Summary ⟅ You give Gunwoo a little incentive to win his upcoming match with the promise of an enticing reward.
Requested: @lilylily123
Kim Gunwoo x reader / ⟣ SMUT / 1.9k ⟢
WARNINGS: Sub!Gunwoo, dry humping, grinding, pillow princess!gunwoo, a bit of praise, dirty talk
Lily's note — 🪷 Genuinely Gunwoo is the blueprint for hot strong but subby men and I will go crazy if I can never have that okay bye
“Hey pretty boy, how are you—mpfh!” All the air leaves your lungs in a pained gasp when Gunwoo falls on you, his entire body lying flat against yours. Your breaths choke out as you try to speak and slap his arm in an effort to to save yourself until he eventually rolls over on his back as you suck in a fresh breath of air.
“You almost killed me!” You shout at him, though he’s clearly unbothered by the way he reaches for your hand and intertwines your fingers.
“I’m so tired… I had a really long day. Just wanna lay with you.”
He latches onto your side and slides his thigh over your hips. You run a hand through his hair and scratch at his scalp, his body relaxing fully against you, ridding itself of the tension from his earlier training session.
“You’ve been training extra hard for your match in a few days right?”
He nods against your neck and when he speaks, his lips brush your skin. “He’s undefeated so I’m a little nervous.”
He adjusts his leg slightly to get more comfortable (is what you assume), as you whisper words of encouragement into his ear—how strong he is, how skilled, how no one could ever compare to him.
With every praise, his hips shift against yours until he’s pressing his erection insistently against your thigh, and you realize what he really needs.
He fully rolls his hips against you and his breath comes in short, uneven gasps against your neck.
“I thought you’re tired, baby?”
He's already so worked up, and you've barely touched him.
"I am but..." He stutters through another shaky breath. "Need you."
The desperate whine in his voice sends hot pulses straight to your clit. You run your hands down his muscular back, feeling the still swollen muscles from his workout bulging, and you decide he's done enough work that day.
You roll him onto his back and swing a leg over to straddle his hips. The surprised little gasp he lets out makes you grin as you settle against him, his hands finding your waist.
You lean down to capture his lips in a slow, deep kiss. His mouth opens for you at the first touch of contact, so pliant and eager, and you slide your tongue against his. You roll and press them together as his grip on you tightens, then you pull back, a thin strand of saliva connects you for just a moment before breaking.
"Let me take care of you," you murmur against his lips. "Since you're so exhausted."
His eyes flutter, soft blush dusting his cheeks as his chin lowers into a tiny nod that gives you all the permission you need.
You sit up and pull your shirt over your head, tossing it behind you while his gaze drops, lips parting as he takes you in. You reach for the hem of his shirt next, and he lifts his arms obediently, letting you peel the damp fabric away from his skin and discard it.
The sight of him laid out beneath you—broad shoulders, toned chest rising and falling with eager pants—makes your mouth water with a thirst only he could ever pull from you.
You run your palms flat over his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin and the faint tremble that runs through him at your touch until you reach his nipples. You circle them with your thumbs, feeling them tighten under your attention.
His fingers dig into your hips, gripping hard as you pinch the buds into stiff peaks. A high-pitched moan escapes him, his hips bucking up instinctively.
"Ah—"
You lean down and flick your tongue over one nipple, his small, wrecked noises egging you on further. His hips grind up against you harder, his hands dragging you down harder onto the rigid length straining against his sweats. He's so responsive, every touch pulling another desperate sound from his throat.
But you have other plans.
You pull away off his chest and grab his wrists, prying his hands from your hips and pressing them into the mattress forcefully above his head. He blinks up at you, dazed and confused, his chest heaving.
"I don't want you to do anything," you purr. "Don't want you to tire yourself out any more than you already are. Just lay there take what I give you. Can you do that for me?"
He's nodding before you even finish the sentence, head bobbing frantically against the pillow.
"Good boy."
His wrists go limp in your grip and you carefully release them, smiling satisfactorily when they stay right where you left them, fingers curling loosely into fists.
You sit back, letting him watch as you slide your hands up your stomach to cup your breasts. You knead them slowly, fingers pinching your nipples as his eyes remain glued to you, dark and glassy with want.
You start to move, rolling your hips in a slow grind against his clothed cock that causes you both to gasp in tandem. You repeat the action until you find a steady rhythm.
Gunwoo's jaw hangs open, his gaze heated and awestruck as he watches you move above him. His tongue looks so pink and inviting, resting just behind his teeth, that you can't resist and you slip your thumb between his parted lips.
His lips close amd suck without thought, his tongue curling around it, desperate to feel as much of you as possible. You press down gently, massaging the wet heat until he’s bobbing his head and drool is leaking from the corner of his lips.
"Think of this as a little incentive," you say, your voice taking on a teasing edge. "If you win your match... I'll reward you. But if you lose..."
You laugh softly, shaking your head when you see the way his eyes roll back at the warning.
"You'd like that, wouldn't you? Might even lose on purpose just to get punished."
The way he avoids your eyes tells you everything you need to know.
"But for now," you continue, pulling your thumb from his mouth with a wet pop, "this is all you get."
You climb off him just long enough to shimmy out of your shorts and underwear, kicking them off the edge of the bed. Then your fingers hook into the waistband of his sweats, and you tug them down just enough to free his cock.
If his face wasn't so pretty his cock would take the cake—flushed a bright red and leaking, curving up and pulsing on his stomach, so hard and impatient for you. You swing a leg back over his hips and slowly sink down, positioning him so his length is buried between your slick folds. He lifts his head to watch, propping himself up on his elbows, his eyes almost closing as your wetness coats every inch of him.
The first drag of your hips has both of you groaning. You slide along his shaft, your slick folds hugging the ridge of his tip before gliding back down to the base. The sensation is maddening—so close to what you both really want, but not quite there.
He falls back against the mattress with a shattered gasp, arms splayed out to the sides, completely surrendered.
You reach down and wrap your hand around his throat—squeezing just enough to draw his attention and his eyes fly open, meeting yours as you continue to grind against him.
"Do you feel good?"
"Yes," he manages through the fog in his brain. "Thank you—thank you—"
He can barely look at you. Every time his gaze drops to where your bodies meet—where his cock slides through your wetness and where your tits bounce with every roll of your hips—his face flushes darker and his eyes skitter away. It was cute, how he still got so embarrassed and shy even after seeing you naked hundreds of times. You grab his chin and force him to look at you.
"I can feel how close you are." You tighten your grip slightly, feeling him throb between your folds. "Are you gonna come? Want me to milk your cock?"
He doesn't answer. His mouth opens and closes, but no sound comes out—too fucked out, too overwhelmed to form words.
You slow your hips and lift them until you're only grazing each other.
"Or do you not want to?"
"No!" He gasps hurriedly, his hands fly up but stop short of touching you, hovering in the air when he remembers at the last second that he's supposed to be still. "No, please—I wanna come, I wanna come so bad—please let me, please—"
You smirk as he begs for exactly what you wanted to hear.
You brace your hands on his abs, nails scratching lightly down the defined muscle as you pick up the pace. You grind on him harder, faster, chasing his pleasure until his back is bowing off the bed.
He lets out a strangled cry as his orgasm slams into him, and you watch in fascination as his cum spurts out from his tip—thick ropes painting his skin white all the way up to his chest. You keep grinding, keep milking him through every pulse, drawing out every last drop until he's trembling beneath you.
You're always impressed by how much cum he’s able to let out. Always surprised by how beautiful he looks when he does.
When the last tremor subsides, you don't stop. You're still chasing your own high with his cum-slick cock still nestled perfectly between your folds. When nothing else leaks from his tip, his hands shoot to your waist, trying to still you as the pleasure fades to pain from the overstimulation.
You take his hands in yours and pull them away, interlacing your fingers as you pin them back to the mattress on either side of his head. He writhes beneath you and whimpers helplessly, but he doesn't try to pull away.
You angle your hips just right, finding the perfect position for your clit to grind directly against the silky skin of his shaft. The pressure builds quickly with him babbling uselessly in your ear, and when it finally breaks, your back arches and your body finally stills.
You collapse forward onto his chest, your pussy still hovering right on his tip, your body trembling with the aftershocks of pleasure.
His hands, now free, guide you forward until your dripping folds settle on his abs instead, apologizing softly when you whine at the loss of contact.
You gather the strength to push back upright, straddling his stomach now. The mess on his chest smears against your stomach and breast as you look down at the state of you both marked with his cum, smiling at the red scratches your nails left behind on his abs that will still be visible during his match.
You smirk, tracing one of the scratches with your fingertip.
"How about I run a bath for us?" you ask. "Hm?"
He nods, boneless and utterly spent beneath you, eyes half-lidded and still looking at you like you're the most incredible thing he's ever seen.
You lean down to press a soft kiss to his forehead before climbing off him, already planning how you'll take care of him in the bath too.
genre: established relationship, little plot, full smut.
wc: 7k
warnings: explicit sex content, it happens between season 1 and season 2, reader is insecure about herself because of past experiences, soft dom!woo-jin, nipple play, hickeys, praise kink, oral sex (receiving), fingering, missionary, VANILLA , unprotected sex.
synopsis: After a lifetime of feeling invisible or "too boring" in bed, you find yourself with Hong Woo-jin—a boxer whose brutal past conceals an almost painfully gentle patience. And as you sleep with him, for the first time in your life, you aren't asked to perform. Just to feel.
a/n: Divider made by @saradika-graphics This took like my whole life but i'm glad with the result. I think this turned out my best smut so far and I just want to keep getting better. Thank you for so much for the request :))
taglist: shamidreamer liliesonthego (dedicated to you twin) jdatgirlyallwant vampirekatt lilylily123 swan07
Woo-jin only kissed you a month after your relationship started.
From an outside perspective — from someone keeping track of the trainer's past life — that attitude seemed strange, almost too gentlemanly. Not that he didn't know how to behave around women, but given his intense personality, love was treated no differently. He was someone who dove headfirst, someone who gave himself completely. Even on the nights he spent with women for just one night, Woo-jin would move mountains to make that night unforgettable.
So when he found out about your shyness and the extreme insecurity caused by that and your past relationships, he felt more than obligated — he wanted to give his whole heart, just in a different way this time. Instead of rushing, he would go as slow as possible, even if sometimes all he wanted was to cover your face with kisses, even if he wanted to jokingly propose to you at least three times a week.
Woo-jin still remembered perfectly the first time you allowed him to get close. In his eyes, you were even a little bold — especially given how withdrawn you usually were.
You were on a date at an aquarium, and your eyes sparkled with every step you took inside. You'd always had a deep fondness for fish, the ocean, the water. Even your belongings often had an underwater theme. So what could be better than a cliché aquarium date? Woo-jin had suggested it, thinking you'd like it, but he obviously hadn't expected things to go as well as they did.
The trainer, out of habit, almost touched your back a few times, wanting to guide you through the exhibits, but he bravely fought the urge the entire way. The desire to have you in his arms — even in a public place — was almost impossible to contain. But every time he remembered the night he confessed to you and how you initially rejected him, listing all the bad experiences you'd had with men, that was enough motivation for him to take a deep breath and fight against his own body. The last thing he wanted was for you to think he couldn't have the same patience, that it would all become a vicious cycle — or worse than all of that: that you'd regret saying yes to the idea of the two of you.
The memorable experience happened when you stopped in front of a small display. Woo-jin looked a bit confused, because there seemed to be nothing inside except the pretty decoration, but you were smiling. He didn't even have time to ask before you carefully pointed — not touching the glass — at the seahorses.
"Oh," Woo-jin finally noticed them. They were tiny and hid well among the plants, but once you spotted them, they were truly majestic creatures.
He looked to the side, and you seemed more excited than usual. Briefly, the boxer remembered seeing you with a seahorse key chain attached to something somewhere, so they probably held special meaning for you.
With his hands in his jacket pockets, he commented in a low tone, just for you to hear. "They remind me of you."
Your eyes broke away from the animals for a moment, unable to resist the curiosity — not just about the soft tone of your boyfriend's voice, but his words — but you didn't say anything, letting him continue.
"They... uh... they stay hidden, but they're really pretty when they come out." For a moment — a very unusual moment — Woo-jin felt unconfident, like he was being an idiot just for trying to compliment you by comparing you to a fish. Do normal people flirt like this? "Just like you."
Your eyes didn't leave your boyfriend's, and he felt his face burn with embarrassment. He'd said things a thousand times bolder in his life — to strangers and girlfriends alike. He'd said sweet things, cheesy things, and things way too dirty to even think about. But still, your gaze was enough to undo him.
"That was weird, wasn't it? Comparing you to a fish..." He started to laugh nervously, but stopped instantly when he felt your soft hand pull his down, pulling his body down toward yours.
Woo-jin felt as light as a feather — ridiculous next to your touch, no matter how weakly you'd touched him — so he leaned closer to your face. The boxer expected you just wanted him closer so you could say something — something the people around you wouldn't hear. But no.
Your lips collided with his for a brief few seconds.
Your boyfriend's eyes widened, and he felt his own knees about to give out. He brought a hand to his mouth, dumbfounded. It wasn't even a real kiss — just a peck. But it was yours.
[...]
Almost a year had passed since that event.
"Are you sure?"
That memory of the kiss immediately came back to the Woo-jin's mind when you finally said you were ready for the subject of sex. You'd been together for months, and he had never dared to start anything you didn't show interest in. The most that had happened was his hand sliding up inside your blouse, just touching your bare skin as you kissed, but when he felt you tremble in his arms, he stopped immediately — almost as if his hand had been burned. That day, the boxer could have maybe explored further, sure. But was that what you wanted?
You were both in your room. You lived alone, so privacy wasn't an issue. It wasn't about privacy, or about him desiring you, or even about your own fear. It was about you feeling comfortable. And honestly, Woo-jin would have been fine if you changed your mind right that second. Deep down, maybe he even wanted you to back out — because you weren't just anyone. You were too precious. Woo-jin panicked just thinking about making any kind of mistake.
You nodded quite confidently.
You weren't a virgin anymore, so the act itself didn't bother you, but over the various times, there had been complaints — and it was about those complaints… It was about not pleasing Woo-jin that bothered you.
"Really sure?"
You furrowed your brow, showing a hint of irritation now.
"Oppa, you're not taking my virginity or anything. You know that, right?"
"Of course I know. I haven't forgotten anything you told me." He answered with conviction, almost in that silly tone he used when reminiscing about his days as a marine.
"Then what is it?"
"I'm nervous."
I'm nervous.
Your heart tightened along with those words. So, you weren't the only one with expectations about this. He was just as thoughtful. And when you thought about your boyfriend and his impulsive personality, that meant a lot. You affected him in a way you couldn't even imagine. Your shyness about touch left him weak, dumbfounded that you would even consider sleeping with him. He was rough — rough as boxing demanded — but when he looked at you, he wanted to throw all that brutality down the drain.
You gave him a smile.
"So there is something in the world that makes you nervous."
"Everything about you makes me nervous."
You felt your whole body shiver, and he hadn't even laid a finger on you yet. Your shyness — which had gradually faded over the months of first friendship and then dating — seemed to have all come rushing back at once, hitting you like a speeding truck.
You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out. How could this man be so perfect? He'd been completely transparent about his slightly playboy past, but at the same time, none of that seemed real when he said those things to you. And with that gaze so melted just by your existence.
"You know about the complaints."
"I don't care." He was quick to say, almost cutting off your words.
"Just promise to tell me if you don't like it. I just want… honesty. Even if…" You closed your eyes and could almost relive the comments, the disappointed looks from your exes. It was so painful that the rest of your speech died out.
Then you felt Woo-jin's strong arms wrap around you.
He was hugging you. Holding you.
"I promise to be honest. But I doubt I'll be disappointed in you. I'm already way too crazy about you to back out now."
So, you hugged him back, letting your hands climb up his back and lightly tug at his jacket. You were ready. You wanted him now, before your courage ran out.
Woo-jin noticed your initiative and pulled back slightly to look at your face. Your eyes were considerably large and bright, acting like Cupid's arrow aimed straight at his heart. While holding your chin with all the care in the world, with all the gentleness he could muster, your boyfriend finally pressed his lips to yours.
The kiss was sweet, slow, tender. He knew better than to rush you. That wouldn't get you anywhere. That had been the mistake of everyone before him: crossing your limit before you were ready to give in.
At first, it started as a long peck with both of you sitting on the bed. One of Woo-jin's hands was anchored affectionately on your back, pulling you close — as close as you would allow. He paused the kiss countless times just to observe your reactions and change his target spots: kissing your forehead, your cheeks, your nose. It was as if time didn't matter. It was as if the time he'd gone without sex didn't matter. And truly, it didn't.
Because he wanted you well and confident with yourself.
"You can really kiss me," you murmured. He was still holding your chin, not daring to hurt you. Woo-jin would rather cut off his own hand than make you even slightly uncomfortable.
The trainer then leaned closer to you and this time kissed you with intent.
You felt his tongue asking permission to spar with yours, to dance with yours. So you reciprocated, grabbing the back of his neck. Your hand pulled him closer with longing — longing for something you hadn't yet experienced. You felt him add a little more pressure to your chin — just a bit more, but still with extreme care — after all, he had far more strength than that. Woo-jin had enough strength to tear you apart, but he only wanted to fill you with adoration.
Tooth met tooth, lip met lip. Woo-jin was growing more and more determined to show you love. Your tongues intertwined, and slowly he laid you down on the bed, being careful not to let his weight suffocate you. Though the boxer wasn't heavy, he was still a large mass of muscle, so he braced himself on his elbows so he wouldn't crush you.
Woo-jin only stopped kissing you when you were both out of breath, and he stared at you, still on top of you. Even though you were wearing worn-out sweatpants and a shirt that clearly wasn't your size, in his eyes, you were the sexiest creature in the universe.
You let out a small laugh.
"What?" the boxer asked, appearing to come back to himself rather than just blankly staring at you.
"You were totally spacing out. I called you like twice."
"You did? I really didn't hear you."
"You seem more nervous than I am," you concluded, stopping your laughter. Your heart felt like it was going to explode, especially under the boxer's intense gaze. It was as if he was already devouring you, but only with his eyes. "And I'm pretty… pretty… nervous."
"I just don't want to screw up."
"Leave the screwing up to me."
This time, it was his turn to laugh.
"Stop that." Woo-jin whispered as he started to take off his own clothes, which were already starting to make him sweat from how hot he felt just imagining the idea of rubbing his skin against yours.
It was such a mundane thing, but watching Woo-jin take off his jacket had never seemed so sensual. You'd witnessed that act countless times before, yet none of those times had it ever seemed so attractive or suggestive. You didn't know if it was because he was on top of you, or because the two of you had agreed to finally venture into the territory of sex.
He let the garment fall off the bed, not too concerned about whether it would make a mess. Neither of you really was.
Underneath the jacket, Woo-jin — ironically — was wearing a white tank top, which didn't make much sense given he'd had a jacket on over it, but you knew that was beyond practicality: your boyfriend had his own sense of style, and his combinations didn't always make a lot of sense.
Your gaze couldn't help but notice his strong arms, now exposed. You'd seen them many times before as he trained, but the sight never failed to leave you breathless. Because of your shyness, you hadn't allowed yourself to feel them — just contented yourself with watching. Sweaty. In action.
"Jagiya?"
"Hm?" You blinked several times, realizing Woo-jin had called you. For a while, you'd just been fixated on his biceps, triceps — everything about those arms.
"Now it's you who was spacing out." He gave a sly smile, making you blush. You tried to look away from your object of interest, but your boyfriend was far from stupid about these things. "Is it my arms? Do you want to touch them?"
Do you want to touch them?
The first obstacle of the night was already there: daring to touch your boyfriend in a completely sexual way, finally breaking your curiosity about what it would be like to have that flesh between your fingers. It wasn't for lack of desire, but the idea of touching someone that way always made you nervous. You almost always froze up, anxious about the next step — and guys hated your paralysis in the face of intimacy.
They hated your shyness, how you went quiet, how you treated the process as if it were something scary, even though you tried your best to please them until the end. Even though, many times, you didn't even come, you said nothing because you didn't have the words to express your dissatisfaction — and honestly, you didn't even know if you deserved to express any dissatisfaction. After all, you were boring in bed, weren't you?
"I also want… for you to touch them." Woo-jin murmured, sliding his hand along one of your temples, stroking a strand of your hair. "Touch me? I want to know what it's like when it's you doing it."
It was as if the boxer could get inside your mind, as if he knew exactly what to say.
You nodded with a confidence that wasn't truly yours. It came from the love Woo-jin had for you and from all the honesty and transparency he had shown throughout all this time.
Your hands then slid up to the strong arms in front of you, and just by touching his skin, you felt Woo-jin tremble between your fingers — almost as if your touch had the power to dissolve him. Your eyes widened. Even though your touch was timid, it had still drawn a reaction from the man above you.
His body writhed as if he had just discovered a new sensation. It wasn't as if you'd never pulled him by the arm before, but now, you were doing it with intention. You wanted to know every centimeter of his skin, even with the limitation that the world had somehow made you impose upon yourself.
With his eyes fixed on you, Woo-jin stood like a statue, respecting your process.
Then you moved, squeezing every muscle, your eyes shining as you explored his skin, molding it against your fingers. The flesh was hard, but it also had a perfectly soft texture. You almost felt tempted to bite it, wanting to engrave that sensation against your teeth.
"I've always wanted you to squeeze me like that," Woo-jin admitted, half-dazed as your hands felt the result of his effort at the gym. "Of course I wasn't going to ask, but…"
"Why not?" Your eyes searched for his, which didn't leave yours.
"You're shy about it, aren't you?"
"Yeah."
"Then I wasn't going to rush you with that," he said, shrugging in a totally logical explanation.
Oh. So this was the feeling of having a voice in a sexual relationship.
Woo-jin noticed immediately that something in you had clicked, just from your subtle facial change.
"Jagiya?"
"Take off your tank top for me, please?" You asked, still with some insecurity, but there was something there beyond wanting to please him. You felt seen and respected by him. Yes, you were shy, not very vocal, and reserved — but he made you want to let go a little more. Woo-jin made you actually want to experiment with yourself.
The boxer just nodded, getting off you for a moment only to strip off the white shirt. You now had a view of his entire upper body. The perfect structural body, only disfigured by some scars on his stomach area. The sight hurt you — not because you found them ugly, but because it reminded you of how those wounds had nearly cost him his life.
You didn't even think. Your hand just touched the region that had been brutally stabbed. It wasn't sexual, even though the moment had that kind of undertone. You just wanted to feel how alive he was beneath your hand, beneath your skin.
You opened a small, silly smile, feeling the ridges of his abs against your hand and tracing each scar slowly with your fingers.
"What is it?" Woo-jin smiled back, not even really knowing what the two of you were smiling about.
"I just… I'm glad you waited for me. I don't just mean time-wise… but that you're here, alive right now. That I can try to touch someone again now. And that that someone… is you, you know?" You then lifted your gaze to his dark brown eyes. "It just feels right that it's you."
Your boyfriend didn't know if he should, but he honestly couldn't control the impulse to kiss you in that moment. Pulling you by the nape, he pressed his lips to yours again, pinning you gently against the bed, still trying to be careful not to crush you. He smiled between kisses, feeling just as — or maybe even more — happy than you.
It just feels right that it's you.
Even if the act ended there, he would have already won the night, the month, the year.
Woo-jin was acutely aware of your deep insecurity and how difficult it must have been for you to desire him for so many months without feeling confident enough to act on it.
"Can I touch you?" He asked in a low tone, almost purring against your lips. "Your breasts. Over your shirt."
You laughed. There was no way he had a playboy past like he'd said. You couldn't believe it.
"You can touch underneath, Woo-jin-ah."
The boxer's eyes widened briefly, but he didn't waste much time lost in his own surprise, nodding quickly.
Calmly, he slipped one of his hands under your blouse while the other remained braced so his body wouldn't suffocate yours. His fingers moved up slowly, testing the terrain. They lingered a bit on your stomach, tracking how your breathing changed slightly just from that brief touch on that area — just like had happened before. Woo-jin felt hesitant, unsure if it was okay to continue, but you looked at him with confidence, so he moved his hand higher and higher until he stopped with it over one of your breasts, still covered by your bra.
The boxer didn't dare squeeze it yet, just studying your reaction.
Your face was red, but you didn't seem uncomfortable. Inside, you were more nervous than anything else because this was where it usually all started: you'd shut down from the anxiety of making noise, of being a person bothered by your own reactions. But when he carefully squeezed your breast, your body didn't hold back this time, and you let out a brief moan. It had escaped your usually controlling grip, and it was enough to make Woo-jin's heart beat hard, unhinged.
He noticed from your expression that you hadn't liked moaning so openly like that — that you felt dirty somehow.
"Keep going. I want to hear it." The boxer leaned close to your ear. "But if you don't want to, that's fine too. I've heard it once — I think I've got it memorized."
"Memorized?"
"Yeah… It's engraved right here in my heart, jagi."
You couldn't help but laugh at how he tried to ease the situation in every possible way. He was really putting in the effort, but not in an uncomfortable way. Your boyfriend genuinely wanted to make you happy. So you wanted to reciprocate, gently pushing him back a little. Woo-jin looked at you confused, but then you took off your blouse, and his face turned completely red — he had never seen you with so little clothing before. At least, during this relationship, for some reason, you hadn't gone to any sauna or pool where he could have seen you like this.
You then opened your arms to him, as if calling him over, and without a second thought, he threw himself between them — this time without holding back, showering your neck, collarbones, and any piece of skin he could find with quick kisses. His attack didn't feel purely sexual: Woo-jin was just adoring every little part of you while hugging your waist tightly, his face buried between your breasts as if he had been waiting a lifetime to be there.
Resting his chin against your chest, he looked at you briefly, as if waiting for something. It was funny. He treated you with more gentleness than your first boyfriend, than the one who took your virginity even knowing how scared you had been that night.
"Do you want something…?" You tilted your head slightly in response to his gaze.
"I've never tried… leaving marks on you. I don't know if you care about that kind of thing. I mean… I don't know anything about your preferences, so that's why I'm asking."
Your breathing hitched again. How could he do that with just words?
"What is it? Did I say something wrong?"
"No. It's just that people don't usually ask me anything."
Woo-jin felt angry, clicking his tongue, but he chose not to show it openly, instead transforming his feelings into a proud statement. "And that's exactly why you're with me and not with those pieces of shit."
You smiled, seeing how irritated he had gotten, even while trying not to show it. "You can leave marks."
"I really can?"
You just nodded — and not even a second passed before Woo-jin attacked your neck, alternating between a long hickey and a light little bite. You squirmed beneath him, sighing at the feeling of belonging, your hands climbing up his back. At no point did he take his eyes off your face, even though your reactions were subtle, the boxer wasn't willing to miss anything.
The trail of marks went down until he stopped at the barrier of your bra. Out of breath, your boyfriend looked at you, looked at the garment, and then looked at you again. You nodded in silence, and with efficiency, he got rid of it.
The sight of your breasts left Woo-jin breathless — regardless of what you thought of them, regardless of any tiny insecurity you had about them. He bit his lower lip, restraining himself from attacking you right at that moment because, honestly, that was what he wanted most in the face of the feast laid out before him. But instead, he hid his face in the valley between your breasts.
"Oppa?"
"Fuck, I'm way too lucky…" He murmured against your breasts, and the muffled sound of his voice made you laugh, one of your hands coming up to stroke his hair. "I don't even know where to start."
"Normally, no one asks me before doing it, but… I like it when they squeeze…" Your voice could barely come out, you were so embarrassed. "M-my nipples."
The boxer lifted his face so fast it startled you, and he nodded countless times as if he had received an order rather than a suggestion. His fingers then worked on both sides, squeezing your nipples until they grew hard between his fingers. Sometimes he teased you by tugging on them to give you a little bit of pain — but the kind you found pleasurable. Your hips moved in response to each small manipulation of his, and he felt he was on the right track.
Like a man possessed by your small signs of satisfaction, Woo-jin stopped merely playing with your nipples and instead took one into his mouth while his other hand massaged your other breast in slow, circular motions. He wasn't in a hurry. In fact, he wanted to savor all of this until he couldn't think of anything else.
The saliva and warm tongue worked wonders on your already sensitive nipple, and soon he switched to the other. It was inevitable — you squirmed beneath him, pushing your hips upward, rubbing them against his abdomen, drawing a grunt from your boyfriend. You might not be very vocal, but you were considerably sensitive under his attention.
Woo-jin got a little bolder because deep down he knew he could, and he truly hoped you wouldn't mind — so he left hickeys on your breasts. You closed your eyes, letting yourself get lost in the sensation of his hands gripping your waist, anchoring you in place every time he bit down and left small purplish marks.
"A-Ah…" The moan escaped as your head fell back into the pillow, and again your hips fought against his strong hands, trying to move, but he held firm, keeping you in place. The grinding of your hips against his abdomen drove him crazy for more, but having you slowly come undone in his arms was a far greater feeling than just chasing momentary pleasure.
Woo-jin just smiled, satisfied to see you gradually letting go during the process.
"Those motherfuckers were crazy. You make me hard just by looking at you."
And indeed, he was very, very hard.
You still seemed a little hesitant about whether you were really pleasing him — after all, he seemed to be putting in more effort with you than you were with him. But Woo-jin wasn't foolish: he noticed your uncertainty. And then, in an impulsive act, he pulled one of your hands down and placed it over his sweatpants, where you could already feel a bulge. Your eyes widened instantly.
So it really was true.
There really was someone attracted to you just the way you were.
"Do you believe in me now?" He asked, a little out of breath, still holding your hand against his hardness.
"But I'm not even doing anything."
"You don't have to. You've never heard of guys who get turned on just by pleasing their girlfriend?"
You really had never heard of that, so you shook your head no.
"What the fuck, jagiya! What kind of guys were those that you dated?"
You just smiled and answered. "Definitely not you."
"Of course they weren't." He smiled back, his eyes radiating confidence yet also relaxed. The way he looked at you was warm, and again he touched your hair, this time tucking a strand behind your ear. "Listen… Tonight, I don't want you to think about doing anything for me, okay? I'm satisfied with how things are." His touch was gentle, slow. "Don't think about anything. Just let me enjoy you."
"Are you sure?"
Woo-jin just nodded, moving from kissing between your breasts to daring to go a little further down your skin, leaving a slow trail of wet kisses down to your belly button. You couldn't help but squirm, and he kept holding you in place with a satisfied smile.
The trainer's gaze on you was intense, and his warm tongue went lower and lower until it stopped at the waistband of your time-worn sweatpants. The waistband was even a little loose. He paused, taking a deep breath between your legs.
"Has anyone ever really eaten you out?"
You knew exactly that this was his intention as soon as he told you not to do anything, as soon as he started trailing kisses downward, as soon as his face stopped above your lower belly — but still, the question spoken out loud shook you for a few seconds. Your lack of an answer was all Woo-jin needed to know. So slowly, he began to pull down your sweatpants, with no rush at all, even though inwardly he had been desperate to taste your pussy for months. He couldn't deny he was a major pervert.
You were finally down to just your panties, and a small wet spot was clearly visible on your underwear. The trainer just licked his lips as if he were facing a delicious meal and hadn't eaten for days.
"Excuse me." Your boyfriend murmured in a slightly teasing tone, his fingers now delicately pulling your panties down, removing them from your body entirely with slowness. Everything was about the process. It was almost painfully good.
Woo-jin pulled you a little closer, placing your legs over his shoulders and opening you up a bit more, putting you in a very vulnerable position. Your heart squeezed so hard it felt like it would leap out of your mouth. And again, the man on top of you noticed immediately. Either he was very experienced at picking up on nuances during sex, or he was just very good at picking up on your nuances.
"I'll stop now if it's too much." His hands loosened slightly on your legs, but still held you in place.
You just took a deep breath.
"It's not too much."
"Then I'm going to change that." The trainer smiled at you, and before you could say anything, his face descended between your legs.
First, Woo-jin just blew air against your pussy, and your whole body trembled, drawing a small laugh from him at how sensitive you were, at how willing you were to his desires. He looked at you playfully, seeing that you were staring back at him, then he rubbed his nose against your thigh, savoring the moment. Your hips moved upward, so he tightened his hands around your legs again.
You had never felt so flustered under a man's silent gaze, but your boyfriend's intense brown eyes did wonders on you.
When he flashed that wide smile you knew so well, you just closed your eyes and felt his face bury itself in you. His tongue slid slowly over your pussy as if he were tasting a popsicle of a new flavor for the first time. He was smiling as he did it, eating you not just with his mouth, but with his eyes as well.
You were already trembling even with so little, and then he pushed his tongue inside your hole without a second thought.
"Woo-jin-ah!" Your hips bucked against his face — more specifically against his nose — and he sighed contentedly, his hands gripping you even tighter, pulling you closer.
His tongue moved in circles inside you, his mouth moving up and down as he sought to stimulate your clitoris with just the tip of his nose. When he found it, you let out a loud sigh, relieved to finally have that bundle of nerves stimulated.
The boxer pulled back a little, a strand of saliva connecting your pussy to his lips.
"You're so pretty."
You watched him calmly in the light of the bedside lamp — the only source of light in the room — and for some reason you didn't understand, his cheeks were flushed. You didn't get his shyness. After all, seconds ago, he had been doing something extremely sensual with no discomfort at all.
"I really am so lucky."
Then your boyfriend put his tongue back in the right places, sucking you slowly — perhaps even too slowly — and with every shiver, every moan, every movement you made, he felt his cock grow harder and more impatient. But it still wasn't time. He wanted to make you come, and he was almost certain your ex-boyfriends rarely made sure of that.
Without any warning, he pushed a finger inside you and curled it until he reached a spot you had never felt before. You didn't know if his finger was longer than your previous partners' or if he simply knew what he was doing, but your eyes rolled back in pleasure. Slowly, he moved his finger in and out, smiling at your reaction.
Then came the second finger.
And your legs clamped around his cheeks.
Woo-jin played with his fingers, making slow scissoring motions inside your pussy — always, always slow. It was almost sadistic. But such a loving sadist that you didn't mind. You didn't mind how he played with you, how he gave and took away what you wanted. Your legs just trembled like never before.
His fingers and tongue danced in harmony.
Until you came. Came hard.
You let out something close to a scream and thanked the universe that your apartment walls weren't thin. But the boxer didn't stop immediately. He kept delighting in your pussy while you were still short-circuiting — but it was all premeditated, because he knew that was exactly when you were most sensitive.
Satisfied with your reaction after you reached your peak, Woo-jin slowly lowered your legs and rested his face against one of your thighs. It was affectionate. The man just wanted to admire how you were breathing fast and how your face was all sweaty.
"Are you good?''
You nodded slowly, your gaze a little lost.
Woo-jin leaned close to your face and kissed the corner of your mouth.
"Can you go all the way?"
And again, he was considerate. Considerate of your time, of your needs, of everything about you.
You didn't know exactly when, but at some point, your eyes just filled with water as you looked at the man above you. The boxer pulled back slightly, surprised by your emotional gaze. He hadn't done anything wrong, had he?
Before he could voice any insecurity, you nodded again — but this time, with confidence. The trainer still looked at you, a little worried, but you held his face with both hands, trying to bring comfort to the man above you, just as he had reassured you the entire time.
"I'm fine. I'm just… happy." His mouth opened slightly as if to say something, but seeing that you weren't finished, Woo-jin fell silent again, giving you his full attention for whatever you wanted to say. "I think this is the first time I haven't felt judged while having sex. That's stupid, right?" You finished, trying not to cry even though you wanted to, overwhelmed by an excessive dose of emotions.
Woo-jin saw how hard you were trying to smile, and he felt his own heart shatter into a million pieces. It had been so satisfying for him to bring you pleasure in this way that he couldn't comprehend how your past partners had had the courage to be so dismissive of your shyness and uncertainty. He then placed one of his hands over yours, which was touching his cheek, and brought it to his lips, leaving a soft kiss.
Slowly, the trainer shook his head.
"It's not stupid." He left another kiss on your hand. "You can cry. It's okay.''
And so, little by little, you fell apart in front of him. Your eyes could no longer hold back so many years of neglect, so many years of feeling insignificant, so many years of feeling uncomfortable for not wanting to be more extreme in bed or even for expressing affection in public. It was as if everything came at once. All you had ever really wanted was a little understanding. Yet, as you cried and Woo-jin's expression didn't change at all, you realized you had never asked for much — and when you were almost out of hope, you had found the right person.
Oh, you had been an idiot for settling for less so many times.
The trainer moved a little closer above you and this time hugged you around the neck, bringing your face to rest against his shoulder as the tears kept falling.
The two of you stayed like that for a few minutes. In silence. Just him stroking your hair so slowly it seemed like something out of a dream. Until you finally found the strength to actually look at him. Your eyes were swollen from crying, but in your boyfriend's eyes, your vulnerability had never looked so beautiful.
"I'm ready," you whispered, drawing a satisfied expression from him. It was almost a little possessive, but he just wanted you — unprotected, naked, raw — only for him. Maybe he really was more of a pervert than he thought.
"Do you want to help me? I mean, can you?" He murmured, glancing down at his own jeans and then back at you. If you said no, he would have continued the same way.
You didn't even answer — not from shyness, but because you were already too surrendered to that man to back away, to let him keep making all the effort. Your hand went down, almost confidently, but he could still sense your insecurity, so he pulled your wrist.
Slowly, the two of you began to undo the buttons of his pants together until Woo-jin kicked them off his body with some impatience — honestly, expected by now — leaving him in just his boxers with a far-from-subtle bulge. Your boyfriend had waited too long, waited for you until now, yet he hadn't complained even once.
The dark blue boxers already showed a darker spot: where his pre-cum had been slowly pooling all this time. And you noticed that his breathing had changed — as if showing his arousal for you had finally given him the release he had been needing all along. But still, Woo-jin held back with you, simply to not thrust himself between your legs. Maybe he was a little too self-disciplined. Maybe it was a remnant from the Marines?
With his hands on his knees, he stayed watching you, waiting for some sign at any moment. But then you just laughed.
"What's wrong? Can't you come over?" You teased, and he didn't even need two seconds to come to you. The bulge still contained in his boxers rubbed unintentionally against your overstimulated pussy, and you both let out a moan.
You had never heard a moan as beautiful as Woo-jin's. And it made your heart beat faster. He noticed the reaction he had caused in you and acted immediately, rubbing this time with intention against your sensitive pussy.
"Oppa…"
"Jagiya?" The trainer smiled at you, not stopping his grinding. He wanted you to say the words — not to humiliate you, but because he knew you could do it now.
"Please." But the man stayed above you. He paused the movement of his hips and looked at you as if asking for a little more. "Put it in."
Woo-jin studied you for a few seconds, wanting to be completely sure that you wouldn't change your mind, that you were okay, and that he could really get closer. You just placed one of your hands on his arm and squeezed, as if sending a silent request.
With the lightness of a feather, you stole all the air from this man, and he, flustered, pulled off his own boxers, not caring where the garment would land.
Now you were both naked, one on top of the other. Woo-jin looked at you with his shoulders resting beside your head, already breathing heavily and sweating. You could feel his cock trembling against your leg, which gave you even more chills. He was at his limit, and you understood perfectly.
So you just nodded again, and that was enough for Woo-jin to stop fighting his own instincts. He rubbed his cock against the outer lips of your wet pussy a few times before finally starting to push in slowly, letting out a satisfied sound when he was finally buried all the way inside you.
"Fuck…" Your boyfriend grunted, feeling how your pussy squeezed him in small spasms. He hadn't even started moving yet, and you were already swallowing him with so much desire that he felt like he was delirious. "Fuck, I can't take it, I need to move. Sorry for this later!"
And then, the former marine you had fallen for simply brought his usual intensity: moving his hips in abrupt thrusts against yours, focusing on hitting the right spots.
You grabbed his back, unable to control your nails digging into his broad back, and with each scratch, he roared in satisfaction. More and more. He increased the strength, the rhythm. That was your Woo-jin — the guy who didn't know when to stop.
Your old bed even creaked, but honestly, you couldn't bring yourself to care as you stared at him with half-lidded eyes. He looked at you intensely and fucked you intensely, too.
You closed your eyes, feeling your lower belly begin to tighten in a sensation too pleasurable to contain, forcing you to let out nonsensical words. Your arms pulled him closer, and he dragged you into a kiss, swallowing your moans, satisfied.
You don't know how long it lasted or even when you passed out; you only came to when you opened your eyes and felt yourself being covered by a sheet. Woo-jin was lying beside you, staring at you in silence, and said nothing until you finally turned to him.
"I…"
"You passed out. I overdid it a little, sorry." He apologized again, but you just let out a laugh.
"You're really weird. Apologizing for things like that."
"I'm not weird."
''But I like that you're weird." You confessed, sitting up in bed. Your legs were shaky, and your hips would hurt the next day. He looked at you with unavoidable curiosity. "I should have realized sooner… that I prefer weird guys like you."
"Then I'll be the weirdest guy you've ever known."
"You already are."
You both laughed. Physically exhausted, emotionally full.
Summary: Sometimes protection looks like rescuing someone from a violent criminal, other times it looks like befriending someone who lingers just out of step with the social world around them. A tale of two high-school friends who find home would always be with each other.
A/N: Another entry in a saga of Bloodhounds x President Choi's daughter. There's a version with Hwang Yang Jung, Lee Du Yeong, and Kim Myeong Gil. Daughter!Reader could be biological, adopted, fostered, it doesn't matter as no details are provided.
Masterlist: Bloodhounds Collection
Moon Gwang Mu wasn’t necessarily tasked with protecting you. He joined as a rookie for President Choi, looking roughed up and stubbornly defiant. The old man had taken a glance at him, good-naturedly thumping his back before telling him he could come back to work for him after finishing school. He had bristled at the comment, feeling underestimated and rejected. But Choi Tae Ho had paid for his tuition, as well as arranged for a uniform that, unlike his previous one, had actually fit him.
The President had been genuinely pleased to see him in uniform, advising him to make the best of his youth since he had never gotten the opportunity to complete his own schooling. He had noticed the familiar badge on Gwang Mu’s jacket, “My daughter goes to the same school, it would be nice for her to make more friends.” It might have just been an offhand remark, but Moon Gwang Mu took to it like a mission— he was going to be the best fucking friend you’ve ever had, he was going to look out for you and never let you be bullied or troubled, he was going to repay and prove himself to your dad.
If anybody were to ask you, Moon Gwang Mu wasn’t your friend, he was an underling— a sidekick, if he was lucky. He reported every morning to you, more disciplined than he ever was at the morning assembly. It was awkward and embarrassing, and totally cramping your style. There was nothing worse than being incessantly teased about dating some boy, and the constant hooting and hollering that followed. He was ruining your chances at a memorable teenage romance. And you didn’t even like him!
But no matter how much you dissuaded him, or even outright ignored him, he stayed committed to the bit. So, really, it meant you were forced into having an underling. You had him carry your bag, fetch your lunch, run errands, do your cleaning duties, even take the fall and subsequent punishments for you. You waited and waited, and waited some more for him to finally give up and quit following you around. It was uncomfortable to watch him be bossed around by you without any respect or dignity— why was it taking so long for him to grow a spine?
He stuck out like a sore thumb. Always on the peripheries of cliques and friend groups. It wasn’t for the lack of trying, too. He was always the most loud, extroverted, over-the-top in any group project in class. He only received reluctant, faux chuckles before everyone turned to ignore him. It was truly too painful to watch— the dead silence that followed his boisterous laugh at his own joke was enough to make you shiver with second-hand embarrassment.
That sort of vibe was akin to blood in shark infested waters. You were unsurprised to see him one day sporting a myriad of bruises and scrapes, his uniform rumpled, and his school bag open and emptied. It had nothing to do with you, and you should’ve stayed out of it so he would finally understand that they would never be friends. His eyes had been watery with tears, his chin faintly trembling. But it was definitely those stupid, big cow eyes of his that were always solemn even when they twinkled at you for approval. He was like a little puppy, and which assholes would harm puppies?
Moon Gwang Mu knew you weren’t inherently a bad person, he had seen enough of true evil to recognise that you were simply distant and taciturn. He just hadn’t proven himself worthy of being your friend. He was touched, he might have even cried a little, when you had shoved your lunchbox at him after some bastards had stolen his money. He had fought them off until they’d put a hand on his uniform in the scuffle— a little money wasn’t worth ruining his new uniform. You had warned him to eat every single bite, “It breaks my father’s heart when I come home with a half-empty lunchbox. He thinks it’s because he didn’t cook well.”
He had eaten with relish and without any concern when you had assured him you had other lunch arrangements. It was the best meal he’d ever had. It was only after he had waited a while after school to return the empty lunchbox to you, that he discovered your ‘lunch arrangements’ included shaking down the bullies for the lunch money they had stolen from him. He had watched awed, his heart fluttering with what had to be love, as you shoved one of their heads into the trash can.
He’d applauded diligently and enthusiastically as you counted your loot, greedily eyeing the wad of cash in your hands. You hadn’t returned his money to him, pocketing the cash as you joined your friends to buy snacks. He had been sad to not be invited, lingering behind you and twiddling his thumbs in hopes you would reconsider. He tried to comfort himself as you walked away without a single glance back towards him, it’s not like he had the money for it, even if you did include him.
But the knot wringing his stomach loosened the very next day, all the sadness evaporating at the sight of another lunchbox— the same design as yours but in a different colours. You firmly denied it being your plan, just that your father insisted on making him lunch too since he ate it so well the last time. He was ecstatic to share lunch with you, eagerly offering to do your homework as thanks. You had been skeptical, at first, and hadn’t handed over your homework until he insisted, prying the books out of your hands.
It was his fault entirely that you descended on him a few days later like a demon from hell, all screeching curses and claws for hands. He thought he had done well on the homework, except he’d completely flunked it and marred your stellar grades. He’d obediently and solicitously apologised, vowing to work like a dog to make up for his sins.
It had been truly painful to repent, you had taken it upon yourself to personally tutor him. He would rather you just beat him up some more. But, instead, he was strapped into a chair like a man to be tortured while you stuffed calculus and literature down his throat. His grades had miraculously improved for how unwilling he had been to study, but it came at the cost of his crushed whimsy and freedom.
Turns out the secret to running off Moon Gwang Mu was a study session. He had practically sprinted away from you the moment exams had ended, establishing himself over the summer as an integral vertex of a trio of friends you’d dubbed ‘dumb, dumber and dumbest’ with each of its members competing for the prestigious position of ‘dumbest’ at any given time.
Dumb, Dumber and Dumbest had convinced themselves and each other that you were dating their very own Moon Gwang Mu. You had gifted him a Walkman for his birthday, along with cassettes of his favourite artists. How would you know Gwang Mu only listens to sad ballads and shed manly tears while staring out of the bus window, unless you were paying attention to him. You told him not to lose his player, clearly you were worried about it being snatched by those hooligans that took his lunch money! And they had tried to take it from him, but Gwang Mu had fought them off. However, when he had brandished the cassette player at you as some sort of trophy, you fussed over him and his injuries— it was true love!
He twisted and fidgeted on his seat in the school nurse’s office, nervously adjusting and folding his hands over his thighs or stomach to hide the growing tent in his pants that refused to stand down no matter how many unpleasant thoughts he forced into his brain because you were so close. He could peek at your cleavage, and the two soft, round curves of your boobs, over the buttons of your shirt as you leaned over to dab some ointment on his chin. He rolled his eyes towards the ceiling, determined to be a gentleman, while sweat trailed down his temple which stung as it caught on some dried blood and scratches. He hadn’t been able to contain the yelp and shudder when you had blown on the scrape on his cheek, shooting out of his seat in surprise and staring down at the adorable way your lips were still pulled into a pout. Fuck, were you about to kiss him and he blew it?
You handed him a box of milk and a piece of bread, which he had accepted with slightly sweaty hands noting that it was your favourite flavour. He’d felt giddy and flustered that you would give him your favourite snacks. Whenever your father made your favourites for lunch, he would have to give up some of his share to you. Frankly, he would rather fight a dog for a bone than come between you and your food. So, you must really like him.
You didn’t like him. And if he ever shared his delusions, you would have laughed in his face. You had only given him the snacks because he seemed to be shaking, and you would be a monster to not care for a kicked puppy. “Good job.” You proudly patted his shoulder, counselling him with all the dignified flair of a sage, “Always remember, people can hit you. They can pull your hair. But they can never take your money. Why? Because money can always buy you more hair.”
Money could also buy him a uniform. But you noticed he was quite attached to the one he owned. He washed it gently between his own two hands, rubbing the collar between his knuckles instead of using a hard brush. He had gone back to hit those boys a few more times when he noticed a few of his shirt buttons were sacrificed in their skirmish.
Moon Gwang Mu loved you, wholeheartedly, when you pulled a sewing kit out of thin air and sewed three mismatched buttons to his shirt. He adored the furrow of concentration in your brows and the way your lips puffed out when you were focused. He treasured those three buttons, they were his lucky charm— in the future, he would even sew them onto his Marines formal uniform.
That love for you was obvious to anyone with eyes. Your father’s hand had itched to smack the little brat when he’d had slipped up and addressed him as he would a father-in-law. But Moon Gwang Mu’s panicked, phony guffaws had been so funny that several people had to muffle or hide their snorts and snickering. Despite the boy’s floundering and your hardheadedness, you father knew that the both of you were meant to grow into something quite special to each other. However, the knowing didn’t help the exasperation and irritation as he watched you both constantly bicker around him over every little thing from how much salt is too much salt, to which side of the couch belonged to whom, along with the mad scramble for the remote if he came home with you— leaving the old man to stumble over the shoes haphazardly strewn in the entryway.
According to Moon Gwang Mu, you were dating him. But you just weren’t aware of it yet. He didn’t know if you were just slow or dense or both. Once he’d been peacefully eating his ice cream on a park bench, you halfheartedly licking at yours as you stood over him, leaning precariously to the side since you made no effort to hide your ogling as one of your friends kissed a boy. He’d made a noise of disgust, at first, thinking some bird had pooped on him until he realised the dollop on his forehead was cold instead of shit-warm. And then it was searing. Your lips pressed against his forehead, your mouth burning hot against his skin as your tongue licked off the melted ice cream over his brow. Followed by a lightening that shot from where your lips touched him straight down to his cock. Then it was cold, the wind felt freezing against the wet patch on his face where you had just licked him— with your tongue!
You had scrunched your nose at him in disgust, “Ugh. It tastes like your sweat.” He had been too gobsmacked to finish his own ice cream that you had claimed your own after biting off your melted one. He had been lifeless and dazed as he shifted his schoolbag, wearing it on his front to cover his growing bulge. He was too shocked to complain and whine that the rack on your bicycle hurt his butt while you rode it roughshod over the bumps. He had sat behind you, clutching the sides of your shirt in astonished silence while you cycled them home. He was stunned. He’d just experienced his first forehead kiss with his future wife, and she’d used tongue— all because of greed. What would they tell their kids? That their mother was a glutton?
The most hurtful realisation of Moon Gwang Mu’s life was that you didn’t love him. It wasn’t that you didn’t have a romantic bone in your body… But you drew hearts on someone else’s coffee cup. You looked at someone else with stars in your eyes. It had felt worse than a punch to the gut. His stomach had tightened and burned; if he hadn’t left immediately, he was sure to have thrown up all over that college senior of yours. He had cried quietly into his pillows that night even though nobody could hear him in his empty apartment.
But he had been so embarrassed, hesitant to go back to work the next day out of fear that others would smell the stupidity off of him. All these years of feelings had been nothing but wishful thinking on his part. He wondered if everybody knew, and just didn’t bother to let him in on the joke. Worse, what if they knew and laughed at him for thinking you could ever love him.
Your paths had diverged after high school; you had gone off to college, and he had never applied. He chose to work for your dad as he had always planned. Your schedules and lives were so different, he had expected it to be difficult to still remain as close as before. However, he was so determined to support your dreams, happy to carve out time from work to visit you even if it meant he was napping beside you while you worked in the library.
The first pangs of unease and discomfort had slithered under his skin, banding across his chest to constrict his ribs, when he just couldn’t fit in with your friends. He didn’t much care for them other than hearing of them in your stories, and they in turn didn’t care for him. He was well aware he would never fit into that circle of intellectuals, but there was a trace of vicious, mean-spiritedness in the way they treated him. It started with snide comments, too vague to call for a confrontation but just noticeable enough to get the message across that he was unwelcome. He would seemingly sit on pins and needles with a group that thought it beneath them to hangout with someone like him simply because it was the only time he could have with you that week.
You weren’t a bad friend, most of what was said to him was typically out of your earshot. But he had wanted you to notice how they treat him… was it childish of him to crave your attention? You had always stood between him and the people who picked on him, he was under your caring wings through high-school. Hence, he wanted you to still defend him from these so-called friends of yours. Sure, his pride wouldn’t allow him to lay out his grievances before you. However, could you not perceive their cruelty towards him? Moon Gwang Mu believed you would never have to tell him these things had the situation been reversed. He would notice. He would care.
One of your friend’s boyfriend, the wannabe idol, had slipped in front you, his voice both over-eager and taunting when he had asked you if your ‘criminal friend’ could arrange some drugs for them. He had to restrain his scoff, who calls it drugs like a narc— don’t you know the name of the shit you want to try? He’d abruptly paused at the thought, that asshole had just called him a criminal. His first instinct had been to get up in that jerk’s face, dare the bastard to pick a fight he was sure to be thrashed in. He wasn’t some gangly school kid anymore that would lose in a fight.
But nipping at the heels of that bravado was stark fear, the kind that made his heart drop with a thud. He glanced at you; he knew you wouldn’t laugh at him, but the thought of your indifference was just as oppressive and suffocating. He waited for you to say something like a man waiting for a verdict he hadn’t even braced for— all his hopes pinned on you. Your friends tried to laugh the comment off to defuse the tension, but your gaze was already unperturbed and still. You sounded unnervingly casual, “He works for my father… do you think we’re a family of drug dealing criminals? Since that’s how it is you shouldn’t come with us.”
Then you just stood there, indifferent but willful, taking up the sidewalk while others glanced as they passed by. Even he had shuffled his feet, stifling the urge to break the tension and pull you away from the group. You never asked him to leave, but it was immensely clear by how patiently your feet were rooted to the pavement that you weren’t going anywhere with that clown. The guy had scoffed, infuriated and indignant that you would choose to side with someone like him instead of your own friends, before his girlfriend had tugged him away— still cursing at you as they left.
You had reverted to polite smiles and easy laughter almost immediately, ushering the rest of the group for the show they were running late to. You’d spent the evening by his side, sticking uncharacteristically close. He knew you were trying to comfort him, but there was a sense of finality that had settled like lead in his stomach. He would always be seen as a criminal, someone unfit to be by your side. It was something your father had said, which he hadn’t understood then in his naivety, he wanted a respectable life for you— firmly on the right side of the law, and afforded enough acceptability that nobody would look down on you as they just had to him.
He’d spent that evening memorising the moment— all the parts of you he already knew so well, but couldn’t help but appreciate once more. His heart soared with your laughter, gaze tracing the curve of your lashes. He wallowed and revelled in that small moment when you paused to take a breath before launching into a monologue with a fire lit behind your eyes for something you were passionate about. His heart danced at your every little mannerism, the way you pronounced certain words tickled under his ribs. He could even listen to you talk about a hole in your sock for hours, let alone witness the way you came alive when sharing your love for art. His thumb caressed along yours, committing to memory the weight of your hand in his, your warmth in his palms, and the ease with which your fingers settled between his. He didn’t know how he would follow through his decision when he felt so homesick for you while you stood right by his side.
But follow through his decision he did, stubborn as a mule as he walked away from you— his heart still tethered to your sleeve. He’d been hollow since, weighed down by the sort of emptiness that made him sigh with exhaustion. He missed you. He missed you. He missed you. So much that he senselessly grabbed at the phone, his ears ringing with the call tone thinking you’d called. You hadn’t called, why would you after he had others pick up your calls for him a few times, making excuses for why he couldn’t talk. He missed your gossipy eavesdropping, your sarcasm, and your incessant griping about the things that irritated you even though you swore you never take it too seriously. He missed your silly humour which was sure to lift his moods. The world was so terribly silent without you.
Moon Gwang Mu left your life rather unexpectedly, hiding behind excuses of how busy he was with setting up his own business after your father had wrapped his up. At first you’d worried he had gotten into a disagreement with your dad. But your father had sworn that it wasn’t the case, claiming he’d even passed his contacts onto your friend since he was retiring from the business. You’d considered showing up at his house, or maybe his new office with a gift to wish him well.
But he had slipped back into your life like a breeze, as if he’d never truly left— like he was always meant to be there. And suddenly it didn’t matter why he’d left, because he was back when you’d needed him most. He had returned when it mattered, when your father was hospitalised after being attacked. You had been so stressed and anxious, your mind too foggy and dazed to work. You’d stood there in an elevator at the hospital, eyes unseeing while waiting for the dumb thing to move, but too dissociated to have pressed the floor button. The elevator doors had dinged open, he’d peeked in as if he was looking for you all along.
You’d taken a deep, shaky breath— the first time it seemed since you’d last seen him. Your lungs had stung and ached at being overexerted, your eyes burning before you’d buried yourself and your sobs in his embrace. You didn’t realise when that doe-eyed kid grew to be so strong. But his hands were firm as they held yours, his arms warm as they clutched you to him, his shoulders so sturdy when you rested your head on them. Those eyes of his were devastating, they always had been so guileless and tender, open and twinkling as if someone had left the lights on, waiting for you to come home. He’d stayed offering strength and support, ensuring you ate and slept so you could care for your father.
In hindsight, you would realise this was love— the greatest expression of love is to be there, to sincerely show up, to care. However, you were slow on the uptake then, your mind filled with countless different matters snatching and warring for your attention. He went off to the marines, while years later you found yourself surrounded by wealth and fame, feeling a longing so stark it made you gasp for air. You were surrounded by people, you wouldn’t call them friends or well-wishers— acquaintances, perhaps— but the loneliness still plagued you. It filled this room full of people, voraciously feeding on the empty space between them until it was all you could see.
Moon Gwang Mu believed it was a special brand of humiliation— and a cruel karmic joke— that you always found him when he was being extorted, wounded and banged up from being shaken down for money. His mouth had dried, his heart rising into throat like the dawn chorus of birds welcoming the morning sun. It had taken him an embarrassingly long moment to realise that you were truly here, standing at the door of his office, instead of a mirage his brain manifested because he missed you. And then he had wanted to dig a hole to disappear into, so you wouldn’t see how much of catastrophic wreck he was. How much of a loser he still was.
Your eyes altered between him and that bitch from Smile Capital as you tried to piece the situation together. His pride rooted him in place even though he wanted to lay his head down on your lap and cry over every large and small inconveniences he’d suffered since you’d left. You were back. He didn’t know why, but you were sitting on the ratty couch of his office— when was the last time he’d aired this place out? He’d been so clumsy, shuffling around aimlessly, fussing over two cups of coffee. Why hadn’t he thought to buy proper cups? All his mugs were chipped, now he was serving you shitty instant coffee in a paper cup— or maybe he should pour it into the chipped cups anyway? The other lady had long been dismissed by your sheer aura. You’d raised a quizzical brow at her, a polite smile gracing your features while you angled your body to offer her space to walk out in one fluid, dismissive and cool motion.
He’d meandered around topics— the weather, life, your dad, the restaurant, Yang Jung hyung and his ever-improving knife skills. He considered asking you what brought you back— rather what brought you back here, to him. But he was just glad you’d returned. It didn’t matter what the reason was, they’d deal with it together. There would always be a place for you with him, he’d tear down any wall, smooth over any aching lumps to carve out the most comfortable, well-lit space within his heart and soul for you. No matter why or for how long you’d returned, he wanted to gather you in his arms to thank you for coming back anyway— thank you for remembering him.
“You have my painting.” You’d said the statement without any intonation, and he hadn’t known what to make of it. He’d whirled around to look at it once more, he’d meant to take it home soon. A guy had tried to repay his debt with the painting, and while he was strapped for cash because of the deal with Smile Capital, he’d accepted it because it was yours. He assumed you came for your painting, did artists buy back their paintings? But he was so unwilling to part with it, couldn’t he keep this small part of you?
You’d looked at him wide-eyed and affronted, “He cheated you out of your money. There’s no way my painting is that expensive.” He’d known that, but it was worth much more to him. So, he’d guffawed at your panic, “It’s okay. It’s basically an investment. It’ll be worth way more than that one day,” he assured you. You were bewildered and outraged, it was so like you to be distressed over losing money. He swiftly turned down your offer to compensate him for “being duped” into taking your painting. Of course, weeks later you’d chewed him out for not taking up your offer when those loan sharks had thrashed his office and roughed him up— they’d even destroyed your painting.
But worst of all, they’d taken you. It had been the most harrowing phone call from President Choi. He’d felt the world lurch beneath his feet, his vision twisting off kilter. He’d barely heard the details over the uneven, furious palpitations of his heart. He shivered from the sweat trailing down his spine that felt chilled even in the heat. He had barely managed to squeeze words out of his choked throat, struggling to breath so it wouldn’t make him nauseous. They’d attacked your home, injured Woo Jin, and kidnapped you. They’d taken Mr Oh too. He needed to find you. He needed to rescue you.
Luckily, you had been out on an errand and noticed the fleet of cars rushing towards your home. You’d called the cops, sensing the impending danger, and they’d shown up just in time to prevent any tragedy— scattering Myeong Gil’s men in the process. You had moved to a safe house with your father. But when his boxer marine juniors had tried to take down Smile Capital, you had been inevitably placed in danger.
He’d tried not to let his fear and panic show, he couldn’t let it impede on his focus and vigilance. Even though his stomach churned with dread and terror at the thought of what these people could do to you, he’d forced himself to repress every emotion that wasn’t strictly necessary until he found you. Until you were safe.
He’d collapsed when he’d found you, the sheer relief had been debilitating as the tension seeped out of his bones. He held your hands, checking for injuries before clutching you to his chest to feel your heart beat against his own. His laughs had been shaky as he pet your head, soothing himself more that you as the action pushed your face into the crook of his neck and he felt your steady breaths roll over his skin like a reminder that you were alive. You were well. You were unharmed. Safe. And in his arms.
You’d invited him to an exhibition of yours, mostly to thank him for saving your life, with the promise of gifting him any painting of his choice. It was an elaborate ruse, you had a proxy lined up to buy that painting from him. He’d never straightforwardly accept your help financially, or your father’s it seemed, but he needed it after Smile Capital had bled him dry. He also had to renovate and fix his office that those goons had destroyed.
However, you’d realised the hiccup in your plan almost immediately. He’d looked delighted at your offer, a gummy smile splitting across his face that was so blindingly sweet and achingly familiar— tugging at your heart in the way that was so nauseatingly needy. Then he’d lingered over each work, eyes half-lidded and warm as he admired each frame with a soft sigh. Of course. Of course, the Moon Gwang Mu who wallowed in sentimentality and sad songs would indulge and bask in art with the same misty-eyed passion. You’d felt nervous, your hands clammy and belly unnervingly wrenching. You had wavered between letting him have peace and silence as he engrossed himself in your work, or grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him for his thoughts and opinions on what he saw.
You’d learned to be thick-skinned with critics, not everyone was going to like what you do— and especially not in a line of work where being a hater is both an ambition and a joy. But you’d been in a slump. The pandemic had taken a toll on everything, and the burnout had left you not only uninspired but dangerously numb. At first, there was no sense of fulfilment or joy at having finished a project, and then creating anything seemed like an impossible task. To see him so entranced by your artwork made you truly elated.
His compliments of your work were unvarnished and utterly honest. Sometimes, he found a particular shade you had used delightful. Other times, he’d tell you about how your paintings made him feel— he’d reminisce over small, innocuous moments you’d shared while growing up. These moments often didn’t have a memorable story, they were routines you hadn’t thought about in so long; running late for the bus, the after school window shopping, the Sunday morning movies, a summer trip to the beach. It was refreshing to hear something that wasn’t unbearably pretentious and pompous about technique, gradient, artistic intention, or value.
Perhaps it was something about his smile and the way he looked a bit like an artwork himself under the exhibition lighting, but your fingers itched for a pencil for the first time in months. You wanted to paint him. There was something endearing about how the crinkles by his eyes curved over his cheekbones. And you planned how to best inscribe the way his smile lines were accented by dimples on paper. His liveliness would be a challenge to capture, he spoke so animatedly that the muscles of his face moved with his words and tone— sometimes a small crease between his short brows, or tiny scrunches at the top of his nose. Then there were those lips which would be a joy to shade on paper with the shark cupid’s bow and defined edges. They curled into the most irresistible little moue when he was preoccupied. There was a firmness to his mouth that belied the lighthearted chortles he’d let loose once in a while. And even though his laughs were often a little forced, more than a little phony, they softened the rigid, square set of his jaw. You could fill entire books drawing that mouth alone from the sneer that pulled at the left side of his upper lip, the scoff that tugged at the right corner of his bottom lip to the small smile when he thinks nobody is looking and the easy grins where his upper lip mimics the curve of his cupid’s bow.
You didn’t dream of his mouth… No. Instead, you had dreamt of your mouth—on him. You’d filled pages that would have made your anatomy drawing instructor puff his chest with pride. You had sketched him with a desperate sort of urgency without any flair or finish— the slope of his nose, the curve of his mouth, the swoop of his hair, the profile of his face, his throat and the devastating dip at its base formed between two sturdy collar bones, the contours of his chest and the ruinous little trail of hair that slipped into his pants, his torso with the deep line along his spine that carved his back symmetrically into halves, his hands in a dizzying array of motions, and embarrassingly, even the curves and soles of his feet once he’d propped them onto the armrest of the couch. And, sadly, you imagined your mouth on every inch of skin on his body— tasting, sucking, nibbling on him until he was coloured with your attention and making expressions you had yet to see.
You needed to get a grip. It was ruining your day that you couldn’t draw every minuscule detail of his swiftly changing expressions and mannerisms like a camera taking rapid snapshots at any given time while the memory of moments lingers and hovers and bounces around in your brain like a poltergeist haunting an abandoned room. It wasn’t feelings or anything icky, it was simply… artistic curiosity. It was like watching the apple on a table from every angle before deciding which phase you wished to put on paper. However, in your case, deciding you wanted to put every angle and face on paper.
You blamed the gold chain. You’d noticed it when he was working out— gaudy, thick and snaking over his glistening tanned skin. And you’d wanted to trace it with your tongue, feeling the cold metal and warm skin contrast in your mouth. He’d been huffing for air, wiping the sweat over his brow. Your traitorous brain painted images of him gasping for air with his mouth agape, those dulcet eyes blown wide and befuddled making him look… fucked out.
You’d felt a small twinge of nervousness squeezing your heart at the numerous salacious sketches you had made of him during lazy evenings. But the guilt only came after you had made yourself cum, fingers circling and massaging your clit to your own thoughts and drawings. It was… a new fucking low. Not even the cavemen had drawn nudes on walls before jacking off to them. You needed to get laid. Promptly and expeditiously. However, making a move on your childhood friend because you were horny and desperate was all sorts of taboo.
You didn’t want to lose this friendship. It was embarrassing to realise at your big age that you were quite friendless, with everyone you cared for and vice versa had either drifted away in their own lives or were geographically too far to give you a hug. The world after the pandemic didn’t make it any easier since everyone had receded into their tight-knit inner circles— or simply gotten used to the isolation. You made friends through your craft and work, but you realised perhaps too late when your ambition for fame and money— for critic praise— had moved you into some luxury enclave surrounded by heartless people who were snobbish, cruel and not just a little out of touch with the world. You needed your only friend to be an anchor of support as you shifted into a different sort of art world, a warmer one with more public appeal. You needed Moon Gwang Mu to be his usual simple, uncomplicated, steady self. The only familiar, comforting factor amidst anxious change and uncertainty.
So, it was unfair— truly, extremely unfair— that he looked at your lips in a drunken haze with that pouty, sad look on his face looking like a puppy denied a treat. Firstly, you were supposed to be sketching him. He might have been a little tipsy when he threw off his t-shirt and quoted Titanic at you, demanding that you draw him like a french girl. It might have been a little indulgent on your part when you had agreed. He was cocky and preening, his poses far too comedic to resemble any sexy french girl you’d ever seen. You had turned on the television to grab his attention, so he would hold still for you to sketch. He was easily impressed at the baking show playing in the background, oohing and aahing at each technical step. You briefly wondered if this was what mothers felt like when they turned on their screens to feed their kids.
You didn’t realise when he had stopped watching his show to stare at you instead, but your eyes had met his languid and half-closed ones. It would have been easy to misunderstand that he was almost asleep and drowsy under the low lighting of his room, had you not keenly felt his attention like a warm current under your skin. For a moment, you’d been glad that you had chosen to sit on his stupid Bean Bag pouf because it prevented you from leaping across the scant few steps between you to give into your most base desires. You were never going to struggle with a fucking sack to waddle and roll out of it before kissing someone.
You just hadn’t counted on him to drop himself from his couch into a lithe, agile, cat-like prowl. The ripple, stretch and contraction of the muscles of his hands and back had been hypnotic to watch as he crawled on his hands and knees towards you— the bones protruding out of his back like small broken wings. He looked like a devil, and just as tempting too. You were far too stunned to protest when he had snatched your pencil to throw it over his shoulder. You were still speechless, unable to look away from those eyes as the world fell away, when he tugged the sketchbook out of your grip and tossed it aside.
The first kiss was painfully gentle— far too sensual and slow to be a peck, and yet not nearly thorough enough to be a kiss. He didn’t even touch you, his hands too busy propping him up. And, yet, you’d felt that first caress of his lips against yours like a lightening strike all the way down to your toes which curled into the carpet beneath. His mouth had been warm and slightly chapped, the grain of his moustache tickled the lining of your lips. The want, the craving, hadn’t surprised you but you had not expected the need. It took you completely by surprise. You needed him. The kiss wasn’t nearly enough. Nothing would ever be enough. You wanted to coax bits of his soul out his mouth and fold them into your being.
And he must’ve felt the same because he’d retreated, his lips hovering over yours once more, his nose nudging yours tentatively. You thought he would tilt his head and finally, finally, kiss you properly. Your hands found the curve of his arm, fingers pressing soft indents in the muscle to hold him in place. But the coward he was still warred against the inevitable. His lips fell on yours again in another hesitant, timid kiss. His lips closed around your bottom lip, and you felt a shiver down your back pushing you into his mouth. His lips slid over yours once, and then once more. You could taste his unwillingness to pull away, he gave your lip a reluctant, puppyish tug as he withdrew.
You sighed into the empty space between you. And perhaps if you’d opened your eyes you would’ve seen him, guarded and wary, studying your face as you absorbed what he had just done. You felt his fear, his doubt, in the cold air that rushed between you, chilling your skin as he leaned away and knelt before you. You heard the start of his apology, his voice low and cracking before you slapped him. The sound was deafening, effectively cutting off his words as his head whipped to the side from the force of your smack. Then you grasped for him and yanked him down, urgently and desperately, noses bumping awkwardly and your stomach protesting with a grunt as his weight gracelessly tumbled onto you.
You hated the stupid Bean Bag, and you would love to burn it as soon as you were done. The kiss was clumsy, your tooth ached due to the pressure of his mouth against yours while he struggled for balance. It was a frenzied struggle, his lips sliding over yours while your tongue slipped past his lips to stroke along his. You were panting, your chest struggling to expand against his. He was burning, he felt so hot under your icy fingers. You felt his tongue swipe under the hard roof of your mouth, ticklish and electrifying. His mouth was searing. It was all too much and at the same time not nearly enough.
He responded to the strangled sound in your throat which was somewhere between a whine and a sob, his large hand edging under your neck to cradle your head. His bicep flexed, the muscle bunching and relaxing under your touch. You wanted to see it. You wanted to see him. It occurred to you, quite salaciously, that you should record it— place a camera somewhere close so you can watch later for reference as you paint him fucking into you. The thought scattered with a gasp as he rolled with you in his arms.
You had imagined the sight beneath you countless times, and yet it was better than anything you could have pictured. He stared up at you with awe and disbelief while you straddled him— those soft, beseeching, decadent eyes. “If we do this, I’ll belong to you,” he rasped. “No,” he reconsidered. His hands trembled over your skin before holding your waist, “You’ll belong to me.”
He stared like an idiot, mouth agape and eyes just as wide, with his hands back to himself folded shyly over his chest like he was upholding the last of his modesty as you stood to shimmy out of your clothes. Your panties clung to your folds, embarrassingly wet as you pulled them down, smearing some of of your arousal on your thigh. You made a small disgruntled sound when you realised he was too gobsmacked to have removed his shorts. His hand extended towards your tits while you forced his shorts down to his thighs, giving up before taking them off entirely. He palmed your flesh, moulding the weight in his hands. His knuckles grazed over your nipples when you straddled him again, the caress made a shudder spread across your shoulders. A shared moan sounded between you when you settled over his cock, slotting the length between the lips of your pussy.
He’s been delightfully long, and curiously curved when you freed him, standing over coarse, thick curls. His tip was weepy and red, you would taste him later— take your time to give it the extensive attention it deserved, leave marks on the inside of those muscled, athletic thighs, and study the way they rippled and moved under your mouth. You settled for a slow grind, sliding your wet pussy over his cock while you leaned down to kiss him again. You felt his cock pulsating and throbbing with each slow drag of your hips while he whimpered into your mouth.
He had gasped as you propped yourself higher, his tongue chasing the string of spit connecting him to your mouth. You tucked a hand between your bodies, growing antsy with the pace you had set and reaching for your clit. He’d giggled at you. Because, of course, you’d be greedy and impatient. His laughter soon melted into a keening sort of groan as you notched him at your opening, your fingers obstinately rubbing tight circles over your clit to ease his cock inside you. It was a deliciously stinging ache, followed by the overwhelming fullness as you fluttered and clenched around him.
You sighed with satisfaction once he bottomed out inside, his balls nestling in the crevice of your ass. You bit your lip to stifle the embarrassing moan that had been about to fly out of your mouth— long, desperate and low— as you swivelled your hips. His tip rubbed against some spot so deep inside you which made your spine feel strangely liquid and languid. You felt yourself slipping, drowning in the pool of currents spreading from your quivering cunt while you settled into little humps punctuated by your hips dragging forward so your oversensitive little nub rubbed into the hair at the base of his cock. He was made for you, his cock was made to fuck you and stuff you full of him. He fit so perfectly inside you, it was just that he was so… fucking loud.
Moon Gwang Mu was mouthy and noisy, he was continuously talking— most of it gibberish peppered with reverent praise. He was babbling slurred little phrases, ‘feel so good’, ‘taking me so well’, ‘baby, please’ when you clasped a hand on his throat with a gasped command for him to just shut up as the mushroom head of his tip dragged along the wall of your pussy, scraping against nerve endings that had your vision darkening at the edges. You felt him jump inside you, a tiny pulsing movement that made him feel bigger somehow. His cock felt so heavy in your pussy.
Your fingers dug into the sides of his throat, feeling his heart beat in your hands at the same rhythm of the pulse throbbing inside you. You leaned down to lick into his open mouth, he was obedient and bleary-eyed, too slack-jawed to do anything but whine as you suckled his tongue. The rub of your nipples against his heated skin with each undulating pump on his cock sent jolts of electricity from your erect little buds straight down to your spasming pussy. You tumbled into your orgasm, your body stiffening as your walls clenched around him before you shattered. You collapsed onto him, body trembling as tremors shook your limbs. Your muscles felt strangely fuzzy and warm. You might’ve seen stars, panting against his neck and struggling to gather yourself again.
He’d started thrusting up into you, his arms banding around your waist to hold you in place while he lifted his hips, bouncing your ass as he fucked up into your hole. You vaguely registered how wet the noises were, there was a steady, repetitive squelch every time he shoved his cock deeper into you. You could feel how much you had soaked him, your combined juices were sticky and cool on your ass cheeks and smeared over his thighs, strings of your release clung to both of you feeling cold as his cock receded from your cunt. You felt a gush of warmth inside you as he came. And it only stoked the warmth swirling under your skin, you wanted him to pull him deeper inside you and hold him there.
There were sparkles spreading from the base of your spine that begged for another release even when you snuggled deeper into his chest feeling sleepy and replete. You allow him to caress your back for a few minutes, blinking through your post coital haze as he deposited your slumped form beside him, pulling his rug under you so you weren’t lying on the cold ground. He kissed down your body, truly quiet for the first time this evening, spreading your legs, making you unusually self conscious, also for the first time that evening. He watched with a feverish sort of rapture as his cum seeped out of your hole.
He’d fumbled for the remote, turning the TV on that you hadn’t even realised he’d switched off before crawling over to permanently change your life. He turned on the screen, tilting his chin towards it in a silent command for you to watch. It wasn’t muted, but you couldn’t hear a single thing over the ringing in your ears. Then he settled in, your jittering thighs thrown over his shoulders as he lapped at your oversensitive cunt in a single flat-tongued lick from the puckered hole of your ass to the clit peeking out of your hood.
You couldn’t quite place how long he’d been down there playing with his own cum— sucking it out of your pussy and pushing it back in with his fingers as if he hadn’t quite made up his mind where he wanted it. But the images on TV had long blurred into nondescript colours and there was a crick in the side of your hips that twinged every time you humped into his mouth. His hands were everywhere, either lightly grazing your skin or tightly pinching your nipples. He mapped your body in detailed explorations and curious caresses which you rewarded with soft sighs and quiet moans until you were shaking under another release. This one started as a wave, faintly tingling and warm until you were convulsing, spraying sticky, salty-sweet cum all over him until drops of it trailed from his jaw down onto his chest.
Even though he’d tucked you into his chest, folding his body along the length of yours so his chest was pressed to your back, your ass on his lap and his knees curving with yours, there was still the strange, hungry glow behind his eyes. Your puppy had grown a taste for this. It didn’t take long for dawn to spread over the sky in pretty colours, so similar to the ones dancing under your eye lids as he coaxed his hardened length into your pussy again, his fingers playing with your clit. He’d slid your knee higher so his balls rested heavy on the inside of your thigh. He pressed kisses over swathes of your sweaty skin, nibbling at the thin skin of your throat as he lazily rocked into you.
He cradled your throat, squeezing the column ever so slightly before shifting higher to cup your jaw, his fingers pressing into your cheeks so they bulged around the digits. He guided your mouth to his, sliding past your teeth to lick at the gummy walls of your mouth. There was nothing hesitant or nervous about this kiss, it was tender and slow and terrifyingly right. It wasn’t the sort of embrace that led to other things, it wasn’t meant to excite or titillate— he kissed you for the simple pleasure of kissing you, because he enjoyed his lips on yours and he revelled in sharing a breath and taste.
“You came back for me, didn’t you?” He whispered into your mouth. And it made you feel undone, exposed in a way that made you shiver. Because you had returned for him. You could’ve gone back to your life after visiting your father, started anew somewhere else and made new friends. There had been no reason to stay, there had been no other reason to walk along his neighbourhood for days before building the courage to knock on his office door. “I’m glad you came back,” he murmured, your tears catching on his thumbs.
He’d just left. He was there one day, and then gone the next with no rhyme or reason. And you had never figured out the why. Sometimes, you had raged at him in your mind for abandoning you and your friendship. Other times, when you were more vulnerable, you blamed yourself for being… difficult to put up with. Men don’t like women with strong personalities— and you prided yourself on being too headstrong, too stubborn, too unyielding. Maybe he had just grown tired one day and walked out. But he’d been a saint, always patient and compliant with all your moods and whims, if not enthusiastic in your company. He was the ray of sunshine that never dimmed at the sight of your scowls and grumbling.
You had forced yourself to not attach labels or expect anything more than just this night. It would have to be nothing more than a one-night stand, and your friendship hinged on the ability to still remain steady, uncomplicated friends despite having fucked. There was a small, needling voice in your head that reminded you that you had no such ability. You would never recover, and would despise him for not being as affected as you were. Hence, it was deeply, deeply, unfair that he wasn’t fucking you, he was making love. You almost wished his touch was greedy, purposeful and selfish. Instead, he made you feel full in ways you never knew it was possible to feel complete.
Much later, you would be shocked into silence, too stunned to react when he answers your shaky, uncertain insecurities about a relationship with the most devastating confession of how he’d loved you since high school— high school! And had decided to be a noble idiot to give you some sort of a better life. You’d wanted to bash his stupid head in. It’s okay, you had reassured him, you would rather date someone with no brain, rather than someone with a brain like his. But he’d only foolishly giggled at your threat, “So today is our first day of dating?”
𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: After Baek Jeong’s men ambush one of the team’s routes, everyone is forced into hiding at a remote cabin outside Seoul. Gun-woo becomes increasingly unbearable about your safety, hovering around you like breathing depends on it. Things only get worse after another man throws himself in front of a knife to protect you… and Gun-woo realizes he hates the idea of someone else being able to.
Enjoy!
Rain hammered against the cabin windows that night, heavy enough to swallow the forest surrounding the safehouse whole.
Inside, however, the tension felt worse than the storm itself. The cabin arranged for the team sat hidden far outside Seoul after Baek Jeong’s men ambushed one of their routes earlier that evening. Everyone made it out alive, barely, but the attack confirmed something none of them wanted to admit aloud: Baek Jeong was getting closer.
Gun-woo had been unbearable about it the entire mission.
Not officially, though. Nobody told him to stay glued to your side; not Woo-jin, not Mr. Moon, and definitely not you. You were part of the team too. You could fight, you could shoot, and you had survived worse long before him.
But still, Gun-woo hovered around you like breathing depended on it. His hand constantly found the small of your back whenever crowds got too tight. He walked slightly ahead of you during routes, always checking corners first. Every time someone unfamiliar looked at you too long, his expression darkened almost immediately.
And you noticed every single thing. You found it adorable.
Earlier that afternoon, after he nearly shoved a man away for brushing too closely past you during the escape route, you finally laughed.
“Gun-woo,” you teased while jogging beside him through the rain-soaked alleyway, “are you my bodyguard now?”
Gun-woo didn’t even glance your way. “No.”
You smiled instantly. “Really? Because you almost killed that taxi driver with your eyes.”
“He was too close.”
“He bumped into me accidentally.”
“He still touched you.” The answer came out so quickly that even Gun-woo seemed caught off guard by himself, the tips of his ears reddening almost immediately.
You had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from smiling harder. Because despite his broad shoulders, bruised knuckles, and terrifying punches, Gun-woo had always been disastrously transparent when it came to you.
Unfortunately for him, you noticed everything. Unfortunately for you, you were already completely in love with him. And that was becoming a serious problem.
-
The ambush happened less than an hour later. It was fast, violent, and chaotic.
One black SUV suddenly swerved across the road while headlights exploded through the rain from behind. Then came the shouting. Men flooding out from both sides. Gunshots. Pipes. Knives glinting beneath the streetlights.
Gun-woo shoved you behind him immediately while Woo-jin cursed somewhere nearby, throwing punches fast enough to crack teeth.
Everything blurred together afterward. Rainwater mixed with blood across the pavement while bodies collided violently beneath flickering streetlights. You barely had time to react before one of Baek Jeong’s men rushed toward you from the side, knife raised high.
But someone moved first, Min-jae. One of the newer men working with Mr. Moon’s team.
He threw himself directly between you and the blade without hesitation, the knife tearing across his side instead.
Your eyes widened instantly. “Min-jae!”
Gun-woo froze for half a second after hearing your voice, then he looked over and saw your hands grabbing Min-jae immediately, trying to steady him while blood soaked through his shirt. Even injured, Min-jae still positioned himself protectively in front of you.
And Gun-woo understood something ugly right then. As a man, he knew exactly why another man would move like that.
Nobody throws themselves in front of a knife unless feelings are involved.
Something twisted painfully inside his chest. Fear.
Because suddenly, Gun-woo realized someone else could protect you too, and he hated how much that thought suffocated him.
-
By the time everyone reached the cabin later that night, exhaustion hung heavily across every room.
Mr. Moon and Woo-jin discussed routes upstairs while Min-jae disinfected his injury near the fireplace downstairs. You stayed beside him helping quietly, handing over gauze and alcohol while checking whether the wound needed stitches.
Gun-woo sat farther across the room in complete silence, and Woo-jin noticed immediately.
“Oh no,” he muttered under his breath while watching Gun-woo stare toward the fireplace. “He’s jealous.”
Min Beom looked up briefly. “Who?”
Woo-jin pointed subtly toward Gun-woo.
Gun-woo looked seconds away from beating someone unconscious.
Unfortunately, every time Min-jae quietly asked if you were okay or thanked you for helping him, Gun-woo’s expression darkened further. Until eventually he stood up abruptly and disappeared into the kitchen without a word.
Woo-jin watched him leave before glancing toward you, then toward Min-jae, then back toward you again.
“Oh, this is bad.”
-
The kitchen remained dim except for the warm light above the stove. Gun-woo stood near the sink pretending to drink water while internally trying not to lose his mind.
You entered quietly a minute later.
He heard you immediately but refused to turn around.
“You’re being mean,” you said softly from the doorway.
Gun-woo tightened his grip around the glass. “I’m tired.”
“You almost ripped Woo-jin’s head off for asking where the medicine kit was.”
Silence filled the kitchen for a moment while rain battered against the windows.
Then finally: “You should stay near him then.”
Your brows pulled together immediately. “…What?”
“That guy.”
Gun-woo finally turned toward you, jaw tense. “He seems good at protecting you.”
There it was. Jealousy. Raw and impossible to hide anymore.
Your chest tightened so painfully you almost smiled by accident. Because this was Gun-woo. Sweet, painfully reserved Gun-woo who swallowed every feeling whole instead of speaking it aloud.
And now he looked genuinely wounded by you.
You stepped closer slowly. “You’re jealous.”
“I’m not.”
“You look miserable.”
“That’s your fault.” The answer slipped out before he could stop it, and your heart nearly exploded.
Gun-woo looked away immediately afterward, frustrated with himself.
“You scared me today,” he admitted quietly.
That changed everything, and your teasing softened instantly. “Gun-woo…”
“I didn’t like watching him touch you,” he continued, voice rougher now. “I didn’t like watching you look at him after he got hurt for you.”
Because beneath the jealousy, beneath the irritation and possessiveness, he sounded terrified. Like he genuinely thought he could lose you.
You reached for his hand carefully. Then, after seeing him welcome your touch without hesitation, your fingers slowly moved to the side of his face.
You fought the urge to smile from ear to ear.
And the moment his head leaned gently into your hand, something inside you gave out completely.
You pulled him toward you suddenly by the belt, and he immediately reciprocated, one of his hands gripping your waist while his mouth crashed against yours hard enough to steal your breath away.
The kiss felt desperate immediately. Like weeks of restraint finally collapsing all at once.
You couldn’t believe this was actually happening.
A soft gasp escaped you against his lips while your fingers tangled into the fabric of his fitted grey shirt. Gun-woo backed you slowly against the kitchen counter without breaking the kiss once.
“I .. hated it,” he admitted shakily between kisses. “I hated watching someone else protect you.”
Your chest ached painfully, as you cupped his face gently and whispered back, “I only wanted you. I’ve always only wanted you.”
Gun-woo froze completely at the reassurance. Then his forehead dropped against yours while his breathing turned uneven.
“You can’t say things like that,” he whispered.
“Why?”
“Because I already can’t think straight around you.”
Your stomach flipped violently at the confession before he kissed you again, slower and deeper this time.
One of his hands slid beneath your thigh before lifting you easily onto the counter, settling himself between your knees while your breathing completely fell apart.
The cabin remained awake outside the kitchen, only one wall separating you from the others. Voices echoed faintly through the hallway. Anybody could walk in.
That danger only made the tension worse.
Gun-woo pulled back briefly and stared softly into your eyes before gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.
“Tell me to stop.” You shook your head immediately, and that nearly destroyed him.
His lips trailed slowly down your neck afterward while your fingers disappeared through his soft hair. Every breath against your skin made your chest tighten harder.
Then movement appeared near the kitchen entrance. Min-jae.
Stopping mid-step after realizing what he walked into.
Gun-woo noticed immediately, and instead of pulling away, something possessive darkened in his eyes.
His hand tightened slightly against your thigh before he deliberately pulled you closer against him again, his mouth brushing slowly against your throat while his gaze locked directly onto Min-jae’s stunned face.
Clear enough for any man to understand.
She’s with me.
Min-jae looked away first and mumbled an awkward apology before disappearing quickly back down the hallway.
Your face burned instantly as you gently pushed Gun-woo away after hearing Min-jae’s hurried footsteps disappear.
“Gun-woo!”
But he only buried his face quietly into your neck afterward, both hands spread against the counter around you, exhaustion finally replacing the adrenaline.
And when he spoke again, his voice sounded almost shy beneath everything else.
a/n: me when I open up the drafts immediately after watching the second season. something simple for now 👍
kdrama! yeon sieun x gn!reader | 595 wc | no major warnings, no spoilers, mentions injury (bruising)
“Did you get into a fight again?”
Sieun turns at the voice—not his mother, not even his head imagining things—but you. Standing in the middle of the apartment with tears in the corner of your eyes, just staring at him under the dim light.
His fingers twitch at his sides, palm itching as if it hurt him to keep his hands from moving. “I did.”
Sieun always found it hard to lie to you. That was one of his greatest faults that he could never fix. You always saw right through him.
“Come to me.” His brow twitches, but he stays in place despite your words. You don’t move either, feet planted firmly in your spot before your arms cross over your chest. “When you get injured– when your friends you’ve told me about– if and when they get hurt, you guys come to me. Alright?”
He nods slightly, hesitating because, essentially, he was adding you to the list of people he has to worry about. Though you always were at the top, now it seemed more detrimental than ever.
They’d already shown up to Suho, after all. Who knows what would happen if they’d come to you.
Your socks shuffle against the hardwood floor as you walk towards him, fingers brushing against the bruises along his cheek. “You don’t have to worry about me. I can handle myself.”
“That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t worry.”
Your hand freezes against his skin, eyes darting between his as he stares at you, a hardened glare– yet no malice within it. “Right. Okay.”
His fingers wrap around your wrist unexpectedly, eyes snapping to your hand as he slowly brings it away from his face. “How did you find out?”
“Word gets around fast.” You say, heartbeat quickening when he takes a step closer to you. “You know, high schoolers love to talk.”
He releases your hand with a hum, brushing past you to walk to his room, turning around just before he reaches his door. “Are you staying?”
You look towards your shoes at the door, tapping your fingers against your thigh as silence fills the room while he waits for your response. “I ca–”
“It’s late.” Your head turns to him, jolting when he stands right in front of you. “You should stay.”
In a rare moment, Sieuns’ eyes tell you something you’d never heard before.
I need you here. Stay. Don’t go.
You wonder how it was possible to get all that from a simple look, but his eyes never once held anything but the truth. It was his tell.
“Okay,” your fingers twitch against the back of his hand when you feel it brush against yours, your pinky wrapping hesitantly with his. “Alright.”
The light flickers off, and the apartment is silent except for the buzzing light from the streets outside and the floor creaking under your and Sieuns’ steps. The bed dips as you settle down, and your arm absentmindedly wraps around him, clutching onto the fabric of his shirt.
Sieun couldn’t tell if you were grounding him or yourself. But he wouldn’t brush you off.
Another thing he finds himself incapable of doing.
“Get some rest.” You whispered, breath brushing against the nape of his neck. He almost pulls away, almost.
He replies with a hum, eyes flitting to the alarm clock across from him, sighing at the time. “You too.”
Your fingers flex against his shirt, clutching tighter, and your head presses into his back. Sieun stays silent, watching the numbers on the clock change until he hears your breathing even out.
summary : even though Sieun wasn’t the boyfriend to openly hold your hand on the street or hug you in the school hallways, he showed you love in the most unspoken ways. And you cherished these moments more than anything.
a/n : i just finished watching whc2 and i’m so happy with the ending. I loved this kdrama so much.
—
Sieun’s house was always a little too quiet, but you never minded. It made moments like this feel more intimate. The low hum of his desk lamp he specially moved to the living room, the occasional rustle of pages, the soft clicking of pens—it was a quiet kind of closeness you grew to love. And truthfully, you’d grown used to this silence ever since the two of you started seeing each other.
Today wasn’t any different. You sat cross-legged on the floor across Sieun who was flipping through a practice exam booklet with furrowed brows, highlighter in hand, fully immersed in the quiet rhythm of studying. His brows always furrowed when he studied, and something about that little detail made you want to stare longer than you should.
You had your books open too, a pencil twirling between your fingers, but most of your focus was on him. You weren’t even pretending to study at this point—just watching how his eyes moved, how his lips pressed together in concentration and how his hoodie sleeves were pushed up to his elbows.
“Is something wrong with the exercise?” he asked suddenly, catching your gaze without even looking up from the page.
You blinked, caught, but you nodded anyway. “Mhm.” you replied, nodding even though you hadn’t read a single question. “Totally confusing.”
He closed his book gently and moved beside you, taking your textbook without waiting for permission. You scooted a little closer, heart racing more from his closeness than from any actual academic confusion. You leaned in, resting your chin on your palm and you lips tugging into a small smile.
“What part?” he asked, eyes scanning the question.
“All of it.” You answered.
He started explaining, quietly, patiently. His voice was smooth, his finger moving across the page as he broke down each step. But you didn’t catch a word—your focus stayed fixed on him, not even glancing at the formulas.
“You’re not listening,” he said flatly after a few seconds, eyes flicking to meet yours.
“I am,” you lied, grinning.
He narrowed his eyes just a bit, not annoyed, but definitely unamused. “Then tell me what I just said.”
“…Something about the square root of something?” you blurted out, leaning slightly closer with a dramatic sigh.
Sieun exhaled, almost a laugh, but not quite. More like a breath caught between amusement and surrender. He didn’t respond. Just shook his head softly and went back to explaining.
Your story hadn’t exactly started with a confession. There were no butterflies-in-your-stomach speeches or dramatic realizations. It just… happened.
You weren’t even sure when it shifted from one-sided pestering to a relationship. Maybe it was all those late library study sessions, or the times you shared your snacks during break, or how you always waved at him even when he never waved back—at first.
The truth was, you’d kind of forced yourself into his quiet little world. Bit by bit, like sunlight creeping in through half-closed blinds. You didn’t knock, you just sort of let yourself in—loud, bright, and annoyingly persistent.
He resisted, of course. Gave you those flat stares, dry responses, and more than once told you to stop talking so much. But then came the little moments—how he started waiting for you outside class, the way he sat just a bit closer at lunch, how he texted you first just once and never really stopped.
So when he kissed you for the first time, it didn’t feel like a surprise. It felt like something that had been waiting to happen all along. Quiet, slow, and certain.
Sieun had long returned to his side of the table, diving back into his book with the same silent intensity he always carried. His eyes flicked across the lines, and the only sound in the room was the soft scratching of his pen as he scribbled notes.
You, on the other hand, lasted a solid thirty minutes before your patience cracked.
With a loud sigh, you dropped your pen and slid down until your back hit the floor. You sprawled out like a starfish, letting your arm flop to the side as you stared up at the ceiling.
Sieun glanced over, pen paused mid-word, looking completely dumbfounded. He didn’t say anything at first, just raised a brow and blinked slowly like he was trying to process whether you had actually just given up and collapsed on his floor.
“…What are you doing?” he finally asked, voice flat but clearly confused.
“I’m tired of studying,” you groaned, throwing an arm over your eyes. “I didn’t come here to write equations till my brain melts.”
“Then why did you come?”
You peeked at him from under your arm, a small smirk curling on your lips. “To spend time with you.”
Sieun blinked again, this time his gaze lingering on you a little longer before looking away. You thought maybe he was going to ignore it like he always did, brush past your teasing, but his hand paused on the corner of his page, like something in your words stuck.
“You could've just said that,” he muttered, eyes back on his book—but you saw the way his ears tinted just slightly pink.
You grinned, crossing your arms over the table now from your seated spot on the floor. “You’re blushing.”
“I’m not.”
“You totally are.”
“You’re annoying.”
“But you still love me” you teased.
He looked at you then—deadpan as always. “Delusional.”
You just laughed. It was so easy being around him, even with his wall up. Maybe especially because of it. Each word he gave you felt earned. Each look, every small shift in expression—it all meant something.
“So what exactly does that mean? How do you want to spend time with me?” He blinked, leaning his back slightly against the couch.
You looked at him for a second, then without a word, stood up and moved around the table. He followed your movement with his eyes, and before he could say anything else, you plopped down beside him. Close—closer than usual.
Then, gently, you leaned your head against his shoulder, letting out the smallest content sigh. Both of your arms wrapped around his, holding it close like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Like this,” you murmured. “This is enough.”
There was a beat of silence. The kind that hung heavy, not uncomfortable, but full of something else. Sieun didn’t move, didn’t say anything right away. You could hear the soft click of the clock on the wall, the hum of the fridge in the kitchen.
And then—you felt it.
A quiet shift.
His shoulder barely moved, but you felt it. A small pull at the corner of his lips.
You turned slightly to look up at him.
“Are you… smiling?”
Sieun exhaled through his nose, subtle but unmistakable.
“You’re imagining things,” he said.
But the faint curve on his lips betrayed him.
You grinned and tightened your grip on his arm just a little. “You so are.”
“Don’t get used to it,” he muttered, eyes flicking away, his smile not leaving his lips.
You stayed like that for a while—curled up beside him, your head on his shoulder, arms wrapped around his. At first, it was quiet—comfortable, easy. But it didn’t take long before you started talking. Random stories, the kind that didn’t need a point.
Sieun wasn’t the most talkative, and you still carried most of the conversation, but he listened—really listened—and when he spoke, it was warm, thoughtful, a little dry but always sincere. He’d answer with a soft laugh, or a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Sometimes he’d shake his head at your teasing remarks, and other times, he’d quietly add his own take, making you laugh.
It was one of those moments where time didn’t feel real. Just the two of you, tucked into the corner of his quiet world, talking about nothing and everything.
Even though Sieun wasn’t the boyfriend to openly hold your hand on the street or hug you in the school hallways, he showed you love in the most unspoken ways.
And you cherished these moments more than anything.
Hi! I really love the way you write. 🫶 I would like to place a request please
Si Eun has a girlfriend who kisses him with red lipstick that doesn't easily come off.
He won't stop going to class because of it.
kisses gone wrong
yeon sieun x fem! reader (one shot) | weak hero class 1 ★
pairing: yeon sieun x fem! reader
wc: 2.3k
warnings: usage of y/n, intended lowercase, for storytelling purposes they aren’t attending an all boys school, established relationship
genre: fluff, slight comedy
summary: you cover sieun’s face in playful kisses before school, not realizing your brand new red lipstick is extra waterproof. when it refuses to come off, you panic… but sieun stays weirdly calm about walking around with your lipstick stamped all over him.
author’s note: hello anon, tysm! i’m not really sure whether i like the way i wrote this honestly but i hope you’re going to enjoy yourself nonetheless ♡ also let’s ignore how unrealistic this scenario is to happen at a korean school, okay haha? TT likes, comments and reblogs are highly appreciated ദ്ദി◝ ⩊ ◜.ᐟ
you were sleeping over at sieun’s place on a school night — something he rarely allowed. he always claimed he couldn’t concentrate on homework when you were around, but he always said it with that slight blush on his cheeks, that told you he didn’t mean it in a bad way.
but sometimes he let it happen anyway, like today for example. because at the end of the day he liked having you around, even if he’d never say it out loud.
he liked making instant noodles with you, liked watching whatever dumb show you insisted was “super trending online right now” even though he’d never heard of it, liked the way you fell asleep on his chest and the way your hair got sprawled all over his pillows by morning.
it all felt so stupidly intimate.
something no one else ever got to touch.
this morning, he’d woken up first, of course. and had to remind you at least three times that you were gonna be late for school, before you finally crawled out of bed.
and then came his least favorite part of your sleepover aftermath: being the “waiting boyfriend.”
he was already fully ready, uniform neat, hair perfect, bag packed — while you were still in front of the mirror, sitting at his desk, going through your entire morning ritual.
he sat on the edge of the bed and watched you curl your hair, blend your makeup, do all the things he absolutely did not understand but found himself unable to look away from.
“you do this… every day?” he asked, genuinely confused. it just seemed like an exhausting amount of effort to him.
“yeah, i do. i like to feel good about myself.” you smiled at him through the mirror, adding your final touches. then you turned around, bright and proud “and with my makeup done, i get to do this!”
before he could react you grabbed him by the collar and smothered his face in kisses, one after another after another. he froze, blinking rapidly, his entire body stiffening like you’d just short-circuited him.
you pulled back, already laughing.
his face was covered in red lipstick marks — bright, fresh, and very obviously from you.
“hehe, now you’re branded as mine.” you grinned, turning the mirror towards him so he could see the damage.
sieun stared.
then stared harder.
expression flat, but his ears a violent shade of red.
“…does this come off?” he asked finally, voice painfully plain.
“yes, of course! see?” you grabbed a cotton pad, poured micellar water on it, wiped your own lips confidently.
but nothing came off.
barely a smear.
his eyes flickered from your lips, to the cotton pad, to your lips again “it… didn’t come off, y/n.” his voice was slow and cautious, like he was trying to run calculations on a situation he absolutely could not compute. and underneath that calm exterior, his brain was exploding.
you stared at him for a second.
“what?”
you rubbed at your lips again. then again.
nothing.
you frowned, flipped the lipstick over, and there it was in microscopic letters: extra waterproof.
you let out the most awkward little giggle and slowly turned to sieun, holding the tube up like a confession “um… sooo…”
he looked at the packaging. then at your lips. then back at the packaging.
another sigh — long, tired, very him.
“whatever. we’re gonna be late.” he said, heading to the door and already sliding into his shoes.
“wait— wait, you’re ACTUALLY going to school like this??” you shouted, practically sprinting after him to the front door.
“i can’t skip school. it’s fine.” he said casually.
you just stared at him, because this was the same boy who hated pda, who barely let you hold his hand in public unless the sun was setting and literally no one was around.
half the school didn’t even know you two were dating, that’s how discreet he was.
and yet here he was. calm and completely serious about going out looking like this.
the walk to school was torture.
you thought he would be the flustered one, but no, somehow you ended up blushing harder than sieun, who walked beside you like he didn’t have your bright red kisses stamped all over his face.
students stared. whispered. pointed.
because to be fair it didn’t take a genius to connect the dots: your perfectly done red lipstick + his face covered in the exact same shade = you two were not subtle. at all.
you tugged at his sleeve, mumbling “sieun… seriously… it’s not too late to turn back home, people are staring—”
“ignore them.” he said calmly, as if it was nothing.
you swore he was blushing this morning. you knew it.
but now?
nope. composed. annoyingly unbothered.
you, meanwhile, were ready to dissolve into thin air.
but nothing prepared you for entering the class.
the moment suho looked up from his desk and saw you two in the doorway, his stoic face twitched… and then completely cracked. he doubled over, laughing, full, uncontrollable, borderline wheezing laughter.
“no way. no freaking way—” he wheezed, pointing directly at sieun “bro, what— what happened to your face—”
“shut up.” sieun muttered, already heading to his seat.
but suho was only getting started.
“woah, sieun,” he said, laughing harder “i didn’t know you were a loverboy like that.”
you felt your soul leave your body.
suho came to sieun’s desk, eyeing the red stains like he was inspecting a crime scene evidence.
“aish man seriously? at least have the decency to clean your face before showing up like this!” he added, shaking his head with exaggerated disappointment.
“i tried to wash it off!” you blurted out defensively “it’s— it’s waterproof—”
“clearly…” suho snorted “and you y/n, did you attack him? or is this your way of marking territory?”
you immediately covered your burning face with your hands.
sieun sent suho a glaring look, definitely a warning.
suho just smirked, still amused, still teasing, but with that soft glint in his eyes that said he wasn’t actually being mean.
“unbelievable,” he sighed dramatically “you two show up like this and expect me not to say anything? get real.”
and the rest of the school day didn’t get any better after this.
if anything, it got worse.
because suho decided that teasing you two was now his full-time job.
every time you or sieun made an eye contact with him, he puckered his lips dramatically and made the most obnoxious kissy noises.
mwah mwah mwah.
sieun just rolled his eyes so aggressively you were surprised they didn’t fall out.
“ignore him.” sieun muttered under his breath, not even looking up from his notebook.
“i am ignoring him.” you whispered back.
you weren’t. not even a little.
by lunch, suho was still at it.
you sat down with your tray, sieun beside you, and instantly suho leaned forward with a smirk, cheeks full like a chipmunk.
“so—” he began, talking through a mouthful of rice “i’m gonna be honest— sometimes i thought you two weren’t even dating. like, i seriously thought you were just pranking me—”
“suho…” you groaned, burying your face in your hands.
but he kept going.
“i mean, no hand-holding, no hugging, nothing—”
sieun shot him a death glare.
suho ignored it.
“but today?” suho pointed a chopstick at you, then at sieun “today proved me wrong. because wow. that was— that was some serious dedication, y/n.”
you choked on your water.
he turned fully to you now, squinting.
“actually— how did you get him to sit still for that?” he asked “like, genuinely. this guy flinches when someone pats him on the shoulder. did you tie him down? drug him? hypnotize him? i need to know—”
“can you chew,” sieun cut in sharply “before you talk?”
suho blinked.
and sieun didn’t stop there.
“and honestly,” he added with that cold edge only he had “it’s no wonder no one’s kissing you. you eat like an animal.”
you wheezed.
suho put a hand over his heart like he’d been mortally wounded.
“wow,” he whispered dramatically “hurtful. completely uncalled for. i’m reporting this to the ministry of friendship.”
sieun just rolled his eyes and calmly stabbed another piece of kimchi.
you bit your lip to stop from smiling.
because even though he looked annoyed…
his ears were pink.
however that wasn’t enough for suho, so he continued “y/n, you hear that? you really don’t care that you’re kissing a guy who spits venom from his lips?”
you opened your mouth to respond, but he kept going.
“respectfully, y/n… how? why? are you okay? blink twice if he cursed you.”
you kicked him under the table.
“OW— okay, okay, i’m done,” he groaned, rubbing his shin but still grinning like an idiot “i’m just saying. brave of you. someone had to say it.”
the walk home was quiet at first — the kind of quiet that wasn’t awkward, just… full. full of all the things you wanted to say but didn’t know how.
you kept sneaking glances at sieun, who walked beside you with his hands at his sides, hair falling into his eyes, looking like he was pretending none of today happened.
finally, you couldn’t take it anymore.
“sieun…” you murmured, tugging lightly at his sleeve “i’m really… really sorry about all of that. i didn’t mean for you to go to school looking like—”
“like someone beat me with your lipstick?” he said flatly.
you winced “yes. exactly. i swear i thought it wasn’t waterproof and— i promise, when we get home, i’ll try everything to get it off. oil cleanser, micellar, even—”
“y/n.”
you blinked. his voice was quiet. careful.
he paused in the middle of the sidewalk and looked at you with that intense, unreadable gaze he got when he was fighting himself internally.
there was the faintest pink dusting his cheeks.
“i didn’t… mind.”
your breath hitched.
“huh?”
he looked away, ears turning red now too “i said i didn’t mind.”
you stared at him, stunned.
his fingers twitched like he wanted to hide his face in his sleeves, but instead he kept talking, words a little rushed, like he wanted them out before he lost the nerve.
“it was embarrassing,” he admitted “obviously. and suho won’t shut up about it for a month.”
a tiny, awkward pause.
“but… it felt kind of nice.”
you blinked again “nice…?”
he nodded once, stiff but sincere.
“that everyone saw.”
a beat.
“that you’re mine.”
your heart flipped.
“and i’m yours,” he added quietly “without us having to… do anything extra.”
the air went warm between you, buzzing with something soft and shy and overwhelmingly tender.
you stepped closer, just a little, and his eyes flickered to your red lips for half a second before he tore them away, flustered beyond saving.
“so…” you whispered, smiling softly “you liked my lipstick attack?”
he groaned “don’t call it that.”
you laughed and looped your arm through his.
he let you.
and he didn’t complain once the whole way home.
BONUS ໒꒱:
the moment you two got back to his apartment, you dropped your bag and marched straight to the bathroom like a soldier on a mission.
“sit.” you ordered, pointing at the edge of his bed.
sieun raised an eyebrow, but obeyed — a little too quickly, honestly — sitting stiffly with his hands in his lap, eyes following you as you gathered every makeup remover product known to mankind.
“shh,” you said, climbing onto your knees in front of him “i mind. you’re not going to bed looking like you got mauled by me.”
“i did get mauled by you.” he mumbled.
your hands froze. face heated.
he did not just say that.
“s–shut up..” you whispered.
his lips twitched — dangerously close to a smirk. a rare sight.
you dipped a cotton pad in cleansing oil and gently cupped his chin.
the moment your fingertips touched his face, sieun went rigid.
like someone unplugged him.
“relax..” you said softly.
“i am relaxed..” he lied, shoulders up to his ears.
you rolled your eyes and began wiping away. except… the red stains barely budged.
you scrubbed a little harder.
“ow.”
“sorry—”
“it’s fine.” he said instantly, even though his eye was twitching.
you tried again.
nothing.
you pulled back, holding the pad up. “okay… why is it not coming off? this is literally cleansing oil.”
he stared at the pad — clean as your crimes — then looked at you.
“…maybe it’s a sign.” he said quietly.
you blinked “a sign of what?”
his voice dropped, soft and low and stupidly sweet.
“that you should… leave it.”
your breath stalled.
he met your gaze for half a second before looking away, ears red again.
“i meant what i said earlier,” he muttered “i like it. even if it’s embarrassing.”
you couldn’t help it — a smile pulled at your lips, slow and warm.
you reached out, brushing your thumb gently across one of the stubborn stains on his cheek.
“you’re cute like this.” you whispered.
his inhale was sharp.
“d-don’t say stuff like that.” he said, voice cracking.
“why not?”
“because,” he muttered, eyes flicking anywhere but you “i won’t… be able to think straight.”
you grinned.
“good.”
he stared at you for a few seconds and then, with all the awkward, quiet determination in the world, he leaned forward and nudged his forehead against yours.
not a kiss.
not yet.
just a tiny, shy, warm press.
“you’re the one who attacked me,” he whispered “but i’m the one losing my mind right now...”
your heart melted.
and the stains?
yeah, they stayed.
the whole night.
fin.
if you’d like to read more of my work make sure to check out my weak hero masterlist !! ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭
Do you write for Study Group? I’m interested in how you would write for Yandere!Si-eun x Reader x Yandere!Ga-min. If you don’t, then you can just do Yandere!Si-eun. Thanks!
accidental
yandere! yeon sieun x fem! reader | weak hero class 1 ★
pairing: yandere! yeon sieun x fem! reader
wc: 6.6k
genre: dark romance, strangers to lovers
warnings: stalking, obsession, possessiveness, sexual harassment (not by sieun), bullying, canon violence, suggestive, usage of y/n, intended lowercase
⤷ disclaimer: this is purely a work of fiction and the themes here shouldn’t be romanticized. please read at your own risk. minors dni.
summary: you met sieun by accident — ordinary, unremarkable. but the “accidents” kept happening, piling up, and you never realized it was him orchestrating them all, loving you so fiercely it was meant to scare you… and yet it didn’t.
author’s note: i haven’t watched study group yet unfortunately but it’s on my watch list! also ;; i’m gonna be honest writing this story was kind of difficult for me, since i couldn’t really picture sieun being the “classic” yandere, however it’s true that in s2 he was willing to kill when it came to suho, so my writing is coming from how protective sieun was over suho by the end of s1 (he did mess up wooyoung bad lmao) and all throughout s2 a lot. hope i managed to capture his personality well! ♡ likes, comments and reblogs are super appreciated .ᐟ
ps: there’s also a moment that references this chainsaw man scene haha
you and sieun met for the first time completely by accident.
he was on the bus on his way to cram school, sitting quietly in his seat, gaze fixed on the window, shutting out the world around him. he ignored how packed the bus was, bodies pressed together, footsteps shuffling, voices blending into noise. in his seat, tucked away from the chaos, he was comfortable.
then the bus jerked to a sudden, rough stop.
and someone fell into his lap with a tiny, high-pitched squeak.
you.
before you even realized what happened, you were practically nose-to-nose with sieun, breath brushing his cheek. you froze, eyes wide, then scrambled up so fast you nearly tripped again.
“i— i’m so sorry!” you blurted out, flustered beyond belief “the bus stopped too fast, i should’ve held on tighter— i’m really sorry—”
normally, sieun would’ve been irritated. he didn’t like being touched, noticed, or talked to. if it were anyone else, he would’ve just nodded once and gone right back to the window.
but you…
you caught his attention.
not that he’d admit it.
“it’s okay,” he said, standing up abruptly “you can sit.”
he didn’t know why he offered. he just acted instinctively. something about you made it feel natural.
you blinked up at him, cheeks warm, and sat down shyly. he moved to stand beside your seat, his posture almost… protective, shielding you from the crowd pressing in from all sides.
“everyone alright?” the bus driver called out. a few mumbled responses followed, and the bus rolled forward again.
but sieun wasn’t thinking about the bus anymore.
he was thinking about you.
you sat stiffly, clutching the straps of your worn-out bag, the straps fraying, the fabric faded, decorated with cute pins of characters he didn’t recognize. your school uniform was from a nearby girls’ school, not a fancy one. your lip gloss caught the light when you bit your lip anxiously.
you looked uncomfortable in the crowd.
you looked small.
you looked… cute.
cute?
his eyes widened slightly, and he snapped his gaze forward, stare locking onto nothing.
that was…
weird.
he didn’t think things like that. he didn’t feel things like that. not for strangers.
yet his heart beat just a bit faster.
and for the first time in a very long time, yeon sieun found himself disturbed — not by you falling into his lap… but by the unfamiliar warmth curling in his chest when he looked at you.
the second time you and sieun met was also an accident.
suho had dragged sieun and beomseok out to some restaurant that he swore had “the best fried chicken in the whole world.”
sieun wasn’t thrilled. he’d much rather be studying, but no one could ever win against ahn suho’s relentless enthusiasm, so here he was.
the moment they stepped inside, though, sieun froze.
you were there.
sitting at a table packed with people your age — girls in the same school uniform as you, and a few guys who looked… wrong. loud, obnoxious, grinning like they owned the room.
and you, sitting on the edge of the cushioned bench, gripping the hem of your skirt so tightly your knuckles were white.
you didn’t fit in with them.
not even a little.
then one of the guys slung an arm over your shoulders. you jolted, the exact same startled look from the bus flickering across your face.
“y/n!” he cooed, way too familiar.
y/n… so that was your name.
“let’s make a deal,” the guy said, leaning in close to your ear with a sleazy smirk “if you kiss me, you don’t have to pay for our meal today. if you don’t, you’re covering for the rest of the school year. so? what do you say?”
immediately you tried to pull away, but the girl across from you grabbed your wrists, holding you still. one of the girls lifted her phone to film this whole ordeal, another snorted something about how kissing you would probably be “gross.”
and sieun… sieun saw red.
before suho could even ask what was wrong, sieun was already moving — cutting through tables, chairs, startled waitresses — eyes locked on you.
“leave her alone” he said, voice cold and flat.
the guy laughed “and who the hell are you? hey, y/n, you know this dude? did you get yourself a boyfriend behind our backs?”
your eyes met sieun’s.
confused.
scared.
but there was hope too — tiny, trembling, impossible to miss.
and something inside him snapped.
sieun grabbed the nearest fork off the table, and without hesitation — without even blinking — he drove it straight through the guy’s hand where it rested on the wooden table.
the scream tore through the restaurant.
beomseok gasped. suho shouted “sieun!” and ran towards him, but it was too late —the damage was already done.
“okay— okay, that’s enough, sieun” suho said and sieun looked at him for half a second, calm as ever.
then he turned back to you.
he extended his hand gently, almost carefully, like the violence from two seconds earlier belonged to a different person entirely.
you didn’t look back at your “friends.”
you didn’t look at the chaos unfolding behind you.
you just took his hand.
your fingers slid into his like instinct, like relief, like escape.
and the moment you stood, he stepped slightly in front of you, shielding you from the shocked stares as suho and beomseok hurried the four of you out the door and away from the mess.
you ran away few blocks away from the restaurant and as you hid in some alleyway, suho immediately exploded.
“sieun, what the hell was that? you can’t just stab someone in public! again! first pens, now forks? are you serious?”
beomseok hovered awkwardly beside him.
but sieun…
sieun didn’t respond.
he wasn’t even listening.
his eyes were fixed on you — the way your shoulders shook, the small tremble in your hands as you held your bag against your chest, trying to make yourself smaller.
he stepped a little closer, carefully, like he was approaching an injured animal.
“are you hurt?” he asked, voice strangely gentle.
you shook your head quickly “n-no… i’m okay. i just—” your voice cracked, and you looked down, embarrassed.
“thank you. for earlier,” you whispered “i… i didn’t know what to do. i’m so tired of them. every day it’s something. and i—”
your words broke off, swallowed by your attempt not to cry.
beomseok looked at you then — really looked — and something sad flickered in his eyes.
he knew that exhaustion. that quiet desperation.
“we get it,” he said softly “people can be… cruel.”
sieun’s gaze sharpened at that, but not in anger — in recognition.
he understood too.
“you don’t deserve that” beomseok said simply.
the four of you stood there in the cold, something heavy and unspoken settling between you.
then suho clapped his hands loudly, trying to shake the mood off.
“okay! emotional moment over! i’m still starving, and we risked getting banned from that place so someone owes me chicken.”
he turned to you with a bright grin.
“come with us! we’ll treat you. right guys?”
beomseok nodded politely. sieun didn’t move, but his eyes flicked to you — unreadable, but waiting.
you smiled, timid and grateful.
“you’ve already done more than enough for me. really. i… i should just go home now.”
suho deflated dramatically.
“aww, c’mon, it’s just chicken—”
but sieun spoke before he could finish.
“i’ll walk you” he said.
no hesitation. no question. just certainty.
you stiffened, cheeks warming.
“o-oh… you don’t have to—”
“i want to” he said plainly.
and something in your chest unraveled just a little.
suho caught the way sieun’s eyes flickered the second you nodded. he didn’t miss a thing. immediately, he slung an arm around beomseok’s shoulders, grinning like he knew a secret he wasn’t supposed to know.
“okay, enjoy yourselves, me and beomseok are going to eat” he sing-songed, even throwing in a very obvious wink.
sieun rolled his eyes so hard it was almost impressive, but he didn’t bother arguing. he just turned towards you, quiet as ever.
the walk to your neighborhood was… silent. comfortable, somehow. sieun wasn’t the type to fill the air with pointless words anyway. he didn’t need to.
instead, he watched.
the way you kept your head slightly lowered when you walked, like you didn’t want to take up too much space.
the way you tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear every time the wind messed it up.
the way your shoes scuffed slightly with each step, like you were trying to walk softly even on concrete.
little things. small things. things he shouldn’t care about.
but they all did something to him — something he couldn’t name without feeling ridiculous.
“so this is my neighborhood” you said suddenly, stopping at a quiet street. he blinked, realizing just how far the two of you had wandered. he hadn’t even noticed.
immediately his eyes swept the area — the narrow sidewalk, the flickering streetlight on the corner. he took it all in, mapping it in his head without even thinking about it.
then he looked back at you.
“thank you once again,” you said softly “it was… sieun, right? what you did means a lot to me.”
you smiled — small, shy, the kind you probably didn’t show often.
and his heart did that weird thing again. that uncomfortable skip, like it was reacting before he could.
“it was nothing” he said, voice even.
then, after a beat “can i… get your number?”
your breath caught “m-my number?”
“so you can text me when you get home safe” he added, so casually and plainly that you almost believed that was all it was. almost.
“oh. yeah, sure.”
you typed your number into his phone, your fingers just barely brushing his. he didn’t move.
when you handed the phone back, he sent you a quick text, so that you had his number as well, and tucked the phone into his pocket with a quiet, firm nod.
“goodnight” you said, taking a small step back.
“text me” he replied.
not a request — a certainty.
you didn’t even question it.
you waved once and then disappeared, heading towards your apartment building.
and sieun stood there for a long moment, staring at the spot you’d just been at — heart still doing that strange, unwelcome flutter.
the third time you and sieun met… it wasn’t an accident anymore.
he planned it. every second of it.
he was supposed to be studying — a video of his mom explaining math formulas playing on his laptop — but his eyes kept drifting, unfocused. every time he blinked, he saw you sitting in that restaurant booth, trembling under those filthy hands. he heard your voice, small and tired, telling him you were “so done” with the bullies.
and tomorrow… you were going back there.
without him.
he paused the video. his leg bounced. then, before he could talk himself out of it, he typed the name of your school into the search bar.
not because he wanted to be a creep.
no. he told himself that over and over.
he just… needed to make sure you were safe. that was all.
so the next day, after his classes ended, he walked straight to your school and positioned himself near the gate — close enough to see you, far enough not to look like he was waiting for you.
he knelt down on the sidewalk, pretending to tie his shoelaces. he even rehearsed a sentence in his head “there’s a bus that goes to my cram school nearby, i stopped for a second.”
normal. casual. reasonable.
he stayed like that for minutes, hands hovering near his shoes, waiting.
until—
“sieun?”
your voice. right behind him.
he tightened his grip on the laces so he wouldn’t immediately turn around and stare at you like he wanted to. then he glanced back, perfectly composed.
“oh. hi.” he said, as if it really was nothing.
but then he stood — and the moment he did, he noticed it.
your uniform. ripped right at the shoulder. the ribbon on your uniform barely holding up too, threads hanging, fabric stretched.
his expression didn’t change much. but something in his eyes… froze.
“what happened?”
you immediately looked away when he asked, fingers tightening around the strap of your bag.
“it’s nothing,” you mumbled, trying to sound light “just… clumsy me, i guess.”
sieun didn’t buy that for even half a second.
his eyes sharpened “was it the girls?”
you froze.
that was all the answer he needed.
his jaw clenched — so quietly, so subtly — but the change in him was unmistakable. something cold and dangerous slid behind his eyes, the same thing suho always warned people about.
“should i take care of it?” he asked, voice still calm, but with a certain edge “just tell me if they touched you.”
your breath hitched.
before he could take a step towards the school gate, you reached out on instinct — your hands catching his.
his entire body jolted like you’d shocked him.
he looked down at your fingers wrapped around his, pink dust spreading across his cheekbones so fast he didn’t even have time to hide it.
“n-no,” you whispered, holding on a little tighter “please don’t do anything. i just… i just wanna go home.”
sieun swallowed, hard.
for a moment he didn’t move at all — like your touch pinned him to the earth.
then he sighed, shoulders lowering a fraction.
“…fine.”
he wasn’t happy about it, but he’d listen if you asked.
you started walking together, silence settling softly between you. after a minute, you glanced at him.
“but… what were you even doing at my school anyways?” you asked, confused.
“ah.” he looked forward again, slipping into his practiced excuse “there’s a bus stop nearby. i was just on my way to cram school.”
you laughed a little “really? that’s kinda funny. we keep running into each other everywhere. like it’s fate or something.”
you smiled up at him, warm and innocent.
you had no idea.
no idea that he had searched your school last night.
no idea that he had stood here for ten whole minutes pretending to tie shoes that were already tied.
no idea how tightly he was gripping the sleeve of his bag to stop himself from reaching for your hand again.
“yeah,” sieun murmured, eyes softening as he watched you “fate.”
only he knew it wasn’t.
only he knew he’d make sure it kept happening.
and as he promised — or rather, as he calculated — the “accidental” meetings kept piling up.
at first they felt strange.
then suspicious.
then almost… familiar.
but to you, they seemed like coincidences.
to him, they were perfectly timed steps in a plan he’d never admit he was making.
your next encounter was at a local library.
you came there after school, hugging your books, looking for a quiet corner to study.
the moment you turned into the reading room, you froze.
sieun was already there. hunched over a thick textbook, earphones in, body perfectly still.
you hesitated before walking in — he looked so focused, so intensely absorbed, you didn’t want to disturb him.
but somehow, without lifting his head, he said to you “you’re blocking the light.”
your heart jumped.
“o-oh! sorry—”
you scurried to a corner table, cheeks warm.
he didn’t look at you, not even once.
but every few minutes, he slightly shifted.
just enough to keep you in the corner of his vision.
as you packed your things later, he rose too.
at the same time.
almost like he had been waiting.
and offered to walk you home.
you went there again three days later, this time to a different floor, hoping for quiet.
he found you anyway.
you stood on your toes, reaching for a book on the top shelf when another hand brushed the spine.
you startled.
“ah—!”
“you’ll fall” he said, grabbing the book effortlessly and handing it to you.
your fingers brushed his.
you yanked your hand back, flustered.
“t-thanks…”
he stared down at you, expression unreadable “why do you keep coming here alone?”
“i… dunno. i like it. it’s peaceful.”
he exhaled once through his nose — not annoyance, not quite — something tense and restrained.
“be careful,” he said “some people are watching.”
you thought he meant the store’s customers.
you didn’t know he meant himself watching everyone around you.
then one late evening two weeks later your cram school ended and you ducked into the nearest convenience store craving something sweet.
you opened the fridge door — and nearly screamed.
he was standing on the other side, staring right at you.
“sieun?!” you clutched your chest.
he didn’t flinch.
“you’re loud.”
your ears burned with embarrassment “s-sorry…”
without looking away, he reached into the fridge and held out your favorite drink.
you blinked at it, stunned.
“it’s on sale. here.” he said flatly.
“oh… thank you” you murmured.
he paid for his things and left without a goodbye, but when you stepped outside, he was still there, leaning against the wall, pretending to check his phone, eyes flicking towards you the moment you passed.
you had no idea that this store was completely out of his way and he came there just for one reason — for you.
next encounter happened the same week. rain poured like the sky was collapsing.
you ran to the stop, completely soaked, hugging your backpack to your chest.
and then—
“you’re wet” he said simply.
you gasped when you saw him standing there, umbrella tilted toward you without explanation.
“w-what are you doing here?”
“waiting.”
“for… the bus?”
he didn’t answer.
instead, he stepped closer until the umbrella covered you fully — and left himself getting drenched.
“you’ll get sick…” you whispered.
“i won’t” he said “but you will.”
your heart thudded strangely.
the bus came.
you both got on.
he took the seat beside you without asking.
and behind all these “coincidences,” his thoughts only got sharper. darker. firmer.
he studied you whole — your routine, your habits, your favorite places, your weak points, your fears, the people who bothered you, the ones he already wanted gone.
he learned everything.
not because he meant harm.
but because something inside him had already decided that you were his to protect.
which is why, when you giggled one afternoon and said “would you ever wanna actually hang out? since we keep running into each other like this constantly…”
he nodded casually, like it was nothing “sure.”
but inside?
inside he was already planning where, when, how, and what would happen next.
because fate had nothing to do with it.
he had been making sure you crossed paths with him every single time.
the hangout plan was simple — grab some refreshing drinks at a food truck and then take a walk through the little park you said you loved.
the one with the flowers that bloomed even when everything else felt cold.
you told him it was your “comfort place,” somewhere you liked to clear your mind.
but sieun already knew that.
he’d known long before you mentioned it.
so when the school day ended, he headed straight there and ended up arriving way earlier than he’d planned.
the path was quiet, flowers swaying gently in the breeze, petals catching the fading light.
he glanced at his watch. thirty minutes too soon, but that was fine. he liked being early — better to wait than to be late.
then his phone buzzed.
from you.
y/n: sorry sieun, i can’t make it. something came up.
he froze.
the text wasn’t anything alarming on its own, except… it was from you.
you almost never texted.
ever.
his stomach dropped. something was off.
the phrasing, the tone — too clipped. too careful.
and with the way he knew you? that meant something bad was happening.
he scanned the park, eyes sharp. empty benches, children’s laughter in the distance, joggers passing by. no sign of you.
he moved faster, retracing steps he had memorized like a map from the previous days — the library, the café, the bus stop, even the hidden corners he knew you liked to sit in when no one else was around.
his hands balled into fists, jaw tight. every second without you felt like a lifetime.
finally, he made his way back to your neighborhood.
the streets were quiet. the sun was dipping below the horizon, and the shadows of the buildings stretched long.
and there you were.
your shoulders slumped, backpack hanging heavily on your back.
your hair was messy from the wind, eyes barely able to stay open.
he noticed the faint redness on your neck — a hickey — half-hidden by your collar.
“y/n…” his voice was low, dangerous, full of worry.
he immediately rushed to your side, hands gripping your arms lightly to steady you.
“what happened? are you okay? tell me— i need to know you’re okay.”
you blinked up at him, exhausted, ashamed, but also… relieved to see him.
he didn’t let go.
not now.
not ever.
even in the dim light, with your body trembling from exhaustion, he could see it all. and his chest ached.
as he held your arms, you let yourself fold into him, your forehead resting lightly against his shoulder.
he wasn’t warm — not exactly — but he was steady, and right now that was all you needed.
his hand hovered awkwardly for a second before settling on your back, stiff at first, then tightening as if he couldn’t help himself.
after a few long, quiet minutes, your voice came out small “sorry for not showing up, sieun… would you like to go to my place instead…?”
he froze.
you could feel him gulp, his breath catching.
then a quiet, controlled nod.
you led him through the dim streets to your apartment — no lights on, no shoes by the door, just silence.
and sieun felt something in his chest twist sharply.
just like me… always coming back to an empty home.
we’re the same.
“do you want tea, or—”
“who did it, y/n?”
the words cut through the room like a knife. cold. immediate. no hesitation.
his eyes didn’t move from the mark on your neck, the faint bruise that stood out against your skin like an offense carved into you.
you gave a weak, tired smile “remember the guys from the fried chicken place? yeah. do i… need to say more?” you laughed, but it was hollow, broken at the edges.
and when you tried to brush it off—
“but they didn’t go any further than this, don’t worry. it… could be worse.”
—something in him snapped.
his jaw clenched so tightly it almost shook.
his hands curled into fists at his sides, knuckles whitening.
you saw only a worried boy standing in your kitchen.
but on the inside there was a storm unfolding inside him.
they touched you.
they dared to put their hands on your skin.
they thought they could leave a mark on something that isn’t theirs.
you came home shaking and drained and they laughed about it, probably, while you walked alone.
i should’ve been there.
i should never have let you go by yourself.
you shouldn’t have to deal with this at all — if you were with me, if you stayed by me, no one would dare.
his breathing grew quieter, deeper.
he stepped towards you.
“y/n,” he said softly, but the softness didn’t reach his eyes “tell me their names.”
you shook your head immediately, but he didn’t look away.
he just stood there, expression unreadable, gaze burning.
if you won’t tell me, i’ll find out myself.
i already know where they work.
i’ve already watched them once. it won’t be hard.
he reached out and brushed your hair behind your ear, gentle and careful, yet his fingers trembled, as if trying to restrain something much darker inside him.
“this won’t happen again” he murmured.
a promise, a threat — both.
“not to you.”
you exhaled shakily, and for a moment he just stared at you — really stared.
like he was memorizing every flicker of your expression, every tiny movement of your beautiful lips, every bruise on your skin that did not belong there.
by now, sieun couldn’t wake up without thinking about you.
couldn’t walk home without checking the streets you took.
couldn’t study without imagining you sitting beside him.
you had slipped into his world slowly, completely by accident, until there was no part of his life left untouched by you.
you didn’t know it, but he had rearranged entire days around your safety. your comfort. your smile.
and the thought of someone hurting you again made something cold twist violently inside him.
“don’t come to school tomorrow,” he said, voice flat, steady — the way it always got when he had already made up his mind “stay home. i’m gonna take care of your bullying problem.”
he turned, already planning, already calculating, already ready to walk out your door and ruin anyone who dared lay a hand on you.
but your breath hitched, and your fingers gently curled around his.
just that tiny touch froze him in place.
just you.
“be… careful… please.”
his eyes flicked down to where your hand held his.
so small.
so trusting.
so warm.
for a second, something in him cracked open — a terrifying tenderness he wasn’t used to feeling.
“i will” he said quietly.
because for you, he’d be careful.
for you, he’d be ruthless.
for you, he’d burn the whole world if he had to.
the next day, sieun skipped school.
it was so unlike him that suho and beomseok both spammed his phone, the notifications lighting up his pocket over and over — but he ignored every single one.
he never put anyone before his studies.
never.
until you.
he walked straight to your school, expression blank, steps precise.
he had already memorized the building’s layout last night, piecing it together from every photo, every mention you’d ever made, every scrap of information he could dig up.
and when he finally found the classroom the girls were in, he didn’t knock. he just opened the door and walked in.
the room went still.
“uh— who are you?” one girl scoffed, adjusting her lip gloss.
another one whispered that he looked creepy.
someone else laughed nervously, pointing out that he’s that weird guy from the fried chicken place.
sieun didn’t react.
he just stood in the doorway, hands in his pockets, eyes scanning the room one by one… cold. calculating.
finally, his gaze landed on the main girl — the one whose nail marks he had notice on your wrist that day, when she was trying to hold you in place, when that disgusting guy was touching you.
she froze.
sieun took a slow step towards her desk.
just one.
and somehow the whole room felt smaller.
“you” he said quietly “stand up.”
she scoffed again, but it cracked at the edges.
“w–why? who the hell do you think you—”
he dropped something on her desk.
your ripped uniform ribbon.
her face drained of color.
si-eun leaned in slightly, just enough so only she could hear “touch her again,” he whispered, voice low and steady “and i’ll make sure everyone in this school knows everything you’ve been hiding.”
her eyes widened — because the folder under his arm?
it had her name on it.
and si-eun didn’t bluff.
“i don’t hit girls,” he continued, straightening up “but i don’t need to.”
then he turned to the rest of them — the whole group shrinking under the weight of his stare.
“she’s not alone anymore,” he said simply “try anything… and you’ll regret it.”
he didn’t shout.
he didn’t threaten violently.
he didn’t have to.
the girls were already trembling, gathering their bags, ready to run — but si-eun wasn’t finished.
he paused in the doorway and looked back.
“where are the guys?”
no one answered.
his eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.
“i won’t ask twice.”
one of the girls — the one who mocked you the loudest — broke down instantly.
“t-they’re at the gym! the one a few blocks away— behind the convenience store! that one!”
sieun nodded once.
like that was the answer he expected.
and then he left.
the gym smelled like sweat and metal, grimy and loud — and si-eun walked straight in, ignoring every stare.
the guys were clustered near the weights, laughing, bragging, alive with that ugly energy he remembered all too well.
the one who tried to forcefully kiss you the other day was the first to notice him.
“hey, you’re that kid from the restaurant.” he grinned “the fork stunt that you pulled because of that babe was cra—”
he didn’t finish.
si-eun grabbed a dumbbell — small enough to lift quickly, heavy enough to break a bone — and smashed it onto the guy’s foot with a terrifying precision.
the scream that tore out of him echoed across the gym.
three others lunged at si-eun at once.
he ducked under the first punch, calculating distances, angles, momentum — he didn’t have strength, but he didn’t need it.
he fought like math.
a weight bar to block.
a quick shove that sent someone stumbling into a machine.
a heel to a knee joint, perfectly placed.
but he took hits, too.
because he was still human.
a fist split his lip.
another left his ribs throbbing.
he didn’t stop.
he couldn’t.
not when the image of your tired eyes, your shaking hands, that damned bruised mark on your neck burned behind his eyelids.
finally, he forced the last guy down, pinning him with a forearm across his throat — not enough to choke, but enough to remind him he could.
si-eun wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand.
his voice was low, almost bored.
“listen carefully.”
the guy under him froze.
“if you ever touch her again… if you even look at her in a way i don’t like…”
he leaned in closer, expression flat, emotionless.
“i’ll kill you.”
the guy started shaking.
hard.
“o-okay— okay—”
“not ‘okay’” si-eun corrected, tightening his grip briefly “never again.”
he let go and stood, breathing hard, bruised, split lip dripping red.
the gym was silent.
everyone watched him leave — a thin, quiet boy with blood on his chin and murder in his eyes.
and si-eun didn’t look back once.
he had one goal now.
one person.
you.
you stayed home like he told you to.
you curled up on the couch with a cup of tea, trying to distract yourself, but your mind kept circling back to him.
you’d be lying if you said he didn’t… scare you a little.
you weren’t stupid.
it was strange how often he appeared wherever you were, how he always seemed to know things you never told him.
there was something in his eyes, something sharp and unreadable, something that made your heart quicken for reasons you couldn’t name.
but that same gaze always softened when it landed on you.
and compared to the people who actually hurt you… a boy who fought for you, who stood in front of you every time, didn’t feel like a threat.
at least not to you.
still, the silence of your apartment made it too easy to overthink, too easy to replay every moment in your head.
your fingers tapped anxiously against your mug.
then — a faint knock, barely there.
your breath hitched as you stood and opened the door.
and there he was.
blood smeared across his lip.
bruises darkening along his jaw.
one hand pressed against his ribs like he was holding himself together.
his eyes, however, were calm. eerily calm.
“it’s done,” he said quietly “they won’t bother you anymore.”
no pride.
no explanation.
just the truth, dropped into the small space between you like a confession.
you didn’t ask what he did.
you didn’t need to.
you grabbed his wrist gently and pulled him inside, already searching for the first aid kit.
your hands were shaking. not from fear, but from how badly you wanted to fix him.
he sat on the couch without complaint, watching you in that steady way he always did.
you knelt in front of him and dabbed at the dried blood on his lip, reaching towards a bruise on his cheek—
but his hand came up suddenly, fingers curling around your wrist.
you froze.
looked up.
his voice was low, rough, like each word was dragged out of him.
“don’t go anywhere without me now.”
your breath caught.
“you won’t need school anymore. i’m smart. i can teach you everything at home.”
his thumb brushed slowly over the inside of your wrist.
“you’ll be safe. always. under my control.”
your heart pounded, but you didn’t pull away.
his eyes softened then — dangerously gentle.
“i… i love you, y/n.”
his voice cracked, just a little.
“and if something happened to you—”
he swallowed, jaw tightening.
“i’d lose my mind.”
he waited.
for your fear.
for your rejection.
for anything that would make him step back.
but you looked at him — bruised, trembling, desperate — and something inside you eased.
you nodded.
a tiny, fragile movement.
“okay.”
his fingers tightened around your hand, like he had finally been given permission to breathe.
after this you slowly started to patch him up properly. he tried not to react — but he couldn’t hide it. not from you.
your fingers brushed the cut on his cheek.
his breath hitched.
your palm steadied his jaw.
his eyelashes fluttered, throat tightening.
every place you touched burned — not with pain, but something far worse. something he’d been trying to smother for days now. he felt your warmth seep into him, seep under his skin, seep into the spaces he’d locked off from everyone else his entire life.
and you didn’t pull away.
you stayed.
with him.
it nearly broke him.
his eyes drifted to the hickey on your neck like a magnet, dark and ugly against your skin. he reached out, fingers trembling as they traced the mark “i hate that they thought they could do this to you…”
your expression shifted instantly. you stepped back, covering the mark with your hand, avoiding his gaze. embarrassed. ashamed.
“don’t… remind me. please. i feel disgusting walking around with this. i… never wanted my first kiss, or anything so— i don’t know— intimate like this…”
your voice wavered, soft, honest in a way it had never been before.
“i wanted someone who matters to touch me like that. not… them.”
sieun blinked. once. twice.
“do i matter?” he asked, voice plain — too plain — but inside him everything crashed and twisted at once. jealousy. anger. disgust. possessiveness. sadness. love. lust.
he hated that they hurt you.
hated that they touched something that was never theirs to touch.
“huh?” you looked up at him again, confused for a second, then your expression softened. after a moment of quiet thought, you nodded.
“yeah… i think you do.”
your cheeks warmed instantly, because you knew exactly what you were implying. so did he.
something in sieun stuttered — a breath, a heartbeat, the thin thread of restraint he’d been clinging to.
his eyes dropped to the mark on your neck again. his jaw tightened, then he leaned in just a little, enough for you to feel the heat of his breath.
“and if i hid that ugly mark with my own…” he murmured, voice low, eyes locked on yours “would you mind?”
you swallowed nervously.
agreeing felt terrifying. but it also felt safe and… with sieun it felt almost right.
“i… i wouldn’t mind” you whispered, voice small but sure.
his breath hitched — just enough for you to notice — and you shifted closer, sitting down beside him. your knee brushed his, and somehow that tiny touch made his shoulders tense, like he was trying not to tremble.
you leaned in first, barely, a soft nudge of your lips against his.
he kissed you back — shy, clumsy, almost hesitant. it was obvious he didn’t have any real experience, his movements unsure, searching, learning you in real time.
but you weren’t any better.
so you didn’t mind.
you just let him kiss you.
slowly, like the gravity between you was pulling him down, he braced a hand beside your hip and leaned over you until your back met the couch cushions. his hair fell a little into his eyes, the bruises on his face made him look even softer, somehow.
“tell me if you want me to stop” he murmured, breath brushing your skin.
you shook your head and that was all he needed.
his lips trailed downwards, slow and careful, giving you chance after chance to pull away. he reached the mark on your neck, and for a moment he only pressed a gentle kiss there. a question. a warning. a promise.
you let out a soft, shaky sigh.
and something in him snapped loose at that soft sound of yours.
his mouth closed over the mark and then he began to suck, deliberate and unhurried. like he could erase every trace of what they did. like he could overwrite it with himself. like cleansing a wound, purifying something sacred that had been dirtied.
each slow pull of his lips felt like him saying mine mine mine without ever speaking a word.
and you didn’t push him away.
you couldn’t hold back the sounds that slipped out of you, breathy moans that you couldn’t control. your fingers gripped at the sleeves of his shirt, pulling him closer without even realizing it. and the moment he heard you, really heard you, he didn’t stop. couldn’t.
he moved lower, then higher, then across your throat, slow and possessive. each kiss turned into another mark, each mark darker than the last. he mapped your neck with his mouth, claiming every inch of skin they had touched, every place that made you shiver under him.
you were wriggling beneath him, face flushed, breaths coming unevenly. his weight above you, the heat of his body, the desperation in every kiss — it all made your pulse race.
after a few minutes he finally pulled back, bracing himself above you. his elbows sank into the couch and he looked down at you through heavy lashes. his lips were swollen, darker now, his breath uneven. there was a tiny curve to his mouth, a hint of a smile you had never seen on him before — dangerous in how soft it was.
“i’ll make you happy, y/n,” he whispered, voice rough and sure “now that you’re mine… there’s nothing left in this world that can hurt you.”
your heart stuttered in your chest, the words crashing over you like a tide you couldn’t fight.
and all you could do, all you wanted to do, was pull him back down.
you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him again, deeper this time, trusting him, surrendering to him, letting him have you the way he had wanted from the very beginning.
and he kissed you like he planned to keep you forever. because he did.
fin.
if you’d like to read more of my work make sure to check out my weak hero masterlist !! ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭
THE AIR SMELLS OF BAY LEAVES AND FRANKINCENSE. SUNLIGHT GLEAMS OFF TOPAZ RIVERS AND AMBER BLADES OF GRASS —
AS FAR AS THE EYE CAN SEE.
" WELCOME HOME, SATORU. "
TAGS. gojo/reader, childhood friends to... something, pining, mostly follows canon plot except i yell objection every so often. typical jjk violence, gore, death. monk!reader. lots of talk about buddhism that i researched/based on my own experience but i'm not an expert (mostly based on mahayana/pure land/zen schools but it's really just "fantasy buddhism"); reader's clan's precepts are inspired by the midnight blades sect in where winds meet.
NOTES. this whole thing is incredibly self-indulgent so is it slice of life? yes. romance? yes. action? yes. pls nobody @ me about the pacing bc i know its a mess but i havent written a chaptered linear story like this in ages so just enjoy the vibes im beaming into your brain ty <3
you can comment on any post in this series to be added to the shiny new taglist! <3
The Four Noble Truths of Buddhism explain that everything is impermanent, but that humans crave and cling to impermanent things, causing suffering that blocks the path to that ultimate liberation. Raised in a strict religious clan with a history dating back millennia, you are one of jujutsu society's most trusted pillars of unwavering stability. Your role? To cull the weak and willing.
However, Gojo Satoru, with his eyes containing the heavens, sees not a killer, but a friend. Juggling the no-attachments expectations of your clan with Satoru's overwhelming affection is hard enough, but when your heart starts to hammer at the sight of his smile and every brush of his shoulder against yours, you find yourself at a crossroads – one you cannot ignore.
“Su-Hyeok, what do you think of Nam-Ra’s interpretation?”
Class 2-5 all turn their heads to the back, trying—but failing—to suppress their laughter, awaiting what kind of nonsense would spew from Su-Hyeok’s mouth this time around.
“I agree. She’s 100% correct.”
Some giggles slip through before Ms. Park silences them by holding her hand up. “Great,” Ms. Park says sarcastically, with an air of teasing. “Now…just what do you agree with again?”
Su-Hyeok doesn’t even falter, replying with, “If she could be kind enough to repeat her response so that I can gather my thoughts more coherently….” The whole class loses it right then and there.
His seat-mate further rubs salt into the wound by whispering between bouts of laughter, “Yah, did you even have any thoughts to begin with?” This earns him a glare, but he was too far gone to care.
Su-Hyeok grimaces, seeing the disappointment on Ms. Park’s face mixed with amusement as she gestures for Nam-Ra to recite her previous statement again. With the amount of times he acts up in the same manner on a regular basis, he’s surprised and grateful that she still allows him to step foot into class for lessons.
Nam-Ra rises once more, her chair creaking slightly, though that doesn’t wake you up from your nap next to her. Currently, you were turned away from the window, left elbow flat on the desk surface as a makeshift pillow. “All of us have some sort of prejudice. We all have preconceptions about other people.”
“Precisely,” Ms. Park compliments. “Thank you, Nam-Ra, for saying that twice.” With her emphasis on the word, she fixes her stern gaze on Su-Hyeok, but her next words are the exact opposite. “Bare-Su, please pay more attention to my lesson during class time and less on staring at your girlfriend, Y/N.” She raises her eyebrows teasingly.
Su-Hyeok is quick to correct her, trying to suppress the heat he feels slowly making its way up to his face. “Ms. Park,” he says incredulously. “We’re not together.”
“Eyyy,” Dae-Su’s booming voice reverberates in the classroom. “Now you’re just making up lies.” You stir at the loud sound, but it’s still not enough to make you open your eyes.
“I’m serious, Dae-Su,” Su-Hyeok splutters.
“Yet you’re not denying having stared at Y/N~,” Wu-Jin drawls, giving Dae-Su’s awaiting hand a high-five with a resounding smack.
“You guys, cut it out already!” Su-Hyeok says exasperatedly to deaf ears. “Ms. Park, how come Y/N is taking a sound nap in class, but I’m the one being ganged up on?”
“This is the first time it has happened, and she’s still ranked 3rd in the class. I can afford to let it slide,” Ms. Park crosses her arms and smiles, entertained by Su-Hyeok’s excuses.
“Isn’t this blatant favoritism?” Su-Hyeok mumbles under his breath.
“You also favor Y/N, so you can’t be one to talk,” his seat-mate teases him for the second time that day.
“You’re not even on the baseball team so why are you so hell-bent on hitting home runs with your sassy remarks today, huh?” Su-Hyeok slaps him upside the head.
“Alright, alright, settle down class. I think that’s enough punishment for our Bare-Su today.” When Ms. Park turns back to the blackboard, she says loud enough for the class to hear, “No worries. We can just ask Y/N for confirmation when she’s up.” By how much the students were cracking up, it suddenly seems like a free period.
“Seonsaengnim!”
At Su-Hyeok’s outburst, you wake up, trying to settle back into reality. Of course, Ms. Park notices your state of rousing. She’s not one to miss any little detail.
“Ah, good morning to you, Y/N. So glad you can finally join us.” Her words hold no malice at all, but you’re still sheepish.
Shyly scratching you head, you voice out, “I apologize for dozing off. Did I miss anything important?” You finally notice all eyes on you. Well, save for Su-Hyeok’s. “Guys….? Why are you all looking at me like that?”
“Well—" Dae-Su begins but is cut off by Ms. Park.
“Please refrain from sleeping again in my class as it’s a distraction…to some more than others.”
Laughter rings loud and clear again, all directed towards Su-Hyeok as you turn to Nam-Ra for answers in bewilderment.
“Banjang, you’re the smartest one here. What’s going on?”
Nam-Ra spares a glance at you with a slight smirk, an expression you’ve never seen on her before, despite how much she’s warmed up to you as her seat-mate and friend, though she’s hesitant to admit to the latter.
“Oh, it’s nothing,” Nam-Ra says dismissively, but lightly. “Ms. Park was just teaching Su-Hyeok about preconceptions.”
˚ ༘✶ ⋆｡˚ ⁀➷2. On-Jo
Linking your arm through Nam-Ra’s while balancing your tray with your other hand, you pull her in the direction of where On-Jo and I-Sak were already seated with their own lunches piled high with food.
“Save some for the rest of us, On-Jo,” you joke as you and Nam-Ra sit down on the opposite bench, pointing to your friend’s tray.
“Ha ha, very funny,” On-Jo pouts. “I don’t eat a lot; I just eat well.”
“A little too well,” Nam-Ra chimes in, causing you to choke on your banana milk in laughter and surprise. Since Nam-Ra started opening up to your friend group, you can already see the influence it’s had on her. Her conversations may still be minimal, but boy do they pack a punch.
While you all wait for the rowdy boys to join, I-Sak mimes pulling you, Nam-Ra, and On-Jo into a huddle and whispers, “So, have you guys thought about who’s asking who to the spring formal in a few months?” Here, she raises her eyebrows and adds, “Better yet, who are you hoping will ask you?”
“Aish,” you rebuke. “I thought you were about to spill your biggest secret or something!”
“Hey, I’m just curious! Not all of us are set and ready like you are, Y/N!” I-Sak winks at you as you’re in the middle of chewing.
You finish your bite before replying, “Huh?”
“Well, you and Su-Hyeok are already dating, so isn’t it obvious you’ll be attending together?” On-Jo answers.
Flabbergasted, you retort, “But we’re not in a relationship. I thought that was what’s obvious.” Your eyebrows scrunch together in confusion.
“Tsk, since when did you become so good at lying, our sweet and innocent Y/N?” I-Sak pokes you with the clean end of her chopstick.
“There’s nothing going on between us,” you emphasize. “I’ve known him since we were babies, and he definitely doesn’t like me in that way. I know that for a fact!” You point from Nam-Ra, to On-Jo, and finally to I-Sak. “Not one more word from you guys, alright?”
Nam-Ra slurps a spoonful of her seaweed soup loudly.
You turn to her and narrow your eyes. “Now, what’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well, you said not one more word,” Nam-Ra says without missing a beat. “That was a sound.”
You could never win against Nam-Ra verbally. “Don’t tell me you agree with On-Jo and I-Sak,” you say while facepalming. “Look guys, he’s really sweet, kind, caring, brave…” Realizing you’re rambling when the girls give you a look, you blush and backpedal. “What I mean,” you say as you fix them all with a gaze of finality, “is that it’d be weird. We grew up together, and we fight all the time.”
“I like to call that lover’s quarrel,” On-Jo states.
You roll your eyes and throw a clean crumpled napkin at her, which she manages to dodge.
“I also forgot nice smile, athletic, handsome—" I-Sak mimics your voice. You know it’s bad how spot-on it is when even Nam-Ra laughs.
“Yah! Do you want to die?”
On-Jo protects I-Sak from your slaps to her arm. “Just admit that you like—" On-Jo is interrupted by a voice you know all too well.
“Like what?” Su-Hyeok asks, oblivious, as he plops down next to you, nudging your shoulder with his out of habit as the boys fill in the rest of the bench, focused on their own conversations.
“Yeah, Y/N, what were you going to say?” I-Sak prods, smiling wider than you thought humanly possible.
You plead with your eyes to Nam-Ra for help, but she’s just the same as the other two, fixing you with a mischievous grin. Su-Hyeok looks at you expectantly, waiting for an answer.
“Uh…I was just saying that I like,” you stall as you look around for a way out. Your gaze lands on a drink everyone has on their tray. “The banana milk!” You cringe as the words leave your mouth.
“Oh, in that case,” Su-Hyeok hands over his bottle to you. “Here, you can have mine.”
As he turns to his right to talk to Cheong-San, I-Sak flashes you a heart with her fingers discreetly, Nam-Ra elbows you in the arm playfully, and On-Jo—you’re going to get her big time for this.
Before Su-Hyeok is finished with his conversation and turns back to you, she mouths, “I love oo yoo.”
˚ ༘✶ ⋆｡˚ ⁀➷3. Cheong-San
You have no idea why your friends decided to play soccer during lunch when it was scorching hot out, especially a day before exams, but followed nonetheless. On-Jo and I-Sak opted out and were currently benched, acting as cheerleaders. You, however, got dragged into the game as Nam-Ra was the referee and she didn’t want to be the lone girl on the field.
The sun was starting to make you sweat, and you chalked it up to the heat beating down on your head for the sudden dizziness you were feeling. You shook your head and tried to focus on the game that was about to start.
Cheong-San was right next to you, and on the far end of the field you could see Su-Hyeok playing goalie. As Dae-Su kicked off signaling the first half, you began to stagger as your vision becomes unfocused. Just when Cheong-San is about to sprint off in the direction of the ball Dae-Su had kicked, you grab onto his arm, stopping him.
“Cheong-San, I don’t feel too good,” you say.
He steadies you by the shoulder and peers at your face. “Y/N, you’re looking a little more than just pale. Do you think you’ll be okay? Want to sit down for a minute with On-Jo and I-Sak?” You close your eyes as your head spins but manage to give a weak nod when he checks your forehead temperature with his hand.
“Hey! What’s going on over there?” Someone screams across the field, questioning.
As Cheong-San takes your wrist to lead you back to the girls, your vision goes black and the last thing you remember is someone catching you to break your fall.
***
On-Jo and I-Sak were the first ones to reach you as Cheong-San tries to sit you up. He gets you to somewhat lean on his chest, an arm around your shoulder as the girls crowd around to see what they could do to help.
“Is Y/N alright?” Not getting a response, Nam-Ra checks your pulse and breathing. “Her heartbeat is a little fast, one of the tell-tale signs of heat exhaustion. Perhaps that's the case?”
“I think we should take her to the nurse either way,” On-Jo says, I-Sak nodding in agreement.
“On-Jo, come with me,” Cheong-San directs, as he maneuvers you for a proper piggyback.
“Move,” Su-Hyeok says, seriously.
“It’s okay, I got her,” Cheong-San replies as On-Jo helps to stabilize you on his back.
“Guys, this isn’t the time to fight,” Nam-Ra admonishes, pointing at your unconscious form.
Without another word, Su-Hyeok picks you up easily and carries you away, with Cheong-San and On-Jo in tow all the way to the infirmary.
Once there, On-Jo decided to go get some snacks since everyone skipped lunch, leaving the two boys behind with you after the nurse assessed your condition.
Cheong-San starts chuckling quietly as Su-Hyeok glares at him.
“Why are you laughing?”
“I don’t find the situation funny, if that’s what you’re asking. I’m worried for Y/N as well.”
Su-Hyeok narrows his eyes at Cheong-San. “Why?”
Dumbfounded, Cheong-San replies, “Why would you ask that? She’s a good friend. We grew up together too you know.”
When Su-Hyeok doesn’t respond, Cheong-San nudges him with his foot under the bed to which the former just makes an incoherent noise. “You’re jealous, aren’t you?”
“I’m not jealous at all that you caught Y/N before she fainted.”
“I never mentioned that,” Cheong-San says between laughs, dimple on full display. “Would you rather I had dropped her to the ground? I don’t know why you would be mad when I was just lending a hand, and considering that you guys are dating and all…” he trails off.
“We’re not dating,” Su-Hyeok says flatly.
“Stop messing around with me Bare-Su,” Cheong-San teases, tilting his head in the direction of your small hands that Su-Hyeok was currently enveloping in his large ones.
“You idiot, I’m not kidding. We’re just friends; that’s all.” He doesn’t let go of your hands. If anything, he cradles them even tighter.
Cheong-San pauses, thinking whether to believe him or not. “Okay, hypothetically let’s say you guys aren’t together—"
“—Because we’re not,” Su-Hyeok interrupts.
“Hypothetically,” Cheong-San stresses. “Then, do you like Y/N?”
“Then, do you like On-Jo?”
“I asked first!”
“I—"
When you open your eyes, you’re met with a white ceiling and curtains, the sound of the machine displaying your vitals beeping away. Recognizing that you were in the school’s infirmary due to the IV drip and the strong smell of antiseptic, the only thing you remembered was fainting. Everything after is a blur.
You hear hushed whispers and realize it was Su-Hyeok and Cheong-San in the room with you. “What are you two idiots arguing about this time?” You rasp. Their heads whip towards you, shocked and simultaneously relieved.
“How much of our conversation did you hear?”
“That’s the first thing you ask me? I don’t even get a ‘how are you’?” You fake mock hurt at Su-Hyeok’s question.
“Are you okay?” Cheong-San asks.
“I like Cheong-San better,” you joke and stick your tongue out at Su-Hyeok as Cheong-San does the same.
“We were worried sick but I guess you’re fine now that you’re back to bullying me,” Su-Hyeok complains. “So feisty for such a tiny human.”
“Easy for you to carry,” Cheong-San mutters, earning a kick from Su-Hyeok. “OUCH!” He exclaims as he begins to rub his shin from the impact.
You look between the two of them, more confused than ever but decide to let it go. “Why am I here again? I only know I passed out.”
Su-Hyeok flicks you on the forehead. “The nurse said you were dehydrated and it seemed like you didn’t eat or sleep well enough. Coupled with the heat exhaustion, your already tired body couldn’t handle it and you went down.”
“Oh.”
“Oh? Is that all you can say? You scared me to death. You stayed up late studying again huh?”
“Maybe…” You reply guiltily. The boys shake their heads at your predictable nature. You always study like crazy but this has never happened before, so you were going to make sure to not accidentally neglect self-care for good grades again. “How did I get here from the field?”
“Cheong-San caught you and—"
“Awww, you did?” You sit up and spread your arms for a hug, having to let go of Su-Hyeok’s hands to do so. Cheong-San was going to return it until he turned to Su-Hyeok for permission.
“Why do you need to ask whether he’d allow it?” You roll your eyes. “My arms are getting tired.” You pull Cheong-San in for a hug and he returns the friendly gesture.
Just then, the door opens and On-Jo comes in with a plastic bag full of goodies. “Y/N, you’re awake!” She rushes over to squeeze the life out of you.
“On-Jo…can’t breathe,” you say in between pauses.
She lets you go and elbows Cheong-San. When he doesn’t get the hint, she takes him by the hand and drags him out, leaving the bag behind on the table for you. Just before the door closes, Cheong-San pops his head in again. “Su-Hyeok carried you in his arms all the way here!”
“AISH!” Su-Hyeok throws his backpack at the door, but the two had already left.
You turn to Su-Hyeok who won’t meet your gaze. Poking his arm, you tease him. “So, you do care.” If you had been awake at the time, surely you would be a living tomato with the stares you know for a fact you would be getting from being transported that way across school grounds.
Su-Hyeok just breathes out exasperatedly. “More than you know.” He said the line so quietly, you would’ve missed it if you weren’t paying attention.
Not knowing what came over you, you lean over and kiss him on the cheek. “Thank you,” you say. Both of you were surprised with matching blushes as proof.
Too embarrassed now for having been so bold, you make the excuse of feeling tired and lay down, turning your head to the other side to hide your smile. Su-Hyeok grabs your hand again even as you close your eyes.
His phone dings with a text and you hear him curse under his breath. “That little—“
Which could only mean one thing: Cheong-San.
[ Text: Are you sure you’re not dating? I saw everything through the window ]
˚ ༘✶ ⋆｡˚ ⁀➷4. Gyeong-Su
You’re walking along the school’s skybridge when you hear someone calling.
“Y/N! Wait up!”
You stop and turn around, smiling when you see it’s Gyeong-Su. He’s such a sweetheart that your friend group always has a soft spot reserved for him.
He pants as he comes to a stop next to you, falling into pace by your side. “Geez, for someone with such short legs, you walk incredibly fast.”
“Is that all you wanted to say to me?” You push him.
Gyeong-Su laughs. “No, no. I’m just kidding. I have a favor to ask.”
“Glad to know you start asking for favors by first insulting the person.”
“I’m sorry okay!” He didn’t look sorry at all. “I need help with English. If I fail this next exam, I’d have to retake the class and the teacher and I already don’t get along,” he frowns.
“I’m not saying that I decline, but wouldn’t Nam-Ra be a better choice?”
“Sure, but she hasn’t studied abroad. You lived in New York for a year before high school.”
“Alright, but if your English has the accent of a New Yorker, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“Better an accent than the Konglish I’m speaking with in class. Everyone always laughs when I have to read something.”
You giggle. “I can meet you in the library after our last class period. It’s a Friday anyway so we don’t have school tomorrow, which means we can stay a little later than usual. Does that work for you?”
“Yes! Thank you so much, Y/N.” Gyeong-Su looked so happy it was contagious. His smile suddenly falters as he leans in to tell you, “Although, I hope that you won’t let Su-Hyeok know.”
“What? What does he have to do anything?”
Gyeong-Su looks at you like you had two heads growing from your neck, gazing pointedly. “Well, I certainly wouldn’t want him to be mad that I’m spending time with you. He’d beat me up. It’s clear which of us would win in a fight, come on now.”
“Why would he be mad?” You inquire, baffled.
“You know, for ranking third place in class, you’re not as bright as I thought.”
“Watch it,” you warn, playfully angry.
“You’re supposed to be tutoring me for language skills but here I am, having to spell everything out for you.” Gyeong-Su gives you a moment to see if you would figure it out but when he sees the gears turning in your head, he sighs. “Su-Hyeok might get jealous and I don’t want that. You know, protective boyfriend and all. The what-have-you’s from all those dramas.”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” you say as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, which to you it certainly was.
“Whatever you say. If you see me one day with a black eye and a broken leg, you’re going to be held responsible for my hospital bills.”
You roll your eyes as Gyeong-Su waves and goes on his way, promising to meet up later.
***
A few hours pass and you find a seat in the corner of the library where it’s more silent and there’s a window nook in between two bookshelves against the wall; it was your favorite study spot aside from your bedroom.
Gyeong-Su is more punctual than you imagined, showing up barely a few minutes after you with all his study materials. At the moment, his backpack could be used as a weapon with everything he packed inside.
“Are you sure you’re here to study, or are you preparing for war?” You stare in amazement as he pulls endless amounts of materials from his bag.
“I wasn’t kidding about not wanting to repeat class.” An English textbook comes slamming onto the table and you shush him hurriedly. Thankfully, the other students are too busy studying with their headphones in to mind the noise.
“We can work on spelling first,” you guide as you flip through his workbook.
You’re surprised at how fast Gyeong-Su learns after just a few units, and even more proud at the effort he puts into grasping the subject. Perhaps you could finally understand why teachers always glow when their students succeed.
“Wow, would you look at that. I’m a great tutor,” you boast.
“Your ego is pretty great too.”
You hit him on the head with a pencil but he just laughs it off. Your phone keeps vibrating with messages, so not wanting it to be a distraction, you put it on ‘do not disturb’ mode without checking the notifications on screen and proceed to place it upside down on the table.
Both you and Gyeong-Su are too focused on your studies to notice Su-Hyeok coming into the library.
“Y/N, did you lose your phone?”
You look up, even more surprised than Gyeong-Su at his presence. “How did you know we were here?”
“You didn’t tell him? Wow, I’ll remember that the next time I have a secret I need you to keep,” Gyeong-Su says, fascinated.
“I waited an hour for you at the school gates to walk home together, but you never showed up so I texted Cheong-San and he said you were tutoring Gyeong-Su in the library.”
“Oh my god, I totally forgot.” You put your hand on your head. Su-Hyeok would always walk you home as you two live in the same area, neighbors to be exact. “I’m so sorry you had to wait that long. It totally slipped my mind!” He didn’t look mad, just tired. “You can go home without me you know. I wouldn’t want you to wait even longer. I still have a few chapters left to help Gyeong-Su with.”
“Are you kidding? I’m not letting you go by yourself in the dark. A few more hours is nothing.” Before you can refuse, he dumps his backpack on the floor and scoots the adjacent chair closer to yours, sits down, and leans his head on your shoulder. “Wake me up when you’re done.”
He’s out cold in a few minutes, and you can only blame it on sleep deprivation; the badge every high school student wears proudly.
“Now that the boyfriend is sleeping and won’t fight me—“
“How many times do I have to tell you, Gyeong-Su? We’re not dating.”
“Sure, because that’s totally what friends do,” he says sarcastically.
As he goes back to his notes, you look down at Su-Hyeok leaning on you, moving his hair out of his eyes carefully so as not to wake him. Were his eyelashes always that long? His nose bridge so high? His skin so clear? His lips—
“Earth to Y/N,” Gyeong-Su waves his hand in your face. “You guys sure have a thing for staring at the other when they’re asleep. You know, it’s the same look on your faces too.”
“What? We don’t do that.”
“First, he gets caught by the whole class and now you get caught by me. You’re lucky it’s just one person who’s seeing this.”
You brush aside the first thing Gyeong-Su says, because Su-Hyeok having feelings for you? Impossible.
“I wasn’t staring!” That draws the attention of a few students nearby.
“Fine, admiring tastefully then.”
You look down at Su-Hyeok again. “You have to admit, it’s pretty endearing seeing someone sleep.”
Gyeong-Su snorts. “You’re just saying that because it’s Su-Hyeok. If it was me, you would’ve already sent me flying clear across the room with a kick.”
Not really being able to argue with that, you ignore it and turn back to give Gyeong-Su another exercise when Su-Hyeok stirs. “Next, can you describe us all with one word and spell it correctly?”
He ponders for a moment before pointing to himself: “Amazing.” A-M-A-Z-I-N-G is the first line on his notebook.
Next, he points to Su-Hyeok: “Barefoot.” You laugh at the accuracy while Su-Hyeok curses Gyeong-Su. It’s even funnier seeing him write it down in all seriousness. B-A-R-E-F-O-O-T is the next line.
A pencil aims at your face as Gyeong-Su mocks: “Gnome.”
“You’re getting awfully comfortable with the short jokes there.” G-N-O-M-E goes down in the third line.
“She’s just petite,” Su-Hyeok tries to defend you, doing a horrible job at it.
“Great, she thinks you’re lovable and he thinks you’re cute.”
“You do?!” You and Su-Hyeok say to one another at the same time.
“The two of you aren’t fooling anyone with this ‘We’re not together’ thing. Here’s a word to describe both of you. Gyeong-Su scribbles something quickly down on the notepad in perfect English and holds it up sideways for you as he reads it out loud, gesturing with his pointer finger between you and Su-Hyeok:
┌──────────┐
ᑕOᑌᑭᒪE ♡
└──────────┘
˚ ༘✶ ⋆｡˚ ⁀➷5. Nam-Ra
No one ever comes to class early like she does, and so Nam-Ra is more than surprised to see Su-Hyeok of all people stepping foot into the room, the slide of the wooden door announcing his entrance. He jumps when he sees her already there.
“What is it?” Nam-Ra cuts to the chase.
“Uh…nothing,” Su-Hyeok stammers.
“Whatever’s in your hands doesn’t seem like nothing.”
He quickly hides the note behind his back.
Nam-Ra raises an eyebrow at this and taps your still-empty desk. “Go ahead and put it here. I’ll let Y/N know.”
“It’s not for her.”
“Su-Hyeok, you’re talking to me, not Dae-Su. I don’t believe that statement in the slightest.”
Su-Hyeok sighs as he walks over to your seat and sits down. “Prez, I need advice.”
“Hmm, what did On-Jo call it? Lover’s quarrel, was it? I’m not that experienced to be a love guru.”
“We’re not—"
“Cut it out. No matter how many times you guys deny it, it won’t make it true.”
“But—"
“Nope.” Seeing as he wasn’t going to say anything else, Nam-Ra smiles to herself. If she can keep this up, maybe they’ll actually stop dancing around one another. “Now, why are you here and not with Y/N like you usually are?”
“She’s mad at me.”
“I find that hard to believe, but explain.”
“Y/N has been avoiding me and I don’t know why. We were fine still during the study session with Gyeong-Su, but after that day she’s been keeping her distance. She flinches when I so much as sit near her, when I talk to her, she can’t look me in the eyes, and when we walk home together, she’s always speeding ahead. I think I might’ve done something wrong, but I also don’t think I have? That’s why I was planning to put this apology letter on her desk.”
Nam-Ra brushes her hand down her face at the absurdity of the situation. “You guys are hopeless.”
“Excuse me?”
“Are you telling me or asking me about whether you messed up?”
“Uh…both?”
“Gosh, you’re clueless.”
“I didn’t know advice came with being bashed.”
“Just answer ‘yes’ or ‘no’ to my following questions.” Nam-Ra receives a nod in response.
“Look, you haven’t done anything wrong right?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Does Y/N turn red when you’re near?”
“Yes, now that you mention it.”
“Is she becoming more flustered now when she never was before?”
“Also a yes to that question.” Su-Hyeok’s eyes widen and when Nam-Ra finally thinks he’s pieced it together, he hits her with the entire force of collective obliviousness in the world. “Oh no! Do you think she’s come down with something? Is she sick?”
“Aigoo!” She smacks him on the head with her workbook.
“Hey! What was that for?”
“Focus!”
“I was until you gave me a concussion!”
“That’s not how that works—oh never mind! Just, think! I know it’s not something you usually tend to do, but try!”
“As long as you don’t hit me again.”
Nam-Ra ignores his previous words and continues. “Since you said you guys aren’t together I’ll believe it just for today.”
“There’s nothing to believe or not, we really don’t have that kind of a relationship.”
“But do you want to?”
“I don’t think she likes me like that—"
“Yes or no only.”
“Fine, yes. I can’t believe I’m telling you before I tell Y/N.” Su-Hyeok slumps in his seat.
“So, you like her.” Nam-Ra states it as is, no longer questioning.
“I can’t say no now after what I said earlier, so yes. I really do.”
“Then just go tell her. It’s not that hard. You’re making a simple thing more difficult than quantum mechanics.”
“Does Y/N even like me back for me to confess?”
“Yes. You’re a fool for not noticing it: the avoidance, the distance, the shyness. Any of that ring a bell?” She can pinpoint exactly when the realization hits him. “Everyone can see it except for the two of you. I’m shocked that it took me to smack some sense into you; literally and metaphorically.”
“I always thought that all friends were like us.”
“In what world? Friends don’t look at each other like that.”
Su-Hyeok springs up from his chair with a hasty thank you, promising to think it through before confessing, and rushes off to who knows where.
When he leaves, Nam-Ra sits alone pondering whether she should just change her last name to Cupid.
Cheong-San and On-Jo clearly need some arrows as well.
˚ ༘✶ ⋆｡˚ ⁀➷ +1
When Cheong-San’s mom invites the friend group to their chicken restaurant for a free meal, no one could decline.
You and Su-Hyeok come in a bit later after everyone had already started eating, hand-in-hand.
“There’s the cute couple!” Cheong-San’s mom exclaims, handing over the largest platter of fried chicken you’ve seen in your life.
“Mrs. Lee, they’re not—” everyone at the table choruses in unison, except for Nam-Ra.
“We are!” You say, holding up your clasped hands.
Dae-Su drops his chicken on the floor in shock and everyone’s mouths hang open comically in silence.
“Mwoya? Have you been fooling us all this time?” Your friends talk over one another, but the sentence is somehow comprehensible.
“Just ourselves,” Su-Hyeok admits, looking down at you fondly, only to see you already gazing up at him.
summary ➳ you’re a delinquent, who’s actually scary and intimidating unlike gwinam. cheongsan is a normal student. there shouldn’t be any connections between you two... right?
pairings ➳ lee cheongsan x delinquent!male reader
warnings ➳ fluff, foul language, mention of fights, secret healthy relationship, sparkles of jealousy, mention of gyeongsu’s death, nayeon throwing herself at reader, use of weapon (knife), blood, reader and cheongsan having sexual tension the entire fic lmao
“How about you, Cheongsan? What do you think of (Y/n)?”
The said male looks up from the foods in front of him to his friends, catching their curious gazes.
They had been talking about (L/n) (Y/n), the most feared delinquent on campus who actually doesn’t seem that much of a delinquent because of high grades and the lack of involvement in bullying. You were quiet and did nothing but to mind your own business in class, occasionally talking back against teachers that called you out for being late or skipping classes, and sending death glares to everyone who tries to get close.
You were an odd delinquent; involving yourself in fights only when necessary, accepting the teachers’ call for help, aggressively helping people who tripped in front of you, only minding your own business, and not minding people who accidentally spilled their drinks on you. You act how a delinquent shouldn’t, and it seems like you’re only called that is because you’re not afraid to speak out your thoughts no matter how hurtful it is, you’re intimidating and scary, and you beat up people.
His friends have stated their own opinions about you, mostly positive and only a small amount of negative, while Cheongsan continuously ate his food with his head hung low, since he didn’t want to partake in it. Though, he should’ve known his friends would not miss a chance to hear everyone’s opinion.
He looks at the table three rows away where you sat quietly alone, eating your favorite food and reading a book. That’s also one thing that makes you so unlike from other delinquents.
You look handsome like this, sitting in a way a delinquent would with all your focus fixed on the book. It’s almost as if you’re a godly, unrealistic being painted on a canvas by a professional and perfectionist painter.
Cheongsan didn’t understand why everyone found you so intimidating and scary; in all honesty, he thinks girls should be screaming, squealing and freaking out over you like those girls in cliché romance anime with handsome main character from how insanely and unbelievably attractive you are. But, in all honesty again, he would be irritated and annoyed if that actually happens.
“He seems fine to me,” Cheongsan answered Gyeongsu’s previous question with an unenthusiastic one as he forced himself to look away from your figure.
An unsatisfied look appears on both Gyeongsu’s and Suhyeok’s face as the others groaned at his lack of cooperation in sharing a throughout opinion, clearly disappointed. “What the fuck is that answer, you moron? There should be more to it like gossips about him and how you think of him.” Gyeongsu complains, smacking his arm.
Cheongsan raised his brows at him before his lips forms a pout, something that always happens when he’s thinking.
Unbeknownst to him, your eyes shifted from the book to his direction, a subtle smirk spreading across your face at the sight of his pout. You took out your phone and opened the camera, zooming it on his face with slight difficulty from how far he was. You then pressed the shutter button, successfully capturing him into picture as you opened gallery to save it in a specific folder.
Gathering his thoughts, Cheongsan finally opens his mouth to speak. “I think he’s handsome,” All of his friend’s jaws dropped. They did not expect that answer. “And I also think it’ll be fine to sit next to him or be close to him as long as you mind your business just like he does and if you don’t bother him that much.” He shrugs, taking one glance at you to see you’re on your phone instead.
“Have you tried sitting next to him?” Suhyeok asked curiously.
“No,” Cheongsan shakes his head. “But I’m not scared to try.”
Gyeongsu looks at him incredulously. “How are you not scared or intimidated? He’s scarier than Gwinam, and that says a lot.” Suhyeok nodded while pointing at Gyeongsu to show his agreement.
Cheongsan only shrugs at his question.
Since the beginning, he was never intimidated by you for unknown reasons. You were just so handsome, so attractive, and so godly that Cheongsan forgot to be scared. Though, your straightforwardness, honesty and the ability to speak out your thoughts without hesitation no matter how brutal or hurtful it’ll sound intimidated him a lot.
He assumes that’s probably why so many people are intimidated. No one can be completely honest and truthful nowadays in fear of being hated or disliked by others.
As his friends began talking among themselves after getting bored, Cheongsan looks at you once again only to catch you already staring at him. He makes sure his friends aren’t looking and smiles, subtly waving his hand to acknowledge your presence. He sees you nod, covering the smile that appears on your lips with your phone so no one can see it.
Cheongsan goes back to eating his food with butterflies filling his stomach and heart beating rapidly against his ribcage.
Perhaps, everyone being intimidated by and scared of you isn’t so bad when he’s the only one who can do things like this.
Shit, what the fuck.
Cheongsan panicked internally after escaping the zombies that suddenly appeared out of nowhere in the cafeteria, alongside Onjo. The two of them managed to escape in a room filled with survivors; Gyeongsu, Wujin, Jimin, Nayeon, Hyoryung, Isak, Minji, and Joonyoung. However, the person who Cheongsan hoped to be here was nowhere to be seen.
He rushes over to the windows to search for you outside, but all he was met with was total chaos, people running everywhere for their lives as zombies chase after them.
Someone banging on the door catches his attention and he turned around to see white-covered Daesu being let into the classroom by Wujin, who almost closed the door on him. That settled an uneasy feeling within Cheongsan and his stomach twisted, making him nauseous as worry clouded every bit of his being.
He saw you exit the cafeteria before the outbreak happened and haven’t seen you ever since, which only worsened the awful feeling in the pit of his stomach.
Were you bitten? Did you turn? Where were you?
“What happened to your face, huh?” Wujin’s voice snapped Cheongsan out of his thoughts, looking at Daesu who looked like he’s been slapped with a powder or something.
“I don’t know, some crazy jerk sprayed me with fire extinguisher.” Daesu answers while wiping his face with a clean towel he found hanging by the drawers. Onjo avoids eye contact at that. She was spraying fire extinguisher to keep the zombies away, she didn’t know Daesu’s there.
Gyeongsu raised his brows, “A fire extinguisher?”
“Yeah, damn it.” The bigger male pants, resting his hands on his knees after wiping his eyes. “What’s happening?”
“Who knows?”
“Trains.” Cheongsan stated as he approached them, “Train to Busan.”
“The movie?” Daesu gives him a puzzled look.
“Aren’t they zombies? It’s the same thing.” Everyone looked at each other, contemplating whether what Cheongsan’s saying added up. It was crazy, but he kinda has a point. “Watch this, it’s true.” He pointed outside to convince Daesu before pulling him towards the windows when he still doesn’t believe it.
Gyeongsu also tries to walk over, but was reminded by Joonyoung of the door and went back instead to hold it close, curiosity plastered on his face.
“Shit, what the hell?” Wujin curses upon seeing the chaos.
All three of them flinches with a curse when a hand slams on the window in front of them, only to see it’s Suhyeok. They quickly help him get inside and he turns around to hold his hand out to Namra, who you helped rush up the ladder. You were next to climb up quickly as Suhyeok and Namra helps you get inside, barely missing the zombie-turned teacher from getting your leg.
Suhyeok breathes heavily and drops on the floor with his eyes wide in shock, adrenaline wearing off. “It’s that, isn’t it? Zombies.”
You sighed, turning to look outside.
For the first time, you learned minding your own business doesn’t apply to all situations. You would’ve been bitten by those nasty zombies if it wasn’t for Namra — your only actual friend in the campus — coming over to drag you away along with Suhyeok, because you were ignoring people who ran and screamed thinking they’re just playing childishly. She knew you wouldn’t spare anyone a glance, so coming to save you was a right choice.
Cheongsan came to stand beside you while making sure nobody would see your mouths moving. “Are you okay? I was worried.” He said barely above whisper.
“I’m fine, and they can’t get close to me anyway.” You replied, giving him a side-eye. Cheongsan scans your figure to make sure you were saying the truth, before he was annoyingly interrupted by a female body getting herself between you and him.
“Are you okay, (Y/n)?” Nayeon questioned, feigned concern lacing her tone as she pulls your arm to turn you towards her, beginning to run her hand all over your body to check for any injuries. “Are you hurt? What took you so long to come? I texted you.” She pouts.
Irritation quickly bubbled within Cheongsan’s chest at her attempt of making herself look cute and adorable. He forgot the rumors about Nayeon liking you.
With an uninterested look appearing, you quickly grab her wrist to keep her from further harrassing your body. “Keep your hands to yourself, Lee. Can’t you see I’m not bleeding? If I was hurt, there would’ve been blood on me. It should be obvious. And I was too busy reading a book to notice your text.” You waved your hand dismissively as your straightforwardness once again causes everyone to wince.
“That’s gotta hurt for a girl who has a crush on him.” Joonyoung mutters under his breath.
Your eyes shift to Cheongsan’s direction after feeling jealousy radiate from him, and he catches the look that they said— I’m glad you’re here.
That’s right, you don’t care about anyone but him.
“Who the hell does she think she is?”
This class couldn’t get any worse. You thought while sighing deeply as your back leaned on the seat, head thrown back with closed eyes.
This argument between Nayeon and Gyeongsu is a complete nonsense that Nayeon started to get on his nerves for no apparent reason. Giving a fuck is an irrational thing to do when it comes to this stupid girl who does nothing but to whine for others to start doing something. She doesn’t want to save anyone, she wants to be saved.
Talk about self-centered narcissist.
You opened your eyes when Gyeongsu let out a scared yell all of a sudden as the sound of door opening echoed throughout the room, pushing your head forward to look at the person that entered.
“Coach Kang.”
Rolling your eyes, you threw your head back again to stare at the ceiling, finding it more interesting than anyone or anything right in this moment. The Coach is your least favorite person; he’s a fucking egotistical jerk that thinks women are men’s toys. He thinks he’s hiding it well, but you can see it from a mile away.
“Are you guys okay?” Coach Kang’s trembling voice asked and he sighs in relief after Gyeongsu nodded together with everyone else.
Gyeongsu approaches him, albeit hesitantly. “What about you? You weren’t bitten?”
“No. Of course, not. I’m— I’m alright.”
Your brows furrowed. Something’s odd. He shouldn’t have this much difficulty in breathing. Even if he ran all over the campus, his breathing would’ve just been heavy or out of breath. His voice shouldn’t shake this much, as if he’s trying to hide something.
“Hey, guys. Let’s block the door first. Get moving, hurry!” Coach Kang starts to lead the students as they began to help moving the seats to block the doors, attempting to stack them high.
You stood up from the chair but remained in your place, watching him move around and instruct the survivors. There’s a wave of negativity in your gut, like something’s not right, that you shouldn’t trust him too easily. You scan his body thoroughly, until your eyes froze at the nasty bite on his arm.
Your breath hitches. This motherfucker’s gonna kill everyone.
As Onjo and Isak moves to help, you quickly grabbed both of their arm to keep them in place. They looked at you surprised since this is the first time you’ve ever approached anyone by yourself. “What’s wrong?” Onjo asked, and Cheongsan stops after seeing you holding them.
“Don’t get close,” You warned, voice low and whispering. “He got bitten on his arm.”
Their eyes widened and almost instantly, looked at the Coach’s arm to find out you’re telling the truth. But then again, you never lied.
“Coach Kang. Your arm.” Onjo doesn’t hesitate to speak. You gently squeeze her arm in encouragement and praise. Being honest saves everyone, believe it or not.
“What are you doing? Come help us!” The Coach yelled.
“You have a bite mark on your arm!” Onjo raised her voice, causing everyone to freeze and look. Wujin flinches backward when he noticed the bite mark as the others began to feel fearful once again.
Coach Kang sees his own arm and begins to panic. “I wasn’t bitten. No, no. I—” He quickly rolls his sleeve down, “I— I wasn’t bitten.”
“It’s a bite mark.”
“I said it isn’t. Don’t talk back to me, okay?” His voice gets aggressive. You stare at him intently. He shouldn’t get close.
It was Isak who spoke next. “It looks like you were really bitten.”
Coach Kang seems to get angry at that as he raised his voice, “I wasn’t! How many times must I tell you?”
Isak felt you squeeze her arm as well. You wanted her to stand up for herself and her classmates. “Then why the hell are you hiding it!? Just show it to us!” She raised her voice and stepped forward as you went beside Onjo, sharing a look with Cheongsan. You knew she’s important to him.
“I think you should leave now.” Isak quietly said.
“What?”
“Get out of here immediately.”
“You want me to go out there?” Kang pointed at the door, “After all I did to get here? You want me to go back out?”
“You were bitten.” She doesn’t back out. Standing up against teachers is scary, but getting bitten by zombies and turning into one is terrifying. She thanks you internally for encouraging her. “Come on, get out. I SAID GET OUT NOW!!”
“Cocksucker!” Kang yelled. “How dare you yell at me like that?”
You scowled, glaring at him, pulling both Onjo and Isak behind you when Kang steps forward. Your protectiveness usually only kicks in when Cheongsan is the one in danger, but right now, he wasn’t the one that needs protecting. This girls, who can easily be overpowered by the coach.
“You little... Get over here. Come here.” He was showing his true colors at this point, and you clenched your jaw in anger. “NOW! You won’t come? Hey.” He makes a move to advance and you stepped in front of the girls as they quickly hide behind you.
Everyone stops when blood starts to run down Kang’s nose as he turns his back to wipe it.
“Onjo, don’t—!” Onjo ignores your warning, smacking a backpack against the back of his head. You cursed and pulled her back behind you again, watching as Kang turns around and shoots her a glare. Cheongsan immediately rushes over to you, realizing you might get involved in Kang’s rage.
“You fucking bitch.” He cursed, raising a hand and steps forward only to drop on the floor.
You ignored everyone’s gasps and mutterings, turning around to push Cheongsan, Onjo and Isak away knowing he’ll turn. Cheongsan grabs your hand that was pushing him and pulls you so you wouldn’t be close to Kang. The crunching of bones filled the noisy air together with Nayeon’s fearful beg to get Kang out of the room.
Soon enough, a growl erupts from Kang and he launched himself onto Minji, pulling her down on the floor, unfortunately getting a bite of her face. Daesu rushes over to hold zombified Kang back, throwing him on the lockers. You all looked to see a chunk of Minji’s skin beside her mouth gone with blood coating the place.
While Daesu’s in shock, Kang stands back up with a growl and advanced towards Wujin and Suhyeok, who both fortunately avoided him as the latter attempts to fight him off. Cheongsan grabs the table right on his side and uses it to trap Kang against the wall, struggling to do so due to Kang continuously shoving to get a bite out of him.
“Cheongsan!” You and Gyeongsu both yelled as he runs to help and pushes the table more on Kang.
“Shit.” You muttered when Minji begins to turn after getting kicked by Nayeon, feeling the survival folding knife through the fabric of your pants in your pocket.
Using it to kill them would probably make everyone mistaken you for a murderer or perhaps, even torturer, but was that really important when all of your lives are at stake? You don’t give a fuck about everyone except Cheongsan, anyway. But won’t he judge or hate you for bringing a knife at school? Won’t he be afraid of you just like everyone else is?
You thought carefully, before Daesu’s struggling voice snapped you out alongside Cheongsan’s and Gyeongsu’s grunts.
That doesn’t fucking matter. If you don’t kill them with whatever you have, everyone’s gonna be dead, even Cheongsan.
“Whatever,” You sighed. “Fuck this.”
You quickly ran towards the two and pushed them away, ignoring Gyeongsu’s “what are you doing!?” thrown in your direction. Holding the table with one hand, you used the other to whip the knife out and press the two buttons on the handle, the sharp blade instantly making an appearance. Everyone widened their eyes in shock as you don’t hesitate to stab Kang’s head repeatedly with your knife, its force causing his blood to stain your uniform and a small amount of your face. You only stopped when the growling and struggling died down, dropping his completely lifeless body and the table on the floor.
Everyone flinches when you turn around, finding the unbothered and casual look on your face unsettling.
They watch you twirl the knife as you shifted your gaze on Daesu, who was holding zombified Minji that tried to bite him. You cock your head to the side. One slit on the neck should be enough.
Your stare was enough to force Daesu into throwing Minji on the floor as you don’t waste time to grab her hair and stab your knife deep into the side of her neck, before slitting it by sliding the knife towards other side with great force and fast movement. Blood splatters on the floor as she goes limp.
It didn’t even take you thirty seconds to successfully kill two zombies. Maybe you’re more terrifying than those cannibals, everyone thought in sync.
You walk over to the towel that Daesu used to wipe his face with and begins wiping off the blood on your knife, leaning against the lockers. Cheongsan approached you — shrugging Gyeongsu’s alarming hand off his arm — and he sees your body tense almost immediately.
“Did they get to you?”
You look up in surprise at his caring, concern-filled voice.
He gives you a comforting look, having an idea on what you’re feeling right now. You neither regret nor feel guilty about killing them, but you were afraid of a possibility that his thoughts about you might’ve suddenly changed. After all, you’re aware of how even the slightest action can change a person’s thoughts about anyone. Let alone as big of an action as murdering a zombified teacher and classmate.
You silently shake your head, pressing the buttons to make the blade disappear into the handle.
“Then, that’s great.” He smiles, gratitude plastering his face.
“Thank you, for saving us.”
You dropped on the floor as soon as the door of recording room shut behind you, knees growing weak and tears stinging your eyes.
Gyeongsu’s gone. Nayeon did it.
He was Cheongsan’s bestfriend and to think that the girl who liked you was the one who killed him? It fucking made you feel shitty. Guilt devours you from the inside, spreading all throughout your veins and blood as you taste the bitterness in your mouth. There’s no fucking excuse to what she did; Gyeongsu was trying to help and she went all out accusing him of things that didn’t happen — and then goes on killing him without remorse just to prove her point when he didn’t turn.
“You did the same thing to Coach Kang and Minji!” Her voice bitterly haunts your ears.
You did kill them, after they turned into zombies. She wiped a zombie’s blood on Gyeongsu’s hand purposely to make him turn. There’s a big difference. You never wanted Kang and Minji to turn, even though the former pissed you off to no end. No one deserves to be a zombie.
She probably thinks you’re a hypocrite now, maybe even others who stayed quiet the whole time Namra was confronting Nayeon. They must be terrified of you yet they haven’t left you alone to die or kicked you out. Come to remember, they didn’t stop Nayeon from going out on her own.
A knock sounded from the window and you look up to see Cheongsan staring at you worriedly, gesturing to the lock. Unlocking the door, you let him inside by scooting away and watched as he sit beside you after locking it again, leaning both of your back against it.
There was only silence while you two stared blankly at the wall of recording room, grieving over a bestfriend— in your case, a classmate.
“You didn’t do the same thing to Coach Kang and Minji, you know.” He suddenly spoke, breaking the silence. He shifted to face you and also make himself comfortable. “You killed them because you had to, otherwise we would all be dead. Nayeon didn’t have any reason to kill Gyeongsu. Everyone agreed on that.”
“Really?” Your eyes finally met his.
Cheongsan nods with sincerity coating his face. “They understand, and all of them are actually thankful you were brave enough to kill those two. No one thinks you’re the same as Nayeon.” He takes your hand in his and rubs it comfortingly, to which you responded by squeezing his hand back.
You play with his fingers, tracing them and tangling them with yours as you avoid eye contact. “I’m sorry about Gyeongsu...” He frowns at the look on your face. “I noticed something’s wrong with Coach Kang, but I didn’t notice anything when it came to Nayeon. I feel like I should’ve, specially when I’m the one who usually notice small things in this group, and I can’t help but think it’s—”
“It’s not your fault.” Cheongsan immediately interrupted, voice firm and unwavering. “None of us knew what was gonna happen. In fact, I think we’re the ones at fault because we told Nayeon to come here and apologize to Gyeongsu when that was probably what she wanted us to do. You tried to stop us, but we didn’t listen.”
You look up at him, seeing guilt and sadness in his eyes. You intertwined your fingers and Cheongsan doesn’t waste time to hold your hand back. “It isn’t your fault, either. We all carry the burden of not being able to save him, don’t beat yourself up.”
“It’s just—” He sighs. “I’m his best friend. Well, was. I could’ve done something more.”
“But you did, Cheongsan. You kept him from hurting you.” Cupping his face with one hand, you smile to reassure him. “I’m sure the last thing Gyeongsu wanted was to hurt his bestfriend and end up turning him.”
Cheongsan sighs and leans on your touch as he closed his eyes. It feels warm. He believed your words— even you knew Gyeongsu is a kind person who would never dare lay a hand on anyone he treasures. He was poor, but he had the richest heart among all people. Which is why what Nayeon did is even more unforgivable and frustrating.
Why does kind people have to always be the target to cold-blooded people? They might be easy to manipulate, but you still didn’t understand. Why was the world so cruel?
“(Y/n)?” Concern instantly plastered your face at how his voice trembled and he cleared his throat, feeling tears gather in his eyes.
“What is it, love?”
“You’re not gonna leave me, right?”
Cheongsan was afraid. You could easily tell. He was afraid of losing you like he lost Gyeongsu, of seeing you turn into those cannibalistic monsters, of seeing you die. You’re the only thing that kept him sane in this apocalypse. If he lost you, he would have no will to survive anymore.
You frown, wiping off the tears that spilled on his cheeks with your thumb. “I would never leave you, Cheongsan. It’s not gonna happen no matter what. I’ll stay by your side until we can be safe together, okay? Don’t cry, baby.” Bringing your other hand to cup the other side of his face, you gently pulled him to press a kiss on his forehead.
Cheongsan felt butterflies filling his stomach. Even in this zombie apocalypse, you never fail to make him feel loved and tinglish.
No one would probably believe you’re actually this soft and gentle when it comes to your lover. People always assumed you were rough and aggressive, and that you’re far from boyfriend material type. Little did they know you make sure everyday that he knows you love him, even though you can’t be close to each other in school.
You look into each other’s eyes before Cheongsan wrapped his arms around your neck and pulled you close to capture your lips in a lingering kiss.
It’s a life or death situation — feeling each other’s presence and kissing each other’s lips mattered more than hiding your relationship. Nothing should matter anymore than you and Cheongsan, and how you would live knowing the grim reaper can suddenly knock on your door anytime.
Right now, you just wanted to focus on the feeling of Cheongsan’s lips more than the zombies probably lurking outside the broadcasting room.
Gathering around the bonfire created by Namra’s lighter, everyone shared their own stories that no one has heard before. Hearing Namra open up made you smile, knowing she never got to do it with anyone up until now because no one bothered to befriend her. It’s actually why you two got along, being the black sheep of Ms. Park’s class.
You didn’t join them on bonfire, only listening to them share their own life stories as you leaned on the railings with both elbows rested on the surface. After dealing with so much crap and Gwinam going for your boyfriend’s head, you needed a well rest and a smoke to calm yourself, as well as to make the stress dissolve even just a bit. Though, dealing with zombies is honestly much better than dealing with school full of shitty students and teachers.
At some point, their conversation shifts from life story to crushes and you resist the urge to chuckle. Talking about crushes is probably the most mundane yet comforting thing to do in the middle of zombie apocalypse because it gives everyone a feeling as if they went back to a time when everyone wasn’t eating everybody. It reminds them of what they were doing when this apocalypse wasn’t a thing.
“How about you, Cheongsan? Do you have a crush?”
Their question made you puff a smoke as your thoughts wandered. Cheongsan can choose whether he’ll tell them or not, you suppose it doesn’t matter now since practically everyone in Korea is a zombie and not many would care anymore if two men are dating each other. Besides, you also wanted to care for him openly without worrying about someone finding out.
You assume Cheongsan nodded in reply due to various noises of curiosity leaving the other’s lips. He, too, probably doesn’t care anymore.
“Really? Who is it?” Onjo asked with surprise and tease lacing her voice, looking at him and waiting excitedly for his answer. Everyone anticipated it as well, some even growing impatient.
Cheongsan doesn’t say anything, instead points at you, who had your back turned to them.
All of their eyes follows the direction his finger pointed at and as soon as you entered their visions, their jaws drop in sync. Joonyoung looks at his finger and you back and fourth as he also pointed at you, mouth moving but no sounds coming out. Suhyeok had his brows raised, shock evident, staring at Cheongsan in disbelief. Hyoryung, Jimin and Daesu all covered their mouths, while Wujin, Onjo and Namra looked at him dumbfounded.
“You have a crush on (Y/n)!?” Wujin was the first to break everyone’s shock, beginning to look at you and Cheongsan back and fourth.
“How come you didn’t tell us? We shared our opinions about him in cafeteria, but you didn’t say anything about liking him.” Suhyeok shoots him a look, betrayed that Cheongsan hid it from them while they were idiotically telling what they felt and thought about his crush.
“Well, I did say he’s handsome.” Cheongsan defended himself. You subtly shake your head with a smile, realizing he must have said it so his friends would take the hint. “And to be honest, it’s not a crush anymore.” He shrugs.
Confusion is next to appear on everyone’s faces at his words, but Cheongsan stands up before they could ask what he means.
They watch as he walks towards you, and couldn’t help but notice that you immediately faced him as soon as his footsteps entered your ears. You inhaled one puff of smoke and threw the cigarette on the concrete floor. As if on instinct, Cheongsan steps on it to put it out. Your interaction was so natural that had everyone thinking if you often do it when you’re together.
“What’s up, Cheongsannie?”
He doesn’t respond, instead brings his hand up to tug your uniform with a pout. It’s a gesture he always does when he wants you to kiss him.
Without hesitation, you slip your hand on his face and leans forward to capture his adorable pouting lips in a kiss as Cheongsan closed his eyes, fist gripping the fabric of your uniform. You heard few of them gasp before you pulled away and ruffled your lover’s hair.
“Satisfied?” You smirk, licking your lips.
Cheongsan smacks your hand away and grumbles about you ruining his already ruined hair, red tint on his cheeks unfortunately visible. His heart pounded rapidly against his chest at first time kissing in front of people.
“Don’t worry, darling. You still look handsome with ruined hair and blood all over you.” Throwing him a teasing compliment, you leaned forward again to kiss his forehead, something that became a habit of yours after you started dating him.
“Fuck you,” Cheongsan playfully curses while pinching your side and shoving you away, though the smile on his face betrayed him.
You scoffed smugly, “You wish. We’re still in the middle of apocalypse, moron.”
“(Y/N)!!”
You laughed, avoiding his hand that tried to smack you over the head and runs over to the bonfire when Cheongsan starts chasing you, using Daesu as a shield. Now, all of them were shocked of how playful you are — a big contrast to how you are in school everyday.
“(Y/n), stop hiding behind Daesu.” Cheongsan panted as he glared at you playfully.
You childishly stuck your tongue out, which made Cheongsan roll his eyes while amusement crosses everyone’s face. “Only if you can make him move away.” You said smugly, knowing no one can force Daesu to move.
Your boyfriend gives you a look before shifting his gaze on Daesu, “Can you move, please?”
Much to your displeasure, the said man scoots away without hesitation and chuckles when he hears your gasp of betrayal. “What the— You traitor!” You smacked his arm quite strongly, causing him to wince and hold the arm that you hit.
Everyone laughs; it feels weird to see you be childish and playful when you’re usually calm, collected, cold and quiet, but they were happy nevertheless because you finally showed a side that you never did. However, they find it also sad how this is the only time they got to see you be playful, when they have just little chances of surviving. They regret fearing you just because you look intimidating. You may have a resting bitch face, but that doesn’t mean you hurt everybody on sight. They should’ve figured that out before.
Cheongsan comes to sit beside you (after successfully smacking the back of your head) with a yawn, exhaution finally showing itself on his body. Your eyes softened as you tugged his arm and Cheongsan let himself fall to your side. His head softly lands on your lap, facing the night sky, and you immediately bring your hand to massage his scalp. Cheongsan sighs in content, closing his eyes.
“Rest, darling. You need it.” You softly say. Everyone can’t help but stare at how gentle you are with Cheongsan.
“You need to rest too,” Cheongsan mutters with eyes still closed. “You and Suhyeok fought those zombies off more than we did.” He feels you shake your head.
“It doesn’t matter. We’re all the same in terms of exhaution.” You take his hand in your unused one to press a kiss on his knuckles. He opens his eyes, feeling butterflies clouding his stomach again. “And besides, I have to protect you from Gwinam. He’s after your head, who knows when he’ll come back.”
“He’s actually after my eye, but you don’t need to protect me all the time, you know.” Intertwining his fingers with yours, Cheongsan looks at you with worry in his eyes. “If you keep thinking about me, you’ll eventually forget to protect yourself. I don’t want you to get hurt or bitten.”
A smile spreads across your lips.
He might be right and it’s probably too dangerous to think about your boyfriend before yourself when zombies can grab you anywhere and anytime, but knowing he’s worried made you feel happy, warmth spreading from your heart outwards.
Cheongsan notices your smile and lightly hits your shoulder with his free hand, pouting. “Why the hell are you smiling? You rarely smile yet you’re smiling at the possibility that you could die protecting me. It’s not funny. Stop that.”
You only let out a chuckle in response to his scolding.
The others can’t help but smile when they heard the sound of your laughter for the first time as Cheongsan continues to simultaneously threat and scold you at the same time, refusing to stop until you swear you’ll look after yourself too. They found yours and Cheongsan’s couple interaction cute and entertaining, some even feeling as if they missed an opportunity to tease the two of you when zombies didn’t exist. It made them feel sad, but at least they found out before it’s too late and could still have an opportunity to tease.
“If you really—”
“Relax, sweetheart.” You interrupted, giving his hand a squeeze. He opens his mouth to object, but you beat him to it. “If you really think I’m going to forget about myself, then protect me instead. That way, we could prevent the worst from happening, hm? How does that sound?”
Cheongsan goes silent as he thinks about it for a while, then squeezed your hand back to let you know he settled his mind. “Okay. Sounds good enough.”
You grinned, leaning down to kiss his lips before petting his hair after pulling away. Greatly satisfied with your suggestion, Cheongsan closes his eyes to get himself to sleep, his free arm wrapping around your torso as he snuggled closer to you, wanting to feel your presence as much as he can. Shrugging your blazer off, you laid it over him to serve as a blanket.
“This is our first time seeing you smile,” Suhyeok spoke when silence fell. You look up to see a soft look plastered on his face. “I don’t mean to tell you what to do, but you should smile more.”
The others nodded their head in agreement. “You look good smiling.” Jimin compliments, receiving another nods of agreement from everyone.
You shrug, “I naturally don’t smile that often. He makes me laugh everytime, though. If you want any reaction out of me, just bring Cheongsan and let us talk. You’ll get a smile or laughter.”
“That’s probably because you trust him more than anyone else.” Onjo smiled, eyes soft. You nod while smiling, gently playing with Cheongsan’s hair.
“You don’t trust anyone that much.” Claimed Joonyoung. “So seeing you be freely yourself around us, it made me think how we gained it over the times we’ve spent together in this zombie apocalypse. Thanks for, you know... Trusting us.”
You flash them a smile. “Thanks for trusting me, too.”
Maybe letting your secret out wasn’t such a bad thing even before the apocalypse, with an exception of those gangs you beat up that may or may not use Cheongsan as hostage to get back at you.
Nonetheless, you were glad that your boyfriend had revealed everything out in the open — you’ve gained not many, but enough support. You’ll forever cherish this day, even if there’s little hope left to survive.
THE AIR SMELLS OF BAY LEAVES AND FRANKINCENSE. SUNLIGHT GLEAMS OFF TOPAZ RIVERS AND AMBER BLADES OF GRASS —
AS FAR AS THE EYE CAN SEE.
" WELCOME HOME, SATORU. "
TAGS. gojo/reader, childhood friends to... something, pining, mostly follows canon plot except i yell objection every so often. typical jjk violence, gore, death. monk!reader. lots of talk about buddhism that i researched/based on my own experience but i'm not an expert (mostly based on mahayana/pure land/zen schools but it's really just "fantasy buddhism"); reader's clan's precepts are inspired by the midnight blades sect in where winds meet.
NOTES. this whole thing is incredibly self-indulgent so is it slice of life? yes. romance? yes. action? yes. pls nobody @ me about the pacing bc i know its a mess but i havent written a chaptered linear story like this in ages so just enjoy the vibes im beaming into your brain ty <3
you can comment on any post in this series to be added to the shiny new taglist! <3
The Four Noble Truths of Buddhism explain that everything is impermanent, but that humans crave and cling to impermanent things, causing suffering that blocks the path to that ultimate liberation. Raised in a strict religious clan with a history dating back millennia, you are one of jujutsu society's most trusted pillars of unwavering stability. Your role? To cull the weak and willing.
However, Gojo Satoru, with his eyes containing the heavens, sees not a killer, but a friend. Juggling the no-attachments expectations of your clan with Satoru's overwhelming affection is hard enough, but when your heart starts to hammer at the sight of his smile and every brush of his shoulder against yours, you find yourself at a crossroads – one you cannot ignore.
synopsis// nanami has never cared for soulmates. the idea was never appealing to him, and he thinks it’s complete bullshit once he meets you because how could someone as perfect as you not be his soulmate?
status// finished!
updates// everyday unless said otherwise
warning// profanity, soulmate!au, no curses au, bakery/cafe au?, teacher au?, nanami is an idiot, slightly aged down characters bc i think 25 is a prettier number than 27, gojo is slightly (extremely) insufferable. a handful of kys jokes (aka a lot).
☆ this smau wasn’t inspired by a song but the title was!! ‘twas inspired by what if by easy way out, so besides the title and lyrics on here the song holds no relevance :) ☆
it starts with anything, a glance thrown out across the room
synopsis// maybe it wasn’t your smartest idea to fall for the guy your friends introduced you to, who’s also trolling you online—but, in your defense, how were you supposed to know they’d end up being the same person?
status// finished!
updates// everyday unless said otherwise
warning// no curses!au, streamer!au, friends to lovers?, inumaki is just a strange strange silly (cringe) man and lowkey rich???, kys jokes bc comedy, and also rlly cringe and corny jokes bc comedy, n if anyone is ooc take that up with the universe not me!
☆ this smau wasn’t inspired by a song but the title was!! ‘twas inspired by digital display by ready for the world, but yeah besides the title and lyrics on here the song holds no relevance :) ☆
