they have yet to catch on that you weren’t the only surprise that day. Your son, Min Ji-Hye, a carbon copy of his dad, was the source of the surprise. His little body was buzzing with energy. 

Since young, Ji-Hye has looked up to his father’s music and absolutely idolizes him. Every time Yoongi works from home or comes home with new music, Ji-Hye would demand listening to it even if it is the rawest version. Of course, Yoongi tries to keep the cursing to a minimum whenever Ji-Hye is around. 

The both of you found your seats in the middle catalogs which the staff has reserved especially for the both of you. Ensuring that Ji-Hye wouldn’t fall off his bumper seat, you started to set the area for the both of you so that you wouldn’t miss a single second to find some water. You were so engrossed in ensuring that your son had everything he needed that you didn’t realise Jin and Hobi were standing right next to you. 

You jumped when you felt a light tap on your shoulder, immediately turning around with large eyes, hoping that you wouldn’t cause trouble for your husband if you got mobbed or something during his concert. But you found two laughing figures and calmed down once you heard Jin’s signature laugh. 

“Yah, don’t scare me like that!” You chided.

“It was you who weren’t paying attention! We were here the whole time!”

You were about to shoot back another snarky remark when - “Seoul, ARE YOU READY?” 

Cheers from all directions engulfed you as fireworks lit up the stage. Yoongi came blasting from the backstage and no matter how many times you have been to BTS concerts, you never get tired of seeing them perform. The raw passion in their movements and voices always ensures that the audience has one of the best concerts. 

You turned over to see Ji-Hye at the edge of his seat, eyes glued to the stage. You had dressed him in Yoongi’s stage outfit, complete with a cap that looked a few sizes too big (it was taken from Yoongi’s closet). With his cat-like eyes and gummy smile, he was essentially Yoongi 2.0. 

Watching your son sing and jump to the lyrics of his father, your lips curled upwards in a loving smile. While he didn’t quite understand the depth and innuendos of the songs, he was enjoying himself and you knew how much this concert meant to him. With the news of Yoongi’s enlistment, you knew that your time together would be cut short for two years. 

You had told him that telling ARMY a day after the concert wasn’t going to be the best decision but management pulled through so it was scheduled as it is. So both of you continued to enjoy the concert with the new addition of Uncle Namjoon. 

As the music filled the stadium, Yoongi delivered an electrifying performance, pouring his heart and soul into every lyric. His presence on stage was magnetic and the fans were completely enthralled. You thought that you could hold back the tears as he broke down in front of all his fans but the tears streamed down your cheeks, staining them in a salty caress. 

Amidst the sea of fans, Ji-Hye suddenly squirmed and wriggled his way past the people in front of him. Running down the steps, you tried to catch him when Namjoon suddenly grabbed your wrist. “He’s safe, don’t worry. There are guards everywhere.”

But you couldn’t help but worry. What if he got lost? What if fans start to swarm around him and he can’t make it to Yoongi or any of the guards in time? Your heart skipped a beat as you saw his little figure making his way up the stage. There was a collective gasp from the fans nearby as they realised what was happening. 

The surrounding security personnel recognised him and allowed him to approach the stage, guiding him carefully so that he didn’t fall down the large steps. Yoongi had just finished a ‘Life Goes On’ and was taking a moment to catch his breath when he saw little feet running up towards him. His eyes widened and broke out into a huge grin when he saw him, squatting down to his level and spreading his arms. The fans, realising that he was Yoongi’s son, started to cheer even louder. 

The moment Ji-Hye crashed into Yoongi, every ounce of fear that Ji-Hye would be afraid of the cheers washed away in that instance. Yoongi scooped him up, hugging him tightly as your son laughed into the microphone, causing another wave of cheers to vibrate the stadium. It was a moment of pure, unscripted love between a father and his son. You stared at the two most important people in your life on stage, celebrating as if they were the only ones in the world. 

The fans were absolutely swooning - taking in this whole scene with hearty eyes and red faces - their hearts melted by the sheer adorableness of the scene. They watched as Ji-Hye whispered something into Yoongi’s ear and Yoongi’s eyes sparkled with amusement and affection. 

Yoongi turned to the fans, holding Ji-Hye high above his head like the scene from Lion King. “This is my son, Min Ji-Hye.” He announced proudly. “He’s a little ARMY like all of you.”

The fans erupted into cheers, shouting their love for both Yoongi and his son. Ji-Hye waved at the crowd, his gummy smile wide, grinning from ear to ear. Your heart felt so big that it was going to explode. 

As the concert continued, Yoongi held Ji-Hye in his arms, dancing with him on stage during a couple of songs. It was a moment of pure joy and it was clear that this concert had become something extraordinary - not just for the fans but for Yoongi and your family. 

After the concert, Yoongi was still beaming with light as he continued to hold Ji-Hye in his arms. “You know, you stole the show today.” He chuckled to his son.  

Ji-Hye looked up at his father, eyes shining with admiration. “Daddy!” He swung his little legs. “I wanna be just like you when I grow up!”

Yoongi’s heart swelled with love. “You can be anything you want. Just remember to always be yourself.”

[snowball-doie]

I’ve been inspired-

Ji-Hye visits Winwin in China…… a lot. When he was filming his C-Drama, when he got injured, whenever tf she gets bored and wants to see him. All that. When she’s in China, Winwin wakes up early every morning just to stare at her because, oh, how he’s so wildly in love with her…… and when he has to go to work, he’ll beg her to be there, in bed, waiting for him when he gets back, and she’ll promise that with the biggest smile on her face and her lips puckered for a kiss. Every day when he gets home, she’s there as she promised, no signs of the adventurous day she had— Unless it’s after she’s been shopping, and the only way to know is when Winwin undresses her and she’s wearing a new set of lingerie.

She can’t really say she’s surprised when she finds out she’s pregnant only a month after her latest trip to China. But she also can’t say she’s thrilled when 1) she can’t be sure which of the boys is the dad; 2) Winwin’s still in China, and the first person she thinks to celebrate with is her Winwin……. He’s so busy, and she knows that it’ll take a miracle to drag him back to Korea when he’s so happy in China…… So all she tells the other boys is that she’s going to visit Winwin. Again. And Gemi asks to go with her because he can snipe from a mile away that something’s wrong, but she declines and ends up going alone, meeting Winwin at his apartment the same way she always does, jumping into his arms and hugging him tightly as he carries her inside. “I have to tell you something…. It’s important.” Winwin carefully puts her down on the couch and sits beside her so he can listen attentively. “I’m almost sure it’s yours.” “What’s mine, qīn'ài de?” Ohhhhh the look on his face when he realizes- He’s the happiest man on planet Earth. “Do the others know?” “No. I wanted to tell you first.” And guess who’s pulling up to Korea with her to share the good news, FINALLY all together as a whole family~~~

Winwin’s still got commitments in China that he has to attend to, but he also has a lot of free time now that he’s not chasing down every. single. opportunity. The boys will not let Ji-Hye anywhere near a plane while she’s pregnant, it doesn’t matter how far along she is, so Winwin has to go to them; and every time he shows up, he’s in shock and awe of how big Ji-Hye gets. He’s oddly proud. And very very very in love with her because she’s always waiting for him in bed, a smile on her face, ready to welcome him home~

[quack-quack-snacks]

Time Will Tell - Chapter 1.19

My Time Will Tell Masterlist

My Cha Hyun-su Masterlist

My Navigation and Masterlist

The Time Will Tell Glossary

Warnings: Periods and bleeding through clothes (its so traumatic omg 😭). Word Count: 1,266

prev | current | next

You heard the whistle blowing as you sat on a pillow on the ground reading your book. It blew over and over again and you groaned in annoyance. You knew this was a drill the group was practicing but it was honestly something you weren’t interested in. It was even more annoying when you realized the room you were in was the room they were using to practice.

Ji-su came into the room, growling and acting like a monster while Hye-in screamed in terror, crawling away from her. You tried to refocus on your book but it was hard with all the screaming and banging.

They suddenly were able to catch her in a net and have her hanging in the air.

Eun-yu clapped her hands sarcastically. “Whoo! This is just great. You all seemed to be having fun.”

She walked out and passed by Jin-ok and your siblings as they walked in. They saw you on the ground and you waved at them with a smile. They waved back and smiled before Jin-ok redirected them to the nursery again with the chaos all controlled.

You walked out of the main lobby room with conflicted emotions. Eun-hyuk had just announced the Green House Rules of Survival.

Move in groups of two or more. Report anything unusual immediately.

Your assigned buddy was Jin-ok, a pairing you didn’t mind all that much.

Eat once a day. Only the prescribed amount is distributed.

Luckily, Eun-hyuk had already thought about child growth and agreed to up the ration size for Su-yeong and Yeong-su whenever they ate.

Check everyone’s temperature every night at 8:00 p.m.

You were okay with this one. It was an easy way to check and make sure everyone was healthy in general but also a way to see if they were having any symptoms.

And the last one. The one you hated the most and weren’t afraid to show how much you hated it.

Quarantine the infected.

You despised it. It was terrible and inhumane and cruel. You knew Seok-hyeon wasn’t good company in that room and it got on your nerves that Eun-hyuk had started doing everything he could to stop you from going in to see Hyun-su. You hated it. The affection you held for the boy grew stronger with each day you saw or even didn’t see him. You didn’t know if it was reciprocated and to be honest you didn’t really care. You just wanted to protect him and keep him safe, but it seemed like you were the only one who thought that.

You watched as Jae-hwan slid a piece of paper through the crack of the gate of the arcade room.

A grocery list.

They made him a fucking grocery list. With stupid items like sunscreen, and nail polish.

You hated most of the residents you were living with.

It was infuriating to you and you couldn’t believe how selfish they were being. They hardly even said a word, they just handed him the paper and walked off quickly, like being near him would infect them.

Honestly, you sort of wished it would, that way they can experience the way they’re treating him and understand their wrongdoings.

Later on, when Eun-hyuk led Hyun-su to the staircase entrance for his next trip, you ran up to them. While you wanted to argue against him going with Eun-hyuk, you knew it was pointless so you looked at Hyun-su instead.

“Stay safe, Hyun-su. Please,” you begged quietly.

He stared at you with a hurricane of unreadable emotions swimming in his eyes. With a nod, he assured you he would be. You reached out to grab his hand but hesitated and pulled away at the last second. You noticed the way he seemed to feel about your touch whenever you touched him so you started to stop yourself from doing it. It was hard though because you were so used to touch.

He looked disappointed by you pulling away but gave you another nod before turning and ascending the stairs. You didn’t even look at Eun-hyuk as you turned around and walked towards the daycare where your siblings were playing around and laughing loudly.

A few more days passed and Hyun-su continued to be an Uber Eats delivery boy for all of the residents, and it pissed you off to no end.

Each day, the boy would come up to you before he left and ask if you needed anything, anything he could find and bring down or help you with; and each day, you turned down all his offers. You refused to use him like everyone else, refused to make him a puppet to do everything you asked. You turned him down day after day, and you made a promise that you would continue to turn him down every day.

That is… until today.

“Fuck! No, this cannot be happening,” you complained quietly in the bathroom. You were just using the bathroom as usual when you pulled down your underwear and saw them soaked with blood.

The apocalypse happened and every living thing in the world was slaughtering or being slaughtered but your body still had a functioning uterus.

You groaned in frustration, grabbing an unnecessary amount of toilet paper on a normal basis, but a very necessary amount for this situation, and wrapping it around your underwear. It would do for maybe a few hours, but you knew you would need some other sanitation products soon.

Periods sucked.

You did the rest of your business and stepped up to the sink to wash your hands.

“Holy shit,” you heard Eun-yu say from behind you and you jumped. You had no idea she was even in the bathroom, let alone right behind you. You finished washing before turning to face her. “You completely bled through,” she said somewhat regretfully, pointing to your pants. You groaned with your head in your hands, not even wanting to look but knowing you should.

She was right. It was bad. It looked like you sat in a bloodbath and you sighed in exhaustion. You assumed the stress from all that was happening was causing your flow to be heavier than usual. “Fuck,” you said under your breath. You were thankful you got your jacket back from your siblings when you gave it to them as a blanket and could use it as a coverup. You shucked the jacket off your arms and wrapped it around your waist, doing a little spin to make sure everything was covered to the best of your ability. Afterwards, you turned to Eun-yu with worried eyes. “Does it look okay?”

She placed her hands in her pockets and leaned against the wall. “Yeah, it looks fine now. You’ll get blood on your jacket though.”

You shrugged. “Part of the process, I guess. You wouldn’t have any pads by chance, would you?” She shook her head, giving you a remorseful smile. You nodded, returning the smile in thanks.

You walked around the lobby, going to all the girls and asking if they had any period equipment but none of them did. You got more and more hopeless after each person you asked, finishing up with Hye-in.

“Why don’t you ask Hyun-su to get some on his next trip?” She suggested. Your eyes lit up, but not for the suggestion she made.

“I’m never going to ask him to do anything like that for me. It’s using him and I refuse to do that. You did give me an idea, though, so thank you.”

She nodded in acknowledgement but her face showed confusion.

[thelastdawn-if]

You're an exchange student at Seoul University.

In a world overrun by a mysterious virus that turns people into flesh-eating zombies you're separated from your brother, Elijah, who is stationed in the army. He is one of the first to hear of the outbreak and attempts to warn you, but all communication is cut off before he can provide any details.

You and a group of friends and strangers are left to fend for yourselves in the midst of the chaos. You all quickly realize that they must band together and navigate through the treacherous landscape filled with the undead if you guys are to survive.

DEMO

1. Elijah (Brother): In the harsh world of the zombie apocalypse, Elijah stands out as a beacon of strength and resilience. As a soldier, his tall and muscular frame reflects his years of military training. Elijah's chiseled jawline is adorned with a prominent scar, earned during his first tour of duty, serving as a constant reminder of the sacrifices made in this unforgiving world. Beneath his rugged exterior, he possesses a deeply compassionate nature and a strong sense of loyalty, especially towards his fellow survivors. Elijah's discipline and duty-driven approach to life are always apparent, but he's a man of few words, preferring to let his actions speak for him. His journey is one of redemption and hope, as he and his group fight to survive while seeking to reunite with you in the chaos of the undead.

2. Han Ji-Hye (Seoul University Student): Han Ji-Hye, a student at Seoul University, epitomizes the essence of a diligent and compassionate scholar. She's a petite and intelligent young woman who's always ready to help and engage with others, despite the intense workload of her studies. With her striking dark hair, expressive eyes, and engaging personality, she quickly becomes an approachable and cherished friend among her peers. Ji-Hye's commitment to her academic pursuits and her love of learning are evident in her remarkable performance in a wide range of subjects, from mathematics to the humanities. Her active engagement in volunteer work and her involvement in student-led social justice initiatives reflect her deep empathy and her resolve to make a difference in the world. Ji-Hye stands as a beacon of hope, resilience, and unwavering kindness, embodying the spirit of a dedicated Seoul University student.

3. Valeria Monila (Seoul University Student with Mixed Heritage): Valeria Monila, hailing from Peru and bearing a mixed heritage of Haitian and Peruvian roots, is a captivating presence at Seoul University. Her unique blend of cultural backgrounds is evident in her striking and diverse appearance. Valeria possesses a warm and outgoing personality, exemplifying a natural charisma that resonates with those around her. She's driven and highly motivated, excelling in her studies while immersing herself in the rich cultural scene of Seoul. Despite the challenges of studying abroad, she remains resilient and compassionate, actively contributing to social justice initiatives both in Seoul and on a global scale. Valeria's vibrant character reflects the beauty of cultural diversity, and her passionate commitment to making the world a better place is an inspiration to those who know her.

4. Micheal Reid (Seoul University Student with Mixed Heritage, Reserved Demeanor): Micheal Reid's mixed heritage of Australian, Japanese, and Costa Rican ancestry has shaped his unique presence at Seoul University. While he appears friendly and outgoing, Micheal's reserved demeanor often keeps others at arm's length. His aloof and introspective nature can make it challenging for people to connect with him on a personal level. Nevertheless, his intelligence and perceptive mind set him apart academically, excelling in his studies and problem-solving. His introspective and self-aware character drives him to constantly seek self-improvement. Micheal's complex and enigmatic personality, combined with his diverse cultural background, makes him a thought-provoking figure in the academic and social circles of Seoul University.

(These are not the only characters)

Inspired by All of Us are Dead and Duty After School

ASK WELCOME

DEMO

[drrav3nb]

SONG HYE-KYO as Han Ji-eun KIM SUNG-SU as Yu Min-hyuk FULL HOUSE 풀하우스 | EP8

To be honest with you, today's my birthday. Oh really? If you had told me earlier, I would've brought you a gift. It's okay, you are my present. Sorry? I thought about buying myself something as a gift. So when I thought about what I wanted, I thought of you.

[lemonsdietcoke]

“Carrion” - Player 230

Dark!Thanos/Choi Su-bong x Fem!Reader

Warnings: This fic contains themes of drug abuse, toxic relationships, emotional and physical abuse, violence, NON CON sexual content, trauma, and self-destruction. It’s a dark, heavy read with little to no comfort. Please proceed with caution.

Summary: “My feel for you, boy, is decaying in front of me Like the carrion of a murdered prey” You thought you could save him. But Su-bong was never looking to be saved — he was always chasing something…darker. based on Carrion-Fiona apple

MINORS DNI!

Series Masterlist

A/n: so I spent all night writing this and let me just say this is a wild ride. I don’t know what came over me lol but grab your tissue and a snack and lmk if y’all fw it. Also this is set before the games.

…..

You thought you could handle it.

That’s what you told yourself in the beginning.

When you met Su-bong, he was magnetic. The kind of person who could walk into a room and command everyone’s attention without even trying. He was funny, reckless, charming in that careless way that makes people think he doesn’t care what anyone thinks — but secretly, you know he cares more than anyone.

You met him through Ji-hye, a mutual friend. You two were out drinking at a shitty bar in Itaewon, the kind with sticky floors and flickering neon signs, when she waved him over to your table.

“Su-bong! Over here!”

He turned, cigarette dangling from his lips, and when his eyes landed on you, you swore you stopped breathing.

He made you feel special.

That was the thing about him. From the moment he sat down, all his attention was on you.

You didn’t even notice the red flags at first — the way his hands shook slightly when he lit another cigarette, the faint twitch in his jaw when he reached for his drink. You were too busy drowning in his attention, his laughter, the way he leaned in close when he talked, like he couldn’t bear to be too far away from you.

He made you feel seen.

Later that night, when Ji-hye pulled you aside and whispered, “He’s trouble, you know,” you just laughed it off.

“I can handle trouble,” you said.

And at the time, you believed it.

The first few weeks were a whirlwind.

Late-night phone calls, long walks through the city, kisses stolen under flickering streetlights. He was softer back then. He’d show up at your door with a crooked smile and a bottle of soju, leaning against the doorframe like he belonged there.

He told you stories about his childhood, about how he hated his hometown, how he moved to Seoul to start over.

“I want more than that small-town life,” he’d say. “I want everything.”

You loved that about him.

His ambition. His hunger.

It wasn’t until later that you realized he wasn’t just hungry for success.

You thought he only did it on weekends.

That’s what you told yourself at first. It’s just recreational. Everyone does it once in a while, right? It’s not a big deal.

But when you took a closer look, you started noticing things.

The way he always had an excuse to disappear.

The way his hands shook in the mornings.

The way his pupils stayed blown wide, even in the middle of the day.

It wasn’t just weekends.

It wasn’t just recreational.

The first time you confronted him about it, he laughed.

“What? This?” he said, pulling out a small bag of powder from his jacket pocket. “It’s nothing.”

You stared at him, heart pounding, unsure whether you were angry or scared or both. “You said you were going to stop.”

He shrugged, already pulling out a cigarette. “I will. It’s just… it helps me focus.”

You hated how calm he sounded. How casual.

But you let it go.

Because you wanted to believe him.

Because you loved him.

That’s how it started.

With small compromises.

You told yourself it wasn’t that bad.

You told yourself you could manage it.

You told yourself he would change.

But he didn’t.

The cracks started to show slowly, like hairline fractures in glass. You didn’t notice them right away. Or maybe you did, but you ignored them. You told yourself it was fine, because you wanted it to be fine.

You wanted him to be the man he was when you first met.

The man who made you laugh until your ribs ached.

The man who kissed you like he couldn’t get enough.

The man who whispered, “You’re the only one who really understands me.”

You didn’t want to see the other side of him.

The side that disappeared for days at a time.

The side that came back high, twitchy, eyes glassy and distant.

The side that couldn’t stop.

You loved him.

But it wasn’t enough.

The first time he really scared you was on a rainy night in November.

He showed up at your apartment soaked to the bone, trembling, eyes wild.

“Let me in,” he said, voice low and frantic. “Please.”

You didn’t hesitate. You unlocked the door, pulling him inside, wrapping a towel around his shoulders as he slumped onto your couch. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

You knelt in front of him, brushing his wet hair out of his face. “What happened?”

He didn’t answer.

He just reached for you, pulling you into his lap, burying his face in your neck.

“I just need you,” he whispered. “I just need this.”

And you let him.

Because you loved him.

Because you thought you could save him.

But you can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The door slams open at 2:48 AM.

You know the time because you’ve been staring at the clock for the past four hours, watching the minutes crawl by, waiting for him to come home.

The waiting is always the worst part. The silence. The dread. The way your stomach twists tighter with each passing hour, until it feels like you’re going to snap in half from the tension.

He’s late.

Later than usual.

And when the door finally swings open, you know something’s wrong.

He stumbles inside, slamming the door shut behind him with more force than necessary. His hand lingers on the handle for a moment, like he needs the support to stay upright.

He doesn’t look at you right away.

His head is down, his shoulders tense. His breathing is ragged, too loud in the quiet apartment.

You stay where you are, curled up on the couch, watching him with a knot of unease tightening in your chest. You’re already bracing yourself.

This isn’t Su-bong coming home drunk from a night out.

This is worse.

He takes a few unsteady steps forward, his movements jerky and disjointed, before slumping against the wall. His head tilts back, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment.

You can see the tremor in his hands.

The sweat clinging to his neck.

The way his pupils are blown wide.

“Su-bong?”

Your voice is soft, careful. Testing the waters.

He doesn’t answer.

He just tilts his head to the side, blinking slowly, like he’s trying to focus on you but can’t quite manage it. His lips twitch into a lazy, lopsided grin.

“Hey, baby.”

And that’s when you know for sure.

He’s high.

Not just drunk.

High as hell on something stronger.

“Where the fuck have you been?”

The question comes out sharper than you intended. You hate the way your voice shakes, the way your hands clench into fists at your sides.

He doesn’t answer.

He just pushes off the wall, staggering toward you with that same careless grin.

“Miss me?”

You want to slap him.

You want to scream.

Instead, you cross your arms over your chest, trying to keep yourself together.

“What the fuck are you on?”

He laughs.

Soft. Slurred. Distant.

“What’s it matter?”

“It matters.” Your voice is rising now, cracking under the weight of your frustration. “Look at yourself. You can barely stand.”

He shrugs, grabbing the back of the couch for support. His fingers twitch against the fabric.

“I’m fine. We’re fine…”

“You’re not fine.”

The words hang in the air between you, heavy with tension. He just stares at you, that stupid grin still plastered on his face.

And then, slowly, he starts to sway.

His knees buckle.

“Su-bong—”

Before you can reach him, he collapses onto the floor.

For a long moment, you just stand there, staring down at him.

He’s out cold. His head is tilted to the side, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. His hair falls into his eyes, damp with sweat.

You should help him.

You should shake him awake, drag him to bed, clean him up.

But you don’t move.

Because you’re tired.

So fucking tired.

Instead, you start searching.

You move on instinct, heading straight for his jacket. Your hands are shaking, your chest tight, but you can’t stop.

You dig through the pockets, pulling out a crumpled pack of cigarettes, a lighter, loose change. And then —

A bag of powder.

Fuck.

Your stomach twists, but you keep going. You can’t stop now.

You move to his bag next, unzipping it with trembling fingers. More powder. Pills, tucked into a side pocket. A tiny syringe, wrapped in tissue.

It’s worse than you thought.

So much worse.

You finally check the place you know he most definitely has drugs. That damn cross necklace. He wears it everywhere, everyday, all the time. Even when he’s sleeping. Even when your fucking.

The only exception being when he showers.

Your heart began to beat out of your chest as if you had just completely a six mile run. Staring at his passed out form on the cheap carpet of your shared apartment.

What if he woke up and caught you.

You tip toed up to him, the floors betraying you as it creaked with every step.

You took a deep breath unintentionally holding your breath as your shaky hands toyed with his chunky necklace struggling to open it.

He didn’t move though.

In fact the only thing moving on him was his chest falling up and down as he fell deeper into sleep.

But you continue to toy with the necklace until it eventually popped open unevenly, causing colorful pills to fly every which way, and click across the floor.

Fuck.

Why does everything have to be so loud right now?!

You got on your hands a knees scooping up the candy colored pills and probably some dirt with them. Before quickly dropping them into your pocket as Su-Bong lied still on the floor.

Your chest heaves as you gather everything up, cradling it in your hands like you’re carrying a corpse.

You don’t think.

You just move.

The bathroom light flickers on.

The toilet lid creaks as you lift it.

And one by one, you throw everything in.

The powder.

The pills.

The syringe.

Every. fucking. thing.

The water ripples, murky and disgusting, but you don’t hesitate. You flush it all away.

Like it never existed.

When it’s done, you stand there for a long time, staring down at the empty toilet bowl.

Your reflection stares back at you from the water.

Red-rimmed eyes.

Trembling hands.

A stranger.

You press your palms to the sink, breathing hard. Your chest feels tight, your throat raw.

What are you even doing?

But you know the answer.

You’re trying to save him.

Even though he doesn’t want to be saved.

~~~~~~~~~~~

You hear him before you see him.

The sharp bang of a drawer slamming shut.

Then another.

And another.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

The noise is jarring — too loud in the early morning quiet, rattling through the apartment like gunshots.

For a moment, you just lie there in bed, heart pounding, staring up at the ceiling. The air feels too thick. Your throat is tight. You already know what he’s doing.

He’s looking for them.

Fuck.

You sit up slowly, moving on instinct. Your bare feet hit the floor, and the cold bites at your skin. You don’t bother with a sweater. You barely notice the chill.

All you can hear is the sound of drawers being ripped open, items clattering to the floor, Su-bong’s frustrated muttering.

You step into the hallway, moving toward the living room like you’re walking into a minefield. Every step feels heavier than the last, each breath dragging in your lungs.

The apartment is a fucking mess. Drawers pulled out their hinges. Glass shattered on the floor. your shared belongings scattered across the floor such as, mail, silver wear, books, wires and more. He even emptied his fucking ashtray on the carpet staining it with dark powdery ashes creating a fucking smudge. Who the fuck hides drugs in an ashtray?!

When you see him, your stomach drops.

He’s on his knees in front of the dresser, tearing through the drawers like a man possessed. His hair is sticking up in every direction, sweat clinging to his neck and temples. His shoulders are tense, his hands trembling as he yanks out clothes, papers, random shit — anything that might be hiding what he’s looking for.

You watch in silence for a long moment, your pulse thrumming in your ears.

This is worse than you expected.

He’s worse than you expected.

“Su-bong?”

Your voice comes out softer than you intended — a whisper, almost cautious.

He doesn’t look up.

He doesn’t stop.

He just slams another drawer shut, cursing under his breath.

“Where the fuck are they?” he mutters. His voice is low, rough — shaking with barely-contained rage. “Where the fuck are they?”

Your stomach twists.

You take a shaky breath.

“What are you looking for?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady.

This time, he freezes.

Just for a second.

Then, slowly, he turns to look at you.

His eyes are dark, bloodshot. His pupils are blown wide, so black they almost swallow the brown. His lips are cracked, the corners pulled down in a sneer.

And in that moment, you feel it —

The fear.

The dread.

You’ve never seen him like this before.

“You know what,” he says, voice low and venomous. “Where the fuck are they?”

Your mind races.

Your palms start to sweat.

Think. Think. Think.

You can feel the anger radiating off of him — simmering just under the surface, threatening to boil over. And you know what happens when he reaches his limit.

You’ve seen it before.

The broken bottles.

The slammed doors.

The bruises on his knuckles after a night out, when he came back bloodied and laughing, saying, ‘You should see the other guy.’

You swallow hard. Your throat feels raw.

“I don’t know,” you say quickly, shaking your head. “Maybe you left it at the club. Or with Ji-hye. You’ve been out all night—”

“Bullshit.”

He stands up slowly, wiping his hands on his jeans as he takes a step toward you.

“Don’t fucking lie to me.”

Your back hits the wall.

Fuck.

“I’m not lying.” Your voice cracks, and you hate yourself for it. “I don’t even know what you’re looking for.”

He doesn’t believe you.

You can see it in the way his jaw clenches, the way his fingers twitch at his sides, itching to grab something — to throw something.

You think about the last time you saw him like this.

The broken lamp. The smashed picture frame. The bruise on your wrist that took a week to fade.

“I’m serious, Su-bong.” Your voice is shaky now, pleading. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He tears through the dresser again, frantic.

Each drawer pulled out with a sharp crack, each item tossed aside without care.

Your heart pounds.

Your breath comes faster.

And then, the drawer slams shut.

He turns to you again, and you can see it — the realization sinking in.

You.

It had to be you.

It was the only logical answer. Though he was thinking far from logically right now.

“You fucking took them.”

It’s not a question.

It’s a statement.

A terrifying sentence.

You don’t say anything.

You can’t.

But the way you flinch — the way your body stiffens, your lips press together — it’s enough.

He explodes.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

He grabs the nearest object — a book, heavy and solid — and hurls it across the room. It hits the wall with a loud thud, just inches from your head.

You gasp, pressing yourself tighter against the wall.

“You hid them?” His voice is rising now, loud and furious, filling the apartment, making the walls shake. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“You need help!” The words burst out of you before you can stop them. “You’re killing yourself, Su-bong! I’m trying to help you!”

He laughs.

A sharp, bitter sound.

“Help me? You think this is helping me?”

“Yes! Because I love you, and I can’t fucking watch you do this to yourself anymore!”

“Where are they?” He spits out through his teeth anger radiating off of him as he stared at you through narrowed fiery eyes. His hand slightly raised. Almost like threat. “Where the fuck are they?!”

That was all he had to say? Really?

You’re crying now — sobbing, desperate, the words tumbling out like a flood. “I threw it all out. I flushed everything. I couldn’t—”

He grabs another object — a picture frame — and throws it, shattering it against the floor.

You cover your face with your hands, trying to hold yourself together, but the tears won’t stop.

“I’m trying to save you,” you whisper through sobs. “Why won’t you let me save you?”

He doesn’t answer.

Because you both know the truth.

You can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved.

~~~~~

The apartment is dead silent.

It’s been like that all day.

You’ve been cleaning for hours, but the mess never seems to get any smaller. There’s glass on the floor, torn-up drawers, clothes and papers scattered everywhere. His cigarette ashes that stained the carpet, a dark smudge you can’t scrub out no matter how hard you try.

And Su-bong hasn’t said a word.

He’s been on the couch since morning.

Since you screamed at him. Since he threw things at you.

He hasn’t moved.

He hasn’t looked at you.

The sunlight has shifted across the room, cutting through the blinds in harsh slants. Afternoon light. Late afternoon. Time has passed in that slow, suffocating way it does after a fight — heavy, dragging, relentless.

And all you can feel is the weight of his silence.

You sweep broken glass into the dustpan, your hands shaking, your breath shallow.

You can feel the tension hanging in the air — sharp, brittle, ready to shatter.

Your stomach twists painfully.

You want him to say something.

But at the same time, you’re terrified he will.

Because when Su-bong speaks, it’s never gentle anymore.

You dump the dustpan into the trash, brushing your hands on your jeans. Your palms are sweaty. Your chest feels tight.

He’s still sitting there, legs spread wide, one arm draped over the backrest, his cigarette burning down to ash.

He hasn’t moved.

Hasn’t looked at you once.

Fuck.

You glance toward the shattered picture frame on the floor.

He threw that at you this morning.

You think about the sound of it hitting the wall, the way it shattered into pieces. The way he looked at you — cold, furious, distant.

Your throat tightens.

Your hands start to tremble again.

Why are you still here?

You pick up the broom again, brushing up some paper that was planted on the floor.

Your mind is racing, filled with what-ifs and regrets.

What if he explodes again?

What if you say the wrong thing?

What if this is the time he doesn’t stop?

You swallow hard, trying to push the thoughts away.

But they stay.

Lurking. Whispering.

“I flushed everything.”

You can still hear yourself saying it — the way your voice cracked, the way his face twisted with rage.

He hasn’t forgiven you for that.

You don’t think he ever will.

You set the broom aside, pressing your palms to your thighs to steady your shaking hands.

You have to say something.

The silence is suffocating.

And you can’t take it anymore.

But your chest aches with dread. Your stomach is in knots. You feel like you’re walking into a trap.

You wipe your hands on your jeans again, more out of habit than anything. Your fingers are clammy, trembling.

Finally, you take a shaky breath and step toward the couch.

“Su-bong?”

Your voice comes out softer than you intended.

Tentative.

Small.

He doesn’t respond.

He just takes a slow drag of his cigarette, the smoke curling into the air between you, twisting and fading before it reaches the ceiling.

Your pulse kicks up, your nerves buzzing like static.

You wipe your hands on your jeans again, fidgeting.

He’s ignoring you.

You take another step closer, your knees unsteady. The sunlight cuts across his face, making the dark circles under his eyes look deeper.

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly.

Still, he doesn’t look at you.

But you see the way his jaw tightens.

The way his fingers twitch, clenched around the cigarette.

He’s listening.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to keep going. Your voice shakes.

“I just…” You trail off, unsure what to say.

Unsure if it even matters.

The words feel too heavy, too fragile.

Like they’ll shatter in the air.

“I didn’t know what else to do.”

Finally, he moves.

He leans forward slowly, crushing the cigarette into the ashtray with a soft hiss.

And then, he looks up.

His eyes lock on yours.

Dark. Bloodshot.

And completely unreadable.

“You didn’t know what else to do?” he echoes, voice low, rough.

You flinch at the sound of it.

The tone.

The quiet anger simmering underneath.

“You didn’t have to do shit.”

Your chest tightens painfully.

Your hands won’t stop trembling.

“I was scared,” you say softly, desperate now. “I was scared for you.”

His lips twitch into something bitter.

“Scared for me?” He laughs, but it’s not a kind sound. It’s sharp. Cold. Empty.

“Mmm.” He nods sarcastic as if you were telling some kind of joke.

You step closer, kneeling beside him now.

Your heart is pounding.

Your head feels light, like you’re on the edge of something dangerous.

“I love you,” you whisper.

Nothing.

“I love you,” you say again, voice cracking.

Because you need him to hear it.

Because you need it to be true.

Finally, he looks at you.

And there’s nothing soft in his gaze.

Just anger. Disgust. Exhaustion.

“Then why the fuck are you still here?”

The words hit you like a slap.

Your breath catches in your throat.

You feel it — the sting of them, the weight of them, pressing down on your chest.

You want to say something.

You want to scream, to cry, to tell him that you’re here because you love him, because you want to save him, because you can’t imagine your life without him.

But before you can speak, he grabs your wrist.

His grip is too tight. Too rough.

As he’s pulling you into his lap, his hands already moving to your hips, digging in hard enough to bruise.

“You said you love me.”

His voice is low, soft, dangerous.

“Show me.”

His hands don’t feel the way they used to.

There’s no softness in them anymore.

No warmth.

Just frustration. Impatience. Roughness.

You lie there, your body pinned beneath his weight, your heart pounding in your chest, your hands trembling against his shoulders.

You wanted this to be different.

You wanted this to be soft.

Forgiving.

But it’s not.

His lips press against your neck, messy and forceful. His teeth graze your skin, biting down hard enough to sting. You flinch, but he doesn’t stop.

His hands move to your hips, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. He’s yanking your clothes off, rough and unrelenting.

There’s no tenderness in the way he touches you.

It’s not a kiss.

It’s not love.

It’s control.

You try to touch him.

Your hands tremble as you reach for his face, hoping to ground him — to bring him back.

But he grabs your wrist, pinning it down.

“Don’t.”

His voice is low, rough, filled with something you can’t quite place. Anger. Frustration. Exhaustion.

“Just let me.”

Your chest tightens.

Your stomach twists painfully.

You don’t want this.

Not like this.

“Su-bong—”

He cuts you off with a sharp tug of your jeans, dragging them down your legs, his hands trembling slightly.

He’s impatient. Frustrated.

“I said, don’t.”

The words hit you like a slap.

Your breath catches in your throat.

You close your eyes for a moment, tears burning behind your eyelids.

This isn’t right.

This isn’t what you wanted.

“Wait.”

The word slips out softly, almost a whisper.

Tentative. Hesitant.

He doesn’t stop.

His hands are still moving — grabbing at your thighs, pulling you closer, positioning you the way he wants.

You press your hands against his chest, trying to push him back.

“Wait.”

Still, nothing.

You swallow hard, your voice shaking now.

“Su-bong, stop.”

He freezes.

For a moment, you think he’s going to listen.

You think he’s going to stop.

But when he looks at you, his gaze is dark, bloodshot, distant.

“I need this,” he mutters. “Just… shut up and let me.”

And then he moves again.

You go still beneath him.

Frozen. Paralyzed.

Your heart is pounding, loud and insistent, telling you to get up, to run, to scream.

But you don’t.

You can’t.

Because you love him.

Because you keep telling yourself it’s just a moment.

Because you’re still trying to make excuses.

His frustration only grows.

His touch gets rougher, more impatient.

He grabs your thighs, spreading them apart with more force than necessary.

His hands are shaking slightly, but he doesn’t slow down.

He doesn’t stop.

You try to speak again, but he cuts you off with a sharp kiss — more teeth than lips, more bite than kiss.

“Just stop talking,” he says, his voice low and strained. “Please.”

The desperation in his voice makes your chest ache.

But this isn’t desperation for you.

It’s desperation for something else.

Something he could find in a bag or a bottle.

And he’s using you to chase it.

It hurts.

Every touch is too rough.

Every kiss is too hard.

His grip is too tight.

You close your eyes, tears slipping down your cheeks.

You tell yourself it’s almost over.

Just a moment.

He’s just angry.

He’s just high.

But deep down, you know that’s not true.

When it’s over, he pulls away without a word.

He doesn’t look at you.

He doesn’t ask if you’re okay.

He just rolls onto his back, staring at the ceiling, his chest heaving.

You lie there, staring at the ceiling too, your body aching, your skin burning, your heart hollowed out.

And when you finally get up, your legs are shaky, your hands trembling, your mind screaming at you to leave.

But you don’t.

You walk to the bathroom instead.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The water is scalding.

It hits your skin like needles, burning, stinging.

But you don’t turn it down.

You want it to hurt.

You stand under the spray, scrubbing your skin until it’s raw, until it stings, until you feel like you’ve peeled away every trace of him.

But you can still feel his hands on you.

You can still feel the bruises forming under your fingertips.

The water doesn’t wash it away.

Nothing does.

You press your hands against the tile, your chest heaving with quiet sobs.

Why are you still here?

The question echoes in your mind, over and over.

But you don’t have an answer.

You tell yourself you love him.

You tell yourself he didn’t mean it.

But deep down, you know the truth.

He won’t stop.

He won’t change.

And still —

You stay.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When you step out of the shower, your skin is red and raw, aching with every step.

You wrap a towel around yourself, but it doesn’t cover the bruises.

Your reflection stares back at you from the mirror —

Wide eyes. Red-rimmed. Lips trembling.

A distant stranger.

You take a shaky breath, running your fingers through your damp hair.

And then, you step back into the bedroom.

Su-bong is sitting on the edge of the bed, his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands.

When he hears you, his head snaps up.

For a moment, you think you see concern in his eyes.

His gaze flickers to the bruises on your thighs, to the dark mark on your neck where he bit you.

“You’re hurt.”

The words are soft.

Almost tender.

He steps toward you slowly, like he’s afraid you’ll run.

And you flinch.

His hand, halfway to your arm, pauses in midair.

For a moment, neither of you move. The space between you feels too wide, too tense, too fragile — like a thread pulled tight, ready to snap.

“Come here.”

His voice is soft now.

Quiet. Careful.

Like he’s trying to make up for what he did without actually saying the words.

You stay where you are.

You want to run.

You want to scream.

You want to shove him away.

But you don’t.

Because you’re tired.

So fucking tired.

And you just want it to stop.

“I’m sorry.”

The words are soft.

Almost fragile.

He steps closer, and this time, you don’t flinch.

You don’t move.

You’re too tired.

His fingers brush against the bruises on your arm.

Light. Careful.

Like he’s trying to be gentle now.

Like he’s trying to erase the marks he left behind.

But they won’t fade.

And you both know it.

“I just… I need you.”

The words slip out of him quietly, almost a whisper. His lips brush against your shoulder, pressing soft kisses over the bruises he left.

“I need you to stay.”

You close your eyes.

Tears slip down your cheeks.

You crawl into bed with him, your body aching, your mind screaming at you to leave — but your heart refusing to listen.

His arms wrap around you, warm and heavy, pulling you against his chest.

And you cry quietly into his shirt, trying not to let him hear.

But he does.

He always does.

And still —

You stay.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It starts small.

It always does.

A comment.

A glance.

A flicker of something in his eyes — that dark, volatile thing lurking just beneath the surface.

You’ve been walking on eggshells for days.

Ever since the fight.

Ever since the picture frame shattered against the wall.

Ever since you flushed his drugs.

Ever since you cried in his arms after he didn’t stop.

Things have been too quiet.

Too tense.

And deep down, you know it’s coming.

He’s been distant.

Quiet, brooding, his mood shifting like storm clouds rolling in.

You should leave.

You know you should.

But instead, you stay.

You cook him dinner.

You clean the apartment.

You try to make things normal.

But there’s nothing normal about this.

It’s late when he comes home.

Way too late.

You’re sitting at the kitchen table, your fingers wrapped around a cup of cold tea, staring at the door like it’s about to explode off its hinges.

When you hear the click of the lock turning, your heart jumps into your throat.

The door swings open, and there he is.

Su-bong.

His hair is a mess.

His eyes are bloodshot.

There’s a bruise on his knuckles, dark and fresh.

And when his gaze lands on you, everything inside you tightens.

This is it.

The storm has finally arrived.

“Where the fuck have you been?”

Your voice comes out sharper than you intended, cutting through the silence.

He steps inside, kicking the door shut behind him with more force than necessary.

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything.

He just stands there, swaying slightly, his hands twitching at his sides.

And then —

He laughs.

Low. Bitter.

The sound sends a shiver down your spine.

“I don’t need to explain myself to you.”

The words hit you like a slap.

Your grip tightens on the mug, your knuckles turning white.

“You don’t need to explain yourself?”

Your voice shakes.

You hate it.

You hate the way he makes you feel small, like you’re the one who’s wrong.

Like you’re the one who needs to apologize.

“You’ve been gone all day,” you say, standing up slowly, your legs unsteady.

“All day, Su-bong. And now you’re just going to walk in here like nothing happened?”

He shrugs.

Shrugs.

Like he doesn’t care.

Like you don’t matter.

“I made dinner.”

The words sound pathetic as they leave your mouth.

You hate yourself for saying them.

For wanting to fix this.

But he doesn’t even look at you.

He just walks past you, heading toward the bedroom.

“I’m not hungry.”

Something snaps inside you.

The fragile thread holding you together finally breaks.

“No.”

Your voice is sharp.

Louder than it’s been in weeks.

He stops in his tracks.

Slowly, he turns to look at you.

And you can feel it —

The shift.

The crackle of tension in the air.

The storm about to break.

“What did you say?”

His voice is low. Dangerous.

But you’re not backing down. Not this time.

“I said no.”

Your heart is pounding.

You’re scared.

You should be.

But you’ve been scared for so long —

and you’re so fucking tired of it.

“You don’t get to do this anymore.”

The words tumble out, fast and desperate.

“You don’t get to disappear for days and come back like nothing happened. You don’t get to treat me like shit. You don’t get to use me, hurt me, and act like it’s my fault.”

His jaw clenches.

You see the flicker of anger in his eyes.

But you keep going.

“I’ve been here for you through everything. I’ve cleaned up your messes. I’ve lied for you. I’ve loved you, even when you made it impossible.”

Your voice cracks.

Tears sting your eyes, but you don’t stop.

“And I can’t do it anymore, Su-bong.”

Silence.

For a long moment, neither of you move.

The air feels too heavy.

The tension is thick, suffocating.

And then —

He laughs.

“What the fuck do you want from me?”

The words hit you hard.

He throws them like a punch —

bitter, angry, exhausted.

“You want me to change? You want me to be something I’m not?”

His voice rises.

“You want me to stop? for you? You want me to be better?”

He steps closer, his hands shaking.

“I’m not better.

“I’m not fucking better.”

Your chest tightens.

Tears spill down your cheeks, hot and burning.

“I just want you to try.”

The words come out soft, broken.

“I love you, Su-bong.”

He freezes.

For a split second, something flickers in his eyes —

something raw.

And then —

“That’s your fucking problem.”

The slap comes out of nowhere.

Hard. Fast.

It knocks you to the floor.

For a moment, you don’t move.

Your cheek stings.

Your ears ring.

Your whole body feels like it’s been shattered.

And when you finally look up, he’s staring down at you.

His chest heaves.

His hands shake.

And for a split second —

He looks scared.

“You’re right.”

His voice cracks.

“I’m not better.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and suffocating.

And this time —

You believe him.

You push yourself up slowly, your whole body trembling.

“I loved you.”

Your voice is soft.

Broken.

“But you killed it.”

He doesn’t stop you as you walk toward the door.

But his voice follows you.

Soft. Bitter. Full of regret.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

You pause.

And for a moment —

You almost turn around.

But you don’t.

You keep walking.

And as you step outside, tears streaming down your face, your heart breaking into pieces —

You know you’ll never be free.

Because he’ll always haunt you.

Like carrion.

Rotting.

Decaying.

[izzyfishie]

Any Sangihun childhood hcs cuz I am FERAL(read sobbing) for childhood best friend tropes

yes!! most of the stuff written down here is how things are written in my VIY fic as well ! 💗

sang-woo and gi-hun’s mothers (names= oh mal-soon and jang hye-ji) were close friends who became friends when they moved to ssangmun-dong. gi-hun and sang-woo were always raised in proximity to one another, but didn’t actually form a friendship until they were 5/6.

throughout school, especially primary and middle school, sang-woo wasn’t widely liked by a lot of the other kids in his grade. they’d always make mean comments and mock him. so through school, gi-hun served as sang-woo’s protection, and he took care of him.

gi-hun and sang-woo also slept over at each other’s houses a lot, and their mothers knew each other’s favorite meals and would cook it for them (even better when you hc sang-woo as something of a picky eater 😋). they also studied together a lot!

they also bantered a LOT because HELL YES 🔥 just like growing teenage boys do!

lmk if you want more!! these are just some that i thought of off the top of my head (im not home rn 😭)

[twinklingwatermellon]

If you could write/direct a kdrama, you decide cast and plot, what would it be?

omg this is such a good question!!! and I actually have thought about this.

(I mean, my first choice would kinda be a screen adaptation of Hardwick House, but I don’t know if that would particularly work as a kdrama because it’s set in London and language-wise, it’s kind of a 50/50 split between Korean and English (with just a pinch of Chinese in some flashbacks). I also don’t have much of a cast for it because I’d need a British Korean guy to play Henry and you don’t actually see many British Korean actors (the closest I came, when I had to choose a cast for my film class finals, was Will Gao, but he’s British-Chinese), but I’d love it if Shin Eun-soo played Seon-hwa, and also as a purely self-indulgent little thing, for Choi Hyunwook to play her late husband in the flashbacks.)

Anyway! The real answer is, I’d want Park Eunbin and Kim Seonho as the leads in a historical series set in Korea and Japan in the last months of WW2. This is kind of out of character for me because I’m so much a romcom girlie, but the idea compels me.

I do love medical dramas, so Eunbin would play a nurse with no family left except her younger sister, who’s trying to focus on laying low, surviving, and helping as many people as she can but especially protecting her sister, and Seonho would play a doctor who’s also secretly working for the resistance against the Japanese. They’d fall into an easy companionship after meeting by chance and eventually fall in love and fight to stay alive together despite the awful times they’re living in. They’d both definitely be in mortal peril a few times and have to run to rescue each other.

The second ML is a Japanese soldier that offered himself as a spy for the Korean resistance but returns from the front severely wounded and is eventually hidden, albeit reluctantly, by Eunbin and Seonho. He and the FL’s younger sister go on to form a bond that is never quite identified within canon as romantic but is also just a little too close and fond.

I don’t know who would play the soldier because I don’t know enough Japanese actors, but the younger sister is played by Seo Ji-hye (from MPS, not from CLOY).

I’d need to do more research for exactly what else they go through, but the story ends with them surviving the war (though of course, everything has changed), getting married, and moving somewhere rural in Korea to try and carve out a moderately peaceful life.