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triciawritesstuff · 2 days ago

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afterglow — oh beomseok

synopsis — when you meet beomseok again under glowing neon lights, an unspoken understanding still hangs between you. now playing — no one noticed - the marias, afterglow - taylor swift pairing — oh beomseok x reader genre — angst, hurt/comfort, ex-childhood friends cw — mentions of past child abuse (implied), cptsd, underage substance use (vape, alcohol), lyrics are not in order do not mention it i did my best to use them to the best of my abilities wc — ~2.7k part of the “i can fix him!” trilogy

masterlist | join the taglist | 400 follower event

note: finally got my last fic out for the i can fix him series <3 DECIDED to make it part of my 400 follower special as well last minute, so i am so sorry if the lyrics are not super accurate to the scene, it was a last minute decision to add it in !! ugh this has been in my drafts for so long and i am so so happy to finally present this to my beomseok girlies and besties that just want our pookie 2 be happy </3

you’re not even sure how you ended up at the club in the first place.

your friends had dragged you out, something about blowing off steam. a little rebellion. just some innocent fun—maybe not all legal, but not dangerous either. fake ids, a connection to a staff member, someone’s cousin’s cousin who knew the bouncer.

the bass hits like a second heartbeat. lights strobe overhead, too hot inside, drinks already sweating in flimsy plastic cups. you hang back by the edge of the crowd, eyes sweeping across the room, not expecting anything—

until you pause.

you think you recognize someone.

maybe i lost my mind

a lanky figure by the bar: jacket sleeves pushed up, fingers toying with a vape, flicking it up to his lips. he exhales slow, leans into the words of a girl nearby, all relaxed like he belongs here. and something about the way he moves catches you. familiar. almost.

but something’s missing.

you almost brush it off—but then he turns just enough, and your stomach twists.

no one noticed

oh beomseok?

no one but you

the boy who used to trail behind you with a book bag twice his size and bruises on his wrists. the one who hated loud noises and flinched too easily, glasses always slipping down his nose. his glasses, that’s what was missing. aside from that, this was definitely your beomseok.

but it also… isn’t.

oh beomseok is vaping, the cloud lingers near his lips as he nods along to whatever some guy’s saying beside him—loud, messy, clearly drunk. but he looks tired, worn-in, like a pair of shoes that don’t quite fit anymore. you watch him reach into his hoodie and pull out a wad of cash, handing it to one of the boys next to him. the kid beams and rushes off to the bar, probably to order another round for the whole group.

you’re already moving toward him, and before you know it, you’re grabbing onto his wrist.

he yanks back, eyes flashing. “what the fuck, man?” his voice is sharp, defensive. but you don’t falter.

may have lost it (i need a virtual connection) / i have lost it (be my video obsession)

you grab his wrist again—tighter this time. your grip says you’re not messing around. “cut the bullshit, beomseok,” you mutter, dragging him through the crowd before he can resist again. his steps stumble behind you, but he follows.

you find a quieter corner near the back wall, where the bass thuds dull and distant. red lights flicker overhead. the air smells like sweat and smoke and too-sweet liquor.

you shove him—not hard, just enough to get his back against the wall.

his eyes narrow, guarded. but you catch the flicker there. the hesitation. like something in him recognizes you.

“what are you doing here?” you ask, voice steady, jaw set. “what a reunion, beomseok-ah.” you add, sarcasm dripping from your tongue.

his eyes meet yours—and something in them falters. like recognition stumbles into him too fast, as if it knocks the wind out of him, his mouth parting just slightly.

“y/n…?” he says your name like a secret. like it’s been buried somewhere he didn’t think anyone would find, “w-what are you doing here?” hi s voice falters.

“don’t flip it on me,” you mutter, arms crossed. “i asked first.”

he hesitates, “i’m just—out with friends.”

“friends?” you scoff. “i just watched you pay for their second round of drinks. didn’t see them offering to chip in.”

he doesn’t reply, just shifts his weight from one foot to the other like the floor’s suddenly unstable.

you exhale through your nose and grab his wrist again. “come with me.”

if you believe me i guess i'll get on a plane / fly to your city excited to see your face

you take his hand, pulling him away from the pulsing speakers and sticky floors, past bodies pressed together and clouds of cigarette smoke, until you’re outside, his hand in yours, feeling the warmth of it despite the cold air surrounding you as you lead him out into the neon-lit streets. the city buzzes around you, but it feels like you’re in your own little bubble, just the two of you. the breeze hits you both, a sharp contrast to the heat of the club you left behind.

you walk for a while, not really knowing where you’re headed, but you’re not rushing. you don’t really want to leave him alone, not like this. somehow, you end up at a 7-eleven, the bright lights of the convenience store a welcome change from the chaos outside.

without thinking, you grab a hangover drink off the shelf—something to steady the night, to offer some kind of relief. you pop it open and walk over to him, pushing it into his hand.

his eyes avoid yours, his face turned away as if he’s trying to shut himself off from you. it’s painful to watch, but you’re not letting him slip away again. “here,” you say, voice softer than before, “you should drink it. you look like you need it.”

he doesn’t respond right away, the silence between you both stretches. beomseok doesn’t really push you away this time around, his fingers brush the bottle briefly, but it’s clear that something’s stopping him from facing you completely.

you watch as his fingers tighten around the can, but he still doesn’t look at you. the silence hangs heavy, and you can’t stand it anymore. you step a little closer, your voice a little more urgent.

“beomseok… talk to me. this just isn’t you.”

no one tried / to read my eyes

he finally turns his face towards you, his eyes avoiding yours, but his words hit harder than you expected. “it’s been years, yn. you don’t know who i am anymore…”

no one but you

you feel a pang in your chest, but you don’t back down. you step forward, placing a hand on his arm, more firmly this time, almost desperate.

“no,” you push, your voice strong and steady. “i do know you. the real you. and this—this isn’t it. you’re hiding behind all of this. i don’t care what’s changed. i care about who you are, beomseok.”

he flinches slightly at your words, a flicker of vulnerability crossing his face before he quickly masks it again. it’s like he wants to fight back, but the weight of your words is enough to make him pause, just for a second—as if trying to find a way out from this conversation.

come on, don't leave me it can't be that easy, babe

the silence stretches between you two, but you can’t let it hang there any longer. your voice softens, quieter now, like you’re afraid to speak the truth but know you need to.

“is it... is it your father again?” you finally cut through the quiet, your gaze searching his face for some sign, some clue.*

you see how he tenses, the tightness in his posture, and something inside you shifts. without thinking, you slide your arm over his shoulder, pulling him just a little closer to you. your hand gently rubs his arm, offering him a kind of grounding warmth that he hasn’t allowed himself in a long time.

hold me, console me and then i'll leave without a trace

“oh, beomseok…” you murmur, your voice full of quiet empathy. the words are more than just a sigh; they’re a soft acknowledgment of everything he’s carrying, of all the weight he’s been hiding behind that tough facade.

his body stiffens at first, but slowly, you feel him relax under your touch, just a little. the act is simple—just a touch—but it’s enough to make him stop pretending, if only for a moment. he doesn’t pull away.

beomseok breathes out shakily, and you can feel the weight of it, like he’s been holding his breath for far too long. he doesn’t say it out loud, but you can tell he needs this—needs you to be here with him.

i pinned your hands behind your back, oh / thought i had reason to attack, but no

slowly, almost as if he’s too exhausted to fight it, his head leans in to rest on your shoulder. his breath is warm against your neck as he buries his face there, gripping the hangover drink in his hand, the can trembling slightly as he exhales again, shaky and uneven.

you feel his breath against your skin, the tremor in his grip, and your heart tightens. there’s so much he’s been holding back, so much he’s been too afraid to show. but right here, in this quiet moment, you can feel the weight of his vulnerability.

it's so excruciating to see you low

you don’t pull away, just let him be, your hand still gently rubbing his shoulder, grounding him, offering the comfort he’s too scared to ask for.

just wanna lift you up and not let you go

and like for the first time that night, you finally recognize the beomseok you used to know, soft and unguarded, the one who used to cling to you when everything felt too heavy. the boy you always tried to protect. just like this.

“hey.” you let him pull back just a little, enough to lift his head. your hands find his shoulders gently, steady, coaxing him to face you. “look at me.”

his eyes meet yours, still guarded, still tired. but you hold his gaze like you mean it.

“i like when you’re like this,” you say, quiet but certain. “real. not all… tough. not pretending to be someone else.”

no one but you

your grip on his shoulders tightens just a little. grounding him.

“you’re kind,” you murmur. “maybe a little soft-hearted. but that’s not a bad thing, beomseok. don’t forget that.”

his breath catches, like he doesn’t know how to believe you yet. but he’s listening.

you pause, jaw tight, gaze unwavering. “the guy i saw back there? in the club?” you shake your head. “that’s not you.”

he doesn’t say anything right away. just stares down at his shoes, shoulders slightly hunched, like he’s bracing for something. you can see the way his fingers curl tighter around the bottle, the silence stretching between you.

then, slowly, his eyes flick up—not fully, just a glance from beneath his lashes. hesitant. almost like he’s scared of what he’ll find that he had already buried deep if he really looks at you.

like he doesn’t think he deserves to.

you feel your chest tighten a little. you keep your hands on his shoulders, steady.

i need to say, hey / it's all me, just don't go

“beomseok-ah,” you say, softer now. “it’s okay. i’m not going anywhere.”

you give his shoulders a light squeeze. not to rush him, just to remind him you’re still here. he still won’t meet your eyes all the way—just glances up at you from under his lashes, like holding eye contact would crack something open.

you let out a quiet breath. step a little closer.

“you don’t have to pretend now,” you murmur. and then—gently—you reach up and wrap your arms around him, loose at first, around his shoulders. your chin rests near his collarbone, the way it used to when things got bad.

“we can go through it again,” you whisper. “just like when we were kids.”

he doesn’t move right away. but he doesn’t pull away, either.

you shift your arm a little, meaning to hold him tighter—and that’s when you notice it. something hard presses faintly against your ribs, caught between you. your fingers reach down, curious, and brush against the edge of plastic.

you pull back slightly, just enough to glance down—and there they are. tucked halfway out of his hoodie pocket, half-crushed but unmistakable: his old glasses.

your chest tightens.

he brought them. he’s still carrying them, even if he refuses to wear them. like some part of him can’t let go.

you don’t say anything. you just ease them from his pocket with careful fingers, slow enough that he barely stirs. and then, without asking, you guide them gently onto his face. he flinches a little at the contact—like he thinks you’re going to push him away—but you don’t.

instead, you adjust them on the bridge of his nose, the way you used to when they always slid down. the frames sit slightly crooked, lenses already smudged.

your hand lingers at the side of his face for a beat longer than it should. then, quietly, like it’s second nature, you ruffle his hair.

“there,” you whisper, “now you look like my beomseok again.” pulling him back into your arms.

he doesn’t say anything.

chemistry 'til it blows up, 'til there's no us

and then—quietly, without meaning to—his vision starts to blur. tears prick at the corners of his eyes, sharp and sudden. he tries to blink them back, but it just makes everything worse. the glasses fog a little—like they remember him too, the edges of the world softening, slipping out of focus.

went off like sirens, just crying

and all he can see is you. or maybe not even really you—just the curve of your shoulder, the messy strands of your hair, close and steady in front of him. the warmth of your body against his. you’re the only real thing in his whole line of sight.

he swallows hard, his throat tight. and then—slowly, like he’s scared to even do it—his hands come up, just barely brushing against your back. he holds you like you’ll slip through his fingers if he’s not careful. but then something snaps inside of him,

his fingers twist into the fabric of your clothes, and suddenly he’s clutching you like you’re the only thing keeping him upright. his shoulders shake. the sob hits his chest first, then his throat, and then he’s just—crying. really crying. a full-body kind of ache, like he’s been holding it in for years. like he didn’t know he was allowed to fall apart until now.

it's on your face, don't walk away, i need to say

his shoulders tremble under your hands, full-body shakes like he can’t keep it in anymore. “god, y/n...” he whimpers, voice cracking as his thumbs dig into your back, desperate. like if he lets go even a little, he might fall apart for real this time. you lift one hand, slow and steady, and thread your fingers through his hair, brushing it back gently, soothing him the way you used to when you were kids. like muscle memory.

hey / it's all me in my head

“you’re okay,” you murmur, voice barely there. “you’re okay. i’ve got you.”

tell me that you're still mine / tell me that we'll be just fine / even when I lose my mind

and that night, beomseok doesn’t go home.

if you can even call it that—home.

he hesitates at the thought of it, like the word tastes wrong in his mouth. like it doesn’t quite belong to him. he doesn’t go back to that house—the one with slamming doors and cold hallways, where bruises are worn like silence and silence weighs heavier than words. the place that still smells like fear and waiting and things left unsaid.

instead, he goes with you.

i don't wanna lose, i don't wanna lose this with you

no questions. no second-guessing. just your hand holding his, steady and sure, like a lifeline he didn’t know he was allowed to take.

it’s quiet in your room. the kind of quiet that doesn’t feel heavy. beomseok lies on his side, curled up with his head pressed gently to your chest, right where he can feel the steady rise and fall of your breathing. like a grounding rhythm. like safety.

i need to say, hey / it's all me, just don't go

your arm stays wrapped around him, thumb tracing slow lines over the curve of his shoulder. his glasses are gone—left on your nightstand, lenses smudged and forgotten. his eyes are swollen and tired, puffy from all the crying, but they’re finally closed.

he doesn’t say anything. he just lets himself rest there, breathing in sync with you. after the blinding glow of the club and the alcohol, the neon lights and too many people who never looked close enough—this is what feels right.

meet me in the afterglow

and for once, beomseok feels like maybe he’s safe, maybe he’s allowed to stay, that he finally belongs somewhere—loved, protected, not needing to put up an act. that someone sees him.

note: will be one of my last uploads before i go on a short break (to work and finish requests lol) so i will be back very soon, just no new fics released for a couple days ^^ i aim to be back by tuesday or wednesday next week (may 13 or 14) so thank u for giving the blog so much love and see u again soon !! and if ur still reading this, reblog with a photo of ur favorite whc boy <3 (hehe i might use it for something ;p)

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triciawritesstuff · 3 days ago

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weak hero class headcanons — handling a breakup with the boys of whc

synopsis — how the boys of whc handle you breaking up with them, and their thoughts on getting back together.

pairing/s — sieun x reader, suho x reader, baku x reader, gotak x reader, juntae x reader, baekjin x reader, seongje x reader, beomseok x reader

a/n — love the photo i used for this sooo much i love it i love it my pookies !!

masterlist | join the taglist | request a fic

⤷ yeon sieun

sieun’s first instinct would be to stay quiet, his mind racing even though he doesn't show it. when you break up with him, he won’t beg or fight you on it—he’ll just nod, a quiet understanding in his eyes, like he saw it coming. he’ll give you space, letting the silence between you settle, but if you try to leave, he’ll reach out to hold your wrist, not pulling you back, just holding you there for a moment as his usually intense gaze—now softened, almost broken, lands on yours. “please, don’t go like this,” he’ll say softly, not demanding anything, just trying to get you to stay long enough for him to process it. when you leave and slip from his grasp, he won’t chase after you, but he won’t forget either. he’ll keep his distance for a while, but he’ll always be there when you need him—always quietly, always steady.

⤷ ahn suho

suho would be crushed, but you’d never know it from the outside. he’d try to stay calm, making jokes at first to cover his hurt, trying to talk you out of it. “come on, you can’t be serious. this is just a break, right?” but if you press him, if you really push for it, he’d go quiet, his usual boyish charm slipping away. he’d keep his distance after, putting up a front of being okay while secretly, he's struggling with it. he’d make no effort to reach out because he’s scared you’ll push him away, but you’d know he’s still there if you need him—waiting for you to come back.

⤷ park humin (baku)

baku would act impulsively, at first, maybe even try to joke around to mask his pain. "babe, you're just messing with me, aren't you?" but when you push him further, his face would drop, and he’d try to hide the hurt behind his smile. he wouldn't beg you to stay, but his eyes would say it all—he's lost. he’d give you space, but there would always be an open door, and he’d leave little signs that he still cares, like a snack or something you like waiting for you when you least expect it, his voice or his laugh becoming louder when you’re in the same space just to make sure you know he’s there. he’d try to let go, but you’d always feel him in the background, a striking presence waiting for you to come back.

⤷ go hyuntak (gotak)

gotak would be deeply hurt but wouldn’t let it show at first. he’d just stand there, staring at you like he can’t quite believe it’s happening. “you sure about this?” he’d ask softly, and then he'd nod, as if accepting it, even though it feels like a punch to the gut, no blow from all his years in taekwando could measure up to. he’d leave you alone, not wanting to make things worse, but his silence would be louder than anything. if you reach out, he’ll welcome it without hesitation, but he won’t chase after you—he’d wait, knowing you might come back when you're ready.

⤷ seo juntae

juntae would be utterly heartbroken. his shyness would intensify, and he wouldn’t know how to react. his eyes would well up with unshed tears, but he’d try his best to hold them back. he’d quietly ask with the kindest, boba eyes boring into yours, “is this really what you want?” hoping for a different answer. he’d withdraw completely after, keeping his distance, not knowing how to fix things. but if you came back to him, even a little bit, he’d open his arms without hesitation, willing to make things right without asking much in return.

⤷ na baekjin

baekjin would initially be angry, not at you but at the situation, at how things ended up like this. his anger would be sharp but controlled, and he’d keep his voice steady as he asks you why, as if it’s a challenge to explain. “you’re really doing this?” he’d ask, his eyes dark with frustration. but when you’re gone, he’ll simmer down, the anger turning into a quiet hurt. he wouldn’t beg you back, but he’d make it clear through his actions that he’s still there—silent, but waiting for you to come to him when you’re ready to fix it. he'd focus on his work, but you'd notice the way he keeps one eye on your every move.

⤷ geum seongje

seongje would laugh—loud, sharp, too much—like it’s funny, like you didn’t just rip something out of him. “fuck, whatever,” he’d spit, brushing past you like he couldn’t care less. but later, alone, it hits different. he’d be pacing, cursing under his breath, thumb hovering shakily over your contact. he’d type, delete, type again, like he’s fighting with himself. he doesn’t cry, doesn’t let himself feel soft—but the silence drives him crazy. he’d punch a wall before admitting he misses you. if you came back, he’d act cold, smug even—but his eyes would flicker, restless, like he’s holding himself back from breaking.

⤷ oh beomseok

beomseok would freeze, unsure of what to say, his voice soft—“are you sure?”—like he already knows the answer but doesn’t want to believe it. when you walk away, he doesn’t chase. just stands there, hands at his sides, heart sinking. that night, he’d stare at himself in the mirror, eyes tired, replaying everything he could’ve done wrong throughout the course of your relationship, everything he didn’t do, and spiraling in the darkness. he wouldn’t sleep much—just lie in bed, overthinking it all, wondering what he could’ve done differently. after a few days, he might send a quiet message. not asking to fix things—just checking in, still hoping, still waiting.

note: just know i kissed this pen before i stabbed u with it...

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triciawritesstuff · 3 days ago

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oil and cashmere | geum seong je x fem!reader

summary: at daesung Bikes, a Union-run chop shop, geum seong-je hides a forbidden secret—his affair with the boss' niece. When she accidentally leaves behind her cardigan, Baek Jin arrives and notices.

warnings: implied sexual content, criminal activity, violence.

author's note: first fic lol. requests in dms!

late afternoon light filtered through the half-open shutters, slicing across the dust-filled air of the garage in harsh beams. the metallic clatter of tools echoed somewhere in the back as two underlings worked on stripping a stolen ducati. a playlist of half-dead punk played from a speaker on the shelf, loud enough to fill the silence, but not loud enough to drown out the unease that always lingered in this place.

the garage was many things—a chop shop, a graveyard for stolen engines, a union hideout masquerading as a legal front—but to seong je, it was also a den. a lair. a place where he could let his guard down, just a little. that is, when certain people weren’t around.

seong je sat sprawled across the cracked leather couch, legs stretched, arm draped lazily over the backrest. his cigarette burned low, the smoke curling around his face like lazy ghosts. he had that look on—detached, disinterested, predatory boredom.

but his eyes kept flicking—very subtly—to one thing.

a cardigan.

it lay on the far end of the couch, half-hanging over the edge. cream-colored, soft, expensive. a woman’s piece. a luxury item. and in this place of blood, rust, and oil, it might as well have been a glowing red flag.

she had left it.

not on purpose. she was careful, always. meticulous. clean exits. no footprints. but today, something had slipped. and now it sat there like a trap waiting to snap shut.

the door opened.

he didn’t move, but he knew that gait. the steady, unhurried pace. calculated.

baek jin.

he entered without a word, gaze cutting across the garage with cool detachment. still in uniform, blazer loose over his shoulders, posture relaxed but never vulnerable. he nodded to one of the boys in the back, then made his way toward the office.

he watched him go, exhaling smoke through his teeth.

a few minutes passed. then baek jin returned, steps lighter, hands in his pockets as he drifted toward the couch.

“everything in order?” he asked without looking.

“mm,” baek jin said, eyes drifting again. “still missing that cb650. might’ve been stashed in the old textile lot.”

“could be,” he replied. “kids have been sloppy.”

baek jin stopped a few feet from the couch, then slowly lowered himself onto the bench opposite, just far enough to look like he wasn’t here to confront anything.

his eyes wandered.

and landed.

on the cardigan.

it wasn’t dramatic. just a subtle shift in his gaze, the way a wolf notices a broken branch in the woods.

he noticed. of course he did.

baek jin tilted his head, feigning curiosity. “someone leave something?”

he didn’t look. “guess so.”

“odd to see something like that here,” jin said. “doesn’t match the decor.”

“girls swing by sometimes,” he muttered, tapping ash onto the floor. “one of them probably forgot it.”

“mmh.” jin nodded slowly. “looks pricey.”

“yeah. didn’t check the tag.”

another pause.

baek jin leaned back just slightly. “you remember who was here last?”

his eyes finally met jin’s. slow. bored. “nah. wasn’t paying attention.”

there was a beat of silence—just long enough for tension to thread between them.

then jin smiled, faint. almost amused. “i’ve seen something like that before.”

#geum seong je x reader #weak hero class x reader #geum seong je #weak hero class

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triciawritesstuff · 3 days ago

Note

hello!! I want to make a request ; is it alright if you can write about how seong je would be with a mute!reader? i just think it’d be an interesting dynamic ..! hmm other details i’d add is the reader often giving affection in a form of gifting (letters mayb?), cooking him a meal or quality time :) you may write this in whatever format you want!! thank youu and have a nice week (ps love your writing)

synopsis — seongje is a whirlwind of noise and chaos, but he finds unexpected peace in your silence.

now playing — sweet - cigarettes after sex pairing — geum seongje x gn!reader (hard of hearing, mute) genre — hurt/comfort, slowburn, angst with soft moments, unexpected romance cw — ableism/mocking of hearing disability, bullying, violence (including implied offscreen physical assault), power imbalance, toxic behavior, minor blood/bruising, strong language wc — ~2.1k

note: this was suchhh a pleasure to write <3 i hope i did ur request justice, anon. and please do not hesitate to tell me if i wrote something wrong or inaccurate to the experiences of hoh individuals.

masterlist | join the taglist | 400 follower event

seongje doesn’t do “quiet.” he doesn’t do subtlety, either. his entire existence is loud—his presence is a storm that makes everything feel tense and unpredictable. that’s how he’s known: the unpredictable, impulsive force, the mad dog. so, when he sees you for the first time, it’s almost like a challenge.

you’re sitting there, silently, in the bowling alley, a forced audience to the bullying happening around you. the union’s delinquents have gathered, sneering as they taunt you. they wave your hearing aids in front of you like a sick joke, expecting you to react. but you don’t. you’re quiet, your face unreadable, eyes glued to the floor, trying to stay as small as possible, like you’ve done countless times before. it’s a game for them, nothing more than a way to make you feel like an outsider.

“hey, freak, what’s wrong? can’t hear us?” one of them mocks, swinging your hearing aids back and forth with a smirk.

the noise is deafening to you in a different way—a slow, rising pressure in your chest. you want to speak, to make them stop. but your voice won’t come, and the words you want to say die in your throat, replaced by that quiet ache of helplessness.

that’s when seongje steps in.

he’s not supposed to be there. he’s supposed to be in baekjin’s office, probably arguing or being a general pain in the ass—but the noise coming from the alleyway catches his attention. he comes striding out, a curse on his lips as he surveys the scene, his eyes lighting up with the familiar flash of anger.

“what’s with all the fucking noise, fuckers?!,” seongje shouts, his voice dripping with disdain as he eyes the delinquents, but his gaze lands on the one holding your hearing aids, who freezes up as soon as he realizes who’s standing in front of him.

“aww, you guys are really fucking pathetic,” seongje steps forward, his mood shifting from bored to dangerous in an instant. he slaps the delinquent’s face, knocking the hearing aids out of his grip, and catches them before they hit the floor.

the delinquent stumbles back, startled, and seongje doesn’t miss the way his bravado slips. “hey, if you want to get your ass kicked, i’ll be happy to oblige. otherwise, get the fuck out of here,” seongje growls, and his voice carries an unmistakable warning.

the delinquents scatter quickly, realizing they’re not really looking forward to get beat up by the wolf himself. seongje watches them leave with a bored smirk, but his eyes return to you, where you’re still sitting silently, your gaze downcast. his anger bubbles under the surface, but it doesn’t seem to be directed at you—it’s more frustration at how they treated you. and, maybe… it’s confusion. because why would he be frustrated?

he despises those who put on a front, acting all tough and dominant when they're around someone they know is weaker, but turn into cowards the moment they face someone like seongje. the hypocrisy makes him sick—they don’t even have the balls to face him.

you look up at him then, your lips parting as if to say something, but the words stay locked inside. seongje stares back, a little too long, before he gestures to the now-empty bowling alley with a roll of his eyes.

“shit, it’s way too quiet in here now,” seongje mutters, half to himself. “i need a fucking drink. you coming?” his fist reaching out to you, making you flinch, but he simply turns and opens his palm to reveal your hearings aids, offering it back to you, his gaze not even meeting yours.

you hesitate, a flicker of uncertainty crossing your face. seongje doesn’t wait for a reply. he knows how this works—he doesn’t need words from you to tell if you’re okay. you’ve already said more than enough with that silence of yours.

it’s a few weeks later when seongje starts to notice something he wasn’t expecting—something soft. you’re not the type to speak, but you show him things. you leave him little letters. they’re simple at first, just words on paper—carefully written, neat and soft. but each one has meaning. you might leave him a note after a chaotic day, telling him, thank you for helping me today—a gesture he’s not used to.

seongje can’t stop himself from reading them over and over, even if he pretends they don’t matter. he tosses the first one aside in an exaggerated motion, but later, when he’s alone, he pulls it out again, trying to make sense of it. there’s something oddly comforting in your words. something real. his usual sharpness dulls just a little when he reads them.

it’s a typical night, and you don’t expect anything to go wrong. seongje has always been unpredictable, but you can’t stop yourself from trusting him. there’s a strange sort of understanding between the two of you now. he doesn’t need you to speak, and you don’t need him to be anything but… himself. still, you don’t expect what happens when he calls you to meet him in a parking lot late one evening.

the dim light from the streetlamps makes the whole place feel cold and detached. you spot him standing there, leaning against the hood of a car, his eyes narrowing slightly when he sees you approach. but there’s something different tonight—something unsettling in his stance.

"come here," seongje says, his voice almost too casual for the tense atmosphere.

your breath catches in your throat as the boy on his knees comes into focus. you've seen him around before—he’s one of the delinquents from the union. the same one who’d been taunting you in the bowling alley, waving your hearing aids like some cruel joke. that memory hits you sharply, and your stomach churns with discomfort as you recognize him now, his face bruised and bloodied, a lip split open, looking like he’s been through hell.

but why is he here? why is he on his knees, shaking in front of seongje? what happened to him?

seongje stands over him, his posture casual, his grin wide and wicked as he watches the boy with almost bored amusement. he kicks the delinquent’s side lightly, like it’s a game, and the boy flinches.

"come on, kid," seongje says, his voice teasing but edged with something darker, something almost amused by the kid’s fear. "just like we practiced."

the delinquent on his knees doesn’t speak, his eyes downcast, probably too terrified to even look up at seongje, but his shaky hand lifts. you watch as he tries to make the "a" handshape, his fingers clumsy as he attempts to sign. seongje looks down at the boy, his grin stretching wider as he watches him fumble.

the delinquent hurriedly completes the sign, his hands shaking, his breath coming in short bursts as he struggles to perform it correctly. he spins his hand in a half-hearted clockwise motion, and you can tell how hard it is for him to even try. he looks humiliated, and maybe that’s what seongje wants—to make him feel small, to show that he’s the one in control now. like how the boy probably felt back in the bowling alley with you.

as the boy finishes, seongje pats his shoulder with an almost affectionate thud, a grin still plastered on his face. “good job,” he mutters, voice dripping with mock praise. but his eyes flick to you, then back to the delinquent, as if waiting for some kind of reaction.

the delinquent scrambles to his feet, not daring to say a word, but you can see the fear still fresh in his eyes. without another glance, he stumbles off into the shadows of the parking lot, and seongje doesn’t follow him, not bothering with any more theatrics.

you don’t respond, but you follow him. because, despite everything—despite how messed up all of this is—he’s still the one who, somehow, happened to feel like the safest person to be around. despite his… unique antics.

despite the way he does things no one else would dare to. because even if he’s rough around the edges, unpredictable and loud, seongje never made you feel small. and that, weirdly enough, was enough.

seongje’s desk at the bowling alley becomes a quiet sort of shrine to you—littered with your letters and notes, half-crumpled from him rereading them over and over. he never bothers to clean it up. they’re scattered across the surface like leaves in a storm, but he knows exactly where each one is. it’s an organized mess, chaotic in the same way he is. but if anyone even looks at them too long—tries to pick one up, makes a joke about the handwriting, even breathes too close to the edge of his desk—they’re basically asking for a death wish.

“touch it and you die,” he’ll mutter without even looking up, one foot kicked up on the desk, cigarette dangling from his lips. it’s not even a threat—it’s a promise.

somewhere in between the late night meetups—where the world is quiet and it’s just the two of you—and the stolen moments in back rooms lit by vending machine glow, seongje softens. not in a way that’s obvious to most, but in ways you catch. like when he plays bowling with you late at night at the union headquarters, just the sound of pins crashing echoing through the empty lanes. he’s terrible at it, but he doesn’t care. he would fair better hitting someone at the back of the had with these bowling balls. he only really lights up when it’s your turn.

you roll the ball, knock down every pin, and before you can even react, he’s throwing his hands in the air, exaggeratedly signing applause, a wide grin stretching across his face.

“that’s what i’m fucking talking about!” he shouts, clapping loudly on top of the sign for applause he just made, just because he’s still him—loud, obnoxious, impossible—but now he’s loud for you.

yeah… to seongje, you’re like a stray puppy at first. small, quiet, following him around without saying a word, eyes always wide and watching. at first, he thinks it’s kinda funny—endearing, even. you don’t talk back, don’t flinch when he’s loud, and you’ve got this habit of showing up with little notes or food like some soft, strange ritual he doesn’t understand. he starts calling you “puppy” just to mess with you, ruffling your hair whenever you come around.

but somewhere along the way, that fondness stops being just a game. you’re not a pet to seongje. slowly, you become an equal.

he starts waiting for your notes. starts leaving his office door slightly cracked, just in case you come by. he catches himself watching you instead of his phone. gets weirdly pissed off when other people so much as look at you wrong.

and the night he realizes it’s different—that it’s not just him babysitting some quiet kid—it’s when you sign “stay” with soft hands after a long night, and he does. no grumbling, no jokes, just settles next to you and doesn’t leave.

after that, it’s not a question. you’re not his puppy. you’re his person.

and yeah, maybe he never said you were dating. but everyone knows. you leave your food in the union’s fridge, your letters in his desk, your comfort in the chaos of his life. and he protects you, respects you, listens to your silence more than he’s ever listened to anyone’s voice. and no one in the union dares to bring it up or even question your soft presence in the nitty gritty bowling alley.

seongje is loud. like, really fucking loud. he talks with his whole body, yells when he's annoyed, laughs like he owns the air around him, and never knows when to shut up. he's noise and motion and chaos wrapped in one, dangerously sharp-edged boy. but you—you're quiet. not just in voice, but in presence. you move gently, offer kindness without demanding attention, speak in ways that don’t need sound.

and somehow, in all the noise of his world, your silence is the only thing that ever made sense. he used to think silence was empty, but now it’s where he finds comfort. he’s still loud, still volatile, still the type to throw a punch first and maybe ask questions never. but now there’s this... softness around the edges. a space he carves out just for you. like you’re the eye of the storm, and he’s always, always circling back to you.

in your quiet, he feels understood. and maybe that's the wildest thing about this whole mess—that a boy made of sound found peace in someone who never had to say a word.

note: aaa i feel like this so short >><< i wanted to give them more of a backstory but for now this is what i’m going with. if you’d like to see more of them that’d be nice 🫶 this is such a different take from collarless tho, and it’s nice to also write a softer character to contrast our tough collarless!reader to explore more dynamics with seongje

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triciawritesstuff · 5 days ago

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'Study' sesh with Juntae

Boyfriend!Juntae x reader

Genre: fluff

You knew it was a bad idea when he suggested studying together in his room after school. You accept graciously, not having the heart to tell him that you'd find him too distracting to get any work done. What's the harm in some downtime for once?

The warmth of Juntae's room surrounded you in a blanket of comfort. The soft, warm glow of his desk lamp illuminated the room. The only noise breaking the silence was your boyfriends soft breathing to the left of you, the rustling of his cotton sheets, a frequent reminder that you were still in his room. It wasn't just a dream you'd concocted in your sleep deprived state. Your eyelids begin to struggle to stay open. They have a weight of them feeling almost impossible to ignore. The pen slowly slips from your grasp as you lean forward, head laying on the desk. You don't remember the last time you felt this safe. You think back on your life before Juntae, the cold nights, and the almost constant void of emptiness that resided within you.

The creaking of the bed interrupts your thoughts abruptly. the sound of light footsteps, muffled by cotton socks, make their way towards you. He lets out a soft laugh, and you can hear the smile in his voice.

You feel an arm gently loop under the backs of your knees, the other arm, securing your back. A soft breath is let out as he stands up straight, holding you close to him. He's definitely glad that the bed is only a few steps away, rather than in a different room. Otherwise, he'd definitely have to start hitting the gym more.

He places you down gently, slowly straightening back up to leave. You quickly reach an arm out, linking two of your fingers into his belt loops, pulling him back towards you. He stumbles, suddenly worried about collapsing on top of you. his arms move down on either side of your head, supporting his weight on his hands. One of his legs finds itself resting in between your legs.

You find yourself lost in his deep brown eyes as he stays above you. Frozen in place. The proximity allows you to admire each eyelash, and you notice freckles that one perhaps wouldn't usually see at any other distance. You feel your heartbeat quicken. You wonder if he can also hear it because you're certain it's never been so deafening.

Your right hand reaches up hesitantly, gently brushing the side of his face.

"Don't leave me." You request breathlessly. The air around you stills.

You see, just beneath his collar, the warmth travels up his neck, settling in his cheeks and the tips of his ears. You love him.

"O-okay." He stutters out as if there were a hundred things racing through his mind, but only one word was all he could muster. Suddenly feeling more forward, your hand on his face moves down. Tracing the skin against his neck, your hand settles on his tie, gripping it tightly, knuckles whitening around it. You pull it towards you softly.

His arms give out, and soon, his full body weight is lying on top of you. The pressure is an instant relief.

His face finds its home in the crook of your neck, his glasses shift awkwardly against your throat, he takes the initiative to take them off, and you hear them clatter against the desk. Intuitive as ever.

He returns immediately, breath warm against your pulse. He shifts slightly, so your legs are intertwined. As both his lean arms wrap around your waist, you raise one of yours to tangle your fingers within his raven hair. Gently running your fingers through it, tugging it lightly, causing him to groan.

You feel one of his hands play with the hem of the back of your shirt. Fingers curiously exploring, wondering if they should take it that one step further. A hand tentatively reaches under your shirt, his fingertips slow, as if asking for permission. You lean further into his touch as a reply, welcoming all advances.

You're sure that you've never been so loved. Each touch sends electricity down your spine, a symphony of your enamour.

"Juntae! Are you in there?" You hear a loud voice from the other side of the door. "Let us in, man."

It's definitely that boy. Go Hyun-tak. Oh. You both immediately sit up, adjusting your uniform quickly. "Give me a minute!" Jun-tae shouts out, removing himself from the bed and quickly attempting to fix his hair in the mirror before heading to the door and opening it slightly.

The sight of all three boys greets him. Si-eun spots you immediately, eyes widening slightly. Slowly putting the pieces together of what they'd walked into. However, Baku and Hyun-tak are not quite as astute. "Let's go out juntae!" Baku announces whilst attempting to dribble a basketball within the small hallway outside the bedroom. He stands proudly, hands on hips, grin bigger than ever. Clearly, not ready to take no for an answer.

"Well, the thing is - I'm kind of caught up in something right now." Juntae blurts out.

It's clear that Si-eun has been trying to signal to gotak that they should leave. As a last resort,he sharply elbows him in the abdomen, causing him to double over. "What's your issue man, stop hitting me!" He wispers through clenched teeth. He meets si-euns eyes, who immediately looks at you. Now Gotak sees you, too. "Oh. OH." He straightens up in surprise, immediately turning to Baku, who's still parading with the ball. "Baku, let's come back later." He speaks firmly and grabs him by his jacket, leading him back the way he came. Si-eun follows.

"What? But we just got here? Does he not want to come?" You hear him question, confusion clear in his voice. You hear gotak speak to him softly, patting his back like he's some kind of confused old man. Gotak turns back for just a second, to wink at juntae and mouth something at him. You can't hear what he said, but you imagine it's something obscene due to the way Juntae immediately slams his bedroom door shut. You can tell he's embarrassed.

He breathes out, slowly turning around and shaking his head. You burst out into laughter, your sides aching from holding it in. "Sorry about that. Now, where were we?" The humour of the situation is evident in his voice.

#i thought about making them kiss #but we cant be going too fast now can we #weak hero x reader #weak hero class 1 #weak hero class two #fanfic #juntae x reader #weak hero #weak hero class one #seo jun tae x reader #weak hero fluff

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triciawritesstuff · 5 days ago

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weak hero class headcanons — showing intimacy with the boys of whc

synopsis — how the boys of whc show intimacy

pairing/s — sieun x reader, suho x reader, baku x reader, gotak x reader, juntae x reader, baekjin x reader, seongje x reader, beomseok x reader

a/n — another headcanon post !! thank u for requesting, anon !! working on a more angst-y headcanon post on how they handle breakups next <3

masterlist | join the taglist | request a fic

⤷ yeon sieun

sieun’s intimacy comes in the small moments—like when he opens a door for you, but always steps aside to let you go first, a quiet sign of respect. he’ll adjust your coat collar without a word, smoothing it down before moving on, as if making sure you’re comfortable. when you’re bent over, looking for something under a table, he’ll instinctively cover your head with his hand—just a small, protective gesture. it’s never grand, but it’s always thoughtful.

he’s the kind of person who notices when you're cold and is already taking off his jacket “it’s cold,” and draping it over you without a second thought, though he won’t make a big deal of it. when you’re sitting together, his arm will hover just a little too close to yours, as if he's quietly reassuring himself that you're there. he’ll never make a show of it, but you’ll always know he’s watching over you, in his quiet, reserved way. everything with sieun feels intentional, even the simplest things.

⤷ ahn suho

suho’s intimacy is about making you feel seen in the simplest ways. when you’re cooking or working on something, he’ll lean against the doorframe or sit beside you, offering small compliments about how you’re doing, and always with that mischievous grin. “you’re doing great,” he’ll say with a smirk, watching you from the corner of his eye. his hand often brushes yours when passing something or reaching for the same thing, a lingering touch that makes your heart race. when you’re resting, he’ll plop down next to you, throwing an arm around your shoulder, sometimes pulling you in close just to kiss the top of your head. it’s spontaneous, but comforting, like he wants you to know he’s always close by.

⤷ park humin (baku)

baku’s intimacy is energetic, playful, and full of affection. if you’re sitting next to him, he might casually drape his arm across your shoulders, pulling you closer just because he wants to be near you. “you’re so slow,’’ he’ll tease as he kneels in front of you, tying your shoes, eyes dancing with amusement. “you can’t even tie your shoes without me, huh?’’ he’d joke, leaning in to kiss the tip of your nose, a light laugh escaping him when you protest.

he’ll sneak in little kisses when you’re least expecting it—like when you’re reading or just chilling, he'll kiss your cheek and then immediately crack a joke to make you laugh. when you’re both walking, he’ll occasionally grab your hand, squeezing it firmly as if to remind you he’s there, even in the midst of everything else going on.

⤷ go hyuntak (gotak)

gotak’s casual intimacy is grounded in reliability and comfort. he’s the type to pull a blanket over your lap when you're sitting together, even if you never asked for one. “i got you,” he’ll say with a simple smile, adjusting the blanket around you. when you're working on something at the table, he might sneak up behind you, brushing your hair aside to make sure it’s not in your face, his hands moving with care. when you’re carrying something heavy, he’ll insist on taking it from you, his hands gentle but firm as he lifts it effortlessly.

while you’re sitting together, he’ll keep his hand on your knee or gently rub the back of your hand, a quiet sign of affection that doesn’t need to be said. when you’re sharing a meal, he’ll subtly pick at your plate, offering you bites of what he thinks you’ll like. it’s the quiet intimacy that comes with being so comfortable around each other—no need for words, just the simple act of being there. (PLEEAAASEEE someone request a fic for gotak i need him SO BADDD)

⤷ seo juntae

juntae’s intimacy is shy but heartfelt. when you’re walking together, he’ll subtly brush your hand, his fingers just grazing yours, as if he’s unsure but can’t help himself. “s-sorry,” he’ll stutter, his face turning pink, but his hand stays just close enough. if you’re sitting at a table or working on something, he’ll offer you a piece of candy or a drink, his eyes always flicking away as if embarrassed, but the sweetness of his actions speaks volumes. when you’re talking, he’s always leaning in just a little closer, showing you that he’s really paying attention, even if his face is flushed. when you’re resting, he might cover your shoulders with a blanket without you asking, his gaze lingering on you in a quiet, soft moment.

⤷ na baekjin

baekjin’s intimacy is intense, but it’s also about subtle control. when you’re walking or standing together, he’ll always position himself just a little closer than you expect, his arm around your waist or his fingers brushing against yours in a possessive but quiet way. “stay close,” he’ll say lowly, his voice firm but not harsh. his hand will often find the small of your back as he guides you, leading you with a certain quiet confidence—like he’s claiming the space around you while keeping you close without needing to say anything.

when you’re studying or working, he won’t interrupt, but occasionally, you’ll feel his presence in the smallest gestures—his hand quietly finding its way to the top of your head, fingers brushing your hair as if to say he’s there. sometimes, he’ll have one of his goons order your favorite drink, all without saying much, just showing that he’s thinking about you. his love is in the details, in the way he silently supports you through the little things, making sure you always feel cared for, even when he's not directly in the spotlight.

⤷ geum seongje

seongje’s intimacy is impulsive and possessive, driven by his need to dominate, but there’s an underlying current of obsession when it comes to you. with him, affection is not something soft or gentle—it’s sharp and possessive, in a way that makes it clear you belong to him, and he enjoys reminding you of that. “you’re mine,” he’ll say sharply, his grip tightening when he pulls you in. he’s the kind of person to hold your wrist tightly when he wants to get your attention, or pull you by the arm just a little too firmly when he’s ready to take you somewhere.

when you’re alone, his hand finds his way to the back of your neck, keeping you close, or he’ll press his forehead to yours in a rare moment of calm. he likes keeping you near, close enough to feel the heat of his body and remind everyone around that you’re his. “everyone should know,” he’ll growl quietly, as if making sure you both understand.

⤷ oh beomseok

beomseok’s intimacy is thoughtful, like everything he does is carefully planned but done with so much heart. when you’re busy with something, he’ll quietly move to help you, adjusting things around you, almost like he’s aware of every little thing you might need. he might hand you a pen without asking, or pass you your cup of coffee with a small smile, his voice soft when he says, “here, thought you might need this.”

he moves with purpose, as if savoring the moment. his touches are always deliberate but tender, like he’s afraid of being too forward, but he wants to be close to you, seeking your warmth. when you’re caught up in something, he might gently rest his head on your shoulder, leaning in just close enough to say, “don’t stress too much. you’re doing great,” his tone calm and reassuring. everything he does feels like it’s meant to take care of you in a way that makes you feel seen.

notes: ugh im so sorry i feel like i kinda lacked with beomseok or didn’t quite catch his vibe(?) it’s just been a while since we’ve last seen him yk? ㅠㅠ hopefully this turned out alright ~

#weak hero x reader #weak hero class #weak hero #sieun x reader #park jihoon

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triciawritesstuff · 6 days ago

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REQUITED (unrequited pt2) yeon sieun x reader

summary!: After a brutal fight, a shared secret, and a long walk in the rain, you’re left holding feelings Yeon Sieun won’t name. But silence can’t last forever. When the weight of waiting finally breaks you, you corner him with the truth — and this time, he doesn’t walk away. Subtle confessions, long glances, and everything unsaid begin to unravel.

"You kissed him. And then you ran. And now you are doing everything in your power to pretend like you did not, in fact, do either of those things."

read pt 1 , based on this ask!

Pairing: oblivious!sieun x pining!femalereader

Trope: slow burn, mutual pining, reverse confession, one-sided (but not really), emotionally constipated genius x emotionally spiraling fighter

Genre: fluff, slice of life, school life, romance

Note: idk something abt writing fluff does something to me- coming from a 24/7 ovulating female.

Word count: 5k

warnings !: none!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

You don’t take the usual hallway anymore, the one with the flickering ceiling light and the peeling corner of bulletin board paper, where Yeon Sieun always stands in front of his locker like he’s been rooted there since the dawn of time. You used to pass him every morning. Sometimes he’d glance at you. Most of the time he wouldn’t. Either way, it used to be... tolerable.

Now, it’s radioactive.

Like brushing against a live wire. Like touching a bruise you forgot you had.

Instead, you snake through the longer way, cutting behind the old faculty office and down the back stairwell that smells vaguely like mothballs and rusted pipe. There’s always a faint clack of a loose ceiling tile above the second landing, and the handrail leaves a faint chalky smear on your palm if you grip it too tight.

It adds three minutes to your morning commute. You do it anyway.

Every single day since that night.

The night you kissed him.

You haven’t stopped replaying it. Not once. You’ve tried. God, you’ve tried. You’ve buried yourself in homework you don’t understand, watched brainless dramas on double speed until the subtitles blur, even cleaned your entire room, dusting baseboards, wiping your mirror twice, until your mom stood in the doorway and asked if you were possessed.

But nothing works. Because you remember everything.

The bite of wind against your cheeks. The empty street humming with quiet. The soft shuffle of his shoes against the pavement when he turned to face you. That infinitesimal pause, the breath between thought and motion, when your fingers brushed his sleeve.

The way he stood so still. So heartbreakingly still.

The silence between you stretching taut like thread about to snap.

The way his breath ghosted against your cheek, his eyes locked on yours and not looking away. Not moving. Not blinking.

Like he was waiting.

And then...

You leaned in.

Just slightly. Just enough. Just far enough for your mouth to brush his and realize that this wasn’t a mistake. That maybe he’d wanted it, too.

Because he didn’t flinch. Didn’t freeze. Didn’t say anything.

He just... let you.

And you...

You ran.

What kind of person kisses someone in the dark and then runs away like they’ve just committed a felony?

A coward. A reckless, impulsive coward who acts on months, maybe years, of pent-up feelings and ruins it in five seconds flat.

Three days. It’s been three days.

And in those three days, you’ve:

Spoken only to Suho, because if anyone would let you avoid your feelings like it’s a competitive sport, it’s him.

Started sitting closer to the back of the classroom, where the sunlight doesn’t hit your face and no one asks questions.

Typed, and deleted, and retyped a dozen messages to Si-eun. You never pressed send.

Thought about the kiss more times than you can count. Wondered if he even noticed it at all. If it even registered.

Maybe it didn’t. Maybe it was just one of those things you do in the heat of a strange, cold night. He probably filed it away somewhere in that calculator brain of his under “Does Not Compute.”

The thought should make you feel better.

It doesn’t.

It makes your chest clench.

You step into the classroom and immediately lower your head. It’s automatic now. Don’t look. Don’t check. Pretend like he doesn’t sit exactly two rows ahead, in his same chair with that hunched-over, surgical precision he brings to everything. Even breathing.

You pretend you don’t know the exact shape of his shoulders when he leans over his desk. The slope of his spine. The way his pen scratches across the page, rhythmic and sharp.

You slip into your desk and crack open your notebook, though the words blur the moment you try to focus on them. You blink twice. No use.

Your head’s somewhere else. Again. Always.

“Hey."

A straw jabs your cheek.

You blink. Look up.

Suho is slouched beside you, legs sprawled under the desk like he’s allergic to good posture. He’s got a juice box in one hand, his pearly whites glinting faintly as he grins with half-lidded mischief.

“Earth to loser,” he says, voice way too loud for how quiet the classroom is. “You’ve been staring at the same page for ten minutes. You good, or should I call an exorcist?”

You swat the straw away. “Do you want to die today?”

He grins, unfazed. “You’ve been weird lately. Not fun-weird. Sad-girl weird.”

“Wow. Thanks.”

“I’m just saying,” Suho says, turning more fully toward you, elbow on the desk now. “Something’s off. You look like you’ve been thinking really hard, which is already suspicious.”

You glare. “I swear to god—”

“You know what I think?” he interrupts, voice too smug for your liking. “You’re either in the middle of an identity crisis, or…” He raises an eyebrow, biting off the end of his straw. “You did something.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

He hums, not buying it. “You definitely did something.”

You scoff, snapping your notebook closed like the sound might shut him up too. “Why don’t you go bother Beomseok or something?”

“Because he's boring. You’re not.”

You don’t reply.

There’s a pause. A real one this time.

When you glance over again, his smile’s gone. His brows are slightly drawn together.

“…What happened?” he asks, quieter now. “Really.”

Your stomach twists.

You force out a laugh, brittle at the edges. “Nothing happened. Seriously. You’re being dramatic.”

He doesn’t look away.

“Right,” he says finally. “And I totally believe that.”

You look down. Your fingers tighten around the edge of your desk, knuckles whitening.

He knows.

Or at least he suspects. Of course he does, Suho’s many things, but oblivious isn’t one of them. He’s seen the way you orbit around Sieun, like some helpless moon caught in his gravitational pull. Seen how your expression softens when you talk about him. How your voice falters when he walks into a room.

He’s the only one who’s watched you fall, slow, silent, hopeless.

But he doesn’t push. Not right now.

You’re grateful. And also, not.

Because if he pushed, maybe it would all spill out.

The kiss.

The silence that followed.

The aching absence of a reaction.

The way Sieun didn’t even flinch. Like it didn’t matter. Like it didn’t touch him.

You suck in a breath. Look up.

Just for a second.

And there he is. Right where he always is.

Yeon Sieun. Perfect posture. Perfect concentration. Perfect stillness.

The same AirPods. The same black pen. The same quiet intensity in the way his fingers move, precise like he’s drafting blueprints instead of taking notes.

You catch a glimpse of his profile, the delicate curve of his nose, the slight crease between his brows. He doesn’t look your way. Not even once.

And maybe he never will again.

Something in your chest cracks.

Because you are not the same.

You still feel the warmth of his skin under your fingertips. The shape of his mouth beneath yours. The unbearable quiet in the air before you fled.

You still feel like a wire stretched too tight. Like one wrong word will snap it.

You blink hard and look away.

Suho’s still watching you.

You shove your notebook into your bag with more force than necessary.

He blinks. “Whoa, where are you going?”

“Nowhere,” you say quickly. “I just...don’t feel like studying right now.”

He raises an eyebrow. “That bad, huh?”

You don’t answer. Just stand. Sling your bag over your shoulder and move.

You feel Sieun’s presence like a pressure in the room. A shadow at your back.

You don’t look.

The second your feet hit the hallway, you finally breathe again.

But it’s shallow. Tight.

Because even out here, even away from the weight of his silence, the memory follows you.

That moment. That kiss.

The quiet question in your chest that still hasn’t gone away:

Why didn’t he stop me?

And worse...

Why hasn’t he said anything since?

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The clock ticks loud in the kind of silence only apathy can bring.

Most of the class is talking, not loudly, but with that kind of half-hearted energy that creeps in when a teacher is ten minutes late and the threat of supervision has fully dissolved. It’s background noise. Faint laughter, lazy murmurs, someone crunching chips way too loudly two desks over.

You, for once, are minding your business.

Actually doing your work.

Maybe because Suho left an hour ago- something about an emergency, and without his constant commentary, it’s easier to pretend you care about the problem set in front of you. Maybe because it’s the only thing stopping you from glancing two rows forward.

Or maybe because you still haven’t stopped spiraling from That Night, and you’d rather calculate quadratic equations with a gun to your head than think about how Sieun hasn’t looked at you once in the last hour.

He’s there, of course. Sitting perfectly upright, left hand bracing his notebook while his right scribbles down neat, efficient notes. The corner of his lip twitches sometimes, but it’s not emotion. Just concentration. His brow is pinched. He’s thinking. Like he always is.

Untouched by the chaos around him.

Untouched by you.

You snap your eyes back to your paper.

Focus.

You’ve just solved for x when Yeongbin’s voice slices through the noise.

“What’d I say? If you’re not gonna pay, don’t touch it.”

You look up, just slightly. Enough to see the source.

Yeongbin’s standing over one of the smaller first-years. A kid with too-big sleeves and a haunted look on his face, holding a juice bottle he clearly didn’t buy. His hands are shaking.

“Hyung, I didn’t know it was yours-”

“Bullshit,” Yeongbin snaps, snatching the bottle out of his hands. “You think things in this class just magically appear for you? What, you’re too poor to afford 800 won?”

The kid’s shoulders flinch.

You glance around. A few people are watching now, but no one says anything. Not unusual. Yeongbin’s never needed a reason to pick fights, he just needs someone smaller. Weaker. Quieter.

You should ignore it.

You really should.

But you’ve had a week. A week of silence, of spiraling, of pretending your chest doesn’t clench every time Sieun’s pen scratches the page and not once in your direction. You’re frayed. Brittle. You’ve been doing your best to stay invisible and it’s not working, and something about Yeongbin’s voice just tips the balance.

He starts laughing. It’s ugly. “Actually, you know what? Keep it. Drink it. I didn’t even want it. You probably need the sugar more than I do—looks like your family’s malnourished.”

Crack.

You don’t even realize you’ve dropped your pencil until it rolls off the desk.

Your chair scrapes as you stand.

Not loud. But loud enough.

The room stills.

Your desk jostles forward with the motion, legs scraping harsh against the floor, and a few people flinch. It’s quiet now. Even Yeongbin turns to look at you, eyebrows raised like he hadn’t even noticed you were there until now.

“Jesus,” he mutters. “What now?”

You walk past your desk slowly, each step deliberate.

“Could you shut up for five seconds?” you say, voice calm. Measured.

Yeongbin scoffs. “What, you care about charity cases now?”

“No,” you say. “I care about not listening to your voice any longer than I have to.”

The kid he was yelling at has already slinked back to his desk, red-faced, clutching the juice bottle like it might shield him. Smart. He knows what’s coming.

“You’ve been itching to start shit all morning,” you say. “Like your ego couldn’t handle not being the loudest person in the room for once.”

Yeongbin snorts. “Bold talk for someone who hasn’t done anything all semester except mope and make eyes at Calculator Boy.”

And there it is. The line.

You shouldn’t care. You shouldn’t. But it slices deeper than it should.

You smile. Too wide.

“Right,” you say. “Coming from the guy who’s repeated this class twice and still can’t spell his own name without sounding it out.”

There’s a beat.

Then...

“What the fuck did you just say?”

The air shifts.

Desks creak as people lean away. Someone whispers “oh shit.” One of the girls starts quietly gathering her things, like she knows she won’t want to be near the blast radius.

Yeongbin steps forward.

You don’t move.

“You wanna say that again?” he says, voice lower now. Dangerous.

“I said,” you repeat, still smiling, “it’s impressive that you even know what letters are, considering your entire personality is built like a used punching bag.”

He doesn’t respond.

He swings.

You duck.

His fist whistles past your ear, cracking into the empty chair behind you. Plastic splinters. He barely blinks before swinging again, but this time, you’re ready. You pivot on your heel, grabbing the edge of the nearest desk and slamming it into his hip.

He curses, stumbling. That’s when you move.

Two steps forward, fast.

You throw your shoulder into him and shove.

Hard.

He staggers back into the teacher’s podium. A textbook clatters to the ground.

The room goes silent.

“Holy shit,” someone breathes.

Yeongbin looks stunned.

Only for a second.

Then his face twists into something feral.

“You bitch,” he growls, and lunges.

This time, you don’t dodge. You meet him.

You grab his wrist mid-swing, twist, and jab your elbow into his ribs, once, twice, before pushing him off and landing a quick, clean kick to his shin. You’ve fought before. You know how to fight. Fast strikes. Soft points. Disable, disarm, destroy.

But Yeongbin’s heavier. And he’s angry.

He recovers faster than expected, grabs the front of your uniform and yanks you forward. You grunt as your balance shifts, knee catching on the edge of a desk. You raise your arm just in time to block his punch. It lands hard against your forearm, pain flares white-hot, but you don’t falter. You grit your teeth and slam your palm into his chest, pushing him back again.

Someone gasps.

“Should we, like, do something?”

“No way, she’s actually holding her own—”

Another swing. This one catches your shoulder. You hiss, stumbling sideways, desk scraping behind you.

He doesn’t let up.

You dodge a wild punch, pivot under his arm, and jab your fist into his kidney. He lets out a sharp breath, staggering, but recovers too fast. You’re off-balance now. He grabs your wrist and yanks.

You hit the floor hard.

Back slams against tile. Wind knocked clean out of your lungs.

“Finally,” he spits, looming over you, knuckles bruised, chest heaving. “Think you’re funny now? Huh?”

You try to move, but pain shoots through your ribs.

Then...

A sound.

Schhhk.

The unmistakable scrape of a chair leg dragging against tile.

The air chills.

You look past Yeongbin’s shoulder.

And there he is.

Sieun. Standing.

His desk is pushed neatly back. His bag remains untouched, pen still in hand, pressed between his fingers like a blade. His eyes are calm.

Too calm.

“Move,” he says, voice quiet.

Yeongbin turns.

“What?”

“I said,” Sieun repeats, stepping forward with slow, clinical precision, “move.”

Yeongbin scoffs. “Stay out of it, freak. This doesn’t concern you.”

“It does now.”

There’s no hesitation.

Sieun moves like a switchblade, fast, sharp, untelegraphed.

He grips Yeongbin’s outstretched arm, twists it at an unnatural angle, and slams his pen straight into the pressure point between the elbow and bicep. Yeongbin yells, stumbling back, clutching his arm.

Sieun doesn’t stop.

Another step. Another strike, this one to the solar plexus. Yeongbin doubles over with a choke.

Sieun leans in close, voice still eerily calm.

“You’re slow,” he says. “Too predictable. Relying on weight and anger instead of technique. And your right foot? Always leads.”

Then, crack, he sweeps his leg and Yeongbin crashes to the floor, coughing.

Sieun straightens.

Not even breathing hard.

You’re still on the floor, staring.

Someone whispers, “Holy shit.”

Yeongbin groans, curling in on himself.

And Sieun?

Si-eun turns to you.

Expression unreadable.

“You okay?” he asks, like the room isn’t holding its collective breath. Like he didn’t just disable someone with a pen and zero emotion.

You blink.

And for the first time all day, maybe all week, you speak without thinking.

“Why now?”

His brows furrow slightly.

You press your palm to your ribs, wincing. “Why now? After this long. After, everything.”

He doesn’t answer.

Just steps forward.

Offers his hand.

You stare at it.

Your heartbeat stutters.

And then, slowly, you take it.

His grip is steady. Warm.

He pulls you to your feet like it costs him nothing.

And for a second, in the middle of a stunned, silent classroom, standing next to the boy who didn’t stop you that night, but did stop this, you finally breathe again.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Today’s been�� a day.

No, that doesn’t even begin to cover it.

Today’s been the kind of day that presses down on your shoulders and drags your feet through concrete. The kind that starts with a punch to the face and ends with a fistful of paperwork and a lecture that lasts longer than your will to live.

The kind of day where you get called into the teacher’s office for “fighting,” and somehow, somehow, Yeongbin’s the one yelling, but you’re the one holding an ice pack.

“Sit,” your teacher had said, flatly, already exhausted before any of you opened your mouths.

You sat. Sieun, too. Perfect posture. Not a hair out of place. Like he didn’t just go full Jason Bourne with a pen less than an hour ago.

Yeongbin slouched in the seat beside you, cradling his bicep like he’d been shot.

Technically, he was stabbed.

Just… with ballpoint.

“Explain what happened,” the teacher sighed, pinching his nose like this headache was personal.

Yeongbin went off immediately.

“She started it!” he snapped, already gesturing with his good arm. “She shoved me, attacked me! For no reason! I was just talking to some brat, and she lost her mind, went full psycho and started throwing punches like she was born in a fucking jail cell!”

You rolled your eyes so hard it hurt. “You were bullying someone.”

“That’s rich coming from you.”

Your teacher glanced at you, wary.

Yeongbin leaned forward, still clutching his arm. “You think just because she does well on some tests, she’s some model student? She’s a time bomb, sir. Walks around like she owns the place. Thinks she can get away with anything just ‘cause she’s pretty and knows how to land a punch.”

Your eyebrows arched slowly. “Aw. Did I bruise your ego?”

“You stabbed me!”

“I didn’t stab you, genius. He did.”

You tilted your head toward Sieun, who remained stone still in the next chair, expression blank, posture perfect, pen balanced between two fingers like he hadn’t just used it to wreck someone’s nervous system.

Yeongbin’s eye twitched.

But then,

He caught it.

The look.

It was barely perceptible.

But you weren’t the one who noticed it.

Sieun was staring at him. No, through him. Eyes narrow. Focused. A quiet, methodical kind of fury, cold and clinical.

That same pen, the pen, was now clutched loosely between his fingers. Not threateningly. Just... visible.

Visible enough that Yeongbin’s voice faltered mid-sentence.

You didn’t catch it. You were too busy glaring at the teacher’s desk.

But Yeongbin saw it.

Saw the way Si-eun’s gaze didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

Didn’t have to.

And whatever Yeongbin was about to say died right there in his throat.

He shut up.

The meeting ended with a mild warning, a long-winded lecture, and a stack of paperwork you only half listened to. The teacher let you off easy, “Since this isn’t like you,” he’d said. “You’re usually a good student.”

Yeongbin stormed out grumbling about “favoritism” and “pretty privilege.”

You didn’t even dignify it with a response.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The last bell rings like a gunshot through your skull.

You’re halfway through packing your bag when your phone buzzes, and without thinking, you hit Answer.

“Yo.”

“Hey,” Suho’s voice floods through the speaker, warm and familiar. “You sound dead.”

“That’s because I am,” you mutter, jamming your books into your backpack. “Guess what happened.”

“Did you punch someone again?”

“Again?”

“Just guessing based on your tone.”

You sigh and drop into your seat. “Yeongbin picked a fight. I responded. Sieun intervened. With a pen.”

There’s a pause.

“Wait...what?”

“He stabbed him, Suho.”

“Like, actually? Is there blood?”

You glance down at the faint bruise on your forearm. “There’s trauma.”

“Shit,” he says, voice rising. “What’d that prick do to you?”

“It’s fine. I held my own.”

“As you should.” He huffs. “Still. Should’ve been me. I would’ve kicked his ass in two punches. Three, if I wanted to be polite.”

You grin despite yourself. “Thanks for teaching me how to fight, by the way.”

“You’re welcome. I take payment in ramen or affection.”

“I’ll pencil you in for both.”

There’s a beat. Then: “You okay?”

You pause.

You glance across the room, where Sieun’s still seated at his desk, like the day hasn’t even touched him. He’s packing his bag with slow, deliberate movements, same as always.

You swallow. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

You nod, then realize he can’t see that. “Yeah.”

“All right. Call me if he breathes near you again. Or if you need ramen. Or if you need someone to throw hands on your behalf.”

“You just want a reason to hit Yeongbin.”

“Yeah, and?”

You laugh softly. “Talk later.”

“Later.”

You hang up.

And before you can chicken out, you grab your bag, straighten your shoulders, and walk up to Sieun.

“…Hey.”

He looks up.

His expression doesn’t shift.

But he nods once. “Mmh.”

“You heading home?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool,” you say, shifting awkwardly. “Mind if I walk with you?”

He pauses. Then, to your quiet relief...

“Okay.”

You both step outside.

And that’s when it starts to rain.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

It starts slow, just a few drops. Enough to speckle the pavement and darken the edges of your sleeves. You glance up.

“Great,” you mutter. “Of course.”

Sieun doesn’t say anything, just adjusts the strap of his backpack and starts walking.

You follow.

The rain thickens by the second, turning from a drizzle to a steady curtain of water, soaking the back of your neck and making your socks squelch inside your shoes. You didn’t bring an umbrella. Neither did he.

“I should’ve expected this,” you say, trying to fill the silence. “Bad weather follows bad days, right?”

Sieun hums, noncommittal.

You glance at him.

His uniform’s already sticking to his frame, plastered to his arms and back. His hair’s wet. Water drips off his jawline in slow, deliberate trails.

And yet, he walks like he doesn’t notice. Like the weather’s a minor inconvenience compared to the storm he already lives in.

You kick a loose pebble. It splashes pathetically.

“…So,” you say, “have you killed anyone with a pen before, or was I your first?”

He doesn’t respond right away.

Then: “Second.”

You blink.

He looks at you.

You squint. “You’re joking, right?”

He blinks once. “You decide.”

You bark out a laugh, too sharp, too sudden, but it feels good.

“God,” you mutter, wiping water off your cheek. “I can’t believe that actually happened.”

Sieun stays quiet.

The silence stretches again.

You glance at him.

“…You didn’t have to step in.”

“I know.”

You frown. “Then why did you?”

He hesitates. A breath too long.

“Because you were losing,” he says simply.

You flinch.

Ouch.

“Wow. Okay. Brutal honesty, got it.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

You scoff. “No, it’s fine. I was losing. Just didn’t realize you were keeping score.”

He exhales, barely audible. “That’s not what I meant.”

You stop walking.

He does too.

The rain doesn’t.

“…Did the kiss change anything?”

Your voice is quiet.

Barely above the sound of the rain.

He looks at you.

Really looks at you.

His hair is dripping. His eyes are unreadable. His mouth parts slightly, like he wants to speak, but doesn’t.

Finally...

“Yes,” he says.

You freeze.

Then, just as quietly: “How?”

His gaze drops.

He takes a breath.

And says, “I don’t know yet.”

You exhale like you’ve been holding it for hours.

“Great,” you mutter. “That’s so reassuring. Really.”

“I’m not trying to confuse you.”

“You’re not trying anything at all.”

You regret it the second it comes out.

He doesn’t respond.

Not right away.

Instead, he turns back toward the road and starts walking again.

You don’t follow at first.

But then, quietly, you jog to catch up.

You fall into step beside him again, wiping your face with the sleeve of your soaked blazer.

“I make everything worse,” you mumble.

“No,” he says, without looking at you. “You don’t.”

The rain falls harder.

But it’s quieter between you now.

Softer.

You glance sideways. “Do you regret it?”

“The kiss?”

You nod.

“No,” he says.

Then, almost too quiet to hear: “But I don’t know what to do with it yet.”

You swallow.

Your hands curl in your sleeves.

“Okay,” you say.

And the rest of the walk is silent.

But it’s the kind of silence you don’t have to run from.

Not yet.

Not tonight.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

It’s been a week since the rain.

Seven days since you walked home with him in silence, water trailing down your spine, his voice echoing in your head like the softest kind of hurt.

“I don’t know what to do with it yet.”

Since then, nothing’s changed.

Not really.

He still looks at you the same way across the classroom. Still keeps to himself. Still answers when you speak, still watches when you fight, still keeps that invisible line drawn tight between you like crossing it might ruin something that never even got the chance to start.

But you’ve changed.

Or maybe, you’ve just run out of places to hide it.

There’s only so many times you can catch yourself staring. Only so many times you can hope someone says something back. Only so many moments you can keep wishing, quietly, pathetically, for something that might never come.

It’s exhausting, loving someone like that.

Someone so precise. So unreadable.

So cold on the surface, but soft in the moments he doesn’t realize you’re watching.

And you’re tired.

You’re so tired.

You find him after school.

You wait for him to pack up, let him put his pens in the zippered pouch he always keeps lined up like weapons, wait for him to tug his backpack on and slide his chair in like nothing matters.

Then you move.

Your hand catches the edge of his desk before he can step past it.

He stops.

Looks up at you.

Expression unreadable.

“Come with me,” you say.

He blinks.

But follows.

You don’t take him far.

Just the rooftop, the one place at school no one bothers to check, because the lock’s rusted open and the staircase is grimy and students are lazy.

You push the door open and walk out first.

Let the cold spring air hit your lungs. Let the wind pull at your sleeves and blow your hair into your face.

He steps out behind you. Shuts the door with a soft click.

And then it’s just you and him.

No one else.

Not the other students. Not Suho. Not Yeongbin. Not the teachers. Not your friends or his ghosts or anyone who could interrupt the quiet weight between you.

Just the concrete rooftop and the sky and the truth you’re ready to spit out whether it shatters or not.

You turn to him.

He’s standing there like he always does, shoulders squared, eyes flat, jaw tight. Braced for a fight that hasn’t started yet.

He doesn’t ask why you brought him up here.

He doesn’t have to.

You take a breath.

You’ve been rehearsing this for days.

But now that it’s here, it feels heavier than it ever did in your head.

“I like you.”

The words cut clean.

Sharp.

He blinks.

But doesn’t say anything.

“I don’t know how, or why,” you go on, louder this time, hands trembling at your sides, “and I sure as hell didn’t plan to. But I do. I like you.”

The silence crackles between you like something alive.

You laugh.

It’s bitter.

“I’ve been waiting,” you say. “This whole time. For something. Anything. For you to say something that told me I wasn’t insane. That I wasn’t just seeing things that weren’t there.”

His mouth parts, barely.

But no sound comes out.

You swallow.

Hard.

“I’m not trying to pressure you. This isn’t about that. I’m just, done.”

His eyes lift to meet yours.

You feel it like a bruise.

“I’m tired of guessing how you feel. Tired of making excuses for your silence. Tired of pretending I don’t care when you act like nothing happened. Like I didn’t kiss you. Like we didn’t...feel something.”

You pause, breathing shaky.

“I just wanted you to know. Before I let go.”

Silence.

You close your eyes.

And whisper, softer this time:

“I’m letting go.”

You move to turn around.

But,

“Don’t.”

Your feet freeze.

You turn slowly.

His voice is quieter than anything you’ve ever heard him say.

Almost like it hurts.

“…Don’t let go yet.”

Your heart stops.

He’s still staring at you.

But there’s something different in his gaze now.

Something raw.

Unmasked.

“I didn’t know what to do,” he says, the words awkward on his tongue like he’s still testing how they sound. “I didn’t plan to feel anything either. I didn’t mean to.”

You don’t speak.

You don’t even breathe.

“But I did.”

Your breath catches.

He shifts his weight, like this is physically difficult. Like the confession is stuck in his chest, fighting to get out.

“You matter to me,” he says finally.

And somehow, those four words hit harder than any poetic declaration ever could.

You blink, hard.

He looks away for a second. Then back.

“I didn’t want to say something and not mean it right. I didn’t want to promise anything I couldn’t give.”

“You don’t have to promise anything,” you say quietly. “I just wanted to know if it was real.”

“It is.”

It’s so quiet, you almost miss it.

Your fingers twitch at your sides.

“Then why didn’t you say anything before?”

He looks at you, really looks.

“…Because if I lost you, I didn’t want it to be because I said the wrong thing.”

Your throat burns.

“I was already halfway gone.”

“I know.”

And still, he takes a step forward.

Then another.

And another.

Until he’s standing in front of you, too close, too warm, too him.

He reaches out.

Not to hold your hand.

But just to brush your sleeve with the back of his knuckles. So light it almost doesn’t touch.

“But I want you to stay.”

You inhale sharply.

His eyes don’t move from yours.

“You said you’re letting go,” he murmurs.

“…Yeah.”

“Don’t.”

You almost laugh.

Instead, your lip trembles.

“You’re really bad at this.”

“I know.”

And then...

He leans forward.

Just slightly.

His forehead brushes yours.

Not a kiss.

Not yet.

Just that quiet, electric closeness.

That unbearable tension.

“I can’t say everything you want me to say,” he whispers. “Not yet. But I feel it. All of it.”

Your hands curl into the fabric of his uniform.

You nod.

That’s enough.

For now.

a/n: this was less fluffier than i anticipated.

#whc1 #whc1 x reader #sieun #yeon sieun

204 notes · View notes

triciawritesstuff · 6 days ago

Note

Can you please do the prompt "three words. just say the three words." With Na Baek-Jin but make it enemies to lovers and full of yearning😭😭💗

prompt — "three words. just say the three words." pairing — academic rival!na baekjin x reader genre — academic rivals to lovers, highschool, mutual pining, soft angst cw — academic pressure, tension, one kiss, just that type of yearning where you almost hate both of them for it wc — ~700 notes: i wrote this on someone else's laptop so sorry if the layout or my writing is a lil wonky ToT this was pretty rushed/not proofread

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you and baekjin have been neck and neck for as long as you can remember. same grade, same extracurriculars, same perfectly neat handwriting across test papers the teachers always returned with that look, the one that silently said, again? you two?

he always rolled his eyes when they called your names together, like it was a curse, and you did the same.

still, somehow, every quiz bee, every debate tournament, every single research camp—you ended up beside him. not by choice. just... fate, or bad luck, or the fact that your scores matched to the decimal.

you told yourself you hated him. but sometimes, you caught him looking. there are stolen moments that you two share. like that one time, late night in the library, when you both reached for the same textbook and your hands brushed—and neither of you moved away.

or the time you caught him staring at you mid-question during the final round of an academic bee, and he looked so focused, like he was memorizing your face instead of the answer.

and then there was that out-of-province regional thing last fall—when they messed up the room assignments and you two were forced to share a bed in some tiny guesthouse. the silence was thick. your backs were to each other. but sometime in the middle of the night, you woke up and he was facing you, but neither of you moved.

and now, senior year. your last nationals together. you’ve both just won it all—a team victory, but the only hand you felt trembling slightly against yours was his. his knuckles brushed yours during the final round, and you should’ve pulled away. but you didn’t, your fingers intertwined as you bowed together, closing off your championship run.

later, when the noise dies and the cameras are gone, you find each other alone behind the auditorium. he’s still in his blazer, medal heavy around his neck. the low light hits his profile just right—jaw clenched, throat bobbing.

"you didn’t have to stay back," you say quietly, as you organized the notes in your bag. “everyone’s at that hot pot place by now.”

"i know," he replies, just as quiet. "but... i knew you would."

you scoff. “of course you do.”

he studies you in that quiet, calculating way he does before a competition—except now, there’s no scoreboard, just the way his eyes soften like he’s tired of pretending.

"you know, bakejin, i kinda hate this," you whisper. it slips out. too raw, too real.

"what?"

"this thing between us." your voice wavers. "i mean, do we really still see each other as rivals, or is this just an excuse to keep whatever this is going?" you say, motioning between you and him. “we’re seniors now, baekjin. not kids.” a few months from now you won’t be winning competitions with him, sneaking glances at him while you studied for the next—hell, you might never even see baekjin again.

but baekjin takes a step closer, and your heart starts counting every second like it’s timed.

"then say it," he murmurs.

you blink. "say what?"

"three words," he says. "just say the three words."

your heart stutters.

"i hate you?" you offer, shaky.

he exhales—sharp, almost annoyed. not at you, but at the space between what you’re saying and what you mean. “no.”

you pause.

you know what he means. you know exactly what he means.

but you’ve spent so long pretending you didn’t.

he speaks first, his voice is quieter now. more raw than you’ve ever heard it.

"i love you."

the words land heavy. like a confession and an accusation all at once. and god, the way he looks at you after — like he’s bracing for the moment you walk away. like he already expects you to run.

but you don’t.

you step in, closing the distance. you let your fingers graze his—not by accident like earlier onstage, but deliberately.

"then i love you too," you say, as your other hand reaches up to curl your fingers around his tie, pulling him into a chaste kiss. you were both winners, after all.

note: i accidentally posted this while doing last minute edits lol so i edited it some more and decided to let it stay up instead of reuploading. ig i offer this as a token of my appreciation for the love surrounding my weak hero class works <3

#need that #na baekjin x reader #weak hero class #na baekjin #weak hero class 1 #weak hero #weak hero x reader

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triciawritesstuff · 6 days ago

Text

collarless | geum seongje

synopsis — he’s always been collarless, all sharp teeth and no leash, and you swore you’d never crawl back to that kind of life. but even strays remember home.

pairing — geum seongje x ex!reader

genre — exes to enemies to an even worse, third thing, angst, action, just exes with unresolved tension, hurt/comfort

cw — violence, blood, smoking, tons of swearing, toxic relationship dynamics, emotional manipulation, implied sexual tension, they beat each other up and then make out lol 50% fighting 50% longing (sorry to action haters, just scroll down to the divider for romance lol)

wc — ~2.6k

part of the “i can fix him!” trilogy

notes: badly wanted to write a fic where the reader isn’t a horribly treated s.a. victim with the depth of a kiddie pool and can actually fight back/toe-to-toe against seongje.

masterlist | join the taglist | request a fic

the first time you punch seongje since you've last seen him, he laughs.

he’s leaning against the rusted frame of the garage door, a fresh bruise blooming on his lip, thanks to you, of course. one hand tucked into the pocket of his tracksuit, the other loosely draped over his ribs, his posture is loose but predatory, like a stray dog that’s been used to surviving on its own. his eyes flicker with a dangerous amusement, cold and hungry. “this your idea of a reunion, y/n?” he jeers.

you don’t bother answering—you slam your fist into his jaw, the impact sending a sharp crack through the air, like you’ve hit something wild and untamed.

“fuck off, seongje,” you spit. “the union doesn’t get to sniff around here without a warning. you think just ‘cause you’re one of baekjin’s dogs now, you get a free pass?”

he licks the blood off his bottom lip like he’s savoring it. “wasn’t trying to start a war.”

“then you shouldn’t have stepped foot in my area.”

“didn’t know you were this territorial, babe.” he asks when you ready your stance for another punch, already stretching your neck.

“you always this cocky for a mutt on a leash?”

he smiles, a wild glint flashing in his eyes. “didn’t wanna cause a scene, babe. just need your little bitch boss to pay us back the money he owes. which, if you didn’t know,” he tilts his head, slow and jerky, like a predator sizing up its prey, “is a-fucking-lot.” seongje laughs, the sound low and unnerving, dripping with manic amusement.

the collection wasn’t even a big deal. the union has far more boys than to send their right-hand man for something this small. seongje wasn’t here because the money was urgent. he was here because it amused him to get under your skin, to remind you who he was—who he still thought he was.

he shrugs, that cocky smirk never leaving his face. “had to, didn’t i? baekjin’s orders, y’know. thought you’d have missed me too.” he runs a hand through his hair with a lazy flick of his wrist as he saunters over to you, eyes glinting like he’s daring you to call him out.

then, with a casualness that somehow feels more dangerous than it should, he leans in slightly, his gaze flicking down to your lips for a fraction of a second before meeting your eyes again. it’s a move that feels too deliberate, too comfortable—like he’s testing just how much you’ll let him play with you.

you don’t need to hear more.

you swing again, remembering how he used to kiss you with that same reckless, chaotic energy. how every touch felt like a battle you never wanted to win.

his eyes darken—knowing. there’s a flicker in them, a sharp edge as he realizes you’re not backing down. and then, before you can react, he steps back to dodge, and steps back in as he throws a clean punch, landing square on your cheek.

you grunt, the impact rattling your head and bringing a ringing to your ears, but you don’t stumble. instead, you lean into the hit, using the momentum to drop low, kicking out your leg and tripping him on his shin. seongje stumbles, a grunt escaping him as he crashes to the ground with a sharp hiss.

“did you think i was gonna fall for that?” you sneer, standing over him, fists clenched.

he grins, his breath coming out ragged but amused. “nah. but i thought you’d make it fun.”

you raise your fist again. “you haven’t learned your lesson.”

but this time, seongje’s movements are quicker than you expect—he pounces, body weight crashing into yours, sending both of you slamming into the concrete ground. The air leaves your lungs in a whoosh, and before you can react, he’s already on top of you, his knee pressing into your side, pinning your arm beneath him.

you hiss through the pain, but even as your body aches from the impact, you narrow your eyes at him as he huffs, already sick of your persistence. “shit, you really want to make pretty faces like yours bleed?” seongje smirks, his grip tightening as he uses one palm to plant on the ground beside your head. his other hand catches your wrist, holding it above your head. “you always fight this hard, or is it just me?” he whispers, voice low and dangerous, as his knee digs into your other arm, restraining you completely.

his smirk never falters, but there’s something else in his eyes now—something dangerous, hungry.

you inhale sharply, then, in one quick, explosive motion, you slam your forehead into his with a sharp crack.

seongje’s eyes widen for a split second, disoriented. that’s all you need. you push him off, shoving him to the side and rolling back onto your feet, each move faster than before.

he blinks, trying to steady himself, but you’re already on him, throwing punches—one to the side of his head, another to his stomach, the force enough to make him cough out a ragged breath. a swift kick knocks his glasses clean off his face, sending them skidding across the gravel.

he looks up at you, his features twisted with annoyance, but also… something else. something almost familiar.

“you were going easy on me,” you murmur, voice low and dangerous, a smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. “didn’t want me to get hurt, babe?” you tease, the nickname slipping from your tongue almost bitterly. “you know… we don’t make out anymore. guess it wouldn’t hurt to give you a busted lip, huh?”

he glares at you, breath coming quicker, the tension between you both palpable now—old history, old fights, and the undeniable truth that things are never just physical with him.

“you never make things easy, do you?” he growls, but there’s a spark in his eyes. a challenge, an invitation.

“you should know by now,” you reply, ready to go again, both of you caught in a tangled mess of unfinished business.

you’re caught in a frenzy of punches, kicks, and curses, both of you battering each other with everything you’ve got. each hit feels like it might be the last, but neither of you is willing to give up.

seongje’s fast, like always, his body moving with a feral intensity that makes it impossible to land a clean blow. but you’re just as relentless. you always have been. you dodge one punch, counter with an elbow to his ribs, and then another to his jaw, but it’s not enough. he’s too quick, and the fight’s gone on too long.

a wave of frustration rises in your chest. this damn wolf doesn’t know when to quit.

you swing again, aiming for his ribs, but he dodges just in time, his body shifting insanely fast, too fast for you to land a proper hit. he retaliates with a sharp jab to your stomach, knocking the wind out of you.

“fucking hell, y/n,” he growls, and you hear the edge of something you can’t quite place in his voice. maybe it’s concern, maybe it’s annoyance, but then—everything goes black.

when you wake, the world is dim, but not like it was before. this is different—darker, colder. the smell of smoke hits your nostrils first, and it’s only then that you recognize it. you’re not at some random street corner or an alleyway. you’re somewhere familiar.

your eyes slowly adjust to the darkness, the shadows of the room taking form around you. and then it hits you: this room. you’ve been here before, too many times. too many nights spent tangled in memories you’ve tried to forget.

the dim light from the fading sunset seeps through a narrow window, casting deep purple shadows across the floor. your head’s throbbing, your cheek swollen, and your body aches with every movement, but none of that matters because you recognize this place. seongje’s place.

he’s standing by the windowsill, cigarette between his lips, smoke curling up into the air. his back is to you, but you can still see the familiar silhouette. his posture, the way his shoulders slouch just enough to give him that casual, laid-back look. the same posture you’ve seen a thousand times in this very room, in these very circumstances.

fuck him, you think, pushing yourself up onto your elbows. you wipe your mouth, feeling the blood on your lip, the cut stinging. this isn’t fair—bringing you back here.

you hear the soft snick of his lighter as he takes another drag from the cigarette, the sound too familiar.

“you’re awake,” he says, voice rough but not unkind. he turns around slowly, eyes narrowing as he watches you.

“you knocked me out,” you mutter, your voice still thick with the remnants of the fight. your hand moves instinctively to your aching jaw. you feel the bruise already forming.

seongje looks almost casual about it, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “wasn’t my intention,” he shrugs, but his eyes flicker down to the cut on your lip, then back to your face. there’s a pause, and his voice drops lower as he adds, “but you didn’t really make it easy, babe—and this was the only way to shut you up.”

you frown, trying to process the weight of his words. what the hell does he mean by that? his eyes catch yours, and for a moment, the space between you feels heavy, charged with all the old history and the years of tangled emotions that you two shared.

you take a deep breath, forcing yourself to steady your mind. “you could’ve left me there,” you snap, trying to mask the vulnerability that’s creeping in. “but you didn’t.”

his eyes flash with something—maybe irritation, maybe something else—but he doesn’t look away. he takes another drag from his cigarette, as if weighing his next words carefully.

“yeah, and leave you with those assholes?” he mutters, his voice low and dark, eyes meeting yours with an intensity that makes your breath catch. “no fucking way.”

your heart skips a beat at that, the weight of his words crashing over you. his tone isn’t what you expected—there’s something more beneath the surface, something he’s not saying. it makes you pause, just for a moment, before you shake your head, trying to brush it off.

“you’re a pain in the ass,” you reply, though it comes out quieter than you meant.

seongje just looks at you, the corner of his mouth twitching up into that familiar smirk. “old habits never die,” he murmurs, and you feel that old tension, that magnetic pull, surge again between you two.

his cigarette is still between his fingers, and without asking, he holds it out to you. you don’t take it, instead leaning in slightly, your lips brushing against his fingers as you take a long drag from the cigarette on his hand, the smoke filling your lungs before you blow it out, deliberately exhaling the thick cloud of smoke right onto his face.

he rolls his eyes at this, unbothered, the smirk never fading as if he’s used to this by now.

“still playing dirty, huh?” he mutters, clearly unfazed, like you’ve done this a thousand times before.

“and you’re still a fucking freak.” you shrug, the tension between you thickening with every word, the unspoken history, stained with repressed feelings, lingering just under the surface.

“a freak you’d kill for,” seongje says, finally facing you, narrowing his eyes as he flicks the cigarette out the window. “join the union,” he says simply.

you cock an eyebrow at him, your lips curling into a smirk, eyebrows quirked in disbelief. “if you wanted to get back together, you could’ve just said that. fucker.”

seongje doesn’t laugh, he just keeps watching you like he’s waiting, gaze a little more intense this time.

you shake your head, something colder behind your eyes now. “i’m not fucking insane like you, seongje.”

his jaw tics, but he doesn’t interrupt. so you keep going.

“you knew it back then, too. it was always gonna be one of us.” your voice is quiet, but steady. “and you knew me, seongje. i just needed to get by. keep my head down, earn some chump change, scrape enough to disappear when i was ready. the union—” you scoff, “—that shit was always too high stakes. too serious.”

you look away, jaw clenching. “i have dreams, seongje. i’m gonna go to college. make something out of this mess.”

you finally meet his eyes again. “so no, i’m not joining the union.”

seongje huffs out a low breath, then laughs—dry, disbelieving. “so that’s also a ‘no, we’re not getting back together’, huh?” he echoes, head tilted like he’s trying to make sense of you, a playful smirk playing on his lips, but his eyes flickered with something else.

you roll your eyes at this. then he chuckles, rubbing a hand down his face. “shit. you’re scary, babe.” there’s something fond buried under the sarcasm, though, something sharp and aching. “you always talked like you were gonna burn the whole city down just to make it to some fucking—loser, nerd, uni. still do.” he spits out.

he looks back out the window, tongue pressing into his cheek.

you can tell he’s pissed. bitter, even. maybe even... jealous? but you reach out without thinking—soft, deliberate—and brush a stray strand of hair from his forehead. your fingers linger just long enough to slip his glasses off, folding them in your hand.

if you were anyone else, he’d have snapped your neck for touching his glasses, let alone getting that close.

but you were you.

seongje doesn’t flinch, he doesn’t even move—just shifts his gaze, side-eying you from the corner of his eye, something unreadable swimming just beneath the surface.

“you always do whatever the fuck you want,” he mutters, but it comes out low, almost like a compliment.

“mhm,” you hum, fingers still ghosting along his skin as you cup his cheek. his skin is rough beneath your touch—calloused and scarred, the faint divots of half-healed cuts from fights and brawls brushing against your palm. it scrapes at your skin, grounding you in a memory you shouldn’t still want. a past drenched in adrenaline and bad decisions, but his warmth still makes your chest ache like it always did.

your thumb brushes just beneath his eye as you lean in a little closer, your voice barely a breath. “and i really wanna kiss your stupid face right now, you psycho.”

seongje’s jaw clenches under your touch. his eyes scan yours, gaze falling on your lips, then back to your eyes, like he’s daring you to do it. like he wants you to. you blink once, his eyes flick to your lips again, and that’s all it takes.

seongje grabs your face with both hands—rough, unfiltered—like he’s been holding back since the second you woke up in his room. the kiss crashes into you, all teeth and heat and the wild kind of need that’s only ever been his.

god, he needed this.

not just the his lips on your or his fingers curling into the back of your neck, but you. the only person who ever made him feel anything beyond bloodlust. all the beatdowns, the turf wars, the payoffs—none of that ever lit his veins up like this. like you.

your eyes flutter close, gasping into his mouth as he deepens the kiss, urgent, almost clumsy with how badly he wants more. his hands are on your jaw, your waist, your back—everywhere, like if he lets go, it’ll all disappear. he groans desperately into your lips, muttering your own name against your skin.

you let him kiss you like he’s starved for it, like he’s still the boy who used to beg you not to leave his bed in the mornings, the boy who would let the world burn just to have you. you let him hold you like this means something—like maybe, for tonight, it does.

even though you know you’ll be gone by tomorrow morning, before the sun even touches the edge of the windowsill where you two once sat. no note, no goodbye. you’ve done it before, and you’ll do it again.

because he’ll always choose the union. the chaos. the blood in his mouth and the rush in his fists. because that’s just who seongje is—your wolf with red-stained teeth, always chasing, craving something darker. the mad dog.

but you?

you’ve got places to be. you’re not wasting time here leashed to him like this. you have dreams to run toward. dreams that geum seongje was never meant to follow.

note: just couldn’t stop thinking of love and leashes while writing this, so here u go lol

#weak hero x reader #weak hero #keum seongje #geum seonje x reader #seongje x reader

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