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hyunjinners · 2 years ago

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✧:･ﾟThe End Justifies The Means → Ahn Jun-ho x reader˚₊· ꒰🌀꒱

꒰ 命 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 ꒱┊Although Jun-ho was in danger of defecting, he couldn't help but visit his lover, whom he was afraid he wouldn't be able to see for a long time.

꒰ 命 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ꒱┊Ahn Jun-ho x Fem!reader

꒰ 命 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 ꒱┊fluff, angst (?)

꒰ 命 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ꒱┊some blood, mention of death, maybe some bruises from my baby Jun-ho 🥺🤏 (takes place in season 2)

꒰ 命 𝐖.𝐂 ꒱┊2,1k

꒰ 命 𝐀/𝐍 ꒱┊First chapter of the profile! I was a little insecure about posting because English is not my first language, but with the help of a translator, I hope my writing doesn't get so old-fashioned lol ^°^

I finished watching D✰P a while ago and I couldn't help but fall in love with Jun-ho (although I started watching because of another actor, who plays the 'villain')

I tried to leave the chapter with a more Jun-ho perspective, I hope it turned out well. I hope you like the chapter and don't forget to share and say what you think of the chapter. Stick with the chapter and have a good read! 💙🌊

⊹₊˚ʚ❛Masterlist❜ɞ

IT'S been a few days since Jun-ho deserted the army for a greater cause. From the beginning he was aware of the danger he was putting himself in but his head still throbbed every time he…its first and also fails. It cost him his life. A life that could have been saved if not for his carelessness. He thinks about it every day and once he had a thin thread of hope, hoping that he could at least reveal the truth even if he couldn't bring that life back, he couldn't help but grasp the thin, dangerous thread.

He was tired but he wouldn't confess. In addition to working on a plan to reveal the flash drive's catastrophic contents, he was also exhausted from running away whenever he had any chance of getting hold of it. Jun-ho wasn't stupid, he knew how things work and that's why he was cautious and smart in every detail of what he did so as not to be tracked.

However, more than physically tired, he was emotionally and mentally exhausted. He's been through a lot of hard things since he gave you one last hug keeping his promise that he'd be back soon - which was to be expected as they were both aware that not everything is smooth sailing - but he wasn't expecting such a weight to be placed on his shoulders.

He missed you. Every single day. He thought about calling you all the time but his pride got the better of him, thinking he might sound desperate - or maybe the faint feeling that maybe you cared about him too much to the point of making your heart ache. He cared more about you than himself.

And it was this very thought that made him have a slight hesitation at the thought of visiting you. Jun-ho was aware that you knew everything and that you had certainly received a visit from your superiors only to upset you even more. But he needs to see you, feel you. He needed your hug, your words of comfort, your kiss, your way of being. But at the same time that he looked forward to it, he understood that it was risky. But everything good is worth the risk, isn't it?

You were sitting on your apartment floor staring at - or at least trying to - your laptop screen finishing a college essay. It wasn't really working for you, as everything you did, every key you clicked was a thought going through your mind leading you to think of Jun-ho.

You had received a visit from the superiors of Jun-ho, your boyfriend, just over three days ago. You initially wanted to appear strong, not just in front of men, for herself maybe. You really tried, but you couldn't hold back the tears. What if he got hurt? What if I unintentionally hurt other people? What if I can never see him again? These were some of the thoughts that came to mind.

Jun-ho was more than just a childhood sweetheart, more than your boyfriend, he was your soul mate, the perfect being that was specially predestined for you. You didn't believe much in legends or reincarnation, but you knew they were meant to be connected, perhaps by fate, or the red thread that believed to unite you. He was different, unique, perfect. You couldn't live without him and he was aware of that. So what's the point of him doing this to you?

You felt that if he made a misstep you probably wouldn't see each other any time soon. It's been almost two years apart, imagine years being separated by simple and useless bars? Pieces of metal that could destroy relationships for the simple fact of arresting a person who only wanted to reveal the truth that many so-called "superior" feared.

You didn't know about the pen-drive's contents, in fact, almost nobody did. But, if they're not measuring efforts to take power for themselves, even if it might cost Jun-ho's life, so you knew it wasn't anything too nice or light. Definitely a problem. A problem that Jun-ho-your Jun-ho got into because he couldn't stand still when he saw an injustice.

He's always been like that. From childhood, from when you grew up and your father didn't approve of your relationship with him, but he still didn't give up. Because he was stubborn and kind and above all he had a good heart. You love him for small but significant things like that that shape his personality and character. You've always seen it, since when you were just two little beings running around the neighborhood, at the same time, whenever there was a chance, Jun-ho would protect you, even if it sometimes cost him scolding. Always when they did something stupid, he took over, because he wanted to protect you from all the evil in the world. Because he always loved you.

Only now the roles were reversed. And this situation wasn't like when you were a kid, it's just riskier. You wanted to protect him from all harm, from all these evil people who only thought about their own noses and reputation. His heart ached whenever he imagined everything he had gone through so far because of people like that, for all the times - even if hesitantly - he called you because he wasn't feeling well with all the pressure and nagging from his seniors.

Your soul felt that he would look for you just like the nights he called you. And you've just been waiting, be it the doorbell sound or even the phone ringing.

And like a cue to fate, your doorbell rings. A slight fright invades you, but you don't let go, just getting up towards the door. When she opened it, a tall man had his back turned while wearing a navy blue sweatshirt that covered his head with a hood, preventing anyone from seeing him. He looks frantically up and down the building's hallway, as if expecting someone to suddenly grab him.

"May I help you?" He turns when he hears her voice. It was him. Jun-ho, who had been missing for days. He stares at you for a while, until he raises his finger towards his mouth, asking for silence. He deftly pushes you aside, stepping inside and locking the door behind him. You still stare at him in bewilderment. Not just finally seeing him, of course that was part of it, but he was different.

His hair had grown out a little since I last saw him - he'd shaved it off for the army - he was more robust, his arms were strong and steady, his face had some fresh bruises. You put your hands over your mouth in shock. Her eyes water at the sight of him hurt and tired. He holds out his arms, cradling you in a tight hug.

You reciprocate by squeezing him as if you can no longer see him. She didn't want it to be his last hug, so she held him tight. He didn't seem bothered, on the contrary, he deepened the hug, hiding his face in the crook of her neck. You felt your uneven breathing tickle your neck, but it didn't bother you. I knew he needed this. You needed this, you needed him.

He pushed you away when he felt your jacket wet, not out of annoyance but concern. I didn't want to see you cry, you didn't deserve this. None of that. No one really deserved it. He felt in his skin how much the greed of people who identify themselves as superiors just because of a position or a social position, it can harm people who just want to survive in this difficult world where they fight by their own arm, not stepping on other people to ascend.

He gently runs his fingers - now not as soft as before - pass over her soft skin and now wet from the tears that flowed down through the mixture of feelings that squeezed her chest like longing, anxiety, maybe a little fear. "Don't cry, my love…I'm sorry. I didn't want you to go through this." "Where are you Jun-ho? Do you- do you know how worried I was? I was so, so scared that I would never see you again." You didn't want to sound so desperate, but your voice gave it away. Your face that was now covered by your own hands, rested on his firm chest, which just hugged you again while stroking your hair.

"I'm sorry. Really. I…I'm here now, okay?" He kisses her forehead. He missed her smell, her embrace. The way you cried together and for him.

"Oh Jesus! Look at you, oppa!" Now calmer, you caress Jun-ho's face that was stained with blood in some small cuts, in addition to the slight mixture of green, yellow and purple tones that painted almost imperceptibly in the region of his eye. "Who was the idiot that did this to you? Argh! Come here" you take him to the couch in the living room, running to the bathroom to get the first aid kit and coming back as fast as you can. You disinfect your wounds as carefully as you can, as if your skin is incredibly sensitive. He lets out a low chuckle, watching you in his concentration.

"What is it? Did I hurt you?" You look scared. He cups the right side of his face with his hand, taking advantage of the closeness to place a tender kiss on her lips. "I think it's cute that you're worried about hurting me even though I'm all torn up like that, that's all." You smile toothlessly upon hearing his statement. It was obvious that the situation was concerning but you could still see how hard he was trying to make you comfortable and calm, even though it was a mess outside.

"You'll be fine, won't you?" Her expression changes as she whispers to him, fear apparent in her voice. "I will. I promise you, I will come back to you safe and sound." The ghost of a smile is exposed on her face. "I don't want to ask what's on that flash drive but I'm sure you're doing it for a good reason. I want you to know that you are strong and that you will get through this. I believe and trust you and I know you will do the right thing with the power you have in your hands. Just don't, please leave me. Do what you have to do but…come back to me. I need you." You intertwine your hand in his. Tears form in Jun-ho's eyes causing his voice to crack a little when speaking.

"Thank you for trusting me. I don't deserve your love. I will never leave you, I love you. It's complicated, I don't want you to get involved. Just wait for me." He gets up towards the door, but stops as soon as he hears her announcement.

"...your boss visited me. He asked me to call if you showed up. What should I do?" He turns. A few seconds pass as he just stares back at you.

"Call him."

"What?"

"You can call. I need to talk to him."

"What if you get caught?"

"I won't, I know what to do." He had a plan, you could feel it. You obey, picking up your cell phone and after dialing the number passing it to him. You didn't know what was coming, and you hated more than anyone else just to watch and not be able to do anything, but everything in your power you would do. By Jun-ho.

꒷꒦ ⊹ ๑ ❛original by:: @hyunjinners ¡ Like×reblog❜ =͟͟͞♡ ‧ ˚ ₊

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littlescorp1o · 1 month ago

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almostwisegalaxy · 1 month ago

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Geum Seong je headcanon

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Geum Seonje doesn't like. He doesn't know how to love like others. Not gently. Not wisely. Not cleanly. With him, love comes with clenched fists, tight jaws, sleepless nights spent checking that you haven't left a message on "seen" without replying.

You are his calm obsession. You are the only place where his gaze doesn't tremble, the only name he repeats without violence. Yet, with you, it's silent chaos. He doesn't shout. He looks at you. For a long time. Until you feel like you're becoming his breath. Until you understand that he wouldn't know how to exist without you anymore.

He has never told you "I love you" — those words, he despises them. Too weak. Too commonplace. He prefers to tell you "You belong to me," and he says it like a promise, like a prayer, like a gentle threat.

Geum Seonje is loyal. Sickeningly loyal. If someone approaches you, he doesn't wait to understand. He acts. Because in his head, loving means protecting, controlling, keeping — no matter the cost. He hides you, sometimes. Not literally, but he distances you from the world. He isolates you. He creates a bubble, a small world for two, where there is only you, and nothing else deserves your attention.

Sometimes, you wanted to flee. But he felt the echo of your hesitation even before you put your foot out the door. And he looked at you. And you stayed. Because his gaze said: "I can't live without you, and you can't live without me either."

You understood that Seonje loves like one clenches a knife between their teeth: with pain, with tension, with the constant fear of hurting. But he never hurts you physically. No. He is gentle with you, terribly gentle. Too much. As if he were afraid of breaking you. Or worse, that you would understand that you could break him.

He is possessive, yes. But not in a loud way. He doesn't post your picture everywhere, he doesn't yell at you in public. He observes you. He listens to everything you say, everything you don't say. He remembers your slightest gestures. And he acts in the shadows. That person who started talking to you too much? They won't come around anymore. And you'll never know why. But he knows. And he smiles at you one evening, placing a hand on your cheek. As if it were an innocent gesture.

When you cry, he is silent. He doesn't always understand why you cry, but he stays there. And he lets you cry. He rests your forehead against his and whispers: "I'm here. I'm always here. I will always be here." And you believe those words, even when you shouldn't. Because he is sincere. He proves it to you every day, even if it's toxic, even if it's too much.

Geum Seonje doesn't know how to love freely. He loves like one suffocates, like one locks a butterfly in a crystal jar because it is too beautiful for the world. You are that butterfly. And he admires you. He protects you. But he doesn't understand that you need to fly too.

He doesn't apologize often. But when he does, it's because he saw something break in your eyes. And he can't stand that. He falls to his knees before you, literally. He takes your hand and places it on his heart, and he says: "I am yours. You do whatever you want with me, but don't leave me. Never leave me."

You know it's not healthy. You know it. But in his eyes, there is a pain that no one else sees. A flaw. A panic fear of being alone. And you tell yourself that maybe, if you stay, you can fix him. (You have a high level of survival instinct, huh? ರ⁠_⁠ರ)

But you can't. Because he doesn't want to change. He just wants to have you. To love you his way. To make you feel unique. And he succeeds. When he is there, nothing else exists. He looks at you as if the whole world were collapsing around you, and he would still remain, clinging to you.

One day, you asked him: "What if I fell in love with someone else?" He said nothing. He simply smiled. Slowly. Gently. And he replied: "You won't. You belong to me." And you never asked the question again.

Because Geum Seonje, when he loves, he consumes. And he wants to be the only fire you feel.

And somewhere, deep down, you like it. (Are you normal? (」°ロ°)」)

Because he makes you feel alive. Because he made you believe that love was that: pain, fear, fusion. And that without it, nothing remains.

And maybe that's the most toxic part.

But it's also what makes you unable to leave.

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#geum seong je #whc1 x reader #whc2 spoilers #whc x reader #whc1 #whc2 #black fem reader #x reader #fem!reader #x black reader #actor x reader #kdrama fic #kdrama #kactor #geum seong je x reader #Seong je geum #Seongje geum #seong je geum

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penny44224 · 5 months ago

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

#wi ha joon #squid game #kactor #wihajoon #x black reader #ambw #hajoon #kdrama #squid game 2

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loserlvrss · 15 days ago

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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

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yoongissweetdream · 6 days ago

Text

I Live Alone | Park Jihoon

Pairing: Park Jihoon x Actress!Reader

Requested by: no one

Genre: Established relationship. Childhood friends turned lovers. Variety show.

Synopsis: Promoting the new show Y/N is in, she goes on the show 'I Live Alone'. During her episode, Jihoon makes a guest appearance and they confirm the rumours that have been going on for the last few years.

Warnings: none.

Word Count: 1,151

Requests: Closed.

Park Jihoon Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Tag List Form

“Oh, who’s that?” Park Na-Rae asks they hear the doorbell of Y/N’s apartment ring as they watch the edited recording of what they filmed for the actress's episode of, I Live Alone. Y/N glances at Na-Rae, her eyes sparkling with a mix of excitement and apprehension. Her and her boyfriend thought this would be a good way to confirm the years dating rumours that have been going on the last few years.

"Is that Park Jihoon?" Key asks as they watch Jihoon walk through the door before Y/N can reach it, greeting her with a hug after kicking off his shoes.

Y/N hums, nodding her head as she feels her cheeks warm up, watching herself and Jihoon interact on the small screen as he helps her to get ready to leave for the grocery store. Everything between them seemed so natural and like they had been doing it for years.

"How long have you known Park Jihoon?" one of the male hosts ask clueless to Y/N and Jihoon's history.

"We met on set when we were kids," she tells them. "We became friends and then our mums became friends so we were able to keep in contact and build our friendship."

"So you've been friends a long time?" the same host asks.

"Almost 20 years," Y/N smiles thinking back on how many years the actress has known the actor/idol.

"Wow," a few of them say sounding impressed.

Na-Rae leans forward in her seat, eyes gleaming with excitement as she nudges the one of the other hosts. "Look at them! They’re practically a couple." Her words draw laughter from the group causing Y/N's cheeks to redden.

Everyone is quiet again as they watch the couple leave Y/N's apartment until Jihoon takes Y/N's hand in his, entwining their fingers together. A few of the hosts gasp. Y/N’s heart raced as she softly smiled again, her focus on the way Jihoon looked at her and how he leaned in closer as she rambled on about what she needs to get from the store they are walking towards. She watches as he leans in, stealing a quick kiss on her cheek before they step out into the grocery store.

“Did you see that?!” one of the hosts exclaims, pointing at the screen like a child spotting a shooting star. “You two are definitely more than just friends!”

Y/N nods, bracing herself for the big reveal, she announces, "We did get engaged the weekend before this was filmed."

The room erupts in a flurry of surprise as the hosts process Y/N's revelation. “Engaged?! Oh my gosh, this is huge! You have to tell us everything! How did he propose? Was it romantic?” Na-Rae urges her to tell them her and Jihoon's proposal story.

Y/N chuckles nervously, feeling the weight of their eyes on her. The warmth in her cheeks deepens as she recalls the moment she went from girlfriend to fiancée. “It was very romantic,” she smiles. "We took my mum camping in Hadong for a long weekend and the second day we were there we went for a walk down the cherry blossom road. About 10 minutes into the walk, I noticed he was acting nervous, and my mum was starting to put some distance between us, so I asked if there was something wrong. He said no and that's when he pulled out the ring box and got down on one knee and asked me to marry him."

"And you said yes!" Na-Rae coos excitedly.

"I didn't hesitate," Y/N smiles, her eyes glistening with tears as the emotions rush back to her.

"Your mum was there too," another host speaks.

"My mum is all I had for a long time. He knew that I would have wanted her there," she tells them. "He actually went to her first when he decided he wanted to propose. She knew all about it."

“It sounds like he put a lot of thought into it," one of them remarks, a smiling.

"He really did," Y/N agrees.

"Congratulations Jihoon-ah and Y/N-ah," Na-Rae cheers with the other hosts joining in. Y/N's heart swells with gratitude as she bows her head thanking them. With that, they continue to watch the rest of the edited version of a day in Y/N's life.

After the filming for I Live Alone ends, Y/N says goodbye to everyone, thanking them for having her on their show and exits the building, following behind her manager, Na-mi as the rest of her team follow behind her. "I think that went really well," she smiles as they make their way onto the footpath. Na-mi agrees with her, as she types something on her phone before sending it.

"You have no more schedules for today so you can go home and catch up on some sleep if you want to," Na-mi informs her.

"That actually sounds really good," Y/N says, feeling the exhaustion from promoting her new show and preparing for her up and coming fan meet seep into her bones. "Will you be dropping me off home?"

"Actually, someone's come to pick you up themselves," Na-mi tells her looking her left.

Y/N follows her gaze, a smile stretching from ear to ear as she finds her fiancée, standing beside his car, a small bouquet of flowers in his hand. Her heart fluttered at the sight of Jihoon. As she approached him, her exhaustion fades. The bouquet he holds is filled with her favourite flowers.

"Surprise!" Jihoon exclaimed with a broad smile, his eyes sparkling with affection as he extended the flowers toward her. "I saw these and thought of you."

"Thank you," Y/N replied softly, accepting the bouquet with both hands. She inhaled deeply, savouring their sweet fragrance before placing a soft kiss to his cheek.

He then opens the car door for her and waits for her to get in before he closes it. As she settles into the seat of Jihoon's car, she rests the bouquet delicately on her lap and then opens her bag, pulling out the ring box holding her engagement ring and slips it back on her finger. The couple had agreed that she wouldn't wear the engagement ring in interviews and other promotional content she's filming, not wanting it to leak before they made their announcement. Jihoon slid into the driver's seat, casting her an affectionate glance before starting the engine.

"How did the shoot go?" he asked, his voice warm and inviting as he pulls away from the curb.

"It went really well, everyone sends their congratulations," she smiles. "Key, Kian and Na-Rae are expecting an invite to the wedding."

Jihoon chuckled softly, his eyes glimmering with warmth. “Well, I'll make sure they're added to the guest list.”

Y/N looks at him lovingly. “I love you so much, Yeobo” she says, once again smiling softly.

He glances at her, a soft smile also on his lips, “I love you too, Jagiya.”

@acewritesficsagain - @rainyday-daydreamer - @carattinymoa - @kpopdramaficrecs

#park jihoon #park jihoon x reader #k-actor #park jihoon imagines #park jihoon fics #wanna one #wanna one x reader #park jihoon x y/n #actor park jihoon #actor park jihoon x reader #kdrama fics #kactor fics #kpop fics

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only1airen · 2 months ago

Text

Where Love Feels Like Home ᯓᡣ𐭩

Oneshot 2.3k

Author's Note:

What if your husband is Park Bogum? Let us see... and maybe I'll be posting other korean actors I find interesting in (..◜ᴗ◝..)

Includes:

- fluff

- cozy setting

- intimate moments

——————₊⊹ — -ˋ୨୧ˊ- — ⊹₊——————

You were exhausted from work and got home where Bogum was patiently waiting for your return, sitting on the couch and holding a book in hand.

The doorbell ringing caught his attention and he got up from his seat, quickly making his way toward the door. As he opened it, his eyes found you standing there, a wide smile spreading across his face once he saw you.

"Welcome back! I was just wondering when you'd be home." He said warmly, stepping aside and letting you into the foyer.

Bogum gave you a gentle hug and a quick peck on your cheek before noticing that something seemed off about you.

You offered him a weary smile. "Did you eat yet?"

Bogum took note of the weariness in your smile and raised an eyebrow in concern. He shook his head at your question, his gaze fixated on you intently.

"No, not yet. I was waiting for you." He answered honestly, his expression becoming slightly concerned.

He stepped closer to you, gently taking your hand in his and leading you further inside. He gazed at your face, noting the fatigue in your features.

"Is everything alright? You look tired."

"I just had a long day at work.." You responded softly as you followed him, letting him guide you.

Bogum nodded as he listened to you, leading you to the couch and gently helping you sit down before taking the seat beside you. His hand remained holding yours, his thumb gently rubbing the back of your hand in a soothing manner. His gaze stayed on you, his expression soft and filled with concern.

"That sounds tough. Would you like to tell me about it? Maybe I can help ease your burden a bit." He asked quietly, his voice carrying a hint of care and worry.

You started talking about your day, how stressed you were at work and the little inconvenience you encountered throughout the day.

Bogum listened intently, his expression becoming one of empathetic understanding. He didn't interrupt you, letting you get everything off your chest. His grip on your hand tightened gently as if to offer assurance and comfort.

Once you finish talking, he gently squeezed your hand.

"Sounds like you've had a rough day... I'm sorry you have to go through that, love." He said softly, his tone filled with sincerity. He gently lift your hand and placed a soft kiss on the back of your hand.

He continued to hold your hand and moved closer to you on the couch, his free arm going around your shoulders and gently drawing you closer. His touch was tender and comforting, a silent gesture of reassurance.

"Is there anything I can do to help? Maybe a warm bath to help you relax? Or some tea?" He asked softly, his eyes watching you closely, wanting to do anything to ease the burden you're carrying.

"Yes please, hubby." you answered softly.

A soft smile appeared on Bogum's face at being called 'hubby.' He felt a sense of warmth at the term of endearment.

"Of course, darling. Let me prepare everything for you."

He stand up from the couch, his hand lingering on your shoulder for a moment before completely letting go. He then make his way towards the bathroom, preparing to draw a warm bath and fetch some tea for you.

You leaned back on the couch and let out a soft sigh.

Bogum returned from the bathroom a few moments later, having finished preparing the warm bath. He noticed your sigh and walked toward you.

"The bath is ready. Let me help you, darling."

He offered his hand to you, helping you stand up from the couch and guiding you towards the bathroom. The warm, soothing scent of bath salts wafts through the air. The bathtub was filled with steaming water, ready for you to relax in.

You entered the bathroom, the atmosphere instantly soothing you.

Bogum stayed by your side, watching as you enter the bathroom. He leaned against the doorframe, his gaze fixed on you as the warm steam enveloped you.

"Take your time and relax. If you need anything, just shout, alright?" He said gently, an encouraging smile on his face. He paused for a moment, his eyes scanning the room as if checking to see what else you might need.

You turned to Bogum with a soft smile on your face. "Thank you, hubby." You said appreciatively before you undress and proceed to step into the bathtub, sinking in the warm water.

Bogum watched you, his smile widening at being called "hubby" once again. He watched as you undress and step into the tub.

"You're welcome, darling. Just relax and take as much time as you need."

He continued to stand by the door, his eyes on you as you bask in the warmth of the water. His expression was one of care and concern, wanting to make sure you're comfortable and relaxed. The soft sound of the water sloshing gently as you move filled the room.

You closed your eyes, your body relaxing in the warm bath.

Bogum stood there, silently observing you as you relax in the water. He watched as your body slowly relaxes, the tension in your muscles dissipating. A gentle smile appeared on his face, seeing the stress and fatigue slowly fading away from you. He remained quiet, giving you the space you need to unwind and find tranquility.

You occasionally let out sighs of contentment, a faint smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

Bogum's smile widened at the sound of your sighs of contentment. He could tell that the warm bath was having a soothing effect on you, and he felt a sense of relief knowing that he's able to help you relax and find solace. He remained leaned against the doorframe, still keeping a watchful eye on you, but not wanting to disturb your peaceful moment.

After a while, you were done taking your bath and tried to step out of the bathtub.

Bogum, ever so attentive, immediately stepped closer as you attempt to step out of the bathtub. He offered a hand to help you stand, his other hand coming around to securely hold your waist, ensuring you maintain your balance.

"Careful, darling. The floor can be slippery." He said softly, his voice gentle as he assisted you out of the bathtub and onto the bathroom floor.

You held onto him and safely got out of the bathtub.

Bogum kept his arm around your waist, steadying you as you fully step out of the bathtub. Once you're safely out, he grabbed a towel and wrapped it around you, gently patting you dry.

"There you go. Feeling a bit better now?" He asked softly, his gaze fixed on you, his touch remaining gentle as he dry your skin.

You nodded in affirmation, looking at him with a warm expression, allowing him to dry you off.

Bogum gently continued to dry your body, using the towel to gently pat and absorb the water from your skin. His touch was gentle, careful not to be too rough as he ensured every part of you is dry. His eyes never leave yours—his gaze filled with warmth and tenderness.

"Good. I'm glad you're feeling a bit more relaxed now." He said softly, his free hand gently rubbing your shoulder. Once he's finished, he wrapped the towel securely around your body, covering you up.

"I'm feeling a lot better now." You uttered, smiling genuinely at him.

Bogum return the smile, his expression filled with warmth.

"I'm really glad to hear that, darling."

He gently ran his fingers through your damp hair, gently brushing it back.

"Do you feel up to putting on some comfortable clothes?" He asked softly, his eyes scanning your face to gauge your tiredness.

"Mm yes."

Bogum nodded in response, his hand gently coming down to take yours.

"Alright, let's go then."

He gently guided you out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. Once inside, he led you to the closet, his hand gently releasing yours to allow you to select your clothes.

"What would you like to wear? Something comfortable and loose?" He questioned, his tone gentle and considerate.

You nodded in agreement.

Bogum smiled softly and gently opened the closet doors for you, allowing you to browse through your clothes. He stand beside you, watching and waiting for you to pick out what you want to wear.

"Take your time, darling." He said softly, his hand gently resting on your lower back, a subtle gesture of support and presence.

You picked your clothes and changed into your fitted long-sleeve gray top and loose, cozy cream-colored sweatpants, looking relaxed and all. You felt more comfortable and warm.

Bogum watched as you change, his eyes filled with affection. He could see that you're looking more comfortable and relaxed, which bring a sense of satisfaction to him. Once you've changed into your cozy outfit, he smiled at you, his gaze filled with tenderness.

"You look so comfortable and warm now, darling. I'm glad you're feeling better." He said softly, his hand gently rubbing your upper arm, showing his affection.

You looked over at him, smiling gently as you take a hold of his pinky, your touch subtly affectionate. "Let's have tea before going to bed, hubby."

Bogum's heart fluttered at the subtle affection you show through your touch. The tender gesture of holding his pinky fill him with warmth.

"Of course, darling." He responded softly, a gentle smile on his face. He interlocked his pinky with yours, holding it delicately as he turn toward the door.

"Let's head back to the living room and get your tea ready."

"Alright..." You followed closely beside him to the living room, your footsteps in sync.

Bogum led the way to the living room, his pinky still intertwined with yours. You make your way to the couch, and he gently guided you to sit down, before taking a seat next to you.

He glanced at you, his expression soft and warm, as he gently placed a hand on your thigh in a comforting gesture.

"Just relax for a moment, darling. I'll go and prepare your tea. Is chamomile fine with you?"

You nodded in response.

Bogum smiled gently at your response.

"Alright, I'll go prepare your chamomile tea. Stay here and relax."

He gently squeezed your thigh before standing up and walking toward the kitchen. A few moments later, he returned with a steaming cup of chamomile tea in his hands. He approached back to where you're seated and gently placed the cup in front of you.

"Here you go, darling. Freshly brewed chamomile tea for you."

You cradled the cup in your hands and slowly bring it to your lips, taking a sip of the chamomile tea which instantly soothes you.

Bogum took a seat next to you once again, his gaze fixed on you as you sip the tea. He watched the tension in your shoulders slowly ease, noting the way your expression relaxed as the hot liquid warms your body. The atmosphere in the living room was peaceful and quiet, the only sound being the occasional sipping of tea and the soft hum of the wind from outside.

He remained quiet, his leg lightly brushing against yours as he let you soak in the tranquility of the moment. His eyes never leave you, filled with quiet concern and affection.

While drinking, you turned your head to look at Bogum, your gaze soft. "Thank you for today, hubby." You spoke sincerely.

Bogum's expression softened, his eyes meeting yours in a tender gaze. His expression was one of quiet happiness, his heart swelling with affection at the sound of you calling him 'hubby.'

"You don't have to thank me, darling. I'm here for you, always." He replied softly, his voice carrying a sense of reassurance and certainty.

He gently shifted closer to you on the couch, his leg now firmly pressed against yours as he gently pats your hand that's holding the cup.

Your heart warms at his words. You take a moment to finish your tea, set it down before scooting closer to Bogum on the couch and leaning into his side, seeking his comfort and warmth.

Bogum smiled softly as you scoot closer to him, his arm immediately wrapping around your shoulders, drawing you closer to him. He gently pulled you in, allowing you to rest your head on his shoulder. His touch was firm yet tender, a silent reassurance that he's there for you, always.

He gently pats your back, his other hand running through your hair, gently massaging your scalp, as he looked down at you warmly.

Your eyes flutter closed, relaxing further in his presence. You leaned into his touch ever so slightly, a content smile appearing on your face.

Bogum felt his heart warm at the sight of you relaxing in his arms. He continued to gently massage your scalp, his touch soothing and tender. The room was quiet, except for the occasional sound of your soft sighs of contentment. He could feel your body grow looser against him, the tension from before melting away.

He leaned his head against yours, his hand still gently rubbing your back.

"Feeling better, darling?" He asked softly, his voice gentle and filled with caring.

You hummed in response and murmured affectionately: "You're the best husband I could ever ask for."

Bogum felt a rush of affection upon hearing your words, his heart swelling with love. He smiled softly and softly squeezed your shoulder, his other hand moving up to gently cradle your face.

"And you're the best wife." He replied softly, his voice sincere and warm, as he gently brushed a strand of hair away from your face.

He gazed down at you, his eyes filled with tenderness and affection. He could feel the bond between you growing stronger with each passing day, and he felt immense gratitude for having you in his life.

#park bogum #park bogum x reader #bogum fluff #park bogum fanfic #park bogum scenario #bogum x y/n #park bogum fic #bogum imagines #bogum x reader #park bogum x y/n #park bogum fanfiction #bogummy #park bogum au #park bogum fluff #kactor #korean actor

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gnohomotho · 12 days ago

Text

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.

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.

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.

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."

❥❥❥

37 notes · View notes

kaykay0315 · 17 days ago

Text

Na Baek-Jin x F!Reader Pt. 2

Synopsis: You recently transferred to Yeoil High School, you just want to get through school, get good grades and stay out of trouble. You’ve had enough of it in your past and don't want to get involved with it any longer. But the world seems to not like the path you refuse to take, so it decides to put you in the worst place of all…sitting next to Na Baek-Jin, leader of the Union.

Warning: brief fighting

Word Count: 1.8k

Part 2: Tension Beneath the Surface

Week two.

The halls didn’t feel like a maze anymore, but they still weren’t familiar. You could find your locker without glancing at the numbers, and you remembered to bring indoor shoes today. Progress.

Most days you kept your head down, did your work, and avoided standing out. But that seat….your seat, right beside Na Baek-Jin. It made that even more impossible.

You still remembered the way he looked at you when you walked into class last week. Not shocked. Not even curious. Just… sharp. Like he was trying to figure something out.

And maybe he had.

Baek-Jin hadn’t spoken to you, not directly. But you could feel the awareness. The way he shifted when you moved. The way his eyes flicked toward you, never long enough to catch, but always long enough to notice.

Your pen tapped against your notebook as the homeroom teacher droned on. Morning announcements. A field trip notice. Nothing you really had to care about.

Baek-Jin leaned back in his chair, one leg stretched out under the desk. Effortless confidence, like the entire room bent around him without him having to ask.

You hadn’t meant to look. But now you were.

He glanced sideways at the same moment, catching your eyes.

You blinked and looked away.

He didn’t.

Outside, it had started raining. You hadn’t brought an umbrella.

Of course.

You kept your head down as the lunch bell rang, waiting a few seconds before standing. It wasn’t nerves, not exactly,it was calculation. Most of the students swarmed out the door immediately, shouting about cafeteria lines and who was saving seats. You preferred to move in the quiet aftershock.

Baek-Jin didn’t move either. He stayed seated, elbow on the desk, eyes fixed somewhere past the windows. The rain had picked up, tapping gently against the glass.

You grabbed your tray and headed toward the cafeteria, winding through the corridors. The smell of steamed rice and frying oil hit you before you turned the corner.

The cafeteria was loud. Busy. Familiar and foreign all at once. You hadn’t made any solid friends yet. There were a few girls who smiled at you in the morning, and a guy from your literature class who’d asked for your notes once, but that was it. You didn’t mind.

There was a spot by the windows. Far enough from the noise, close enough to the exit. You slid into the seat and peeled the wrapper off your chopsticks, focusing on your food.

And then

A quiet shuffle of chairs across from you. You looked up, half expecting someone to tell you the seat was taken.

It wasn’t just someone.

Na Baek-Jin sat down across from you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You froze mid-bite.

He said nothing. Just pulled his tray closer and started eating, clean and methodical.

You stared for a second before clearing your throat softly. “This is… the quiet corner. You know that, right?”

He didn’t look up. “Exactly why I came here.”

Silence stretched. The cafeteria buzzed all around you, but your table felt weirdly still.

You tried again, eyes flicking up to meet his. “You don’t usually sit here.”

“I don’t usually have people spill milk on my shoes either,” he replied without missing a beat, finally glancing at you.

Your ears burned. “That was an accident.”

“I noticed.”

You weren’t sure if he was teasing or just being observant. Probably both. His tone was unreadable.

“You don’t talk much,” he added suddenly.

You blinked. “Neither do you.”

A pause. Then…was that a smirk?

“I talk when it matters.”

You gave a soft, dry laugh. “Then you must think this conversation is extremely important.”

He tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing. “Maybe.”

That shut you up.

Your chopsticks hovered over your food as he looked away again, as if nothing happened. Like he hadn’t just derailed the lunch you were planning to spend in solitude. Like it wasn’t strange that Na Baek-Jin—of all people—chose to sit here, now, with you.

Maybe it was coincidence. Maybe he just wanted quiet.

But the look he gave you said otherwise.

By the time lunch ended, your brain was still catching up.

Na Baek-Jin hadn’t said much after that last line. He finished his food, stood up without warning, and left you sitting there like the whole interaction had been a figment of your imagination. The only proof he was ever there: his empty tray and the fact that two girls walking by had definitely done a double take when they saw him at your table.

You exhaled through your nose, gathered your things, and headed back to class.

You didn’t notice the guy watching you from a nearby table until it was too late.

Sixth period dragged. You stared at your notes, highlighting the same line three times without reading it. Something about Baek-Jin’s gaze lingered. Like it had scratched across your thoughts and left a mark.

When the final bell rang, you moved fast. Slipping your books into your bag, tucking your chair in, ready to make a clean getaway.

“Hey.”

You turned.

A guy leaned against the doorframe. Shaggy hair, hoodie halfway unzipped, bored expression. You recognized him, not by name, but by proximity. He was one of Baek-Jin’s people. Always nearby. Always quiet. But not invisible.

“You're the new girl,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

You kept your face neutral. “Yeah.”

“You sat with Baek-Jin at lunch.”

That wasn’t a question either.

You didn’t respond, just gave a shrug like it didn’t mean anything.

He pushed off the frame, jerking his chin toward the hallway. “Come with me.”

You blinked. “Why?”

“Union stuff.”

You arched a brow. “I’m not in the Union.”

He gave a half-smile. “Not yet.”

You followed him down the side hallway, the sounds of students fading behind you the deeper you went.

“Where are we going again?” you asked, glancing sideways at him.

Geum Seong-Jae didn’t look at you. Just kept walking like you weren’t worth the effort. “Somewhere you’ll either thank me for or regret later. Flip a coin.”

“That’s not exactly comforting,” you muttered.

“Wasn’t trying to be.”

His hoodie was faded, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and he walked like someone who had nothing to prove because he already knew where everyone stood. That made him dangerous.

“You always drag new students into strange back rooms?” you asked, slowing your pace.

“Only the ones who get special attention,” he said, finally looking at you.

You frowned. “You mean the cafeteria thing? That wasn’t special. He just sat there.”

“Exactly,” Seong-Jae said with a knowing grin. “He never just sits anywhere.”

You didn’t respond, just walked in silence for a second.

Then he added, a little quieter, “Nice bow, by the way.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

He motioned lazily to your hair. “The ribbon. It’s the kind of thing someone wears when they want people to think they’ve got everything under control.”

You reached up instinctively, fingers brushing the bow tied neatly around your high ponytail.

“…What, is this some weird Union psychology test?”

“No,” he said, chuckling as he pushed open the door to a clubroom, “just an observation. But hey,make sure it stays tied tight.”

The way he said it made something uneasy twist in your stomach. Like it meant more than it should’ve.

Inside, the others looked up when you entered. Baek-Jin didn’t seem surprised to see you. If anything, it felt like he’d been expecting this moment since lunch.

You stayed by the door. “Am I supposed to be here?”

Baek-Jin’s gaze flicked from your eyes to your ribbon, then back up again.

“You are now,” he said.

You stayed near the door, arms loosely crossed, a little tension building in your jaw.

“This is a test,” you said, voice flat.

Baek-Jin didn’t confirm it. He didn’t have to.

The red-haired girl ‘So-hee’ if you remembered correctly and a tall boy with bleached tips stepped forward from the group.

“We just want to see if you're useful,” So-hee said, cracking her knuckles. “Nothing personal.”

“Right,” you said. “Because cornering someone in an abandoned clubroom is the perfect way to build trust.”

“You could just do what we asked,” the guy added, smirking. “But you keep saying no.”

“I’m not interested in Union politics.”

“You’re already involved,” So-hee snapped. “You sat with him.”

You glanced sideways at Baek-Jin, still silent, still watching. Seong-Jae, leaned back in a beat-up chair nearby, looked amused. Like this was his entertainment for the day.

“I’m not fighting you,” you said finally.

“Good,” So-hee replied, cracking her neck. “That means you’ll go down fast.”

The first swing came without warning So-hee moved fast, low and sharp like she’d done this before. You dodged, sidestepping cleanly. The boy came next, a half-hearted punch you ducked under with ease.

You didn’t swing back.

Not yet.

Just moved.

Slipped past them with dancer’s grace and narrow misses. You could hear Seong-Jae mutter something like, “Not bad.”

But the boy clipped you; an elbow to your ribs that knocked you off-balance, and So-hee followed with a sharp kick to your thigh that forced you to one knee.

Your fingers twitched.

You exhaled slowly.

Then, without a word, your hand moved to your ponytail. In one smooth, practiced motion, you slid the ribbon loose.

The air shifted.

Even So-hee hesitated.

The ribbon fluttered in your hand for a second and then snapped tight between your fingers like a silk blade.

You moved.

Fast.

Elegant.

Precise.

The ribbon whipped past So-hee’s shoulder, grazing her cheek just enough to draw blood. She gasped, stumbling back as her hand flew to her face.

The boy lunged only to be tripped and spun with a yank of your ribbon, the tension around his wrist cutting just enough to sting.

You pivoted, low to the ground, spun it back around your arm, and snapped it up under his chin he stumbled again, breath gone.

By the time they stepped back, panting, you stood perfectly still.

No blood on you.

No scuffs.

Just that ribbon.

Hanging loose between your fingers like it never left its place.

So-hee touched the cut on her cheek, wide-eyed. “What the hell…”

You tilted your head, tied the ribbon back into your hair with practiced ease. Each motion slow. Deliberate.

The bow sat perfectly again.

You turned to Baek-Jin and Seong-Jae.

Baek-Jin leaned forward, arms on his knees, studying you like something far more interesting than expected had just revealed itself.

Seong-Jae let out a low whistle. “Damn.”

Neither looked particularly surprised.

But they definitely weren’t bored anymore.

Baek-Jin’s gaze locked with yours. “You said you weren’t interested.”

You adjusted the ends of your bow calmly. “I’m still not.”

“But you showed up,” Seong-Jae said, grinning. “And you tied it back. That means something.”

Baek-Jin didn’t smile, but something flickered behind his eyes. “You're going to be a problem.”

You smiled faintly. “Only if you make me one.”

(edit word count)

Part 1 Part 3

#na baek jin #weak hero #weak hero x reader #Na Baek-Jin #weak hero class two #fighting #tw violence #x reader #female reader #kdrama #kactor

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celestiallure · 2 months ago

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pov: jung ho-yeon is your gf & your camera roll looks like this

#💞. the princess is in love #jung ho yeon #jung ho yeon x reader #kactor #kactor x reader #rpf #rpf x reader #squid game #squid game x reader #kang sae byeok #kang sae byeok x reader #i want her so bad

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yawn-junn · 2 years ago

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1.All I Want For Christmas Is You(Minjae) (Xikers)

2.Christmas Tree Hunting(Yeonjun - TxT)

3.Decorate With Me!(8Turn)

4.Elf undercover (Seungheon - 8Turn)

5.Secret Santa (Sunho - BoyNextDoor)

6.Last Christmas (Yechan) (Xikers)

7.Cookie baking (Niki - Enhypen)

9.Christmas Debate (Mingi - ATEEZ)

10.Gift Giving (Kyungmin - 8Turn)

11.Slow Dancin' & Romancin' (Bang Chan - Skz)

12.My Favorite Ordainment (Taesan - BoyNextDoor)

14.Gingerbread Competition (Jaehyun - BoyNextDoor)

15.Cinnamon Treats (Yungyu) (8Turn)

16.Counting Down X-Mas (Lee Han - BoyNextDoor)

18.Tree Topper (Beomgyu -TxT)

19.Best Present Ever (Yungyu) (8Turn)

21.Christmas Songs(Sunwoo) (The Boyz)

23.Home...(Seungheon) (8Turn)

24.24 to 25 baby stay with me(JJ - Trainee A)

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saidrabbles · 7 months ago

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now i know

a/n: hello !! i know i literally fell off the face of the earth and i don’t know if i am fully back but i had the sudden power to write. i have several ongoing drafts that are unfinished, but this one might be the oldest. i wrote this after the first few eps of tomorrow aired. so it's only fit i come back w a joong-gil story!

pairing: park jong-gil x reader

warnings: mentions of suicide, self-harm

summary: park jong-gil has been working for jumadeung for a very long time, he had his principles and was strict in following them. that was until you came along. you were part of the risk management team that he hated so much, but he couldn't help but become curious about you.

he was feared and respected by all who worked in jumadeung. he was one the elite members, and he was known to be the most strict leader of the escort team. he portrayed no sympathy to the dead souls that are to be escorted, and he believed suicide is a murder. the biggest crime a person could commit against oneself. or so everyone thought. the number of suicide deaths were slowly but surely decreasing, thanks to the risk management team that are led by ko ryeon. he understood that deaths are increasing endlessly. but why would a person take such extreme measures only to feel the will to live after a few words of encouragement? it made his blood boil.

he wanted to avoid this team at all costs, but then you came along. you were young, full of empathy and love. joong-gil knew of the newbie that joined (through a course of unexpected events) and he found you quite annoying intriguing. when he heard about a suicide victim with a very high percentage on the red light app, he went to watch. he wanted to confirm his beliefs with his own eyes.

but when he reached there, he saw you talking to the writer, named eunbi, who was on the edge of the building. you were taking cautious steps towards her, trying to talk her out of it. how pathetic, he thought. but after looking again, he wasn't sure if those were the correct words to say. he was shocked to say the least. not because the writer jumped off, but because you jumped right after. you were reaching out to her, trying to hold her. you held her so tight, preparing for impact. can a reaper die? is what you thought as you waited for impact.

however, it never came. you never felt pain. on the contrary, you were feeling the air breeze softly kiss your skin. you looked up, and there he was. the seemingly heartless reaper, holding you in his arms. you couldn't keep in the shocked expression, neither can he. you then frantically looked around for eunbi. she was laying on the ground. no...did she die? "she's not dead." you heard a deep voice say.

he was still holding you, staring at you with his dark black eyes. "what? what..happened?" "i think i should be the one asking that?" you could hear the disbelief in his voice. why am i holding this woman?.."are you out of your damn mind?" he threw you on the ground. you grunted. "why would you jump after her? were you trying to die with her ?! you're insane?!! " you were taken aback by what he said, and before you know it – tears started forming. you tried to gulp down the lump in your throat, you didn't want to break down infront of him. he wouldn't understand anyways. the other team members catch up to you, checking if you're okay. you stand up, looking at joong-gil one more time before walking away from the scene, with your head hung low.

a few days had passed. he didn't know if it was the tears you were holding in, or the look in your eyes, but jong-gil found himself thinking about you more than he'd like to admit. he wondered why the pain behind your expression is imprinted in his mind. but he had work to do. shaking thoughts about you away, he got to work. he was going to catch a well-known mafia, and he knew it was going to be a tough one. he prepared backup and left. after a few fists and punches, he found himself on the ground, in pain. he had been stabbed. the mafia was injured too. he was strong. and he knew that he should have planned this more carefully, because he's in a bit of a trouble now.

the mafia got up, took out a knife and was headed towards joong-gil. but before he could do so, a hand yanked the knife away from his hand. Joong-gil looked up, only to find you standing infront of him, wrestling the weapons off the mafia. after a few punches here and there, you knocked him out. breathing heavily, you looked at joong-gil. you immediately noticed his abdominal injury.

you find a piece of cloth and walk up to him. "what do you think you're doing here?" he hissed in pain. "i don't think you're in the right state to be asking me that, i need your cooperation to stop the bleeding." he was reluctant but he obeyed. you tied the cloth around his injury, and put his arm around your shoulders, trying to pull him up with you. he grunted in pain as he stood up. "does it hurt alot..?" you looked at him, worried. worried?? why were you worried? joong-gil thought as he looked at you. maybe this is the way you are to everyone, he shouldn't get it confused.

"are you stalking me?" he said as you furrowed your eyebrows and moved your head slightly to look at him. "if you believe you're the center of the universe, you're mistaken" you scoffed. "then why are you here? helping me?" now your mind is blank. why did you save him? you were on a mission that happened to be near where the fight occurred. before you left, you heard grunting and breaking glass. as you came closer and saw who it was, your body started acting on your own.

..."because you're an important member in jumadeong. and it wouldn't benefit me to leave you to die here." he was staring at you with an expression you can't quite decipher — it was a mix of gratitude and playfulness — he wasn't used to getting help from others, especially not from the rm team. you finally reach jumadeung, but instead of leaving joong-gil to the guards there, you took him to the infirmary. "looks like only the mighty joong-gil got hurt today" you slightly giggled at this unusual scenario.

usually joong-gil would have a comeback ready, but this time all he did was stare. stare at you. why were you so kind to him when all he does is ridicule the rm team? there must be something wrong with you...was your death so horrible it messed up your brain even in the afterlife? well...he definitely guessed the first one right. "...can you stop rubbing it in my face, it's not like i jumped willingly off the roof-" shit. shitshitshit. "i didn't mean to-" he grunted as you threw him on the medical bed, turned around and left. he didn't realize that he said the last part out loud.

people in jumadeung ridiculed you for doing "too much" to suicidal people for as long as you can remember, but why do you feel your eyes burning with tears? why did that heartless leader have such an effect on you? you couldn't understand. you kept walking, almost sprinting, to get to the place you loved the most - a hidden roof garden that only you knew about (or so you think). you always went there when you needed to take a breather, and to let your tears fall down freely. as you opened the door to the garden, your tears rushed out of your (e/c) eyes, as you were unable to hold in your sobs. you cried your heart out, knowing well no one was there to see you.

but you were wrong. standing at the door, someone was holding onto to their heart, feeling immense pain. joong-gil felt like knives were stabbing at his heart, the air rush out of his lungs. he couldn't believe what he's seeing. that he was the reason that triggered it.

after a while, you had calmed down, your sobs turning into sniffles. you now noticed the spectacular view of the city, bright lights shining under you. you collected yourself, and realized that you had spent way more time than you should here, work isn't gonna work itself. joong-gil sensed that you were about to get up, and hid before you could see him. feeling pathetic for his cowardly action, he felt his eyes burning. me? crying? he didn't know his tear ducts were working at all, after too many years working in escorting the dead.

after that incident, joong-gil decided you were better off without him looming over you all the time. however, that's not how it was for you. what he said lingered, rather, took over your mind. you couldn't fathom why you wanted his understanding, why you wanted his dark eyes to look at you like you meant something to him. you decided to pile your desk with work to give no space for your racing thoughts.

but to their dismay, they both couldn't stop thinking about the other, both throwing themselves at work, like they couldn't handle the life moving on around them.

part 1 | part 2

#drabbles #imagines #scenarios #writing #fanfic #oneshots #tomorrowkdrama #parkjonggil #yoonjion #kactorimagine #lee soo hyuk x reader #lee soo hyuk #kactorscenarios #kactor #kactorsoneshot

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littlescorp1o · 30 days ago

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the face card is insane

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almostwisegalaxy · 1 month ago

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Mama's boy Her boy.

Yeon Sieun x fem!reader

The reader has a shy character in this story

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

The following Monday, it was raining.

Not a heavy rain, but that constant drizzle, almost annoying, that makes the air heavy and humid, as if the sky itself was caught in a silence filled with unshed tears. Yeon Si-eun was waiting, his back against the worn wall of the school's annex. He wasn't supposed to be there, but he had volunteered for the tutoring program. Not out of altruism. He had simply thought it would fill the void in a useful way.

Then she entered the room. Y/n. She was wearing an oversized sweatshirt, the sleeves covering her hands, and her bag seemed to almost slide off her shoulder. She didn't say anything, just nodded, her eyes avoiding his. But Si-eun had already noticed the slight tension in her fingers, the careful handling of her notebook, the way she stood between presence and erasure.

That was his way of observing.

The first sessions were silent, almost cold. He explained, she nodded. Sometimes she asked a question, her voice soft but firm, never looking at him for too long. He pretended it didn't bother him, but his mind, usually as orderly as a strategy game, began to fall apart.

He didn't understand. Why, when his eyes met y/n's, did he feel as if he was truly seen for the first time? Not as a smart or distant boy, nor as a tool for knowledge or controlled violence, but simply as a boy. Just a boy.

And that was the beginning of the obsession.

He began to look forward to these sessions like a starving animal. He noted everything: the way y/n paused to think, the way she switched pens while nibbling on the old one, the little smile she allowed herself when she understood something. He even started to hang around the community center where she sometimes came with her younger siblings.

He watched her take care of them with a tenderness almost fierce. They pulled at her arms, climbed on her back, knocked over her bag. And she, instead of getting annoyed, laughed softly. A laugh so discreet, yet so alive, that it took his breath away.

Si-eun, on the other hand, had never been held in loving arms.

Not even by his mother. Especially not by her.

The rare times she was around, she would stand in the kitchen, looking at her phone. She would nod when he spoke, but her eyes were always elsewhere. He remembered, as a child, tugging at his mother's sleeve to get a glance, a word, a gesture. But she was always too busy. Too absent. And eventually, he had stopped asking. What was the point?

So, when y/n occasionally brushed against him without thinking – a light touch of an arm, a hand brushing – it felt like a soft burn, an unbearable warmth he longed to replicate.

And he did.

One day, he pretended to have a headache. He staggered as he sat down. Y/n, concerned, placed her hand on his arm, then gently on his forehead.

He closed his eyes.

He wanted time to stop.

When he opened them, she was looking at him. And there was no fear. No pity. Just sincere concern.

Then, little by little, he allowed himself. One day, he leaned in, testing the waters. Another, he asked if she liked kids, feigning indifference. Then he dared more: he stayed after class longer. He walked her to the bus stop. He got into the habit of waiting for her.

Then, one night, he cracked.

It was raining again. Still that fine rain.

She had offered him an umbrella, and without really knowing why, he stepped closer. Too close. She smelled like soap and wind. And he held her. Against him. Against his chest. Barely, just enough.

He didn't say anything. He couldn't.

But his hands were shaking. He buried his face against her, like a lost child. And she didn't push him away. She even held him tighter.

That night, he cried.

Not loudly. Not sobbing. But those silent tears, almost shameful, that come from too far. From too deep. The ones that never find their way except in a moment when everything breaks just a little.

Y/n didn't say anything. She just kept her arms around him. Like a port. Like a refuge. And Yeon Si-eun thought: is this love?

Or was it simply the desperate need to finally feel loved?

Sometimes, when she laughed, he felt a hole in his chest. As if something wanted to get out, but he didn't know how. He wanted to tell her everything: the loneliness, the silences at home, the lack of attention. But he couldn't. So he just looked at her. With his sad eyes, those that silently said: love me. See me. Welcome me.

And she did.

He became dependent. On her arms. On her presence. He loved lying against her when he could. Once, she had run her fingers through his hair, thinking he was asleep. He wasn't asleep. He carved that moment into him like a promise.

But a persistent fear remained.

What if she left? What if she looked at him one day the way his mother looked at him? Without really seeing him?

So he became a little colder, a little more distant. To protect himself. But she, she didn't give up. She held on. She came back. Again and again. Each time.

And little by little, he thawed. Not like in the movies. Not all at once. But over time. With her.

He loved her. No, he was crazy about her.

It wasn't a loud love. It was a feline, gnawing, vital love. She was everything he had never received. Everything he had never dared ask for.

And every day, he silently prayed: let her stay.

Let her keep looking at him.

Let her keep loving him.

Because in her arms, for the first time, Yeon Si-eun was a loved son, a protected boy, a young man in love.

Finally alive.

---

Si-eun found himself in a place that, once upon a time, would have seemed nonsensical to him. A place that had no place in his cold, controlled world. At y/n's house. He never thought this could happen. Not him, the forgotten child of a constantly absent father, the cold silhouette of a rejected son. But reality was there. In her arms. In her breath against his. In the familiar sounds of the evening, the soft light of the entrance to her home.

He had never wanted to go, but she had invited him, insisting with a tone that allowed no objection. "You deserve to relax. You don’t come enough." And so, he had come, the first time. He stayed. He left. But his mind never left that place.

y/n lived in a house full of children's laughter, hurried footsteps, and voices that never stopped. She had two younger brothers and a sister. Every time he came, they greeted him with raw enthusiasm. He remembered their first glance. They had studied him, this strange boy who seemed so different from their older sister. But they had become attached to him, like children do with a protective figure. He, who had never had that.

y/n’s parents were rarely around. Often gone for work or other obligations, like invisible shadows in y/n's life. This left a void that she filled with her kindness, her patience. Si-eun had once seen her take care of her siblings after a long school day, her hands constantly moving, her gaze always gentle and reassuring. But when she saw him, she became something else, calmer. She didn't need words to express how she felt about him. And him... he no longer needed to pretend.

The first time he had nestled against her, he hadn’t thought. He had simply given into the warmth, this warmth he had never known. She was lying on the couch, her legs curled up, and he had sat next to her, then slowly, like a child seeking protection, he had leaned in until their bodies were almost touching. y/n hadn’t said anything, but her arms had surrounded him. And, suddenly, the world stopped spinning for him. All that mattered was the beat of her heart against his own. This connection, silent but meaningful.

It became a silent ritual. After school, he spent more and more time at her place. Sometimes, he just came to be in the same room as her. Sometimes, he lay beside her, closing his eyes. Their conversations were simple, but so full of unspoken words. Talks about trivial things that, somehow, seemed to resonate with a depth he had never known.

One evening, after playing a game with her siblings, he sat next to y/n on the couch. She was reading a book, but her fingers barely touched the pages. He watched her, his eyes never leaving her face. A slight smile played on her lips. "You have tired eyes." She looked at him, a little surprised, but didn’t say anything. Then she turned toward him. "It's because I worry about you."

Her words struck his mind like a cold wind, piercing the barrier he had built. Why would she worry about him? Her, the light in his life? Her, who knew how to give without asking? Why would she have empathy for him, a boy no one wanted to see?

She felt his silence. "You know, Si-eun, I’m not that naive. I see what you’re hiding. I see that you’re tired, that you carry all of this alone." She placed a light hand on his thigh. "You don’t have to carry it all alone."

It was strange. Her words, simple, hit him with such force that it hurt. She wasn’t rejecting him. She wasn’t fleeing from that dark side of him. She accepted him. She accepted him as he was. For him, it was nothing short of a revolution. No one had ever accepted him. Not even his mother. He looked up at her, his lips trembling slightly. "I... I don’t know how to be... the person you want."

She shook her head gently, her hair swaying slightly. "I don’t want anything from you, Si-eun. I just want you. All of you."

He swallowed. She didn’t understand. Or maybe she understood more than he thought. He pulled back slightly, embarrassed. But she didn’t let him go. She gently pulled him back toward her. And, without a word, she held him in her arms. This time, he didn’t pull away. He nestled against her, tighter, longer. He let her hold him. Her arms around him were a silent promise of protection. He allowed it. He had never had this feeling of being at home, of being truly at home, in someone else’s arms.

She rocked him gently, almost as if she had known him forever. She blew softly in his hair, her hands sliding slowly over his back, soothing. "I’m not going anywhere, Si-eun. You are my home. I’ll always be here."

He felt the warmth of her breath. His heart raced in his chest. He closed his eyes, a weight on his shoulders slowly dissipating. He didn’t need words. This contact, this simple embrace, was more than anything he could have asked for. The fear of abandonment, of rejection, melted into the air. He was no longer afraid. Because y/n was there.

A kiss. Soft, light. But everything changed. Her lips met his, at first timidly, like a question with no immediate answer. Then the kiss became more urgent, more essential, as if they had both been waiting for this moment without ever daring to say it. He gave himself to her, to this warmth that had always been missing in his life.

They stayed there, in that gentle silence, in that refuge. Si-eun had never wanted to be loved. But he had needed it so much. And there, in y/n's arms, he was no longer that cold and distant boy. He was just a man, a man in love, who had found his home.

She stroked the back of his neck, slowly, without haste. He didn’t move, enjoying every second. No need for more. Just to be here, with her. She kissed him again, her lips brushing his. A kiss to tell him he wasn’t alone. A kiss to tell him he was loved.

That night, he slept in her arms. Not out of desire, but to hear her breath, to feel her warmth. He had never wanted to sleep anywhere but here, in this place where he was welcomed, loved. He didn’t have to be anyone else. He could just be himself. And he knew, deep down, that he would always be with her.

At her place. At home. Together.

Forever.

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

Requests are open. Enjoy!

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