Thanks to everyone for reading my content. I really appreciate your interactions so thank you for that too! 🫶🏻
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Hiiiii guys!! I know I’ve been inactive but I’m slowly trying to come back. Does anyone still read my blog? If you’re seeing this… I’ve got something to say 🎀
I have SO many ‘Weak Hero’ ideas in my head like way too many drafts just sitting in my notes 🤪 but I was wondering… does anyone here like Batman? 💛🖤
I had never watched a single Batman movie and I just finished the trilogy and now I really wanna write something about Batman or Bruce Wayne. Oh my god that man is so hot! and yes, I’m talking about Christian Bale’s version 🫦💋
I might actually do it because watching them totally brought back my motivation to write lol, so if you like Batman or Bruce Wayne stay tuned for updates. And don’t worry there will also be some Weak Hero updates too. 🫰🏻
summary: Being with Seongje was never easy—never would be. Loving him felt like walking into a smoke-filled room, you could barely breathe, and yet you couldn’t get out. In his cruelty he’d be the one to push the flames until you were nothing but ash.
★pairing: Geum Seongje x fem!reader | ★genre: smut / jealousy
Seongje’s apartment smelled like a mix of tobacco, wet desire, lies, and something else… something you’d never quite managed to name. A feeling in your throat, like something invisible had been there for weeks.
But tonight it felt suspended. No wind, time had stopped, just the muted hum of the city beyond the fogged-up windows, distant noises blending with the monotonous creak of the couch sinking under the weight of both of you.
The couch was gray, old, hollowed in the center as though it had memorized the press of bodies over countless nights, as if it carried the ghost of your skin. Your legs curled around him clinging to his waist like roots to the earth, the air hung thick, heavy, scented with him, with you, with the faint trace of your perfume fading.
A half-smoked cigarette rested between his fingers, held with that familiar careless indifference while his other hand pressed your wrists against your back, holding you with an effortless dominance that blurred the line between anger and longing.
Smoke curled from his lips in slow, deliberate spirals carving paths through the heavy air. His head tilted back, chest rising and falling, veins on his neck taut like wires ready to snap.
Then his hand was on your face, abrupt and sharp, forcing your eyes to meet his. He bit your ear, voice low, dark, carrying that familiar sweetness of poison:
—You like it when I’m angry, don’t you? I can feel how wet you get.
Another drag, this time the smoke didn’t linger in the room. He pushed it into your mouth pressing his lips to yours with a ferocity that consumed, teeth grazing your lower lip in short desperate bites, leaving no space for hesitation.
It should have been intimate like it had always been. But something was fractured.
Your breath came quick, sharp, not from exhaustion not from pleasure but from that invisible sting. A doubt that had been trailing you for weeks, now sharp and undeniable.
First, it was the smell.
A strange perfume on his jacket when he came home late. A scent impossible to confuse with yours.
Then came the absences, hours of silence, messages left unanswered, calls returned the next day.
“I said I was busy.”
“With Baekjin. Don’t start, you know how he gets.”
And your questions growing softer each time, his answers colder.
Always the same routine: the argument, the annoyance in his voice, the disdain disguised in sharp words.
“You’re paranoid.”
“Don’t start with the same shit today I’m not gonna sit here and listen to it.”
Then came the way he’d silence you: his body pressing against yours, until you forgot and you hated him for it… but still, you fell.
That night, however, he forgot to cover one detail. The same thing that had started it all would also be what ended it.
Both of you were gasping, bodies slick and pressed together, moving like there wasn’t enough air to breathe. Every thrust, every shuddered gasp, carried that sharp mix of desperation and control that defined him. His hands gripped your waist with an almost clinical precision, guiding, pinning, leaving no room to think—only react.
Seongje stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray without breaking rhythm, the movement abrupt, careless, efficient. He pressed you harder against him, hips snapping faster, hands rough on your back. There was no tenderness just intensity, a raw, mechanical rhythm that bordered on violence. And in that precise, automatic gesture, he made his mistake.
To the side of the couch on the small wooden table scarred by old burns, the ashtray sat—full. Full to the point of revolting.
One sharper, harsher move the couch’s edge hit the table. The ashtray slid, teetering, then crashed to the floor with a metallic clatter that split the tension like a gunshot.
The bubble of the moment shattered instantly.
Your eyes flew open, your lungs caught in your throat. The sound was obscene, out of place against the rhythm you’d been caught in, a harsh reminder of the world outside your little orbit.
Instinctively your hand shot toward it but his grip closed around your wrist, hard, immovable.
—Forget it —he murmured low, lips brushing yours, the voice rough but urgent almost pleading— I’ll clean it up later.
The tone was heavy with a strange urgency, almost as if he wanted to rip your eyes away from everything else, force them to stay only on him.
But instinct made you turn your head, just slightly.
And you saw it.
Among all those gray, crushed cigarette butts, one stood out.
A cigarette butt with a faint stain on the filter, marked with lipstick.
Red.
Deep.
A red that wasn’t yours.
It couldn’t be an accident. It couldn’t be coincidence, it was placed there intentionally.
You straightened slowly, still straddling him. Your skin still hot, your heartbeat racing but for all the wrong reasons.
You said nothing.
You held onto his shoulders, matching the rhythm his hands forced on your hips. The swinging was hypnotic, his fingers digging into you like they could bury themselves inside your skin. Your body reacted, obeyed, surrendered to that wave of desire he always knew how to ignite.
But your mind was elsewhere.
That red, it wasn’t you. It had never been you.
And yet, you moved against him with the same intensity, the same abandon that was tearing you apart inside. You enjoyed it—God, disgustingly so—as if your body had betrayed you in the cruelest way, giving you pleasure while your soul drowned.
Your breathing tangled with his, his lips dragging down your neck, his hoarse voice whispering your name in a broken murmur and you, instead of sinking into it, began threading memories together.
It was a puzzle scattered across time, pieces that never seemed to fit until now. That cigarette butt with its red stain was the final piece. The whole picture assembled in front of you while he was still inside you, while your body burned with a fire that was no longer love but fury.
You didn’t know what to do. To confront him there, naked, vulnerable, was like opening the door to a monster. If you spoke, you could unleash a Seongje you didn’t want to see, one capable of crushing you with words with that coldness of his that hurt more than any blow.
“Don’t go looking for what you don’t want to find.”
“Your mistake was trusting me too much.”
Those possible words buzzed in your head, and maybe he’d be right.
The thought shattered you, but still you kept going. You moved faster, harder, as if rage could be burned off in that last encounter, as if you could drag every lie out of him through your skin, squeeze them from his body before silence destroyed you.
He groaned beneath you, lost, convinced he had you completely in that moment. And you stared down at him, eyes shimmering with unshed tears, as if you were etching every second into memory because maybe this was the end.
Suddenly with a rough move, he flipped you over trapping you between the couch and his body. You can’t even complain because he’s inside you again and the view he has now is better than anything he could’ve asked for.
He thrusts so hard the couch rocks beneath both of you. You can’t believe how much you enjoy that sharp mix of pain and pleasure just the way he enjoys giving it to you. You can’t hold yourself up, so he steadies you with his hand on your throat again but this time he’s not being gentle.
—Mhhh, look at you… —He laughs at your ruined face staring back at him.—
There’s nothing soft or tender about him—it’s harsh, demanding. His cock drives in with every move, even deeper if that’s possible. You’re too far gone to do anything but take it, your own hand pressing against the bulge in your stomach. It’s disgusting how much you love feeling him spill inside you right beneath your palm.
His hand slid up to your face, tracing it slowly, and then he landed a sharp slap light but precise that made your head jerk to the side and a broken gasp escape your lips.
The pressure built, your walls fluttering desperately around his throbbing cock. Your breath hitched as the edge loomed closer, his touch and the relentless pace pushing you toward ecstasy.
Your hips trembled as the waves of your orgasm tore through you. Seongje grabbed your hips, pounding even deeper, his thrusts turning frantic as he chased his own release. His breath came ragged, his grip bruising, fucking you with renewed force—each hit slamming right where it broke you, tears stinging your eyes from the overstimulation.
Finally with a moan, his body locked tight, cock buried deep as he spilled inside you.
He leaned back against the couch breathing heavily, but he didn’t let go of you. His hands stayed on your waist, firm, almost claiming you, not allowing you to pull away. Every touch was deliberate, subtle, yet enough to make your skin shiver and your mind race.
He watched you with those dark eyes, studying every reaction, as if trying to decipher what you were feeling and yet offering no clear answers. Confusion washed over you like a burning cold: the same man who had driven you insane, made you ache and scream, now appeared calm like a predator satisfied in no rush to consume you completely.
His hand rose to your face slowly tracing your cheek, and for a brief moment an almost human gesture pierced through his hardness. But it wasn’t tenderness, it wasn’t care. It was possession, control and that made you tremble more than any gentle touch ever could.
You felt a strange emptiness, a mix of anger, desire, fear, and something you couldn’t name. You wondered why you couldn’t pull away, why your body responded to every thrust of his hip, every press of his hand. Logic had evaporated; all that remained was a dangerous magnetism holding you there, frozen and captive.
And you stayed because even though every fiber of your being screamed to run, something invisible anchored you to him. An unbreakable circle: pleasure intertwined with fury, burning desire, and paralyzing fear. Every heartbeat, every ragged breath seemed to conspire to keep you there, trapped between what you wanted and what you feared.
⌞author’s note⌝
Guysss I’m backkk and honestly I don’t even know what to think about this. Btw this is my first time writing this kind of stuff, sooo let me know if you’d like me to drop something like this every now and then. I swear I’m sooo bad at writing this but I really tried my best. 😿
If you notice any grammar mistakes you know you can tell me and I’ll fix them. Also let me know if you actually like this pleaaaseee.🫰🏻
I’m just happy to be back I think that little break made me lose the flow of this story I had buried somewhere in my notes. Anywayyy, I hope you guys enjoy it. 😋😋
summary: Ahn Suho never breaks a promise. He swears it with his eyes, holds it with every inch of his body. But life doesn’t give warnings, it comes and goes like the tide, never asking who it pulls under.
The walls of your room felt like a warm coat wrapped around you. Outside, the world kept spinning, but inside, it was like time had surrendered to the two of you.
Suho was lying next to you, his head tucked between your neck and the pillow, holding you like there was no rush, like the universe had shrunk to that one moment. His nose was buried against your collarbone, whispering things too soft to catch, and every now and then, he kissed your skin so gently it felt like he was apologizing for everything he couldn’t say out loud.
He hadn’t gone to work that day.
He owed you time and he didn’t just say it, he meant it. At least two or three times a week, he carved out that space just for you. Time with no masks, no interruptions. Just the two of you.
His hands tangled with yours, slid up your waist, rested on your back. Today was one of those days where Suho didn’t say much but in that moment, he didn’t have to. Everything was already said in the way he looked at you, like he was choosing you with every blink.
But then something in his gaze shifted. A sigh escaped him—not calm, but thoughtful. And you felt the way his fingers suddenly stilled against your skin.
—What’s wrong?—you asked gently, brushing his cheek with your fingertips.—You’re really quiet today…
—I’m always quiet.—he muttered, burying his face in the crook of your neck like he didn’t want you to see his eyes.
—Ahn Suho…—you whispered with a small, disbelieving laugh, trying to lighten the mood.
—That’s the last thing I’d believe. What, did someone kidnap my loud Suho?
Your words were meant to make him smile, to pull something out of him—a smirk, a glance, anything to make you feel like he was still here, fully present with you. But he didn’t react, not even a twitch of the lips, and that’s when you knew the wound was still open.
He wasn’t entirely with you. Some part of him was still out there, where anger and guilt were slowly eating away at him in silence.
—This is about Si-eun… isn’t it?—you said, this time softer, quieter.—Well… if it were me, I think I’d feel the same… or worse.
He glanced sideways at his Apple Watch. The lit-up screen showed a time he clearly didn’t expect to see so soon. He sat up slightly, brow furrowing in that way that didn’t need any explanation.
—Ahh, shibal…—he muttered under his breath, so low you barely caught it.
—What is it?—you asked, not moving yet, though deep down, you were already starting to guess the answer.
You felt it in the way his arms loosened around you, in how his fingers stopped trailing along your back, in the heavy pause before he began to sit up, like even that motion hurt him somehow.
—I’m sorry, jagiya… I have to go.—he said at last, in that voice he only used when he didn’t want to hurt you, but knew he would anyway.
Your heart tightened instantly. Like some part of you had already heard the words before they left his mouth.
—Now? —you whispered, still clinging to his embrace, not wanting to let go. You held onto him like your fingers could somehow hold back time.
But the decision was already made. He pulled away carefully, like he was afraid to break something fragile and invisible between you. He stood up slowly. Suho’s figure was outlined against the faint light slipping through the curtains; his hair was messy, and his eyes downcast, heavy with the weight of whatever he had to do.
He leaned toward the chair by his desk to grab his hoodie, the one you always borrowed because it smelled like him.
—I won’t be long. Promise.—he said as he slipped the hoodie on, still not looking at you.
—I told that idiot Yeong-bin I wanted to talk. I need to find out where that coward Beomseok is, what they did to Si-eun… I can’t just sit around doing nothing.
Suho wasn’t the type to talk without thinking. If he said he was leaving, it meant he already had his mind made up.
—Please…—you whispered as you stepped closer to him, letting your forehead rest against his chest.—Just stay, just for tonight.
For the first time, Suho looked down. And he hesitated. Barely a second. Just enough for your hope to flicker… and then fade.
—I’ll be back soon, okay?—he tried to smile, reaching for something lighter, something easier. —Wanna me to bring those noodles you like?
You didn’t answer right away. You just looked at him. That kind of look that doesn’t beg, but still bleeds. And even then, you already knew it was done.
He wouldn’t stay, you knew him too well. He was stubborn.
—Suho…—you whispered, as if saying his name could pull him back to where you needed him as much as he needed you.
He touched your cheek with the tip of his fingers and gave you a faint smile. One of those smiles that only show up when he’s pretending everything’s going to be okay.
—Half an hour, tops. So go find that movie you said you wanted to watch, yeah? You want the cheesy noodles or the spicy ones?
Your voice cracked a little.
—Cheesy… please.
—Knew it.—he said with a quick grin.—I’ll be back in thirty, jagiya. Don’t start the movie without me.
He wanted to sound calm… casual. Like it was just any other night. Like everything could go back to normal after a couple of hours.
And then, like something pulled him back, he turned to you one last time. His lips met yours again, but the kiss was different.
It wasn’t sweet.
It wasn’t ordinary.
It was slow… like a goodbye dressed up as routine. Like deep down, you both knew that thirty minutes could stretch into forever.
You watched him walk away.
And you never felt his warmth again after that.
────
The hours that followed were a hollow echo of his absence. The sunset died completely, and with it, something you didn’t even know you were losing slipped away. Night fell like a slab of stone, each minute stretched out like a rope pulled tight around your throat, something inside you wouldn’t stop stirring.
You called his number, once, twice, three times. No answer.
You tried to rationalize it. “Maybe he’s busy.” “Maybe he has no signal.” But none of the excuses were strong enough to quiet that uneasy feeling, growing like a silent fire in the back of your heart.
Still, you did what he asked. You looked for that movie, you forced yourself to believe he’d come back, toss the takeout bag in your lap, pretending to be mad that you’d started it without him.
You lied to yourself… because you had to.
But your hands wouldn’t stop shaking. You sat at the edge of the bed, rubbing your palms over your lap like you were trying to reconnect with your body, as if every part of you had turned too heavy to hold.
Every corner of the room carried a trace of him: his hoodie folded over the chair, a half-empty water bottle, the phone charger he always left whenever he spent the night. Tiny things, now they felt like blades under your skin.
And then your phone rang.
You don’t remember who it was, or even the number, just the vibration, the deathly silence before you picked up and then the voice that shattered everything:
Sungang Hospital
Ahn Suho
Critical condition
Possible coma.
The words hit like bullets. Everything else turned to fog.
You didn’t know how you got there. You couldn’t recall the trip. You don’t remember if you took a cab, if you checked the intersections, if anyone even spoke to you along the way. You just knew something was pulling you toward that intensive care unit, where the world you knew was about to fall apart.
—Suho…—you said when you arrived, as if saying his name could somehow bring him back.
He was lying on a white hospital bed that looked far too cold. There were oxygen tubes in his nose and machines hooked up to his chest, beeping steadily in the quiet.
You sat beside him without thinking. It was hard to believe that still body was his. That those hands, now resting motionless, had traced your back just a few hours earlier.
And you didn’t cry right away, you couldn’t. Your mind had gone somewhere else, like it couldn’t process what your eyes were seeing. That night, there was a coldness that sank deep into your bones, one that had settled in the center of your chest the moment he walked out that door.
Every second that followed was a loop of the moment he stood up from the bed, the way he kissed you goodbye, the way you told him stay with your eyes, even if you couldn’t make your hands hold him back.
You thought you’d see him again in a few hours. He’d come back with tense shoulders and that worn-out look he always wore after fights, but that it would slowly fade in your presence.
You never imagined you’d have to see him like this.
You didn’t speak, didn’t make a sound you just sat there, watching him for hours without moving. Sometimes you held his hand, you traced your fingers over his cheek, desperately looking for a sign that he was still there, that he hadn’t completely left.
But Suho didn’t respond.
You stayed like that for a long time. Elbows on your knees, staring at the floor every now and then your eyes would wander back to him, as if hoping he’d open his eyes, roll them at you for being so dramatic and say in that dry, sarcastic tone:
“I’m fine, you’re overreacting.”
But that moment never came.
Even when you managed to close your eyes for a few minutes, even in your dreams, you could hear the steady beeping of the monitor like a countdown.
You were left hollow in the chest.
And with that guilt, sharp and relentless… that dug into your skin like a second layer. Invisible, but painful with every breath.
Because it didn’t matter how many times you told yourself it wasn’t your fault.
Deep down… you knew.
You knew something was wrong and still, you did nothing.
You didn’t stop him.
They say that after the storm comes the calm. But the way you loved Suho… you know this storm didn’t only pass, it destroyed everything.
There was no comfort, no hope. Only ruins.
There was only the feeling of what they had once been, back in time.
unseen by choice was sooo good, and i love ur writing!! are there any hopes for a part 2? have a happy week!! ❤️❤️
Louder
summary: Han Su-gang carries a memory that never healed, no matter how hard he tried to bury it. There’s no cruelty more painful than being truly seen. Not when the one who sees you comes back, and doesn’t forget.
You’d think the oldest memories would fade into the fog, but they don’t. Some stay trapped forever wedged beneath your skin like splinter as if your brain or maybe your heart, chose them, refused to ever let them go.
And there are days when you’d give anything for those memories to just disappear.
When you close your eyes, you can see it.
Kindergarten.
The sun streaming through the branches of the biggest tree. A swing creaking in the distance, children’s laughter tangled with far-off screams. Tiny shoes stomping through damp grass.
And among all the kids…
Han Su-gang.
Even at five, he walked like everything belonged to him, maybe because it did. His uniform always spotless, his hair perfect. The way he looked down at others, like he was always a step above. The other kids followed him. They laughed when he laughed, went silent the second he told them to.
That afternoon, you saw him sitting under the cherry blossom tree, a little box of strawberry milk in his hands.
His favorite drink.
It always had been.
It was one of those rare moments when his expression would soften, and he’d smile for real. He sipped it carefully, like it was something sacred.
And then, it happened.
A bee started buzzing around him. Small, with dark wings and a glossy body. It danced in circles, drawn in by the sweetness of the milk.
And he panicked.
—Ah… no, no! A bug!—he stammered, voice trembling as he flailed his arm, not knowing what to do.—Go away! That’s mine! Get off!
The other kids didn’t laugh.
They just stared.
No one moved.
Except you. You didn’t even think.
You ran toward him.
You pulled out your notebook and waved it like a fan, trying to chase the bee away.
It resisted.
Spinning, diving, rising.
But in the end, it flew off.
Silence fell instantly.
He stopped moving.
You smiled, proud of yourself.
—See? I got it! It’s not gonna bother you now.—you whispered with a little proud smile.
But Su-gang didn’t smile back.
He looked at you slowly with that expression that, even as a kid, already knew how to hurt.
—Go away!—he said, his voice sharp.
You didn’t understand.
—But… I just wanted to help.
—I don’t need your help! Do you wanna get in trouble or something?!
He shouted, his face turning red with shame. His eyes burning with something he couldn’t even name.
Then he looked down.
At the notebook still in your hand.
He snatched it without asking, and without a word, threw it on the ground.
He stomped on your drawings, crushing them into the wet mud.
Again and again.
You took a step back, confused.
—Su-gang… why’d you do that?—you asked, your voice trembling on the edge of tears.
He spun around and yelled:
—You’re a monster! You’re so ugly, you’re scarier than the bee!
And then, he did it.
He shoved you.
Grabbed your arm and pushed you back. You landed on the grass with a heavy thud, your uniform stained with mud. The same uniform your mom had ironed that very morning.
She had told you before you left:
“Please don’t get it dirty.”
Your eyes welled with tears, not from the fall but from what came next.
The other kids laughed.
No one came to help.
No one said a word. They just looked at you like he was right.
And childhood doesn’t forgive.
The days that followed were brutal. You became the perfect target, someone they could mess with and never get in trouble for it.
Games stopped being games.
Jokes started leaving marks.
“We were just playing” was never true. The teacher said kids “don’t mean to be cruel” that “they’re just playing.”
But you knew the truth.
You lived it.
The next day you didn't want to go to class.
And the next week, you didn't come back.
────
There was no mistaking it. Even after all this time, even though you weren’t five years old anymore. He hadn’t changed. That same arrogant posture, same look like the world was beneath him.
And he didn’t recognize you, of course not.
Not in that moment.
Not with the new face you’d built for yourself out of pain, because you had changed. You’d rebuilt yourself, head to toe. You were no longer the little girl he had torn apart, piece by piece.
You remembered everything. Every time he made you feel like a mistake.
Every word, every shove, every time he called you a monster. Every single day you cried in front of the mirror wishing you could tear your face off. And all those times you told yourself the same thing… until you started to believe it.
Because if Su-gang had forgotten who you were… you were about to remind him.
And when you did it you knew he’d understand. That it would twist his stomach. You knew he’d come looking for you.
And he did.
You were at your locker, putting books away, when you heard it. Fast, sharp footsteps—like a threat echoing down the hall.
Before you could even turn, he was already behind you, he slammed your locker shut, the bang loud enough to make everyone in the hallway look.
But he didn’t flinch.
—What the hell do you think you’re doing?
His voice was a knife.
You didn’t move.
—You talking to me?—you asked, still not facing him.
—Don’t play dumb. The strawberry milk on my desk. Was that some kind of joke?
Then you turned.
Every heartbeat under control. You looked him in the eyes—for the first time since you were kids.
-Was it?
His jaw clenched.
His breathing uneven.
—What do you want?—he asked.—Attention? Is that it? You wanna laugh at me in front of everyone?
—Oh, is that what you think? That I came back for attention?
—Why are you acting like this? Why are you talking like you know me?
—And why are you acting like you don’t? Maybe that’s it, maybe you don’t recognize me anymore… because I stopped being the monster you used to be afraid of.
—What the fuck are you talking about?
—I'm talking about you. The boy who crushed me, the one who called me a monster so many times that I ended up believing it. You really don’t remember?
You saw him blink.
And for a second, his face changed.
Maybe he did remember.
Maybe… he always had.
—I don’t remember.—he said.—But if it’s true, if I really did that to you… then I’m sorry.
You stepped closer.
Closer than necessary, closer than anyone watching would’ve thought appropriate.
—No.
Your voice was firm. Cruel.
Fair.
—Don't you dare. Don't you dare apologize to me, I didn't ask you to apologize.
His eyes didn’t know where to land. Your face made him uncomfortable, not because it was unpleasant but because you were the living proof of everything he’d tried to bury.
A walking memory.
A burning scar.
The echo of a cruelty he could no longer deny.
—You don’t even know what that word means.—you said.—So don’t use it.
He looked away. He wanted to react, say something.
Mock you, act like he was still above it all.
But he couldn’t because the air between you was too heavy.
And for a moment, it was him who stepped back.
That back then, in the kindergarten yard—when you chased away that bee for him—Su-gang didn’t react with hate… he reacted with fear.
Not of you but of what he felt.
That quiet attention. That presence he couldn’t explain. That made him feel vulnerable.
—I…—he stammered, lowering his gaze for the first time.
—You don’t have to explain. I’m not interested in your half-assed regret.
And then, you let it out. Everything you’d held in for years. Words that hurt more than any insult. More than any memory.
—Maybe the problem isn’t me, Su-gang.
His breath caught in his throat.
—Maybe the problem is you never learned how to deal with what you feel.
You looked him in the eye and you spoke like you were peeling him apart, layer by layer.
—Not back then, and not now.
Su-gang blinked, like waking from a dream.
But he didn’t say another word. He couldn’t.
Because for the first time in his life…
He had nothing to say.
Author’s Note
Omg that’s such a sweet comment 😭🩷 I wanted to give it a bit of a twist and a different vibe, hope you enjoy it. 🫶🏻🫶🏻
I started writing the first Suho one shot and BRO… it’s breaking my heart 😿 I kinda don’t wanna finish it.
summary: Geum Seongje isn’t someone you should mess with especially not when it comes to what’s his. One wrong move is all it takes to leave blood on his knuckles. Touching what you shouldn’t comes with a heavy price.
The air was thick heavy with the smell of cold ramen and half extinguished cigarette smoke. Off to the side, an ashtray sagged under its own weight, overflowing.
In the middle of the room, like some kind of modern throne, Seongje sat slouched in front of a monitor, still wearing his wrinkled school uniform. At his feet, three paper bags stuffed with stolen phones, each marked with a small sticky note labeling which school it came from.
It was after ten o'clock at night but in that place, time didn’t seem to exist or maybe, for him, it had stopped completely.
One hand was on the mouse. The other, gripping his phone.
Screen lit up.
No reply.
Again.
────
Pookicookie 🦦
➤ “Are you out of rehearsal yet?”
8:39 p.m.
➤ “Did you get home?”
8:57 p.m.
➤ “Where are you??”
9:10 p.m.
➤ “Don’t ignore me. Are you mad, jagi?”
9:21 p.m.
➤ “I’m talking to you. Don’t pretend you didn’t see it.”
9:27 p.m.
➤ “If you’re mad, cuss me out or then tell me. Don’t treat me like I’m fucking stupid.”
9:44 p.m.
➤ “Answer me, this isn’t funny.”
9:50 p.m.
➤ “I’m coming if you don’t answer.”
10:03 p.m.
────
The screen lit up his face like it was the only light he had left. The blue glow from the phone shimmered against the glass of his lenses.
He called you again.
Even knowing exactly what he’d hear.
He waited.
“We're sorry. You have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service. If you feel you have reached this recording in error, please check the number and try your call again.”
His finger twitched.
Just barely.
Enough to end the call. He locked the screen again hard, like that could somehow shut off the knot in his chest that had been tightening for a while now.
It wasn’t the first time you didn’t answer right away. But this… this didn’t feel the same.
There was no “delivered” status. No blue notifications.
Nothing.
And you weren’t the kind of person to just vanish. There were no signs.
You never turned off your phone.
Not like this.
Not without telling him.
────
One of the guys from “The Union” barged into the room with a bag just like the others, stuffed with stolen phones. The screens clinked against each other with a dry, hollow sound every time the bag swayed. His steps were clumsy, almost dragging, shoelaces slapping the ground with every move. He was breathing hard, like he’d run too far, too fast, just to get there.
He swallowed before speaking, voice trying to sound steady but trembling just slightly.
—Seongje… it’s me, ChungHee.
No reply.
He stood still, frozen in place, like moving would only make things worse.
ChungHee looked away, awkward, and with a weak attempt to lighten the moment he asked:
—Are you playing?
But nothing.
No response, not a word, not a glance, like he wasn’t even there.
Seongje didn’t turn, didn’t look up he didn’t even blink.
He couldn’t tell if he was being ignored on purpose, or if his presence just didn’t register at all.
The gunfire from the game grew louder.
—They’re fucking idiots, I told you to shoot them.—he muttered, voice low and flat. The screen flashed violently as his fingers moved across the mouse with surgical precision.
—Y-yeah… sorry.—the guy next to him mumbled, shrinking back slightly.
—That’s why I don’t go on missions with dumbasses who aren’t on my level.—Seongje scoffed, leaning back in his chair and exhaling like even being annoyed took more effort than it was worth.
The other guy took a step back, still holding the bag full of phones, his knuckles stiff and back straight like even the air might shatter if he moved wrong.
—Talk.—Seongje ordered, without so much as glancing at him. Like he wasn’t even worth a flick of the eyes.
ChungHee hesitated. He’d heard that tone before the way Seongje spoke to others. Dry, sharp, like every word was a loaded bullet. He wasn’t sure if that tone was for him now, or if the contempt just clung to the air itself. But when the silence between them tightened like a wire, he knew. Yeah, it was aimed at him.
—Ah, yes... These are today's, hyung.—His voice barely trembled, though the effort to sound steady showed through.— It got a little complicated... there was movement but it was worth it. At least thirty-six, hyung.
He gave a nervous smile, the kind you make when you hand someone a trophy and hope they’ll say “good job.” Or at least look your way.
But there was nothing.
—Ah, shibal… useless bastards.—Seongje spat, the words dripping with disgust.
He turned back to the monitor. His match had ended without him, automatic loss. The map still on screen, his character dead. Eliminated.
But his mind wasn’t there.
He couldn’t focus.
Because one line kept echoing in his head, over and over:
➤ “I’m coming if you don’t answer.”
And you never went that long without answering.
Not even when you were mad at him. Sure, you could ignore him but you always made sure he knew you were okay.
—Open it.—he said suddenly.
ChungHee reacted instantly, like his hands moved on muscle memory. He fumbled with the bag, Seongje reached in started going through the phones one by one. Powered off, cracked screens, most looked the same.
Except one.
At the bottom.
He recognized it immediately.
And it hit like a punch to the chest.
Your phone.
That case covered in messy little stickers and tiny charms he’d helped you pick out. He used to buy them for you whenever something reminded him of you even if it was stupid. Even knowing you already had a thousands.
He didn’t say a word.
Just reached in.
Pulled it out, gently.
Held it in his cold fingers like it was burning.
And in that moment, it all made sense.
The silence on the calls.
The empty messages.
—Where’d you get this?—he asked, without raising his voice.
His voice came out rougher than usual. Slower. Like he was holding back something that hadn’t exploded yet.
ChungHee didn’t catch the tone. Oblivious, he flashed a dumb, careless smile. The kind people wear when they’ve never had to weigh their words.
—Who, me? Oh, yeah I grabbed that one. Girls from that school have money so I figured it’d be worth it. Seriously, they’re so damn dumb… that bitch didn’t even notice.
The silence that followed was thick.
Seongje looked at him, then slowly set the phone down on the desk.
And stood up.
He stepped in front of him, expression blank. Even smiling, a smile that might’ve looked genuine if you didn’t know the storm brewing in his eyes but it wasn’t relief.
It was the warning.
—Shibal…
He grabbed him by the collar and slammed him against the keyboard.
Once.
Twice.
Three.
Four times.
The monitor shook with each impact. The keyboard snapped keys flying, some scattering across the floor.
The poor guy let out a muffled groan, too stunned to react before his head hit the desk again.
—Motherfucker…—Seongje spat through clenched teeth, gripping him by the back of the neck like he wanted to drive his skull through the desk.
The kid squirmed, confused, not understanding what the hell was happening.
—H-Hey! What the hell’s wrong with you?! It’s just a phone I don’t get it…!
The usual low hum of the PC Bang shattered.
In the back, two students looked up.
One pulled off his headphones.
Another paused his game.
But no one moved.
No one.
Because it was Seongje.
And when he snapped like that, there was only one thing left to do:
Disappear.
Don’t breathe.
Don’t exist.
He didn’t yell.
He didn’t have to.
His voice dropped lower, darker, sharper.
—Are you fucking stupid, huh? How many times do I have to say it there are zones you don’t touch?
—Hyung! I’m sorry, I swear! I didn’t know! I’m sorry please!—the boy whimpered, eyes wet, face streaked with blood.
—Of course you didn’t know, you fucking idiot…—Seongje snapped, dripping with contempt.—Because if you did it never would’ve even crossed your fucking mind.
He let go.
The kid collapsed to the floor.
Seongje followed him.
He crouched, grabbed him by the neck, and leaned in close, his voice like a blade.
—Listen carefully because I’m not gonna repeat this.—he whispered.
—There are places you don’t touch. If you stick your hands where they don’t belong again… I won’t say it twice. I’ll break your bones, one by one, until you can’t breathe without a damn tube.
He let go with a look of disgust.
Stood up slowly.
Looked down at him with something that wasn’t just hate, something darker.
Something he couldn’t even name. Something that only ever came out when it was about you.
He went back to the desk.
Picked up the phone gently.
Like it was something that could bruise.
Slid it into the inside pocket of his jacket.
Somewhere safe.
The room was silent.
Not a single word.
Not a breath out of place.
Everyone stared like a hurricane had just torn through.
And maybe it had.
Because when it came to you, he was ready to burn it all to the ground.
Author’s Note
I honestly don’t know what happened. Everything was going fine and then I just… lost the thread? Or not? anyway.
summary: Yeon Sieun has his own quiet, particular ways of showing he cares sometimes they feel like coincidences, but they never really are. He doesn’t have to say a word, his actions speak louder than anything he could ever tell you.
pairing: Yeon Sieun x fem!reader.
genre: fluff / established relationship.
The video call wasn’t out of routine, not out of habit either. You just wanted to hear his voice.
Sometimes you’d call just to tell him dumb little things. Stuff that had just happened. Like every second between you two needed to be shared, even the most insignificant ones.
—Suho almost set the kitchen on fire.—you said out of nowhere, flipping your phone camera while lying on your pillow.—
—Again?
—No, this time it was seaweed soup. He spilled the whole bowl on himself. He literally smelled like seaweed every time he walked past my table.
—He said he’s about to throw in the towel, he’s such a drama queen, he is not actually gonna do it. I’m telling you.
On the other side of the screen, Sieun barely moved. He just adjusted his earbud and tilted his head a little. That faint smile showed up, the kind that would seem emotionless on anyone else, but on him, it was basically a laugh.
Outside, the heat was unbearable. The kind that sticks to your skin no matter how wide the window is open.
First Friday of summer break, everyone was out. You just wanted to make plans with him, something quiet. Just the two of you.
—Hey… what if we hit the beach tomorrow?—you asked, like it had just popped into your head when in reality, you’d been thinking about it all day.
He looked down for a second.
You pictured him brushing away an eyelash or maybe just… not loving the idea.
—Which one?
—Haeundae.
A pause.
And just like that, it was set.
Haeundae, tomorrow, noon.
After that, you turned the camera toward your bed.
Two outfit options were laid out on the sheets: a white blouse with denim shorts, and a light blue linen shirt with white stripes next to a pair of white linen pants. The slow spinning fan cast soft shadows over the fabric like someone replaying a memory on loop.
—It’s hot but I bet it’ll get windy in the afternoon.—you said, adjusting the camera so he could get a better look.— You know how Haeundae is… sunny, breezy, just weird weather all around.
He didn’t say anything at first. Just stared.
You could see the way his brow was relaxed, his eyes focused like he was solving a math problem in his head.
—The blue shirt.—he finally said.—
—The blue one? You didn’t even hesitate. That was way too fast. Don’t you wanna think about it again?
—Didn’t need to.
—Why not?
That’s when he looked at you.
Not at the clothes. Not at the screen.
At you.
With those calm, steady eyes that never try to impress, only to tell the truth.
—Blue’s your favorite color.
—Since when do you know that?
—Since I met you.
He leaned back in his chair again, expression unchanged. But something in his voice had softened like he was letting the warmth of the night melt into him too.
—Then I guess tomorrow… I’ll wear the blue one.—you whispered, like you were sealing a deal.—
—Blue.
────
The station was alive.
Sunlight slipped through the metal roof, falling in uneven patches across the concrete, bright spots that seemed to shift with the crowd.
The air was thick, heavy with humidity and the distant scent of the sea. And like always, the robotic voice from the speakers announced the train, though no one was really listening.
You checked your phone.
No new messages.
You glanced down both sides of the platform, bag hanging from your shoulder, sneakers tapping the ground in quiet impatience.
—Did I get here too early?—you muttered, lowering your screen’s brightness while your eyes scanned for one specific figure.—
—You’re right on time.
His voice came from behind you. Low, calm, close.
You turned around.
There he was.
Wearing a blue shirt just like yours, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, denim pants, and the same white sneakers you had on. Not identical but it felt like they were. Like you were in sync without even trying.
You looked him straight in the eyes, and even though you tried not to smile too much… your eyes gave you away.
—Wait…what? We’re matching and you didn’t even tell me?—you said once he was close enough.—
He glanced at your outfit, then at his, and finally gave one of those answers that sound like nothing but when it’s him, it means everything.
—I guess it’s a coincidence.
Your eyebrow arched instantly.
—Sieun!! You saw my outfit last night. How is this possibly a coincidence?
—Okay.—He paused.—
—I had this shirt saved.
Your smile widened just a little.
The speaker came on again. Four minutes until the train.
The sun was already beating down hard on the pavement, making the heat rise in subtle waves that distorted the landscape in the distance.
—I see…—you said.—So today’s the day you just happened to wear it?
He turned his head toward you and shrugged.
—Wanted something comfy.
You stared at him for a second longer. Then closed your eyes with a dramatic little sigh, like you were trying to sniff out a gentle lie.
And there it was.
Not a lie.
But not the full truth either.
Just enough of it to be real because it didn’t need to be confessed to be understood.
—Looks good on you.—was all you said.—
—Same to you.
He didn’t say it to flatter. He said it like he’d observed it, studied it, and was simply stating a fact, and that was one of the things you liked most about him when he spoke, he did it with certainty, even if it was just two words.
People around you were starting to bunch together, and you pulled out your ticket to scan it right when you felt his hand, just for a second, brush against yours.
It wasn’t a proper grip.
No fingers laced.
Just his hand sliding over yours, making sure you didn’t drift away in the crowd. Like it wasn’t even a conscious thought, like protecting you from the chaos was just part of his reflexes.
You didn’t say anything.
Neither did he.
But after scanning his ticket, he stopped just long enough to let you step on the train first.
The train seats were in pairs, side by side. You both sat down in silence. The train started with a gentle jolt, and you slipped your bag off your shoulder, placing it on your lap. He already had his phone in hand, scrolling through his music library.
Without saying a word, he pulled out his AirPods. He didn’t ask, he just offered you one, palm open like sharing sound was already a habit between you two.
You took it and placed it in your left ear.
You turned slightly, with that soft kind of movement you make when you don’t want to disturb anything, and rested your head on his shoulder. He didn’t say anything, didn’t flinch. This time, it was different, he tilted his head just a little, as if your weight belonged there, like carrying it was simply part of the ride.
—Can I choose a song?—you asked in a quiet voice, barely moving.—
Sieun didn’t answer right away. Then, in that flat but perfectly measured tone, he murmured:
—Just don’t put on that one loud song you always play.
—It’s not loud—you muttered with a smile.—It’s just… different.
He let out a soft sigh which coming from him was basically a laugh. But what you didn’t know or maybe you did, because you could feel it in the way he always went quiet whenever you brought it up, was that he actually did like that song. Way more than he’d ever admit.
⸻
The train was already gliding through the last few curves before arriving at Haeundae. The view outside had shifted, low buildings, chalkboard signs offering ice cream and summer discounts.
The silence between you wasn’t awkward.
If anything, it felt like a wordless conversation.
He sat with his head tilted toward the window, you legs tucked under you, the train’s air conditioning blowing warm air softly between the two of you. And then, without warning, Sieun reached into his backpack and pulled out a small white container.
He turned it in his fingers and opened it with the same care he’d use to open a book.
Sunscreen.
You looked at him.
He squeezed out a small amount into his palm and met your gaze with that neutral expression of his one that might look indifferent on someone else, but not on him.
With him, you already knew what it meant.
—Hold still.—he murmured.—
You frowned a little, suspicious.
—What are you doing?
—You’ll get burned if you don’t wear any.
You didn’t argue.
You just closed your eyes, tilted your head down slightly and felt his fingers gently touch your skin.
The touch was soft, measured, precise.
Nothing clumsy, nothing unsure.
He smoothed the sunscreen over your cheeks, then across your forehead, with a kind of calm that doesn’t come from chance it’s instinct.
His hands were warm from the sunlight coming through the window, and even though his expression didn’t change, there was something different about his breathing slower, more careful.
He wasn’t caressing you.
He wasn’t touching you with romantic intent.
He was taking care of you like someone doing something that doesn’t need an explanation. Like protecting you was just part of his place in the world.
—All done.
His voice was quiet but softer than usual. And for a moment, he held your gaze a little longer than necessary, like he’d just told you something without saying a single word.
Haeundae Station was getting closer now, carrying the scent of sea breeze and promised summer days.
But you already knew, the best part of the day had started.
And it wasn’t on the beach.
It was right here.
And it’s exactly that kind of small, priceless moment that stays with you forever.
The next station is Haeundae.
Author’s Note
This one shot was kinda long, but I hope you enjoy it. I’ll be more active these days, finally getting a bit of a break!!! 😋😋
If you spot any grammar mistakes or if something doesn’t make much sense, feel free to let me know and I’ll fix it. Just please be kind, english isn’t my first language but I’m doing my best. 🫶🏻
summary: The party isn’t a celebration anymore, it’s a whole performance. A parade of masks, power games, and cruelty dressed up in elegance. Every gesture has a price, and Han Su Gang who’s always been the one pulling the strings, notices the second you dare to step out of the role he gave you.
pairing: Han Su gang x fem!reader.
genre: established relationship / manipulation / fear / angst / psychological.
tw: nsfw, sexual intimidation, bipolarity, psychological violence, explicit language, bullying.
The house is stupidly huge, the kind that wasn’t built to live in but to built to impress.The air smells like a mix of overpriced perfume, imported alcohol, and inflated egos.
It’s Hyungwoo’s birthday party. One of Su gang’s closest friends. Just another rich kid with more money than empathy and more sports cars than principles. He smells like brand new leather, black cards, and that kind of privilege that comes inherited.
The music is loud enough to drown out your thoughts, but not so loud that people can’t whisper poison into each other’s ears. There are U-shaped white couches buried under designer coats that look like they’ve never seen actual cold, and tables lined with bottles that probably cost more than a teacher makes in two months.
It all reeks of vodka, arrogance, limitless nights, and rotting youth.
You never liked them, not a single one. Hyungwoo, Haeun, Minseok all cut from the same golden, filthy mold polished on the outside rotten underneath.
But there’s one who turns your stomach more than the rest.
Han Su gang.
You’re bad at pretending. The disgust shows in every move you make. And pretending… that’s what pisses Su gang off the most.
Especially when you don’t bother pretending for him.
He is lounging right next to you. Leather jacket slipping off his shoulders, glass half full, lips curled into that usual smirk, eyes sharp enough to cut glass. He moves like the world owes him space. Like even the air has to ask permission to exist around him.
Everyone else is too busy laughing at Youngsoo.
The new kid.
The scholarship kid.
The “social project” Hyungwoo brought along like some twisted charity case turned public spectacle. One of those situations where everyone is laughing except the victim.
Su gang is laughing too. Of course he is.
You catch it out of the corner of your eye, him kicked back with that same damn glass in his hand, grinning while Youngsoo walks around nervously carrying drinks on a makeshift tray like he’s just another server. They toss him trays, call him over like he’s staff, ask for drinks with mocking little smiles.
—Scholar~ssi boy!! scholar~ssi boy!!—one of them shouts— Tsk… I don’t even remember your stupid name.
—Whatever. If you don’t do your job right we’ll take that scholarship away with a snap.
—Are you stupid or something? I asked for a gin and tonic, what the hell is this? —adds Su gang, raising his glass— This is ice water, bring me another and with less ice, you useless piece of shit.
The laughter explodes around him like firecrackers bursting in your chest.
YoungSoo just tries to endure it. He keeps his head down, mutters a “yes” and moves fast. But every so often, his eyes look for yours. As if you were the only kind face in the middle of this circus.
You hate this whole dynamic. That need to humiliate the weakest one, as if that somehow validates the rest.
—Do you want me to bring you something? —he asks, voice trembling, the tray shaking in his hands.
—No —you reply, voice firm— Thank you YoungSoo, you don’t have to do this.
He looks at you with eyes that shouldn’t carry that much sadness at his age.
But someone else notices too.
Su gang.
He sees it.
He sees you.
────
Twelve minutes.
That’s how long you last before giving in.
You get up to go to the bathroom, not because you need to, not out of urgency. But because if you hear one more laugh at YoungSoo’s expense, you’re going to lose the composure you’ve fought so hard to keep tonight.
You stand without looking at anyone.
Walking past them feels like crossing a thick fog cigarette smoke, hollow laughter stabbing at you like pins. Every step echoes in your chest. Every glance weighs on you. But there’s one in particular that burns more than the rest.
His.
You know he is watching you.
You feel his stare on the back of your neck, like a chain tightening. He doesn’t have to tell you he doesn’t like it when you move without his permission.
You know it.
You’ve lived it.
You reach the bathroom and try to close the door. Or at least, you try.
Because the moment your fingers graze the lock, he barges in after you. Not violently but with that dry, cutting decisiveness that steals the air from your lungs.
He pushes you inside.
His fingers find your waist in a flash.
The door slams shut behind you with a brutal thud. The lock clicks by reflex, trapping you both in that suffocating room.
There’s steam on the mirror, as if someone or something was here just before.
—What are you doing?—you ask, voice barely a whisper, still finding your balance.
He doesn’t answer. He just looks at you. From your eyes to your ankles.
Like he’s stripping you without touching you.
Like he’s studying a stain he can’t scrub out.
—Do you think I’m stupid? —he says at last, voice low, dangerous.
—I don’t understand why…
Su gang raises a hand. He grabs your face just tight enough to hurt. His fingers press into your jaw, digging into your skin.
—Shut the fuck up. I’m sick of you —he hisses between clenched teeth, with a calmness that hurts more than anger— Always with your cheap ass morals.
His body cages you against the sink. You feel the cold marble on your back, the heat of his breath on your face. His gaze drops shamelessly scanning your chest. His hand grabs the fabric, crumpling it with restrained rage.
—Look at you…—he spits— You think you are better than everyone. You talk like you are different… and I still don’t get how you do that when you look like a slut in that dress.
He says it with no rage.
No judgment.
Just the cold certainty of someone who thinks he has the right to define you.
It hits like a bullet. You cross your arms, as if you could shield yourself from what’s already struck.
You shrink.
—I don’t get why the hell you defend him so much. What? You like that fucking scholarship boy?
His eyes lower.
They roam over your torso.
—I’m not like you—you say, voice trembling.
He lets out a low laugh.
Empty.
Cruel.
—No… You’re worse. Because you fake it. Because you stay right here next to me. Looking all pretty for me. Swallowing all the shit you claim to hate… and doing it all for me.
His fingers crawl up your cheek.
No tenderness. Just pressure. Control. A twisted game. Su gang smells like tobacco and alcohol.
His voice turns into a blade.
—You know why you’re still here? Because you’re just like me, just as rotten. The only difference is you are a fucking coward. You’d rather watch and keep that pretty mouth shut.
You don't answer. Because you can't.
Because the answer doesn't fit in your mouth without overflowing.
And then, he kisses you.
As one who punishes, not as one who loves.
His tongue penetrates you violently. His teeth scrape. He pushes you against the sink. The marble digs into your back as if he wants to leave physical scars to match the other ones.
His knee makes its way between your legs.
His hands go down to your waist. He squeezes you hard, as if you are something he wants to break and keep the pieces.
Your trembling hands don't know what to do.
Hold on to you.
Push it away.
Or just give up.
Your body is trapped between his and the cold ceramic. The kiss lasts too long. Just long enough to break you. You taste saliva mixed with blood on your lower lip.
When he pulls away, he’s breathless.
Not from desire.
From control.
He looks at you.
There’s no guilt in his eyes.
Then he touches your face.
As if he weren’t the same one who just hit you with words.
Just for a second. To look at you. To hold your face in both hands possession disguised as tenderness.
—Don’t challenge me again —he says, that voice low, deliberate, almost gentle, like he’s explaining table manners— Don’t embarrass me. Got it?
The warning doesn’t need to be loud.
It cuts sharp without raising its tone.
You barely nod, but your eyes betray you.
You tremble under him.
The tears are right there, at the edge.
And he sees it.
He leans in, with that tilted smirk, almost amused.
Cruelty always suits him.
—Ahh… don’t tell me—he whispers, feigning surprise— Did I make you cry, sweetheart? Did I scare you again?
He strokes your cheeks with both hands, a tenderness that feels like punishment.
—Aw, honey… don’t cry, okay? —he says like he’s about to embrace you— You’re making me look like a bad guy and you know I hate that.
—All you have to do, —he adds, pressing his forehead against yours like lovers do— is sit that pretty ass right next to me and smile. Sound fair?
You just lower your gaze. You wipe your face with your fingers without looking at him.
—I didn’t mean to embarrass you —you whisper.
And he laughs like he didn’t actually find anything funny.
—No, of course not —He pauses— I know you, I know exactly what you are.
He helps you down from the sink with a fake gentleness that barely masks the pressure in his fingers.
He places you right in front of the mirror, like he wants you to finally see yourself clearly.
But not you.
You, through him.
Your reflection, under that warm, decaying light, doesn’t look like you.
It looks like a distorted version.
He stays behind for a moment, watching you through the mirror. That half smile that never quite reaches his eyes.
And then, with dangerous slowness, he slides his fingers along your side until they wrap around the curve of your waist.
He turns you slightly. Just enough to get a better view of you in the reflection.
—Look at you —he says, voice low, barely a whisper— Do you understand why I have to be this way with you?
His eyes drop unapologetically to the small of your back.
To your dress.
To what’s underneath.
His body is completely pressed against yours. His hard bulge pressing against your ass.
You feel his breath on the back of your neck.
—By the way… —he whispers in your ear, like he’s sharing a dirty, intimate secret with you, not a threat wrapped in desire— this dress is driving me crazy.
He pauses.
His mouth brushes your skin as he speaks.
—I don’t know if I can wait until we get home to take it off.
His fingers trail down to the hem of your dress. He doesn’t lift it, he just adjusts it. Smooths it out like someone carefully setting the table for tonight’s meal.
He leaves a kiss on your neck.
Right where it burns.
An invisible burn the kind that lingers long after it’s gone.
And just before walking out, he drops the final comment with a softness that stings more than a slap.
—Fix your face, honey. Don’t take too long.
The door stays half open.
The hallway air creeps in like the world itself wants a glimpse of you broken.
You’re alone for a moment.
You press your palms against the sink.
You look at yourself in the mirror.
Split lip.
Smudged mascara.
A version of yourself you don’t recognize but pretend to control.
You adjust your dress.
That black dress that now feels smaller. Cheaper.
Like it shrank under the weight of shame.
You smooth your hair.
And you smile.
Because if you don’t, they’ll notice.
Because that's what you do in this world.
You go on.
You pretend.
You take a deep breath.
You step out of the bathroom.
The house is louder now, more alive than before. YoungSoo walks by with another tray, he sees you. Says nothing. Just looks away.
And there he is.
Su gang sitting on the same couch, one leg crossed, glass in hand, like nothing ever happened, like five minutes ago he didn’t rip your soul out of your chest.
He looks up.
He watches you.
And in that gaze is everything left unspoken: the threat, the possession, the command.
Look pretty, look mine.
You walk toward him.
He opens one arm with that ease that looks like affection but isn’t.
You sit beside him.
Your body returns to the place it’s occupied for months.
—You took your time —he says softly. His voice is sweet for those listening but to you it’s something else entirely.
—Sorry honey, there was a line —you reply, looking at no one. Just him only for him.
—Mmm… I love it when you lie. When you do that for me, —he murmurs near your ear—. You’re getting so good at it. It suits you so well it makes me love you more.
His arm wraps around you.
Too tightly.
As if you were something someone else might try to touch.
And on your thigh right where it hurts, he starts tracing circles with his fingers.
His hand moves as if to soothe you.
As if to protect you.
As if he didn’t know exactly what he did.
And you, just keep your mouth shut.
Just like he told you to.
Lee Seo shows up with another fresh bottle of tequila, wearing that irritating plastic smile.
—Oh my god, you two are perfect! Seriously! I want what you guys have —she says, like she doesn’t know. Or worse, like she does and she enjoys it.
And you smile.
Because that’s how the game is played.
Here, everything is performance.
You take his hand.
You caress it.
And then he, with a voice barely above a whisper, leans in and murmurs into your ear.
—See? That wasn’t so hard. Good girl.
You nod.
And you smile.
And it’s clear.
Because from the outside… you look perfect.
Because in this world of rotten parties and fake smiles, appearances will always matter more than the truth.
Inside, you’re falling apart.
Slowly.
Silently.
Like everything that breaks without making a sound.
And still, even with a thousand reasons to leave him, even though you should’ve walked away long ago.
You keep choosing him.
Author’s note
guys first of all tysm for the love on my last post like, I seriously didn’t expect that I appreciate the spam and reposts so much. 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻
this one shot was originally written like this, then I tried to tweak it for Seongje but let’s be real all the vibes scream Han Su gang. Bro has me on my knees and NO ONE is talking about himmm
sooo I’ve seen y’all’s requests and I am working on them I swear. It’s just I’ve got like a million drafts I’m juggling rn but that doesn’t mean I’m ignoring your stuff!! I just wanna make sure everything turns out good and actually worth reading.
So yeah, feel free to keep sending your requests 📮🫰🏻
summary: Geum Seongje can't remember when he stopped distinguishing memories from reality. Maybe it was last night, a week ago or since the day you left.
tw: su!c!de no explicit, grief, mental health themes, isolation, implied smoking, implied dissociation.
Seongje no longer smokes.
He gave it up the day you left, not for his health, not for a promise. He just didn't know what to do with his hands again if you weren't there to take it from his lips, to frown and tell him:
"Someday smoking so hard will kill you."
Days like these I wish it would, to still be here, without you, was crueler than death.
Since you left everything became an echo.
The sound of the water in the bathroom, the way he now only hears his own footsteps in the early morning, or how the freezer door closes by itself. The laughter of others on the street, nothing sounds like you, but everything reminds him of you.
At his apartment there is still the pink mug he gave you. He has never moved it, sometimes he runs his finger over it, as if touching it was touching you.
He does not allow them to see him, he's the same. He walks the same, wears the same, his voice still has the same indifferent tone. But if someone looks closely into his eyes, that person will realize that something has gone out inside him.
Geum Seongje doesn't allow himself to cry in front of anyone. But with you, during the nights, he does.
He cries like he didn't cry when he was told that you didn't wake up.
Like he didn't cry in front of the white coffin.
Like he didn't cry when everyone hugged him as if that was enough to comfort him.
────
That's where he takes refuge. In the orange hours.
When the light comes through the window and the air smells of you.
That afternoon was no different from the others until the wind brought back a bitter memory, that melody he pretended to hate and even turned down the volume just to annoy you, but he really loved listening to it next to you.
It wasn't a coincidence. It was punishment.
The sound bounced from some car in traffic filtering through the noises of the city. At first he thought it was an invention of his tired mind.
But no.
He heard it. And it broke him.
Not with force. Not violently.
It breaks it slowly, like a crack that gives way after having endured too much.
And then come the images.
You laughing with your arms outstretched, asking him to take a picture of you anywhere, in an empty park, at the bus station, next to a garbage bag in the middle of the street, wet from the rain or sitting on an old sidewalk.
-Take a picture of me! Look, like this… already? Another one! This time with his arms up… Come on, Seongje!
And he, with his face of mock annoyance, lifted the phone as if it was weighing him down.
-What do you want so many pictures for, mmh?
as he pressed the shutter.
-To remember this moment later, let's take a picture together Seongie!
-Aish, again with that ridiculous nickname? Besides I don't need pictures, I remember everything in my mind.
Liar.
Today I would give anything for just one picture where your face is close to his. One where he could touch with his eyes what he can no longer touch with his hands.
Always pretending he didn't like taking pictures of you, but the truth is he loved it.
He loved how you run to him after every photo to ask to see it, and how your eyes sparkled when you approved it.
Now all of that lives in his gallery. Thousands of pictures of you. Doing anything. Anywhere.
But it's too late.
Your name doesn't answer.
Your laughter doesn't ring.
You were always everything he was not.
And that drove him crazy, it fascinated him, it broke him down.
Seongje never admits such things easily. But now that you're gone, he understands. He feels it in his bones. In everything, you're what is missing
Details come without warning, without logic. Sometimes in the middle of nowhere. Sometimes just before falling asleep. As if your voice, even though it's gone, knows when to come in and shake her soul.
There are memories so small that they hurt more than the big ones.
There are things Seongje didn't notice while they were happening.
Or maybe he did, but he let them pass. Like someone who looks out the window without noticing what is beyond the glass.
Not because he didn't care, but because he thought you would always be there.
Like that habit of yours of cleaning his glasses every night.
He would leave them on the nightstand, almost carelessly, and you would wait for him to fall asleep, at the slightest flicker of silence, pick up the glasses with your little fingers and wipe them with the hem of your shirt or the corner of the sheet.
And then, there were the cigarettes.
You would take the pack from his coat, from his drawer, from the table…
and with great precision you would throw away two cigarettes a day, or sometimes three, When I made you too angry.
Once, he went so far as to count ten, when he swore there were twelve left.
And you just shrugged, pretending not to know anything.
-I swear these evaporate.
-Maybe they're learning to run away from you.
Or acts as simple as stroking his hair when he's asleep, because that's the only way he'll let you.
Sometimes you pretended not to hear him when he cried while taking a shower. But you remained silent, waiting for him.
Seongje, the one who thought he was so invincible, so whole, so incapable of showing weakness, now cries like a child whose future has been ripped away from him.
Because you were his future.
Everything smells of memory. To what was. Of what will no longer be.
Somewhere in the corner of the room is your photo, one of many he took of you. One of those where you are looking away, your hair blown by the wind, smiling as if life were lighter with you in it.
Sometimes he wonders if he is dreaming you, or if you are dreaming about him from somewhere.
Maybe you're fine. Maybe you're at peace. Maybe you're in that other world where there are no ambulances or calls in the wee hours of the morning.
And he’s still here.
Counting the days in reverse.
Silently hoping that one of these sunsets will take him to you.
There are still days when he pretends it doesn't hurt.
Even when everything absolutely everything screams your name in his head.
The greatest love isn't screamed, it's held.
And you held him.
Author’s note
Brooo I almost cried writing this shit. That last part? Literally wrecked me. I guess music always hits different when I’m writing. This time it was “BAILE INoLVIDABLE” and my brain just went..
This one shot was tough as hell to write, not gonna lie. Like, trying to keep the same exact feelings from Spanish and put them into English? Lowkey impossible. But I tried my best
summary: You proposed it. A meeting, no feelings, no promises, just longing disguised as chance. The first mistake was with guilt, the second was with cynicism, the third no longer hurts.
Your clothes were still taking up half the closet.
Everything in that apartment says you still belong there, but there are nights when the body doesn't obey the heart.
No one prepared you for the day that living next to Baekjin would become a sense of feeling like a guest in your own home.
He never stopped loving you, it wasn't a kiss that failed, nor a fight that broke you. It was the silence, the absence of him when you needed him most. It was precise, constant and predictable until it hurt.
"Don't wait for me for dinner, I'll be late."
"I'm late today"
"Don't wait up for me"
And yet, you still did it. You waited up for him, waited for him to turn around to see you in bed, to touch you or at least hold you. He never noticed when you cried behind his back even when you were under the same sheets.
He didn't, not out of cruelty but because he thought he was complying:
He was complying with working,
With not leaving,
With telling you "I love you" like signing a document.
And you, you began to feel what it was like to be invisible. Present but not noticed.
Loved, maybe, but not wanted.
────
Of all the people you could have chosen, it had to be him, his shadow, his ally. Seongje.
It was a silly moment, a conversation where you felt comfortable, it was unfeigned laughter, his hand touched yours too long and you... you didn't stop him. Not because you didn't love Baekjin but because you no longer knew if he still loved you or just had you on a whim.
Baekjin never invades your space, he never asks too many questions, he never argues with you, he never demands anything from you. There are days when that comforts you but there are others when you wish he would.
His way of loving was controlled, measured.
But he never makes you tremble.
With Seongje there are no routines but he would light your skin on fire with every touch.
Baekjin takes you carefully, gently, he has always been gentle. Seongje is the shit that makes you lose your mind, it's the heat that wraps your body so fucking well.
He's not careful, he doesn't offer you security. You didn't want to want him but with him you felt alive, you breathed different, deeper faster, kissing him was a free fall to the cliff and even though you knew that, still, you always wanted to fall.
His lips on your neck knew where to bite, his hands on your waist with that way of squeezing you as if you owed him something, as if you were an unpaid debt. He's the guy who pushes you against the wall with eyes alight with desire, he's disorganized but still always in control.
Baekjin is honey.
Seongje is fucking hell.
You could be with Baekjin right now, you could be looking into his eyes but still your mind always went back to the same place, it was always there, thinking about Seongje.
And that fucks you up.
────
9:43 pm
The cell phone screen flickers, it doesn't vibrate, it doesn't ring, it just glows. As if it knows exactly when to pop into your head.
Unknown number.
You know who it is. Or so you think.
Maybe it wasn't unusual, Seongje was texting unknown numbers more than usual, always getting some new cell phone better than the old one.
Unknown number
➤ "Let's meet today."
➤ (Location sent.📍)
➤ "Room 47. If you come."
You smile at the text, it doesn't take too long to answer. Too fast for your liking.
Tonight Baekjin isn't home, like many others. Tonight you weren't his, or so you thought. You didn't know it yet, but you were going straight to your sentence.
────
The hotel is unpretentious, the wind blows hard even making you shiver, your coat sticks to your body like an ill-fitting excuse.
The elevator rises.
So do your nerves. Floor 9 is where it stops.
In front of the door, the silence is so heavy you can hear the throbbing under your collarbone.
You swipe the card.
The door opens.
And he's there.
Sitting on the edge of the bed when you walk in. His back slightly hunched, elbows resting on his knees, eyes glued to the floor as if he was counting every second before you showed up. And when he finally looked up, you knew it was over before it even began.
-I'm so glad you're here, I was getting desperate.
You can't even blink.
He comes closer. He grabs your face. He kisses you.
Deep. Slow. Lustful. Humiliating.
Bites your lip, just enough to hurt. Enough to bleed.
Your tears start to fall without you calling for them.
-What's wrong? Why are you crying? -He says, in a voice that is no longer his.- Isn't this what you wanted?
Your hand squeezes the handle of your purse making your knuckles white, your fingernails are buried in the palm of your hand, so deep you feel it burn.
His hands are no longer on your face.
There is no kiss anymore.
Only distance.
It wasn't his face that told you. It was his silence.
The way he clenched his jaw and the way he smiled humorlessly.
And then you saw it. His hand.
Outstretched towards you. With something shiny between his fingers.
-This I found in Seongje's bathroom.
You don't look at it right away because you know what it is. Because you looked for it weeks ago, and because he shouldn't have it.
An earring. Yours.
The smallest, the most discreet. The one you swore you'd lost in bed, under the couch, anywhere... but there.
And Baekjin drops it right in front of your shoes. You can only look down, you don't have the courage to face him because you knew this was already lost anyway, everything was against you.
You open your mouth, but he raises a hand.
He's not even looking at you anymore.
He's looking down at the ground, as if he needs to get himself in order so he doesn't break.
That's where you feel it.
Where you understand him. He knows everything.
-Do you want to keep lying?
His voice is low. Serene.
The blow of those words bursts your stomach. Your body tenses, your throat wants to say something. Anything. But it doesn't happen.
-Let's at least have the courtesy to finish this without pretending.
You try to speak.
Your voice is barely a broken sigh.
-Baekjin... listen..
-I have nothing to listen, everything is already clear.
He interrupts you.
He doesn't raise his tone.
But you feel the slap anyway.
-You went to bed with him in the same clothes you sleep with me.
Your skin bristles.
Not from cold.
Out of shame.
Out of guilt.
Out of fear.
-For weeks I hugged you while thinking, did you shower after being with him or did you come straight home?
Your face breaks down.
You cry.
But it's late.
-How many times was it? -Did you do it in our bed, too? In his car? Where else?
-I wanted to see you walk into this room with the same face you walk in with when you're with him.
Every question is a knife.
But Baekjin doesn't need you to answer.
He is stabbing you without touching you.
-I tried to understand, tried to blame myself. I said to myself, "Maybe I'm not making her happy. Maybe I'm boring. Maybe she needs something I don't have." And Seongje is the perfect dose, right?
You don't answer.
Your soul is already shattered into a thousand crystals.
He sees you... like you're someone he's never met.
He stands up and just walks until he is in front of you.
On his ring finger was still the ring you both shared, the one you once gave each other as a silent promise.
-Do you remember this? -he says, taking off his ring.
You don't answer.
-I do, only this isn't worth anything anymore.
He sighs.
But it's not tiredness.
It's disgust.
-This doesn't even break me, this disappoints me... and that's worse. That you did it with him, with someone I know.
-You must be too fucked up to think I'm stupid and would never notice you were fucking him.
He takes a step towards you, just one, just enough to take your hand one last time. His fingers brush yours with that same tenderness that was once your refuge.
Into your hand he drops his ring, and you don't move, you cannot.
He gets close enough that you can even feel the warmth of his breath, that warmth is no longer comfort but punishment.
-I don't know if you were careless enough or just wanted this to be over already.
Her tone is so serene that it hurts more than if she were screaming.
-But this...this was all I needed.
To stop doubting me...
And start doubting you.
He doesn't wait for an answer.
He doesn't look for apologies.
It was enough to speak a truth, cold, cruel and inevitable for all this to end, leaving you with a ring in your hand that now outweighs all your guilt.
Author’s note
This really popped into my mind after listening to a song. Is it confusing? I hope not.
I'm considering putting a warning that says "English is not my first language" at the beginning of all chapters haha :]
summary: that small act keeps echoing in his mind because for the first time, someone truly saw him, and that weighs heavier than any insult ever could.
pairing: Han Su-gang x fem!reader
genre: angst / slice of life.
tw: public humiliation, bullying, gaslighting?, social exclusion, offensive language.
pt.1 pt.2
The midday sun filters through the curtains making a soft shower of golden sparkles across the desks and reflecting the best hidden corners in the lighter shades. It is an ordinary day, at least in appearance. Laughter erupts in the hallways like a distant taunt. They remind you that you are there. That you are part of it all, though not quite.
Today is Han Su-gang's birthday. You don't need someone to tell you. His desk screams it.
Balloons tied with thick ribbons, a still-fresh strawberry cake with a half-blown-out candle, gifts with shiny wrappings reflecting exotic brands and exorbitant prices. All in order. Everything as expected.
And there, among all those luxuries, is yours.
A bottle of strawberry milk. His favorite.
There was no card. There was no name. Just the detail. It's a silent gesture, like you. Something small, almost invisible.
Maybe it was silly.
Maybe it wasn't.
- Hey hyung, what's this, Umm? -one of his friends scoffs with a high-pitched laugh, raising the bottle.- Your breakfast? -he said, in that mocking voice he used when he wanted to provoke.-
The group bursts into laughter. One of them pretends to cry, sniffs the bottle in an exaggerated way.
- Aww! Look, it's strawberry milk. Who spoils you, Su-gang?
- I can't believe you like this shit bro, do they still make this stuff?
Su-gang doesn’t laugh. Not yet. He stares at the bottle, frowning, his fingers tense against the edge of the desk. There’s a strange tightness in his jaw, something no one else seems to notice.
- Who did this? -he asks. His voice comes out rough, deeper than usual, like it’s hard to speak.-
- What does it matter? It’s cute. Look, it even has a little bun.
One of the guys picked it up. Su-gang snatched it from his hands.
And then he saw you.
The only person who knew that this stupid drink was his favorite.
────
The door slides open with a dry hum as you walk in. Outside, the rain murmurs softly against the umbrellas. Your shoes are still dripping when you reach the shelves. You take what you need: some cookies, a loaf of bread, a bottle of water. Nothing flashy. You stay on the edges of everything, as always.
And then you feel it.
A steady presence at your back.
Han Su-gang.
You don’t really know him. Just by sight. By reputation. By rumors.
Your eyes meet for a brief moment—just enough to make the air feel heavy.
You look away quickly and get in line. Su-gang stays a few steps behind. The silence between you weighs more than any unspoken word.
You go first. You take out your items one by one, placing them neatly in front of the shopkeeper. You pay with a crumpled bill, then you step aside. You don't leave the store. Instead, you crouch next to a small shelf to carefully pack everything in your canvas bag.
Su-gang stepped forward.
- Just this -he said, leaving the strawberry milk on the counter.-
He pulled out his black card dismissively, as if paying was a formality not worth his time.
- I'm sorry, young man. No card payment system today.
Su-gang frowned. He patted his pockets.
Nothing.
Not a coin.
He let out a short, annoyed sigh.
- Then forget it.
But before he could take a step, a hand laid a bill on the counter.
- I'll pay for it -said a soft voice.-
He turned, puzzled.
You look at him from your place, with no intention of approaching. You don't smile. You don't apologize. You had only done what you said. Pay.
- It's just a milk. It's all right.
You hand him the bottle as calmly as someone would close a door.
────
The sound was dry, violent.
Su-gang chair dragged backward with a screech that cut through the laughter like a knife in the wind.
No one said a word. Not even his thugs, those who used to accompany him like long shadows behind his gait. They all saw him stand, his shoulders tense and his jaw set. He walked straight towards you.
He didn't stop.
He did not hesitate.
But his breathing was different. Irregular.
- Are you stupid or do you just like to draw attention to yourself in the most pathetic way possible?
Everyone watched. You, you didn't answer. Maybe that's what pissed him off the most, your silence.
His voice wasn't a scream. It was something worse, it was loaded with cold venom. Controlled. Precise.
The gazes were fixed on you.
Like needles.
Like knives.
- Who told you you could leave shit like that on my desk?
You didn't say anything.
- You don't talk or what the fuck is wrong with you? -Fuck this is starting to make me feel sorry for you.
- It's just a gift. You don't have to keep it if you don't want to.
Su-gang cocked his head to one side. Something in his face seemed to disfigure with pent-up rage, but also with something darker: confusion.
As if he didn't understand why that touched him. Why it unsettled him.
He let out a dry laugh, as if what he had just heard was a bad joke.
- Goddd… how pathetic you can be.
He throws the bottle on the ground in front of you. The liquid explodes in all directions, The bottle hit the ground right in front of you. The liquid splashed your legs, your skirt, your books. The sweet smell of strawberry mixed with the sour feeling of embarrassment.
Someone in the back row laughed.
Another whispered like “how gross” “look at her face” and the laughter multiplied, nervous, shy. As if everyone knew that tomorrow could be their turn.
You didn't move.
You didn't even blink.
He looked at you.
And in that instant, even though everyone thought Su-gang was in control….
He was the one shaking.
He laughs without any sign of humor, his laughter etching itself into your mind, not the way you would like it to. He leans toward your ear, where he leaves only a soft whisper.
- You don't belong here, you should have known that from day one.
And then came the final blow, but it had no force:
- And stop looking at me like you expect something. You're nobody.
But even that last line sounded… broken.
It wasn't what he said.
It was how he said it.
As if he wanted to believe it too.
A few seconds passed before you moved. You gathered your soaked books, the papers deformed by the liquid, put them away without looking at anyone. Your legs were wet, your socks stained pink. Without haste you left.
Something was left in the air.
Something that wasn't supposed to be there.
Su-gang returns to his seat, but he no longer laughs. He no longer says anything.
He didn't watch you leave.
Or at least he pretended to.
What fucked him up the most was:
Why didn't he feel better?
Why didn't that feeling in his chest go away? Why didn't crushing you like this make him feel good?
AUTHOR'S NOTE
It's the first time I write something here, I really have no idea how it works. I hope that whoever reads it will be to their liking and above all that they have understood it with my terrible English :(
It was a bit short but I hope to improve my writing over time, jajaksks I'm sorry no one reads this part of the notes.
