#weak hero class x reader

[hirasunny]

Unforgotten Vow

pairing — k-drama! yeon sieun x fem! reader

synopsis — you and sieun made one simple promise when you were kids, and you continue to do so as you got older.

warnings/reader notes — mentions bullying, you and sieun r crybabies (in a good way), sunshine reader and sieun absolutely adores it, he thinks you're a goddess, references to season 1 plot

genre — childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining, slight angst

word count — 2.5k+ words

note: hi! it's me again <3 i want to thank you for enjoying my fics! i read all of your comments and appreciate it a lot :( it really motivates me to write even though i'm not the best at it. much love u guys ^^ as a thanks, here’s a story dedicated to this precious boy 💛 p.s: should i make a part 2? TT

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　 　 ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ 　　 ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Sieun was 7 years old when he met you.

He was celebrating his birthday at the park before he accidentally tripped and scraped his knee.

His mom and dad sat by the picnic table a few feet away from him, yet he moved unnoticed to a nearby bench. He sat down in pain as he tried to stop himself from crying.

But it was unsuccessful, his tears fell on his lap continuously. He had a feeling that his father was going to scold him again.

“Are you okay?”

Your voice was small and chirpy when you went up to him in question, tilting your head while he wiped his face and nodded—he was not one for talking.

However, you spoke again, “Do you need a band aid? I can give you one.” You asked shyly.

Sieun looked at you closely, your clothes dirty from possibly playing a lot, your hair was in decent braids but some strands already sticking out, and your legs were visibly decorated with dirt.

He moved to your face, chubby cheeks and (e/c) eyes that held curiosity in them. The boy didn’t mutter anything but still took the band aid in your offering hand, ripping it open.

You smiled and sat down beside him as you continued to talk with newly found confidence. Sieun didn’t even know what you were saying—was it about the kids at the playground? He wasn’t sure. You were talking too fast and too much.

Nonetheless, he listened.

It felt like an eternity when his mother finally called out for him; she seemed surprise as soon as her eyes landed on them.

“My mom is here.” Sieun stated, having a glance at his parental figure. That was the first time he opened his mouth, you thought. You pouted at him.

“Already? But I was going to invite you to the slide.” You responded, upset. He didn’t talk—but you liked his company. He was the only one who didn’t cut you off from speaking!

Sieun gazed back at you weirdly. Why weren’t you telling him mean things like the other kids do? And you even want to play with him. It puzzled the poor boy.

Then, he noticed your lips change from a frown to a big grin instead. “But you’ll be back right? We can play next time!” You say in excitement, nodding to yourself.

“What’s your name? I’m (Name)!”

He took a long time to process it before he answered, “Sieun.” Honestly, he had no idea why he replied, but maybe it was the way you were determined to make him your friend.

It made him feel normal in some way.

“Sieun..” You repeated slowly, just to get used to the sound of it rolling off your tongue.

A shout of your name stopped him from speaking up, you took a glimpse in that direction with a pout, “It’s my mom! I gotta go.” You huffed, looking at the boy beside you.

“Come back, okay? I’ll be here tomorrow!” You added, giving a wave as you ran to your mother. He stood up, observing you.

He disliked going outside. But if it meant that you were there, it might be bearable.

—

“Sieun! What happened?” You breathed out after running. The boy was sitting alone at the swing as he stared into abyss.

To everyone else, he looked completely fine.

But you knew him—if you stare in his eyes long enough, you would see how much emotion he actually keeps by himself. And right now, you had no doubt that he was going through something heavy.

“Your mom’s really worried, she called and said you weren’t at home.” You inform softly, settling at the swing next to his. The night was quiet, you heard nothing but the sounds of trees brushing against one another and the creaking of your swings.

You got comfortable as you admired the starry sky.

“My parents..” Sieun started, following your gaze. You hummed, an indication that you were listening.

“They’re getting a divorce.”

You raise your eyebrows in shock, looking back at him. “What..?”

He avoided your look, the ground being more interesting than the look on your face. He felt disappointed that you had to see him like this. Again.

Yet you never cared.

The word was quite new to you, it was only recently when you discovered its meaning—though you knew it was more than just a word that hurt Sieun. It meant something to him.

So you placed a hand on his shoulder and peeking your head closer to his, “Hey, it’s gonna be fine. You have me.”

Sieun finally looked at you, his eyes speaking to you more than words could express.

Thank you, they say.

You laughed lightly, ruffling his hair. He hated when people touch his hair, but you? He never minded.

“But if you have to move someplace else..” You rest your hand back on your lap. “Promise me you’ll come back?”

Oh, why were you looking at him like that?

Like you never want him to go?

Sieun’s shoulders eased and his tense look melted as he studied you. Then, he slowly raised his pinky finger. “I promise.” He told you truthfully. You smiled at him, finding the sincerity in his words.

You hooked your pinky with his, “Okay.” You whispered as to not ruin the peaceful moment.

Sieun was 10 years old when he promised you that he’d come back if he ever left someday.

—

Fate jinxed the both of you.

It must’ve laughed for the reason that it was you who had to move away instead of him.

Here you were, crying uncontrollably in front of your best friend at the airport.

“This is so unfair!” You sobbed, violently wiping your tears as Sieun gave you a tissue. He hasn’t said a single word since the ride to the airport. He seemed out of it, you noticed.

On the other hand, this was his first time to skip a few classes. You were surprised when he showed up at your house unannounced. You kept asking him several times if it was okay for him to do such a thing the whole car ride, he would simply nod as he stared at you after, you ignored it out of nervousness.

You never knew that he was memorizing you, because it could be the last time he’d ever see you again.

The star hair clip he gifted you on your birthday was neatly on your hair, the way you bounce your knee rapidly each time you get anxious, your backpack had all sorts of keychains that you buy from school trips with him, and the looks you give him—every smile, every funny face, every pout and cry. He'd remember it all.

Sieun took a mental note of all the little things, like he was studying: because if this test is about you, surely, he'd ace it.

Though, he wasn't the only one who notices, you also recognized a few things. Like his tight grip on the strap of his bag was evident, the slight twitching of his fingers—a habit he does when he’s overthinking, and his brown orbs that look at you to tell you everything you need to know.

He's...wait.

Is he tearing up?

You widen your eyes as he shuffled awkwardly and looked down, trying to maintain his posture.

"You're.." You were hesitant, but you took a step forward, bringing him to your embrace. You heard sniffles on your shoulder as he laid his forehead there while his arms remained by his side. He didn't know where to place them.

"Don't cry, you big baby." You murmur, your tears slipping out for God knows how many times today. "I'm gonna come back, you know that." You assured him. His hands finally moved to your back, gripping your shirt as he nodded.

You two stayed that way for a few minutes before his gaze lingered at you, "Promise me you will." Sieun lowly spoke with trembling lips. You exhaled from your nose, bringing his hand close to your chest as you do the same, then interlocked both of your pinkies.

"I promise you, more than anything."

Sieun was 13 when you left South Korea.

—

Three years had passed by as Sieun faced everything alone.

The problems, the bullying, the guilt—

Suho.

Every step he took felt like he was getting pulled down further and further away from the light he once saw.

From Suho, and most especially from you.

What would you think of him if you knew what was happening in his life right now?

He got his answer when he saw you.

You.

Your figure stood patiently outside his apartment door, a plastic bag containing all the snacks you used to share together was held loosely in one hand and your phone on the other.

Your appearance had completely changed. Your hair grew a bit longer, and the baby fat on your cheeks now reduced. You looked different, but deep down, Sieun hoped you were the still the happy-go-lucky girl he knew.

As you raised your phone to your ear, you check your left. You paused as the phone of the boy you were waiting for rang loudly in the pocket of his jacket.

The two of you stared at one another as the ringing continued, you, however, smiled knowingly at him.

"I kept my promise."

Sieun couldn't believe he could run that fast when he brought you into his arms.

Slowly, the chaos in his mind went silent.

Finally, for once. He was at peace.

Momentarily, he realized he was crying because you had to wipe the tears away, "I know," You still told him in a caring tone. "I'm here."

No other words were needed as you both remained in each other's arms for a while that day.

A few days had gone by rather quickly, and you started to see more of Sieun. He had grown taller since the last time you saw him, his voice was deeper from the timid, high-pitched one you always heard, and his eyes that used to shine at you were now dull as an unsharpened knife.

Regardless, something else had brought your attention—his walls that broke down when you met him was building itself up again. He became distant. The Sieun you cherished was back in his little shell, the one who refused help and locked himself away from people. You knew you had to pull him out.

So you were present, just like before. In every visit at Suho's hospital, you sat beside him when he typed out his messages; in every school he got rejected to, you had a list of backup schools he can apply for; in every night he had nightmares, you were only a call away; in every session at therapy, you were there outside, waiting.

Despite all the hardships and troubles he was facing, you smiled warmly at him.

He never understood any of it. It resembled the times when you were kids. Where you stayed with him more than anyone else.

How can you, someone so beautiful, still smile adoringly at something so broken, with its pieces gradually falling apart?

One time at the bus stop, it was extremely cold when the rain poured heavily around you.

Even as you laughed at a sarcastic comment he made about freezing to death, you still took his cold hands to yours, blowing on it. "What are you doing?" He questioned, startled as he tried to withdraw his hands.

"Keeping you warm, dummy."

You were glowing, and you gaze at him with the same loving grin. His heart fluttered, feeling his frigid fingers soften and warm up because of you.

He pretended not to know if the cause of his face and ears going red was also you.

You never complained and never rushed. You were there, patient and supportive.

Soon, he thought of himself from a few years ago. Whatever 13-year-old Sieun had realized when you went abroad, he was right.

Because he loved you. For the longest time.

And he was not going to let you go.

Just before the day he would move to the new apartment in Yeongdeungpo, where he was accepted in a school named Eunjang High, he knocked on your door, with your favorite food and drink.

"Wow! Is this your goodbye gift?" You teased him, taking the bag from his hand as you let him inside.

He wordlessly sat down when you invited him to the couch, you tilt your head. When Sieun was quiet, he had something in his mind. There was a sparkle of certainty in his puppy-look eyes as he stared at you.

"You okay, pretty boy?" The nickname was familiar, you always called him that ever since your playground hangouts. He often tells you to stop that—but you couldn't, not when you notice his ears getting red and his lips that tries to refrain himself from smiling.

“…” Crap. What was he going to say again? He made efforts to practice in front of the mirror only for him to fail at the moment he needed his words.

To you, it looked like he was struggling. It worried you.

You took the guts to place a hand on his cheek, fixating his focus on you. "Sieun, what's going on—"

"I love you."

You let out a surprised sound, your eyes wide at the sudden words.

You felt a sense of rushing emotions inside you. Was it excitement, shock, or bashfulness?

Whatever it was, you were just sure it was making your face hot.

Okay. That was straightforward.

But it was Yeon Sieun, the boy who always had a sure answer.

You pinch his cheek lightly, he squinted his eyes at you as if it could help his ruddy ears from turning back to its original color. "Hey, are you crazy?! Why are you saying such things?" You asked just so you can lighten up the conversation.

"Because I do. I love you." He calmly told you again, the three magic words made you cover your face. "Okay, okay! I get it." You were embarrassed, could he not act so nonchalant?! You were freaking out here!

"Is it.. bad?" Sieun mumbled, watching as you grumble something in your hands, somewhere along the lines of: "Curse those cold-blooded veins in your body!"

You looked at him, red faced with a pout. "No, of course not! It's just that..."

You trailed off, finding the strength to face him again and held his cold hands in your warm ones. You took a moment, "I.. I love you, too. Since forever." You breathed out, smiling shakily at him.

Were you a Goddess? Sieun thought. How could you look so beautiful?

He leaned to you, initiating first. "Can I kiss you?" He asks in a deep voice, pulling your hands.

You gulped nervously, nodding as no words could come out of your mouth.

He moved, closer and closer, until your noses touched and the two of you closed your eyes. The world around you stopped moving when his lips gently settled on yours.

Sieun was 16 when he kissed his first love.

[pushinpieta]

“Little Plea” - Geum Seongje x F!reader smut

synopsis: seongje turning into a whining pathetic masochist after his girl slaps him in an argument. lol.

cw: MDNI, aged up obviously, slapping, spitting, choking, biting, handjob, thigh riding, overstimulation, masochism, sadism, seongje crying lowkey, pet names

you wanted to see him like this. it was rare but the rarity of it was what got you going; seeing seongje below you, whimpering like a pathetic dog. you were in complete control and there was nothing more you enjoyed than abusing it.

after an aggravating argument with the poor guy under you, you lost your composure, ready to walk out of the door until seongje grabbed your wrists, dragging you back into his room. his domineering presence, threatening and intimidating, pushing you against a wall. in times like these, you felt helpless. you hated how he towered over you with that malicious glint in his eyes, teasing at you, pointing a finger at you with that shit-eating cheshire grin on his face. the smell of cigarettes clawed at your throat, punching you in the lungs. and that’s all seongje needed to have you cornered and submit to him.

but today, today was not the day. today he failed to do that. today you were the one to push at his chest until you cornered him into a wall and when he tried to stop your one hand, you used the other to slap his face. you didn’t mean to be violent nor did you mean to hurt him. you were just overwhelmed with the heat in the room and your anger and just him.

it was just one painful slap.

that one painful slap turned something in your boyfriend. something dark. something dangerous. as if he were possessed by a demon, his head slapped to the side, he laughed, adams’s apple bobbing and shoulders shaking. when he turned to you, your stomach churned in fear and anticipation— a sadistic coil. you were enjoying it. so was he.

“did you just slap me, sweetheart?” he raised a brow, that same snarky glint in his eyes.

“i did.” you breathed, staggering a little back from him seeing the maniacal, livid look in his eyes that could devastate a whole audience.

“my baby girl just hit me.” he stated to himself.

his eyes dead on you. the shift in atmosphere weighed down on you. it was hot and fuzzy and you couldn’t ignore the desire and need in your stomach from the way he gazed at you. seongje tilted his head back with a airy chuckle before coming to an abrupt stop. another look at your eyes and then at your lips.

“do it again.” he ordered, “slap me.”

“w-what?” you wavered, unsure of what just came out of your boyfriend’s mouth.

with another step back you watched him pull himself off against the wall to lunge at you. no second to breathe or grasp onto what just happened, seongje was onto you. he bit your bottom lip with a low groan. he glided his tongue over the bite before smacking another kiss to your parted mouth. it was more a kiss to your teeth than it was to your lips that were slightly trembling from the shock. he pulled away, breathless and red, sweat forming on his temple. a swift slide of his fingers and his glasses were off and thrown onto the night stand.

“don’t make me ask again, y/n.” he purred, his breath tickling your cheeks, “slap me.”

it took you a minute to register it all and you came to the realization that he’d probably do anything to get slapped in the face by his pretty girlfriend right now and you’d take advantage of that. take advantage of him. work him dry.

“what if i said no?” you asked, biting your bottom lip gentler than seongje had.

seongje tilted his head to the side in amusement, a low chuckle barreling in his chest, the fluorescent light revealed the red mark from your palm on his chisled face. his jaw was taut. that hunger in his eyes only raging by the second. every breath he took came out shallow as if he were holding himself back. you jutted your jaw out in false confidence, wanting to tease him more; get on his nerves until he broke.

“geum seongje. if you want me to slap you get on the bed.” you demanded with a light nudge on his shoulder.

you stood face-to-face with him with a smirk threatening to creep up your face. you enjoyed the slight, barely noticeable surprise in his face. it turned you on.

“don’t make me ask again, seongje.” you mocked him, “get on the bed.”

“okay. whatever you say, darling.” he complied with a nod and a smirk.

once he was on the edge of the bed, you swiftly straddled his laps, pushing him in the shoulders until he fell flat on his back with a low cuss. he raised a brow in question, amused, watching you crawl over him. your hair falling over his face as you bit his earlobe, a low teasing moan escaping your lips. by now, you could feel his hard-on pressing the side of your inner thigh through his sweatpants. you used your knees to push it down on his cock, earning a low groan.

“what do you think you’re doing?” he hissed, snaking his hands over your waist to stop you but you pinch him away earning another pained groan.

“you wanted this. so, take it.” you spoke through gritted teeth, grabbing his hard on with your hand “you’re so hard. just by this? you’re pathetic.”

“fuck— are you—“ you undo the strings in his sweat pants, pulling it down with his boxers, springing his twitching cock free.

pre-cum dropped from his tip, causing you to giggle. you sat between his thigh, lightly rubbing your clothed clit against it.

thwack.

you spit on your hands, making a lubricant to use to rub on his hot cock. your strokes are slow and calculated, your fists balling on his cock as you pumped agonizingly low. seongje’s brows furrowed in frustration wanting more. he bucked his hips into your fist only to get slapped in the face. hard.

“sh-shit, baby, could you go faster?” he asked, his voice cracking.

“tsk. that’s not how you ask, now is it?” you tutted, shaking your head in teasing disappointment “say please like a good boy. hmm?”

you stopped moving your hands. waiting for his plead. continuing to rub yourself against his thigh.

“p-please.” his voice came out ragged and broken. you slapped him in the face again, his face turning red. his hair a tousled mess.

“say it louder, boy.” you urged. relishing in the desperate look in his eyes. he looked completely gone.

“fuck— please— go faster!” he begged swallowing hard.

“atta boy.” you took that chance to grab his throat with one hand to squeeze it hard with no mercy until he started to audibly choke and gasp. with the other hand you started stroking harsher and faster, making him twitch and whimper with a choke.

you squeezed his cock harder and his throat. thumbing his tip to make him more sensitive, his eyelashes lined with tears that you had never seen before and your thighs clenched agaist his thighs, rubbing onto your clit in an overwhelmingly hot sensation that made you moan a little too loud. seongje struggled in your hold, gasping for air when you let go of his throat. relentlessly, you pumped his cock upwards and down until hot, white spurts of cum splattered out onto your wrists and hand. but you didn’t stop. you forced your weight onto him, riding his thighs until you reached your own climax and closed your eyes to feel the sensation take over you. your panties were soaking wet, clit sensitive causing you to twitch and writhe over your sensitive boyfriend who looked like he was about to cry.

tears and drool fell down his beautiful face. his brown hair a mess, and his taunting smirk replaced with parted lips that released whimpers and low, guttural groans. he tried to grab onto your wrist one more time only to get slapped hard in the face by you. your hands pumped mercilessly on his cock, his body twitching and shaking from overstimulation.

a cry escaped his lips “gosh, y/n. slap me again. i love it when you slap me. please.”

“yeah? you like it? open your mouth.” you said, bringing your hand up to his throat. he complied, opening his mouth. a glob of your spit trickled sloppily down his mouth, some of it splattering onto his bottom lips “swallow.”

he swallowed hard, an embarrassing high-pitched moan leaving his mouth as he pleaded for you to slap him and you did. he pleaded again. slap. slap. slap.

“o-oh my god—ngh—“ he gasped with every sensation that struck every vein in his body, “feel s’good. fuck— just like that, baby, just like that.”

“f-fuck—i’m gonna— i’m gonna cum— i’m gonna cum!” he whined, holding onto your wrist for support. his eyes rolled back, mouth parting open into a silent moan. his deep voice now a pitch higher.

he came undone for a second time. bucking his hips up into your fist in desperate attempt to ground himself.

a thick rod of his white cum spurt out of his veiny cock. seongje drawled out a long shuddering sigh, whimpering thanks yous. his face contorting from the soreness of getting slapped over and over. poor boy looked used up. flushed red and droopy eyed. seongje laid breathless and used up below. a look of surrender making its way into his eyes as if to say “you won”. the asshole smirk of his wiped right off.

you really did win.

[parkjihoonswifey]

can u do a baku x popular girl version 🙏🙏 (you can include nsfw if u want)

A/N: surprise surprise!!! this was something I did super fast before I fell asleep and it's scheduled for posting. Although it's incredibly rushed and not as good I hope you enjoy some.

p.s yes I cut out the NSFW cause I was too lazy to imagine it, don't judge.

Title: Bows and Boxing

Pairings: Park Humin (Baku) x Fem! reader

Warnings: suggestive content

Baku wasn’t seen as the guy you would fall for.

He was loud. Always laughing too hard, butting into fights he didn’t start but always finished. His knuckles had more scars than his heart was ready to admit. And sure, he cracked jokes and wore hoodies two sizes too big, but everyone knew he could knock a guy flat if they looked at you wrong—and he had.

You, on the other hand, were soft edges and sweet perfume. Insta-popular. Pretty enough to get away with anything, and kind enough that you never tried. You wore mini skirts and carried lip gloss in every bag you owned.

So when people saw you and Baku holding hands in the hall, it confused the hell out of them—and that made him grin.

❀⊱┄┄┄┄⊰❀

“You know everyone’s staring,” you whispered one day, tugging him closer as you passed a group of gossip-hungry classmates.

Baku snorted. “Let ‘em. They’re just mad I’m hotter than their entire contact list combined.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re so full of it.”

He grinned and bumped your hip with his. “Only when you’re not filling me with you.”

You choked on your own laugh. “You’re disgusting.”

“Still your boyfriend, though.”

And you couldn’t argue with that.

Despite acting like a clown all the time, Baku wasn't oblivious.

He saw the looks you got. The DMs you ignored. The way other guys suddenly tried harder when they realized who you were dating. He played it cool, but his protectiveness bled through in the way he always stood a little closer to you at parties. In how his eyes scanned every room before letting go of your hand. In how his jaw clenched when someone called you too good for him.

He knew complained, only loved you through every emotion— doubt, anger, fear for what's next. You never gave a reason to not trust you, and he always did. He never asked you for anything, did everything you wanted.

He sees you as a safe space, a place he could turn off his brain and just be Park Humin instead of Baku. You see him as your whole world, something so sacred that a special side of him was reserved only for you. You loved how he trusted you, and you ate it up.

❀⊱┄┄┄┄⊰❀

“You ever think I’m not enough for you?” he asked once, late at night while you straddled his lap in his messy bedroom, hoodie half-off your shoulder.

You blinked. “Never.”

He stared. Really stared. “Good. ‘Cause I’ll spend every night proving I am.”

you kissed the corner of his mouth, "Prove it."

That night, you saw a different Baku.

Gone was the class clown. In his place was a boy who touched you like he knew exactly what you needed—teasing and playful at first, mouthing kisses under your jaw and slipping his hands beneath your top like it was second nature.

He whispered dumb jokes between kisses, but when you tugged his hoodie off and moaned at the sight of him, everything got quiet.

“You sure?” he asked, voice low now, serious in the way only Baku could be when it mattered.

You kissed him slow. “I want you. Not the version other people whisper about. You.”

Then he was all over you.

He kissed like he fought—fierce, full-bodied, no holding back. His hands were everywhere, rough from the past but careful with you. His mouth trailed fire across your skin, hot breath and teasing words in your ear.

“Look at you,” he murmured, pulling your panties down your thighs. “All pretty and wet for me. You’re mine, right?”

You nodded fast, voice broken. “Yours.”

“That’s what I like to hear.”

❀⊱┄┄┄┄⊰❀

After, he collapsed beside you, arm pulling you tight into his side.

You giggled. “So... was I worth the drama?”

He laughed, still breathless. “Are you kidding me? I’d fight every guy in Korea for a night like this.”

You poked his cheek. “You’re such a dork.”

He laughed, " You mean your strong handsome boyfriend, right?"

You giggled beside him, getting up and running into the bathroom.

"Right?!" He questiones again, getting up to follow you.

"Come shower with me, babe!" You shout, turning the water on. He paddles into the bathroom, wrapping his hands around your waist

"Right, babe?" He pouts, burying his face into your neck. You stay silent, trying not to laugh. He takes notice of this and his jaw drops. He picks you up like you weigh nothing, placing you on the counter. His lips met yours, and you push away.

"Shower."

A/N: hope you enjoy but it's 5 am lemme go to bed I got work at 10 ✌🏿😓

[anonimusunnoaniswriting]

MDNI 18+ ONLY

"Don't be such a brat", Seong Je snarled, pushing you into the mattress as he bucked his hips.

"Don't tell me what to do!" You spat back.

He smirked, "You're still acting all fuckin' high and mighty... But here—" he paused and slapped two fingers against your throbbing clit, "—this little princess seems to like being ordered around, don't you?"

With that he squeezed your clit between his two fingers.

Your body spasmed and you cried out in a mix of both pain and pleasure. You grit your teeth to capture the cry threatening to slip out.

"See, how she reacts to me. So sweet, so wet around my cock..."

His taunt, the truth in them, made your cheeks burn. Through gritted teeth you spat out, "Fuck you."

Seong Je only pushed into you harder and with his lips grazing the shell of your ear he whispered, "You already are.."

[rose24207]

I think I just fell in love with you all over again

Summary: While on a casual city date, you and Gotak unknowingly take part in a wholesome social experiment by comforting a shy little girl

Go hyun-tak x reader

A/N: inspired by my tt fyp. Also; does anyone want to be in my taglist for kdramas?

Navigation

It was a warm Saturday afternoon in the city—one of those rare perfect days where everything just feels right. The sun filtered through the high rises, dappling golden light onto the pavement as you and Gotak walked hand in hand, fingers loosely interlaced, drinks in your other hands, chatting and laughing as if nothing else in the world existed.

You had no real plans—just one of those aimless dates where the goal wasn’t to do something, but to be together. He had worn that dark hoodie you liked, the one that made his eyes look even softer than usual, and you had dressed down in jeans and a cute top, wanting to match the laid-back energy of the day.

"Do you wanna check out that vintage bookstore you told me about?" he asked, nudging your side with a little smirk. "The one with the creaky floors and the judgmental cat?"

You giggled. “Only if we get ice cream after. I’m emotionally preparing myself to be judged by a cat. I’ll need sugar.”

“Deal,” he said with a chuckle, and gave your hand a gentle squeeze.

But just as you turned the corner onto a quieter street, the kind where little cafés spilled out with outdoor seating and elderly couples walked hand in hand, you both heard a tiny voice call out.

“Um... excuse me?”

You both stopped and looked around until your eyes landed on her—a little girl, no more than five or six, standing with her tiny hands balled into nervous fists at her sides. Her big brown eyes flicked between the two of you. She had on a unicorn hoodie, one sneaker untied, and a shy, nervous look like she was about to cry but didn’t want to.

“Hi, sweetie,” you said softly, kneeling a little so you didn’t tower over her. “Are you okay?”

She looked down at her shoes and mumbled, “My mommy went to the toilet and told me to wait outside. But I’m scared to wait alone. Can you wait with me?”

Your heart melted instantly.

Gotak glanced at you, and without needing to say anything, you both nodded. “Of course,” he said gently, crouching down so he was closer to her height. “We can wait with you. Don’t worry, okay?”

The little girl nodded slowly, her body visibly relaxing. You both led her to sit on a nearby bench, positioned just outside a small café with a restroom sign pointing to the back.

You sat on either side of her, giving her space, not pressing with questions. Gotak smiled down at her kindly. “What’s your name?” he asked.

She hesitated, tugging the strings of her hoodie nervously. “Lila.”

“Hi, Lila,” you said warmly. “I’m Y/n, and this is Gotak.”

She looked at Gotak, her big eyes inspecting him carefully.

“You look really pretty and handsome,” she said suddenly, like she couldn’t help it anymore.

You burst out laughing—not in a mocking way, but in that surprised, heart-squeezed kind of way. Gotak’s ears visibly turned pink, and you caught him blinking in surprise.

“W-what?” he asked, scratching the back of his neck.

Lila nodded very seriously, like she was saying something scientific. “You look like a prince. But also like you could fight a dragon.”

You covered your mouth, trying to stifle a giggle, but it was no use. Gotak gave you a wide-eyed look, his lips twitching into a sheepish smile.

“Well, thank you,” he said, chuckling nervously. “That’s... really nice of you to say.”

Lila’s shyness returned immediately after that, and she twisted in place, clearly unsure what to say next. Gotak leaned in just a little, lowering his voice conspiratorially.

“Can I tell you a secret?”

Lila perked up and nodded, eyes wide.

“I’ve never fought a dragon before,” he whispered. “But I’ve read books about them.”

She gasped dramatically, and you chuckled again, watching the interaction unfold like something out of a movie.

“You like dragons too?” she whispered.

“Love them.”

Lila looked between the two of you, visibly more comfortable now. “Do you think dragons would be nice if we gave them snacks?”

“I think even dragons can’t resist cookies,” you said solemnly.

She giggled, kicking her little feet. “Me too.”

Minutes passed like that—talking about dragons, her favorite unicorn toy (which she called ‘Sprinkles the Destroyer’), and her theory that her mother could teleport. At one point, she leaned against Gotak’s side slightly, and he froze like a statue before relaxing and carefully adjusting so she could rest there more comfortably. You’d never seen him look more unsure and touched at the same time.

It made your chest ache in the best way.

You leaned toward him, murmuring, “You’re really good with kids, you know.”

He blinked at you. “Am I? I’m just winging it.”

“You’re adorable,” you whispered, brushing your hand briefly over his arm.

His blush deepened.

Eventually, two people approached from the direction of the café. A man with a camera and a woman holding a mic. You looked up, confused, until the woman smiled brightly.

“Hi! Sorry to interrupt—you two have just been part of a social experiment. This is for our YouTube channel Kindness Quest.”

Your eyebrows shot up.

The man held up the camera. “We wanted to see how people would respond if a child asked for help. Lila’s actually our niece, and her mom is just over there,” he said, pointing toward a woman waving from the side.

Gotak straightened in surprise, and you blinked in shock.

“Oh my god,” you laughed as you leaned you head against Gotaks shoulder. “We had no idea.”

“Yeah, you guys were so sweet with her,” the woman added. “A lot of people walked by or ignored her, but you stopped immediately. And the way you interacted with her—adorable.”

Lila waved. “They talked about dragons with me!”

The man chuckled. “We’ll be posting this next week, but if you’re uncomfortable with being shown, we can blur your faces or cut the footage.”

You and Gotak exchanged a look, then shrugged.

“We’re okay with it,” you said.

The woman beamed. “Thank you both! And thank you for being such kind humans. Seriously.”

After a few more thank-yous and another shy compliment from Lila to Gotak—“You’re still the prettiest prince I’ve seen”—you and Gotak resumed your walk through the city, this time a little more dazed and grinning like fools.

Gotak stuffed his hands in his pockets, his ears still pink. “I can’t believe she said I look like a prince.”

“She’s right,” you teased. “My mysterious, dragon-fighting, unicorn-loving prince.”

He rolled his eyes but was smiling softly. “It was... kinda nice. Talking to her.”

“You were so sweet with her,” you said honestly, nudging him. “Like... ridiculously sweet. I think I just fell in love with you all over again.”

He laughed, eyes crinkling. “Just for that?”

“That, and the way you said, ‘I’ve never fought a dragon before’ like it was the most serious confession of your life.”

He nudged your shoulder, and you both laughed, turning into the vintage bookstore at last. The wooden sign creaked, and the scent of old pages hit you instantly. The cat, true to its reputation, gave Gotak a judgmental once-over and promptly walked away.

You grinned. “Told you.”

He sighed. “I should’ve brought Lila. She could’ve handled that feline tyrant.”

The rest of the date was full of soft moments—browsing books you didn’t need, sharing a cone of mint-chocolate chip, and recounting the whole interaction with Lila multiple times, each time ending in laughter or a new dragon theory.

As the sun dipped lower into the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and lavender, you leaned your head on Gotak’s shoulder while sitting on a bench near the riverwalk.

“She really liked you,” you murmured.

He looked down at you, a gentle smile on his face. “I liked her too. And... I liked seeing that side of me. With you there.”

You turned to look at him, heart so full it ached a little. “You’re gonna be such a good dad someday.”

His eyes widened slightly at that, but then they softened. He didn’t say anything, just reached for your hand again, lacing your fingers together like it was second nature.

And in that golden hour glow, the two of you sat together, hearts light, smiles soft, and the sweet voice of a little girl echoing in your minds—“You look like a prince.”

Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @ipushhimback, @ladyoflynx, @lewishamiltonismybf, @cmleitora, @same1995, @amatswimming, @llando4norris, @dr3wstarkey, @hurtblossom, @ernegren, @esposamultifandom, @darleneslane, @stxr-lilac, @geumseongjelicker, @itzzezraa

[neilissevered]

Hey! I’ll eat anything up with baku + hurt/comfort :) It can be inspired by one of the episodes where juntae gets beat up by the union. Don’t mind anything as long as it’s angst + fluff at the end!

જ⁀➴ COLLATERAL

He fought like hell to get you back. Now, in the quiet after the storm, he holds your hand and calls it home. Full fic, whc2 timeline, mutual pining and yearning, hurt and comfort Park Hu-min (Baku) x gn! reader wc: 6k+ tw: depictions of violence and torture, reader gets kidnapped by the Union masterlist

You couldn’t forget that day, not even if you tried. It was scorched into your memory like a brand. Everything felt like it was on the verge of collapse—like the whole world was holding its breath, waiting to explode.

Every step you and your friends took felt watched, weighed, and judged. The town that once wrapped around you like a warm blanket now pressed in like iron bars. Even the familiar hallways of your school, once loud with laughter and life, had turned cold, hollow—like the echo of something that had already died.

The Union was relentless. You, Hu-min Go-tak, Jun-tae, and Si-eun knew that. The gang wasn’t going to stop until Eunjang High School became a part of it. And they didn’t care how violent it would get.

It was that day that all of you realized that not even the police—or any adults could help.

“Shit, what the hell happened to you three?!” you cried out, barely able to breathe.

Your chest heaved like it was collapsing under the weight of fear. You had sprinted across town the second you heard the Union had taken Jun-tae. Your legs had moved on instinct, faster than thought, fueled by panic. Because Jun-tae… he wasn’t a fighter. Not really. But he was loyal. The kind of loyal that doesn’t run even when he should. The kind that stays, 

even if it means getting torn apart.

But you only heard about Jun-tae.

You’re in the hospital now, still shaking, your palms still clammy. You’re staring at your friends, trying to make sense of it all.

“Hu-min, what the hell happe–” The you see it.

The words die in your throat.

You follow their gazes and feel your stomach twist, as if gravity itself turned on you.

There he is.

Si-eun, lying unconscious on a hospital bed, motionless. His skin is pale, lips are cracked. And next to him, his mother. Her hands tremble as she clutches his, tears carving silent paths down her cheeks. Her sobs aren’t loud. They’re quiet, broken things, as if even her grief is afraid to speak in a world this cruel.

The sight hits you like a punch to the gut. You feel your knees weaken. Rage, guilt, and fear all surge at once. You want to undo everything.

But all you and the other three boys can do is stare.

And wonder if anything will ever feel safe again.

“----!!!!” 

Your name blasts into your ear like someone just hit you with a megaphone.

You flinch, snapping back to reality like you’d just surfaced from underwater. The cold metal table. The cafeteria noise. The cheap plastic tray in front of you. You're back. No hospital. No unconscious Si-eun because that was all a week ago. You and your friends were okay, but you couldn’t help but still reel from the past events.

“Hey, dumbass,” Hu-min says, way too close to your ear. “You deaf or something? You just missed the best part of my story!”

You jerk your head away with a grimace, clutching your ear. “What the hell, Hu-min?! You trying to shatter my eardrum?!” You hissed, face slightly red from the embarrassment, because once again, your table is becoming a public attraction in the cafeteria because of how loud Hu-min is.

“You were zoned out for five whole minutes,” Jun-tae chimes in, mouth half-full. “Thought maybe you had a stroke.”

“Or died sitting up,” Go-tak adds while snickering, not even looking up from his food. “I was just about to take a picture of your face. Our new group chat photo.” 

You shoot them a glare. “Thanks for the concern. Reallyyy feeling the love right now.”

Hu-min rolls his eyes. “We were concerned. Until you just kept staring at your rice like it insulted your whole family.” he then ruffled your hair, giving back your chopsticks that you dropped, and motioned to your food as if urging you to continue eating.

Si-eun gives the smallest snort from across the table. You glance at him. He's eating slowly, quiet as ever, but there's a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

“What? You too, Si-eun??” you groaned.

You roll your eyes, shaking off the last of the memory’s grip. “Great friends I have. Real supportive.”

“You’re welcome!” Hu-min chuckles, flicking a grain of rice at your tray. “Maybe don’t zone out like you’re about to transcend to another plane of existence.”

You shoot him a glare. “Maybe don’t scream directly into my brain next time??”

He smirks, and there’s something a little smug in it. “Hey, where’s the fun in that? You can still hear, right?” he reached out, snapping his fingers next to your ear as if to prove a point, then suddenly patted your cheek. You swatted his hand away, unimpressed but flustered nonetheless. You hate that your face warms a little. 

You look away quickly and shove some food into your mouth—something bland and mushy. Comfort in mediocrity, you guess.

Jun-tae then nudges you with his elbow. “Jokes aside, you good, though? You looked… far away.”

You pause. Then nod. “Yeah. Just tired.”

Hu-min casts a sidelong glance your way, his grin wavering for just a moment. He quickly shifts the conversation to another story, successfully bringing back the earlier joyful atmosphere of your group.

However, beneath the table, his knee gently nudges yours, a silent message that he isn't convinced by your excuse, not even for a heartbeat. Yet, despite his doubts, he chooses to let it slide. For now.

“Alright, move aside and I’ll show everyone the true, Hanamichi Sakuragi!” 

Hu-min whooped, beating his chest a few times as he proudly held the basketball in one hand while parading around the court like he was ready to win the national championship 

Across from him stood Go-tak, Jun-tae, and Si-eun—each one wearing the same deadpan expression that screamed not impressed.

It was a spontaneous after-school plan. The five of you had decided to kill time on the court before heading home. The sun was dipping low, casting the sky in swirls of burnt orange and violet. Students slowly trickled out through the gates on their way to cram school—Si-eun almost included, until Hu-min cornered him and dragged him into the game.

You’d opted out of playing today. Something about your mood just wouldn’t let up. Your mind was still stuck on a memory you couldn’t quite shake. Nothing traumatic, nothing new—just something lingering, like smoke after a fire. Everyone was fine now. Or at least, they seemed to be.

But Hu-min…he has been different lately.

You noticed how he’d glance around corners before letting his friends pass. How he’d always walk a step ahead, shoulders tense, scanning. He acted like no one noticed—but you did and you were sure the others did too. He was watching the world a little too closely now. And everyone else? They let him.

No one’s complaining, though. You all appreciated the company, and there’s not a single moment when it turns dull as long as Hu-min is there.

So instead of playing, you sat back and let your eyes wander. Go-tak, Jun-tae, and Si-eun had decided to team up in a 3v1—some dumb challenge just to “prove” Hu-min really was the best at basketball (his idea, obviously).

And he wasn’t even half bad at it, which only fed the fire.

There was something about Hu-min’s energy—loud, electric, overwhelming. But there was warmth there, too. The kind that reached deeper than you expected. He made you feel safe without trying to. Like someone who could carry the weight of the world if it meant his friends didn’t have to.

But sometimes, you wish he didn’t feel like he had to.

Still, watching him now—sweat on his brow, laughter in his throat, arms wide like he was daring the world to challenge him—you felt it again. That warmth.

The kind you never knew you needed until he was already in your life.

And you weren’t ready to let it go.

Hu-min spun the basketball in his hand with a cocky grin, chest puffed out like a cartoon character about to deliver his winning line.

“Alright! If I make this last shot—” he pointed dramatically toward the hoop, then to you with a wink—“I’m taking you out to dinner tomorrow!”  

You blinked, a wave of surprise washing over you. “Me?” Your thoughts were so suddenly interrupted that it took a second (or maybe two) to process what Hu-min had just flung into the air like his basketball. When it finally hit you, your cheeks flared. A date?  

Your lips parted, but no words came out. The word date echoed again in your mind, not in his teasing voice but softer, like a whisper folded between your uncertain thoughts. You’d never really stopped to consider the idea. Between dodging the Union, healing bruised knuckles, and watching over the others, there just wasn’t time. Romance always felt like a luxury too fragile for the kind of life you unfortunately led.

But now...

Your heart did this strange flutter, like it had just realized it was in a body that could feel. And not just feel—but want. Want soft glances across a rooftop, laughter shared in quiet corners of the gym, the press of a hand that stayed a moment longer than it needed to. You and Hu-min have been friends for a long time. You weren’t going to deny that there was something more in your friendship. Something that has maybe been long overdue. 

He leaned in, his smirk widening like a crescent moon. “Yeah, you. What? Afraid to be seen with someone as stunning as me in public?”  

You rolled your eyes, trying to mask the laughter bubbling up inside. “Stunning? You mean ‘delusional’?”  

“Touché,” he chuckled, casually spinning the ball on his finger, “but let’s be real, it’s hard not to notice someone who steals the spotlight.”  

You exchanged playful glances, the air thick with unspoken possibilities. 

Go-tak immediately gagged in the background from the suddenly sappy atmosphere. Jun-tae booed. Si-eun didn’t even look up while he tried to catch his breath.

“You miss this, and you’re buying us dinner,” Si-eun muttered.

Unbothered, Hu-min jogged to the three-point line, hyped himself up under his breath—“Alright, let’s go, this is my moment”—and shot.

It bounced off the rim.

Hard.

There was a beat of silence while everyone watched the ball roll off the court in the saddest way possible. Go-tak and Jun-tae exploded with laughter. It’s like the best comedy they have ever seen.

Jun-tae pointed. “This is why you’re single!”

Go-tak doubled over. “True love denied by poor aim! Holy shit I should’ve recorded that moment!”

Even Si-eun cracked the faintest smirk while he watched the other two mock Hu-min, trying to mimic his very sad attempt at shooting the ball by jumping around.

After a few back-and-forth curse words and hard teasing from the other three, Hu-min gave up the banter and tossed them the ball 

“Whatever! That was the wind pushing the ball out of the hoop!”

 He walked off the court and went to where you were seated on the steps, trying not to look amused.

He dropped down next to you, wiping sweat from his brow, still breathing heavily. “They’re so annoying,” he muttered. “Anyway, pretend that went in. The offer still stands.” He winked.

You let out a small laugh, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. The whole thing did take your mind off the Union for a bit, but there’s still a gnawing feeling inside of you.

Hu-min noticed. Of course he did.

He leaned in slightly, elbows on his knees, his voice lower now. He gently nudged your arm. “You’ve been quiet today. More than usual.”

You glanced at him, then away. “It’s nothing. Just really tired today.”

“Hey, don't give me that.”

A beat passed before you spoke again. You let out a sigh, deciding to just come clean. “It’s just… after what happened to Jun-tae, I keep thinking—what if it happens again? What if we’re not ready next time? Hell–I don’t think you guys were ready at that time..”

Hu-min was quiet for a moment. Then he spoke, voice soft but steady.

“It won’t. Because I’m here.”

You looked at him again. This time, he was serious. No teasing. No grin. Just Hu-min—warm, real, and right beside you. He smiled reassuringly, his hand reaching out to gently squeeze yours.

“I’m not letting anything happen to you, not even to those idiots over there,” he said. “Not now. Not ever again.”

The fading light caught in his eyes, the orange glow softening his usually loud presence. 

He didn’t need you to thank him. He didn’t need anything in return.

Just everyone’s safety, and yours especially.

That was enough for him.

“Hey! Everyone, go straight home, alright?” Hu-min called out as the group started packing up. The sun was dipping below the rooftops, casting long shadows on the pavement. It was getting late, and they all had class the next day.

“What?! Hey, what about our dinner treat?” Go-tak whined, slinging his bag over his shoulder with exaggerated disappointment.

“Hm? Never heard of it,” he replied coolly, brushing off the comment with a shrug.

Go-tak squinted at him, unimpressed. “Whatever, man. I hope you trip on your way home.”

That earned a round of laughter from the group, loud and lighthearted. Plans for the weekend were already being tossed around, something about crashing at Si-eun’s apartment, stealing his snacks, and maybe raiding his room while they were at it.

Goodbyes came in waves—sloppy hugs, playful jabs, promises of seeing each other tomorrow. One by one, Jun-tae, Go-tak, and Si-eun disappeared into the night, leaving behind the fading echoes of their chatter.

And then it was just the two of you.

You hadn’t even realized until now that Hu-min was still holding your hand. He hadn’t let go the entire time.

The street felt quieter, the space between you closer.

You looked down at your intertwined fingers, rough calluses, and warmth pressed against your skin. It wasn’t like you to be flustered, but something about his grip—firm but gentle—made your pulse skip a beat.

You glanced down at your hand, still tangled in Hu-min’s. “You know… You don’t have to keep holding it.”

He looked at you, still grinning widely. “I know,” then didn’t let go.

You raised an eyebrow. A laugh bubbling at your chest, “So?”

“So what? My hands comfortable.”

You gave him a look. “Comfortable?”

“Yeah. Warm. Steady. I dunno. Just don’t make it weird.” By that, he already started walking with you, leading you to your own home while he swung your intertwined hands in the air.

“You’re the one making it weird.”

“I’m not making it weird! I’m making it—casual.”

You snorted. “Casual handholding?”

“Yes. Extremely casual. Like bros.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Wait—no, not like bros—don’t quote that—”

You burst out laughing, and Hu-min looked like he regretted everything immediately. But he can't help but smile at the way you look. How lighter you seem to be after he talked to you earlier.

He groaned. “Ugh, I was doing fine until I missed that shot..”

“You mean your terrible attempt at asking me out?”

“It wasn’t terrible! It was slightly… underwhelming. That’s different.”

You grinned. “Do you know what underwhelming means?”

Suddenly, Hu-min let go of your hand and, without warning, brought both of his hands up to cup your cheeks. Before you could react, he tugged at them gently, stretching your face with the kind of shameless mischief only he could pull off.

“Look at you,” he teased with a grin, “still trying to act cool! Go-tak taught you how to tease me, didn’t he?”

You squeaked out a protest, swatting at his wrists as you tried to escape his grip. But your laughter bubbled up uncontrollably, tangled with his own. The sound filled the quiet street. Loud, chaotic, unfiltered—just like him.

When the laughter finally ebbed, both of you were left catching your breath. His hands were still on your face, but the playfulness had faded into something gentler. His thumbs moved softly now, brushing lightly over your skin as though he was trying to smooth away the laughter—but really, he just didn’t want to let go.

Then, without a word, he swiped his thumb at the corner of your mouth. Slowly, carefully. His gaze lingered, drinking you in like this was a moment he wanted to memorize. His chest rose and fell with a quiet breath, a softness settling in his eyes that you rarely got to see.

You didn’t pull away.

Instead, you leaned in—just barely, but enough for him to feel it. Your foreheads touched, the unusually close contact warming the space between you.

“I should go home soon, Hu-min”

He immediately pouted, pulling back just a little, arms falling to his sides. Your place was only a few minutes away—barely a walk—but that didn’t stop the small crease of disappointment forming between his brows.

“You sure you don’t need a hero to walk you home? I’m free of charge, y’know”

You laughed, shaking your head as you began walking away from him while waving goodbye.

“Relax, I can handle a sidewalk!” 

“You’ll miss me!” He shouted, waving his hands at you as you got farther and farther away

You rolled your eyes, shouting back, “I’ll see you tomorrow Hu-min!”

“Yeah, yeah—text me when you get home!”

You turned the corner, heart light, steps even lighter. The echo of your laughter still lingered in the air, like the night itself had softened just for you both.

The sidewalk was quiet, save for the rhythmic scuff of your shoes against the pavement. You were maybe three minutes from home, still replaying the evening in your head—his laughter, his touch, the way he looked at you like he was still holding back something bigger than words.

Maybe it’s the fact that Hu-min had made everything light and easy. He made you feel safe with his presence.

You didn’t notice the footsteps behind you.

Didn’t hear them speeding up.

Didn’t feel the tension creeping up your spine until—

CRACK.

A sharp, white-hot pain exploded across the side of your head. The world spun, and your knees buckled.

Your breath caught mid-gasp as your vision blurred—then dimmed.

You collapsed to the pavement with a dull thud.

The Union now knows where to hit Hu-min where it hurts.

“Bro,” Go-tak said, mouth half-full of kimbap, “you’ve been glued to them like a damn sticker.”

Hu-min didn’t even look up while chewing his food. “What’re you talking about?”

Jun-tae leaned back on his elbows, grinning. “Baku..you waited outside the bathroom for them. For, like, five minutes. That’s practically dating.”

Hu-min scoffed, tossing a rice ball at Jun-tae’s head, not caring when the sticky grains got everywhere. “I was standing there. Coincidence.”

“Sure,” Si-eun deadpanned, not even bothering to look up. “So you do that every lunch break?”

“Hey. I missed when you didn’t talk a lot.” his ears were already turning red. He shoved more food into his mouth just to avoid answering while the Go-tak and Jun-tae teased him.

“You’re obvious,” Go-tak said, gleefully piling on. “Like, puppy-eyed obvious. It’s kind of painful.”

“I don’t do puppy eyes!” Hu-min snapped.

“Yeah? Then what was that look when they gave you their leftover fries yesterday?” Jun-tae teased. “You looked like you got proposed to.”

Hu-min whipped around to glare at him, dramatically offended. “I was hungry! Fries are sacred!”

The group burst out laughing, and Hu-min shoved his tray toward the center in mock rage.

“Whatever, man,” he grumbled. “Can’t I just make sure they don’t trip over air or get kidnapped or something?”

Go-tak leaned in, smug. “So you admit it.”

Hu-min rolled his eyes. “Admit what?”

“That you’re down bad.”

“I’ll kick you off this roof.”

But even as he threatened violence while the group continued to mock him, Hu-min’s eyes wandered—just for a moment—toward the hallway beyond the stairwell door. You were leaning against a locker, laughing at something your friend said, completely unaware of the way he looked at you.

He didn’t even realize the corners of his mouth had twitched into a smile.

Your mind surfaced slowly, like dragging yourself out of deep water.

At first, there was only sound. Distant. Muffled. A low hum. Dripping, maybe. Footsteps? It was hard to tell. Everything blurred into one long, throbbing buzz that pulsed behind your eyes.

Then—pain.

A vivid pressure bloomed sharply at the side of your head, a sinister ache that seemed to pulse with each heartbeat. A small whimper escaped your lips, a sound of desperation as the awareness intensified the pain, making it feel unbearable. You instinctively tried to reach for your throbbing temple, but your arms remained unresponsive, trapped and helpless.

That’s when you noticed the cold biting into your wrists. Rough rope. Metal against your spine. You were sitting, but slumped awkwardly. Tied to something.

A chair?

You cracked your eyes open. It was dark, your vision swimming. Everything doubled, then tripled, before settling into a shaky blur.

You blinked hard, your vision unfocused. Finally, you could see your lap, the once pristine school uniform, now clearly streaked with dirt and grime. Your eyes shifted to your legs, bound tightly to the chair, rendering you utterly immobile. Your body felt heavy and fatigued, while the ropes dug painfully into your skin through the fabric of your clothes, a cruel reminder of your helplessness.

The side of your face throbbed with every heartbeat. Your lip stung, metallic and swollen. There was a coppery taste in your mouth. And god—it was cold. You were covered in sweat and probably your own dried blood from the head injury. 

Voices, low and distorted, floated somewhere nearby. Talking. Laughing? Arguing?

You couldn’t tell.

Your breathing picked up, chest rising faster now as reality snapped into place like shards of glass reforming, and finally, you can remember a few things. Hu-min. The sidewalk. The pipe. The voice saying, “They’re down.”

You weren’t home.

You weren’t safe.

And Hu-min wasn’t with you.

Panic stirred in your chest, but your limbs felt heavy. Your head dropped forward again, your body sluggish and uncooperative, still recovering from the hit. Still too slow. You could only cry out in pain. From the fear and helplessness 

But you were awake. And you were alone.

“Oh! You’re awake!”

Suddenly, their laughter rang in your ears like a fork scraping against a plate. You winced in pain as you did your best to look up at the faces of the people who took you. You only recognized one. He was part of the union, you think. 

You remembered seeing him once, behind Si-eun during a fight. He wasn’t a frontliner…more like someone who watched from the shadows. Quiet. Calculating.

Now, he was smiling at you like you were a puzzle he already knew how to solve.

“There it is,” he said with an amused sigh. “Took you long enough. You’re tougher than you look.”

You didn’t respond. Your tongue felt too heavy. And besides, what was there to say?

He walked closer, crouching just in front of you. “You probably don’t remember me. But I know you. Or at least, I know what you are to him.”

That made your stomach twist and your heart drop

Hu-min. 

You could still feel the warmth of his hand in yours, the echo of his laugh, the way he called after you—

“You’ll miss me!”

God. You wished you could hear his voice now.

“He’s loud, your little boyfriend,” the Union guy went on. “Always charging in, throwing punches. Never shuts up.” Everyone laughed behind him, some even mimicking Hu-min’s actions. They looked prideful, as if they had already won.

He tilted his head, eyes narrowing.

“But when he finds out we have you?”

“He’ll be real quiet then.”

You met his gaze, fury flaring despite the pain. Once he got close enough, You spat without hesitation.

It landed square on his cheek—a messy mix of blood and spit that made him recoil instantly.

“Fuck! You little—” He cursed, stumbling back as he wiped his face in disgust. He glared at you, the others looking in disbelief.

“Alright,” he muttered. “You want to be brave? You need a little reminder, then”

He motioned at the other boys lazily. And before you could react—

A fist drove into your gut, hard.

Air exploded from your lungs. The room spun. You couldn’t even scream. They all laughed as your chair tipped over from the sheer force. You came crashing down onto the floor, your body was hit hard, the edge of the metal frame biting into your side. Pain bloomed in waves, sharp and pulsing, as the men’s laughter echoed above you.

“Hey! Get this on video,” one of them barked, pulling out a phone with a grin. “Let’s send it to Baku.”

He crouched beside you, tapping the screen to start recording as you struggled to lift your head. Before you even did, though, a foot slammed into your rib. Four other guys started kicking you.

“Let him watch this on loop. He’ll come crawling on his knees.”

A cruel grin spread across his face.

“Maybe then he’ll finally get the message—Eunjang loses.”

Bakutastic🏀: “Heyyyyyy u home yet?” Bakutastic🏀: “Heyyy” Bakutastic🏀: “Helllooooooo” Bakutastic🏀: “nsajndweaksml” Bakutastic🏀: “Is ur phone dead?” Bakutastic🏀: “Message me asap or im eating all ur food tmrw.🙄🙄”

Hu-min scratched at the back of his neck, frowning. His phone screen lit his face in the dark room, your chat still open. You were only five minutes away when you left. Maybe your phone died. Maybe you knocked out the second you got home.

Still… something didn’t sit right.

Was he being clingy? Probably. Did he care? Not even a little. He just wanted to know you were safe. That’s it.

Another minute ticked by. Then another.

Ten minutes now.

He hadn’t moved—just sat there, staring at your contact name like the screen might light up if he waited long enough. His fingers hovered over his keyboard again, but he didn’t know what else to say without sounding panicked.

With a frustrated exhale, he sat up in bed, grabbing his hoodie. Screw it. He’d swing by. Just check. He wasn’t sleeping until he—

Buzz.

His phone lit up in his hand. Unknown number. No message. Just a video file.

“The hell?” he muttered, already swiping it open.

It only took two seconds. Two seconds before his heart plummeted.

The screen showed you. Tied to a chair, slumped and on the ground, Blood staining your mouth, bruises blooming across your face. The camera was shaky, laughter in the background.

Then—a kick. Straight to your stomach. You coughed hard. Violent. Your whole body jolted.

Hu-min’s breath caught. His hands started shaking.

Another blow. You flinched. He did too.

He couldn’t look away. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.

He was already on his feet, grabbing his jacket, his phone, keys—whatever. His body moved on instinct, pure adrenaline roaring through him.

He knew those faces and exactly where they took you.

The Union thought they were clever. Thought they could break him by using you.

His sneakers pounded against the pavement as he took off down the same street you walked earlier. He didn’t feel the wind. Didn’t hear the cars. All he could hear was your voice echoing in his head—

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Hu-min!”

He didn’t care what he had to do.

He was going to find you.

And God help anyone who tried to stop him.

“Ahh.. The hell is taking him so long?”

Then suddenly—a loud slam of a door. 

Hu-min didn’t give them a chance to speak or even think. 

He charged.

The first man barely raised a hand before Hu-min’s fist connected with his jaw. A sickening crack split the air as the man crumpled to the ground. Another lunged from behind, but Hu-min twisted, catching his ribs with a brutal elbow that sent him gasping and tumbling to a table.

There was shouting now. The sound of boots thundering.

Hu-min didn’t stop.

Didn’t think.

He ducked under a crowbar swing, landed a kick that sent one into a pile of crates. Blood. Screaming. The taste of copper in the air. Three left.

His knuckles were raw, breathing ragged. But none of it mattered.

Because in the corner of the warehouse—

He saw you.

On the floor, still tied to the chair, face bruised and barely conscious. His chest squeezed so tight it hurt. He swore the world narrowed to just you. But he didn’t run to you…not yet. He couldn’t. Not until the last two were down.

One came at him with a pipe. Hu-min took a hit to the shoulder, but it barely registered. He caught the man by the collar and slammed him into the wall with a cry.

Then, finally, it was just silence.

He dropped to his knees beside you.

He breathed your name like a quiet prayer, voice cracking at the edges as he gently cupped your face. “Hey—hey, I’m here, I got you.”

Your head tilted weakly toward him, a small movement that took all your remaining strength. Blood trickled from the corner of your mouth, a harsh reminder of your current state. But then your eyes fluttered open, and as they focused on him, you attempted a smile, however shaky. 

“Didn’t think I’d see you sooner," you murmured, the words emerging scratchy and raw, a feeble attempt to inject humor into the tension of the moment.

Hu-min, however, could only let out a heavy sigh, a mix of disbelief and concern etched on his face as he knelt beside you, beginning the careful task of untying your binds, his hands steady despite the gravity of the situation. 

“Let’s get you to the hospital, okay?” He gently helped you up into a sitting position before carefully scooping you up in his arms. The ache in his body was also starting to set in, but he pushed through. Neither of you was out of the dark yet. Not until he got you to safety.

You knew it was best not to talk about what happened to the Union guys. You’ve already seen Hu-min enraged before, as long as it was a loved one he had to protect, so the little time he took to beat up everyone wasn’t surprising. You just hope he wouldn’t be stubborn about getting himself checked out to the hospital as well.

The world smelled like antiseptic and plastic curtains.

The beeping of a monitor pulsed steadily somewhere above your head, each sound tugging you further into wakefulness. Your body ached—your ribs, your face, even your eyes—but the warmth of the blanket and the rhythmic beeping grounded you. Slowly, you regained your strength as you recalled the events from earlier. The union guys…Hu-min…and lots of blood that definitely wasn’t just yours.

But you were safe now.

And alive. 

The door to your hospital room slammed open with a shout of your name.

“Holy crap, you’re alive!”

“Don’t sit up too fast! Wait—is that pudding? Can I have it?”

You blinked groggily as Jun-tae, Go-tak, and Si-eun spilled into the room like a whirlwind of mismatched chaos. Jun-tae was juggling a small mountain of snacks, Go-tak had flowers he definitely stole from the nurse’s station, and Si-eun... was holding a bag of gauze and band-aids like that was going to help.

“What the hell happened?” Go-tak said, mouth half-full of chocolate. “Baku just disappeared, and next thing we know, he’s dragging you into the ER like an action movie!”

“You look like you got hit by a truck,” Jun-tae added helpfully, squinting at your face. “No offense. Still cute, though.”

You managed a weak laugh, wincing at the pain in your ribs. “None taken.”

Si-eun placed the bandage bag gently on the bedside table, as if that made up for everything. “You scared us.” There wasn’t much emotion behind his voice but his eyes told everything that he wanted you to know.

A soft knock came from the doorway.

You didn’t even need to look. You felt him before you saw him.

Hu-min stepped in quietly, hands shoved in his pockets, still wearing the same hoodie from earlier—creased, smudged with dirt, and faintly stained with blood at the sleeves. His eyes were on you. Only you.

Jun-tae caught the vibe immediately.

“Right,” he said, standing. “We’re gonna… leave you two alone now. Get well soon okay?”

Go-tak opened his mouth to protest, already halfway through your pudding, but Si-eun dragged him out by the collar.

The door shut with a soft click.

Silence.

Hu-min shuffled closer to your bed, awkward and quiet now that the others were gone. His hands fidgeted at his sides. “You good?” he asked, voice low. Rougher than usual.

You gave him the tiniest smile. “Been better.”

He exhaled—like he’d been holding that breath since the moment he brought you in. His eyes scanned your face, your arms, and the gauze along your temple. Even just looking at you seemed to hurt him more than his wounds.

“I should’ve walked you home,” he muttered. “I knew something felt off. I shouldn’t have let you—”

“Hu-min,” you interrupted softly, “I’m okay.”

He looked at you then. Really..looked. And whatever storm he was holding back cracked just slightly.

“You could’ve died.”

“But I didn’t.”

He was quiet again. 

Then, gently, he sat down beside your bed. His hand hovered near yours on the blanket for a moment before finally resting over it, warm and firm. No amount of words can describe the fear he felt when he saw your bloodied and half-unconscious. It was terrifying and his heart was torn in pieces at the sight of it all. 

“I thought I lost you,” he said quietly, not meeting your eyes.

You squeezed his hand as best you could.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered.

He exhaled through his nose, like he didn’t know what to do with that kind of relief. His grip loosened, not to let go, but to soften. Gentler now.

You expected him to joke, maybe crack something stupid like he always did. But instead…

He leaned forward a little, resting his forearm carefully on the side of the bed. “I’ve been thinking about what I’d say if I got here too late,” he said, voice quiet and uneven. “And it scared the hell out of me how much I hated that thought.”

Your breath caught.

“I don’t know when it happened. Maybe it was that time you laughed so hard you snorted in front of the cafeteria, or when you always knew what snack I wanted before I asked.”

He glanced away for a second, then looked back at you. His jaw clenched like he was bracing for impact.

“…But I like you.”

The words weren’t smooth. They weren’t rehearsed. They were raw, honest, and heavier than he expected them to be.

You blinked. “Hu-min…”

“I know I’m a mess. Loud. Reckless. Not really the type you’d expect anyone to be into.” He scratched the back of his neck with his free hand, cheeks starting to color. “But I’ve liked you for a while now. And I didn’t say anything because it was easier to pretend I didn’t.”

He looked up again.

“But I don’t wanna pretend anymore.”

Silence.

Then, your fingers curled around his. Despite the pain, despite the bruises, your smile was soft and warm, and so you it made his heart trip over itself.

“…You think I don’t like you back?” you murmured.

His mouth opened slightly. “Wait, you do?”

You rolled your eyes, the smallest laugh escaping your lips. “You’re so dense. I mean–I never said no to you asking me out earlier…”

“Oh..right..that”

“Hu-min..did you forge—” 

“Wh–No?!”

He hesitated, his face flushing a deep shade of crimson as he struggled to find the right words, eyes flickering with uncertainty and a hint of longing. You watched him with a gentle, amused smile, noting the way he fumbled for excuses, each more clumsy than the last. 

Softly, you leaned in closer, your presence intimate and warm, and pressed a tender, almost feather-light kiss to his cheek. The simple gesture silenced him, leaving him momentarily speechless, his cheeks still tinged with blush. A playful, knowing grin spread across your lips as you looked at him, creating a moment full of shy affection and unspoken desire.

You pulled away just a few inches, enough to see the expression frozen on his face—eyes wide, mouth slightly parted, as if his entire personality had glitched from that single kiss.

His brain short-circuited.

You grinned. “You okay there, hero?”

He blinked. Once. Twice. Then suddenly, he moved.

“Hey!—what was that?!” he burst, voice cracking halfway through, flailing a bit as if you’d just committed some heinous act of war while he held the cheek you just kissed. “You can’t just—just—ambush me like that!”

You tilted your head innocently. “What, didn’t like it?”

“I didn’t say that!” he blurted, ears turning bright red as he tried to laugh the embarrassment off.

You just laughed at him, and that was what did it. Something in him snapped—not in anger, but in reckless determination.

“Oh, that’s it,” he muttered, face still crimson, but eyes locked on you now with wild resolve. “You wanna play that game? Fine.”

Before you could react, he leaned in fast, closing the already small distance between you.

He kissed your forehead. Quick. Warm.

Then your nose.

Then your other cheek.

Then your temple.

Each press was messy and rushed and completely unsmooth, but so full of affection that it made your heart stutter.

“Payback,” he said, in between each kiss.

You were too stunned to speak, caught between laughter and something far deeper as he hovered close, hands braced carefully on the sides of the bed as each kiss was more ticklish than the last.

“Don’t think you can just surprise me and get away with it,” he mumbled against your skin. “I’m Baku! I don’t lose.”

You only nodded softly, raising both of your hands in front of you as a gentle gesture of surrender. Hu-min then pulled away, slightly panting from the burst of laughter that escaped him, his eyes sparkling with affection. He gazed down at you, his gaze filled with a tenderness that made your heart flutter. Carefully, he reached out, his hand gently cupping your face, and tenderly tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. 

His voice was low and warm now as he whispered, “...You’re mine now. You understand that, don’t you?”

And from the way he said it—not possessive, not demanding, just utterly devoted—you knew it wasn’t a threat.

It was a promise, and you didn’t need to answer with words.

The way your fingers laced with his said more than enough.

He stayed there with you, his forehead resting softly against yours, both of you breathing in sync. The hospital room was silent save for the steady rhythm of the heart monitor and the hum of the air conditioning, but it somehow felt peaceful now, like the world outside could wait.

There was no more fear, no more fighting. Just this—shared warmth in a sterile room, and a future quietly beginning between stolen kisses and promises unspoken.

His thumb traced light circles against the back of your hand, as if grounding himself in the fact that you were still here. With him.

And you were.

As your eyes slowly slipped shut, a tired but contented smile on your lips, Hu-min stayed right where he was—watching over you, steady and soft in a way only you ever got to see.

The beeping of the monitor faded into the background.

And the rest of the world faded with it.

an: 6k words again.. This is why I take ages to release a full fic. I hope everyone liked this!! Not too sure if I got Baku's character to a T. Comments and feedback are appreciated! <33 This was such a pain to edit in Tumblr both my laptop and phone was lagging so bad I think I need to make shorter fics now..

[twinklingsoda]

omg it's sp good wahhh

some... fwb x seongjae, angst (boss specialty) fluff smut???? pls i love your blog sm 🤭 i hope u receive requests 😭🙃

🧸-

“Friends?”

Geum Seongjae x reader | Weak Hero Universe | +18 mdni!

Tags: fluff and angst, smut, jealousy, friends with benefits, fwb to lovers, mutual pining, possessive behavior, emotional sex, slow burn, sexual tension, drunk confession, protective male lead, toxic…

They said we were just friends.

So did we.

With one difference: we lied better.

It all started as a joke — an inside joke between two people who pretended to annoy each other out of sheer spite, but deep down used the arguments as an excuse to keep in constant contact. There were barbs, sure, but there were also silences far too long to be merely awkward, looks that lingered past the limits of friendship, and touches that started off casual but ended thick with unspoken tension. There wasn’t a specific moment when we crossed the line, because the line had always been blurred — fragile, volatile. It was a slow process, like a rope stretched until it snapped, and by the time we noticed, we had already fallen — not into love, not yet — but into something intimate, dangerous, and wildly addictive. We weren’t dating. We never dated. That would’ve required courage, honesty, and the willingness to face feelings head-on. Neither of us was ready for that. We lied so well we almost believed it ourselves.

Seongjae was the kind of guy who looked like he had it all under control. Calm face, calculated words, that unshakeable posture. People admired him — some even feared him — because he never showed all of himself. He was a walking mystery. And yet, with me, he let pieces slip — anger, desire, confusion — fragments of himself he tried to smother before they could become real. He was arrogant with others, but with me… it was different. Sometimes it felt like he was fighting something inside himself. Like he was at war — between what he felt and what he thought he should feel. And that was never clearer than when we said — loudly, always — that we couldn’t stand each other. That we were oil and water. But it only took one bitter remark, one sharp exchange, for the anger to spark fire — and for that fire to consume us until there was nothing left but our bodies, tangled together, searching for relief from a pain we hadn’t yet learned how to name.

It was a cycle. Vicious. Almost toxic. A quiet game where we both knew the rules but insisted on pretending we didn’t. A kind of delicious hell, because every fight ended in trembling hands and desperate kisses, and the addiction to being near each other always outweighed the clarity to walk away.

Nobody knew.

Well, nobody knew. But they felt it. That thick tension in the air whenever we were in the same room. The way he looked at me when he thought no one was watching, or how I went quiet just to listen to his laugh, hiding my smile like it was nothing. Even our friends started to comment.

“Don’t you think there’s something going on between them?” I heard someone whisper at the end of class once, while I pretended to look for something in my bag.

“No way. They hate each other.”

“Exactly. That’s why. There’s too much tension for it to be just bickering.”

I swallowed hard. Pretended not to hear. But it stung — because it was true. There was something. Something suppressed, something we fought to deny with everything we had. But it was there. And it was growing. With every touch, every late night together, every time we pretended it was just one more night and not what it had always been underneath: the desperate need to be close, even if we didn’t know what to do with it.

And I was getting tired.

Tired of pretending, of hiding, of feeling small when all I wanted was to be seen. Not just in the dark of his room. Not just in the silence of our secret nights. I wanted to be acknowledged. Spoken aloud. Named. I wanted to exist fully in his life — not just in the in-between moments he didn’t deem important.

The first time I brought it up was after a particularly long night. We were lying across the mattress, breathless, sweaty, the sheets half on the floor. I turned to him, waiting for a touch, a look, something. But he was just there, staring at the ceiling like I wasn’t even in the room. Like nothing had happened. Like I was invisible — even after I’d given him everything. Again.

“You never wanted this,” he said with that fake calm that drove me insane.

“Wanted what?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.

“Anything serious. You always said you hated commitment.”

“I said that a year ago, Seongjae. People change.”

He didn’t answer. Just looked away — like he couldn’t bear to meet my eyes and see the reflection of his own cowardice. And that was the moment I knew. He was lying. Again. It wasn’t about me. It never had been. It was about him. About his fear. About the scars he carried that made him choose the safety of a nameless arrangement over the risk of loving me for real.

But I couldn’t keep living off scraps.

I wanted everything. And all he ever gave me was almost.

Almost love.

Almost courage.

Almost truth.

And I didn’t know how much longer I could survive in that “almost” without completely falling apart.

I had asked again. For the third time. But this time, it wasn’t a reckless impulse driven by loneliness or anger. It was different. I had to gather every last inch of courage I had left in me, pick up the pieces he’d been leaving behind bit by bit, and put on the table what had been eating me alive. He knew. He’d always known. The problem was, he never wanted to admit it — not to me, not even to himself.

“Answer me, Seongjae… Why don’t we try something real?” I asked, straight to the point, my voice steady even though I was falling apart inside.

He didn’t reply right away. He blinked slowly, like he was trying to delay the question, postpone the inevitable. He looked down and licked his lips — a nervous tic I’d come to recognize in moments where he felt cornered. The silence between us stretched too long.

“Now’s not the right time,” he muttered at last, with no real conviction. “There’s too much going on. My parents… the union… you know how tense everything is.”

“There’s always something, isn’t there?” I shot back, not bothering to hide the hurt already seeping into my voice. “There’s always some new excuse. A fresh reason. A convenient distraction.”

He drew a deep breath. His posture was the kind of strong that’s built on the edge of collapse. But he would never show it — not to me. Not fully. His eyes avoided mine, as if every time I looked straight at him, he might give in to the truth he tried so hard to silence.

“I don’t want to drag you into my mess,” he said softly, like he thought he was doing me a favor.

“Isn’t that exactly what you’re doing?” I asked, pulling away slightly, swallowing down the ache that now pulsed in my chest. “You use me as a pressure valve, like a sedative for a pain you won’t even share. You want me close when it’s dark, but you shut me out when I want to be in your daylight. That’s not care. That’s cowardice.”

He stayed quiet. Silent the way he always got when I said too many truths. And that silence was deafening. Cruel. Worse than shouting. Because it meant that, once again, he was choosing fear over me. Safety over the risk of something real.

The second time came weeks later. Another night. Another dark room. Another set of sheets that bore witness to our exhaustion disguised as desire. We were lying side by side, not touching, like the bed had turned into neutral ground on a war zone. I looked at him. The profile of his face was lit faintly by the streetlight outside. He looked tired. But it was more than that. There was weight there. Pain. Something ready to snap.

“You’re amazing. You deserve someone who’ll actually claim you,” he said suddenly, as if it were a compliment — a distorted way to protect me.

“And that someone can’t be you?” I asked, without hesitation.

He hesitated. Swallowed hard. His voice came out low, a little broken.

“No… I ruin everything I touch. I always have. I don’t want to hurt you.”

That was his specialty: sounding noble while running away. He’d put himself in the martyr’s seat, like he was doing me a favor by keeping me away, when really he was just hurting me in the slowest, quietest way. And still… I couldn’t hate him for it. Because there was truth in that fear. I saw it in his eyes. He was already in love with me — in his own way. Twisted, silent, terrified. He loved me without knowing how, without knowing what to do with it — so he ran. And hurt. And came up with excuses he could barely keep straight.

But the third time… that’s when it really broke me. The worst one. The one that shattered something in me that would never fit back quite the same.

“You know that if we end up together, it’ll just fall apart. And I don’t want to lose you,” he said, with that sharp honesty of someone who’d rather rip the wound open than try to heal it.

“You’d rather have me halfway than risk losing me for real?” I asked, my voice trembling, my heart screaming on the inside. “Is that what you prefer? This miserable version of presence?”

“I’d rather this than not have you at all,” he said, and this time his eyes locked on mine. And what I saw there wrecked me more than any words: fear. Real, raw, paralyzing fear.

In that moment, I knew he wasn’t going to change. Not now. Maybe not ever. And so, without yelling, without some dramatic scene, I chose to walk away. It was me who chose — because he never made the hard decisions. He just let time and silence make them for him. He just watched as I left. Didn’t try to stop me. Didn’t ask me to stay. Just… let it happen.

“We went our separate ways.” That’s what we said when people asked. Neat words. Convenient. Detached. “It was for the best,” we’d add. Like it had been mature. Like it was mutual. Like I hadn’t cried for days, and he hadn’t locked himself deeper into that shell of his.

But nothing moved on. Nothing continued. The truth was, everything stopped. I felt hollow. Like I’d been ripped out of myself.

And him? He vanished. Disappeared like a ghost, leaving behind only scattered traces. He pretended to be busy with union matters, buried in new conflicts and responsibilities. He acted like he was dealing with bigger things, more important things — when in truth, he was using external chaos to avoid the storm inside him.

And just when I thought the dust was settling, when I thought my feelings might finally fade, he showed up.

Not Seongjae.

Someone else.

Someone new. Someone who spoke to me like he actually saw me. Who listened. Who complimented my smile without needing me to earn it. And even though I didn’t truly want him, I let him get close. Because pretending a new beginning was easier than facing the end of something that had never been said out loud.

He was just a classmate. At first.

Someone nice. Present. Conveniently attentive. The kind who smiled too much, complimented out loud, and made sure to show how much he cared — even when no one asked him to. He started slow, like someone trying to build something solid, but his steps felt too calculated to be innocent. First came the late-night messages — random questions at 2 a.m., like a “are you still up?” was just curiosity, not a poorly disguised excuse to create intimacy. Then the coffees, always just the way I liked them, left on my desk before class with my name scribbled on the lid, like we’d been close for years. And then the invitations — persistent ones: snacks after class, movies, “just friends” walks. I didn’t encourage it, but I didn’t turn it down either. Not because I wanted something with him, but because, in a way, the whole act gave me this petty sense of revenge. Pretending I liked him was a childish — maybe even cruel — way of punishing someone who probably didn’t even know he was being punished.

Or maybe he did.

Seongjae had changed. Quieter. Sharper. More distant, even when he was right there. He didn’t look at me the same way — or pretended not to. If before he made a point of teasing, now he just walked past. If before his sarcastic remarks led to thick tension, now he didn’t speak at all. And when we were in the same group, I could feel his gaze on me — tense, dark, sharp — but the moment I turned to look, he was already pretending to scroll on his phone or stare blankly at the floor, like I was just another shadow in the room.

But it wasn’t indifference. It was held-back rage. Jealousy chewed down until it turned to poison.

His jaw would clench every time the other guy got too close to me, and he gripped his hands so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He never said a word, but his silence screamed. Every time he saw me smiling at the other boy, he’d avert his gaze like it physically hurt. And still — he did nothing. No attempts to talk. No effort to come closer. No confrontation. Seongjae chose to back away. He avoided me everywhere he could: school hallways, union meetings, even the usual spots where we’d always bumped into each other like fate. I started to notice how he’d change directions when he saw me from afar. How he’d switch study rooms. Leave early if I walked in.

And then came the comments.

Mutual friends — unaware of anything — started talking to him about me and me about him, clueless about the weight each word carried. One of them, laughing, said: “Seongjae, did you see your ex-bestie’s all smiles these days? That Minho guy’s glued to her. They’re always together.” Another was more direct: “Honestly thought you’d care. Guess it really doesn’t matter to you, huh?”

He wouldn’t reply. Just frowned slightly and kept doing whatever he was doing. But after that, I’d catch him running his fingers along the side of his neck, like he was trying to soothe something burning from the inside out. That restlessness of his didn’t go unnoticed. And that’s what hurt the most: he refused to get involved. Refused to stop me. Refused to fight.

And I kept pretending I was happy. I smiled in pictures. Laughed at my new admirer’s jokes. Let myself be touched on the shoulder, hugged from behind. I let it happen because I knew Seongjae saw. Even if he didn’t say a word. Even if he avoided me. Even if he acted like I no longer existed — he saw. And it was eating him alive. I could feel it.

Until one night, at a party, things nearly slipped out of control.

We were in a small hall — dim lights, loud music. Just another school event, nothing special. But everyone was there — including Seongjae. He saw me with the other guy the second he walked in. I saw the way his eyes hardened like stone, his whole expression shutting down into something cold and unreadable. He didn’t come talk to me. Didn’t say a word. He stayed across the room, arms crossed, leaning against the wall like part of the decor — but his eyes didn’t leave me for a second. The way he stared made me dizzy.

The guy — the new one — was full of energy. And clingy. He pulled me to dance, wrapped his hands around my waist, whispered something in my ear that made me laugh nervously. I could feel Seongjae’s eyes burning into me, even without looking. He was on fire, and it was almost tangible.

And then, the inevitable: the guy tried to kiss me.

He didn’t hide it. He was direct. Probably thought he’d timed it perfectly. And I, on instinct, turned my face away. Not out of loyalty to Seongjae, not because I was scared of feeling something — but because, in that moment, it just felt wrong. Dirty. Forced. Pointless.

Before I could fully pull back, I turned my head.

And Seongjae’s stare hit me like a blade straight to the chest.

It wasn’t just anger.

It was something darker. Deeper. Desperate.

But he didn’t do anything. He just turned his back and walked out through the side door like the room was on fire and he had to escape.

He left me there — in the middle of loud music and hands I didn’t want to hold.

And for the first time, I wondered if maybe we weren’t just stuck in a game where we had both already lost — but neither of us had the guts to admit it.

Three days later, on a random Friday, he showed up at my door.

No warning. No message. No excuse.

Just him. And the weight of everything we never said.

The scent of alcohol got there before he did. Not strong, but just enough to give him away. His hair was messy, his expression unguarded, his eyes red — and not just from exhaustion. He looked lost, like he’d been drifting ever since the last time we saw each other. And only now had he gathered just enough courage to face the wreckage.

“Are you going out with him?” he asked right away — no hello, no hesitation.

“And what if I am?” I shot back, arms crossed, trying to keep my voice steady even though my heart was pounding.

Seongjae let out a dry, bitter laugh, like the question itself was a personal offense.

“That asshole Minho can’t even hold a conversation without sounding like a lovesick teenager. Imagine dating someone like you.” He took a slightly off-balance step forward, swaying a little, but his eyes never left mine. “He doesn’t know you hate clingy people. Doesn’t know you can’t stand when someone talks only about themselves, or that you can’t fall asleep unless the fan’s on — even in the middle of winter.”

“And you do?” I challenged, trying not to flinch.

“I know everything. I know you like your coffee bitter, that you can’t keep quiet when you’re mad, and that you cover up how you feel by joking around. And I know you only let that idiot hang around to get back at me.”

He was visibly shaken. And even with his pride in pieces, what came through was a pain more honest than any half-assed excuse he’d ever given me.

“You’re drunk, Seongjae.”

“Maybe. But I’m not stupid.” He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I’m drunk off the thought of you with him. That idiot with the tight-ass pants who thinks making you laugh means he gets you. He doesn’t even know you talk in your sleep. I do. I’ve heard you say my name, by the way.” He nodded toward the inside of the house, like every room in it was burned into his memory.

“You only came here because you’re like this,” I said, trying — and failing — to keep my distance.

He smiled, but it was crooked, sad, full of rage.

“I came because I can’t watch that jerk put his hands on you like he has the right. I came because seeing you with someone else felt like someone ripped the air out of my lungs. I came because…” He took a deep breath, his voice dropping, “…because I can’t stand the idea of anyone else knowing you the way I do.”

We stood there in silence for a moment. A silence that hung heavy, trembling between us. He was closer now. I could smell the alcohol mixed with that scent of his I knew too well. And even then, I didn’t step back.

“You got mad, so you came here?” I asked, eyes locked on his.

“Mad? Mad doesn’t cover it.” He lowered his head, laughed again. “You talk about Minho like he’s some kind of prize. Like I didn’t know exactly what you were doing. You were punishing me, weren’t you?” He looked up again, calmer now, but still burning. “Admit it. You knew I’d see it. And you knew I couldn’t take it.”

I stayed silent. My heart pounding like a drum. Because he was right.

He stepped closer. So close I could feel the heat of his body on my skin.

“Tell me you don’t want him,” he said, in a low, husky voice, soaked in jealousy, desire, and pain. “Tell me you still want us.”

“You pushed me away, Seongjae.”

“And now I’m here. I’ll get on my knees if I have to. Just say it. Just tell me it’s still me.”

I didn’t say a word. Just looked at him. And in the next second, he pulled me in. His hands firm on my waist, his breath hot against my skin, his eyes locked on mine — and he kissed me. No asking. No thinking. No permission for pride.

The kiss was rushed, messy at first, fueled by anger, urgency, and all the pain we’d been carrying. But it was real. Alive. Intense. He held me like he needed proof I hadn’t vanished. And I kissed him back like I was tired of pretending I didn’t feel anything anymore.

When we finally pulled apart, he kept his forehead pressed against mine, breathing deep, eyes closed.

“I’m sorry. For everything. I just… I can’t pretend I’m okay watching you with someone else. I can’t.”

And for the first time, he said what he’d always kept buried.

And for the first time… I didn’t want to run.

His breathing was still shaky when his lips pulled away from mine, but his eyes — those eyes that were always so guarded — were now wide open, overflowing with feeling. You could see everything there: the jealousy, the longing, the desire, the fear, and a kind of desperate love that looked like it was choking him from the inside. He was still holding me in his arms, like letting go might actually make me disappear. Like if he dropped me now, I’d vanish for good.

“You drove me crazy,” he murmured, brushing his lips across my cheek, down to the corner of my jaw. “You and that idiot… smiling like you were fine. Do you know how many nights I tortured myself, imagining him touching you? How many times I almost went after you and stopped halfway, thinking I didn’t deserve you anymore?”

His voice was low, hoarse, almost shaking. I could feel the tension in his muscles as he carried me to the bedroom, every step driven by something that wasn’t just anger — it was need. But not the blind rage of someone who wants to punish. It was the frustration of someone who wants to love right and never learned how.

He laid me down on the bed like he was afraid I’d slip through his fingers — even though I wasn’t going anywhere. Not this time. He hovered above me, breathing like he’d just run a marathon. His hands were trembling, but even so, they moved with purpose — down my arms, my waist, my thighs. And every touch left a trail of heat, like he was drawing into my skin all the things he never had the courage to say out loud.

“You’re mine. And not because I’m saying it. Because you’ve always been. Since the beginning. Since that first fight. Since the first touch in the hallway.”

With each word, he lowered himself over me, our bodies aligning like he wanted to melt into me. His hands weren’t rushed — they were slow, deliberate, exploring me with a kind of wild reverence. He knew where to touch. He knew how to take my breath away with just the right pressure of his fingers. And he did it on purpose.

His kisses traced down my neck, hotter now, wetter, more possessive. He bit gently, whispered things in my ear, and I arched under him like my body had memorized this kind of surrender. And he talked. He wouldn’t stop talking.

“Look at me,” he said, his voice rougher now, deeper. I opened my eyes and met his gaze — wide, breathless, holding a truth that hurt to look at. “I want to see you while I have you back.”

Then our bodies began to move together — slow, heavy, like every motion carried months of silence. It wasn’t just sex. It was anger, guilt, confession. But it was also love — raw, urgent, wrecked. He touched me like he was somewhere between worship and collapse. The kisses turned hungrier, the grip of his hands tighter, and the sounds escaping between us were so intimate they felt like the only things that existed.

“I love you,” he whispered again, this time with his lips against my chest, as his body moved against mine. “Do you get it now? I love you so much it hurts. It tears me apart. And still… you’re the only thing that makes it worth breathing.”

I didn’t have words. I just wrapped my legs around him and pulled him closer, deeper — as if I needed to say “I love you too” with everything except my mouth.

And in that bed, with the room dark, the sheets tangled, and the weight of everything we’d held back between us — we finally made love. But not the soft, cinematic kind. It was real love. Messy. Intense. Full of pain, full of longing, full of return. The kind of love that comes from people who broke it, came back, and still don’t know how to fix it — but won’t walk away again.

Because by now, it was too late to deny.

And far too early to stop.

The light slipping through the cracks in the curtain made it clear the day had already begun, but inside the room, everything still tasted like the middle of the night. The sheets were a mess, clothes scattered in random spots on the floor, pillows tossed far from where they belonged — the whole scene looked like it had been painted by some kind of private storm made just for us.

I opened my eyes first. The silence was calm, and Seongjae was still sleeping, lying on his side, his face turned toward me, breathing deeply — almost childlike. His messy hair fell over his forehead, and one arm was draped lazily across his waist like he was still making sure I hadn’t disappeared. He looked… at peace. For the first time in a long time. And even with his face smudged with sleep and a tiny bit of drool in the corner of his mouth, he somehow still managed to be annoyingly handsome.

Suddenly, he groaned.

“My head’s killing me…,” he mumbled, eyes still shut, his voice low and raspy with sleep.

“Well, good morning to you too,” I said with a soft laugh, propping myself up on my elbow to get a better look at him.

“Let’s sleep a little more…” he whispered, reaching out to pull me back in like I was his favorite pillow. “My head’s gonna fall off if I get up right now.”

“You were such a baby last night. And now you’re even cuter — all clingy like this.”

He opened one eye slowly, face scrunched into a fake scowl.

“If I’m the baby, then you’re the blanket. And I’m not leaving you anymore.”

I laughed — couldn’t help it — and tugged lightly at the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Get up, Seongjae. We have school.”

“Ugh… real life ruins everything,” he groaned, pulling the sheet over his face. Still, after a few more minutes of stalling, he finally got up, and we got ready together — with quiet laughs and slow, playful touches as we bumped into each other on purpose.

We left the house together, fingers laced, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. And maybe it was. Maybe it had always been. We had just taken too long to admit it.

At school, we didn’t bother hiding it. We walked side by side through the main hallway, and it was almost funny to watch people turn their heads, one by one, like they hadn’t seen it coming — even though everyone had always kind of known.

We sat next to each other, same row. He didn’t let go of my hand. From time to time, his fingers brushed against mine, or he’d rest his hand on my thigh — and whenever someone stared, he’d flash that smug little smile of his, the one that now worked in my favor.

But of course… Minho showed up.

I saw him approaching with that overconfident walk, eyes going straight to our joined hands. He froze for just a second, like his brain was still processing what he was seeing — our hands, the smudge of lipstick, the faint purplish mark on my neck. But he held his posture.

“You disappeared last night…” he said, stopping beside us. “Left the party early. You’ve been kinda forgetful lately.”

“Wasn’t feeling too well,” I replied calmly, glancing at Seongjae — whose expression clearly said he wasn’t thrilled to see Minho.

“Oh, right… Must’ve been the dizziness from being around someone who lies to everyone and then vanishes,” he added, slicing his gaze between the two of us. Seongjae had already let go of my hand and straightened up in his seat, jaw clenched tight.

“Minho…” he said in a low voice, with a forced sigh — like he had to find an extra level of patience just because we were in public. Though, it wasn’t about the people around us — it was about me.

“Anyway,” Minho continued, ignoring the warning in Seongjae’s tone, “wanna hang out after class? Just the two of us? There’s something I’ve been meaning to say for a while.”

He already knew.

And Seongjae knew exactly what that kind of line meant coming from a guy — and he wasn’t having it.

Before I could say a thing, Seongjae stood up. Slowly. His eyes locked on Minho’s. His smile was polite — but his gaze? Pure warning.

“She’s not going. Because she already has a boyfriend. That would be me. We’re perfectly fine on our own, so keep your eyes off her before I mess up your face.”

Minho scoffed. Tried to laugh it off like it was some kind of joke.

“Boyfriend?” he repeated with a scoff. “Maybe clarify that — seeing how she wanted me before you ever put a ring on her finger.”

“Yeah. Boyfriend. Official. Holding hands in the hallway, good morning kisses, all the things you’re never gonna get. Oh, and that? That was during our dark phase. We got back together. So don’t ever come near her again,” Seongjae said, his tone harder than before.

Silence fell over the hallway instantly.

Minho said nothing.

He hesitated for a few seconds — then turned and walked away without another word.

Seongjae, on the other hand, sat back down beside me, arms crossed, and shot me a sidelong glance with that familiar, satisfied little smirk.

“Now that’s peace,” he muttered.

“Oh, please… Don’t give me that evil look. You look like a scary baby,” I teased, pouting your lips and kiss him. He chuckled.

I smiled quietly, turned my face toward him, and rested my head on his shoulder. For the first time — no fear. No pretending.

And for the first time… he wasn’t pretending either.

a/n: hii, tyy honey, for you message, i hope you enjoy it. i took a while to reply but here it is, happy reading! 💋🤭

yes, i’m taking requests! anyone who wants to can send them through the ask box, 24/7. see you and bye bye!😸🙃

[bblgeum]

𐔌 not yours, not mine ─  yeon si-eun 𐦯

⟡ ﹒ in which ⌇ hyo-man was an idiot, thinking he could steal you away from si-eun.

⟡ ﹒ content⌇ gn reader, fluff, si-eun gets angry, hyo-man, childhood friends, not dating but they act like it

⟡ ﹒ listen to⌇ i like the way you kiss me - artemas

you still remember the shards of glass that littered the floor. you still remember the once blank, ignorant faces switch to ones of shock as si-eun yelled,

─  "what the fuck do you want?!"

you still remember stumbling along as si-eun, tear-streaked face, white cast, and bloodied uniform dragged you along down the hall with a look in his eyes that resembled a taxidermied animal. innocent. young. sad.

you and si-eun stare up at eujang high school. the only place that would accept you both, after what happened to kang woo-young, beom-seok, and jeon young-bin. si-eun had the usual stoic look on his face. you? you were about to shit your pants. there were students all around you - smoking, fighting, on their phones. they didnt look like normal students, though. there was a certain animalistic glint in their eyes. like they were waiting to pounce on their prey.

─  "si-eun..? homeschool is always an option.."

si-eun looks over at you for a minute, as if he was calculating something in his head. with ghostly cold hands, he gently nudges you along with him as he starts walking.

the teachers slammed the ledger a few times on the podium. the class quiets down, and eyes pierce into the both of you. standing side by side, you and si-un bow.

─  "my name is (last name) (name). i hope we can all get along"

─  "i'm yeon si-eun."

a few quiet snickers are let out by the class. si-eun didnt seem to care - he was in his own space again, staring out. you nudge him to sit. luckily, you were seatmates.

idle chatter is drowned out by your headphones. filling out your planner, you ignore the delinquency around you. si-eun is in a si ilar state of mind. headphones in, ocasional flick towards you, then back at his notebook.

si-eun appreciated the comfortable silence. no awkwardness, no need to be talk 24/7. it was like you two were separated in your own little bubble of tranquility.

during break, si-eun stands up to go the the restroom. you give him a curt nod. back to your notes. back to your bubble of peace.

and that bubble was violently popped as choi hyo-man drags out a chair across from you, a filthy smirk on his face, like he knew something you didnt. flicking your forehead, he slips off uour headphones.

─  "oops! didnt mean to, sweetheart"

your writing stops as hyo-man finish his scentance. sweetheart. a shiver runs down your spine, your blood runs cold. a strange, acidic feeling crawls up your throat. noboyd - not even si-eun, who you knew since the womb- called you sweetheart. hyo-man notices your discomfort and suprise. he smiles.

─  "ah, whats wront? yknow, that uniform looks hot on you, baby!"

you dont get a word out as heyo-man stands up, yanking on your arm. you get dragged along. it was so loud in the classroom that nobody heard your protests. hyo-man sees your mouth moving, and frowns.

─  "yah! what're you complaining about? be thankful i rescued you from that weird, si-eun or whatev-"

hyo-man was abruptly cut off by si-eun, who had just returned from the bathroom. his stoic look was now replaced by a unsettling from and eyes that looked like the void.

─  "shes not yours. let go of her."

the class quiets down. everyones eyes are on you, hyo-man, and si-eun. hyo-man frowns, saying,

─  "shes not yours either, fucker"

hyo-man's lackeys let out a snicker. hyo-man grins at their support, grip loosening on your wrist. si-eun grabs you back, turning to leave the classroom with you. just before the door closes, he says,

─  "shes not mine. but shes definatly not yours."

hyo-man's grip left a bruise on your wrist. sitting out side in the hall, si-eun still didnt look content. moving the hair from his eyes, you look at your reflection as you say,

─  "thanks, si-eun.. but, for the record, im more than okay with being yours."

sieun looks up from the floor. he hid it well, but you can see the slight embarrassment on his face. cheeks dusted slightly pink, he says,

─  "no problem."

author's note: IM DONE WITH EXAMSSS

[ourseasone]

CHAPTER 007 ✱ SOFT PLACES TO LAND

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You sat slouched at your desk, body folded in on itself like a crumpled paper crane. Your arms were crossed in front of you, one cushioning your head, the other limp and lifeless across the table. Your face was mostly hidden, buried in the crook of your right arm, only the edge of your cheek visible beneath the soft fall of your dark hair. Your fingers didn’t twitch. Your breathing was shallow and slow. To anyone else in the classroom, you looked like just another overworked student catching a nap before the mock test — maybe recovering from a night of cramming or an early wake-up. Just another teen in survival mode.

But you weren’t asleep. Not even close.

You were exhausted, yes — physically, emotionally, spiritually, in every possible way — but sleep had stopped coming easily. These days, you lived in a constant fog of fatigue. Still, the heaviness in your limbs wasn’t what kept you rooted in place.

You were hiding.

Not from everyone, just from one person.

For the past ten minutes, you’d been doing everything in your power to avoid Suho’s eyes. It wasn’t easy. Suho was sitting just one desk away for the upcoming mock test — to your right, close enough that he could probably feel the heat of your stare if you weren’t actively trying to melt into the desk. Since the moment you walked into the classroom (late again, like often) Suho’s gaze had locked onto you and refused to let go.

You had felt it before you even looked up; that shift in the air when someone notices you a second too soon. Suho had been hunched over his notes, chewing on the end of his pen like always, when he wasn’t sleeping, but as soon as you stepped through the door, that pen had stopped moving. His posture straightened. His brow furrowed. His eyes followed every sluggish step you took as you shuffled to your assigned seat — shoes barely lifted off the floor, your backpack hanging open, a zipper dangling like a loose thread. You’d slumped into your chair without a word and dropped your head onto the desk, too tired to explain yourself. And from that moment on, Suho hadn’t looked away.

It was starting to drive you insane.

You knew that look. Knew it too damn well. You could practically hear the question already forming in Suho’s head. The kind of question he always asked when he was worried sick — soft, careful, but pointed. The kind you couldn’t dodge once it left his mouth. You’d been on the receiving end of it too many times before.

And you already knew what you’d say in response.

You’d lie.

That was the part that made your stomach twist — not Suho’s concern, not even the confrontation. It was the lie you had already rehearsed, sitting on the tip of your tongue like a bitter pill. It was the only way to protect you both from the truth. Because if you looked Suho in the eye, if you let him ask what was wrong, if you let yourself say even a fraction of what you really felt — everything would fall apart.

So you stayed frozen. Silent. Back hunched like you were trying to shrink into invisibility. You focused instead on the soft, chaotic murmur of the classroom — the rustle of notebook pages, the rhythmic scratching of pens against paper, the occasional cough or whispered comment. Anything to delay that inevitable moment when Suho’s voice would break through and force you back into reality.

The truth was, you hadn’t even meant to come to school that morning.

The night before, you had gone to the columbarium — something you hadn’t done in months, or maybe years. You’d gone there on impulse, with no plan, just a tightness in your chest that wouldn’t go away. And for the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself fall apart — until there was nothing left to hold back. And when the wave finally passed, you didn’t get up right away. You just sat there, head resting against the wall, eyes closed.

You weren’t sure if you’d fallen asleep or just drifted somewhere in between. The hours blurred. In that space — between the living and the dead — time lost its shape.

But in the stillness, something shifted.

You didn’t feel okay. You didn’t feel better. But you felt… quieter. Like some small part of the storm inside you had finally run out of energy. You weren’t happy. Not even close. But you felt peace — a fragile, fleeting kind that rested lightly on your chest, like a feather balanced on a bruise.

Eventually, you got up. Slowly and numbly. You made a stop at the pharmacy on the way home — picked up the meds your doctor had prescribed, the ones meant to buy you time, to stretch your life just a little further. The irony of it all wasn’t lost on you. Seventeen, carrying a box of pills meant to delay the inevitable. The box weighed almost nothing.

But in your hands, it felt like the heaviest thing you’d ever held.

You got home after midnight. Your mind was blank, pockets empty, soul running on fumes. Sleep didn’t come until sometime around four, and even then, it wasn’t real rest, just unconsciousness winning over exhaustion.

And now, you were here.

Back in your seat. In this too-bright classroom. With Suho sitting beside you, silent but watchful, waiting for a moment to ask the question you didn’t want to answer.

A sharp noise broke through your thoughts.

“Ow—!”

It was Suho’s voice.

Your head snapped up, heart skipping — reflexes immediately jumping to worst-case scenarios. Was he hurt? Did he trip? Fall? But no. Suho was right there, in his seat, completely fine, a stupid grin tugging at his mouth. His eyebrows arched like he was pretending to be offended.

You stared at him, unimpressed. “Seriously?”

Suho gave a mock-innocent shrug, still smirking. “What? You looked like you were gonna pass out. I had to get your attention somehow.”

“You scared the shit out of me.”

“Mission accomplished,” he leaned back in his chair, stretching lazily. “I’m hungry. Wanna ditch and grab something?”

It was so casual, so normal — so Suho — that you couldn’t help the flicker of warmth that passed through your chest. Even when things were tense, even when you were a mess of tangled thoughts and invisible pain, Suho had a way of pulling you out — not with confrontation, but with his own simple and stupid familiarity.

You didn’t respond right away. You let your eyes wander instead, sweeping across the room. Most of the students were nose-deep in textbooks, flipping pages like their lives depended on it. Some scribbled notes frantically. Others stared blankly, clearly seconds from panic. The air was thick with pre-test anxiety.

You gave a small, wordless nod, then pushed your chair back. It scraped softly against the floor.

“Alright,” you muttered. “Let’s go.”

Suho hopped to his feet behind you, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his uniform trousers. His steps were slow and easy, matching your pace without comment. No one in the classroom spared you more than a glance — too preoccupied with memorizing formulas and definitions to care.

As you walked toward the door, your gaze flicked across the room one last time.

And then you finally noticed him. Sieun.

There he was, hunched over his desk like usual, earbuds in, lips moving silently — probably reciting formulas under his breath. Completely oblivious to the world around him. Focused. Isolated. Untouchable. Your eyes lingered a moment longer than necessary. Just long enough to feel something tug inside your chest — curiosity, maybe.

Or something else you didn’t want to name.

Then you looked away. And walked out the door.

“So,” Suho says, holding out a strawberry milk carton toward you. “You gonna tell me what’s up, or do I have to keep pretending this is just some mysterious new skincare routine you’re on?”

You lift an eyebrow, pulling one hand lazily from your pocket to accept the drink. You don’t say anything at first — just shift slightly, your back pressed against the sun-warmed windowsill lining the school hallway. The window behind you is cracked open, letting in a soft breeze that plays with your hair and offers a little relief from the thick, sluggish heat of the afternoon.

“Cause I gotta be honest,” Suho continues, narrowing his eyes. “The whole dead-eyed and pale look doesn’t exactly scream ‘glow-up’, man. You sure you’re okay?”

“Wow,” you reply with an amused smile, your lips forming an exaggerated pout. “I feel so supported. Truly, your concern touches my soul.”

Suho rolls his eyes, stepping in beside you. He leans back against the windowsill too, mirroring your posture — banana milk in one hand, the other jammed deep into the pocket of his school uniform, as if he can bury his concern there and pretend it’s not bubbling just beneath the surface.

“Seriously, though. You good?”

Ah. There it is.

The conversation you knew was coming.

You glance down at the carton in your hand, fingers toying with the plastic straw still tucked under the flap. You don’t respond immediately. Instead, you pierce the top of the carton in one slow, precise movement, the faint pop breaking the hush that had settled around you.

“Well…” you say eventually, not quite looking at Suho. “Define ‘good’.”

Playing dumb is easier than being honest.

“Not answering your phone for an entire damn day. Missing school. Looking like you just woke up from a coma. That kinda not-good.”

“I was just tired,” you say, half-shrugging.

“Uh-huh,” Suho says, nudging you lightly with his shoulder. “Tired like… ‘slept for fourteen hours’ kind of way, or tired in a ‘my soul is being slowly siphoned by a thousand invisible hands’ kind of way?”

“Oh my god,” you laugh, finally taking a sip of the strawberry milk, a teasing smile curling at the corner of your lips. “I missed one day and now you start diagnosing me like some kind of doctor.”

You chuckle, shaking your head, and Suho leans back with a grin that falters just slightly — just enough that the worry behind it peeks through.

“But seriously,” he says, quieter this time. “You never skip school. You remember last year? You had a fever so high you were hallucinating, and you still dragged yourself in for finals. Dude, you coughed blood onto your desk.”

You wince, the memory coming back in a blurry, uncomfortable flash. You had honestly forgotten about that day — or maybe just pushed it out of your mind. But now that it’s brought up, it unsettles you. Back then, it had been brushed off as a bad flu. But knowing what you know now… maybe it was the tumor. It didn’t just appear overnight. That thing had probably been growing inside you for years, whispering quietly until it found the strength to scream.

“That was… one time,” you mutter, brushing it off.

“Yeah. One traumatizing time,” Suho counters. He steps forward a bit, turning so he can face you fully. “You looked me dead in the eye and said—what was it? Oh right: ‘If I die, clear my browser history,’ and then you just passed out.”

You cover your mouth with the back of your hand, laughing harder now, despite yourself. “Okay. That was kinda iconic.”

“So yeah, forgive me for panicking a little when you disappear off the face of the earth and don’t even send a ‘still alive, chill’ text. I had to eat lunch by myself like a sad little orphan,” Suho said, clearly trying to keep the mood light but failing to hide the undercurrent of genuine concern.

“You could’ve sat with someone else,” you say, not looking at him.

Suho gasps. “So that’s it? One missed lunch and you’re ready to hand me over to the highest bidder? What are we, casual acquaintances now?”

“Oh my god, you’re so dramatic.”

You chuckle lightly, finally taking a long sip of your strawberry milk, the refreshing sweet taste doing you good. A comfortable silence settles between you, only disturbed by the gentle breeze flowing through the slightly open window, softly making the leaves of the trees outside dance.

Honestly, you expected Suho to bombard you with questions, but instead, he’s acting like a dramatic kid exaggerating just to get your attention. And deep down, you prefer that. Better to have a Suho who’s a bit too worried than to be caught in an interrogation you know you wouldn’t know how to answer or how to avoid lying — which you hate more than anything, especially with your best friend.

“No, seriously though,” Suho finally breaks the silence, his tone more serious. “You okay?”

Ah, damn. You had jumped the gun.

“I told you,” you say, not quite meeting Suho’s eyes. “I’m just tired. Exams are starting to get to me, I guess.”

Suho gives you a look so unconvinced, so flatly unimpressed, it could’ve made a stone feel judged. His eyebrows arch with theatrical disapproval, lips twisted into the kind of skeptical smirk that says, Really? That’s your story?

“Yeah… nah,” he says slowly, drawing out the syllables like he’s giving your excuse time to reverse itself. “Try again.”

You raise an eyebrow, playing dumb. “What?”

“You don’t get stressed about exams,” Suho replies, drawing a long, obnoxious sip from his banana milk. The slurping noise echoes down the empty school hallway like an insult. “You laugh at people who stress about exams. You once got a zero on a practice test and said, and I quote, ‘grades are just capitalism in disguise’.”

“People change, I’ve matured,” you deadpan. “I’m embracing my inner nerd.”

“Bullshit.”

And it is bullshit. You know it. Suho knows it. The walls probably know it.

So you don’t argue, because… well, what is there to argue with? Suho has you dead to rights. You never cared about school pressure, never lost sleep over grades or deadlines. Your entire philosophy has always been infuriatingly chill; study enough to pass, don’t sweat the rest. If you failed? So be it. The sun would rise, the earth would keep spinning, and life would roll on regardless. School was just a stage set, not the whole damn play.

It’s ironic — using exams as a cover now. Of all things, you’ve picked a lie that’s completely out of character.

Your eyes flick sideways, watching as Suho tosses his empty milk carton into the hallway trash bin with an underhanded flick. He then climbs onto the windowsill beside you with a quiet sigh, resting his elbows on his knees as you both look out across the deserted corridor. Rows of lockers stretch out like sentinels, bathed in afternoon light that filters in golden through the tall windows.

For a while, neither of you say anything. The quiet between you isn’t uncomfortable — just weighted. Like the kind that comes after a joke has landed flat, but neither of you wants to be the one to say why.

“Look,” Suho finally says, his voice softer now. There’s a subtle shift in tone — less teasing, more deliberate. “I’m not here to push or interrogate you. But you’ve been… off lately. Not just tired. Distant. Fuzzy. Like your brain’s here, but the rest of you’s somewhere else.”

You don’t answer. You just take another slow sip of your milk, your gaze fixed somewhere on the ground between you, as if there’s something fascinating about the floor tiles.

“And I know when you’re lying,” Suho adds, gentler this time. “So don’t give me that ‘exam stress’ line again. I’m not buying it, man.”

“It’s not a big deal,” you whisper, more to convince yourself than to reassure Suho.

“Okay,” Suho says with a small nod. “If you say so.”

The silence that returns this time feels heavier. Not sharp — just full. Like the space between you has grown thick with all the unsaid things you don’t know how to voice, and all the things Suho doesn’t want to force out of you.

You’ve finished your milk, but your fingers keep fiddling with the empty carton, squeezing it in slow, uneven pulses like it’s some kind of tether keeping you grounded. Your eyes stay on it, refusing to meet Suho’s gaze. Because you’re not sure what will happen if you do. You don’t know if you have the strength to look your best friend in the eyes and still pretend nothing is wrong.

“I’m not here to force anything out of you. I just…” Suho pauses, his words hanging in the air like he’s searching for the least intrusive way to say them. “You don’t have to fake it with me, alright? I know you too well for that. If something’s going on, you don’t have to carry it alone.”

Your posture shifts slightly. Not much. Just enough that your head dips, like the weight on your neck has quietly doubled. You’re still staring at the floor, unmoving except for the slow turn of the straw in your fingers.

“I…” Your voice is hoarse, stuck. “It’s just… hard to explain.”

“Then don’t,” Suho shrugs like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “You don’t have to explain anything. Just say you’re not ready to talk. I can handle that. I just can’t handle you lying to me.”

His voice is calm, steady, yet full of genuine warmth. He gently places his left hand on your right shoulder and gives it a light squeeze — not too hard, just enough to remind you he’s there, physically and emotionally.

“But don’t shut me out. Please.”

And you finally look up. Slowly. Your eyes meet his, and for a moment, time pauses.

Suho’s gaze holds nothing but warmth. No judgment, no demand for an answer, no resentment for being left in the dark. Just steady presence. Compassion, plain and uncluttered. The kind of look that says, You don’t have to fall apart, but if you do — I’ll be there to catch you.

And god, it kills you.

Because you know you could tell him now. You could let it all out, right there in that hallway flooded with grey light, and the burden would no longer be yours alone to bear. You could say the words — brain tumor, MRI, pain that doesn’t go away — you could say it and stop carrying this terrible secret alone. You could hand over the weight, even just a little, and Suho would take it without flinching. You know he would.

But at what cost?

If you say it, it would no longer be your personal hell. It would be yours and his. It would become real for both of you. Not just something you could half-ignore in the quiet of the night. It would stain Suho’s world too. That ever-present shadow would spread. And you can’t do that. You refuse to infect Suho with this. To give him that kind of pain.

It would be selfish of you. Unfair. Unbearable.

“I’m here, man. You know that, right?”

You look away again, the lump in your throat growing. You stare down at your crushed milk carton like it might offer you a way out. You twirl the straw between your fingers, clinging to it like it’s the last fragile thread holding you together.

“Yeah,” you whisper eventually. “I know.”

“Really?” Suho asks quietly. “Because I mean it. I’m not just here for the good days. I’m the 3AM breakdown, bad-haircut, cry-on-my-hoodie type of friend. No expiry date.”

“I’d never cry into your hoodie,” you mutter, managing the smallest smile. “It smells like cheap cologne and gym socks.”

“Okay, rude,” Suho nudges you gently, mock-offended. “First of all, that’s a limited edition body spray. Second, I only sweat because I carry this friendship on my back.”

“Oh my God.”

“Don’t ‘Oh my God’ me, I’m being emotionally available.”

And this time, a real laugh escapes from your throat — clear and genuine, echoing down the silent corridor. A precious sound. The kind of thing you don’t realize you’ve missed until it returns. Suho’s smile widens at the sound.

Mission semi-accomplished.

“Anyway,” Suho says, straightening up as he hops down from the windowsill. “Just so you know. I’m here whenever you’re ready—tomorrow, next year, or like… when we’re both old and bald and yelling at pigeons in a park somewhere. Doesn’t matter. I’ll wait. Just… me. You. Strawberry milk. Whatever you need.”

Naturally, your arm finds its way around Suho’s shoulders. “You trying to make me cry in the school hallway or what?”

“Honestly?” Suho replies, mock-thoughtful. “A few tears would spice up this boring day. Bring the drama.”

“You’re so annoying.”

You give him a shove, but it’s half-hearted. Suho leans into it like it’s nothing. The two of you start walking slowly down the corridor, unbothered by the lingering bell that had rung some time ago. Your arm still draped over Suho’s shoulders. Suho’s hands stuffed into his pockets like he has all the time in the world.

“Thanks,” you say again, quieter this time. “Really.”

“You know I got you.”

“Love you, man,” you say with a crooked smile, pulling Suho a little closer. “No homo.”

“Oh, shut your entire face,” Suho groans, rolling his eyes. “You just ruined the whole heartfelt moment. I was building something beautiful there.”

“Nah,” you reply with a teasing smirk. “I upgraded it. Who needs therapy when you’ve got sarcasm and a mildly concerned best friend?”

“Mildly?” Suho stops for half a second to give you an outraged look. “I’m worried at, like, medium-well at this point. Almost fully cooked.”

“Fine, fine. Thanks, for real. You’re the best.”

“Yeah yeah,” Suho mutters, though he can’t hide the small satisfied smile on his face. “Now let’s go before I get emotional and start writing you a poem or some shit.”

You burst out laughing, loud enough to echo off the hallway walls. And for the first time in what feels like an eternity, something inside you — something clenched tight — begins to slowly, quietly unfurl.

You take your time walking back to class, two silhouettes moving slowly down the sunlit hallway, as if there’s no rush. Because in that exact moment, there really isn’t.

previous masterlist next

note ∘ ∘ ∘ hiii *i say seductively to distract you from the fact it took me 20 whole days to finish this chapter* i missed you guys so much actually ( ;' - ';) this chapter was originally supposed to be way longer [like over 7,000 words] BUT i ended up deciding to split it into two parts! it's just easier for me that way and the good news is, now i can post two chapters in a short amount of time hehe <3 so i hope that works for you guys too!

taglist ∘ ∘ ∘ @suunani @naelvze @ecrvea @eijizwrld @dudekiss3r @ten0rikuma @nnryota @yeon103 @reiyaus @strawberrywith-chocolate2 @daichiwkmi @jaymiwrld @nightshadelover12 @edensparadisee @heeknow @mazettns @academiq @iluvkyo @cinnabells @deftonro @carnalcrows @wingoodlilboymyway @marsredbrrr @energydrinkstastegood @aeilani @prettywhenicry4 @starrykie @pedifero @d4ily-s-nsh1ne @starsarehere @satansdaughter123 @reveluvie-12 @ant-onie @killerd1 @xkskkskwl @dumbisme @lveegsoi @wwwritererm @nxxav3rs3 @onigiri-miyas @kamiliora @alex--awesome--22 @b0orf @fionaapplelover2010 @jhxyyum @miellette (let me know if you wanna be added!)

[speedywizardland]

I LOVE UR FICS

could you do a seong je x reader (they hate each other) where reader is all goody goody in school but one day seong je sees her smoking in a park late at night which he would never have expected.

Title: "Ashes in the Rain"

Pairing: Geum Seong Je x Reader

Geum Seong Je never liked you.

Too bright. Too good. Too fake.

You were always the type to help teachers carry books, to tutor struggling classmates without asking for anything back. The model student. The “nice girl.”

And Seong Je? He was everything you weren’t. Fist fights. Detention. A storm in human form.

You didn’t like him either. How could you? He walked around like he owned the hallways, like he was just waiting for someone to test him. And most people were too scared to try.

So it worked out. You stayed on your side of the moral spectrum, and he stayed on his. You were enemies—not because of any real incident, but because you simply couldn’t exist peacefully in the same room. Oil and water.

Until that day.

The rain was falling hard outside the school gates. Everyone else had gone home, the clouds chasing them into their warm apartments. You stayed behind to finish cleaning duty. The lights in the hallway flickered as you stepped outside, hugging your thin cardigan tighter around your body.

You thought you were alone.

That’s when he saw you.

Seong Je had been leaning against the side wall near the back of the school, hoodie over his head, smoke curling from his lips like a whisper. He’d just lit his third cigarette when he caught a flicker of movement. His eyes narrowed.

You were there.

Under the gray sky, hair damp, your back to him. One hand raised to your lips.

A silver lighter clicked open. Flame flared.

Seong Je froze.

You… were smoking?

He watched as you took a long drag and exhaled, the smoke mingling with the misty rain. Your face looked calm. Too calm. Like you’d done this before. Like it wasn’t a mistake but a routine.

The "good girl" mask slipped. And he saw you for the first time.

You turned around slowly, feeling someone’s eyes on you. When you saw him, your hand jerked slightly—but you didn’t drop the cigarette.

"...What do you want?" you asked, voice flat. Cold. Not like the version of you the rest of the world knew.

He didn’t answer. Just stared.

You sighed and looked away. “Go ahead. Tell the teachers. Won’t be the first time someone’s disappointed in me.”

He walked toward you, slow and deliberate. The rain made soft tapping sounds against his hood.

“You smoke,” he said, like it was a crime.

You laughed—dry, sharp. “And you punch people. We all have our coping mechanisms.”

He tilted his head, eyes scanning your face for a lie. “Why hide it?”

“Why not?” You flicked the ash off the tip, staring at it as it burned low. “It’s easier to let people think you’re perfect. Makes it easier to be alone.”

That caught him off guard. For a moment, the air between you wasn't about who was good or bad. It was just two broken people trying to breathe.

You turned your back again. “If you're gonna judge, get in line.”

But he didn’t. He leaned next to you, pulled out his own pack. You didn’t stop him when he lit one. The silence stretched between you like a thin thread.

Then, unexpectedly, he said, “You’re not what I thought.”

You smiled bitterly. “Neither are you.”

Maybe enemies wasn’t the right word after all.

Maybe it was just a misunderstanding waiting to unravel.

Hope you enjoy reading, like I enjoy writing this :)

[juliettejwnewinesa]

hihi! I love ur fics so much can I request a suho fic? like a one-sided suho x si-eun? Y/N is si-euns older sister by a year and suho likes her while si-eun likes suho and the night that he wants to tell suho his feelings, he catches suho and Y/N together making out. Can there be like slight smut of suho and Y/N when they hang out with the friendgroup, beomseok there aswell. but suho always loved Y/N, when he first came to si-euns house for water after dropping of the wrong delivery and he saw Y/N walk past? and si-eun tries to win over suho out of jealousy but fails very badly. so it’s basically like heartbreak, onesided relationship, small smut and drama kindaa. whenever u have time to do this and if u do tysmmmmm I would appreciate it a lot since im not good at writing😣

It started with a delivery.

Suho had the wrong address. He stood outside the door with the box of drinks and snacks, irritation prickling his skin under the summer heat. It was Beomseok's idea to order food and chill together, but of course, the app had bugged out, and now Suho was here, sweating.

He rang the doorbell of the unfamiliar house. And then he saw her.

Y/N. She walked past the open hallway in shorts and an oversized tee, phone in hand, headphones over her ears. She didn’t look his way. Didn’t even know he existed. But Suho forgot to breathe.

It was the first time he felt it—that punch of quiet, stunned want.

A girl who didn’t look at him like a threat. A girl who looked like music.

And from that moment on, she was all he ever noticed.

Suho and Si-eun became friends a few months later, bonding over silent lunches and shared bruises. Suho liked his quiet, his steadiness. Si-eun thought Suho was the only one who didn’t expect anything from him.

But Suho kept coming over more often. At first, it was for water, then for homework, then just to hang out. And Y/N was always there, somewhere in the background. Laughing on the phone, cooking in the kitchen, legs tucked under her on the couch.

Suho watched her like a prayer.

Si-eun noticed.

At first, he ignored it. Then denied it. Then hated it.

Because somewhere along the way, Si-eun had started to feel something too. Something heavy in his chest when Suho smiled, when Suho sat too close. And then it wasn't just jealousy anymore. It was longing. Raw and awful.

-

Beomseok invited everyone over to his place. A rare night without adult supervision.

Y/N came too. "Why not?" she said, shrugging on a hoodie over her tank top. "Free snacks."

Si-eun sat with Beomseok and the others in the living room, watching Suho with sharp eyes. Suho wasn’t drinking. Neither was Y/N. But they kept disappearing.

So Si-eun got up. Quietly. Slipped down the hallway and stopped at the half-open bedroom door.

There they were.

Suho's back was against the wall, his hands curled around Y/N’s waist as she straddled him, knees on either side of his thighs. His lips were on her neck. Her fingers were in his hair. Soft, breathy gasps filled the air between them.

“You’re driving me insane,” Suho whispered.

“Good,” Y/N murmured, dragging her hips against his. “You make it hard to behave too.”

Si-eun turned away before he could throw up.

The days after were worse.

Suho didn’t act different. Still laughed with Si-eun. Still ate lunch with him. But now Si-eun knew. Knew every touch meant nothing. Knew Suho’s eyes were only searching the halls for someone else.

Y/N didn’t even seem to know the damage she’d done. Or maybe she did. She’d always been oblivious. Or cruel.

Si-eun tried to change. Started dressing better. Started copying her laugh. Her walk. Once, he touched Suho’s hand too long during a card game. Suho blinked.

Then pulled away.

It was raining the night Si-eun saw them together again.

He stood by the window, lights off, pretending to study. Outside, Y/N stood by the gate. Suho was in front of her, soaked to the skin, hair dripping.

They were fighting. No—talking. Close.

And then she cupped his face and pulled him in.

Si-eun closed his eyes when their lips met.

He imagined it was him. Just for a second. But when he opened them again, they were still there. Real.

Y/N. His sister.

Suho. The boy he thought he could love.

Together in the rain.

He never stood a chance.

[myraniellejkelly]

WHC Boys and reader reacting their child’s first word

Content includes: entirely fluff but a bit of angst and swearing, a little Korean basic vocabulary words, the reader and WHC boys’ kid is named Haechan, used neutral pronouns in description while used she/he in speech text, when referring to Haechan.

── .✦·········──────────────────

𝒴𝑒𝑜𝓃 𝒮𝒾-𝑒𝓊𝓃

In most scenarios, you were always playing around Haechan more, while the same old Sieun has always been acting as his teenage self who now came back doing work on his laptop, typing the paper work.

“Appa is busy, Haechan,” you said, while placing wooden blocks. “Haechan.”

As they turn their head and tilted in confusion as they look down on the wooden blocks written: Omma. You pointed yourself with a big smile on them and said, “Haechan, it’s me, omma, say, ‘Omma,’ sweetie.”

They suck their thumb while you sigh in gently moving their thumb off from sucking, “Haechan, say omma, sweetie,” as you tell them slowly, “omma.”

All they respond was a babble and baby giggles while you felt it in defeat, Haechan has their little hands reaching towards your husband. As they were happily giggling in crawling on the floor, then they slowly trying to get up with little steps. While you pout in watching them coming towards Sieun.

“Honey! Honey!” you shouted.

But Sieun was too busy in looking at papers, then Haechan falls off but was held onto Sieun’s lap. Then he turn to them as their hands reach for him.

“Haechan, what are you doing? Eh? Should’ve you be with omma?” he said, seeing them getting so jumpy around. “Sorry, sweet pea, appa is busy.”

“Ap…” Haechan is saying something while they babbled their words. “Ap… pa… pa… Appa! Appa!”

You and Sieun were genuinely surprised as he dropped his pencil from the table, “Haechan? What did you say?” he asks, carrying them gently to his arm.

“Appa! Appa! Appa!” they giggled.

You come around and crossed your arms in pout, “No fair.”

“Omma!”

You clapped in excitement as you smile, “Okay, Omma is the second.”

Then Sieun slowly smiles with tiring eyes as he look at them in adore, “Omma? Appa?”

“Omma! Appa!” they giggled happily in reaching their arms up high.

You and Sieun laughed happily in hearing their first word.

── .✦·········──────────────────

𝒜𝒽𝓃 𝒮𝓊-𝒽𝑜

“Haechan! Say, ‘Appa,’” as he pointed at himself, but then you shove him off to the side.

“Sweetie, it’s me, say, ‘Omma,’” you said.

You and Suho were having a competition on who gets to have Haechan’s first word: Omma or Appa.

Haechan were looking at you two one by one, then they said, “…do… do…”

“Come on!” you both cheered for them.

“Don’t cross the line!”

You two quickly went silent for a moment and looked at each other, “Don’t cross the line?” you asks him.

“Oh… I guess they got it from when I was talking to someone while I was driving in the car but…” he turns to you with a smirk, “…it still count that I said it that means I’m the first.”

“Stop changing the game, Suho!”

“Don’t cross the line! Don’t cross the line! The line! Line, line, line, line!”

You both stop arguing as you scoff with a smile as you rest towards his shoulder and said, “I guess Haechan took it after you, little Suho.”

Suho laughed in grabbing him gently as Haechan giggled with a big smile on their face.

── .✦·········──────────────────

𝒪𝒽 𝐵𝑒𝑜𝓂-𝓈𝑒𝑜𝓀

It was just him while you were at work, so now he is staying in taking care over Haechan. He was sitting down on the floor while they were walking around, Beomseok must’ve been feeling tired over them crying all over the place since they missed you.

He takes a deep breath and smiled as he saw them reaching for him, so Beomseok gently carried them. As he only watch their hands pointing as a way of understanding nonverbally, that they wanna go to the family picture. “You wanna go the family photo, hm?”

Haechan giggled with a big smile as he smiled back, “Okay, okay, okay,” as he come to the family picture that was up on the wall. Then he look at their hands pointing at him in the photo, “Oh, that’s me, it’s appa and here right next to you is omma.”

All he could see was their hands reaching for you on the picture, “Om… om…”

Beomseok immediately turn to them in shock, knowing their first word is—

“Omma! Omma!”

“Haechan… can you say that again?”

“Omma! Omma!”

He quickly smiles and laughed happily, “My baby’s first word!” as Haechan giggled and babbling, while Beomseok was proud of them. “Oh… I wish your omma could hear this.”

Beomseok sat down at dinner table as Haechan sat down on his lap, while he take out his phone and FaceTime as you were waving at the camera, “Beomseok! Hi, Haechan!”

“Honey! Haechan just said (her/his) first word!”

“What?!” you quietly freak out while being at work.

“Haechan, do you want to show to omma what you said?”

Haechan look at the camera and said, “Omma!”

“Haechan!” you quietly laugh and proud, “you miss me?”

They giggled as Beomseok held their little hands and move it around, “(she/he) really miss you,” he said.

“Aww, I’ll be there soon, bye! Bye!”

“Haechan say bye! Bye!”

All they do was babble and giggled.

As you hang up, leaving Beomseok smiling at them.

“When will you ever say, ‘Appa?’”

“Appa!”

He laughed happily, “There it is! My little angel!”

── .✦·········──────────────────

𝐵𝒶𝓀𝓊 | 𝒫𝒶𝓇𝓀 𝐻𝓊-𝓂𝒾𝓃

“Bleh! Bleh! Bleh!” Baku said.

“Bleh! Bleh! Bleh!” Haechan repeated.

“That’s not a first word, Baku,” you slightly complain while watching their fun time with each other.

“Oh come on! Babe!” he said, carrying them. “(She’s/he’s) still like a few months old, you can’t just let (her/him) speak immediately. Baby steps right? I mean (she/he) already got (her/him) first footsteps, it takes time.”

You sigh and smiled down at your baby, “Since when did you become so proper and responsible?”

“Hon, I’m always come prepared before we have (her/him). I just want (her/him) to look at me and remember my face because (she’ll/he’ll) be my little (boy/girl) no matter what.”

“Right, by the time our child grows up, (she’ll/he’ll) stay as appa’s little (boy/girl) for few years, and what am I, Humin?”

“Y/N, seriously, (she’ll/he’ll) always love us equally like always,” he said, trying to make you understand, “what am I without you? Just stop being so negative, you know Haechan never liked (her/his) omma to be this grumpy all the time.”

“Omma!”

You both turned to your guys’ child as you both were surprise, “Did… did (she/he) just…?”

You were laughing happily and proud as you took Haechan away from your husband, “Haechan, did you just say, ‘Omma?’”

Haechan has their hands up and giggled.

“Did you love omma?”

“Omma!”

You laughed again while Baku laughs along, “See I told you, (she/he) needed you.”

“Omma! Ap… Appa… a chickie!”

You were confused and asks, “Appa, a chickie?”

“Oh… that… Haechan must’ve been watching me dancing or heard me singing to a chicken song.”

You laughed again and even Haechan laughed along.

“Seriously? You’re embarrassing our (daughter/son), Humin!” you laugh again and again.

“Well, I’m just the chicken dad, like what? Is my chicken outfit and dancing not funny enough for you to laugh with our little kiddo, watching me.”

“Humin, stop you’re letting me drop Haechan in accident, stop it!”

“That’s the Y/N, I’m hoping for, Haechan really take it after you, you know?”

“Stop it! Now, you’re making me feel flustered.”

He laughed, “I know.”

── .✦·········──────────────────

𝒢𝑜 𝐻𝓎𝓊𝓃-𝓉𝒶𝓀

“Appa, omma,” Gotak said, gently holding their hands and clap.

“Ap…”

Gotak was ready for it but then—

“Bleh! Bleh! Bleh!” they giggled and clap their hands.

“Haechan, you sneaky little…” he stop and sigh, then you come around with a smile.

“Darling, what are you doing to our little sweet pea?”

“Well, I’m trying to make Haechan in having (her/his) first word and all (she/he) does was trick me when (she/he) almost said, ‘Omma’ or ‘Appa.’ I can’t believe (she/he) got your mischief.”

You laughed and sat down on the floor beside your husband, “Haechan, are you having a hard time with appa?” then you saw them getting up and walked to you. While Gotak pout and watches Haechan having a deep connect with you more than he does.

They were giggling and even you giggled back.

“He… hi…”

“Hyuntak, look our baby is about to have (her/his) first word.”

“Haechan, don’t you even dea—”

“Hiyyah! Hiyyah!”

Gotak was surprised while you stayed confused, “Oh ho, ho, ho! Did Haechan just remembered me doing taekwondo just a week ago?” he slowly smile.

“Appa! Appa! Fight! Fight!”

You turn to him with a glare, “Did you got into a fight again?”

“What?! No! Haechan always love watching me doing all those kicks in the backyard.”

You scoffed and smiled as you laughed, “God, you’re embarrassing.”

“Hey, it was my training!”

“Yeah, yeah, Karate dad.”

── .✦·········──────────────────

𝒮𝑒𝑜 𝒥𝓊𝓃-𝓉𝒶𝑒

It seems obvious that all he wanted was for Haechan to say, ‘Appa’ first. You didn’t really want to get so involved and had little of time with them, but as you know you want Juntae to feel like bestest that your child could ever had. He even gave what they wanted but sometimes Haechan is a bit of turning their head around.

And when that moment happened, it occurs to him that Haechan’s first word is not Appa, it’s—

“Omma! Omma!”

He was heartbroken.

“Honey? Honey! Juntae! Juntae!”

Juntae suddenly cries as you quickly hug him and caressed his back, while your guy’s child was sitting down in their crib, chewing their toy.

“How come (she/he) gets to call you first! Not me!”

You quietly shush him, “It’s not your fault, Haechan really loves you but (she’s/he’s) tired of being treated in a way.”

“I’m such a terrible father,” he cried.

“Juntae, you’re not, honey,” you said, “you’re more than this.”

Then suddenly you heard Haechan crying and reach their hands to Juntae, “Ap… Ap… Appa! Appa!” they cried. “Appa! Appa!”

Juntae move as he wipe his tears off and notice them crying, then carried them as he shed a tear when they touched his face.

“H-Haechan…” he cried and hugged them, “my precious baby, appa forgives you!”

You sigh and began group hugging your husband and child together.

── .✦·········──────────────────

𝒥𝑒𝑜𝓃 𝒴𝑒𝑜𝓃𝑔-𝒷𝒾𝓃

Haechan ran to Yeongbin, just wanting his attention but he’s not the type of basic dad. More so, he sucks at parenting when all he does was call you, and take care of the baby.

Clearly, he maybe that of a selfish person, but he really felt bad in not doing what he possibly can do for Haechan.

“Yeongbin!”

“What?!”

“Would you even care to take care of Haechan? What’s with you in not being the father!”

“Okay, jeez! I just… I’m just gonna call my fri—”

“Absolutely not! I’ve been taking care of Haechan everyday and you… you didn’t even bother watching (her/him) all day, have you decided to become a deadbeat dad (her/his) whole life?”

He scoffs and rolled his eyes, “I’m sorry…”

“We’ve been married for four years before we even had Haechan, you said, ‘I want you to be happy,’ that I told you that time of discussing about having a child, then where’s that happiness coming from?”

Yeongbin heavily sigh, “I’m sorry… I… you… you’re better at parenting more than I do, it seems fair that you act exactly how my omma was and what’s like raising me.”

“Just try act like the appa that (she/he) ever needs in (her/his) life, you don’t want to end Haechan becoming like you.”

“You’re right…”

As you hand him the baby, then Yeongbin carefully carried them as you walked away. He doesn’t know what to do rather looking at them in the eyes, for some time as he tried to be the father in raising Haechan.

Yeongbin seems to understand and eventually he smiled when Haechan eats their food, he laughed of course. “Appa is coming for an airplane!” as he play around with them as they giggled. “And another one! Plunk!”

Yeongbin sighs and heard them burping as he laughed, “It’s hard raising you and well… I never really know what’s like being your appa.”

“Ap…” they babbled.

“Your omma was right, I guess I almost became a deadbeat dad,” he said, while they smile with energetic.

“Ap… bleh… ap…”

“Hmm… looks like you’re saying something to me, are you—”

“Appa! Appa!” they giggled.

Yeongbin was genuinely surprised as he come closer to them, and shed a tear from his eyes as he laughed with joyful tears. He couldn’t forget those words coming from them. “Yes, it’s me…”

“Appa!”

He laugh through tears and carried them.

You immediately heard your child’s first word as you laughed happily and watch them, “He’s such a dork even when he pretty cries,” you murmur.

── .✦·········──────────────────

𝒦𝒶𝓃𝑔 𝒲𝑜𝑜-𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓃𝑔

He set up his phone on the holder and record it, Wooyoung just peace sign at the camera as well as Haechan copies his movement. He laughed, “Haechan!”

They giggled and gotten so jumpy off the seat, and he smiled back as he open hands with both of his hands. Haechan tried to slap his hand left and right while giggling with happiness.

“Wow, you’re strong.”

You walked by and asks, “Wooyoung, what are you doing?”

“Making a vlog video why?”

“You do know I don’t want Haechan to be on the media for this?”

“I’ll cut that part out,” he said by the camera. “Relax, honey bun, I’m aware of that and I���ll blur (her/his) face over this video, especially I’m gonna keep on cutting this part out too afterwards.”

You sigh and rolled your eyes, crossing your arms as Haechan babbled and turn around with hands up with a smile. “Haechan! How’s my baby doing? Is appa giving you a hard time?”

“Hey,” Wooyoung glares at you a little.

You come closer to him and whispered, “Seriously what vlog do you think you’re doing?”

“Uhh… baby vlog videos…”

“Seriously? Like any other vlog.”

“Oh come on, Y/N, why do you have to be so serious this is supposed to be a family vlog not a family drama vlog.”

“Look, I know, I know, but you’re making this like any other people in the media.”

“Oh, babe, the only thing I could make for, was you and Haechan, okay?”

You heavily sigh, “Okay… okay…”

You came and pretend for the vlog, Wooyoung absolutely playing around with Haechan while you hold his phone as he gently toss them up in the air.

“Wee!” said Wooyoung. “Y/N, did you capture the video.”

“Yes.”

As Haechan laughed while you looked concerned that what if… what if he—

“Ap… Appa!”

Wooyoung laughed for a moment but didn’t realized until now, as he quickly catch Haechan and you were running after when that happen as you saw your husband fall to the ground.

He caught them just in time and mutters, “God, I hadn’t been having a limp for years before that damn surgery.”

“Are you guys okay?”

They both turned to you as Haechan giggled with a smile, “Appa! Appa!”

Wooyoung laughed and get up as he pat their head,

“You love appa?”

“Appa! Appa! Appa!”

“Aww,” you said, capturing everything on camera of his phone.

── .✦·········──────────────────

𝒩𝒶 𝐵𝒶𝑒𝓀-𝒿𝒾𝓃

Haechan was sitting in front of Baekiin's door, you came by and said, “Sweetie, what are you doing, huh?”

They reach for the door as you turn and asks, “Your appa?”

They were still reaching for the door and they jumped, “Haechan, sorry dear, but appa is really busy with business he had to work for. How about you wanna play with omma?”

But they still wanna reach for the door.

“You miss appa?”

Haechan quickly smiles and slowly get up and pointed, you laughed happily as the door was unlocked. Haechan giggled come in while Baekjin was very busy at the moment, you slowly closed the door only leaving Baekjin inside of his office.

They come around as Baekjin noticed and saw his baby walking to him, “Ah, kid.”

Haechan smiled while Baekjin sighs, “You know I’m busy today,” he continues, but unlike Haechan, they really miss him. “Hmm? You wanna sit down on appa’s lap?”

Baekjin has a soft spot for his kid, even though he has no attention or had the time. He seems very much fond with kids who’s his own.

He carried them as Haechan sat on Baekjin’s lap as their little hands pointed at his work, Baekjin slowly smile. “Well, kid, this is appa’s work… I think I recall this as some serious business, along with umm…” he doesn’t want them to know of what’s like still working at an organization of the union. “With my colleagues.”

Then they pointed at the name, “Haechan, this is the union, that’s… my work…”

Haechan turned to him with a big smile, Baekjin was unfazed of what they’re about to do. “U… Un… Un… Ap… Ap…”

“Appa! U-Union!”

Suddenly his unfazed look broke as went from a genuinely surprise look, he was speechless while Haechan smiled as their little hands placed towards his face. “Appa! Union! Union!”

He smile of course, “You miss me?” as he gently hugged them.

“Appa! Appa!”

Baekjin laughed happily like he never felt before when he first met you, and now he has Haechan.

“Appa miss you too, Haechan.”

You were outside eavesdropping and that you laughed happily about what you heard, “Haechan’s first word.”

── .✦·········──────────────────

𝒢𝑒𝓊𝓂 𝒮𝑒𝑜𝓃𝑔-𝒿𝑒

“Say, ‘Appa,’” Seongje said, teaching Haechan to talk, “say, ‘Omma,’” but all he got was them giggling babbled as they stand up from their crib.

“Kid, come on, when will you gonna start talking like your old man, ay? Just repeat after me? Okay?”

Haechan giggled with a big smile as Seongje adjusted his glasses and sighs, “Forget it, I’ll still love you but you’re making me annoyed just how much you… you…” then he come sighing and instantly said a word in front of his kid. “Shibal…”

“Honey, what are you doing?” you said, as you open the door and saw what was the commotion.

“Shi… Shibal!”

You immediately made that expression from your face, and oh… Seongje knows that he fucked up…

“Geum Seongje… care to explain what did you learn Haechan a word like that?” you calmly said while the tone of your voice spoke lower.

He raise his hands up like he was caught, Seongje was for sure a little amuse but a little frightened by you. “H… Honey, it was an accident…”

“So? You’re the father, you would’ve gave an example for your (daughter/son)!”

“Why do you have to make it such a big deal, dear, I’m trying to make (her/he) say omma or appa, not this!”

“You’re always slurring your own words and you could’ve been this cautious, like what if… what if…” you said, glaring at him in disappointment.

“(She’s/he’s) not gonna remember that! (She’s/he’s) few months old, just give me a break.”

“Well, what if Haechan is gonna ask when (she’s/he’s) about eight years old, (she/he) would’ve ask what’s (her/his) first word?”

“Appa! Appa! Omma! Omma! Shibal! Shibal! Shibal!” they giggled.

He clenched his teeth while saying, “Not helping kid,” then Seongje spoke back to you. “Y/N, jeez, stop making such a big deal about this, we both know we’re gonna lie to our kid.”

“How so? (She’s/he’s) gonna cuss every 24/7 of my life in marriage with a man like you!”

Seongje gets overly exaggerated that the only thing he does was make a mockery and gesturing his hand all the way, “I’m sorry and I’m trying not to slip it off my words! When the love of my life is gonna tell me what to do about it! If only Haechan was there with you,” he spoke sarcastically.

You scoff in feeling offended, “So you call me ignorant is that so?”

“Yea—what?! No!”

“Oh, that’s it, you already have your time spending with your (daughter/son), no father-(daughter/son) time,” you said, carrying Haechan and walked away. “You ain’t having (her/him) for the rest of the week, it is me now who’s having the mother-(daughter/son) time. So off you go, go drink somewhere where you could lean onto.”

Seongje just stop you and begs you, “Y/N! Haechan needs me! Come on! Stop making things so complicated! Haechan needs (her/his) omma and appa.”

“Oh, I’m not taking her away, this is your damn punishment got that? You gonna repent on the littlest thing you did, and I hate that my own (daughter/son) is gonna stuck towards cussing out of the surface. You gonna face the consequences, just deal with only one week in not having (her/him), Seongje.”

“Are you hating me now?!”

“No, just disappointed that you’re learning things towards your (daughter/son)!”

“Oh come on!”

As you leave your husband while holding onto Haechan who giggled, “Appa! Appa! Shibal!”

Seongje scoffs and slowly pointed at himself, “Did (she/he) just…”

He stop talking but constantly screaming silently in the inside afterwards.

[parkjihoonswifey]

hi sweets! I was wondering if you’d be interested in writing something about watching weak hero with actor!boyfriend jihoon. maybe about you tearing up or crying bc of how sad jihoon’s acting as sieun made you feel and jihoon’s reaction 🥹🥹 orrr perhaps watching weak hero with junyoung (seongje’s actor) and acting scared of him/sulking bc of how good his acting as seongje was!! entirely up to you of course no pressure :)

A/N: Sorry for all my lies💔 I will do junyoung version too🙏🏾

Title: Not supposed to cry

Pairings: Actor! Park Jihoon x Actress/Actor! GN! Reader

Warnings: crying, mentions of blood

You didn’t think it would hit this hard.

You’d seen the memes, the edits, the Twitter breakdowns. Everyone had said Jihoon’s performance in Weak Hero  was gut-wrenching, Oscar-worthy, life-ruining. And you’d believed them—he was your boyfriend after all. You’d always known how much depth he carried behind that cute demeanor.

But actually watching it? It was something else entirely.

You sat curled under the blanket beside him on the couch, the laptop propped on your thighs. Jihoon had begged you to watch it with him—even though you’d delayed it for months because "I don't want to see you bruised and bleeding and emotionally traumatized, thanks.”

But tonight, he’d finally worn you down.

And now here you were, trembling like a leaf in a storm, hands pressed against your mouth as Yeon Si-eun lay crumpled and bloodied on the floor, struggling to breathe, eyes flickering with rage and helplessness.

Your throat burned.

Jihoon peeked over your shoulder, eating popcorn like this wasn’t devastating.

You sniffled once. Then again.

He glanced at you, his face smug. “Are you… are you crying?”

You didn’t answer.

You couldn’t.

Because now the scene had shifted, and Si-eun was trying to fight alone again. Taking punches with a blank face. Eyes glazed. His voice trembling when he spoke. It hurt your heart. Even if it was a character, you imagine it as your boyfriend.

You hated this. You hated it.

You curled tighter into yourself, and the first hot tear slipped down your cheek.

Jihoon paused the episode.

Your chest hiccupped. “Why did you do that?! I was watching.”

He turned toward you, looking scandalized. “You’re seriously crying over me?”

“I’m not crying over you, I’m crying over Si-eun!” you burst out, wiping at your face. “Oh my God, I hate this show. Who let you act like that?! Why are you like this?!”

Jihoon gave a long, dramatic sigh and flopped backwards into the couch cushions, head tilted back like a prince. “Wow… dating someone so good at acting really does things to a man’s ego.”

“I’m not acting!”

“Oh no, of course not,” he said, grabbing a tissue and daintily dabbing your cheeks with it like you were a Victorian maiden fainting in grief. “This is pure, raw emotion. I’m so flattered.”

You slapped his arm half-heartedly. “Shut up. I’m mad at you. You didn’t tell me it was this bad.”

He chuckled, the teasing slowly melting from his expression. “Hey. I warned you. I said it wasn’t easy to watch.”

“I thought you meant like intense action, not emotional trauma with a banger soundtrack!”

Jihoon smiled softly, brushing a tear away with his thumb. “You really got all worked up over Si-eun.”

Your lip wobbled. “He just… he reminds me of you. How you used to be before you got into acting. Always quiet. Always thinking more than you said. Always trying to fix things alone.”

Jihoon’s fingers stilled.

He didn’t say anything for a second, and you almost regretted saying it.

Then he exhaled slowly, pressing his forehead to yours. “You were the first person I didn’t want to push away. Even when I was still learning how to let people in.”

Your eyes welled up again, and you shoved your face into his chest. “Why are you making me cry again?! This is so mean!”

He laughed, wrapping his arms around you and tugging the blanket tighter. “Okay, okay. No more trauma. Let’s just watch a dumb rom-com. Or one of those weird animal documentaries you love.”

“I do love the weird animal documentaries.”

“I know. You cry when the penguins lose their babies.”

“You said you wouldn’t bring that up again!”

Jihoon kissed the top of your head. “You crying over my acting is the highest compliment I’ve ever received, by the way.”

You mumbled something incoherent into his hoodie.

“What was that?”

“I said,” you looked up at him with narrowed eyes, “you still suck for not warning me how wrecked I’d be.”

Jihoon smirked. “If I’d warned you, you wouldn’t have watched it. And then I wouldn’t get to see you sobbing over my brilliance.”

“You’re impossible.”

“And you’re in love with me.”

You grumbled something about fragile egos and went back to snuggling into his side. He kissed your temple again, this time without a joke behind it.

The next episode started playing. You were already tearing up again.

Jihoon just pulled you closer

A/N: That is all. its short I know💔💔

[justmeexistinghere]

W H E R E S H A D O W S M E E T

pt.7 Transition

*⁀➷Masterlist

Summary: As if the day hadn’t already left you reeling, you find yourself alone at the Unit’s meeting spot—though solitude never lasts for long. Seongje drifts unexpectedly close while Baku slips further away, leaving you caught between warmth and distance in a world that refuses to make sense.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･*✧･ﾟ:*⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

-> Geum Seongje x fem!reader (about to be) -> Warnings: smoking, violence/bullying, swearing/strong language (hopefully I didn't forget anything) -> all characters are portrayed as being of legal age -> Wordcount: 2.767 -> 📝English isn’t my first language & this is my first series — thank you for your patience ♡

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･*✧･ﾟ:*⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

As you step outside, your mind is still with Baku. Will he be alright? You can’t shake the worry, even as the cold night air hits your face. It feels fresh—a sharp contrast to the stifling atmosphere inside the bowling alley, where breathing felt like trying to inhale underwater.

Before you can enjoy the pleasing change, you hear slow, sloppy footsteps approaching. You look up, only to meet someone’s eyes. A teasing “Hey, pretty face,” greets you.

Your shoulders drop a fraction when you recognize him— you’re not sure if it is pure annoyance or maybe a bit of relief—relief that it’s not some random Unit asshole, but someone you kind of know and can handle. As he flicks away his cigarette—damn, you’re still amazed at how he does that—he comes closer, leaning against the same wall. He’s far enough to not call it “next to you,” but close enough that you can feel his presence.

“Woah, not even a hello?”  He tilts his head, eyebrows raised, waiting—almost daring you to break the silence. You just stare at him, silent for a second, before a “Hey, idiot,” slips out.

The shadows work in Seongje’s favor, but you’re sure his lips curved into a smile—even if just for a second.

“Seems like you’re looking for trouble, huh? You shouldn’t be here,” he says, his voice almost worried—almost.

“Maybe. But why is it always you who ends up here with me? Guess that's our thing.”

You can see how he tenses up, unsure if it was your words or the cold that starts to sting your bodies. You cross your arms and grab at your sweatshirt tightly, hoping that the warmth you still had would be caged up— unable to leave, just like you are right now. Your knuckles turn white from the cold— when will Baku finally come out, and why the hell is Seongje still here? Your breath mingles with the smoke of his newly lit cigarette, swirling in the night air. You feel his gaze on you, and sometimes, you catch yourself glancing back.

The door bursts open, shattering the silence you’d grown to treasure. Laughter and voices spill out. Two guys—neither of them Baku—step outside, lighting cigarettes. On your right, you can hear Seongje pushing himself from the wall, placing himself in front of you. His posture shifts—tense, protective, just for a second. His eyes flicker, checking faces, measuring threats.

Once they’re far enough away, you shoot Seongje a questioning look. What the hell was that? Before you can ask, he slips out of his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders—too quick for you to protest.

Sure, let's just stand here and pretend this isn't weird at all. If he decides to do something like that again, oh god, you have to start charging rent for personal space. But hey, at least it's warmer than before. That's definitely a plus.

“Don’t pass out. I’m not dragging you home again,” he mutters, but his voice is softer than usual, almost lost in the air. You roll your eyes, but your hands curl into the warmth of the jacket. You don’t thank him. He doesn’t expect you to.

He leans back to the wall closer than before. Silence. Neither of you says anything. There is nothing to say— is there?

So that's why you both just stand there again, this time shoulder to shoulder, the world narrowed to the glow of the neon and the scrape of his boot on the ground. You catch yourself glancing at him, watching the way his jaw works, the way his eyes flick to the alley’s entrance and back to you, always alert, never fully relaxed. The touch of your shoulders is slightly warm and comforting. Not sure why you just let it happen— even kind of enjoy the closeness.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

"I will say it again, you shouldn’t be here. Not alone with people like them around." His gaze shifts to where the Union members disappeared. His hands slip into his pockets, his body tense. Is it the cold or your presence? You'll never know.

You snort, forcing a smirk. "People like... you?" Ironic. "Guess what, I don’t really care."

He huffs out something like a laugh, but it’s more breath than sound. For a second, his eyes flick up to meet yours, something unreadable there before he looks away. “Yeah. Maybe one could say that.”

The door to the bowling alley swings open once again. This time Baku steps out—not injured, but visibly shaken. His eyes avoid yours, and he doesn’t answer your questions. He doesn't notice you at first, standing some steps away. But as he moves to look at you, for a moment, his gaze lingers on Seongje. His jaw tightens, lips pressed into a thin line. You catch the way his hands clench at his sides, knuckles pale. There’s a flash in his eyes—anger, maybe, or something rawer, tangled up with surprise. He looks at Seongje like he’s just spotted something dangerous where he least expected it. The air between them thickens, but no words are spoken. Neither of them says a word. The silence stretches, heavy and brittle. You feel it in your chest, a pressure that makes it hard to breathe— oh damn, you thought you escaped that feeling.

You want to say something, maybe even say goodbye to Seongje, but it all happens too fast. Baku silently pushes you aside, a wordless signal to keep your distance. His hand finds your arm, firm and cold, and suddenly you’re moving. No words, just the rough nudge of his shoulder, a silent demand to keep up. The city peels by in fragments: neon reflected in puddles, the echo of your footsteps swallowed by narrow alleys until he finally loosens his grip. But he doesn’t say goodbye... he just turns and disappears into the night. You stand there, stunned, Seongje's jacket still draped over your shoulders, words caught in your throat.

Seriously? That’s it?

Great. If someone could just hand out a script for this mess, that’d be fantastic. Because clearly, you missed rehearsal for whatever the hell this is.

Your phone vibrates—missed calls from Gotak. You call back, barely waiting for the ring to end. “Something’s not right. We need to talk, but let me get home first.” Your voice comes out clipped, sharper than you meant. You hang up before he can answer.

You stare at the screen, the dim light reflecting in the glass. Everything feels colder, more dangerous. You know this is just the beginning.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

The moment you step into your apartment, you lock the door and lean back against it. The lights are low, the apartment has it's specific warmth. In the living room, your dad’s asleep on the couch, TV still murmuring some late-night news. A half-empty mug sits on the table, forgotten.

Usually, it annoys you—how he always falls asleep there, snoring with the TV on. But tonight, it’s oddly comforting. Like nothing’s changed. Like something in the world is still safe, still normal. At least someone in this house knows how to relax. Must be nice.

You glance at Seongje’s jacket, still wrapped around your shoulders. The smell of smoke clings to the fabric, sharper now against the familiar scent of home. It lingers—unmistakable, almost grounding. You should probably take the jacket off. Really. Or maybe burn it, just to get rid of the smell. But of course, you just stand there, clutching it like it’s some kind of security blanket.

The phone buzzes again—Gotak: “Where are you? Finally home?”

You switch off the TV, careful not to wake your dad, and carry the half-empty mug to the kitchen before leaving to your room.

As you get there, you drape Seongje’s jacket over the back of your desk chair. For a moment, you just look at it, taking in the weight and shape of it in your space. Your fingers trace the name tag at the chest part—his name, bold and unmistakable. You can’t help but smirk as you run your finger over the letters.

And then it hits you.

He said he wouldn’t drag you home again.

Again.

...

Your mind flashes back—blurry memories, the feeling of someone’s arm around your shoulders, the faint smell of smoke, the warmth of being taken care of. Was it him? Was Seongje the one who brought you home that night when you could barely stand?

You stare at the name tag, heart thudding, and suddenly the pieces start to fit together.

You lie awake for a while, staring at the ceiling, trying to piece together that night—the one it seems like Seongje dragged you home during your blackout. Awesome. Nothing comes. Just static, blank spaces where memories should be. Frustration boils up and you smack your arms and legs against the mattress. The dull thud is embarrassingly childish, but whatever. At least the bed takes it without complaint.

Your thoughts on the other hand do their nightly gymnastics—vaulting from Baku’s unusual stone-faced glare to Seongje’s annoyingly persistent smirk. Perfect. Exactly what you wanted: a front-row seat to the world’s most confusing emotional circus, starring you as the unwilling clown.

What happened back there, anyway? Why did Baku look at Seongje like he’d just found a cockroach in his ramen? And why, out of everyone in this city, does your brain insist on rerunning every single moment with Seongje like it’s some kind of late-night drama marathon? Honestly, if it was, you would love to switch off the TV in your brain. Instead your gaze drifts to the chair in the corner. It’s too dark to actually see the jacket, but knowing it’s there is enough. Hunted by a piece of fabric because of his jinxed owner... fantastic.

Sleep finally drags you under, but not before your mind does a few more laps around the track. Gold medal for overthinking: awarded, again. But it doesn't take too long for your alarm to drag you out of sleep—no mercy, no snooze button strong enough to save you. You pull yourself together, manage to look almost presentable. Kinda proud honestly, but not that anyone else would care.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

A soft knock sounds at your door, but your brain, still fogged from sleep and last night’s thoughts, files it under “background noise.” It’s only when the door creaks open and your dad’s head appears— looking ready for a shoot for the next energy drink ad, but with gentle and a little worried eyes.

He doesn’t say anything at first, just gives you that look—the one that’s equal parts “good morning” and “please tell me you’re actually going to school today.” His nose wrinkles, but there’s no judgment, just a silent check-in. You know he’s noticed you’ve been prioritizing… well, anything but classes lately.

Right. The jacket. The one currently radiating Eau de Ashtray from your desk chair. Perfect. Just what you need: to reek of cigarettes before breakfast, courtesy of Seongje’s generous lending habits. Now you also get to explain to your dad why that fragrance lingers in your room. Thanks, Seongje.

You shove the jacket into your backpack, grab your stuff, and head to the kitchen. Your phone lights up: Gotak has apparently decided to break some kind of world record for most frantic messages before sunrise. The screen glows with his name, your stomach twisting a little at the urgency.

typing...

...typing

coming!

The scent of coffee hangs in the air, rich and grounding. Your dad’s already gone, but he’s left a mug for you on the counter. You wrap your hands around it, letting the warmth seep into your skin, hoping it’ll chase away the chill clinging to your bones. You down it in record time, the bitterness scraping your throat awake.

You pause at the door, backpack heavy on your shoulders, and take one last breath—smoke, coffee, worry—all tangled together. Then you step outside, bracing yourself for whatever the day decides to throw at you.

The morning air was brisk against your cheeks—a shock after the stale warmth of the kitchen. The city hasn’t quite woken up yet; the street is quiet except for the distant hum of traffic and the faint clatter of someone’s garbage bag jittering in the air. You adjust your backpack, feeling the awkward lump of Seongje’s jacket pressing against your books, as if he always had to make himself noticeable. Even if it’s just his damn jacket digging into your spine like it has a grudge. Oh well.

You’re halfway down the block, mind already rehearsing what you’ll say to Gotak, when you hear footsteps matching your pace. You don’t bother turning around—yet. Whoever it is, they’re not exactly subtle.

“Stalking me before a proper breakfast? Bold move,” you call over your shoulder, voice dry. A familiar chuckle answers, low and lazy.

“Relax, pretty face. I figured you might need an escort, considering your track record with trouble.” If you speak of the devil...

You glance back. Seongje is there, hands in his pockets, hair still a little messy, like he didn’t bother with a mirror this morning. Of course, he looks annoyingly good anyway. Wait, what? Whatever... You roll your eyes, but your lips twitch.

“Wow, early morning heroics. What’s next, you gonna carry my bag too?”

He grins, falling into step beside you, just close enough that your arms brush as you walk.

“Depends. Is there a reward? Or do I just get to keep rescuing you for free? Getting a glance at your good looks today? Bet you knew, you would see me today, am I right?"

You snort, but your heart thuds a little faster. "You'll actually get something. Even without escorting me to school. Great deal, huh?" Totally ignoring the last two sentences...

You reach into your bag, pull out his jacket, and hold it out to him with two fingers.

“It’s seen better days, but take it back before my dad files a complaint with the health department.”

He grins, taking the jacket, his fingers brushing yours for just a second longer than necessary.

“Didn’t know you cared so much about air quality. But thanks, I thought i might need to file a missing report.”

You shake your head, but can’t quite hide the smile tugging at your lips.

“Just trying to keep my lungs intact. Some of us have plans for the future, you know.”

He laughs, low and genuine, and for a moment, the weight in your chest eases—just a little. "Sure, but i bet you'll miss it. I mean, you were holding it so tightly yesterday i almost could hear it scream for help." You arch an eyebrow, smirking.

“Of course. I’ll light a candle in its memory. Better than the jacket itself, right?”

You bump his arm as you walk past, pace picking up again. You’re still in a hurry. You have to be. No one—especially not him—gets to slow you down. “Bye,” you toss over your shoulder, not looking back. But your chest feels just a bit lighter anyway.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

“Finally, y/n,” Gotak greets you. He sounds casual enough, but you know that edge—he’s been waiting, probably counting every second. Juntae flashes you a quick smile, a patterned plaster on his cheek. Cute.

Gotak tugs your sleeve, guiding you to sit next to him on the mural wall. His knee bounces, fingers drumming a restless rhythm. He doesn’t say it out loud, but the way he leans in, expectant, tells you everything: he’s just waiting for you to finally spill the tea.

Even Sieun seems unexpectedly unsettled today. Instead of his usual stiff, unreadable posture, he sits forward, hands pressed against his knees, eyes wide and searching. There’s none of that practiced blankness—just a quiet tension, like he’s bracing himself for whatever you’re about to say.

You trace the edge of the mural with your finger, stalling for time. The paint is chipped, cool beneath your touch—something solid to hold onto while your mind spins. Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. What are you even supposed to say?

You shift your weight, shoes scraping against the concrete. Maybe if you stare hard enough at the mural, the right words will appear, like graffiti only you can read.

Your finger keeps moving along the wall, tracing the same crack over and over.

You wish someone else would just ask the first question—break the silence, make the decision for you.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

to be continued... ˏ*⁀➷previous ˏ*⁀➷next (coming soon)

picture generated by AI

Thank you for reading once again! I hope you still enjoy the series, I really like writing it ❤

Taglist @slovesyouuu @quaff-le-science @4ria790

[marsmaximoff]

Hiiiiii! ♡♡ have you already seen the kdrama weak hero class?? I was hoping you could do some twitter links 😩😩🙏🙏

weak hero class twitter links nsfw

content warning: fem!viewer. these are explicit smut videos, watch at your own risk. you have been warned! if you don’t like this, don’t watch.

author’s note: guys im so late omg, i feel like absolutely no one will see this, help. still, i saw the request and i couldn’t not post it. so i hope you like them. and that there’s still an alive side of the fandom🤞🏻 make sure to be logged into twt/x beforehand, if some of the links stop working let me know. enjoy <3

연시은 | Yeon Si-Eun ✎

he's always so stressed you'll have to help him unwind

quicker than fucking

poor guy only wanted a hug

안수호 | Ahn Su-Ho ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

he’s just so damn hungry all the time

he wanted to take you for a ride…

there’s a lot of pent up frustration you gotta let him let out

tired after work

first thing in the morning

making you feel good

오범석 | Oh Beom-Seok ✈︎

the glasses stay on

needs to be in control for once in his life

truth is he only really needs someone to care

서준태 | Seo Jun-Tae ☼

punishing him for getting your milkshake order wrong

reward for getting it right

he’s so so so whipped and loving

금성제 | Geum Seong-Je ☾

type of shit he loves

adoring how compliant you are

the messier the funnier

only his cock isn't enough

will bend you over anytime anywhere he can

they angered him, the bed will pay

good girl

나백진 | Na Baek-Jin 𐕣

using you to get rid off his exasperation

calmer nights

loves this sm

favorite place to do it

+ bonus

so so strong 박후민 | Baku, 고현탁 | Go Hyun-Tak

supporting Seong-Je or Baek-Jin under the desk

and this with your fav boy <3

❤️‍🔥CHECK OUT MY SQUID GAME LINKS :3❤️‍🔥

[aleese1111]

homework and heart | yeon sieun x neighbour!reader

summary: yeon sieun is just trying to get through a study session without losing his sanity, but his lifelong neighbor makes that impossible—armed with sarcasm, zero personal space boundaries, and a habit of falling asleep on his arm mid-math problem. they argue like enemies, act like friends, and care like something they won’t admit.

warnings: [fluff fluff fluff] , mutual but unspoken romantic feelings .

author's note: i just know sieun would treat his girl like a delicate flower. everything about him (apart from his psycho tendencies) screams gentleman. the reader is sort of a tsundere or something. wrote this while listening to [ My Love Mine All mine - Mitski] . requests

“your handwriting looks like a drunk spider fell in love with a pen,” she said, peering over si-eun’s shoulder.

si-eun didn’t glance up. “you’ve said that before.”

“yeah, and it hasn’t improved.”

“you’re here for math help, not calligraphy critique.”

“i’m here for the free heating,” she declared, collapsing onto his bed like it owed her rent. “your floor heating is elite. i feel like a warm croissant.”

si-eun exhaled through his nose. “you’re supposed to finish the worksheet i gave you.”

“you’re supposed to stop being a fun vacuum,” she shot back, flipping onto her stomach and burying her face in his pillow. “why do you smell like laundry detergent and sad?”

he ignored that. “that’s page two. the functions review.”

she groaned into the pillow, her voice muffled. “why are you like this?”

“efficient?”

“emotionally unbothered.”

“that’s not a flaw.”

“it is when your only reaction to my suffering is to hand me a pencil.”

she sat up and tossed said pencil at him. he caught it midair without even turning his head.

“show-off,” she muttered.

“you threw it with the force of a butterfly.”

“rude. accurate, but rude.”

they sat in silence for a moment—her pretending to work, him actually working—until she groaned again and fell dramatically across the table, narrowly missing his open notebook.

“i give up. i’m becoming a flower shop cashier. i’ll name the succulents and everything.”

“you hate plants.”

“they hate me first. it’s mutual.”

“finish number five.”

“no.”

sieun said her name.

“make me.”

he leaned back in his chair, expression flat. “do your homework.”

she leaned forward, matching his energy. “make me.”

their faces were inches apart now, eyes locked in a silent, petty standoff.

“childish,” he murmured.

“lifeless.”

“stubborn.”

“robotic.”

“you still haven’t moved.”

“you blinked first.”

“that’s not how this works.”

“says who?”

“says logic.”

she rolled her eyes and dramatically scribbled on the worksheet. “there. number five. happy?”

he checked it. “that’s number six.”

“i hate you.”

“good. now do five.”

she cursed under her breath, then muttered, “you better carry my backpack at my funeral.”

“you won’t need a backpack if you fail this class.”

“then you better carry my coffin. same energy.”

si-eun glanced at her, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

she caught it and pointed. “there. you smiled. admit you like me.”

“i smiled because you said something dumb.”

“same thing.”

they didn’t look at each other after that. not directly, anyway. but she was quietly doing question five, and si-eun casually slid a bag of her favorite snacks across the table like it didn’t mean anything.

like always.

she got up without warning and dropped beside his chair, her chin resting on his arm, body invading his space like it was natural law.

“you need a break,” she muttered.

“you’re distracting.”

“good.”

he didn’t pull away. just let her stay there, still scribbling notes while her cheek pressed against the sleeve of his hoodie.

“you’re going to smudge the ink,” he murmured.

she shrugged. “you’ll rewrite it for me anyway.”

“that’s not how this works.”

she smirked. “isn’t it?”

they stayed like that, the sound of pen on paper and her breathing settling into rhythm.

she, of course, fell asleep fifteen minutes later. head still leaning against his arm, mouth slightly open, clumsy as ever.

si-eun didn’t move.

he just kept writing with one hand, while the other lightly tugged the blanket from the bed to drape over her shoulders.

outside, the sky finally decided to rain.

inside, there was peace—chaotic, uneven, stubborn peace. the kind only the two of them could create. the kind that made sense even when nothing else did.

✶ ᶻz .ᐟ ,