#kactor

[sugasburneracc]

Got me kicking my feet and crap 😭😭

Just strong enough to love you

Ahn Su-ho x fem!reader

..................................................................................

The sky held that pale hue, somewhere between grey and blue, as if the sun hesitated to show itself that morning. A fine drizzle fell on the glistening sidewalks of Seoul, caressing passersby with a damp, almost soft breath. In this blurred light, two figures struggled at the end of an alley. Nothing new in this neighborhood. Another score settled, more high schoolers with more rage than future. And yet...

Y/N's camera captured everything.

She wasn't there for them. She was filming another shot, an urban life scene for an experimental montage. Y/N loved the textures of the city, the way sounds and movements overlapped like a chaotic symphony. But her lens had slipped for a moment. Just a moment. And in that fleeting instant, she had captured them: two boys. One frail, intelligent, calm like an inner storm. The other, a living fire, sure, quick, powerful blows. And that look...

Ahn Su-ho.

She hadn't deleted the video. Not because she was looking for trouble. She simply found the scene beautiful. An almost choreographed, rhythmic brutality, and above all, that silent tension between the two boys. A kind of raw loyalty. She had posted a short excerpt, blurring the faces. The video had gone viral. She didn't really understand why.

Two days later, he was there. In front of her high school. The rain was now just a memory. Su-ho, dressed in his slightly crumpled uniform, had his hands in his pockets, his gaze furious, his cheeks flushed from the cold or annoyance. She recognized him immediately.

"Is that you?" he asked. "Were you the one who filmed?"

His voice was deep, slightly hoarse. Not threatening. But there was a tension in his shoulders, as if he was holding himself back from exploding. Y/N, calm, looked at him for a long moment before answering.

"It's blurry. You can't see anyone clearly."

He sighed, ran a hand through his hair.

"That's not the problem. If someone recognizes Si-eun, he could get into trouble. And so could I. Delete it."

She shook her head.

"It's a work of art. I don't delete my works."

He stared at her, incredulous. His face tightened with annoyance.

"Seriously? You want to be an artist? This puts us in danger."

"I blurred the faces."

"You think that's enough?"

She shrugged. She wasn't provoking him. She was simply... sincere. Y/N never smiled without a reason. That day, she didn't smile. But she didn't lower her eyes either. And Su-ho noticed that.

It was Si-eun who solved the problem. As always. A week later, Su-ho told him about the scene.

"She won't delete it. That girl is stubborn."

Si-eun gave him a slow look, like an exasperated teacher.

"I'll ask her. I'm sure she'll say yes."

"And why would she say yes to you?"

"Because I didn't try to scare her."

Si-eun was right. Two days later, the video was offline. And Su-ho had no more excuses to think about her.

But he thought about her anyway.

He found her annoying. Absolutely frustrating. And, in a way, fascinating. She wasn't like the others. Not because she was mysterious or silent, but because she seemed to have an unwavering inner compass. She knew what she wanted. What she didn't want. And she wasn't going to bend to his demands, even though he could take down five guys without batting an eyelid.

It wasn't until Si-eun asked her, in a calm but firm tone, that she finally deleted the video. Without complaint. Without justification. Just a nod, and the clip disappeared from her phone as if it had never existed.

Su-ho should have moved on.

But he didn't.

He started to notice her. To watch for her passing. Sometimes, he lingered for no reason near her high school. Just... in case. And sometimes, he would run into her, and she would give him a neutral, almost bored look, but he felt his heart leap as if he had just run a marathon.

He didn't know what it was, that warmth in his chest, that need to see her, even for a second. He didn't understand why he smiled like an idiot when he thought about her calm demeanor, her composed voice. Y/N soothed him as much as she annoyed him.

A ball of energy, Su-ho. Always ready to fight to defend, to protect. But in front of her, he became clumsy. He would flirt sometimes, to mask what he didn't yet understand. And she... she didn't laugh at his jokes. But she listened to him. And that was worse. It touched him more than any forced laughter.

Then there was that night at the restaurant. He worked sometimes after school. He loved that little job. Serving, joking with customers, feeling the warmth of the kitchen, hearing the clatter of dishes and conversations. It was alive. Like him.

And she was there.

Sitting alone, a notebook in front of her. She was drawing, or taking notes, he didn't know. He approached, his heart beating faster than usual.

"Are you lost? Or did you come to see the most handsome waiter in Seoul?"

She looked up. Her calm gaze pierced him like a blade.

"I came to eat."

He laughed. Really laughed. This girl had a knack for breaking his opening lines.

"In that case, you're in luck. My service is exceptional."

"I'll judge for myself."

She still wasn't smiling. But there was a spark in the depths of her eyes. As if she was slowly letting herself be contaminated by his light.

And that night, he knew. He knew. He was screwed.

In love.

Not with an idea. Not with a fantasy. With her. With her silences. With her rigor. With her way of being upright in a crooked world. He loved her like one loves a rare light. A star fallen in the wrong place, at the wrong time, and yet so bright that one cannot help but reach out.

He talked to Si-eun about it one night as they walked in silence after a tense confrontation.

"I think I'm in love," he said simply.

Si-eun raised an eyebrow.

"Y/N?"

Su-ho stared at him, mouth slightly open.

"You knew?"

"You shine when you talk about her."

Su-ho smiled faintly.

"She's... different."

"Stop. You already said that."

"Damn it. Okay... Do you think it's possible? To love someone like that? For no reason? Just because when I think about her, I feel like everything else gets lighter?"

Si-eun, who wasn't one for giving advice, replied in a calm tone:

"I think that's the best reason."

And Su-ho began to dream. Not of fairy tales. Just of simple moments. Of sharing. Of seeing her smile. A real smile. He didn't care if he was "good enough" for her. Those kinds of thoughts sometimes gnawed at him, especially when he saw himself as a fighting, impulsive, rough boy. But there was an immense tenderness within him. A capacity to love without measure. And that tenderness, Y/N deserved it.

He didn't want to save her. She didn't need saving.

He just wanted to... walk beside her.

And he hoped, more than anything, that one day she would let him.

---

The next day, it rained again. Not the same soft drizzle as at the beginning of their story, no. This time, it was a more distinct rain, almost vibrant, as if the sky shared a certain nervousness.

Y/N had stopped under the high school awning, nervously rummaging through her bag. She knew it. Her notebook wasn't there anymore. And she wasn't stupid—she knew exactly where she had forgotten it. On that small restaurant table, half-hidden under her coat.

And above all, she knew who had found it.

When Su-ho arrived, soaked despite his hood, he spotted her right away. He had that look, a little playful, a little too bright. He approached silently, slipped his hand into his backpack, and pulled out the black notebook, one corner slightly dog-eared.

"I believe you left something," he said, his voice calm but his gaze filled with a mocking gleam.

She snatched the notebook, a little too quickly, as if she wanted to shield it from his eyes. But it was too late. He had seen it. And not just seen it. He had read it.

"Page 17," he murmured, feigning distraction. "Nice drawing. I'm even more handsome in a drawing than in real life, don't you think?"

She froze, her fingers clenched on the cover. She looked up at him. That look. Always the same. Calm. Cold, for some. But Su-ho knew. She was boiling inside.

"You read it," she said simply. It wasn't a question.

He shrugged, looking a little guilty but mostly, sincerely moved.

"Just a little. By accident. Well... page 17, then 18... 19... I got a little carried away."

A silence. Then he continued, taking a folded piece of paper from the notebook's cover.

"I added something. I hope you don't mind. It's at the end."

She opened it. Slowly. And there, on the last page, was a drawing of her. Clumsy, clearly not done by a hand used to art. But touching. There she was, head down, focused, with that little crease between her eyebrows she made when she was thinking.

And below it, he had written, in slightly shaky handwriting:

"I think I like her too... maybe even a little too much. And given the masterpiece she made of me, I think we're meant to be a team."

She closed the notebook. Slowly. Her heart was beating too fast. He saw it, she knew it. He read her. And strangely, she didn't want to run away this time.

"A team, huh?" she said finally, without any apparent emotion.

"A dream team," he replied with a wink. "You film, I punch. You draw, I model. You create silences, I fill them with nonsense."

And for the first time since he had known her, she smiled. Not a half-smile. A real one. Slight. Shy. But there.

Su-ho looked surprised. Then, slowly, he smiled too. Not his usual superficial smile. Not his smile to deflect. A real one.

"You see, you're even more beautiful when you smile," he whispered.

She rolled her eyes, feigning exasperation.

"And you're even more unbearable when you start."

He laughed. Then, gently, he held out his hand.

"Walk together? Just for a bit?"

She hesitated. Just for a second.

And then, she slipped her fingers into his.

"A bit, then."

..................................................................................

[gnohomotho]

Run, If You Want to be Caught 「Pt. 2」♡☣♡

Pairing: Berlin x fem!reader Summary: The plan was supposed to be simple. You, the bait. Infiltrate the volatile group. Make it believable. But then there's the suave loose cannon who came up with the plan...who seems to be losing his mind just a tad - over you. And when you turn from his prey to someone else's, after his own mistake, there is hell to pay. And you? You're not going to go down without a fight. But there's one more variable threatening your entire equation, and it's not the young man Berlin is increasingly jealous of - you're opening your heart to him just as he opened your jumpsuit...and now you have to bear the consequences. Warnings: Death, gore, bondage, gagging, holding, touching, descriptions of physical intimacy, undressing, angst, fluff, who-did-this-to-you dynamics, language taking apt advantage of their power dynamics and (extremely ethical, legal, teleologically moral) age-gap; 18+ MDNI. Pretty sure this man doesn't have kinks, he is kinks. Word count: 5.4k A/N: This is more of an interlude between acts because this is all basically a gigantic Rorschach test and tender loving care after incredibly harsh mind-fucking and violence is something that surely needed to be written. ❤️‍🩹 For all my romantic, gentle, quiet girlies not to be fucked with but still looked after - I hope you feel hugged. ❀࿐ Lovely dividers by: @cafekitsune If you like my writing, requests, or just want to keep the blog afloat - I appreciate every like // reblog // follow // question // message! ♥ Link to previous Link to next Masterlist ฅ^._.^ฅ ♡ Requests are OPEN ♡

"Please let go of my wrist."

"Say 'please' again, Jackdaw. It sounds pretty off your lips."

"Let go of my wrist, Berlin."

The grip tightens.

His smile widens.

"You really like pushing my strings to their breaking point, don't you, little one. Let's try this one...last...time..."

Berlin pushes his forehead into yours, lulling with you. You notice his eyes close for a moment, as if truly lost in those few seconds. The fabric of his jumpsuit rustles against yours. His waist touches you and pushes your body into the table, you feel the heat of his words on your neck, so close he could be kissing them into your throat:

"Please...pretty please...let go of my wrist, Berlin, sir...now. Try it. Don't be shy."

His eyes flicked open, wide, beckoning, sharp. Feigned patience playing in them, like he was playing up the role of a particularly exasperated professor. But so intrigued he can't help himself.

Your heart was beating out of your chest. Your breath both fast and low, trying to keep calm, knowing he's well aware of the cameras. But dear god, you don't know if you're quivering for him to follow through on his worst promises or for the need to push him into the opposing wall.

You breathe in, little hops in your throat almost touching his lips the way he's leaning into you.

"Just tie me up and get it over with. Berlin."

Your words try to sound sharp and yet they're anything but - tumbling out of your throat in half breathed whispers, sounding both terrified and utterly overwhelmed with things he'd be delighted to explore.

And he wastes no time.

"Wrong answer."

Berlin grabs your collar he'd been so careful to adjust just moments ago and drags you under the table before you can even gasp.

❥❥❥

A hand is firmly clasped over your mouth.

"Shhh. Hush. Look at me."

You don't.

"Look at me, Manhattan."

The order was clear.

You carefully look up, anger building in your eyes and his fingers placed across your lips, palm over your cheeks, aren't helping. He nods slowly.

"Good girl. Now, give me your hands."

You lift your wrists up halfway, shaking now. Not because of him, but because of how fast he seemingly lost interest and went right back to using you as bait.

Sweet words with no depth. Music on plywood.

He turns to rustle through his pockets, and when he turns back, those small motions and head lulls stop mid-movement. Berlin's eyes sink into yours, studying, then...

He stops again.

Only one finger across your mouth taps into you, as if moving to an invisible tune.

Tap tap.

Tap tap tap.

Tap.

But he's gazing into your eyes, transfixed. Lips just the slightest bit open, as if to speak, but he remains silent. You watch the smooth lines in his face, studying it carefully for the first time.

So much pressure, so much control embedded in the seemingly calm and level surface. His hair is slightly dishevelled, his collar uneven, his neck...strained. His pulse is almost visible. Your eyes jitter to his hand, his fistful of zip ties, and it must have sparked a reaction in you, because his own gaze softens for just a second before growing cold and faintly entertained.

His dark brows lift as if to taunt you further, dare you to disobey, to talk back, to disagree.

And you say nothing, fear gripping your heart. It dawns on you - he's a stranger. A dangerous, volatile stranger, you're alone with him, no cameras can see you right now, and he doesn't care. You're being watched like a worm on a hook, entertaining in its wriggling, nothing more. Fate sealed.

Your eyes lower, lips quivering under the force of the man's palm, just the slightest bit. In any other scenario it would resemble a kiss, but that only plays into your sense of wrong.

Berlin suddenly begins a slow movement and strokes your cheek with the thumb of his hand, each trail slower than the last. Looking at you. The more he looks, the slower the movement, until he shifts from your mouth to the side of your face.

The hand lets your face rest into it, enjoying the caress and ceasing the gagging placement entirely. He simply...remains that way. Watching you. Letting you feed on the comfort of his touch. Your head inadvertently lets him, and he smiles everso slightly to himself.

His voice comes quiet, but not soft.

"Excuse me, Manhattan...I got carried away."

As if trying to lower the matter-of-factness that sincerely hurt your feelings, the man leans closer with a hint of genuine emotion.

"You have no idea how much your eyes can yell in frequencies that get right under my skin."

He chuckles to himself and lightly smacks your cheek, to underline the joviality of the words.

He's bluffing.

You don't say a word as you realise, he's nervous.

And if he's nervous already, you're fucked.

❥❥❥

"Give me your hands, little one."

You should have smacked him when he said that.

Because he leaned to you, and used his legs to rest against yours, so that you couldn't move without his exact permission. The small space felt suffocating and there was no way to not be in contact with him. His legs circled yours, even if you huddled to yourself. His arms rested against your body, large palms always just a flicker of movement away.

When you didn't directly obey, he only smiled that little corner smile and grabbed your wrists, not with force, but with thoughts circling a far darker cliff.

Berlin twisted the ties around meticulously, leaving them undone. All the way up your arms, all the way up to your elbow. When he was satisfied, he pulled you closer by the collar, and you gasped - but he already touched your wrist with his finger and circled the tender spot beating for dear life with his hand.

He looks at you, reading you like a book. The pressure circling you everso slightly. Up down. Up down. Just the way he trails his finger. Electricity running all the way up your arms and down to your chest, lingering in your heart.

"Calm down, little Jackdaw. There's no other place to hide than here."

And he chuckles. He chuckles and you know. You know he's playing into the scene of your first meeting. And he's delighted in how the puzzle pieces slip into their perfect places without effort, without hinder.

Berlin begins to ruffle through his pocket as he lets your hand go for just a while, and you fully expect him to take out his cigarettes. Just to drive the point home, you feel the beads of sweat beginning to form on your forehead.

But no.

He takes out a shiny thing.

Duct tape?

"Are you serious right now?" Your voice is finally level, finally found, riding on a wave if disbelief and embarrassment. You kick yourself away and shuffle backwards, hitting your back on the table leg.

"How sick are you?! This wasn't the deal, this wasn't the damn deal, Berlin---"

And he, in quiet exasperation, grabs the back of your head and a fistful of hair, forcing you to bend closer to him. His voice is low, almost a whisper, but commanding.

"I make the rules, Manhattan. You obey. Now..." he undoes a sliver and bites it off, you wince at the sound, "hold still."

Before he lays the sticky surface across your mouth, he pats your cheek again, gentler this time, but remains in place as he hovers too close.

"Stay still or this is going to hurt even more than I intend it to."

"Oh fuck you Berl--"

He lays it against your mouth and pushes it down with a firm hand, trailing fingers on each side of your mouth and finally gazing at his creation with too much satisfaction. You barely realise what's happened and how helpless you are as the realisation sinks in and you shudder, desperate to be further away. Too close, to close, too...Berlin holds both sides of your head, and he seems to have stopped his errant movements. Fully focused on you. Just looking. Each of his thumbs push down the corners of our mouth as if adjusting the tape, but they linger too long.

You close your eyes, hoping to calm the maelstrom in your head, and feel Berlin's fingers trail down. They grab your jaw, turning your head in his hand, inspecting you. You open your eyes to see his lips open up too, as if mouthing to himself, studying, watchful - and his gaze darts from your gagged mouth to your angry eyes.

"That fire, Manhattan."

His face is like a mask, but his eyes threaten to swallow you whole.

"That fire makes me want to burn this place to the ground just to see you react."

You don't pull away. But you do complain.

"Mhhmph!"

He laughs to himself, bringing your head closer to his. You can feel his breath on your skin and see your hair trickling down upon his free hand that is simply resting against your leg.

He fingers the strands softly, like a cat playing with string.

"Sorry, little one, I didn't quite get that. Would you come closer to Mister Berlin and articulate a little better? I'm sure you can manage. Such a clever little girl you are, no?"

His lips end on a patronising 'o' shape and his eyes remain half closed, very satisfied, too gratified.

You only breathe out angrily through your nose and roll your eyes to the side, pushing yourself away again.

Well, this was even worse than you thought.

❥❥❥

You feel his eyes positively skewer you, knowing his brain is likely working overtime. You try to shift but find it almost impossible in such a small space with his legs in the way and you - almost unable to move.

Have it your way, his demeanour seems to say, and he wordlessly pulls your arms far too roughly to himself. Berlin pauses, as if to let the gesture sink in, and slowly, one by one...

Tightens.

Each.

Zip-tie.

Up.

To your.

Elbow.

And you wince at the last one, so close to your chest, forcing you to hold your arms close and squish yourself to remain halfway upright.

If you felt exposed before, now even the jumpsuit can't hide how naked you feel before him.

As you look up, trying not to let the situation get to you even more, even focusing your thoughts on how this will help the others - you really try to keep it together - looking up, you don't have to be half as knowledgeable on the human condition to know you're not the only with problems here.

Berlin? He can't help himself. He shifts.

Shifts again.

Bends then straightens his knee still harsh against your leg and hip.

Then his hand moves.

Then his arm.

Not just a fidget.

It has reason.

His arm stops and then continues, almost a jitter of a movement - then strain. Closer. Ever closer to you. Steady, but harbouring too much effort to remain so.

First, he only hovers. Hovers above the highest zip-tie. Eyes back at you, checking.

You wince as he connects his touch with your jumpsuit and pushes in to feel your skin.

You follow Berlin as he trails a finger from the very top of your forearm to your wrist, remaining on your pulse. Even climbing just under the cuff to connect skin to skin.

And he...smiles to himself. Not an evil or cheeky smile. It seems...true. He's smiling like he found something he'd lost a long time ago, glistening in the mud, touching it to make sure it's real.

Your pulse quickens, and he smiles further until his expression resembles someone knowing and calm.

Just as you'd expect him to switch, to hurt you, to lay his cards on the table with a winning hand, you silently brace for the pain and give him no satisfaction in your eyes. But Berlin wraps his hand around your bound wrists, seeing the contrast of his large palm easily fitting right over them.

Shielding. Caring. Gathering warmth and giving it to you.

Or is he playing with you still?

He seems entranced. You didn't have to study body language to notice his stiff legs relaxing on command, or the way he's shielding you from the door even as he's playing up the scene.

Every movement he made seemingly in tease let him end up in such a position that should anyone come in, gun or knife, they'd have to go through him thrice before they got to you. And your own eyes soften at the realisation.

His murmur is soft, almost unnoticeable against the tender hum of machinery above you.

"Such a gentle little thing you are, Manhattan."

He pats your wrist, as if to play down the gesture. Play down the entire evening.

"Out of place. Out of time. Tell you what."

He straightens as much as the desk will let him and clears his throat, momentarily avoiding your eyes.

"Knock once for 'yes', twice for 'no', three times for 'help'...and..."

His voice goes low, so low you have to lean down to hear him. Berlin's eyes form those cheeky coinslots you've learnt to avoid, eyebrows lowering with his words...

"Four times for 'I love you, Berlin.'"

This time you actually try to smack that unapologetic grin off his face, and he catches your bound hands into his again.

So you merely use your fingers and what you still remembered from sign language to spell out the letters 'F', 'U', and you don't get any further before he sincerely throws his head back and laughs.

Truly laughs.

Tension seems to have averted him, and as he leans his head back to you, face thoroughly entertained, he grabs your cheek in a little patronising gesture - but the thought behind it seems true, as does his inability to not touch you or your skin for more than a few seconds while hiding behind control or dominance.

"Rest, little Jackdaw. We have a long night ahead."

And he lets go, shifting, slowly sliding out from under the desk and leaving you alone with the soft hum of an electrical current in your ears.

❥❥❥

The shadows grew longer.

The transmitter remained silent.

Berlin hadn't come back yet.

You didn't realise how cold you were until his legs weren't at each side of you, and the tension keeping you in a state of overdrive was replaced by faint worry and numbness.

Is he alright?

Why do I care?!

He looked so...wondrous when he laughed.

In another life, it would be...lovely to see him laugh like that.

Shush.

You close your eyes and lean your entire body down into a foetal position, hands to your chin, bound arms able to rest a little. The plan seemed good on paper, but in the flesh? Not so much.

The waiting is always the worst.

You almost drift off, visions of birds free to roam and fly on your mind. The spot on your wrist pulsating with touch no longer there.

You'd kill to be...

Noises.

Your eyes flick open.

It's dark, almost too dark to see. Your eyes adjust. You see familiar shapes and try to move, but hear voices. Hushed voices. Too many voices.

Your heart starts beating.

No, this is too soon, where's Berlin? He wouldn't leave you here, not like this, not like...

The door clicks open and you jump. You try to adjust your breathing before you suffocate and try to breathe as soundlessly as possible. But the door closes again, and you hear steps walking away.

What the hell is going on?!

Your intercom buzzes close to your ear where you left it before this ordeal.

"Manhattan?" The distorted voice hurriedly articulates. You begin to speak before you realise you can't. So you softly knock once, disturbing the quiet atmosphere just a little.

"Oh for..." the voice trails into the background as if the person lowered the transmitter away from their mouth. You only hear echoes.

"You cannot be serious!...He left her there like that? None of this was the plan, none of it, this is just fucked up and stupid! I'm not gonna let that piece of shit treat her like that, for nothing, for no..."

Stronger now, as if the receiver was back at the mouth of the speaker:

"Manhattan, stay put, don't worry, we can solve this a different way, I'm gonna…figure it out..."

You knock twice.

It's too late.

He'll get hurt again.

And your eyes close in frustration and sadness - the inability to articulate now dragging your mind through the trenches - and knock twice again.

No.

Don't.

Too late.

And God knows if something happens, you're not going down without a fight. If only to finally deliver that slap that is owed.

The static crackles again.

"Are you alone, Manhattan? We can see the group dispersed and there are too many people. The darkness isn't helping."

You hesitate, then knock twice.

The receiver catches a breath followed by a short sigh. You're probably projecting worry into it to feel better about yourself, you wonder.

"Two people about 30 metres away, the rest of the group circling the stairs and coming that way. It seems like a combined group. Stay put. I'll…intervene in case he inevitably goes haywire again. You're gonna be OK, alright, Manhattan? OK?"

You knock once and huddle down again, tears falling down now. It was almost better when you felt no damns were given about you.

The receiver doesn't click off immediately. You hear arguing, you can make out hits and heavy steps, and things being tossed about.

"I said he'd sink this entire thing, I said so. Hole in the hull, that's what he is, I said it..."

And it clicks off.

You shuffle and feel a fire rising in your chest. This is unfair. This is wrong. He abandoned you. You're going to get hurt. And now Denver will too. And all of this for no other reason than a power trip?

No.

No.

You silently lift your body, shifting through the gap and poke your head up. Your tied hands ruffle through the table surface and finally land on the object you knew was there.

A lighter.

You found it a few days ago when looking through drawers. You bring it to yourself and hide it with you. Next, a pen. You knock down the sharpest pen from your notes and gather it in your hands.

You think of trying to find some pure alcohol just to make sure you’d have a fire to stand on…

But the door opens. And your heart stops.

You close your eyes.

Steady your breath, but it comes out hurried.

Voices.

Steps.

Shuffles.

Ruffles.

❥❥❥

It happened fast.

Pulled out from under the table, kicking back, first a pocketknife at your throat, then realisation.

A man argued.

The other man opposed.

Neither took off the tape nor cut the restraints.

Your vision blurred. You tried to look to the one who seemed kind.

He avoided your eyes.

"One for one," the other man said.

"How can we be sure she's with them?"

"The director said so. She fits the description. Maybe they went crazy on her too, doesn't mean we can trust her. We could send a message. Leave it loud and clear."

You didn't even shake your head.

Tired. So tired.

Tired of hoping people weren't like this.

Tired of realising the people who were supposedly the bad ones treated you kindly, while the normal ones were speaking of how best to ruin you and desecrate what's left.

Like scrawling a crude letter.

Is anything as cruel as a normal person, you wonder.

"I don't want to watch," the younger man says.

"Then go stand guard outside the door."

Footsteps away.

You blink the tears away.

It's...so...easy, you think as your fists tighten.

It's so easy to be kind.

It's so pathetic to be like you. Weak. Exhausting. Pathetic.

You straighten your back against the table and breathe in shakily. The man grabs at your throat.

So easy, you think as you leap and try to straddle his legs with yours, squeezing for dear life, trying to gain the upper ground and lock him in with limbs you still have. But the desk isn't that tall, the space that wide, and you fall backwards as his hand connects with your face and scratches down. Then pushes it back leaving it pulsating and you stunned.

But your legs don't let go.

Your legs don't let go.

And you shuffle in terribly clumsy movements with purpose, with purpose, until your fingers touch and gather the small object into your palms.

And you grip it in both bound hands together and put all the force in a single straight movement.

So easy, you try to aim for an eye but plunge the pen into a neck halfway.

Stillness.

Thrashing but stillness.

Then the blood slowly circles the round shape and bubbles up, sliding down the smooth blue surface, even in the dark.

So easy, you try to think, as you pull it out in one sharp movement and the geyser of dark copper splashes at your face, your jumpsuit, your bound hands. Which you push down against the man's mouth so that no noise, gurgles nor cries, comes out.

He's a dark blur against the ground; your tears fall and mix with the sickening stench of iron and cut off breaths. Your heartbeat pulsates through your ears and threatens to take the rest of your consciousness, but it all feels like a blur. So cold. Frost on your back. Heat in your cheeks. Sickness numbed down in your chest.

So easy to be kind.

You collapse on top of the slowly writhing body, which has begun to space out each twitch just a little longer now.

You listen to a heart beating slower and slower.

You force your arms to slide their hands away, hands like those of a stranger. Barely connected. Cold. Bloody. Foreign.

The sound of footsteps following an open door forces you out of the numbness into pushing the body away and bracing against the heavy flat surface with your back - but you're tired.

So very tired.

Shocked.

Desperate.

Numb.

Covered in blood that didn't have to be spilled.

What have you done?

Aren't you the worst of all now?

Wasn't it so easy to be kind?

You try to find the pen again, but the thought makes you sick. The adrenalin is depleting itself. You can't bear to touch the object again. And what use would it be? This was luck.

Nothing but luck.

So you close your eyes. Wet cheeks growing cold. Cold stinging the wounds you don't believe you have.

You wonder if the birds are still asleep or waking up.

A shaky breath in.

A suffocating breath out.

Body stiffening, you try to at least be at peace with whatever happens next.

Until a voice, quiet and level, simply echoes through the room:

"Manhattan, knock for me."

And there was a world of placid acceptance shielding a corpse of things left unsaid hiding behind each syllable.

❥❥❥

"Manhattan, knock for me, or I'll burn this place to the ground and skin whoever is left alive."

The voice trailed off, the harsher the promise, the more forceful its steadiness. You must have imagined the rage drawing a quiver out of it towards the end, but the next sentence, still in place, solidified it.

"Please knock for me, Manhattan."

The voice turned into a whisper on your name.

He wasn't asking you anymore. He was asking the darkness to tell him he's mistaken.

Begging the silence to assure him he's wrong.

And you spoke with it.

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

The change of air was immediate - loud steps, flurry of the jumpsuit's fabric, the sound of pulling and laboured breaths hidden under a cracking demeanour of calm. You felt the weight leave from under your body, at least the physical one. Your legs cramped around nothing, and you leaned back, huddling your legs that would listen, feeling sick, numb, and...betrayed.

Silly, silly Jackdaw. He told you all along.

Dirty, not with the dirt.

Desecrated, not by the blood.

Pitiful, not with the state of you.

And you knock again, three times. Almost unnoticeably. For yourself. Hands huddled to your chest, the joint touching the wood behind your shoulder.

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

Like the echo of a tolling bell.

You do it again, slower this time, suffocating the last knock into nothing.

Just to remind yourself how fruitless a little “help” could be in a place like this.

You don't even see his face, just the redness of his shape. It all blurs with the darkness, then sudden contrast. He pulls you out by the legs in a smooth albeit forceful movement and tries not to touch you - as if you were delicate and an object barely holding on to be kept together all at once.

You hear him asking if you're hurt, you feel harsh hands all across your jumpsuit, checking the zip, checking for tears, checking for exposed skin. You feel a palm ghost your neck and touch your skin.

It lays on your neck and listens to your artery.

It warms the place that you tore from the other man.

His hand relaxes there. As if the sound of your pulse was a gentle symphony to the man leaning above you.

Softly, so softly until the fingers curl into subdued rage does he brush your cheek, and you see only darkness and feel force - arms on your back and your face in fabric, you realise you're being held and the harsh push on your head is a chin rocking with you so as not to hurt where your face stings and pulsates.

"I'm here. Little Jackdaw. I'm here."

You remain in that embrace, unmoving. Feeling nothing.

You weren't, you wish you could even think to say, you weren't.

Berlin's throat rumbles against you, though the words seem more strangled than his usual self.

"Let me get this off you. One, two, three, alright, little one?”

You hardly recognize this tone, this intonation. Who is he reassuring, you wonder.

“…Arms. Mouth. Suit."

You register yourself nodding, more tears falling. Your hands began to shake as if on command at hearing they're about to be touched.

Your arms followed.

Each zip tie was cut, but your hands didn't change position nor rest.

The tape came off, but you didn't feel any motion to speak.

Only when Berlin laid his hand on your cheek, the one not in pain, and looked you directly in both eyes...only then did your face turn to a grimace of pain and realisation. Tears falling, but no sound coming out. Eyes feeling nothing but a cold fire drowning your thoughts the more they saw the verification in front of you.

He looked away, undoing the zip of your suit slowly.

His voice was matter of fact, quiet, but slow. As if the words were climbing over a meaning they couldn't voice out.

"I need to check if you're hurt anywhere else. I'm sorry about your face, Manh---. I’m sorry about your face."

On instinct and as if someone returned your ability to move, you immediately kick at him to push the man away. Wordlessly, you give all your strength into getting away from him.

And Berlin matches you, quietly, elegantly, without brutishness.

But he effectively grips you, holds you so tight you can't move your limbs, and when he feels your strength falter, climbs on top of you, putting your legs in a vice and pulling your arms apart to each side of you, one by one.

But he never hurts you. He doesn't squeeze your wrists, he doesn't cramp your legs, he uses enough force to keep you down - and as you try to move against him, you realise it too - enough force to keep you down and tire yourself out. Not enough to hurt you.

Slowly, your arms rest against the floor, defeated. And Berlin's grip grows gentler as they do. Until he's resting against you. Holding, not gripping.

Slowly he lets your arms go and straightens, just enough to have space to undo your jumpsuit.

"Just..." he articulates clearly, putting effort into each syllable, "checking..." the zip starts going down and your chest heaves, breath quickening but no voice still - Berlin lays an open palm on your ribs and squeezes softly around your body, just under your breasts.

Around, then down. Letting you breathe with his hand. Pushing down to help you breathe out. Breathing with you and alleviating the hand on every breath in.

"...where it hurts."

His other hand leaves your wrist and slides into the jumpsuit from the other side, the sudden warmth enveloping the other side of your ribs, sliding down from your armpit to your waist and holding by the hip, before sliding up again.

Berlin repeats the motion and watches you carefully, even in the dissipating darkness, for any twitch, any gasp, any indication of damage. As he slides all five fingers down from your neck, across your chest and down to your tummy, he rests and notices a few twitches but nothing alarming.

Just you tightening your core or shivering if he finds a tender spot, or a place you didn't want him to touch. And he doesn't linger. Merely marks the spot with his fingertips and moves on.

He then unzips the suit down fully, leaving you in tights and a tank top under it, and begins to unzip his own.

As the man shuffles the weight of fabric off each shoulder, you begin to writhe under him again, fully starting up the attack mode again. Berlin merely smiles a sadder cheshire smile and stops the motion while pinning your eyes with his.

As if he wishes it weren’t this way but continuing nonetheless.

"Shh, Jackdaw. I'm not like that. Your jumpsuit is covered in blood and dirt. You're going to get cold the moment the shock wears off. You're going to get cold and...feel alone. And we can't have that. Knock for me if you still can't speak."

You do. Once. Against the floor.

"Good," his lips curl into a closed smile and his hands resume their motions. His eyebrows are low, concentrated, but calm. His eyes move in the near darkness with the accuracy of a needle.

More nonchalantly, he adds:

"Denver's outside, we have a few hours. They directed the rest on a wild goose chase; they'll tire themselves out."

You don't answer and avoid his eyes again.

Pretending to care now won't change a thing.

Not a thing.

Or…?

His voice circles your senses, the hint of genuine warmth getting right under your skin and leaving you helpless once more…Because in that one sentence, he almost conveyed what you needed from the moment the blindfold went over your eyes:

"Now, come here."

He lifts you into his arms, out of the bloody suit, and holds you to himself. Gripping under your legs and resting your head on his large shoulder. You inadvertently curl your fists into his shirt, only now realising how exposed he is too. And you burrow into Berlin's chest as he carries you to a cleaner surface, lined with fabric and makeshift things to ease the harshness of the ground.

And he lays you down, on your side and slowly sinks behind you, until his body is laying against yours, softly touching. Knees just barely rested against your bent legs. Waist barely hinting at contact with your lower back. Chest just brushing your bare shoulders.

You try to not shift into him, remaining absolutely paralysed. Shivering softly. Sobs beginning to form in your throat but unable to get out.

You feel a strand of hair lifted from your shoulder, away from your neck, and a soft mutter from behind you. It reverberates through your back and touches your chest, and your fists curl on air as if on instinct.

"Would you like to know what you said in your sleep, Jackdaw...what you agreed to?" The deep whisper rests upon your ear, no sarcasm or cheek.

You knock once.

Berlin chuckles softly and continues, voice a low murmur warming your neck.

"I asked, would you like me to hold you? And you..."

You knock once and hear the smile in his voice.

"...you said yes."

❥❥❥

[1liv]

LEE JUN-YOUNG as GEUM SEONG-JE in WEAK HERO CLASS 2 - Episode 4

[mjracles]

gong yoo as the salesman in squid game season 2 - invitation video (2024)

(source)

[penny44224]

I need fanfics, smut anything about THIS MAN STAT PLEASE (blame the video of him carrying a mickey plushie😀)

[suuho]

heavy and hard is the heart of the king, king of iron, king of steel. the heart of the king loves everything, like the hammer loves the nail. but even the hardest of hearts unhardened, suddenly, when he saw her there.

KIM WOO-HYUNG as HADES in HADESTOWN Korea (2021) (insp.)

[kdramaspace]

Cha Eunwoo 차은우 — Elle Korea | February (2025)⠀⠀

[kpop-locks]

꒰ ˀˀ ↷ lee dong wook ; simple ”♡ᵎ ꒱

like/reblog | @exolyxions

don’t repost our work or claim it as yours

[loserlvrss]

𝐃𝐎N'T N𝗘𝗘D TO 𝙎AY IT ───── weak hero class ꒰ y. sieun xreader # ). was i just a little too late?

newton’s third law: for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction 𓂃. sieun hadn’t forgiven himself for what happened to suho. you could tell, eyes don't lie.

★ slight spoilers for season one , , angst / hurt-comfort ⓘmentions of fighting blood & cuts 🛞 3kish

It’s said that the eyes are the window to the soul—the way you see everything beautiful in the world. But then the opposite would have to reign true too, wouldn’t it? They can be cold or full of warmth and love. They tell you so much about a person. 

A gift given and so easily taken. 

Horrified was an understatement. “What the fuck… did you do?” Disturbed by the sight in front of you; Your best friend, half-dead in a sterilized room, you couldn’t believe your eyes. 

Immediately, the man at the patient's side got to his feet, spinning around to face you in the doorway. He had a sickly look, worse than one from just a stomach ache. His mouth opened and closed, clearly not sure what to say—what would be right to say. His eyes were teary, obviously distraught. But you couldn’t see past the blue-hot rage rushing through you. There was a knife in your hand, and you didn’t care who it was pointed at. 

Just that it hit someone. 

That it made them feel pain like you did—like you couldn’t stand. Call it selfish, but if you were going to feel destroyed, then you’d do the same to everyone else. 

“It’s not fair!” Your voice raised, and so did some walls; ones you thought were lowered enough for the man in front of you to create an understanding strong enough to outweigh the tragedy. To trauma-bond. But, nothing compared to the feeling of losing someone you never thought you would, “I can’t pretend anymore. I can’t see you sit here everyday. I hate this—them. You. I can’t stand to see you, Si-eun, get out of my face!” 

But it was the guilt. The agony. Maybe you should’ve been the one in the hospital bed, you bargained, you should be the one who dies, not him. 

…It wasn’t always like that though. 

You used to be a normal friend group. You used to laugh. You used to joke. You used to hang out at random snack stands. You used to deny your feelings for Si-eun, back when Suho was the only one who knew (you barely even knew). Feel comfortable. You used to call Beom-Seok someone you trusted, someone you liked. You used to be able to look in the mirror and not hate who was staring back at you. You used to be dedicated to studying, focused on the future. But now all you felt was comatose, regretful of a past you felt you hadn’t appreciated enough. A closeness between people you held and let vanish. A gaping hole that you now only had a shovel in. 

“Yeon Si-eun,” Your friend motioned to the shorter boy next to him who was clutching the straps of his backpack, “I saved him, I’m sure you heard.” 

“Actually, I heard you stopped him.” You contradicted, eyeing over the man who was expressionless, even after you imposed his violence, “I heard he would’ve killed those boys.” 

Ice-cold. That’s what Suho described Si-eun as a day ago when he was sitting on your bed, and you could see it. But it seemed like he only disguised himself with that to survive, to not draw attention, to mask a pain that was deep-rooted. 

Or maybe it just took one to know one. 

“It’s nice to meet you… Yeon Si-eun.” You held out your hand to him, “Yn, Suho’s best friend—not girlfriend, he’s definitely not my type.” 

Suho threw his head back, rolling his eyes, “Yeah, whatever, fuck you. I’m everyone’s type, right Si-eun?” 

The familiar beat of a popular song started playing, and you immediately stood up. You grabbed a spoon and an empty Soju bottle from off the table, putting them together as a makeshift microphone for the time being. 

Suho’s eyebrows rose as you joined Beom-Seok in the middle of the small room, iconically singing Mingyu’s opening to HOT by SEVENTEEN. 

Then, he burst out laughing, dragging Si-eun’s body back and forth as he practically spasmed in his seat. But Si-eun had a smile on his face too, arms crossed over his chest—though, not because he was uncomfortable, it was natural looking. Something you could get used to seeing more often. 

He didn’t want to, but he was opening up to your friend, in turn, you and Beom-Seok as well.

“Here,” You glanced up from the mock exam you were bent over at a familiar voice, sights meeting a very calm Si-eun. He had a bruise on his cheekbone that he tried to hide by turning his head, but you saw it. You knew he knew you did too. “Suho got you a snack.” 

“And he didn’t give it to me?” You quizzed, going back to the paper, although setting the pen down, “I thought he was a delivery boy.” 

Si-eun let out a huffed-laugh, and your eyes widened in surprise, hidden by your downturned gaze. He knew how to do that when Suho wasn’t around? 

“Are you two dating?” Suho laughed out, resting further back into the couch cushion behind him, “Because you look good together.” 

“You know he doesn’t have eyes for anyone but you,” 

Suho scoffed, your eyes rolling in return. But you could tell your best friend caught the way you glanced in Si-eun’s direction after, “Besides, I’m too busy to date anyone—especially, one of you guys who keep fighting like a bunch of… well, men. I have standards, you know. And, I’m so close to leaving the country to study abroad. I hate long distance, I don’t think I could do it.”

Si-eun remained silent, looking curiously between you two. He was a man of few words, however, you often could tell his emotion now; through body language, through slight variations in his expressions. Call it intuition. 

Perhaps the opposite reigned true as well though. 

Definitely not a crush. 

“Did you seriously fail again?” You gawked in Suho’s direction, “I gave you the answers this time!” 

Then your hand was flying out to lightly smack the man next to you on the arm. He flinched, grabbing at where you made contact—though you know he’s been hit harder. You’ve even seen it. And, as much as it was terrifying, you had to hand it to him, he had determination. 

“Si-eun! What happened to getting him to pass?” 

His eyes were wide, innocently so, “We were working all night.” 

Beom-Seok, who was next to Suho in the restaurant booth, let out a chuckle, just listening. He knew you’d spare no offense in mocking your friend's lack of educational-dedication. But, you knew Suho had other priorities, you just wished he’d listen to your pleas a little more than he actually did. 

Though, it didn’t stop you from joking, knowing you’d stay up ‘till dawn to help him memorize the periodic table, and algebraic formulas again and again if you had to. “Working… hardly at all, I see.” 

“That’s not funny, yn, I tried my best!” 

“You fell asleep halfway through, the only circles you were drawing was from the drool coming out of your mouth!” 

Laughter sounded in the small space, and you realized that maybe a simple life was better than all the exotic future plans; the adventures you wanted to go on with Suho, the better life you thought you could give Si-eun, the childlike love you had for the three of them. 

Maybe you didn’t want to leave after highschool. Maybe you wanted to stay and grow with them instead—there were plenty of good schools here that could offer you piloting classes. 

“Can I ask you something, Si-eun?” You stumbled into him, grabbing at his arm to steady yourself. You could feel his body tense, but then relax. “Did Suho actually get me that during exam season?” 

Eventually, you came to a stop outside a snack shop, one that sold Tteokbokki and fish cakes, and you squealed—shifting through your purse for some loose cash. In your intoxicated state, you thought that sounded like the most delicious thing you could eat. 

As you were shifting through your bag clumsily, Si-eun had already bought you a platter by the time you looked up with a bill clutched between your fingers. 

He wordlessly handed you a toothpick to stab the rice cakes with, while he held a cup with skewed fish cakes and broth for you later. 

You didn’t know why he offered to walk you home, you lived in the opposite direction of him, but you were glad it was him by your side. You were glad he caught you when you stumbled. You were just glad it was Yeon Si-eun: someone you thought you’d only see from a far. 

Your lip jutted out at the gesture, “Really?” 

He slightly shrugged, “You looked excited.” 

You took a bite, the spiciness hitting the spot. You loved it, it was one of your favorite ways to eat food. 

“I, uh—like you.” You slurred through a mouthful, giggling and then slapping your lips with a gasp, “Wait! Did I just say that? I’m sorry. It’s true but, I mean I didn’t—wasn’t going to say anything—” 

“Yn... I like you too.” 

But then everything came crashing down. Every plan you had crumbled. Every scooter ride with Suho where you would scold him for going too fast or taking a turn too sharp suddenly seemed like a luxury you’d never get back. Every stolen glance between you and Si-eun, every light brush of the hand, every word that went unsaid seemed like it would now remain as a stain on your heart. Every rainbow was monotone, void of color in a world that used to be so vibrant. Every smile and joke, and I trust you and I love you’s were in the past, long-lost to a violent and pain-filled future. 

One you never in a million years would have planned for. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” Si-eun never said much, and when he did it was blunt and to the point. Some might say he was rude, cold, but truthfully, you think he just felt like nobody ever listened if it wasn’t short-winded and sharp enough to cut. “I don’t need your pity.” 

He’d gotten into another fight, God knows when, and somehow ended up at your doorstep. A cold night, maybe reflective of the sorrow in the air. The weight on his shoulders. The crushing guilt. 

He swore he’d stop. 

But It was always a fight. It was always punches and kicks that ruined everything. And eventually, it hit hard enough to break your heart in a million pieces. 

You weren’t exactly close anymore, after what happened to your best friend Ahn Suho last year, but you couldn’t resist opening the door wide enough for the man to make his way in. 

Afterall, you used to be friends, and something in between. You used to know him. 

And there was something alluring about Si-eun. He’s always had it—the way his eyes portray every emotion on his otherwise monotone face. The way he walks around like an aimless vessel. You hadn’t seen him in a while, but it seemed like something had broken inside him since that time, something darker by nature. But something sadder, too, lived simultaneously. 

You reached to the side, grabbing a tube branded by some antibacterial ointment off of the sinks porcelain. 

“I don’t pity you, Si-eun.” You replied, squeezing a glob onto the end of a cotton swab, “Not after what happened.” 

He slumped over a little more at your words, avoiding your gaze by looking at the ground instead, where you stood in front of him. He was sitting on the toilet, after you’d caught a glimpse of the bruises and cuts his skin had, ushering him into the bathroom to play doctor. 

Truthfully, you don’t know why you did it—why you opened the door. Maybe it was the moonlight that glistened over his features, the ones you used to admire all those months back. Maybe it was the clear sense of longing that overtook your body when you’d finally heard a word from him—a broken plea, your name, from his cut up lips. Maybe it was the familiarity of a past life you missed. 

Maybe it was because he was the only thing you had left of Suho… The only memory you could stand to remember. 

Si-eun sighed, hands coming together in his lap. He shifted, almost like he was uncomfortable—but, you can’t remember the last time you’d actually seen him be comfortable; Maybe it was before your shared friend went into a coma, or maybe he never has been. 

However, somewhere deep down you could see the smile on his face that used to brighten up any room. One that would only come out when Suho, Beom-Seok, you and him would hang out. Back before everything ripe turned rotten. Back when it was the four of you against the world. Before the bloodied knuckles and bruised eye sockets. 

Before you told Si-eun you couldn’t stand to see him anymore, that one stupidly contrasting day; sunny and boiling hot, to your harsh and cold tongue. 

You couldn’t will yourself to remember, but you’d never actually forget what everyone at your school seemingly has; the boy in the back of the class who slept so soundly despite the noise, the straight A student who broke and moved schools, and the man who suddenly went missing before the dew on the spring leaves even began to dry.

“I’m sorry,” He whispered out under a breath, “I’m really sorry, yn.” 

And suddenly all you could see behind your eyes was the disheartened look of a man who sat outside your shared lifelines hospital room. Shoulders hunched as he typed messages he feared would never be read. As he held back tears and swallowed down the crushing guilt. 

He’d seen you once, but there was a lifeless look behind his eyes. One that you couldn’t recognize, like he didn’t recognize. A vague sense of displacement, hopelessly devoted, like he couldn’t stand to see himself reflected off of you. 

And that’s when you realized, he never stopped blaming himself. He bent only so far before he broke. You heard about it; Smashing widows and cracking bones. You heard the desperation in his cries. Your heart shattered with him and for him: Everything Si-eun used to be. Everything Si-eun could’ve been. It all came crashing down, and he was still trying to climb out of the rubble. 

And that’s why you distanced yourself from his name. Because it hurt too much to see the what-if’s that never happened… But could’ve. Everything Si-eun should’ve been to you. It hurt too much when people would ask you how Suho was doing (for the first couple of weeks), if he’s progressed or had taken a turn for the worse, so you stopped going to school.

What Si-eun was doing now, so you erased him from your memory, pretending you’d never met. How you were holding up losing everything you had ever wanted, so you tried anything to protect your heart.

You hated them. You despised them. They took everything from you. The choice you never got to make. A version of yourself you were still mourning. The happiness your friends brought you. Suho, Beom-seok… Si-eun. 

“For what?” You laid your palm against his cheek, lifting his head enough to apply the ointment over a rather deep cut. You didn’t think that was the thing pestering him though. Still, he avoided your gaze. And you were going to ignore it until you felt a tear brush past your hand. 

You put the cotton swab down, taking the other side of his face. He unconsciously leaned into the touch. The warmth on his cold skin. The comfort that you would always bring. Suho always said you were the sunlight on a cloudy day, but you’ve never felt more overcast than you do now. 

But then, finally, your eyes met, tears falling slowly over your thumbs as you brushed them away. 

And, for the first time in what felt like forever, you saw it. The scars that were constantly ripped open. The inner-turmoil that was debilitating: Not eating and not sleeping. You saw it. The love he harbored and pushed aside, respecting your wishes to never see his face again. You saw it. 

“It wasn’t your fault.” 

And maybe the beliefs had gotten it wrong, all the stories that said the eyes were the window to the soul, because all you could see was a reflection of the person looking back at you. All you could see in Si-eun’s eyes was you. 

“It’s not your fault, Si-eun.” 

The air was coated in a mutual understanding; It lingered. The pain lingered… He lingered. The memory has seemingly dug its claws deeply into your heart and wouldn’t let up. He knew it, you knew it. There was something so devastatingly romantic about it all—how evil life could be. It took and it gave, and it was never fair. Inflicted wounds that only got infected, but gave you someone who was hurting the same way. Someone who related to the way you couldn’t close your eyes without being haunted. The torment your heart felt. 

But the price tag on codependency was high, and you didn’t seem to have the funds back then—the will to stay. 

You should’ve stayed. You should’ve been his comfort, his friend and something in between. You shouldn’t have been scared to keep him close, afraid you’d lose him as you lost your safety-net. 

“I-I—“ He started, “I haven’t been able to sleep since. I haven’t been able to close my eyes without seeing him. I-I—it’s my fault, yn, he shouldn’t have gotten involved. None of you should’ve. I’m sorry,” 

Suho had never let you get involved in his hobby to learn self-defense skills, and then Si-eun came along and suddenly it was all fists and glory. Guardian-angel this, guardian-angel that. 

Nonetheless, maybe the eyes were insightful. Because you saw it. A play-by-play of every interaction: When Suho introduced you to his new friend who he described as ‘cold as ice’, to two-weeks later when you sang karaoke, and three-months in when you got drunk and confessed your undying love for Si-eun. Then Beom-seok selling you all out because of jealousy, and fight after stupid fucking fight. Crumbling, crushing, shattering. And then nothing. Everyone was suddenly gone, and sometimes that felt longer than them actually being in your life. 

And you blamed him only because you needed someone to blame. But your guilt ate at you. 

As he did too. 

“I forgave you, Si-eun.” You leaned down, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He hesitated before you felt the embrace you longed for—the embrace he longed for. “Forgive yourself.” 

reblogs appreciated ! loserlrvss 2025 rights reserved. @kstrucknet @slytherinshua @gyuwrites @sknyuz

[heavenstars]

Lee Jun Young as Geum Seong Je - Episode 8 (Weak hero class 2)

[almostwisegalaxy]

i lovee your ahn suho fanfic authorrr, can i request another one ?? where suho instantly falls in love with the reader upon their seeing her at her school .

Let F*ck

Ahn Su-ho x fem reader

Explicit Lemon here. Minors, run away. ತ⁠_⁠ʖ⁠ತ

Music to listen to for the atmosphere: Time moves slow_badbadnotgood

.................................………………………………………

It was the fourth time that month he'd seen the white in a guy's eyes, the look that said he thought he was going to die.

Shortness of breath.

The metallic taste of guilt in his throat.

Blood. Too much. On his knuckles, his cheekbones, his t-shirt. Not all his own.

Su-ho was on the roof. Again.

An old reflex. To rise when the ground was too dirty. To get away when he couldn't stand himself anymore.

The concrete was cold. His cigarette too.

He didn't even like to smoke. But it was that or crack his skull open against a wall.

He'd hit too hard. Again.

Not because he wanted to, no.

Because he no longer knew how to do otherwise. Because his body reacted faster than his head. Because he needed to hit to forget.

But now...

He'd seen the guy on the ground, half-conscious, eyes rolled back, breath broken.

And he'd seen himself. Monster. Thing. Animal.

And this time, he was scared.

Not of getting caught. Not of getting kicked out.

No.

Scared of himself. Of what he had become.

It was at that precise moment that Y/N arrived.

No sound. No timid footsteps.

Y/N opened the roof door like slamming the end of a nightmare.

Y/N.

She didn't know him. He didn't know her either.

And she didn't look at him.

Not once.

She simply settled down. A little further away.

Back against the wall. Eyes staring into space. As if she'd fled a place even emptier than this one.

Su-ho took a long drag.

To pretend he wasn't looking at her.

But he was looking at her.

Not to judge her.

But because she carried a silence different from his own.

She wasn't crying.

But she had come for that. He felt it. She had that kind of emptiness in her shoulders, the kind that weighs you down when you've cried too much elsewhere and you're just... dry.

He would have wanted to talk.

But he had forgotten how.

So he did what he knew how to do.

He moved closer.

And she didn't push him away.

No words.

No "Are you okay?"

No promises.

Just gestures. Fraying nerves. Searching breaths.

She didn't touch him tenderly.

And he didn't either.

It was brutal, clumsy, almost animal.

But it was real.

His hands still trembled from the fight.

His lips tasted of ashes.

She let him. He lost himself in her.

Not out of romantic desire. Not out of love. Not to save her.

But because she was there.

And she asked nothing of him. Nothing but this raw contact.

As if they were consuming each other to avoid exploding.

He would long remember the sound of their bodies in the silence of the roof.

The irregular rhythm of their breaths.

Y/N's nails in his back. Not to hurt him. To anchor herself.

The weight of his fatigue afterwards. That strange, soft, almost pleasant fatigue. As if she had siphoned everything that made him human... and made it a little less painful.

They didn't talk afterwards.

Just lying there, out of breath.

Like two smoking guns after a carnage.

The next day, he returned to the roof.

She was there before him.

Same scenario.

Same silent rage.

Same need to flee.

And he took her again.

Or she took him. He wasn't so sure anymore.

It wasn't sex. It was a trance. An escape.

Their bodies spoke because their mouths refused to open.

They found each other there with each fall. Like two wounded people cauterizing themselves with fire.

She never smiled.

Didn't even look at him before touching him.

She wasn't soft, not cuddly. Almost cold.

As if she wanted to make sure he didn't get attached.

And yet...

Su-ho thought about her all the time.

At first, he told himself it was just the sex. The intensity. The context.

But no. It was dirtier than that. Deeper.

She lived in his nerves, in his muscles, in his nights.

He didn't dare talk to her elsewhere.

He didn't even know if he could.

She ignored him when they crossed paths. Truly. As if he didn't exist.

And yet, he kept coming back. Again. Again.

Like a junkie who knows his dose kills him, but still seeks it out.

He worked after school. Crappy little jobs.

Waiter, delivery driver, sometimes a laborer for a few more wons.

He thought of her while carrying bags.

He saw her again, legs wrapped around him, nails in his skin.

But above all... that emptiness she left afterward. That silence full of her.

He wasn't trying to change her mind.

She had been clear.

"I want nothing. Just this."

And he had agreed. Like an idiot.

But every time she got dressed, every time she left without a word, without a glance,

he felt his stomach clench.

Not jealousy. Not yet.

But a desperate form of possessiveness.

Not over her.

Over what they shared. That suspended moment where he was no longer a monster.

One evening, after a particularly intense session, he stayed longer.

She had fallen asleep for a moment. Not on him. Just... beside him.

And he had looked at her. For a long time.

It wasn't love. Not romance.

It was dirtier than that.

An obsession. Visceral. Consuming from within.

He wanted to understand her.

To know her.

To know why she no longer cried.

He wanted to make her talk. Just once.

To have her look at him. To say his name.

But he never dared.

He was too afraid she'd stop coming.

So he kept silent.

He waited for her.

And when she appeared, even with her closed face, even without a word...

he felt alive.

He knew it would end badly.

That these kinds of things leave deeper scars than blows.

But he didn't care.

Y/N had become his favorite hell.

And he wasn't ready to get out.

---

There was no more roof. No more cold concrete. No more nights stolen from the city.

Now, it was clean sheets. Neutral walls. Chosen spaces. Sometimes at her place. Sometimes elsewhere. But always... together.

Su-ho hadn't quite understood when it happened. When sex stopped being an escape and became... this. This soft, heavy thing in his chest. This sick heat that knotted his throat when she brushed against him. This unbearable ache when she wasn't there.

She still didn't look at him much. No more than before. Sometimes, she would fix her gaze on a point behind him, as if she were thinking of another world, another man, another damned universe.

But she had made a mistake.

One night, she had fallen asleep against him. Her head on his shoulder. As if it were natural. As if his body wasn't a weapon. As if his warmth was worth a little peace.

And then, there was that look.

She had smiled. Not a big smile. Not a laugh. But a... release. A second of calm. Of tenderness. She had looked at him and he had believed, just for a second, that it was mutual.

That she could love him.

Fatal error.

Because since that moment, he couldn't let go.

The obsession, this time, was soft. Burning, but soft. It no longer had the violence of before. It tasted of need. The unhealthy need. The kind that makes your hands tremble when she's absent for too long.

Su-ho watched her too much.

He didn't even hide it anymore. When they were together, he devoured her with his eyes. Slowly. Delicately. As if he wanted to remember everything. Her gestures, her silences, even her meaningless sighs.

When they made love, it was no longer brutal.

He took his time. He touched her as one touches something sacred.

His hands slid along her arms. Lingered on her neck. He caressed her back for a long time before even thinking of anything else. And when he kissed her, it was no longer an escape. It was a silent prayer.

He didn't dare to speak. But his whole body screamed. Every look. Every sigh. Every touch.

And Y/N...

She said nothing. She let him. As always.

But she had stopped stopping him. She had stopped avoiding his eyes. She let him stay longer. She let him embrace her. Sometimes she would place her hand on him. Just for a second. But it was enough.

Enough for him to believe.

So he started appearing elsewhere.

In front of the coffee shop she went to. In front of her bus stop. In the alley near her building.

Sometimes she saw him. A raised eyebrow. A half-smile, barely.

Other times, she completely ignored him. Her head elsewhere. Her thoughts lost.

But he... he always watched her.

He watched her like a shipwreck survivor watches a lighthouse. Like a starving man watches a feast behind a window. He watched her with a sick devotion. A dirty passion. A love he would never have the right to speak.

And yet, it was love.

A strangled love. A silent love. A love that spread through his veins like a slow poison.

He loved her.

He loved her in her absences. He loved her in her empty gazes. He loved her when she rejected him, when she remained cold, when she was harsh, distant, hard.

And the more she kept him at bay, the more he clung. The deeper he sank into this disgusting but living obsession.

He wanted her for himself. Entirely.

But he had no right.

Because there was the other guy.

This accidentally handsome guy. (⁠~⁠_⁠~⁠メ⁠)

The one she never called by his first name. The one she didn't really talk about. But he existed.

Su-ho had seen him. Once. By chance. Tall, fake smile, nice clothes. The kind of guy who looks at you like he wants you to not exist.

And Y/N beside him. Tiny. Discreet. Inexpressive.

But there was a way she walked next to him. Something almost invisible. A remnant of hope. An illusion of attachment.

And Su-ho understood. This guy was a damn scam. One of those guys who make love glitter like a decoy mirror. Who make you believe. Who take. Who discard.

He didn't love her. He collected her.

And Su-ho had wanted to kill him. Literally.

But he didn't.

Because it wasn't his place to save her.

It was hers to leave him.

So he waited. And he loved. And he suffered.

He loved her voice even when she insulted him. He loved her scent on his sheets. He even loved her silence.

He would have given anything for her to truly look at him. Just once. With something other than that polite neutrality.

And sometimes, when they were lying down, both out of breath, she would run her fingers through his hair. A second. Just a fleeting caress.

And that second, he kept it within him like a secret. Like a stolen jewel.

He loved her. He loved her as one loves when they've never learned to love.

Badly. Strongly. Until he bled.

And he didn't know if he would survive her.

---

That day, Su-ho was tired. Tired of hoping, tired of feeling. He had that knot in his stomach that followed him everywhere, a tangle of anxiety and longing that no sleep, no cigarette, no girl could soothe.

And he didn't expect to see her.

Y/N.

She arrived without warning. Not on the roof, not in a bed stolen from routine. No. On his street. At his place. Su-ho's heart leaped. She wasn't supposed to be there. She never came looking for him.

But she had.

She had found him. Without a call, without a message. Just her, at his door. Scarf around her neck, hands in her pockets, her eyes tired but determined.

He had barely opened his mouth when she had already grabbed him by the collar. Not violently. But with urgency. As if she didn't want to give him time to speak, to think, to be afraid.

She had kissed him.

Not gently. Not like in a movie.

She had kissed him like a scream. Like a punch. Like a howl. And he had responded with the same fever. They ended up in his apartment in a series of hasty gestures. Not for sex. Not for pleasure. For the other. For this need. This heat. This dependence.

She still said nothing. But that night, she stayed. She didn't turn away afterward. She slept there. Against him. Truly against him.

And damn...Su-ho was happy. He's hurt but still happy.

***

A few days later, he was out with a friend. Just a platonic friend, nothing ambiguous. A girl from his job. They were laughing, relaxed, like two kids escaping the pressure of the world.

And he felt it.

The gaze.

That warm and cold sensation at the same time, planted in the back of his neck. He turned around.

Y/N.

A few meters away. Silent. Still. Her gaze fixed on him.

He felt his heart plummet violently into his stomach.

She approached. Slowly. Too slowly. Like a wounded animal ready to bite.

His friend sensed it. She stiffened. Su-ho did too.

And then, without warning, Y/N walked up to him, grabbed his neck, pulled him towards her, and kissed him.

In public.

Under the eyes of the other girl. Of everyone.

It was possessive. It was violent. It was disgustingly sincere.

And he followed her. Without a word.

She had pulled him by the hand, almost brutally. He understood nothing. But he was intoxicated. His legs felt like they were floating. His heart was on fire. His brain was off.

Y/N. Jealous.

Damn.

Her. Jealous.

He had never seen that. Never thought it would happen.

She didn't explain anything. She just sat down in his living room, her face closed, her arms crossed.

"Who is that chick?"

He smiled. Too happy. Too stupid.

"A friend."

She glared at him. He wanted to laugh. But he didn't. Because beneath her anger, she was trembling.

Not cute jealousy. Not romantic "you're mine." No.

It was rage. Fear. Self-rejection. She disgusted herself for feeling it.

And he understood. He didn't touch her. He simply watched her.

It was her. The real her. Finally.

And he loved her even more for it.

***

The next day, the world exploded.

Her boyfriend. The other one. The scam.

He had discovered Su-ho's existence. Through a friend, a rumor, a damned coincidence. It didn't matter. He knew.

And he came.

Not to talk.

To scream.

To accuse.

Y/N was there. Tiny. Back against the wall. And he, the other guy, the perfect type, he was screaming.

"You're just a slut, Y/N! You're sleeping with a damn delinquent! Do you think I don't know?!"

She didn't answer. She trembled. Just a little. But enough for Su-ho to feel his stomach churn.

He was there. He saw him raise his hand.

And he didn't think.

One more second and he would have hit her.

But Su-ho lunged.

He slammed into him with all his weight. Fist to the jaw. Knee to the ribs. The other guy staggered, then collapsed.

Y/N was in shock. She wasn't crying. But she had that empty look. That look of a little girl who had just lost everything.

Su-ho approached.

"Are you okay?"

He was trembling too. With rage. With fear. With pain.

She looked at him. For a long time.

Then, without warning, she pushed him away.

"Don't touch me."

It was an order. Cold. Cutting.

And it killed him.

"Y/N, I..."

"Get out!"

She had screamed. Loudly. Too loudly.

He backed away. Heart broken. Soul torn out.

But he didn't leave.

She collapsed to the ground. Her legs too weak. The silence too heavy.

And he knelt down.

He didn't hold her immediately. He just held out his hand.

And she... she grabbed it. Weakly. But she did.

So he held her close. Tight. As if he wanted to mend her bones.

And she clutched his t-shirt. Not a hug. A reflex. A need.

Maybe she wanted to apologize like that.

And he... he held her. He rocked her.

A little tighter. A little longer.

Maybe he wanted to tell her he forgave her.

***

Y/N, that evening, understood something horrible.

She loved him.

Not a light love. Not a nice love. No.

She loved him to death. To hate herself. To want to distance herself so as not to ruin everything.

Because no one had ever fought for her. No one had ever worried like him. Never. Not even her parents. Not even she, for herself.

And it hurt.

Too much.

Su-ho, he no longer knew whether to smile or cry.

But he was there. And that was already something.

---

The morning light filtered softly through the tired curtains of Su-ho's room. Y/N rose quietly, replacing the sheets with a tenderness she'd never dared to name. Her heart was still beating too fast, as if it hadn't yet decided if this night was a mistake or a confession.

She dressed quickly, grabbing her bag, her notebooks, her phone. She cast one last glance at Su-ho, who was still asleep, his hair messy, an arm astray at his side. He looked... peaceful. And terribly human.

But in her haste, she forgot a crucial folder: her display for the end-of-term school competition. An unforgivable error for a student like her.

Su-ho woke up a few minutes after she left, his throat dry, his head heavy. Fever pulsed in his temples, but he immediately recognized Y/N's notebook on the bedside table. And he knew.

He didn't think. He grabbed it, pulled on a wrinkled sweatshirt and jeans, and rushed out. His breath was short, his legs heavy, but his body was carried by something stronger than pain. The idea that she might lose a chance, a crumb of her future, because of him.

He arrived at the high school, his heart pounding against his ribs. He shouldn't have been there. It was a place that didn't belong to him. But he entered, feverish, trembling, Y/N's folder clutched to his chest.

The hallways were lined with trophies, photos of brilliant alumni. And there, large as life, frozen in a pose worthy of a high-level athlete, he saw her.

Y/N.

A discreet smile. Straight posture. About fifteen trophies lined up under her name.

He felt his legs falter.

He murmured to himself, his lips split by a delirious smile:

"My girlfriend's a shonen."

He laughed softly, barely a breath, and salty tears welled in his eyes. He was proud. So proud.

But a moment later, his body betrayed him. He barely had time to see Y/N at the end of the hallway, her eyes widening with fear.

Then, everything went black.

***

He woke up in a harsh light. The smell of antiseptic hit his nostrils even before pain invited itself into his muscles.

And then he saw her face.

Y/N.

Sitting near him, arms crossed. Furious. And... terribly worried.

"What did you want, to die for me? Did you think that would make me happy?! Why are you so tired? Why are you dehydrated and lacking rest?!

Her voice trembled. Not with anger. With panic.

He looked away, ashamed.

"I wasn't hungry without you."

It wasn't an excuse. It was a naked truth. Ridiculous. Tragic. And terribly human.

Y/N stopped talking. She stared at him. For a long time. And tears welled up without her being able to hold them back.

He was crying.

Su-ho was crying, in silence. His gaze drowned, his features broken by exhaustion. It was because of her. Because she had let him believe he was replaceable. Or nonexistent.

She collapsed, in turn.

But this time, she didn't run.

In the following days, Y/N stayed. She was no longer just a presence. She was a silent hurricane of care.

She brought him meals, forced him to eat. Sometimes, when he refused, she fed him herself.

She brought the spoon to his lips with a firm, almost angry gesture.

"You eat or I'll choke you with it."

He obeyed. But his eyes were full of something incomprehensible. The look of a beaten dog. Of a guy who doesn't believe he deserves the tenderness he's given.

***

One evening, she entered the room in silence. Su-ho was too weak to speak. His eyes were half-closed, his breathing short.

She approached. Gently.

She tucked him in. Adjusted his blanket. Then, with infinite care, she leaned down and placed a kiss on his burning forehead. Without a word. Without justification.

He said nothing. But he smiled in the dark.

***

On the day of his discharge, his halmoni came to pick them up. All wrinkled, a smile plastered to her lips. When she saw Y/N supporting him by the arm, she burst out laughing.

"Aigoo! You two are so cute! How long have you been together, huh?"

Y/N wanted to answer. She opened her mouth, but her voice was muffled. Inaudible. Nothing came out. She lowered her eyes.

Then Su-ho took her hand. Firm. Sure.

He turned to his grandmother and said, with an almost shy smile:

"Since now. Since today."

Y/N looked up at him, surprised. He wasn't looking at her. He was staring at the horizon. As if he were uttering an incantation.

Then he turned to her.

"I'm tired of waiting for you to allow yourself to love me. So I've decided that I'll do it for two."

Y/N felt her heart break. Slowly. Gently. In an explosion of pure warmth.

And she didn't answer with words.

She squeezed his hand. Hard. Very hard.

And that day, the world no longer needed answers. Because for the first time, Y/N was no longer afraid.

And Su-ho... was finally loved.

---

The days passed, and even though Su-ho was out of the hospital, his body remained fragile. The fever no longer spiked so high, but it still clung on, insidious, a silent reminder that he had flirted too closely with his limits. He couldn't work, barely cook, and his grandmother, though adorable, had her own constraints.

So Y/N came. Every. single. day.

She'd knock twice, then enter without waiting. She carried bags of food, medicine, sometimes a new sweatshirt she'd bought without admitting it was for him. She'd look him up and down as soon as he sat, checking his breathing, his hands, his eyes.

"Are you drinking enough?"

"Did you take your pills?"

"Why are you still in a T-shirt? Do you want to catch something again?"

Su-ho no longer answered. He'd nod, sometimes with a smile. Other times, he'd just watch her. Like a kid discovering that love doesn't just burn; sometimes it heals too.

That evening, she had stayed.

She had settled into the small armchair opposite his bed, her legs folded, her glasses perched on the end of her nose. She was reading, a medical book, or maybe a novel. He couldn't take his eyes off her.

The silence wasn't heavy. It was comfortable. Like a shared blanket.

"Do you want to sleep here?"

She looked up.

"I'm already sleeping here, Einstein. Do you think I'm reading at three in the morning because I'm not sleepy?"

He smiled. Weakly. She got up, joined him in bed. She only took off her socks. No innuendo. No burning glances. Just the warmth of a presence that no longer wanted to leave.

She slipped under the covers. The bed was small. Their proximity, immense. She covered him with an automatic gesture. Then she placed her hand on his chest, to check his heart rate.

He watched her.

"Are you listening to me breathe?"

"I'm studying you. You're my favorite guinea pig."

He laughed. Weakly. His chest vibrated under her hand. And that warmth, that touch, woke something he had tried to ignore.

Desire wasn't new. But that night, it wasn't rushed. It was deep. Slow. Uncontrollable.

He turned his head. Their faces were inches apart. He could smell her scent, the soap from her neck, the soft dampness of her breath. He kissed her.

Gently at first. A brush. Then a second, more precise, more hungry. She responded. Their mouths sought, recognized each other. But she pulled back, barely.

"Maybe we should slow down on the sex..."

He blinked. Lost.

"You want to kill me faster than my 39-degree fever, is that it?"

She smiled, despite herself.

"You're an idiot."

"Yes. And in danger. And weak. And completely crazy about you. So now, I'm going to kiss you. If you don't want to, push me away."

She didn't push him away.

The mattress groaned under their combined weight. Y/N lay back, her skin contrasting with the pale sheets. Her eyes stared at Su-ho unblinking, without modesty or artifice—just that raw intensity that consumed him from within.

Su-ho leaned over her, hypnotized by the rhythm of her breathing, by the slight pulsations he could discern at the base of her neck. With deliberate slowness, he pressed his mouth against hers. It wasn't a tender kiss—their teeth clashed, their tongues sought each other with an animal urgency. He tasted the salt on her lips, inhaled her breath as if to steal a part of her.

"I want you now," Y/N murmured against his mouth, her hands already descending to grasp his hardened sex.

"Of course ma'am" He answers

Su-ho let out a guttural groan as she closed her fingers around him, the warmth of her palm sending electric shocks down his spine. She guided him towards her wet entrance, impatient, without unnecessary foreplay.

"Wait," he managed to articulate, breathless.

He descended along her body, tracing a path of light bites on her skin. Y/N shivered despite herself when he reached the inside of her thighs, his tongue drawing burning arabesques on her sensitive skin. She spread her legs wider, a silent invitation that he accepted by plunging his face against her sex.

Y/N's taste exploded in his mouth—musky, salty, intensely feminine. Su-ho devoured her like a starving man, his tongue exploring every fold, every texture. He felt Y/N's thighs contract around his head, heard her breathing become more erratic with each stroke of his tongue. Far from passive, she undulated against his mouth, directing her own stimulation with precise movements.

When Su-ho lifted his head, his chin glistening with Y/N's moisture, he met her gaze—still as intense, almost accusatory in its lucidity. Even on the verge of pleasure, she didn't completely surrender.

Without a word, he moved up her body, feeling the heat radiating between them. His sex pulsed painfully, demanding a release he still held back. He wanted to prolong this moment, this raw connection, this total absence of pretense.

Y/N wrapped her legs around his waist with surprising strength, pulling him against her. The tip of his sex brushed her wet entrance, eliciting a shiver from Su-ho.

"Now," she commanded, her nails digging into his shoulders, leaving crescent-shaped marks.

Su-ho plunged into her with a brutal thrust of his hips. The sensation froze him in place—that warm, tight, pulsating embrace around his member. Y/N let out a sound somewhere between a sigh and a groan, her eyes briefly closing before riveting on his again.

He began to move, slowly at first, savoring each sensation—the delicious friction with each thrust, the way Y/N's walls contracted around him, almost clinging to him with each withdrawal. Their bodies clung to each other, sweat creating an adhesion that made each movement more intense.

Y/N's chest pressed against his torso, her firm breasts crushed against his pectorals. Su-ho could feel the beats of their hearts echoing through their flesh—two frantic rhythms seeking to synchronize.

"Harder," Y/N demanded, her heels digging into his lower back to urge him on with more vigor.

Su-ho obeyed, increasing the power of his thrusts. The bed groaned violently beneath them, threatening to give way with each impact. The obscene sound of their flesh meeting filled the room, mingled with their ragged breaths.

He slipped a hand between their sweating bodies, finding Y/N's sensitive spot. She trembled at the contact, her internal muscles contracting around him. Su-ho felt orgasm rising within him, a wave of heat that started from his loins and threatened to overwhelm all coherent thought.

"Look at me," he commanded, surprised by the authority in his own voice.

Y/N opened her eyes, her gaze darker than ever in the dim light. This visual connection, as their bodies collided with an almost punitive violence, created a paradoxical intimacy that made Su-ho shiver to the core.

He could feel every detail with painful acuity—the texture of Y/N's thighs against his hips, the way her breasts bounced slightly with each thrust, the smell of their mingled sexes that saturated the air. Every sensation imprinted itself in his memory with obsessive precision.

Y/N's hands moved up his back, her nails tracing burning furrows on his skin. She wasn't caressing—she was marking, possessing.

The rhythm accelerated further, becoming almost frantic. Su-ho felt Y/N's thighs tremble around his waist, her sex contracting in waves around his. She was close, and that realization brought a savage determination to him.

He straightened slightly, changing the angle of penetration. Y/N let out a strangled sound, her eyes widening with the new intensity. Su-ho now supported her hips, holding her in a position that allowed him to sink even deeper into her.

"There," Y/N gasped, her tone still as imperious despite her shortened breath. "Right there."

Su-ho obeyed, precisely hammering that spot that made her thighs tremble. He felt his own orgasm approaching, irrepressible, but he focused on Y/N's pleasure, watching with fascination the micro-expressions that crossed her usually impassive face.

When she climaxed, it was with a silent intensity that contrasted with the violence of their lovemaking. Her entire body stiffened, her internal muscles pulsating around Su-ho's sex with incredible force. Her eyes remained open, fixed on his, in an involuntary vulnerability that lasted barely a second before she regained control.

This sight was too much for Su-ho. Orgasm overwhelmed him like a destructive wave, sweeping away all coherent thought. He plunged into her one last time, as deeply as possible, his entire body convulsing with pleasure. An animal groan escaped his throat as he poured into her in long pulsations.

Time seemed to suspend itself in this perfect fusion of their bodies. During those few seconds of pure ecstasy, Su-ho forgot everything. Even his fever. He was nothing but a body, a sensation, a blinding pleasure that erased everything else.

Then came the exhaustion, brutal and total. He collapsed onto her, breathless, his heart pounding against his rib cage. Their bodies remained joined by sweat, by exchanged fluids, by this physical connection that was already fading.

Su-ho was still weak. But he gave everything he had. Y/N, on the other hand, lost herself in him as one dives in without thinking. She bit her lip to keep from crying, clinging to his shoulders like a lifeline.

When it was over, she remained lying on him, her breathing ragged. He gently caressed her back, his fingers tracing circles.

And then she cried.

Silently at first. Then sobs. Real. Raw. Su-ho felt his heart break.

"Y/N?"

She didn't answer. He held her tighter. Strong. As if to put her back together, so she wouldn't fall apart.

"Is it the sex? Did I hurt you?" He said, starting to panic.

She laughed. While crying. She sat up. Looked at him. Her cheeks soaked. Her eyes red.

"I'm scared..."

"Of what?"

"Of loving. I don't know how. I never have."

He nodded. Gently. He didn't say it was stupid. He didn't say it was easy. Because it wasn't. She was right to be scared.

But he had decided to love. Completely. Entirely. And it didn't matter if she wasn't there yet.

He took her face in his hands. Pulled her towards him.

"Then let me love for two. Until you're ready. Until you want to. Until you know how."

He kissed her. Again. And again. Each kiss was a promise, a sentence without words.

"I love you, Y/N. I love you like an idiot, like a dog, like a man who never had what he wanted and who dares not believe he finally has it."

She closed her eyes. The tears still flowed.

"You're going to break me..."

"No. Nerver. I'm going to put you back together. Piece by piece. Even if I have to bleed for it."

She lay back against him. Her heart was beating fast. But for the first time, she didn't try to silence it. She let it beat. For him.

And in the silence of that room, where illness had failed to separate them, something stronger was born. Something more beautiful.

An imperfect love. But whole.

.................................………………………………………

@mariii-0001

[liveasbutterflies]

Byeon Woo Seok for Cartier x Harper's Bazaar '24

[littlescorp1o]

the face card is insane

[celestiallure]

Can I request something fluffy with Gong Yoo? It can be anything really, I’m not picky :)

ft. gong ji-cheol x f! reader — rpf

╰₊✧ you’re too short to kiss him properly┊0.5k words

contains: fluff! size difference (reader is described to be average height), established relationship, reader has an attitude but he loves it, rpf don't like don't read

➤ author's note: first finished request on this acc :) wi ha-joon fic coming soon

he’s not sure what’s gotten into him this morning, but he was in a rather mischievous mood today. there was already a cocky little smile on his handsome face that you haven’t noticed yet as he leaned against the kitchen counter while sipping on his coffee, watching you sluggishly stroll into the light of the room. you looked so cute with your hair sticking out in all directions, rubbing one of your eyes sleepily, wearing nothing but one of his t-shirts that was comically long on your frame and reached your thighs like a dress. “good morning, honey.”

the reminder of how tiny you were in comparison to him gave him an idea.

“good morning,” you murmured softly, your mind still half enveloped in sleep with your body moving on its own. you drew close to him, standing on your tiptoes with your head tilted upward and eyes closed, anticipating for him to lean down and meet you in the middle with a kiss as was your usual routine. 

except this kiss never came, and you opened your eyes with a little pout and slightly furrowed brows. he was clearly biting back a childish giggle, unable to hide his amusement despite being a world-renowned actor. “what’s wrong? aren’t you going to kiss me?”

“are you being serious?”

he cracked a chuckle, taunting you by puckering his lips while standing up straight. “dead serious.”

you bit the inside of your cheek, trying once again to elevate yourself by standing on your toes and wrapping your arms around his neck in an attempt to pull him down to your level. still, he didn’t budge, and his stupid grin was only growing wider at how goddamn adorable you were in his perspective. all you could reach was his lower jaw, just short of his lips.

“come on, don’t be a dick!” you whined. “are you really going to make me get a ladder?”

“oh? are you too short to kiss me?”

“don’t piss me off— obviously, i’m too short to kiss you!” the statement solidified your suspicions that he was trying to get a raise out of you, which you normally didn’t mind since being an annoyance at his grown-age was sort of a love language of his, but it was way too early for this. he frequently teases you for your height, even before you started dated, always using your head as an armrest and purposefully putting items just out of your reach so that you would need to jump or climb something to reach it. “just to remind you, i’m average height. you’re the one who’s a giraffe masquerading as a human!”

that broke him, bursting out in laughter at your little insult. it made you roll your eyes playfully, ready to walk off and get ready for the day. before you could take more than two steps, he tutted and grabbed your wrist, pulling you back to him in a single fluid motion and finally placed a loving kiss on your lips. he didn’t stop or let go of you until he felt you go slack in his arms and kiss him back, indicating that you surrendered yourself and had forgiven him for his teasing.

“you’re lucky you’re so handsome,” you scoffed, pressing your finger into his forehead and pushing him off you with a giggle.

[mjracles]

gong yoo & lee dong wook - sk enmove zic: enmove showdown commercial film (30s) (2025)

(source)