aleese

fav gal

[aleese1111]

aleese1111 | requests & questions,, masterlists . . +18

author's note: 2-3 days, a day if you're lucky! i'm not writing smut atm so i won't be accepting smut requests.

requests now closed !

✶ ᶻz .ᐟ , rulebook | masterlists | requests

[aleese1111]

yo myf bruh

[aleese1111]

not about trust, but fear two | ahn suho x fem!reader

summary : suho has been distant, and when his sudden disappearance turns into a hospital visit, everything she knew about him begins to unravel. as secrets and fears come to light, she’s left scrambling to understand what happened—before it’s too late.

warnings: violence, injury, coma, emotional trauma, panic, guilt, grief, medical distress, heavy angst, near-death experience, sobbing, emotional breakdown, graphic emotional pain.

author's note: is everybody okay after this one .. ? requests ,,

✶ ᶻz .ᐟ , .. one .. two.. ??

the sound of her phone buzzing on the bedside table was barely audible, a distant hum over the oppressive quiet of the room. the air conditioner whirred, but it didn’t drown out the gnawing feeling in her chest. she had been texting him all day—no response. and the days before had been no different. suho had been strangely distant lately. no more late-night messages, no small jokes shared between the two of them. there was a coldness now, a wall between them that she couldn’t get past no matter how many times she reached out.

she stared at her phone screen, her heart sinking with every unanswered message. where are you, suho? she typed, her fingers trembling. i’m worried. i just want to hear from you.

nothing. no reply. not even a read receipt. just silence. that silence, so sharp and final, gnawed at her, a cold ache in her chest that she couldn’t ignore.

her fingers hovered over the screen, poised to text him again, her third attempt. please, suho. answer me.

still, nothing. the unanswered texts weighed heavier than they should have, the reality of it sinking in, piercing through the fog of her thoughts. something felt horribly wrong. it wasn’t just that he was busy. no. there was a shift in the air, a deep, unsettling presence of something that she couldn’t place but could feel in every part of her.

the unease she had been trying to ignore for the past few days grew stronger, more persistent. the worry that had clung to the edges of her thoughts now became a cold, palpable thing. it was real. she knew it in her bones. something was wrong with suho.

she couldn’t sit still anymore. after a few more minutes of staring at the blank screen, she snapped into action. she grabbed her coat and rushed out the door, a sense of urgency pushing her forward. she couldn’t wait any longer. she needed to see him.

it didn’t take long to reach his house, though the journey felt like it took hours. her heart beat erratically in her chest, a constant drum of worry that drowned out everything else. when she rang the doorbell, it felt like the world had paused, every second stretching on. his grandmother answered the door, and at the sight of her, a knot of dread twisted in her stomach.

“grandma… where’s suho?” she tried to keep her voice steady, but the tremble was too obvious to hide.

his grandmother’s face fell. the reaction was swift, instinctive. she stepped aside, her hands clasped tightly in front of her, wrinkled fingers trembling as she spoke. “he... he didn’t come home last night. i thought maybe he was just out with friends, but… he’s been gone all morning, too.”

a cold shiver ran down her spine. this wasn’t like suho. he always told someone if he was going to be late, especially his grandmother. she wasn’t used to seeing the elderly woman so distressed. her mind raced, panic creeping in.

“i… i’ve been texting him, calling him, and nothing,” she whispered, the lump in her throat growing. do you think something’s happened to him?

his grandmother’s face grew even graver. “i don’t know. but something’s not right…”

before either of them could say another word, her phone rang, interrupting the tension. she glanced down, breath catching in her throat as she saw yeong-i’s name flash on the screen.

without hesitation, she answered, trying to keep her voice calm, but failing miserably. “yeong-i? where’s suho?”

on the other end, the voice was barely recognizable. it was frantic, shaking, breathless. and that panic twisted a cold fist in her gut. “he’s in a critical condition. they’re rushing him to the hospital... i—I don’t know what happened, but he’s—he’s bad. he’s not—"

the rest of the sentence was lost in frantic sobs, and it felt like the ground beneath her feet was slipping away. she felt her knees give way, her whole body trembling. “what do you mean ‘critical condition’? what happened to him?” the words were barely audible, breaking on the edge of her breath.

“beom-seok,” yeong-i’s voice cracked, and the raw guilt in her tone made her stomach twist. “he... he did this. they fought, and we couldn’t stop it. suho... —" yeong-i’s sobs echoed in her ear, and her words became a blur of desperation. “i’m so sorry. i don’t know how it went so wrong.”

her world spun, her head heavy with disbelief. suho? in a critical condition? this couldn’t be happening. suho doesn’t get hurt. he doesn’t—

“where is he? where is suho now?” she heard herself asking, her voice breaking with the sheer weight of the fear clutching her chest.

“they’re taking him to the icu. i… i’ll meet you there,” yeong-i’s voice was a whisper, barely holding together before the call ended with a soft, broken sound.

everything around her faded. the hospital’s sterile white walls, the distant conversations, the hurried footsteps—all of it became background noise. her legs moved, but they felt detached, as if she wasn’t really there. the air felt thick, suffocating. suho’s in a coma. the words repeated, but they didn’t make sense. how? how was this even possible?

her heart pounded in her chest, the beats syncing with her footsteps as she moved through the halls toward the icu. she couldn’t process it. suho wasn’t the type to end up in a hospital, let alone in a coma. this was a nightmare.

the doors to the icu opened, and in that moment, everything stopped. a team of doctors and nurses rushed past her, pushing a gurney with suho’s unconscious form strapped in. his face was pale, almost ghostly, and covered with bruises. the beeping of the heart monitor filled the air, a constant, steady rhythm that was the only sign he was still alive.

she froze. the world around her turned to stone. every muscle in her body locked in place as her mind tried to make sense of what was before her. this isn’t real. this can’t be real.

“suho…” the name came out as a whisper, barely audible, as if saying it out loud might bring him back. she needed to believe that this was a nightmare, that any moment he would stand up, brush off the blood, and make some joke. he had to. this couldn’t be happening.

but it was.

suho lay there, battered and bruised, his body still. the only sound was the beeping of the monitor.

a sob escaped her, deep and primal. her hand reached out, trembling, as if by some miracle she could touch him and bring him back to life. but she couldn’t move. she couldn’t even breathe.

“no…” the word broke from her throat, fragile and desperate. “no, suho, please…”

her knees buckled. she dropped to the ground, her face in her hands as the tears flowed freely. she couldn’t stop. she didn’t know how. it was like the grief had ripped her open, and she was drowning in it. why couldn’t i protect him?

“suho…” she whispered again, the name like a prayer, a desperate plea. but there was no answer.

yeong-i was there beside her now, her hands trembling as she gripped her shoulders, trying to keep her upright. “you can’t go near him. they need to stabilize him,” she said softly, trying to pull her back from the overwhelming grief.

but the words didn’t reach her. the world was fading, and all that remained was suho, lying there, so still, so lifeless.

her chest heaved with each breath, as her mind raced. how could this happen? why didn’t he tell me he was hurting?

a painful cry escaped her throat, loud and gut-wrenching. “why didn’t you tell me, suho?” the words were broken, her heart shattering with every syllable. “why didn’t you tell me you were in pain? i could’ve helped... i could’ve done something…”

she squeezed her eyes shut, the weight of everything crashing down on her. he protected everyone else… but who was there to protect him?

the tears wouldn’t stop. her hands gripped her chest as she rocked back and forth, trying to steady herself, but the overwhelming grief was too much. the silence of the room felt deafening. the only thing she could hear was the relentless beep of suho’s heart monitor.

yeong-i knelt beside her, her voice gentle but firm. “you have to be strong for him. suho wouldn’t want you to break down like this.”

but she couldn’t stop. not now. not when the pain was so unbearable. the seconds stretched into eternity, the moments dragging on endlessly.

she felt as though she were drowning, suffocating in grief.

the heart monitor beeped, steady and rhythmic. suho was still here. he was still fighting. but how long could he keep fighting? what if he couldn’t make it?

“suho, please,” she whispered one last time, her voice cracking. her vision blurred with tears. she couldn’t bear the thought of losing him—of never hearing his voice again, of never holding his hand, of never seeing his smile.

the doors to the icu clicked shut, and the doctors and nurses moved away, leaving her standing there, motionless. she couldn’t leave him. she couldn’t move.

the silence filled the room, the soft beeping of the monitor the only sound. she stared at suho, her heart praying,

✶ ᶻz .ᐟ , .. one .. two.. ??

[aleese1111]

Hello there! I'm you don't take requests anymore since it's closed but tbh there's an idea that has been nagging me for the past few days if you want ofc could you do a Geum seong je x Na reader

In which she's Na Baek Jin's lil sis who's younger than him by a year and that she's so into Seong je despite him ignoring her and being kinda mean to her, thank you for reading this, don't stress yourself, stay safe and dehydrated🫂

With love anonymous 🫶🏼

two inches of denial | geum seong je x baekjin!sister!reader

summary: she flirts like it’s a game. he ignores her like it’s survival. but every glance lingers too long, and every brush of her hand says what neither of them will. maybe it’s not one-sided. maybe he’s not as unaffected as he pretends.

warnings: smoking, underage smoking, mild violence (school fight), suggestive dialogue, unresolved romantic tension, protective behavior, brat x grump dynamic, older love interest, light angst, mutual pining .

author's note: girl i love you for this request :(( . requests ,,

seong-je leaned against the chipped iron fence outside her school gate, one boot pressed to the metal, cigarette smoldering between two fingers. his hoodie was pulled up despite the late afternoon heat, casting a shadow over his sharp gaze, which never quite left the screen of his phone. smoke curled lazily around him, drifting into the golden haze of the setting sun.

every so often, a student passing by would glance at him too long. the guys looked cautious. the girls looked curious. no one was dumb enough to approach.

he didn’t notice. or at least, he made damn sure it looked like he didn’t.

his phone buzzed.

baek jin: “she better not be bleeding again. straight to the bowling alley. no stops. no detours. keep her out of trouble for once.”

seong-je scoffed under his breath, thumb hovering over a reply he didn’t bother sending. babysitting. again. he couldn’t decide whether baek jin genuinely trusted him with this task or just liked the idea of him suffering.

then he heard it — the metal creak of the school gate. the click of shoes on pavement. a familiar rhythm, like chaos with too much confidence.

“miss me, pretty boy?”

he glanced up, already exhaling a long plume of smoke — and there she was.

lip split clean down the center, blood dried in the corner. her tie was nowhere to be seen, blazer thrown over her shoulder like it was a fashion statement. there was a fresh bruise forming on her cheek, but the smirk on her face made it look intentional.

trouble. wrapped in plaid skirt and attitude.

she sauntered over like she was walking a runway and not the sidewalk outside a disciplinary office.

“you’re late,” he said, tone flat, eyes lingering on her mouth for a beat too long.

“you’re welcome,” she replied brightly. “figured you’d get all twitchy if you didn’t have time to miss me.”

he didn’t dignify that with an answer. just looked her over with that same clinical coldness he used on enemies.

“what happened?”

she shrugged. “girl got bold. thought she could call me a plastic bitch and live.”

he arched a brow. “and?”

“she’s not living.”

he clicked his tongue and dropped the cigarette, grinding it beneath his heel. “you’re a magnet for lawsuits.”

“i’m a magnet for jealousy,” she corrected, brushing past him so her fingers casually grazed his.

he tensed — not visibly, not obviously — but she felt it. she always did.

“you’ve got blood on your sleeve,” he muttered.

“not mine,” she said cheerfully.

he gave her a look. one of those unreadable, annoyed-but-not-really ones.

“baek jin’s gonna lose it.”

she waved it off. “he always does. it’s his cardio.”

they started walking side by side. or rather, she walked in little bouncing steps that made her ponytail sway, while he matched her pace like he wasn’t watching her every move out the corner of his eye.

“where are we going?” she asked, tugging her blazer around her shoulders.

“bowling alley. your brother’s already there.”

she groaned loudly. “great. a post-fight lecture with pins crashing in the background. peak family bonding.”

he stayed silent.

a group of boys passed them on the sidewalk, loud and laughing until one of them caught sight of her. his eyes lingered. too long.

before she could say something smart, seong-je had already turned his head — just slightly — and stared the guy down like he was planning his funeral.

“something funny?” he asked, voice low and cold.

the boy instantly looked away, mumbling something as he walked faster.

she grinned. “aw. were you jealous?”

he didn’t answer.

“that was hot,” she added, bumping her shoulder into his. “almost made me swoon.”

“try not to swoon into traffic,” he muttered, reaching out — quick and automatic — to guide her by the arm when they stepped off the curb.

she blinked at the contact, warmth shooting through her from the way his hand lingered just a second too long before letting go.

“your love language is showing,” she whispered.

“shut up.”

“no, really,” she teased. “it’s cute. you're like... my grumpy little chauffeur.”

“i’ll throw you into the nearest trash can.”

“you’d miss me.”

he glanced at her then — fast, sharp — like he wanted to say something but didn’t trust it out loud. so instead, he reached over and pulled her blazer back up over her shoulder again. neat. protective.

she let him.

the bowling alley sign flickered in the distance, humming faintly in neon pinks and greens.

she sighed. “so, what do you think the over-under is on how many insults my brother’s gonna throw at me the second we walk in?”

“four, minimum,” seong-je replied.

“i’m betting five. he’s probably already rehearsing them.”

“you gonna behave this time?”

“no.”

he didn’t even blink. “didn’t think so.”

they stopped at the entrance. she turned to him, smirking.

“you’re not gonna tell him about the fight, are you?”

he gave her a long look. “what do i get if i don’t?”

“mm…” she leaned in close, real close, until he could smell the faint perfume on her collar. “a kiss on the cheek?”

he stared at her, jaw clenched.

then: “i’d rather get punched.”

she laughed, soft and delighted. “liar.”

he didn’t deny it.

the hallway behind the bowling lanes was dim and quiet, lit only by the flickering light above baek jin’s office door. the crash of pins and the muffled thump of music faded as they stepped inside.

it was a small, lived-in space. desk cluttered with open books and papers. filing drawers half-shut. a couch squished against one wall, definitely only meant for two if they didn’t mind sitting too close. a low coffee table was stacked with energy drink cans and a single, dying plant.

baek jin sat behind the desk, hunched over his notes, pencil tapping restlessly against the page. he didn’t look up.

“took you long enough,” he muttered.

“she had to beat someone up first,” seong-je said coolly, shutting the door behind them.

the girl breezed in like she owned the place, flopping dramatically onto the small couch. her skirt rode up just enough to get a side-eye from seong-je, who promptly looked away — but not before she caught it and smirked.

“don’t worry, oppa,” she said sweetly to baek jin, “the other girl looks way worse.”

“you’re a walking suspension notice,” baek jin grumbled, eyes still on his work.

she leaned back on the couch, stretching out like a cat, then looked up at seong-je with a slow smile. “sit with me. or are you scared i’ll touch you?”

seong-je gave her a blank look but didn’t argue. he crossed the room and lowered himself beside her, keeping exactly two inches of space between them. she, of course, immediately closed it.

baek jin didn’t look up, but his pencil stopped moving.

“don’t test my patience,” he warned.

“i’m not doing anything,” she said innocently, nudging seong-je’s thigh with her own.

seong-je shifted but didn’t move away. “you’re going to get me murdered,” he muttered.

“please. he likes you more than most people.” she turned to face him fully, propping her chin in her hand. “you look cute today, by the way.”

“you say that every time.”

“because it’s true every time.”

he rolled his eyes, but his ears turned slightly pink.

baek jin sighed, finally glancing up. “can you stop harassing him for five minutes?”

she gasped, offended. “i’m flirting. flirting isn’t a crime.”

“with you, it should be,” seong-je muttered.

“you like it.”

he didn’t answer.

she leaned in just slightly, her voice dropping to a playful whisper. “if i kissed you right now, would you die or kiss me back?”

he met her gaze, calm, unreadable. “i’d probably throw you off the couch.”

she grinned. “so you have thought about it.”

behind the desk, baek jin muttered something about losing his mind and went back to his notes.

she shifted even closer, her leg brushing against seong-je’s. “you smell like smoke,” she said, quieter this time.

he glanced at her sideways. “so do you.”

her grin widened. “told you i’m your soulmate.”

“that’s not how that works.”

she bumped his shoulder with hers. “you didn’t tell baek jin i smoke. that’s love.”

“i didn’t tell baek jin because i don’t feel like watching you get disowned in real time.”

“aww,” she purred, drawing out the word like a melody. “you care.”

seong-je didn’t reply — but when she shifted to pull her blazer off again, he automatically reached out, tugging it back over her shoulder without thinking.

she blinked. “you’re so obvious.”

“shut up,” he said, quietly.

baek jin finally stood up from his desk, stretching. “i’m going to grab something from the counter. if either of you is sitting on top of the other when i get back—”

“we’ll be married,” she finished brightly.

seong-je gave her a look.

baek jin groaned and left the room, muttering to himself.

as soon as the door clicked shut, she leaned over to seong-je’s ear. “he hates how much i like you.”

“i hate how much you like me.”

“no you don’t.”

he didn’t argue. he didn’t move away, either.

“seriously,” she whispered, resting her chin on his shoulder for a moment. “what if i kissed you right now?”

he stared ahead at the desk. “you’d miss.”

she laughed, soft and breathy. “that’s not a no.”

“no, it’s a warning.”

she leaned closer still — then stopped, just an inch from his cheek, eyes playful but steady. “one day you’re going to kiss me first.”

he didn’t move.

didn’t speak.

but his hand drifted to her thigh — barely there, fingers resting lightly, like gravity made the choice for him.

“try not to get suspended again,” he murmured, voice low.

she smiled, victorious.

“i’ll consider it.”

[aleese1111]

hii!! i love the way you write the whc boys so much. can you do something with the eunjang quartet x fem!reader but in a platonic way. like she is there to patch them up and treat them to some food or something after every fight (especially after the last one they had with the union - which she was understandably worried about)

after the storm | eunjang!quartet x fem!reader

summary: after the brutal fight against the union, they show up at her family’s restaurant—bloodied but alive. she worries, she scolds, she patches, she feeds. in between, there's banter, comfort, and something quiet and tender that lingers in the silences.

warnings: [platonic?] canon-typical violence aftermath, light blood/injury description, hurt/comfort .

author's note: this is so wholesome :(( . requests ,,

the familiar scent of frying oil and garlic wafted through the air as she wiped down a table by the window, cloth in one hand, mind far from the rhythms of the restaurant. the neon sign of her family’s fried chicken place buzzed softly behind her, but the usual comfort it brought her felt distant today. she hadn't been able to stop thinking about it—the fight. the one she wasn't supposed to know about, but of course she did. she always did when it came to them.

her hand slowed over the tabletop, worry nesting in her chest. the late afternoon sun spilled golden light through the glass, casting long shadows and warming the wooden floors, but it did little to settle the twist in her stomach. she had checked her phone twice in the last hour, hoping for a message, even just an emoji. nothing.

just as she turned to the next table, she caught a glimpse of movement outside. her breath caught.

the four of them.

yeon sieun, stoic as ever; baku, somehow still smiling even with dried blood on his brow; jung tae, bruised but beaming; and go hyuntak, his arm slung carelessly over sieun’s shoulder, eyes bright with the adrenaline of victory.

she dropped the rag.

"are you serious?!" she half-shouted, half-squeaked, rushing to the front entrance, throwing open the door so fast the bell above it clanged in protest. she stormed outside, arms flying in disbelief.

"what the hell happened to you guys?! look at your faces! jung tae, are you even walking properly?! baku, your lip—! gotak! you're bleeding through your shirt! and sieun—" she stopped at him, heart clenching at the sight of crimson staining his temple. "you too?"

they all looked at her like she was a sight from a better world. baku chuckled, reaching forward to ruffle her hair with a bloodied hand. "missed you too."

she slapped his hand away with a huff, eyes wide with exasperation but soft with relief. "you're all idiots. absolute, complete idiots. come inside before you all faint on the street."

they followed without protest, brushing past the bell once more as she ushered them to the back of the restaurant where it was quieter. her parents peeked in from the kitchen, and she waved quickly. "can you make extra portions? they need food. a lot of it."

"rough day again?" her father asked, already pulling out the pans.

"something like that," she muttered.

she dragged out the first aid kit and moved toward the table where the boys sat—some slouched, some upright, all bruised. gotak was the first she started with, dabbing a cloth gently over his cheek.

"you didn’t even try to block, did you?"

he grinned, his hand naturally resting on her thigh like it always did, no thought to the gesture, and she didn’t mind. "didn’t need to. we won."

"that’s not the point," she said, flicking his forehead.

"ow," he chuckled, his eyes catching hers for just a second longer than usual. her hand lingered a beat longer too, thumb brushing just under his jaw. he didn’t flinch.

she cleared her throat and moved to sieun next. he sat perfectly still, letting her tend to him like he always did. their eyes met—no words exchanged—but he gave the smallest nod. she returned it with a faint smile. he never needed to speak much. he always understood. but something in the way his gaze lingered today made her chest tighten. like he was reading more than he let on.

jung tae winced as she pressed antiseptic onto a scrape on his neck.

"don’t be a baby."

"you’re treating me like one."

"because you are one," she said, patting his cheek. "you’re lucky i don’t swaddle you in bubble wrap."

he flushed, muttering something about being strong as she moved on to baku, who held out his arm with a dramatic sigh.

"you should open a clinic," he teased. "but only for good-looking guys."

she smirked. "so i guess i’ll be closing after today, then."

"ouch. that’s cold."

they bantered easily as she wrapped gauze around his forearm. it was always like this with baku—like talking to a much older friend who still knew how to laugh like a kid. he leaned a bit closer as she tied the final knot in the bandage.

"you’re really good at this, you know?" he said more seriously, his voice low. "you keep everyone stitched up, not just with tape and gauze."

she blinked, taken aback by the sincerity. "you’re just saying that because i’m your free nurse."

"nah. saying it ‘cause it’s true."

food arrived not long after, filling the air with sizzling spices and warmth. plates clinked. drinks poured. for a moment, the chaos of the outside world paused.

gotak’s hand stayed on her thigh as he ate, casual and unthinking, but every so often his pinky tapped against her knee like he wasn’t quite as unaffected as he looked. she leaned slightly into him without thinking. it was just how they were—but tonight, the warmth of him beside her seemed to sink deeper into her skin.

sieun sat across from her, meeting her gaze occasionally with the tiniest of smiles. that was enough. except this time, he didn’t look away as quickly. his eyes lingered. she looked down at her plate, suddenly aware of how warm her ears felt.

jung tae animatedly talked about how he “almost” knocked a guy’s tooth out, while she poked fun at his exaggerated expressions.

"you should’ve seen me! the guy was huge. i mean, hulk huge."

"and you? what, ant-man?" she laughed, nudging his side.

"i’m tall!" he protested.

"you’re adorable."

he groaned, dropping his chopsticks in defeat. "why does everyone call me that?"

"because it’s true," gotak chimed in with a grin, ruffling jung tae’s already messy hair.

and baku, between mouthfuls, reached over to ruffle her hair again.

"you’re good at worrying," he said.

she rolled her eyes, but a smile tugged at her lips. "and you’re good at making me do it."

as the night wore on and the plates grew emptier, the energy shifted into something slower, softer. gotak leaned back, his shoulder brushing hers, and she didn’t move away. when she yawned, he tilted his head toward her.

"tired?"

"a little. long day."

"want me to carry you upstairs?" he teased.

she rolled her eyes but laughed. "you’d trip over the first step."

"still worth the offer."

across the table, sieun watched quietly, fingers tapping against his drink. their eyes met again, and for a heartbeat, everything felt still.

it was nothing. probably nothing.

but maybe it wasn’t.

the table bubbled with quiet laughter again. they were beaten, bruised, borderline limping—but they were together.

and that made everything feel okay again.

[aleese1111]

Continue the seongje and baekjin one shot, plss 😭 I love your writing btw

three wolves, one flame three | geum seong je x union!reader x na baek jin

summary: she disappears for three days. the group chat stays active, but her silence buzzes louder than the messages. when she comes back, no one asks for an apology—but some things still need saying.

warnings: [slow burn] violence, blood, emotional repression, miscommunication, bruises, language, toxic coping, mild angst, vulnerability, references to mental strain, unhealthy attachment .

author's note: this is lowkey boring . next chapter i will end some fights, maybe . requests ,,

✶ ᶻz .ᐟ , .. two .. three .. ??

she didn’t show up the next day.

or the day after.

she didn’t say anything in the group chat either, just read messages and left them on delivered. the trio thread kept lighting up—seong je sending blurry photos of some idiot who thought he could run with their stuff, his bruised knuckles front and center in half the shots. baek jin replied with deadpan sarcasm as usual:

you get off on sending crime scene selfies or what at least wipe the blood next time, dumbass.

she left no reaction. no thumbs-up. no eye roll. just silence.

seong je didn’t say anything about it, but every time the chat buzzed and her read receipt popped up, he stared a little longer than he needed to. his replies grew shorter. more photos, less commentary.

baek jin didn’t press her either. he already knew where she was—texted once, got a vague “need space,” and left it at that.

by the time she walked into the office again, three days had passed.

the air smelled like microwave ramen and disinfectant. the arcade outside was still warming up—machines humming, half-lit—but inside the office, baek jin sat alone at the desk, mechanical pencil in one hand, a half-solved sudoku in the other.

she didn’t say anything at first. just walked in like she’d never left, dropped her tote bag by the couch, and moved to the filing cabinet near the wall.

baek jin didn’t look up. “you look like shit.”

“thanks.” she pulled open the drawer, flipping through documents with more precision than necessary.

silence.

“you okay?” he asked, quieter.

she paused. “eventually.”

he nodded once. “fair.”

she didn’t look at him. “did you keep the delivery records from last week?”

“top drawer. labeled in red.”

she found them, tucked them under one arm, and started organizing them into the accordion folder she’d abandoned three days ago. her movements were stiff—robotic, almost—but her eyes didn’t have that wild look anymore. just tired.

“i saw the chat,” she said suddenly, still facing the files.

baek jin raised an eyebrow. “yeah?”

“seong je’s still trying to impress us with his selfies.”

“he’s consistent, i’ll give him that.”

she didn’t reply. just clicked the folder shut and slung it under her arm like a shield. “i need to take these to the garage.”

baek jin leaned back in his chair, watching her go. “try not to set it on fire.”

“i’ll try.”

she left without another word.

@ . !

the motorcycle garage still smelled like sweat and oil, like time hadn’t passed since the last argument cracked through its walls.

seong je was slouched on the couch in his corner, one arm draped lazily over the backrest, doing whatever it was he did when no one told him not to—probably scrolling, probably brooding, or both. his school shirt was off again—just a tank top now, stained with grease—and his hands were already a mess of oil and old blood, wrapped haphazardly in gauze.

he heard her before he saw her.

she walked in with the folder hugged to her chest, eyes scanning the shelves for the logbooks that matched her records. she didn’t acknowledge him. not at first.

seong je didn’t move, but his eyes tracked her. “didn’t die after all,” he said flatly.

she didn’t look up. “sorry to disappoint.”

“you ghosted.”

“i needed air.”

he let the silence stretch. then: “baek jin knew?”

“of course he did.”

his jaw tensed. “right.”

she moved to the shelves, tugging out a binder, flipping through it like she was looking for something worth fighting about. but her hands were steadier than before.

“you mad at me or just at the world again?” he asked, not moving from where he stood.

she glanced at him—finally. her face unreadable. “if i was mad at you, you’d know.”

“that a threat?”

“no,” she said, softer now. “a fact.”

the silence that followed was brittle, but not sharp. just... unsure.

he watched her for a second longer, then went back to the caliper, voice quieter this time. “i thought maybe something happened. something worse.”

she froze for just a second before kneeling beside the lower shelf, pretending to search again. “why would you think that?”

“you left. no word. that’s not you.”

“it is when i’m not interested in a second breakdown in the span of a week.”

he didn’t respond to that right away.

then, voice low: “you don’t have to disappear to handle your shit.”

“i do when it’s loud.”

“...was it me?”

she blinked at the shelf. slowly. “you didn’t help.”

“good,” he muttered, tone sharpening. “because i’m not gonna play nice just ‘cause you cry once.”

“didn’t ask you to.”

“good.”

she shut the binder.

they stared at each other again. neither moved.

then—somehow gentler—seong je spoke. “i didn’t mean to scare you. that night. i just... i get stupid when i think we’re losing something.”

she exhaled slowly, standing back up. “then stop getting stupid.”

he smirked faintly, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

she moved toward the desk near the corner, setting the folder down. her posture eased a little, like the fight had already drained out of her. like whatever she’d been holding in those missing days had been emptied somewhere between baek jin’s silence and this garage’s stale heat.

“i’m not mad,” she said finally.

he didn’t reply. just nodded, once.

“and i didn’t cry,” she added flatly.

he snorted. “sure. must’ve been rain indoors.”

she rolled her eyes and flipped open the folder. “shut up and hand me the maintenance logs.”

he passed them over without a word, but when their fingers brushed, just briefly—she didn’t pull away.

@ . !

the garage was quiet. not just physically—quiet in that crawling, weighty way that meant something unsaid was hanging in the air, uninvited and unwelcome.

she finished shuffling through the folders, double-checking figures on her phone with one hand while holding the corner of a page with the other. she didn’t make a sound until she shut the last file closed with a dull thunk against the desk.

seong je hadn’t moved. still on the couch, one leg bent under the other, his fingers idle now, phone dark on his thigh.

she turned slowly, stretched her arms overhead until her back cracked, then walked over. he didn’t say anything, just watched her as she dropped down next to him like it was nothing. like she hadn’t ghosted the groupchat. like she hadn’t gone missing. like he hadn’t noticed.

she pulled a cigarette from her pocket. offered him one, wordless.

he took it.

the first drag was silence. so was the second. the air filled with smoke and something sharp that had nothing to do with nicotine.

“…you good?” he asked eventually, not looking at her.

she exhaled through her nose. “yeah.”

that was all she gave him.

he nodded once, jaw flexing like he was weighing his next words, then letting them drop.

she leaned back into the couch, staring ahead at nothing. the kind of stare that meant her thoughts were somewhere else—untouchable, maybe even to herself.

he lit his second drag. “baek jin didn’t say anything either.”

she glanced sideways at that, just briefly. “he knew.”

“hm.”

they sat there in that stillness for a while, smoke curling above their heads, shoulders brushing occasionally in that too-familiar way that meant something used to be here, maybe still is, maybe not.

“…next time,” seong je said, after a moment, “just send a blank message or something. so i don’t gotta keep guessing if i should start digging.”

she flicked ash into the tray. “you don’t need to guess.”

“still did.”

she didn’t say anything.

didn’t have to.

then, softer—quiet enough that it could’ve been for her or for himself—he added, “hard not to.”

that silence after hit different. not sharp. not cold. just real.

she didn’t look at him. didn’t flinch either. just sat there, smoke slipping past her lips like it didn’t matter.

but it did.

even if neither of them said so.

the cigarette burned low between her fingers. seong je had already stubbed his out, leaning forward with elbows on knees, eyes low, jaw set in that unreadable way of his.

she tapped ash into the tray again. “you ever gonna say what’s actually bothering you?”

he blinked. a beat passed. then he gave a breath of a laugh—more air than sound.

“didn’t think we were doing that now.”

“maybe we are,” she said, voice flat. “maybe i’m asking.”

he leaned back, stretching his arms behind the couch. the motion pulled his shirt tight across his chest, scars visible under the loose neckline.

“…i thought you weren’t coming back,” he muttered. it wasn’t accusatory. just honest.

she didn’t answer right away. the truth sat heavy behind her teeth.

then—quiet—“i almost didn’t.”

that shut him up for a second.

he turned his head to look at her. really look.

“you leaving for good wouldn’t have surprised me,” he said. “but not saying anything would’ve.”

she looked straight ahead. “i didn’t owe anyone a goodbye.”

“but you left us on read,” he said. “that’s worse.”

that earned him a look, finally. she wasn’t angry. just tired.

“you make it sound like i ghosted my high school friends. i needed time. that’s it.”

“you left me wondering if i fucked up,” he said plainly. “and baek jin kept saying nothing. that’s how i knew something was off.”

she pulled her legs up onto the couch, cigarette now mostly forgotten in the tray.

“…baek jin saw something he wasn’t supposed to.”

he arched a brow but didn’t press. didn’t need to. whatever it was, he filed it away behind that quiet demeanor of his.

she tilted her head back against the couch, closing her eyes for a moment. “i’m here now. that’s all that matters.”

“that all?”

she didn’t answer.

a knock echoed from the other end of the garage—a metal-on-metal tap against the doorframe. baek jin stood there, leaned against it, holding two plastic bags.

“you two gonna sit in your own smoke all day, or you want shitty convenience store food?” he asked.

seong je didn’t move. “depends. you get the melon milk?”

baek jin nodded. “one for each of you.”

she stood, brushing ash from her jeans. “then i’m in.”

as she walked past him toward the back table, baek jin’s eyes met seong je’s. something unreadable passed between them.

then seong je stood too, cracking his neck with a quiet roll of his shoulders.

back to normal. almost.

but not quite.

✶ ᶻz .ᐟ , .. two .. three.. ??

[aleese1111]

Hi!

I’ve been diving into your Weak Hero class creations — you nailed it!

Would it be possible for you to write something for Ahn Su-ho? With a mix of heavy angst and some fluff at the end? Maybe they're in an argument — slow burn style.

not about trust, but fear | ahn suho x fem!reader

summary : they've always been each other’s safe place—until one night in suho’s room when a name, a worry, and a few misunderstood words nearly tear them apart. an argument fueled by fear and love spirals out of control, but in the aftermath, they find each other again.

warnings: heavy angst, yelling, emotional vulnerability, miscommunication, hurt/comfort, slow burn to fluff, established relationship, anxiety, past trauma references .

author's note: ops with this one .. anyway! my first ahn suho fanfic hooray! requests ,,

✶ ᶻz .ᐟ , .. one .. two .. ??

The rain was soft against the windowpane, a rhythmic tapping like the pulse of a quiet heart. The glow from the small lamp on Suho’s desk threw golden halos against the walls, and the room—though small and plain—held a lived-in warmth. His backpack sat by the door. A few stray books were stacked unevenly on the floor. A hoodie—hers, oversized and faded from too many washes—was folded neatly at the foot of his bed.

The silence was the kind that stretched too far, hanging heavy between two people who knew each other too well. She stood by the door, arms crossed, chewing the inside of her cheek like she was keeping something bitter from escaping. He sat on the edge of his bed, hands braced on his knees, watching her with guarded eyes.

She was the first to speak.

“Why him?”

Suho blinked. “What?”

She stepped forward, her arms still folded. Her voice was quieter now, but the edge hadn’t dulled. “Beom-seok. You keep bringing him up lately. You said he’s your friend now. That you hang out with him after class, that he’s... what? Part of your little group now?”

His brows knit together, confusion flickering across his face. “He is. Si-eun, Beom-seok, and I—we’ve been through some shit together. He’s not as bad as you think.”

“I didn’t say he’s bad. I said he’s… off.” Her fingers tightened around her arms. “Something about him doesn’t sit right with me. I’m just... worried.”

Suho exhaled, the sound sharp. “You don’t even know him.”

“I don’t need to know him to feel—”

“—To judge?”

The word cut her off like a slap. Her arms dropped to her sides, eyes widening slightly.

“Seriously?” he continued, standing up now, voice rising. “You’re going off of a feeling? Do you even hear yourself? You don’t like him, and now you’re acting like I’m the one in the wrong for making new friends?”

Her chest was tight, her breathing shallow. “I never said you couldn’t have friends. I just—I don’t trust him. Not you. Never you.”

“Right. Of course. You don’t trust him,” Suho said, his laugh short and humorless. “Is that really it? Or is it just that you don’t trust me?”

That landed like a blow.

Her mouth opened, closed, then opened again, but nothing came out at first. “Don’t twist this,” she said finally, the words barely above a whisper. “Don’t you dare twist this into something about me questioning you.”

“Why not?” His voice was a low thunder now. “It’s always the same. Every time I try to let someone else in—even just a little—you get like this. Suspicious. Defensive. Like I’m going to disappear on you if I let someone else stand next to me for five minutes.”

“That’s not what this is—”

“Then what is it?” he demanded. “Because from where I’m standing, it feels like you’re waiting for someone to hurt you. Like you expect it.”

Her voice broke when she spoke. “I never doubted you. I just—Beom-seok feels wrong. I don’t know how else to say it. It’s not jealousy, it’s not possessiveness—I’m scared for you.”

The words were raw, straining at the edges. “I see the way he looks at you sometimes. The way he talks. There’s something in his eyes. I can’t explain it. But it makes me uneasy, and I just... I don’t want you getting pulled into something that hurts you.”

Suho didn’t reply right away. His jaw was tight. His shoulders stiff. And when he spoke, it wasn’t anger anymore, but something quieter.

“Of what?”

Her throat burned. “Of losing you. Of something happening that I could’ve seen coming and didn’t say anything about. I’m not trying to control you—I’m trying to protect you.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

His eyes—soft brown, usually so warm—were unreadable now. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Couldn’t tell if she had just made everything worse.

Then Suho looked away, raking a hand through his hair. “Damn it.”

She waited. Her heart was thudding too loudly in her chest.

Finally, he looked back at her. “I shouldn’t have said that. About the trust issues. That was... cruel.”

She didn’t answer, just stared at him, eyes glossy, shoulders trembling under the weight of too many emotions.

“I didn’t mean to throw your past in your face,” he added, stepping toward her with slow, careful steps, like approaching a wounded animal. “That wasn’t fair. I was pissed, but I wasn’t thinking.”

She bit the inside of her cheek. “You meant it, though.”

He hesitated. “I meant that I was hurt. That you didn’t believe me when I said Beom-seok’s okay. But I didn’t mean to make you feel like you’re broken. You’re not.”

Her arms wrapped around herself again, this time not out of defense, but comfort. “It’s hard. I want to trust people. I do. But every time I try, it feels like a risk I can’t afford.”

“I know,” he said quietly. “I’ve seen it. I’ve seen how hard you try, even when you don’t think I notice.”

She looked up at him now, eyes brimming. “Then why’d you say that?”

“Because I was scared too.” He let out a heavy breath, gaze dropping. “Scared that you’d never fully let me in. That no matter what I do, you’d always keep one foot out the door in case I left first.”

The words were raw. Honest. The kind of vulnerability that was too heavy for a teenage heart to carry, and yet they both held it like it was the only thing anchoring them.

She took a shaky breath. “I don’t want to keep doing this. The fighting. The pushing.”

He reached for her hand slowly, and when she didn’t pull away, he threaded his fingers through hers. “Then let’s stop. Right now. Let’s start over.”

She stared at their joined hands. Then, finally, she nodded.

A pause passed between them—still, but not tense anymore. More like the eye of a storm after the destruction had cleared, the quiet relief that came after surviving something painful together.

He tugged her gently toward him, and she followed. Her forehead met his chest, and he wrapped his arms around her without hesitation.

No more words were needed.

Not yet.

They’d talk more—explain more—when their hearts weren’t so bruised. But for now, they held each other in the soft lamplight, the sound of the rain filling the gaps.

And in that silence, they began to heal.

✶ ᶻz .ᐟ , .. one .. two .. ??

[aleese1111]

Seong je protective over reader🙏

Honestly go crazy

the ribbon she wore | geum seong je x bullied!reader

summary: at ganghak high, she’s a quiet target for cruel games—until geum seong-je walks in. he almost walks past her, just another victim in the background… until he sees the ribbon she once wore while patching him up. he didn’t plan to step in. but some memories don’t stay silent.

warnings: violence, bullying, emotional distress, brief language, mild trauma, physical aggression .

author's note: i did not go crazy on this because i personally think geum seong je is not that type of man who lays a hand on women.. he consider himself romantic afterall . requests ,,

the gym echoed in emptiness, save for the distant squeak of rubber soles and the faint hum of old ventilation systems. a cold draft slipped through the slightly ajar windows near the ceiling, brushing across the glossy floor. fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting sterile white light over the scuffed wooden panels and the faded half-court lines. it was break time, but the gym remained deserted, save for the low murmurs and sharp, cruel laughter resonating from one corner.

she stood pressed against the far wall, her shoulders hunched, trying to make herself smaller. her backpack had already been yanked away, its contents strewn across the floor—books, pens, a half-open water bottle slowly leaking a thin stream that soaked into the pages. her breathing came out in short, uneven bursts. one of her pigtails had unraveled, hanging limply over her cheek, and her glasses sat crooked on her face. the cracked arm of the frame dug lightly into her temple.

"god, you're so pathetic," the taller girl spat, leaning into her space with a satisfied smirk. she shoved a biology textbook hard into her chest, making her stumble.

"didn’t you say you were gonna tell the teacher last time?" sneered the other girl, crouching just enough to pick up one of her scribbled notebooks, holding it up like it was dirty laundry. "what’s she gonna do, huh? save you from being such a know-it-all freak?"

she clenched her jaw, willing herself not to cry. "i didn’t say anything," she said quietly.

the taller girl laughed. "oh, so now you’re lying too? wow. miss perfect over here’s got claws."

the guy with them—leaning lazily against the folded bleachers—watched on with disinterest, chewing gum, his phone in hand. he barely acknowledged what was going on, except to glance up occasionally and snicker.

the other girl suddenly lunged forward, knocking her glasses to the floor with a harsh flick of her fingers. the lenses clattered, bouncing once before skidding under a nearby bench.

"oops," she said, feigning surprise. "guess you’ll have to read the world in blur now. maybe it’ll match your personality."

the girl flinched as a hand grabbed her collar, pulling her forward and shoving her back again. her head hit the wall with a muted thud. pain throbbed through her skull, but she didn’t make a sound. she wouldn’t give them that satisfaction.

that’s when the gym doors groaned open.

geum seong-je stepped in, his presence like a ripple through still water. he wore the bordeaux school uniform, its deep maroon fabric tailored to a sharp edge that clung to his lean frame with casual indifference. no hoodie, no earbuds—just the crisp collar slightly askew, his sleeves pushed halfway up his forearms. a cigarette dangled loosely from between his fingers, unlit but familiar, like a habit he hadn’t yet decided to break. his eyes swept over the gym, indifferent at first, shadowed by an unbothered calm that veiled something far more dangerous beneath the surface.

he strolled across the court with no rush, hands in his pockets. his gaze passed over the girls, narrowing faintly at the noise but not settling on them.

"yo," he called out to the guy near the bleachers.

the guy looked up and grinned. "finally. thought you ditched."

"almost did. had to smoke out back."

"smelled like trash?"

"worse. like that stray dog that follows you around."

they both laughed, the guy tossing his phone into his backpack. seong-je cracked a faint smile, the closest he got to something resembling amusement.

as they continued trading jabs, the bullying in the background escalated.

the taller girl had now pulled out the contents of the bullied girl’s pencil case, tossing pens across the court one by one like stones into a river. the other girl grabbed her water bottle and emptied it over her hair, slow and deliberate.

"think this’ll help you cool off, brainiac?"

the cold water trickled down her scalp, soaking her shirt and collar. her lips trembled.

"say something," the first girl demanded. "go on. quote a textbook at me. fix your grammar. explain the science of why you're such a loser."

the guy with seong-je chuckled under his breath. "damn. they’re going all out today."

seong-je turned his head slightly. his brows furrowed.

"they’re still at it? thought they'd be done by now."

"they’re bored. that girl’s like a wind-up toy—poke her and she shakes."

seong-je scoffed. "screaming like stray cats."

he turned back, walking past them toward the bleachers again. he didn’t look at the girl. he hadn’t seen her face yet—just another blurred victim in the churn of daily violence.

but then—

as he passed the scene, something flickered in his peripheral vision. a flash of light blue.

the ribbon.

he slowed. stopped.

the taller girl raised her hand again, this time with a clenched fist.

before it could fall, seong-je’s hand closed around her wrist with unrelenting force.

everything stopped.

the girl's face twisted in shock. "seong-je?! what’s your—let go!"

his voice was low. cold.

"back off."

she tried to yank away. his grip only tightened.

the other girl backed up instinctively, nearly tripping over the scattered books. the guy by the bleachers blinked, confused.

"yo, what’s wrong? it’s just some loser girl. you don’t even know her."

but seong-je did know her.

he remembered the way she had sat beside him at the empty bus stop weeks ago, the night sky draped over them like a blanket. she’d seen him bloodied, nose caked with dried crimson, his lip split.

she didn’t scream. she didn’t ask.

she just opened her bag, trembling hands digging out a tiny first aid kit.

she patched him up.

her voice was soft, like a whisper, her eyes unsure but kind. it was the gentlest thing he’d felt in years.

he let go of the girl’s wrist.

only to shove her back hard enough to make her stumble.

"she’s mine," he said, voice like thunder rolling under ice. "touch her again, and i’ll make sure you never touch anything again."

the two girls looked like they’d seen a ghost.

"what the hell is your problem?! she’s nothing—"

"not to me."

the guy stepped forward, trying to de-escalate. "come on, man. chill. this is a joke. you’re acting like she’s your girlfriend or something."

seong-je turned slowly, his gaze sharp. deadly.

"out. all of you."

they hesitated.

he took a step forward.

that was enough.

the girls grabbed their bags, muttering curses under their breath, but their fear betrayed them. the guy followed, muttering "damn, fine" under his breath as they pushed through the gym doors.

and then—

silence.

the only sound was the soft drip of water from her soaked shirt onto the floor.

seong-je turned back. she was still crouched there, arms wrapped around her knees, face hidden by wet strands of hair.

he walked toward her, slowly, until he stood a few feet away.

"it’s you," he said quietly.

she looked up, her eyes wide. red-rimmed. she blinked through blurry vision, struggling to see.

he reached down, knelt beside her.

then, from his jacket pocket, he pulled a small folded cloth—worn and frayed at the edges. the same cloth she had used on him at the bus stop.

"you carry it?" she asked, her voice hoarse.

he shrugged. "didn’t feel right to throw it away."

she took it with shaking hands, dabbing at her face. her glasses were still under the bench.

seong-je retrieved them wordlessly, wiped the lenses with the edge of his shirt, and placed them gently into her palm.

"they’re cracked," she murmured.

"still usable. like you."

she blinked. "was that... a joke?"

"don’t get used to it."

a small smile tugged at her lips, tired but real.

the bell rang, distant, ending break.

he stood.

she followed, swaying slightly. he didn’t offer his hand.

but he stayed close.

they didn’t speak again as they walked out together, side by side.

not friends. not strangers.

something in between. something unknown. but real.

and for now, that was enough.

[aleese1111]

can I request a fem reader who loves taking care of sieun? They’re in a pretty new relationship and it isn’t like she pities him but more because it’s her love language!! Gift giving and quality time.

So reader loves memorizing every little thing about sieun down to his stationary,,(yes the pens are refilled by her) would even stay up with him while studying!

She’s very used to that routine and knowing sieun he would probably still be new to the relationship so often times he isn’t able to give back to reader as much and she’s really and insists that payment would be for him to smile just a little!!

So maybe one day sieun finally does something for reader that completely takes her aback and has her falling in love with him again!!

Im so so sorry if this was long!!! But I love your whc fics so much I’m excited for more!!

the night he noticed | yeon sieun x fem!reader

summary: she's memorized every pen refill, every yawn, every page turn. But the night he tells her—in the only way he knows—that he's memorized her too, becomes the moment everything changes.

warnings: [established relationship] comfort, slow burn, emotional hurt/comfort

author's note: i don't know what to feel about this. requests ,,

there was something deeply comforting about the quiet between them. it wasn’t empty, nor was it awkward. it was the type of silence that wrapped itself around them like a soft blanket—the kind of hush that existed only between people who didn’t need to fill the air to feel seen.

she sat beside him, her legs tucked under her on the floor of his room, surrounded by books, scattered notes, and the quiet tapping of his mechanical pencil. the overhead light was dimmed, casting a gentle glow that didn’t interfere with concentration but still allowed them to see one another when they glanced up. it was late—later than most would stay up willingly—but she was used to that. used to this.

his pen clicked once, then twice. she reached over before he could do it again, switching it out for a refilled one. he blinked and looked at her, only briefly, but she saw the thanks in his eyes. he never said much, not in the beginning. words weren’t his strength, and she’d learned early that the language he spoke best was one of restraint and observation. so she’d adapted. she had learned him.

every pen refill, every extra highlighter, every back-up graph sheet tucked into his folder—those were her ways of loving him. staying up when her eyes begged for sleep, just to make sure he wasn’t alone in his intensity, was her routine. not because she had to. because she wanted to. because somewhere in the middle of library tables and coffee-fueled all-nighters, she had fallen for him. not the way people usually did. she didn’t fall for his silence, or despite it. she fell into it. and learned how to love inside it.

she didn’t expect things in return. she knew he wasn’t like her. he wasn’t wired to recognize the little things, let alone mirror them. that was okay. all she ever asked for was a smile. just a small one. and even that, she never pressed for. sometimes it happened, and when it did—it felt like the sun.

tonight, though, felt different.

he was writing, yes, focused like always. but there was something off about the way he glanced at her. more frequent. as if he were trying to say something without saying it. she didn’t comment. she only shifted, brushing a stray sticky note from his leg.

"you missed dinner," she said quietly.

he paused, then shrugged.

"you didn’t eat either," he replied.

she smiled softly. “didn’t want to leave you alone.”

he hummed, barely audible. then went back to writing.

minutes passed. maybe more. time moved strangely in their little cocoon. eventually, he closed the textbook, sliding it aside. she blinked at him, surprised.

“you done for the night?” she asked.

he didn’t answer. not directly.

instead, he stood up and disappeared briefly into the hallway. she heard faint sounds from the kitchen. her eyebrows furrowed.

when he returned, he held a small tray. a bowl of rice porridge—simple, warm, and clearly homemade. next to it, a mug of ginger tea. she stared at it, stunned.

"i didn’t know how to make much," he said, eyes down. “but i remembered you said your stomach hurts when you skip meals.”

her heart stilled.

he didn’t sit back down immediately. just stood there awkwardly, almost uncomfortable with himself. his ears were flushed, just barely.

she took the tray slowly, reverently. cradled it in her lap.

“you made this?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

he nodded. “i watched a video. checked the ingredients. made sure it wasn’t too salty.”

she blinked quickly, trying not to let tears pool in her eyes.

“i didn’t think you noticed,” she said. “about the stomachaches.”

“i notice more than i say.”

that was it. just that. but to her, it was everything.

she took a spoonful, the warmth of it somehow extending beyond the bowl and into her chest. it wasn’t perfect—but it didn’t need to be. the care in it was unmistakable.

“i memorize things too,” he said, quietly, almost defensively. “not like you. not as often. but i do.”

her throat tightened.

“i know you set out my pens by color,” he continued, eyes not meeting hers. “and that you refill them even when i don’t notice. i know you only drink that strawberry milk after 2 a.m. i know you leave your charger half-unplugged because you don’t like sparks.”

she covered her mouth with one hand, heart in her throat.

“i just don’t always know what to do with the things i notice,” he said finally. “but i’m trying.”

she put the tray aside and crawled across the space between them. he didn’t look up until her hands were cupping his face, gently.

his eyes, always so guarded, softened instantly.

“you don’t have to do anything with them,” she whispered. “just remembering is already more than enough.”

he leaned slightly into her touch. she felt him sigh—really sigh—for the first time in weeks.

“i wanted to give back,” he murmured.

“you did,” she replied, voice thick. “you are.”

she kissed his forehead, soft and slow.

that night, she stayed a little closer than usual. her head on his shoulder, his hand awkwardly but intentionally resting against hers. they didn’t speak again. they didn’t need to.

in the quiet, he noticed her. and finally, she knew—he always had.

[aleese1111]

ong please please please do three wolves, one flame part 2 if you want ofc! I need geum seong je he's so hot in this story (I hope we end up with him)

three wolves, one flame two | geum seong je x union!reader x na baek jin

summary: in a city where stolen phones and bruised egos collide, a tense standoff between two gang members threatens to ignite—but when loyalty, exhaustion, and unexpected tenderness surface, the cracks beneath their rage finally show. as fists unclench and defense fall, they begin to realize that survival might mean learning to lean on each other—even when it hurts.

warnings: [slow burn] violence, language, blood, bruises, mild angst, mutual pining, toxic communication, vulnerable moments, mentions of crime.

author's note: this is getting toxic pal .. making me cry and stuff . requests ,,

✶ ᶻz .ᐟ , one .. two .. three ??

the motorcycle garage reeked of sweat, oil, and burnt rubber—the kind of place where tempers sparked easier than engines. a dented workbench sat shoved into one corner, tools scattered across it like a graveyard of failed fixes. the overhead light buzzed with a dying flicker, and the air was thick with heat and fury.

“you’re fucking unbelievable,” she hissed, voice cutting through the space like a scalpel.

seong je stood across from her, jaw tight, fists clenched at his sides. “don’t start with me...”

“start? i’m not starting shit. i’m finishing what your idiot screwed up.” her voice rose to a full-blown yell. “you let one of your morons walk around with ten stolen phones like we’re not running an actual operation!”

“i didn’t let him do shit!” he shouted back, stepping forward. “he went off script! i told him to stash the haul. he got jumped, not my fucking fault!”

“then whose fault is it? mine?” her eyes burned, teeth grit. “you act like this is some damn street gang, not a business.”

“it is a street gang,” he snapped, voice heavy with sarcasm. “in case you forgot, none of us have fucking degrees or a retirement plan.”

“you know what i mean, seong je. we’re organized. we have rules. and your guy just cost us everything we pulled yesterday.”

“maybe if you weren’t so busy barking orders and being a condescending bitch all the time—”

she was on him in a second, finger jabbing into his chest. “say that again. say it again.”

he caught her wrist, hard enough to make her flinch—but just for a second. “you wanna hit me now? is that what this is?” his voice dropped into something dangerous. “you think i’m scared of you?”

“no,” she spat. “i think you’re scared of being fucking useless. that’s why you’re always trying to swing your dick around. to make up for the fact you keep screwing up.”

something snapped in his eyes—sharp, violent. “keep pushing me. see what happens.”

she didn’t blink. “already did. still nothing.”

they stood there, faces inches apart, rage vibrating between them like a live wire. neither moved. neither gave in. both of them breathing hard, jaws locked.

then, without a word, she yanked her arm free and stormed out of the garage. the door slammed behind her hard enough to rattle the frame.

@ . !

by the time she reached the bowling alley, her throat hurt from yelling. her boots clacked across the sticky floor as she passed the empty lanes, not sparing a glance at the clatter of pins echoing faintly in the distance.

she pushed the office door open without knocking.

baek jin didn’t look up.

“tell me again why we keep seong je around,” she said flatly, tossing herself onto the couch like a stormcloud ready to ruin the day.

baek jin wrote something on his notebook. “he does what you can’t.”

“like lose stolen merchandise?” she snapped, dragging a hand through her hair. “god, he’s insufferable.”

baek jin finally turned, leaning back slightly in his chair, eyeing her with calm indifference. “what happened now?”

“phones,” she groaned. “ten of them. gone. one of his half-brained cronies got rolled. didn’t even stash them properly.” her voice cracked under the weight of exhaustion and rage. “and he blames me for being too uptight.”

“because yelling solves everything,” baek jin muttered, returning to his notebook.

she flopped onto her side, legs draped across the arm of the couch, one arm thrown over her eyes. “he called me a bitch, jin. a condescending one. like he even knows what that word means.”

“probably heard it in a movie.”

she let out a tired laugh—just one breath of amusement. “he looked like he was gonna throw something.”

“you look like you already did.”

she pulled his jacket from the back of the couch and draped it over her legs. “i hate him.”

“you don’t.”

“i do.”

“no, you don’t.”

silence.

then, more quietly: “...he scares me sometimes.”

baek jin didn’t respond right away.

“then don’t fight fire with fire,” he said eventually. “you’ll both burn.”

she stared at the ceiling, lips pressed thin.

and maybe she was burning. maybe she'd been burning for a while.

the minutes ticked by in a slow crawl, thick with that kind of silence only known between two people used to each other’s noise. she had cooled on the outside—no more fire, no more raised voice—but inside, the coals still glowed red. she hadn’t moved from the couch. one leg was curled underneath her, the other bouncing softly as she scribbled something into her notebook.

her phone sat to her right, flipped over. a math worksheet lay to her left, partially filled, and next to it was a half-eaten bag of shrimp chips. baek jin was back at his desk, eyes flicking between his work and the occasional glance at her page whenever she cursed under her breath.

“that one’s wrong,” he murmured.

“i knew it,” she muttered, erasing with unnecessary force. “this whole formula’s stupid.”

“no,” he said, typing lazily, “your distribution is stupid. the formula’s fine.”

“thanks for the confidence boost,” she shot back, but there wasn’t much bite in her tone.

“anytime.”

@ . !

they worked like that for another hour or two—sprawled in silence, occasionally interrupted by the click of a pen, the flick of a page, or a question about variables. it felt weirdly domestic. familiar.

until the office door creaked open.

she didn’t look up. didn’t need to. she knew the weight of that silence the second it walked in.

footsteps. slow. heavy. the scrape of worn sneakers on tile.

then something hit the floor beside her with a loud thud.

a duffle bag.

she looked up.

seong je stood a few feet away, breathing hard. his white school shirt was torn near the collar, buttons misaligned like he’d thrown it back on in a rush. his tie was missing. his lip was split and barely crusted over. blood had dried in a streak down his cheek, and his knuckles were red and raw—some cracked open, others bruised deep violet.

but it was the eyes that made her stop.

not angry. not cocky. not blank, either.

tired. steady.

he didn’t say a word.

she blinked, then glanced down at the bag. the zipper was half open—just enough for her to see the corner of a phone box. then another. and another.

all ten were in there.

baek jin stood up from his desk, slowly walking over. he opened the bag fully and confirmed it, counting silently. “you got them all back?”

seong je didn’t answer. just nodded, once.

“alone?” baek jin asked, quieter this time.

another nod.

baek jin whistled low under his breath, impressed.

she was still looking at him. not speaking. not moving. her hand, still holding a pen, trembled faintly against the edge of her notebook.

he looked at her once. quick. just a flicker. but it was enough.

she turned back to her worksheet without a word.

the room held its breath.

seong je wiped the blood from his cheek with the back of his hand and walked toward the couch. he didn’t sit beside her. just near. close enough that she could smell sweat, smoke, and rust on his skin.

he let out a quiet breath and leaned back against the wall, sliding down into a sitting position, legs stretched out, arms resting on his knees. the buzz of the overhead light hummed back into the space between them.

she kept writing.

but she didn’t flip the page again.

after a moment, without looking at him, she reached into her tote bag and fished around. pens, a folded test paper, a lip balm, gum—and then, her hand landed on the small emergency pouch she always carried.

she pulled it out, unzipped it with one hand, and tossed a small box of bandages and antiseptic wipes toward him. it hit his leg with a soft thump.

“try not to bleed out on baek jin’s floor,” she said flatly. “he’s too lazy to mop.”

baek jin snorted from across the room but didn’t comment.

seong je glanced at the box, then up at her. for the first time all day, the corner of his mouth twitched—just barely.

she didn’t look at him.

but her foot shifted slightly in his direction, brushing the edge of his.

and for now, that was enough.

the silence that followed wasn’t tense anymore—just tired.

seong je stayed slumped against the wall for another few minutes, wrapping a few of the bandages around his knuckles with surprising precision. he didn’t speak, and neither did she. eventually, he stood again with a wince and stretched his arms out until his shoulders cracked.

“i’m heading to the pc bang,” he muttered, brushing dust off his wrinkled uniform. “if you’re planning to keep sulking, do it quietly.”

she didn’t reply.

he hesitated at the door, one hand on the knob, glancing back over his shoulder. “...i got the phones back, you know.”

“i noticed.”

“you’re welcome.”

she flipped another page in her workbook. “i already said thanks.”

he rolled his eyes and left.

the door clicked shut behind him, and with it, the temperature in the room seemed to drop a few degrees.

@ . !

the last of the arcade lights flickered off, followed by the clunk of the main door locking shut. the bowling alley was quiet now—emptied out, wiped down, and dark except for the faint blue glow of the vending machine in the corner.

baek jin pocketed the keys with a sigh, shoulders rolling back in the stretch of relief that came after closing time. “we survived another day of screaming kids and gutter balls.”

she slipped on her hoodie, tugging it down to her wrists. “barely.”

“come on. i’m starving.” he nudged her lightly with his elbow. “you ate yet?”

she shook her head. “didn’t have time.”

“perfect. my treat.”

she gave him a sideways look. “your treat is always eight thousand won and spicy as hell.”

“and you always eat it like it’s nothing, so what does that say?”

she rolled her eyes but followed him anyway.

the streets were empty at this hour, just the hum of streetlamps buzzing above and the low whir of a passing bus in the distance. they walked in silence for a while, their footsteps echoing in the narrow alley that led down to the backlot where the tiny tteokbokki joint sat—half hidden behind a metal shutter and marked only by a flickering neon sign that read 분식천국.

inside, it was warm and orange-lit, the kind of place where the plastic stools wobbled and the ajumma behind the counter always gave too much fish cake.

the tteokbokki shop was quieter now, the neon sign flickering softly as the last of the steam drifted from the pan. she poked at her food, her chopsticks moving aimlessly as she avoided looking directly at baek jin. she was still annoyed—still holding that edge—but not as sharp as earlier. it was always this way, after things had settled. tension dissolved, but never fully.

baek jin picked up a piece of soondae without looking at her, his movements smooth, deliberate. he took a bite, chewing slowly, while his eyes lingered on her for a moment longer than usual.

“you know,” he said after a few moments, his voice softer than it had been earlier, “you could relax every once in a while.”

she made a face, her chopsticks still hovering above the plate, and shot him a look. “relax? that’s rich coming from you.”

he shrugged, glancing out the small window at the dark alley beyond. the streetlights outside hummed, casting long shadows that filled the empty space between them. then, almost absentmindedly, he reached over and pushed the plate of rice cakes closer to her.

“i’m serious,” he said, quieter this time. “you don’t have to keep everything in motion all the time.”

her fingers tightened around her chopsticks, but she didn’t respond immediately. instead, she stole a glance at him—eyes narrowing just a little, studying him as if trying to read between his words. but he was already looking away, a subtle tilt to his head, like he didn’t mind if she didn’t take the bait.

after a beat, she finally reached for another rice cake. her hand brushed against his casually, just the barest touch, but it was enough to make her pause, fingers still lingering against his. for a second, she almost didn’t pull back, but then she did, almost reflexively, as if she hadn’t meant to stay there.

his eyes flickered to her hand, but he didn’t say anything. he just kept eating, quieter now.

she took a deep breath, trying to shake off the discomfort that crawled up her throat. “i don’t need your advice, baek jin.”

“i didn’t say you did,” he replied, voice laced with something she couldn’t quite place. was it amusement? care? it was hard to tell, but he didn’t seem fazed by her harshness. his gaze was steady, like he was trying to understand her through the quiet.

another beat of silence passed. her foot nudged against his under the table—accidental, probably. but it lingered, her heel against the side of his shoe, the warmth of her body close enough that he could feel the weight of it.

for a moment, neither of them moved. the air between them was thick in a way that wasn’t uncomfortable, just... full. heavy with things unsaid.

he cleared his throat quietly, shifting his foot away just enough for the pressure to break. she didn’t pull her foot back, though, and the moment passed without comment.

she didn’t look at him as she pushed the food around again. “you think i’m some kind of... control freak?”

“i think you don’t let people in,” he said quietly, his voice softer now, just a little too honest. “it’s like you’re always holding everything back.”

she froze for a second. his words lingered in the air, like smoke, and she could feel the weight of them, like the air had thickened.

her fingers tightened around her chopsticks, and she looked up at him, but she didn’t say anything for a long time. she wanted to snap back, to tell him he was wrong, but something in his eyes stopped her. maybe it was the way he wasn’t looking at her for a response, but just... waiting.

when she spoke, it was quieter than before. “i don’t need anyone to fix me.”

he gave her a quick, almost imperceptible smile, like he understood more than she wanted him to. “i didn’t say anything about fixing you.”

there was a beat of silence between them, but this time, it wasn’t awkward. it was just... there.

she grabbed the last piece of soondae, eating it in one bite. “i’m done. you?” she asked, her voice a little more like herself again—sharp, biting.

he smiled more openly this time. “you eat like a rat.”

she snorted, setting her chopsticks down with a little too much force. “and you’re a walking mannequin.”

when they stood up to leave, it was a little too quiet, but neither of them said much. she put her jacket on, pulling it over her shoulders with more force than necessary, like it was an armour she didn’t need.

@ . !

as they walked through the dark alley, the hum of the streetlights was the only sound between them, a quiet rhythm in the otherwise empty night. she kept her gaze forward, her hands tucked deep into her pockets, shoulders tense.

but then, that one small gesture—a simple adjustment of her collar—broke through the armor she had been building around herself all evening.

her breath caught for just a second. she hadn’t expected it. not from him. she hadn’t expected him to see her. not in this way.

his fingers barely brushed her skin, and in that moment, she felt the shift. it was like the weight she’d been carrying—unseen, unheard, but always there—just became too much to hold onto.

she didn’t stop walking, but her steps slowed, just for a moment. her heart hammered in her chest, too fast, too loud. the weight of her emotions, the ones she kept buried under layers of sharp words and brittle indifference, started to break free. slowly, quietly, without any warning. she bit her lip hard, the pressure doing nothing to stop the sting rising in her chest.

and then, just like that, she felt it. the quiet crumbling inside her. the tension, the anger, the sadness—all the things she thought she’d put away, forgotten or buried—spilled out in the form of a single, shaky breath.

she didn’t look at him. didn’t react. but something in her shifted.

then, without a word, a single tear slipped down her cheek.

she didn’t wipe it away. she didn’t speak. there was no need to. the weight of the past days, the anger, the fear, the exhaustion—it all sat heavy on her like a stormcloud.

he saw it. he always did.

and without hesitation, without asking or saying anything, he stepped forward and pulled her gently into his arms.

at first she froze, body rigid against him like she didn’t know how to be held. but then—like something inside her finally cracked—she melted forward and buried her face into his shoulder, her hands clutching the sides of his jacket.

that’s when the sobbing started.

not loud. not dramatic. just quiet, broken sounds pressed into his chest, like she was finally letting go of something she'd been carrying alone for far too long.

she was trembling.

he didn’t need her to say anything—he never did. he could feel the way her hands gripped his jacket like it was the only thing keeping her together. the weight of her against him wasn’t heavy, but it pressed into something deeper than he wanted to admit.

he’d seen her like this before. not often. only when everything else slipped.

and each time, it broke something in him he didn’t know had edges.

he didn’t ask what was wrong. he just held her tighter, like maybe if he stayed still enough, long enough, she’d remember she wasn’t alone.

that was enough for him. for now.

✶ ᶻz .ᐟ , one .. two .. three ??

[aleese1111]

first meet to first date between grown up geum seongje and f!reader? something like a mature blooming romance between adult seongje and f!reader who seems distant and out of his league

crash into me | geum seong je x fem!reader

summary: she planned every step of her life, until he collided into it—loud, chaotic, unforgettable. now, with one foot still in her routine and the other chasing something wild, she doesn’t see what's waiting at the end of the alley.

warnings: [slow burn] light violence, suggestive delinquent behavior, smoking,

author's note: requests ,, geum seong je ! geum seong je ! geum seong je !

the last bell rang like a sigh of relief through the halls of hagwon high school. she gathered her books in the same careful, habitual way she did every day—spine aligned, corners unbent. neat. predictable. safe.

“hey, want to come with us today?” one of her friends asked, already looping her arm through the other girl’s like they always did.

she gave her usual soft smile, the one that almost looked apologetic. “i can’t. cram school.”

a chorus of groans and mock complaints followed, but they knew better than to push her. she always said no. she always left.

outside, the late afternoon sun was dipping into gold. she stepped out of the school gate, tightening her grip on her books. her pace was steady, eyes focused, her mind already wandering to formulas and grammar drills. she didn’t see them coming.

a loud shout snapped her attention up—then impact.

someone slammed into her from the side, full force. her books scattered like leaves in the wind. her body reeled from the hit, knees wobbling as she nearly stumbled to the pavement.

“what the—”

she barely got the words out when her eyes locked with his.

he was tall. wild dark hair falling into sharp eyes, lips parted as if about to say something—but he didn’t. time felt like it dragged its feet through molasses. the world blurred into silence, just her heartbeat in her ears and the gaze of this stranger who felt more like a storm than a boy.

seong je.

neither of them spoke.

then the moment shattered. more footsteps thundered past. he turned without a word and ran after the others, disappearing around the corner of the school with two other boys in black jackets, chasing the ones who’d bolted ahead.

she stood still, breath caught somewhere between shock and fury. her palms stung from the scrape, her books lay across the sidewalk like wounded soldiers, and her heart was doing something very un-academic.

“rude,” she muttered under her breath, kneeling to gather her things with a tight jaw.

she didn’t say anything more, but her cheeks stayed warm longer than they should’ve. and even as she walked to cram school, posture straight and mind set on forgetting him—

she didn’t.

and she definitely held a grudge.

the week crawled by.

@ . !

she buried herself in textbooks, cram lectures, and routines with military precision. if she distracted herself enough, she could almost forget the way her chest had fluttered after that run-in. almost.

but every time she replayed the moment—the crash, the eye contact, that boy’s breathless stare—her heart betrayed her with a skip. it irritated her. and she hated that even more.

it was friday now. the sky threatened rain, thick clouds crowding the edges of the afternoon. she stepped through the school gates, books hugged tightly to her chest, ready to head straight to cram school. same path, same time, same her.

then she saw them.

a group of boys loitered outside the convenience store across from the school—laughing too loud, smoking like it was oxygen, tossing snack wrappers to the ground. they took up space like they owned it.

and among them, leaning against the wall in that effortless, careless way—him.

seong je.

she froze for a second. her gaze caught him automatically before her brain could tell her to look away.

he was laughing at something, but his eyes didn’t match the sound. they looked half-present, distant, until they slowly shifted—

—and landed on her.

their eyes met.

her grip tightened on her books. the world shrank to a straight line of tension between them, drawn by the static of something unspoken.

then, like flipping a switch, she scoffed.

a tiny, precise sound. enough to cut. enough to dismiss.

she turned her head and walked on, as if he were just a piece of background noise—forgettable.

he blinked, watching her braid sway behind her as she disappeared. his cigarette burned down between his fingers.

“yo,” one of his friends nudged. “she looked like she wanted to kill you with a math textbook.”

he didn’t answer. he didn’t smile, either.

but the corner of his mouth twitched—just slightly.

@ . !

it had been three days since then.

three days of nothing. and yet, that scoff lingered. it echoed louder than most people’s shouting.

he shouldn’t have remembered her at all. but he did.

that’s why, when the back gate of hagwon high creaked open late one evening, he was already there—leaning against the wall, alone now, smoke curling faint in the air, hands tucked in his pockets.

he didn’t say anything right away. just waited.

she nearly jumped when she spotted him.

“hey,” he said.

she stared. “what do you want?”

he shrugged. “just thought i’d say sorry.”

she blinked. that wasn’t what she expected.

“for what?”

“that day,” he said. “i ran into you. didn’t stop. should’ve.”

“you were chasing someone,” she replied, folding her arms. “like some violent lunatic.”

he gave a short laugh. “you remember.”

“i remember being shoved halfway across the sidewalk. so yes. vividly.”

he pushed off the wall, stepping a little closer—not enough to threaten, but enough to meet her eyes fully.

“i don’t usually run into people,” he said, voice lower now. “that one was on me.”

she raised an eyebrow. “and what, now you’re trying to make it up to me by ambushing me after class?”

he didn’t smirk this time. he just looked at her.

“no,” he said. “just thought you should know my name.”

she hesitated.

“it’s geum seong je.”

there was a beat of silence. then:

she replied with her name carefully. “but don’t remember it. i don’t plan on seeing you again.”

he nodded slowly. “right.”

she turned slightly, ready to go—but paused when he spoke again.

“…you like tteokbokki?”

she blinked, caught off guard. “what?”

“there’s a cart a few blocks from here. pretty decent.” he paused. “i’ll pay.”

she stared at him. suspicious. defensive. a little confused.

“…why?”

he shrugged, hands still in his pockets. “dunno. thought maybe next time i crash into someone, it could be over food.”

her eyes narrowed. “there won’t be a next time.”

“maybe.” a pause. then, almost too casually: “you got a number?”

it wasn’t flirty. it wasn’t smooth. it was blunt, like everything else about him. as if he was asking for a weather update.

she stared at him for a moment longer. then scoffed again—slightly softer this time.

“no.”

she walked past him.

but she didn’t walk fast.

and he watched her go, a tiny smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, like he wasn’t planning to ask again.

but also, like he absolutely would.

@ . !

she told herself she wasn’t thinking about him.

of course she wasn’t.

that ridiculous guy. that smoker. that rule-breaker who somehow made eye contact feel like a punch to the chest. she didn’t think about the way his voice dipped just slightly when he said her name. she definitely didn’t replay that stupid question about tteokbokki in her head while brushing her teeth.

she had cram school. real priorities. a future.

and besides—he wasn’t serious.

he was just… playing around. guys like that always were.

so when she took the usual route after school, bag slung over her shoulder and heart calm, it wasn’t for him.

it was never for him.

until it was.

she turned the corner near the back alley—the narrow one that led to the station—and froze.

there he was.

seong je.

alone. hands bruised. breathing heavy.

kneeling over a guy who clearly had the worst day of his life.

she stopped.

he didn’t notice her right away—too focused on whatever debt he was collecting with his fists. she watched, expression unreadable. this was the kind of scene people ran from. she should’ve. it wasn’t her problem.

but something in her chest… sank.

she shook her head once, sharply, and kept walking.

then—

“you’re just gonna walk past me?”

she sighed.

footsteps behind her. steady. lazy. familiar.

“where you going?” he asked.

“none of your business.”

“i’ll make it my business.”

she turned her head slightly. he had a cut on his lip and dirt on his jacket. still walking beside her like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“don’t you have someone else to bother?”

“already did. you saw.”

she gave him a sharp side-eye. “why are you following me?”

“still owe you.”

“for what? you apologized. done. over.”

he glanced at her. “thought you might want to eat something.”

“i don’t.”

“don’t believe you.”

she stopped walking.

“i have cram school. three hours. minimum.”

he didn’t even flinch. “i’ll wait.”

“…excuse me?”

“i’ll wait,” he said again, like he was talking about the weather. “not doing anything tonight anyway.”

she scoffed under her breath. “whatever. do what you want.”

and she walked off—quick, clean, braid swaying behind her like a flag of dismissal.

@ . !

three hours later.

she stepped out of the cram school building, stretching her neck and rubbing her eyes, half-asleep from equations.

and he was still there.

leaning against the wall across the street, earbuds in, arms crossed. as if he hadn’t moved at all.

their eyes met.

she blinked. “…seriously?”

“you thought i was lying?”

she opened her mouth. closed it. looked down at her feet.

“you’re insane,” she muttered.

he gave the smallest shrug.

“you hungry now?”

“…maybe.”

“i’ll pay.”

she sighed like it exhausted her—but something in her eyes softened.

“fine,” she said. “but this is only because i don’t want you standing around like some creep all night.”

he nodded. “sure.”

“stop agreeing with me.”

“okay.”

she glared. he looked smug. she walked.

he followed.

and somehow, it didn’t feel strange at all.

[aleese1111]

hii! Could you pleaaase make a baekjin x fem!reader x seongje, i haven’t seen anything like this and ik you’ll write it goooddd 🥹🫶🏻

three wolves, one flame | geum seong je x union!reader x na baek jin

summary: they run the city’s shadows with cold hands and colder eyes—two boys circling the same girl like orbiting wolves, too stubborn to say they care, too loyal to walk away. in smoke, silence, and bruised affection, they protect what they won't name.

warnings: [slow burn] violence, blood, language, implied emotional trauma, smoking,

author's note: i lowkey fell in love with this one. contemplating if i should turn this into a series or just mini chapters because i have no idea on how to continue this.. so please lmk, anyway! requests ,,

✶ ᶻz .ᐟ , one .. two .. ??

the air inside baek jin’s office always smelled like old paper, cigarette smoke, and something faintly metallic—like blood that never quite left the floor. the room was small but efficient. a modest desk sat tucked against the far wall, cluttered with files and an aging laptop baek jin used for both homework and union logistics. behind him, shelves groaned under the weight of ledgers, envelopes, and binders—some labeled, some not. a coat rack stood near the door, his school uniform jacket hanging neatly as always, untouched and ghost-like.

on the couch, which was barely wide enough for two, she sat cross-legged, a thick folder open on her lap. her fingers were stained with ink and nicotine, flipping pages with practiced speed. her brows were drawn tight in concentration, but her mouth was already forming insults.

“you’re breathing too loud. move.”

beside her, seong je let out a long, lazy exhale, smoke trailing from his lips. “it’s my lungs. want me to stop breathing next?” his thumb scrolled absently on his phone.

“you say that like it’s a bad idea.”

“you like having me around. admit it.”

she snorted. “i’d rather put out this cigarette in my eye.”

baek jin didn’t look up from his desk. this was routine. predictable. he only paused for a second when seong je flicked a crumpled receipt at her face, smirking when it bounced off her forehead.

“touch me again, i will rip your ears off and mail them to your mother,” she said, without even flinching.

“joke’s on you, she’s already deaf.”

that earned him a hard jab to the ribs with the sharp edge of a folder. he groaned theatrically, tipping his head back against the couch and blowing smoke toward the ceiling.

“i swear to god, you're like a feral cat with a calculator,” he muttered.

“and you’re a hemorrhoid with a motorcycle license.”

baek jin turned a page. the yelling had escalated, but it was background noise. normal. expected.

the argument died the same way it always did—abruptly and without resolution.

she slammed the folder shut and stood. the air shifted. joon and gyung, who had been waiting outside the office door like loyal shadows, straightened as she stepped out.

“collection day,” she said simply, already moving.

seong je rolled his shoulders and stood with her, but she didn’t wait. joon and gyung fell in line behind her like trained dogs, their footsteps echoing as the group left the safe walls of the bowling alley and stepped into the dusk.

@ . !

they found them behind a school, deep in the alley that smelled like piss and motor oil. it was a place for things that didn’t want to be seen—perfect for business.

a few boys loitered under the flickering light. low-ranking union lackeys, careless with the rules. she stopped a few feet away, her presence slicing through the tension like a box cutter.

“you’ve got my money?” she asked, voice cool, indifferent.

one of the boys stepped forward. too confident. too dumb. “you don’t get to bark orders at us, bitch.”

seong je was sitting nearby, on a low concrete barrier, smoking. he didn’t move. not yet. he was watching, the way a wolf watches another predator test its luck.

she didn’t blink. “you’re two days late.”

the guy stepped closer, nudging her shoulder. once. twice.

“maybe you wait a little longer,” he said with a smirk. “maybe say please.”

behind her, joon and gyung tensed. she didn’t say anything, just gave a lazy glance to her left.

gyung understood the signal.

the jab to the gut was fast and brutal—air left the guy’s lungs like a popped balloon. he stumbled back, wheezing, while the others flinched. two of them ran.

“go,” she said calmly.

joon darted after them.

only two remained: the one bent over in pain, and another who hadn’t moved yet, watching with wide eyes, deciding if he wanted to be stupid or not.

she crouched beside the first guy, lit another cigarette with a flick of her lighter, and exhaled slowly.

“you work for me,” she said. “you pay, or you bleed. got it?”

the second guy tensed—fight won the war in his brain.

he lunged.

he never reached her.

seong je was a blur of violence—one second on the edge of the scene, the next driving a fist into the boy’s face hard enough to drop him instantly. no words. no warning. just pure, sharp brutality.

he didn’t stop.

fists rained down, calculated and furious. blood splattered against the wall. the sound of bone meeting flesh echoed through the alley.

she stood slowly, arms crossed, cigarette glowing.

“enough,” she said.

seong je didn’t look at her right away. his fists paused mid-motion. then he stood, blood staining his knuckles, breathing hard.

she met his eyes for a moment. something silent passed between them. then she turned and walked away.

“get the cash,” she called over her shoulder.

gyung moved without question.

seong je wiped his hand on his shirt and lit a new cigarette. he glanced once at the boy groaning on the ground and then followed her into the dark.

business, as always, was done.

@ . !

the streets were quieter now. the sun had dipped lower, casting long shadows that swallowed the cracks in the pavement. she walked ahead, cigarette still burning between her fingers, the orange tip flaring with every drag. her steps were calm, composed, like she hadn’t just threatened teenagers and watched one get half-pulped into a brick wall.

behind her, seong je followed. blood still clung to the ridges of his knuckles, crusting dry in the creases, but he didn’t care. he never did. he flicked his own cigarette aside and shoved his hands into his jacket pockets.

they walked in silence for a while, their footsteps echoing softly in rhythm. the kind of quiet that buzzed—static thick with unspoken things.

“you know,” seong je finally said, “you could’ve told gyung to handle it before that dumbass even touched you.”

she didn’t look at him. “he barely touched me.”

“he pushed you.”

“and i didn’t fall. so?”

he scoffed, catching up until they walked shoulder to shoulder. “you’re insane.”

“says the guy who beat someone half to death over a shoulder nudge.”

he grinned. “you like it when i get violent.”

she rolled her eyes. “i like it when you shut the fuck up.”

“but you let me handle it.”

“i let you burn calories.”

seong je laughed under his breath, a short, dry sound. “you’re welcome, by the way.”

“for what?”

“for being your unhinged guard dog.”

“you’re not my anything.”

he didn’t answer right away. instead, he glanced sideways at her—at the bruise just barely starting to form on her collarbone where the guy had pushed her, at the cigarette held steady between her fingers, at the calm, calculated cold in her eyes.

he liked her too much. it was a problem he hadn’t figured out how to fix.

“...you patched me up last week,” he muttered. “don’t pretend like you don’t care.”

“i patched you up so you wouldn’t bleed on baek jin’s couch.”

“sure,” he said. “totally believable.”

she slowed a bit, enough that he noticed but didn’t comment. she glanced over, squinting at him through the dimming light.

“you’re bleeding,” she said flatly.

“you always say that like it’s a surprise.”

she stopped walking. so did he.

“you’re an idiot,” she said, stepping in close. her hand reached for his face, thumb brushing a cut on his cheekbone. it was rough, not tender—like everything she did. “you didn’t have to go that far.”

“he was gonna hit you.”

“i had it handled.”

“yeah,” he muttered, not smiling anymore. “but i don’t like watching people touch you.”

her expression didn’t change. not much. maybe a flicker in her eyes. maybe.

she shoved his face gently to the side with the palm of her hand. “possessive freak.”

he grinned again. “you love it.”

“i tolerate it.”

“that’s practically a love confession coming from you.”

she started walking again. “say one more word and i’ll smoke my cigarette out on your forehead.”

he laughed, trailing behind her.

and behind the sarcasm and bruised knuckles, there was something solid between them—twisted, loud, dysfunctional.

@ . !

by the time they reached the back entrance of the bowling alley, the sky had faded to charcoal grey. the neon sign buzzed above them, flickering like it was trying to decide whether to die or hang on another day. she pushed the door open with her shoulder and stepped inside, the familiar scent of oil, dust, and stale air greeting her like a second home.

seong je followed her, hands still in his pockets, quieter now. at the door to baek jin’s office, he hesitated. she paused, looking back at him.

“i’m heading to the internet café,” he said, voice casual, but his eyes lingered on her a little longer than necessary. “need to blow off some steam.”

she shrugged, already reaching for the doorknob. “go waste your brain cells.”

he smirked. “you love me dumb.”

“don’t flatter yourself.”

she pushed the door open and stepped inside. he didn’t follow.

“patch your hand,” she added over her shoulder. “or don’t. maybe it’ll rot off.”

“aw, worried about me,” he teased.

she gave him the finger without turning around.

he chuckled and walked off, footsteps fading down the hall.

inside, baek jin didn’t look up as she entered. he was at his desk, sleeves rolled up, pencil in hand, methodically underlining something in one of the ledgers. the room felt quieter without seong je in it—thicker, somehow.

she dropped her bag beside the couch and sank into it with a tired exhale. the tension hadn’t left her body yet, but it always faded in here. in this space where time moved slower, where baek jin never asked more than she wanted to give.

“you’re back early,” he said after a moment, eyes still on the paper.

“boys ran faster than usual.”

he nodded once. “anyone give you trouble?”

she pulled another cigarette from her pocket. “one tried. he didn’t try again.”

this time, baek jin did look up. his eyes flicked to her shoulder, narrowing slightly. “you’re bruised.”

“occupational hazard,” she muttered, lighting up.

he stared at her a second longer, then stood. she watched him cross the room in that quiet, deliberate way he moved—like he didn’t waste energy on anything that didn’t matter. he disappeared behind her for a moment. when he came back, he tossed his jacket over her.

she stiffened slightly, cigarette hovering near her lips.

“still cold,” he said simply, sitting back down.

“i’m not cold.”

“you always say that.”

she didn’t take it off.

they sat like that for a while. just the two of them. him scribbling quietly. her smoking in silence, baek jin’s jacket draped over her shoulders like it belonged there.

no yelling. no banter.

just stillness.

the only sound for a long while was the scratch of baek jin’s pencil against paper and the occasional soft crackle of her cigarette.

“you let seong je come with you again,” baek jin said eventually, not looking up.

she snorted. “he follows me around like a leech. what am i supposed to do? spray him with bug repellent?”

“he’s loud,” baek jin replied calmly.

“so are you, when you feel like it.”

“not with fists.”

she gave a half-smirk, flicking ash into the tray on the coffee table. “you jealous?”

“no,” he said plainly. “he’s reckless. you’re not.”

“he only steps in when i let him.” she tilted her head against the back of the couch, eyes drifting toward the ceiling. “you know that.”

baek jin hummed, noncommittal, and went back to his work.

for a while, there was nothing but silence again. not awkward. not empty. just their kind of quiet.

“you still live off convenience store food?” she asked after a minute, squinting at him.

“i eat what’s easy.”

“that’s not eating. that’s survival.”

“i survive just fine.”

“could’ve fooled me,” she muttered, stretching out along the couch. “you’re gonna die from sodium poisoning before you even graduate.”

“and you’ll die from chain-smoking before i do.”

“touché,” she murmured, a tired smile curling at the corner of her mouth.

her voice grew softer, like sleep was already tugging at her edges. “...how do you do it?”

baek jin paused, pencil hovering over the paper. “do what?”

“stay calm all the time. even when shit hits the fan. even when everyone’s losing their heads.” her voice had dropped low. “how do you not break?”

he was quiet for a beat.

then, “because if i break, everything else does.”

she didn’t answer. her breathing was slowing now, cigarette burned out in the ashtray. she was curled on her side, one arm under her head, the other tugging baek jin’s jacket closer around her like she hadn’t meant to.

he glanced up, setting his pencil down soundlessly.

she was already asleep.

he stood, walked over with soft steps, and crouched beside the couch. carefully, he pulled the jacket tighter over her frame and adjusted the pillow under her head. for a second, his hand hovered near her temple, like he wanted to brush the hair away from her face—but didn’t.

baek jin’s face didn’t show much. it never did.

but something flickered in his eyes. something quiet. protective.

then he stood, returned to his desk, and went back to work.

behind him, she slept soundly under his jacket, breathing even and steady.

and outside, the world kept turning. dangerous. unforgiving.

but in here, for a little while longer, it was still.

✶ ᶻz .ᐟ , one .. two .. ??

[aleese1111]

homework and heart | yeon sieun x neighbour!reader

summary: yeon sieun is just trying to get through a study session without losing his sanity, but his lifelong neighbor makes that impossible—armed with sarcasm, zero personal space boundaries, and a habit of falling asleep on his arm mid-math problem. they argue like enemies, act like friends, and care like something they won’t admit.

warnings: [fluff fluff fluff] , mutual but unspoken romantic feelings .

author's note: i just know sieun would treat his girl like a delicate flower. everything about him (apart from his psycho tendencies) screams gentleman. the reader is sort of a tsundere or something. wrote this while listening to [ My Love Mine All mine - Mitski] . requests

“your handwriting looks like a drunk spider fell in love with a pen,” she said, peering over si-eun’s shoulder.

si-eun didn’t glance up. “you’ve said that before.”

“yeah, and it hasn’t improved.”

“you’re here for math help, not calligraphy critique.”

“i’m here for the free heating,” she declared, collapsing onto his bed like it owed her rent. “your floor heating is elite. i feel like a warm croissant.”

si-eun exhaled through his nose. “you’re supposed to finish the worksheet i gave you.”

“you’re supposed to stop being a fun vacuum,” she shot back, flipping onto her stomach and burying her face in his pillow. “why do you smell like laundry detergent and sad?”

he ignored that. “that’s page two. the functions review.”

she groaned into the pillow, her voice muffled. “why are you like this?”

“efficient?”

“emotionally unbothered.”

“that’s not a flaw.”

“it is when your only reaction to my suffering is to hand me a pencil.”

she sat up and tossed said pencil at him. he caught it midair without even turning his head.

“show-off,” she muttered.

“you threw it with the force of a butterfly.”

“rude. accurate, but rude.”

they sat in silence for a moment—her pretending to work, him actually working—until she groaned again and fell dramatically across the table, narrowly missing his open notebook.

“i give up. i’m becoming a flower shop cashier. i’ll name the succulents and everything.”

“you hate plants.”

“they hate me first. it’s mutual.”

“finish number five.”

“no.”

sieun said her name.

“make me.”

he leaned back in his chair, expression flat. “do your homework.”

she leaned forward, matching his energy. “make me.”

their faces were inches apart now, eyes locked in a silent, petty standoff.

“childish,” he murmured.

“lifeless.”

“stubborn.”

“robotic.”

“you still haven’t moved.”

“you blinked first.”

“that’s not how this works.”

“says who?”

“says logic.”

she rolled her eyes and dramatically scribbled on the worksheet. “there. number five. happy?”

he checked it. “that’s number six.”

“i hate you.”

“good. now do five.”

she cursed under her breath, then muttered, “you better carry my backpack at my funeral.”

“you won’t need a backpack if you fail this class.”

“then you better carry my coffin. same energy.”

si-eun glanced at her, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

she caught it and pointed. “there. you smiled. admit you like me.”

“i smiled because you said something dumb.”

“same thing.”

they didn’t look at each other after that. not directly, anyway. but she was quietly doing question five, and si-eun casually slid a bag of her favorite snacks across the table like it didn’t mean anything.

like always.

she got up without warning and dropped beside his chair, her chin resting on his arm, body invading his space like it was natural law.

“you need a break,” she muttered.

“you’re distracting.”

“good.”

he didn’t pull away. just let her stay there, still scribbling notes while her cheek pressed against the sleeve of his hoodie.

“you’re going to smudge the ink,” he murmured.

she shrugged. “you’ll rewrite it for me anyway.”

“that’s not how this works.”

she smirked. “isn’t it?”

they stayed like that, the sound of pen on paper and her breathing settling into rhythm.

she, of course, fell asleep fifteen minutes later. head still leaning against his arm, mouth slightly open, clumsy as ever.

si-eun didn’t move.

he just kept writing with one hand, while the other lightly tugged the blanket from the bed to drape over her shoulders.

outside, the sky finally decided to rain.

inside, there was peace—chaotic, uneven, stubborn peace. the kind only the two of them could create. the kind that made sense even when nothing else did.

✶ ᶻz .ᐟ ,

[aleese1111]

Bruises and Glances was so good!!! Can you do a part two? 🫶

bruises & glances two | geum seong je x fem!reader

summary: Since the night he broke someone’s face for her, Seong-je keeps coming back—closer each time, his quiet gaze carving a space between them neither dares to name. But when she finally slips him her number, the way he looks at her before stepping into the night doesn’t feel like goodbye—it feels like a beginning, or a warning.

warnings: [fluff i think] seong je being a flirt, mild language and smoking .

author's note: your wish is my command. :P requests (pls pls request)

✶ ᶻz .ᐟ , one .. two .. ??

after that night, he came more often.

not every night—but enough that it wasn’t coincidence anymore. always with the same two friends, bruised and grinning like nothing hurt. they took their usual table near the window, like they belonged there. like they’d always been there.

she didn’t say anything the first few times. neither did he.

but the air was different. heavier in the pauses. lighter in the smiles.

his friends noticed first.

the way his eyes followed her. the way hers lingered when she thought no one was looking. sometimes he’d say something low, just enough for her to hear as she passed by, and his friends would nudge each other, biting back their laughs. she pretended not to notice. sometimes she didn’t succeed.

she wasn’t sure what they were now. not exactly friends. not strangers either.

something quiet and slow had settled between them, built from stares and shared silences.

tonight was no different.

he was leaned back in his chair, leg stretched out too far like he was daring someone to trip. one hand wrapped around his water glass, fingers still scraped raw from something recent.

she walked up with her notepad, chewing the inside of her cheek to stop herself from smiling too much.

“same thing?” she asked.

he looked at her like he had all the time in the world.

“unless you’re finally gonna tell me what you eat.”

“you gonna copy me?”

“maybe.”

“that’s lame.”

he tilted his head. “maybe i just wanna know what you like.”

her stomach did a weird thing. she tried to hide it by writing something that didn’t need to be written.

“you’re taking too long,” he said, voice low and amused.

“shut up.”

“make me.”

and then—

“yah!”

her grandma’s voice cracked through the kitchen like a firework.

“you taking their whole life story or their damn order?”

her entire body stiffened. the boys at the table burst out laughing.

she turned a brilliant shade of red, barely meeting his eyes.

“i’ll be right back,” she muttered, spinning on her heel before he could say another word.

he watched her go, the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth refusing to leave.

dinner passed like that—quiet jabs, a little more open each time. he didn’t say much, but what he did say was sharper now. warmer, in his own way. and she—she didn’t pull away from it.

eventually, their plates emptied. glasses full of melting ice. napkins bunched up and stained with chili oil.

“we’ll smoke outside,” one of his friends said, standing and stretching like a cat. “don’t wait up.”

he said it too casually. too knowingly.

seong je didn’t respond, just waved them off.

the bell above the door jingled as they left. outside, the night buzzed low and distant. a scooter passed. someone shouted two blocks down.

she was wiping down the table beside his, fingers moving in quiet, practiced motions. the shop had settled into that soft, late-hour hush. chili paste still hung in the air. oil still bubbled faintly in the kitchen.

he hadn’t moved.

just sat there, arms resting on the edge of the table, watching her with that usual quiet, unreadable look.

“you always here this late?” he asked suddenly.

she glanced up, a little surprised. “usually.”

he nodded like that made sense. like he already knew.

“must get boring,” he added, picking up a toothpick and twirling it between his fingers. “wiping tables. waiting for creeps to walk in.”

she huffed a quiet laugh. “beats getting my nose broken almost everyday.”

his eyes flashed. amused. “true.”

a beat of silence.

he looked toward the window, where smoke curled faintly from where his friends stood, silhouettes under the streetlamp.

then, without looking at her—casually, like he was still thinking aloud:

“so… if i wanted tteokbokki when you’re not working,” he said slowly, “how would i know where to find you?”

she blinked. straightened a little.

“you don’t,” she said, guarded but teasing.

his lips tugged into that small, crooked grin again. “what if i get desperate?”

she raised an eyebrow. “for food?”

he tilted his head, eyes on her now. something deeper in them. “maybe not just food.”

her breath caught.

he held her gaze. still that easy, slow voice. but something in it pressed closer.

“…you could just tell me,” he said.

she hesitated. then stepped closer, grabbed a pen from the counter, and gently slid a napkin across the table.

didn’t say anything as she wrote.

just handed it over, then turned away like it didn’t mean something.

he looked down at the numbers. then folded it once and tucked it into his jacket pocket like it was the only thing worth keeping.

when he finally stood, the bell above the door jingled soft.

but before he stepped out, he looked back again.

not smiling.

not smirking.

just… looking.

and she was already looking back.

✶ ᶻz .ᐟ , one .. two .. ??

[aleese1111]

more seong je 🙏🙏

bruises & glances | geum seong je x fem!reader

summary: in a cramped tteokbokki shop near a shadowy bowling alley, a girl spends her nights serving bloodied high schoolers without asking questions—until one night, something crosses a line. when a stranger touches her, geum seong-je, a boy known more for his fists than his words, retaliates without hesitation, leaving behind shattered tables, silence, and a stare that says too much.

warnings: [fluff i think] physical violence , sexual harassment (non-explicit but invasive behavior and unwanted touching) , mild language and verbal threats .

author's note: requests more seooongg jeeeee !!! i posted three times today... i need a life. request pleaseeee!! bmf.. heh.

✶ ᶻz .ᐟ , one .. two .. ??

the scent of chili paste and frying oil curled into the air, familiar and warm. the kind of smell that clung to hair, to clothes, to memories. most nights were loud but manageable—tables full of boys too beat-up to sit properly but still hungry enough to eat like wolves. she’d grown used to the noise, to the bruises, to the way no one said what really happened just down the alley where the underground lights flickered.

grandma never asked questions. just fed them. scolded them. patched a split eyebrow here and there. she treated them like stray dogs that knew how to come home.

and like clockwork, they kept coming.

the restaurant sat just a few minutes from the old bowling alley buried under a laundromat—half-forgotten unless you were a teenager looking for a fight or a place to disappear. she never went down there, but she knew what kind of things happened in the dark. you could always tell who came from the alley by the way they limped in, the blood on their collars, the way they tried to pretend they weren’t hurting.

but when he walked in, it never felt like routine.

he didn’t come every night. didn’t need to. just his presence made the walls feel narrower. the tables quieter.

he always moved like he didn’t care who was watching. like he was looking for something to break or someone to dare him. but tonight, something about him was more frayed. his lip was split. his knuckles raw and red like they’d never had time to stop bleeding.

he slid into his usual seat, his two friends following behind without a word.

she looked up just as he glanced over. neither of them looked away quick enough.

her heart tugged in her chest like it forgot what pace it was supposed to be on.

she grabbed her notepad, walked over.

“usual?” she asked, her voice quiet but steady.

he looked at her longer than normal.

“…unless you got something sweeter,” he said, voice low and lazy, a grin playing at the edge of his mouth.

her cheeks warmed instantly. she scoffed under her breath, half a laugh, and turned away before he could see too much.

she didn’t know what they were to each other—barely spoke, barely looked—but it was there. in glances. in how their eye contact always felt long and intense before he left. in how he didn’t let anyone else take his order.

the bell above the door jingled again.

two guys walked in. too old for high school. too confident. they sat near the middle table, legs wide, arms thrown over the chairs like they belonged there.

they didn’t.

she could feel their eyes before they even said anything.

she kept it neutral. polite. brought water. took the order.

and as she turned to walk away—

“damn,” one of them muttered, eyes on her legs. “this place got real good lately.”

his friend chuckled, louder. “think she’s on the menu?”

she kept walking, shoulders stiff.

then—

a hand. fast. grabbing.

a squeeze.

the tray hit the floor with a crash. water spilled out in every direction.

her breath caught.

she spun, slapped the hand away hard. “don’t touch me.”

there was no room to think. no time to process.

a chair screeched.

he was already up.

no warning. no noise.

he moved like something had snapped in his chest.

within seconds, the creep was on the ground—throat grabbed, a fist already crashing into his face.

again.

again.

no yelling. no insults. just the dull thud of bone and skin and table legs shifting from the weight of it.

his grin was back—but this time it was wild. dangerous. like he was enjoying every second of it.

his friends didn’t move at first.

only when blood started smearing the floor did one of them speak.

“hyung—”

“don’t.”

his voice was flat.

“i’m not done yet.”

the man on the floor groaned, face swollen, one eye already shut.

she stepped forward, heart racing. “stop—please.”

he didn’t even look at her.

his fist came down again.

“you shouldn’t have touched her,” he said, like he was speaking to himself more than the man below him. “fucking dumb move.”

Blood splattered across the linoleum. The man beneath him whimpered. Hands up. Seong-je didn’t care.

His two friends rushed in, grabbing his shoulders. It took both to drag him off.

he stood, shoulders rising and falling with slow, deliberate breaths.

grandma stormed from the kitchen, spatula in hand, yelling curses only old women and gods understood.

smack!

she hit the guy on the back with a force no one expected. “you low-grade eel! you dog-faced worm!”

smack!

“get out! if i see you again i’ll stir-fry your intestines!”

the man scrambled out, barely conscious, his friend dragging him like a bag of trash.

and then—

silence.

the chairs were still crooked. her tray was still on the floor. blood still dripped from his hand.

she picked up a napkin and stepped toward him.

“you’re bleeding,” she said softly.

he looked at her for a moment like he hadn’t heard. then down at his fist.

“…it’s nothing.”

she gently reached for it anyway, dabbing the cuts.

he watched her.

not her hand. not the cloth.

her.

“you always fight like that?” she asked, voice quiet.

his jaw twitched.

“only when they deserve worse.”

her eyes flicked up. “you think he did?”

his lips curved, slow. “you don’t?”

she hesitated, then shook her head. “i didn’t say that.”

his grin widened just slightly. “good.”

a pause.

“you really didn’t want me to stop, did you?” he added, voice low, nearly teasing.

her breath caught. “that’s not what i—”

“i could tell.” his eyes glinted, dangerous but amused.

her face flushed, and she looked away, trying not to smile.

“you’re messed up,” she muttered.

“i know,” he said. “you don’t seem to mind.”

the corner of her lip twitched despite herself.

he stepped back, turned toward the door. the moment hung too long, the space still too charged.

but then he stopped just before the threshold.

and he looked back.

his breaths were deep now. measured. like he’d been holding something in the whole time.

his gaze wasn’t teasing anymore.

not wild. not cruel.

just… focused. unreadable.

something flickered in it—something that didn’t belong in a boy who enjoyed breaking people.

✶ ᶻz .ᐟ , one .. two .. ??

[aleese1111]

Hii, can you do a part 2 of the check up, your writing is so good!!!

the check up two | na baek jin x fem!reader

summary: After a provocative exchange by the pool, he follows her into the privacy of her room, where the heat between them finally ignites into something raw and unrestrained. In the hush of the estate, desire unravels restraint, and consequences are the last thing on either of their minds.

warnings: explicit sexual tension, implied sexual activity, forbidden romance, mdni.

author's note: please don't hate me for not continuing it to a smut (im not good with it) .. maybe in part three? heh.

✶ ᶻz .ᐟ , one .. two .. ??

the hallway was dark compared to the brightness of the pool, but neither of them noticed. the air between them buzzed with something thick and electric, like thunder before the strike—inevitable. loud in its silence.

her hand was still in his, dragged along as he walked ahead, silent, focused. not rough—but urgent. the kind of urgency that had no place in sunlight, but felt right in shadows. the kind that made her toes curl in anticipation and her mouth curl in amusement.

their steps echoed through the vast estate, heels clicking, breath shallow. no one in sight. she’d made sure of that before she even laid out by the pool, before she even slipped into that bikini. or maybe the staff just knew better than to get in the way when she looked like that—and he followed like this.

her bedroom door clicked shut behind them.

then silence.

almost.

her breath was a little faster now. his eyes a little darker.

she leaned against the door, slow and deliberate, her skin still sun-warm. she tilted her head at him, lips already curved like she knew how this would end. “what now?” she asked, voice soft, almost taunting.

he didn’t answer—not with words.

just one step closer.

then another.

her back hit the wood. she didn’t flinch.

“still pretending this is about uncle’s orders?” she whispered, toying with the loose knot of his tie, dragging it slowly, sensually free. “or are you here for something else?”

his gaze burned. “you know why i’m here.”

“do i?” she smirked, letting the tie fall to the floor like an invitation. “then show me.”

he stepped into her, one arm bracing against the door beside her head. the other hovered near her hip, not touching. not yet. he was close enough that she could feel the restraint in him like a wire pulled taut.

his mouth grazed her jaw—not quite a kiss. more like a warning.

“you’re playing a dangerous game,” he said, voice husky and low.

“you’re the one who came inside,” she replied, chin tilting up, offering her throat.

his lips touched her skin then. finally. slow. reverent. but simmering with intent. he kissed a path from her jaw to the pulse in her neck, pausing there just long enough to make her shiver.

she exhaled, shaky. “don’t be gentle.”

he wasn’t.

his hands found her waist and spun her around, pinning her back to the door. the sound she made was half gasp, half laugh—shocked and delighted.

his hands slid upward, fingers skimming beneath the thin straps of her bikini, thumbs brushing just under her ribs. “this what you wanted?” he asked, voice like gravel. “me, losing control?”

“no,” she whispered, turning her head to meet his eyes. “i want you knowing exactly what you’re doing—and doing it anyway.”

he inhaled sharply through his nose, jaw clenching. that did it.

he lifted her.

she wrapped her legs around his waist like it was muscle memory, her laugh low and dangerous. he carried her to the bed like it cost him something not to devour her on the floor instead.

when she hit the mattress, she twisted beneath him, flipping them with fluid, practiced grace. suddenly, she was straddling him, hips pressed flush to his, hands already roaming the front of his shirt.

he lay beneath her for a beat, just staring.

her hair was a mess of sun-kissed strands, her lips swollen, her skin golden and slick from the pool. her bikini clung to her like sin. she was flushed and radiant, eyes gleaming like she’d just won something.

“you’re dangerous,” he muttered.

“you’re late,” she breathed, and dipped down to drag her lips across his collarbone.

she bit him there—light but sharp enough to make him hiss.

his hand shot up to her jaw, gripping, pulling her mouth back to his. and then he kissed her again—harder. deeper. like he was trying to consume her. or maybe just brand her.

her fingers sank into his hair, nails grazing scalp. he groaned into her mouth, the sound rumbling through his chest and straight into hers.

his other hand slid down her spine, pressing between her shoulder blades, then lower. finding the ties of her bikini top and tugging. not fast. not clumsy. slow, calculated, cruel.

it came undone in one smooth pull.

she didn’t stop him.

instead, she arched her back, letting the straps slide down her arms, never breaking the kiss. his hands found her bare skin like he’d been starving for it.

she gasped into his mouth when he gripped her hips, pulling her flush against him, grinding up just once. the friction made her eyes flutter.

“you’re playing with fire,” he rasped.

“then burn me,” she dared, nails dragging down his chest.

the air between them was molten now, everything slick with heat and tension. the kiss broke only when he rolled them again, pinning her beneath him with a forearm braced beside her head.

her hair fanned out against the sheets. she looked up at him, breathless and defiant. “are you going to ruin me, or just talk about it?”

he kissed her again—no warning, all hunger.

and this time, there was no going back.

the mattress dipped beneath his weight as she pressed him down, her thighs bracketing his hips, her body a slow-burning fuse above him. his hands moved on instinct—gripping her waist, fingers splaying wide like he was trying to memorize the shape of her. she bent over him, hair falling like silk curtains around their faces, and kissed him again—deep, lingering, tasting him like he was the answer to a question she hadn’t dared to ask out loud.

his shirt was next, half-torn from his body, her fingers impatient, skimming over skin and muscle like she was searching for something—weakness, hesitation, control. she found none. he pulled her down with him, twisting until she was beneath him, back arching as he hovered above.

“don’t look at me like that,” she whispered.

“like what?”

“like you’d die for a taste.”

he didn’t answer. his mouth answered for him.

he kissed her like he meant to leave marks, dragging his lips down her throat, along the line of her collarbone, lower. her breath came uneven now, hitched with every drag of his teeth, every grazing brush of his knuckles down her side. he slid one hand beneath her, cradling the curve of her spine, lifting her to him.

her laugh was breathless, feral. “this your idea of behaving?”

“i warned you,” he said, voice rough against her skin. “you didn’t listen.”

“no,” she whispered. “i waited.”

his hands were everywhere—tracing the edge of her bikini, tugging at the strings like he was daring her to stop him. she didn’t. she watched him through half-lidded eyes, chest rising and falling with anticipation, not fear.

when the first strap slipped loose, she didn’t flinch.

when the second followed, she smiled.

the fabric slid from her like it had been waiting to be discarded. his breath caught—not loudly, but enough. her smirk widened.

“still pretending this isn’t what you wanted?”

he didn’t speak.

he didn’t have to.

he pressed her back against the sheets, slower now, reverent almost. his mouth found the hollow of her throat, then lower. each kiss burned. each pause made her ache.

he treated her like a secret, like something precious and dangerous all at once. like a crime he didn’t regret.

outside the room, the cicadas hummed and the sun blazed and the world moved on.

inside, time folded in on itself—just heat and breath and hands and hunger.

whatever this was, it wasn’t careful.

it wasn’t safe.

and neither of them wanted it to be.

✶ ᶻz .ᐟ , one .. two .. ??

[aleese1111]

the check up | na baek jin x fem!reader

summary: Sent by Mr. Choi to check up on her, Baek Jin arrives to find her lounging provocatively by the pool, teasing him with every move. As their playful tension builds, their flirtation suddenly takes a sharp turn, leaving the air thick with unspoken promises and the lingering question—will they cross the line, or will something stop them at the last moment?

warnings: suggestive content, forbidden romance, mdni.

author's note: im gonna eat him upppp... his scrumptious soft looking lips. requests

✶ ᶻz .ᐟ , one .. two .. ??

the sky was so blue it hurt to look at. the sun poured down like molten gold, bleaching the pale marble that ringed the massive pool behind the estate. it was the kind of afternoon that made the air shimmer, the cicadas hum louder, and idleness feel almost erotic.

she was sprawled on her stomach across a lounger by the pool, her body barely covered in the smallest bikini she owned—black, strappy, sinful. the strings curved high over her hips, the top a daring arrangement of triangles and hope. she lounged like she ruled the estate, sunglasses perched on her nose, her skin glistening with tanning oil. a half-melted glass of something cold and citrusy sat within arm’s reach, untouched.

two maids were folding towels and adjusting umbrellas nearby, talking quietly.

the heavy wrought-iron gate at the side of the estate creaked open.

she didn’t lift her head. she didn’t need to.

the footsteps that followed were slow, deliberate. a man’s pace. familiar weight.

she smiled to herself. “unless you’re here to oil my back,” she said, voice syrup-smooth, “walk away.”

a pause.

“no oil,” came that deep voice, steady as always. “just me.”

now, she moved.

without glancing at the maids, she flicked two fingers in the air—a lazy, deliberate gesture. a queen dismissing her audience.

the maids paused, exchanged a knowing look, and swiftly made themselves scarce, disappearing through the house with trained silence. by the time she slid her sunglasses down to glance up, only he remained.

“tch. even worse.”

he stepped into view, casting a long shadow across her sunbed. he looked like a disruption—black slacks, crisp white shirt rolled to the elbows, collar loosened just slightly. the light caught the veins in his forearms. his expression, as always, was unreadable. but his gaze? absolutely not.

she could feel it on her skin. the heat of it.

“uncle send you to check if i drowned?” she asked, flipping her sunglasses up with one finger and glancing up at him from under her lashes.

he didn’t answer immediately. his eyes moved slowly—down the elegant line of her spine, the dip of her waist, the curve of her ass just barely covered by her bikini bottoms.

“something like that,” he said finally, his voice lower now. “he wanted to make sure you’re behaving.”

she smirked, shifting slightly so the top of her thighs lifted, arching just enough to tease. “define behaving.”

his eyes lingered on the movement before he looked away like it cost him. “no fires. no scandals. no bodies.”

“well,” she said with a sigh, “two out of three isn’t bad.”

he didn’t laugh. but his mouth twitched.

she flipped onto her back slowly, letting her legs part just slightly, one bent at the knee. her bikini strained with the movement, barely containing her.

“you’re staring,” she murmured, not looking at him.

“you’re impossible to ignore.”

she smiled up at the sky. “good.”

his voice darkened. “do you always sunbathe like this?”

“only when i want to be seen.”

his gaze swept over her again. “you’d get arrested if you stepped outside the gate.”

“but i didn’t,” she said, lifting her head and meeting his gaze directly. “you came inside.”

another pause. tighter this time.

“you do this often?” he asked, cocking a brow. “lay out half-naked knowing someone might walk in?”

she propped herself up on her elbows, legs still stretched out and gleaming under the sun. “only when i hope it’s you who walks in.”

the admission hung in the air between them like smoke. heavy. tainted with something electric.

he didn’t move closer, but he didn’t move away either. he watched her like he was waiting for her to blink first.

“you really don’t care who sees, do you?”

“there’s no one left to see,” she murmured, tilting her head. “i sent them away the second i saw it was you.”

his jaw twitched. “dangerous habit.”

“is it?” she sat up now, her thighs parting, body angled toward him, unbothered by the exposure. “you think i can’t handle the consequences?”

“i think,” he said slowly, “you like to see how far you can push me.”

“i think,” she countered, rising to her feet in one graceful movement, “you like being pushed.”

he said nothing. his eyes followed her as she walked up to him—hips rolling with every step, the pool water glistening off her skin.

when she stopped in front of him, chest nearly brushing his, she reached up and plucked an imaginary speck of lint from his shirt. “all this tension,” she whispered, eyes locked on his lips. “and for what?”

baek jin said her name lowl and intensely, yet softly

“you can say my name softer than that,” she teased, fingers trailing down the line of his tie.

he caught her wrist before it dipped any lower. not rough. but firm.

“if i touch you, i won’t stop.”

“i’m not asking you to.”

“mr. choi-”

“isn’t here.”

“that doesn’t mean he won’t find out.”

she leaned in, breath ghosting across his jaw. “then you’d better make it worth the fallout.”

he exhaled slowly, the kind of breath that came from effort. restraint. he looked down at her—defiant, seductive, deliciously untouchable.

and she smirked like she knew she had him by the throat.

“still pretending you don’t want me?” she asked, voice just above a whisper.

his fingers tightened on her wrist.

“still pretending you’re not dying to find out what i taste like?” she continued.

“you’re spoiled,” he said, but his voice was hoarse now.

“i’m insatiable,” she corrected.

and then she leaned up, brushing her lips just barely against his. not a kiss—just a dare.

a test.

he didn’t fail.

his mouth crashed down on hers, rough and unyielding, like the dam had broken. her arms went around his neck instantly, pulling him closer, mouths locked in something hot and devastating.

she moaned into it, soft but eager, her hands fisting his shirt as he walked her backward toward the lounger. when her legs hit the edge, he broke the kiss, breathing hard.

she looked up at him, lips swollen, hair a mess, eyes gleaming with challenge.

“so much for self-control.”

he looked down at her like he wanted to devour her. “i haven’t even started.”

✶ ᶻz .ᐟ , one .. two .. ??