After being assigned a fashion show for your big senior project, you set off to find volunteers to make it successful. However, when you meet Choi Seungcheol and his unfriendly clique through your volunteers, you realize they’re an unwanted package deal you can’t escape from. Can you handle Seungcheol's obnoxious friends, and can he handle your brash behavior?
🍒 Pairing: businessMajor!Seungcheol x fashionMajor!Reader (afab)
🍒 Rating/Genres/AUs: M(18+); Slice of life (!!!), slow burn, drama, fluff, angst, smut; Unrequited enemies to lovers (lol), strangers to lovers, college au
🍒 General Major Warnings for Series: reader has she/her pronouns (referred to as girl, miss), reader dresses really feminine, reader is not nice, character outfit descriptors, reader wears seungcheol’s clothes, parent/family issues (marital problems), bullying, cursing [refer to specific chapters for more]
🍒 Total Word Count: ~76,568 😆
🍒 Betas: Sarah (@love-strike), Indi (@playmetheclassics), Kelly (@here4kpopfics), Freya (@angelwoozi) 🥰
🍒 Graphic Credits: All banners and story dividers in this series were created by me. Please ask to use.
pretty please couple tag ^-^
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after a career drought full of dead end positions, you finally land a job you can be proud to include on your resume—prestigious company, room for growth, and most importantly, a salary that will allow you and your boyfriend, soonyoung, to breathe a little easier. what you don’t expect is the discrimination and vitriol you’re met with on the job. as office life gets harder and harder for you, soonyoung finds it increasingly impossible to sit back and watch you repeatedly get hurt like this. so he dusts off a mask he never thought he’d use again, and when your colleagues start dropping dead one by one… well, that’s none of his business.
♫ i did something bad taylor swift
pairing: ghostface!soonyoung x fem!reader
wc: 23k 🤨
tags: horror fic (kinda not really), scream fic, established relationship, alternating povs, normal (used loosely lol) lovers to crazy psycho lovers, screenwriter!soonyoung, corporate slave!reader, “he hates everyone but her” trope except make it “he hates and brutally murders everyone but her” ┐(￣ヘ￣;)┌
a/n: the platinum blonde spiky hair ghostface soonyoung brain rot had me in a chokehold. this all started just bc i saw a gifset of him looking soooo early 00s fuck boy pop star and immediately my brain was like “ghostface hoshi.” so here we are. i do watch horror but like. i’m here for a good time not a critical time LOL. i am no expert on horror movies! i just like watching the more digestible ones, and if there are inconsistencies with the reasoning for becoming a killer or the relationship between killer and lover of killer or how realistically easy it would be to catch the killer… well, just pretend there aren’t :) i’m just trying to eradicate this ghostface hoshi brainworm :) so enjoy it :) or don’t :) this is more for me than anyone else :)
warnings READ ALL OF THEM!
content: murder… obviously (it won’t be overly gory, but it is described, so be careful. it won’t be anyone in svt), he’s a psychopath (again… obviously), blood, knives/stabbing, torture, domestic violence (not between mcs), traumatic brain injury, misogyny, daddy issues, eh mommy issues too why not, male use of the word “whore” and “bitch” against a woman, workplace harassment (bullying, hazing, finance tech red pill bro culture), sexual harassment in the workplace (inappropriate comments, sexualization of reader by male coworkers, etc. but no physical sexual assault takes place), no physical description of reader but she’s called a diversity hire by her harassers (whatever makes her diverse can be up to you), murdered people could possibly share names with idols idk but if they do, that’s a coincidence bc these are just random names, protectiveness to insane levels, possessiveness, codependency, jealousy, toxic and unhealthy relationship, reader is also crazy
smut: marked at beginning and end if you’d like to avoid, unprotected piv, creampie, roleplaying (kinda? like, is it roleplaying if they’re roleplaying as themselves but one of them doesn’t realize it’s themselves?), squirting, kink exploration, mentions of bondage, mentions of blindfolding, mentions of choking, mentions of degradation, mentions of knife play, light breeding kink, shower sex, oral (both receiving), face fucking, fingering, spitting, uh horniness supercharged by murder so… whatever tag that is, dirty talk except make it about murder, honestly don’t look at me
🎞️ a portion from an early draft of the script for cult classic horror movie, “adoration,” by renowned screenwriter kwon soonyoung
IN AN APARTMENT
a man (jake) dressed in a disheveled suit returns home late at night presumably from work, though from his mannerisms, he seems drunk.
he takes his jacket off and lets it fall to the floor. he is grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge when his phone rings. the number is private. he declines it. when it rings again, he fumbles to hit the right button for several seconds but eventually answers, swaying drunkenly as he does.
JAKE hello? (he hears loud breathing) hello? (no answer) who is this? (hangs up and mutters to himself) fucking weirdos.
his phone rings again, and he watches his cell vibrate on the counter. he closes the fridge door and answers the phone, obviously ready to yell at whoever it is, but he is cut off by a raspy male voice.
PHONE STRANGER hi, jake.
jake freezes, too flustered to speak.
PHONE STRANGER oh come on, don’t be rude. where are your manners? this is where you say hi back. go on, try it.
JAKE who is this?
PHONE STRANGER that’s too easy, don’t you think? and too easy is never any fun.
jake seems to deflate, his exhaustion too potent to argue with a stranger. he hangs up once more. the phone rings again. he answers it in an almost violent fashion.
JAKE leave me alone!
PHONE STRANGER hang up on me again and i’ll take that pretty, little butcher knife (jake’s eyes dart to the knife block on his kitchen island. camera changes focus to knives) and run it down the entirety of your torso until the floor is slick with your blood and organs.
jake looks around the apartment, understanding there is a large chance he is being watched.
camera angle changes to a shaky shot farther away from around the corner in a dark hallway, suggesting whoever is watching is already in the apartment with him. goes back to jake in kitchen.
jake inches forward, wrapping his fingers around the very same knife he was just threatened with.
PHONE STRANGER hiding it won’t help you, jake. and neither will using it. i promise.
jake’s fingers immediately let go and he takes several steps back in horror as he realizes he is definitely being watched.
PHONE STRANGER good boy! (sounds genuinely excited) so you do listen after all. now. let’s start over. hi, jake.
JAKE hi. (voice cracks, clears his throat) what do you want?
stranger clicks tongue in disapproval.
PHONE STRANGER jake, jake, jake. didn’t we talk about manners already? (jake inches toward the front door, stranger laughs) eh, i probably wouldn’t go that way if i were you. (jake freezes, eyes flitting around the room wildly) what do you want to try next?
camera briefly shifts to a dark corner closer to jake now. goes back to kitchen.
JAKE who are you?
PHONE STRANGER my name is hoshi. (jake is very obviously surprised) didn’t expect me to tell you my name, did you? thought i’d keep that a secret? you don’t have to ask either; that’s my real name.
JAKE why?
HOSHI why what?
JAKE why are you telling me your name?
HOSHI well, it doesn’t matter if i tell you my name. it’s going to die with you anyway.
jake quickly takes the phone away from his ear and begins to dial the police. being drunk, he mistypes several times.
HOSHI i won’t try to talk you out of that. someone needs to find your body after all. i do want people to know you’re dead. i want her to know you’re dead. that you’re never going to hurt her ever again. so by all means, call the police. but i assure you. they won’t come in time.
JAKE (in a shaky voice) yes they will.
HOSHI no. they won’t. and you know how i know?
jake finally gets the call going, phone automatically putting hoshi on hold.
HOSHI i know because you’re a dumb ass and you never even put me on speaker.
camera focuses on jake’s face front on as his eyes widen and he freezes. audience hears dispatcher answer the line.
DISPATCH what is your emergency?
hoshi appears behind jake in a white mask, face contorted into a permanent scream, and a black tattered robe. audience hears a squelch as jake’s mouth falls open in pain and he stumbles. his phone falls out of his hand, ending the call.
camera angle switches to side view, where audience can see a hunter knife buried in the middle of jake’s back. hoshi slowly slides the knife out of him, letting him fall to the floor, where he’s immediately crawling away.
hoshi makes no move to follow him yet. simply watches him kick and struggle to stand.
HOSHI i knew you were dumb, but i didn’t realize you were this dumb.
he slowly walks after him, watching as jake pathetically tries to make it to the front door, blood trailing behind him. he crashes into most of his furniture as he stumbles past.
hoshi reaches him and kicks him in his stab wound, causing jake to fall back to the floor, screaming in agony.
JAKE god, why?! WHY?!
HOSHI question of the night, huh?
JAKE (sobbing, turns over and pulls himself away enough until he’s slouched up against the back of his couch) i don’t even know who you are!
hoshi squats down in front of him, forearms on knees, eye level. he keeps his bloody knife threateningly close to jake’s face.
HOSHI but i know who you are. oh man, i know exactly who you are. i’ve heard all about you, jake. more than i should’ve ever had to hear about you.
jake sobs harder as hoshi runs his knife gently across his neck, leaving his own blood on his skin.
HOSHI you couldn’t just be the quiet coworker who came to work, minded his own goddamn business, and went home, huh? you had to be the red pill loser.
JAKE (weakly) what…? i don’t… huh?
HOSHI you hurt her, jake. and when you hurt her… well frankly, you hurt me. and i don’t let anyone get away with hurting me.
JAKE who’s “her”?! who are you?! i don’t even know what you’re talking about, dude. please! please! i promise i won’t tell anyone! i’ll do whatever you want! i’ll give you whatever you want—just let me live!
hoshi doesn’t say anything for several seconds. resembles predator watching prey. when jake starts blubbering and begging, he sighs.
HOSHI what if what i want… (tilts his head menacingly at him) is for you to die… (wipes his knife along the length of his sleeve, cleaning it of blood) an incredibly slow and painful death? hm? what if that’s what i want? will you still give it to me, jake?
JAKE i don’t get it, please, i don’t get it. who are you? what do you want?
HOSHI god you’re a fucking moron, i literally just told you what i fucking want.
he drives his knife into jake’s thigh. when he screams, hoshi backhands him to shut him up.
several seconds pass as jake tries to catch his breath.
JAKE why are you doing this?
hoshi removes his knife from his thigh, just to plunge it into his abdomen. jake doubles over, blood spilling past his lips.
hoshi lets go of the knife, leaving it buried inside jake. he tries to reach up and remove it, but hoshi gently presses a single finger to the hilt. jake screams and lets his hands fall away. hoshi removes his finger.
HOSHI (casually) honestly, it’s kind of futile explaining this to an idiot who gets off of shitting on women.
jake’s breathing is labored as his screams subside.
HOSHI (comically scratches his head) like, how do i even explain love to a greasy little incel like you?
JAKE (incredulously, while stuttering) love?
HOSHI yes, jake. love. you know, it’s so funny. i really, really hated that word for most of my life, and then… one day that just… changed, i guess.
JAKE you’re killing me because… you love… me?
HOSHI (sputters/laughs) what?! are you fucking—what?! (backhands him again) i can’t even fathom how fucking stupid you are! what the fuck? (jake groans) no, you jackass, how could anybody love you? you’re like shit on the bottom of my shoe. (mutters again) what the fuck?
JAKE i don’t get it.
HOSHI (sighs) i know you don’t, dimwit. that’s why i’m not going to bother explaining why you’ll die tonight. you’ll never understand what it’s like to love someone the way i love her. i fucking adore her.
he watches jake carefully, head tilting to the other side like he’s studying his looming death. or enjoying it.
HOSHI and jake (just barely skims one finger from where the blade disappears into flesh, up the hilt of the knife) one thing about me?
jake’s eyes go up to meet the black holes in the mask, breathing coming out in short gasps now.
HOSHI my adoration is killer.
without warning, hoshi grabs his knife once more, other hand holding jake’s shoulder down as he pulls the knife up his torso with alarming force. he makes good on his promise to cover his floors with his own blood and organs.
your life has become a sad routine of miserably crying monday through friday, suffering an emotional hangover on saturdays, and spending the entirety of sunday shaking with anxiety over the mere thought of having to go back to work and do it all over again the next day.
your job, for the most part, is predictable. you expect to come in and endure catcalls, unprovoked insults, glares, and lewd gestures all before you even reach your desk. you expect to have your work—as flawless as you know it is—ridiculed and mocked, just for someone else to copy it word for word, claim it as his own, and receive endless praise for it. you expect your boss to sheepishly shrug and tell you boys will be boys and to be a “team player.” you expect to be told you’re useless, you’re just a diversity hire, and all you’re good for is something nice to look at.
as the only woman on an all-male, all-asshole team, you expect pure torment.
what you don’t expect is to be corralled into the company auditorium with hundreds of other employees first thing in the morning, where you’re all informed that jay, the psychopath you share a cubicle with, was not just playing hooky and skipping work like you and all his buddies assumed, but that he “tragically” passed away earlier this week. you’re in a daze as they tell everyone grief counseling is available and that those close to jay can take bereavement effective immediately if they have to.
what you also don’t expect is to return to your desk, google his obituary, and be met with several articles detailing a gruesome murder that took place in his apartment building. jay isn’t directly named, but you don’t need him to be to know it’s him. the executives were too dodgy about the announcement of his death for this to be about anybody else.
your eyes scan over words like “stabbed,” “bloodied,” “screams,” “ripped,” and “spilled.” the journalist describes it as the most grisly homicide to take place since the “prank call killings”—even goes as far to make connections between jay’s murder and the string of deaths that took place years ago, in a small town not far from where you are.
both involved victims with multiple stab wounds.
both were indicative of a frighteningly large hunting knife with unique serrations used as the weapon.
both ended with the torsos being carelessly cut open down the middle—while the victim was still alive.
the one difference is that police found no evidence of calls made to jay’s phone before his death.
this begs the question: after nearly a decade, has the prank call killer made their return, or has a copycat ascended their throne?
the closing line sends a chill down your spine, but you’re not sure it feels bad.
in fact, there’s one last thing you don’t expect that comes of today: as you turn in your seat to look at jay’s desk, exactly how he left it, you find that you don’t feel horrified about his death. contrarily, you find yourself feeling relieved. elated, even. and that’s what horrifies you.
as the team that housed jay, your boss releases you all from work for the rest of the day, some for the whole week. not you, though—never you. you are expected to return first thing in the morning to begin sorting through jay’s work and figure out where you can fill in and what you can split amongst your coworkers. but you know that won’t be happening; no one on your team would lift a pinkie to help you even if you were on the floor dying. everything jay left behind will be your responsibility now, not that that’s much of an issue. the man was already pawning all his work to you anyway.
“baby?”
soonyoung’s voice filters through the noise of the coffee machine as you close and lock the door behind you. a head of blonde, spiky hair pokes out from around the corner. your boyfriend’s eyebrows are raised, mouth puckered into a cute, surprised o.
“hey, what are you doing back?” he asks as he completely exits the kitchen and walks around the corner. his hands are immediately pressed against your forehead and neck when he reaches you, eyes running up and down your body like he’s checking for injuries. “are you okay? do you have a fever? are you sick?”
you don’t even have the energy to playfully slap him away and roll your eyes like you normally would at his overly worried behavior. you just shake your head slowly.
“what’s wrong?” he mutters, letting his hands fall to snake around your waist. soonyoung watches you so closely and so attentively, you almost swoon enough to forget why you’re so distraught.
“i…”
soonyoung doesn’t urge you to speak, patiently waiting for you to find the words you want to use. you shake your head again.
“jay’s… jay is dead?” you announce, sounding unsure and confused even though it’s literally just a fact now.
soonyoung snorts. “that would be a dream. how would he die? what’s the most satisfying way to imagine it? hit by a bus? fell into an open manhole? choked on a—”
“no,” you interject, gripping his forearms and squeezing. he moves to let go of you but you keep him where he is. “he’s actually dead, soonyoung. like… dead dead.”
he raises an eyebrow, still obviously hesitating. “okay, i want to say you’re joking… but your use of my government name is telling me you’re not…?”
“i’m not!” you insist, slapping his arms away now.
“hey.” he pouts.
“why else would i be home right now?!” you point out. “park told us to take the day off.” you toe off your shoes and push past soonyoung, further into the home you share. “something about grieving.”
you go straight to the couch, flopping onto it face down.
“oh my god?” your boyfriend murmurs in a daze as he follows you, brows furrowed into a deep frown.
he sits on the small sliver of couch you’re not occupying, automatically arranging you so that you’re laying face up against him between his legs. his arms find your waist once more.
“what… what happened…?” he asks, obviously trying to tread the topic carefully. he knows how much you hated jay—hell, as your biggest supporter, he hated him too. but for him to die? you’re full of complicated feelings. “is that why he’s been skipping work?”
you nod. “and it’s not just that… park and the other execs didn’t say this, but… i looked up his name to see if i could read the obituary.”
“mmm,” he hums, nodding. “tracks for a nosy girl like you.”
“not the time!” you whine, already pulling away. he tightens his arms around you, keeping you from moving.
“okay, okay! sorry! i’ll be serious—i swear! i’m sorry!”
you huff and relax against him once more.
“so you looked up his obituary…” he encourages you to continue, voice lower as he tries to be serious—a feat for him, honestly.
“i… i think jay was murdered.”
you whisper the words without meaning to, like you’re scared of giving life to them. like if you say them loud enough, the prank call killer—or their copycat—will come bursting through the door and shred you and the love of your life into ribbons of blood and flesh.
soonyoung remains quiet and you can almost hear the gears in his head turning as he tries to find the correct thing to say. you bet he’s trying to scour his brain for anything that isn’t an inappropriate joke.
“murdered…?” he asks in a small voice. “why… how…?”
you rest your hands over his on your stomach, pressing even further into him as you retell what you read.
a victim was found in his own apartment, stab wounds to his back and left thigh. it was clear he was attacked in his kitchen and that his assailant let him make it halfway to his front door… before they cornered him against his own couch. then, they gutted him—from lower abdomen to sternum, where his bones wouldn’t give any more way for the knife. they didn’t name him. they didn’t even describe his appearance. all they said was that he was 28, and he lived alone.
but you knew, and from the way you spoke, you were confident soonyoung wouldn’t question you about it. he was good at trusting you and believing in you.
“that’s… fucking barbaric…” he breathes out after you recount the story. “i mean, the guy was a fucking asshole, but… that’s… i mean, it’s… i—”
“i feel happy.” you blurt out the words that have been brewing in your head since you left the office.
to his credit, your boyfriend has taken most of this information well despite the poorly timed jokes. but at this new revelation, his entire body tenses against yours, and you immediately regret being honest.
“you think i’m a monster, don’t you?” you ask quietly, ready for him to gently remove you from him. to admonish you. maybe even leave. “you think—”
“i don’t think you’re a monster.”
he says it with so much conviction, you believe it the first time he says it. soonyoung repeats it anyway.
“i don’t think you’re a monster, baby. please don’t say that. i’m just… surprised. i mean i’m definitely not mourning the guy, but i know how these kinds of things can upset you.”
you know he’s referring to all the times news headlines made you cry, or the times bleak documentaries pushed you into a weird episode of feeling like there was no meaning to life and everything was pointless. you’ve always been easily affected by the world around you, so it’s fair for him to be surprised that being this close in proximity to a victim of such inexplicable violence doesn’t send you straight into a panic attack.
“he just… he made my life so hard, soonie,” you say, not expecting the tears that fill your eyes. your voice cracks on your boyfriend’s name and he immediately rests his lips against the crown of your head and whispers his love for you.
“i know,” he says after he’s told you he loves you at least a dozen times. “trust me, i know.”
soonyoung actually knows best because he’s the one who’s picking up the pieces when you come home broken and inconsolable. he’s the one who calms you down enough to explain what happened this time.
jay purposefully knocked your coffee over a report that took you a week. jay took credit for a project you were forced to collaborate with him on—a project you ended up doing all by yourself. jay was telling everyone you were a ditzy bimbo that couldn’t do her job right. jay went out drinking with the boss and spent the whole night talking shit about you. jay wouldn’t stop trying to convince you you were only hired because you had a pair of tits. that those tits are all you’re ever going to be worth.
he’s the entire reason the team is the way they are around you now. he’s the one who emboldened them to treat you the way they do.
and day after day, week after week, for almost a year now, soonyoung has had to endure all your rants—rants that were exactly the same because you didn’t know how to stand up for yourself. the only thing you knew how to do was “be a team player” in the hopes that you could find a promotion into another team or even better, a new job altogether.
being the best boyfriend there is, soonyoung never complained about your venting. even on nights he had to abandon the latest script he was working on, even on days he had to call in sick to the writers’ room because he had insisted on staying up until the sun rose, consoling you—he never complained or even hinted that he was tired of you. not once.
even more meaningful to you, he never chastised you for being unable to find the strength to speak back or enforce your boundaries, something you were already plenty embarrassed about. he never made you feel less than; he knew you already had enough of that from the men in your work life.
soonyoung was the gentleness and softness you craved and needed so desperately in your life. he was safety and love and warmth and he was what continuously healed you as your job tried over and over again to break you.
he knew all of this. he knew how much you hated it and how much you hated jay, and it comforts you to know that he doesn’t think you’re a monster for being happy he’s dead. it gives you the courage to be even more honest with him.
“i’m relieved,” you tell him, wiping away your tears. “i’m so relieved he’s gone, and that it’s over. that maybe now… maybe now, i’ll be safe.”
his hold on you tightens and he leaves more kisses in your hair.
“and… i feel like a terrible person saying this…”
“whatever it is, you’re not. so don’t.”
it’s the push you need.
“i’m glad he suffered,” you admit, feeling lighter as soon as it’s out of your mouth. “i’m not just happy he died… i’m glad he died in the most heinous way. and i’m glad his killer made it hurt.”
once the words are out, you can’t take them back. and soonyoung doesn’t make you feel like you should. after a few seconds of silence, he just sighs and leans forward to kiss your cheek.
“then i am too, baby. if you’re happy, then i’m happy.”
he says it like you didn’t just tell him the grossest thing you’ve ever said in your life. and when you look up and catch his reflection in the window opposite of you, unbeknownst to him, you find him smiling into your hair almost like he’s pleased with you. you believe that he really is happy when you’re happy.
and honestly, you love him even more for it.
“i love you, soonie.”
“i adore you,” he says, his favorite way to express his affection for you—even moreso than “love,” though he learned to return the four-letter word once you expressed how important it was to you. “endlessly.” he pauses briefly before promising: “i’ll love you forever.”
it takes just one week, when everyone returns from their bereavement, for you to realize you aren’t safe—that jay’s death just put his friends on edge and made them more dangerous than ever. that for some fucked up reason, they felt that torturing you was the best way they could keep their sick friend’s memory alive.
and it makes you wish they were all dead too.
🎞️ a portion from an early draft of the script for cult classic horror movie, “adoration,” by renowned screenwriter kwon soonyoung
as hoshi stands over his bed, clean of the blood he shed just hours ago and watching his girlfriend sleep, a montage of traumatic events from hoshi’s childhood begins flashing—switching between his memories and their bedroom until his memories win out.
FLASHBACK
a very young hoshi screams as he throws his tiny body against his father’s uselessly. his father has his hands around his mother’s neck, choking her mercilessly.
YOUNG HOSHI stop it! stop! get off my mommy! (begins punching but makes no headway) stop! please!
DAD you think i wouldn’t hear about you coming around to that dead beat’s house under the guise of asking for sugar, you fucking whore?!
YOUNG HOSHI please! mommy!
hoshi’s father removes one hand from his wife’s neck to shove his son aside. hoshi stumbles several steps before falling and hitting his head on the corner of the table and blacking out.
memory moves to hoshi’s recovery, when he is back home with a bandage around his head. blood blooms on the back of it. he is freshly woken up, in his pajamas, and his mother is changing the dressing on his injury.
there is something eerily blank about his face.
MOM (in a hoarse voice) let me know if it hurts, sweetheart.
YOUNG HOSHI okay. (pauses in what seems to be thought, though his expression does not change) will you let me know if it hurts too?
camera follows his gaze, focusing on the bruises around her neck. his mother’s hands still on his head before she continues in silence.
hoshi does not urge her to answer him, his eyes almost glazing over as he stares at her bruises. his mother finishes up changing the bandaging.
MOM you don’t worry your cute, little head about mommy, okay? in fact—
she pauses to put the medical supplies away into the first aid kit resting on the nightstand and smooths her dress before crouching in front of hoshi’s bed. she takes his hands in hers.
MOM mommy doesn’t want you interfering like that ever again, okay? (hoshi’s face remains blank as he meets her eyes now) when you hear daddy or mommy shouting, i want you to stay right here, in your bed, with the door shut and locked, and i don’t want you to come out until i come get you, alright?
YOUNG HOSHI am i in trouble?
MOM no, no sweetie. you’re not in trouble. but daddy will be home soon. in the next day or so. and mommy needs you to be safe and healthy, so will you promise me that you’ll stay out of it?
YOUNG HOSHI why does daddy hurt you?
MOM daddy is… he’s sick, sweetheart.
YOUNG HOSHI if someone is sick, is it okay for us to let them hurt us?
despite hoshi’s blank stare, his mother recognizes this will be a pivotal moment that informs the way her son sees the world. she blinks rapidly as her thoughts go into overdrive and she tries not to cry.
MOM (whispers) no. (she pauses, shaking her head and quickly wiping away her tears before returning her hand to hoshi’s) no, it’s not okay. you don’t let anybody hurt you, sweetheart. not you. no one hurts you.
YOUNG HOSHI why do you let daddy hurt you?
MOM i… i love him, hoshi. i love your father. and he loved me once too. maybe he will again. but either way, i will still love him. he gave me you.
hoshi’s blank stare breaks at this, like the idea of any part of him being from his father bothers him. like he realizes he might be the only reason his mother stays with his father.
YOUNG HOSHI you love him… (his mother nods) i never want to love someone then.
memory moves years forward, when hoshi is 17. they remain in the same home, but messier and much sadder. colors are cooler than the past warmer memories audience has seen before.
hoshi is seated on the edge of a bigger bed now, in the same position as the previous memory, this time without his mom.
hands grip the comforter tensely. works his jaw anxiously as he stares, expressionless, at the door.
sound is muffled as camera zooms in on door. audience hears high-pitched whining sound as shots quickly flash between the door, hoshi on the bed, and the blood that spread on the floor from his head injury when he was young.
the whining gets louder as all the memories that flash now focus on young hoshi’s traumatic brain injury (blood, his mother screaming, blood, cops, stitches, bandages, blood, blood, blood).
the sound comes back full volume as the flashing comes back and stops on his closed room door.
MOM i’m sorry! i’m—
his mother’s pleas are cut off with her own scream as the walls shake and boom with the force of her body being thrown against them.
hoshi relaxes his fingers and smooths the comforter where he wrinkled it. he stands calmly, making his way to the door. his hand hovers over the locked handle.
flashes back to his conversation with his mom.
MOM will you promise me that you’ll stay out of it?
young hoshi’s face is blank but the way his eyes search his mother’s face in a way audience did not see before now implies that he possibly could’ve been weighing his options, even as a child.
YOUNG HOSHI why does daddy hurt you?
back to 17-year-old hoshi.
HOSHI (mutters to himself) you never promised.
audience sees he made it to the kitchen during the flashback. he faces the doorway from the kitchen to the living room.
camera focuses on door. mother is thrown across the living room, father stalks after her. the sounds of punching are heard but they’re beginning to muffle again.
flashes back.
MOM you don’t let anybody hurt you, sweetheart. not you. no one hurts you.
flashes back to memory from beginning of film.
MOM (both sprawled across grass on a sunny day) you and i, we’re one, hosh. you’re made of me, and i’m made of you!
YOUNG HOSHI i’m you and you’re me?
MOM hm. not quite but sure, yes! and we’ll always have each other.
flashes to conversation after brain injury.
YOUNG HOSHI why do you let daddy hurt you?
MOM i… i love him, hoshi.
we come back to teen hoshi in the kitchen. his mother’s voice is still there, but as muffled as the rest of the sounds are.
he walks forward and calmly retrieves the biggest knife from the block on the counter.
MOM (muffled voiceover) i love your father. and he loved me once too.
he weighs the knife in his hand and flips it so he’s holding it blade up. he holds it like someone who’s practiced this before.
he turns back toward the living room, walking to the doorway that separates it from the kitchen.
MOM (muffled voiceover) maybe he will again.
he watches as his father punches his mother wherever she can’t block him. as he takes a step forward, the high-pitched whining returns, the camera begins to shake, and the house seemingly starts to crumble around him as he walks forward.
scenes once again flash between hoshi approaching his father, the conversation on the bed, and the blood pooling from his brain injury.
MOM (voiceover, warped by the whining) but either way, i will still love him.
the scenes flashing now show bits of hoshi reaching his father amongst the rubble of their home, grabbing him by the shoulder and yanking him off his mother and onto his feet.
whining and shaking reaches a fever pitch before going eerily silent and the scene shows sunlight filtering through leaves.
MOM (clear voice) he gave me you.
camera comes back to hoshi and his mother sprawled across the grass. the memory is different this time.
MOM (said less warmly, more an order now) you and i, we’re one, hosh. you’re made of me, and i’m made of you.
as dialogue progresses, sun disappears, covered by dark clouds. hoshi sits up and narrows his eyes at the sky. when he turns toward his mom, he sees they are now both in the living room, the house completely in tact again, and she’s holding his small body—the younger version of him, limp in her arms as he watches from across the room. she’s covered in his blood, and so is the floor and coffee table.
MOM (blankly with no urgency) you and i. we’re one. someone hurts me, they hurt you. and what did i tell you?
HOSHI (voiceover as camera begins to follow the trail of blood gushing from young hoshi’s head) no one hurts me.
complete silence, camera still following young hoshi’s blood as it flows across the hardwood floor.
the flow joins the massive pool around two pairs of shoes, both facing each other. camera stays there for a few moments, before his mother’s screams pierce the silence.
camera slowly travels up hoshi’s legs from behind, until it reaches his head, where it looks like his dad is embracing him.
something heavy falls into the blood (presumably organs), creating a splashing noise, and shortly after that, hoshi shoves his father. it’s clear he had simply died and collapsed onto him.
his mother starts screaming and sobbing over his body for several minutes, but hoshi finds that he feels relieved, his face breaking out into the smallest smile for the first time since he hit his head.
when his mother gains her senses, she grabs his face between her hands, her own face bloody, puffy, and bruised.
MOM go! you have to go! they won’t understand, they’ll take you to jail, hoshi! you have to leave!
HOSHI (frowning) but we’re safe now.
his mother freezes.
HOSHI he’s gone. we’re safe now.
MOM (she swallows and nods shakily) we are. but i can’t let them take you to prison, sweetheart.
his mom begins leading him through the house, quickly forcing him to change out of his blood-soaked clothes, gathering important belongings and food, finding years’ worth of hidden emergency cash she never found the courage to use, stuffing it into his backpack.
HOSHI mom… what… i…
his mother brings him to the back door, weaving his arms through the backpack and smiling unconvincingly. she takes his face in her hands once more and kisses both cheeks as her tears start to fall.
MOM you be safe, okay?
HOSHI are you mad at me? do you hate me?
MOM what? no, no, sweetie. no. (said forcefully. pauses to think) i’ve only ever felt adoration for you, hoshi. adoration and nothing else. i’m sorry i let this happen. i’m sorry i subjected you to this.
HOSHI mom—
MOM but you need to go now, okay? the neighbors will have heard all the screaming. take the cash, go far away, and whatever you do, don’t come back.
HOSHI but—
MOM go!
she all but shoves him out of the door. she lingers there for a moment, trying her best to let the last memory of his mom be one of her smiling. she whispers an i love you before slamming the door shut.
PRESENT
we return to present-day hoshi, who is now seated on the edge of his girlfriend’s side of their bed. he strokes her hair away from her face as she breathes softly, still asleep.
he smiles, obviously, genuinely in love.
HOSHI (whispers) adoration.
you’re back at work the next day, much to soonyoung’s chagrin. he had been hoping you’d get the rest of the week off, and maybe he could get out of going into the writers’ room and keep you company at home. but he knows that was wishful thinking, especially with how set your team has been on not only working you to the bone, but ruining your life. but at least you enjoy the rest of the week since no one else is there to bother you.
for the first time since jay entered your life, you start to look light again. you start to smile more freely, joke more, and come home with bright eyes. it brings him hope that this is how it will be now—that he did the right thing.
though, he already knows for a fact he did the right thing.
soonyoung can’t describe the pure ecstasy that ran through his veins the moment you admitted you were happy that jay was dead—not only that you were happy he was gone, but that you were glad the killer made it hurt. you didn’t say it, but he heard it loud and clear.
you were proud of him for what he did. you adored him for the way he punished jay, and he would do it again. no matter how many times it took—how many lives it took—he would spill gallons and gallons of blood for you, and he would do it happily. no one would ever hurt you again. not with him around, and he planned to be around until you were both buried six feet deep.
there wasn’t anything that could beat this feeling, he had decided the moment you bared your heart to him—so naked and vulnerable, and still trusting him to hold it gently. you weren’t horrified by his means of protection. you weren’t running the other direction. you were grateful. and he doesn’t know why he thought you would be any other way. there’s a reason he’s with you, after all.
if there’s anything even remotely similar to a soulmate, that’s what you are. you’re meant to be his—made to be his. and he was made to be yours—to serve you, to keep you safe, to kill for you. it doesn’t matter that his habit started long before he ever even met you; now, his talents are only reserved for you.
and it made excitement bubble under the surface of his skin knowing you liked it. you didn’t even know he was jay’s murderer—hell, you didn’t even know he was the prank call killer—and you still admired his work anyway.
“what are you smiling at?”
he startles and looks up to see jihoon peering at his laptop screen, still only half a page full although they’ve been in the writers’ room the whole day. his colleague and friend frowns.
soonyoung sighs. “just daydreaming, man,” he says. it’s not dishonest. he shuts his laptop and stretches in his seat before standing and drawing the attention of the small handful of writers left. “going to head out now, everyone. got a pretty lady waiting for me at home. don’t stay too late, okay?”
he gets the usual playful eye rolls and smiles and cooing from the others as he slaps jihoon on the back and promises to get dinner with him soon. at work, he’s only known for three things: the exceptional writing that got him his lead position on the show, his fixation on horror movies, and his “obsession” with you. he liked it—the idea that when people thought of him, they immediately thought of you too. they know you belong to each other, and that’s exactly how he wants it.
soonyoung barely has the car started and in reverse when you call. he answers immediately.
“hey, baby, i’m just lea—”
“soonyoung?”
his heart stops at the sound of your voice. it’s clear you’ve been crying. for how long, he doesn’t know, but your words are still thick with tears. you sound exhausted and broken and worst of all, defeated. you sound like the day you came home and he decided he was going to kill jay—the first person he’s killed since he graduated college almost 10 years ago.
he puts the car back into park, clenching his jaw for a moment so that his first response to you isn’t tell me his name and i’ll have his head in front of you in an hour.
“soonie?” you whimper. “are you there? i’m sorry to call, i know you’re at work. i—”
“y/n, where are you?” he asks as calmly as he can.
“i’m home,” you answer, voice so small, it makes his rage burn hotter.
the fact that you’re home gives him at least some relief.
“i was hoping you’d be here,” you tell him, voice shaky. “i just need someone to talk to. i had…” you whisper your next words like if you’re any louder, you’ll completely break down. “i thought work would be better. fuck, soonie, i thought work was going to be better.” your words devolve into devastated sobs as you repeat yourself.
soonyoung’s instinct is to race to you, to hold you until your tears stop, and to put you to bed and make sure that every time you wake up from a nightmare, he’s still there, arms tight around you, unyielding. protecting you and in turn, protecting himself.
but his mask, robe, and knife are still in the trunk from his visit to jay’s last week, and right now, he thinks that paying a visit to whichever idiot you’re going to tell him about is the best way he can help.
he forces himself to turn the engine off.
“tell me everything,” he says softly, though his body feels so tense, he thinks he might pop a blood vessel.
“you’re not busy, are you?” you hiccup through your tears. “i can wait until you—”
“i’m not busy, love,” he says, eye inadvertently twitching from using the word.
soonyoung still struggles with it. he tries not to because it’s an affection that makes you feel comforted and, well, loved, and he’ll do anything to make you feel that way. still, he doesn’t know how to keep it from feeling like an insult to you.
love was what his father gave his mom. love was what made his mom stay with a monster. what he has for you isn’t the same; it’s leagues beyond it. he doesn’t think there’s a word for what he feels for you at all.
“go on,” he encourages you. “i’m listening. tell me.”
and you do.
soonyoung used to think he never had a control issue with his habit. it wasn’t something he craved or thought about the way he read that other serial killers did. no, his murderous tendencies only ever reared its ugly, useful head when he needed a solution for an ugly, useless lowlife.
the first was his father. something about cutting his stomach wide open, feeling the warmth of him rush over his hands, hearing the sound of him fall to his feet in pieces—he decided that would be the way it happened each time. he wanted to see a man who didn’t know how to treat a person right—and he wanted to feel the life flow right out of him. without meaning to, it became his M.O.
he found himself hopping city to city after being forced from his home, and there was no shortage of men who needed correction—or, eradication. it was simple at first; he’d see a horrible interaction between lovers or a father and a child or classmates or even strangers, he’d follow the offender until they were alone, and he’d gut them like a pig. he didn’t think about hiding or burying the body, leaving it in plain sight to humiliate his victims further. he didn’t even have his mask yet, and in retrospect, he’s not sure how he didn’t get caught because he was careless in those early days.
he took it as a sign from the universe that he was doing exactly what he was supposed to.
soonyoung was smart with the money his mom left him and picked up part-time jobs until he had enough to put himself through school. university was crawling with losers begging to be killed, but he was a little older and a little wiser, and he knew a serial killer on campus would draw too much attention. so he forced himself to focus on the worst of the worst. and that was when he realized his M.O. was evolving.
it started with a frat president rumored to drug and take advantage of girls at their house parties. soonyoung watched him for a whole semester, taking note of his schedule, his routes, his haunts, his friends. then, he started calling him. nothing more than heavy breathing at first. but when he could hear the man’s nerves fraying—and that didn’t take long—he started talking to him. he found that he liked psychologically torturing him as much as he’d tortured the girls he’d hurt.
hi, allen.
who i am isn’t important.
i hear you can’t get a woman to consent to having sex with you. what’s the problem? is it small? well, even if it is, that isn’t really an issue—just gotta know what to do with it, right?
well, i mean, why else would you resort to drugging and assaulting women?
don’t lie to me. i see everything.
one night, weeks after he’d started calling allen, soonyoung had one last phone conversation with him, one where he was no longer bluffing. he actually was seeing everything, standing in the dark corners of the kitchen in their fraternity house—this time in full disguise—while allen and his brothers got drunk in the backyard.
oh, allen, it’s a bad night to be drunk, buddy.
why? because i’m going to free this campus of you tonight. gonna cleanse the floors of this horrid fucking house with your blood.
it’s too late for “sorry,” allen. besides, i’m not the one who needs to hear it.
the frat president tried to stay with at least one person at all times after the call, but as his brothers got drunker and drunker and started stumbling off to bed or passing out, allen found himself alone. and in the morning, his brothers found him the same way, except this time, with his insides all over the outside.
soonyoung killed two more people while in college, and even though they were far enough apart, he still got dubbed the prank call killer, a name he found childish and dumb. besides, he didn’t want a name; he wanted men to be scared. at least scared enough to try to be decent.
then, college ended, he packed up to follow the shows he wanted to write for, and it led him to you. and he didn’t have time to think about anybody else, let alone plot their demise. soonyoung was occupied by you, your smile, your laugh, your scent, the way you made him feel normal—the way you made him feel at all, something he struggled with since his accident as a child. and once he actually had you? it was over. he knew there was no possible way he’d ever be able to let go of you ever again.
and the killing just… stopped. with you, he learned how to make friends—made a ton of them. he learned to enjoy other people and their company. he learned how to love, even if it sometimes made him want to plunge a knife into his own stomach. but he did it for you because he adored you, and nothing was more important than you.
so no, he didn’t think he had a control issue. it was largely easy minding his own business and refraining from stabbing men left and right when he had you next to him.
but then, you started this stupid fucking job. you met jay and all his little cronies, and soonyoung realized it wasn’t a matter of his control; it was a matter of your safety and happiness. because now that you were the center of his universe, you two were one. if someone hurt you, they were hurting him.
and the way he sees it, his only job is to make sure no one hurts him. no one messes with what’s his.
it’s not about control. he has none now. it’s about you.
by the time you finish telling him everything that happened that day, he has a strange calmness about him he hasn’t felt since before you. he can’t do anything but stare blankly forward, watching as employees of the studio walk to their cars and pull away.
“i’m so over it,” you grunt, having passed from sad to angry fairly quickly. “i don’t think i can do this anymore, soonie. i know money would be tight and i don’t want to put that stress on us but—”
“no, don’t be silly,” he says, feeling like he’s on autopilot. “please quit, baby. i’ve wanted you to quit since the first day; i just… didn’t want to be that boyfriend.” he means every word and yet, he can’t feel any of them as they leave his mouth. “we’ll figure it out. please quit.”
there’s a heavy silence between the lines until you sigh deeply. “okay, love. i will. i’ll do it.”
he thinks he should feel relieved. he doesn’t and he knows he won’t until he kills them. “yeah? you will?” he asks, hoping he sounds excited enough. “you promise?”
your smile is loud and clear as you speak. “yes, i promise, soonie. i’m going to march in there tomorrow and quit without notice, and i’ll tell them i hope they all drop dead—no!”
you gasp and correct yourself.
“i’ll tell them i hope the prank call killer comes for them just like they did for jay!”
soonyoung feels something then. he doesn’t know what; he can’t define it, but it quickly grows into something bigger the more you speak. it pulls both his spirits and the corners of his lips up. it kisses him and fills him with light. it makes him feel alive, more than a shell for a soul he isn’t even sure he has.
“i don’t even know if any of them realize what really happened,” you think aloud before sighing like you’re daydreaming. “ugh, what i wouldn’t pay to see them on the news like that. ‘grisliest murders since prank call killings plague corporate hell’! that would be nice, huh?”
soonyoung smirks. that, he can deliver.
“yeah, baby. it would. a headline like that… i’d die happy.”
“me too,” you agree before telling him: “no one gets me like you do, soonie.”
his heart soars.
🎞️ a portion from an early draft of the script for cult classic horror movie, “adoration,” by renowned screenwriter kwon soonyoung
after he’s done gagging howard—so tightly, the fabric is cutting into his skin, a punishment for the earlier kick to the head—hoshi stands in front of the two men, leaning up against the pool table and watching them.
they both have cuts and bruises on their faces, from the struggle to get them into the dining chairs, but hoshi’s knife is still nowhere in sight.
HOSHI (begins mindlessly and slowly pacing in front of them) i bet you want to ask me who i am… what i want… why i’m doing this, right?
howard glares at him but chris is already crying.
HOSHI and usually, i’d entertain the questions because prolonging the hope that you’re going to survive makes this more fun for me, but… (stops facing away from them) i’m tired. and i think i’m beyond having fun tonight. (turns head toward them and chris flinches at the mask) i think… (fully turns toward them with hunting knife in hand, catching the light) i just want to wipe you two off the face of this earth and be done with it.
howard’s glare falters and chris urinates on himself. hoshi snorts.
HOSHI (walks up to chris, who cringes away from him) chris, right? (leans down so chris is face to face with his mask) i asked you a question.
chris nods obediently and quickly, gag soaked in his own tears.
HOSHI so you’re the one who called my girl a bitch, hm? (chris frowns but he doesn’t seem to know exactly who hoshi is yet) called her a bitch in front of the whole office… told her she’d be better sucking your dick under the desk than trying to assign you work?
howard’s eyes widen as he realizes exactly who hoshi is talking about. chris starts sobbing loudly, begging for his life incoherently through the gag.
HOSHI (looks down at chris’s soiled lap, points his knife at his crotch) you want her to suck this dick?
chris’s begging becomes more desperate, thrashing in his seat as he realizes what’s about to happen.
HOSHI (looks up at chris briefly and huffs a single laugh) what dick?
he shoves his knife into chris’s crotch. chris screams in muffled agony and howard starts shrieking and flailing in an attempt to scoot his chair away from the other two.
camera is focused on hoshi’s upper half and audience can see his arm jerking quickly back and forth as chris’s screams continue and howard finally starts crying. then, there’s a dull thud on the floor, and hoshi straightens back up and takes a step away, knife disappearing in his robes as he tilts his head and views his work.
HOSHI looks like there isn’t a dick to suck there, chris. shame.
chris’s wailing continues as hoshi looks to howard now, who begins shaking his head and crying through his gag.
HOSHI and you, you annoying little fuck. (crouches in front of howard) it wasn’t enough that you’re making her life a living hell, you wanted to piss me off even more and kick me in the head, huh?
hoshi rips his mask off, revealing his face to howard. there’s already a bruise spreading across the top of his left cheek. he smirks.
HOSHI my name is hoshi, if you’re wondering. and yeah. i’m her boyfriend. and as her boyfriend, she tells me all kinds of things. i’m sure you can imagine.
he stands up and walks back to the pool table, resting his mask against the felt before turning, leaning up against it once more, and crossing his arms.
HOSHI and today, she had a lot to tell me. she told me that jake’s two closest idiot friends were trying to continue his legacy as biggest asshole in the office. do you know how jake died, howard? won’t bother asking mr. no-dick, over there. seems busy.
camera goes to chris, who keeps fading in and out of consciousness, face soaked with sweat, tears, and drool slipping out of his open mouth.
HOSHI no guesses? (a gagged howard looks at him incredulously) okay, fine, fine, i’ll tell you. i killed him.
even though his tone sounds prideful as he speaks, his face is blank. he stares at howard with soulless eyes, and it unnerves him further.
HOSHI i snuck into his apartment while he was out drinking with you guys. (howard makes a noise of surprise) yeah, that’s right. you two were the last people to see that moron alive. i should probably thank you. (tilts his head up at the ceiling like he’s reliving the memory) his inebriated state made it a lot easier to tease and kill him. not a lot of fight in that one. surprising, don’t you think? (head remains tilted at ceiling, but eyes flash down to meet howard’s) that someone who tormented a woman’s life the way he did would die so easily… so quietly… so… pathetically.
chris regains consciousness and starts screaming and sobbing again, head hung over where his member used to be
HOSHI (brings his head down and looks at chris now) how will you two die? (eyes slide over to howard) will you beg for your life the way jake did? will you… offer me meaningless apologies and promises? will you… tell me that you’ll give me whatever i want?
he brings out his knife again and wipes it against howard’s pool table, smearing chris’s blood against the green felt. he inspects it like he’s making sure it’s sharp enough. camera focuses on hoshi’s reflection in the blade.
HOSHI (shrugs, puts knife down) i guess we’ll see in a few moments—how similar you are to jake. i will say, (pushes off the pool table, taking his mask with him) you two seem to be even worse than that deadbeat. do you agree, chris?
chris screams at the mere mention of his name, convulsing as hoshi walks closer to both of them. he stops just a couple of steps away from them, right in between the two.
HOSHI jake was a demeaning, narcissistic misogynist. and i tore him wide fucking open. let his intestines spill all over his own floor. made his living room a shallow sea of red.
both howard and chris beg through their gags.
HOSHI can you imagine what i’ll do to you if i think you’re even worse? (puts his mask back on and looks at howard) can you imagine what i’ll do to the man who told the whole office that he was gonna fuck the ambition and fight out of my girl, whether she liked it or not? what do you think i’ll do to that man if i made a massacre out of the dumbass who said a few mean things?
howard desperately shrieks excuses against his gag, no success in saying even one understandable word.
HOSHI (sighs like he’s come to a decision) yeah, i’m beyond having fun tonight. (quickly slashes chris’s throat, shallow enough that it will take a long time for him to bleed out. howard screams) at least with him. but with you? (crouches in front of howard again) the night has only started for you, howard.
IN THEIR HOME
TV NEWS ANCHOR authorities are doing their best to calm increasingly panicked citizens as fears that a serial killer is rampant on our streets spread. last week, 29-year-old jake lee was found brutally murdered in his downtown apartment (camera view switches to hoshi’s girlfriend as she tidies up around their living room. she looks pleased upon hearing that sentence), stabbed multiple times. last night, police answered multiple calls to 911 reporting the screams of a man in their high-rise apartment.
she stops tidying, turning to look at the news broadcast from where she stands. her eyes are wide and her mouth hangs open in surprise.
TV NEWS ANCHOR upon entering, they found 27-year-old howard wang and 25-year-old chris vu’s bodies in the former’s apartment. authorities have not yet released details of the crime, but sources report that the nature of their deaths is comparable to that of jake lee’s. we have maya on the scene, reporting.
the tv turns off as she sinks into the couch, obviously in a dazed shock. the camera focuses on her from straight ahead, slowly zooming in on her for several, silent seconds until only the lower half of her face is visible. after a few more moments, she smiles.
you watch soonyoung carefully as he washes the dishes, something he insisted on doing since you cooked tonight. you think it’s the least you can do for the sole earner of the household now that you’re unemployed, but he refused to let you do it yourself.
from where you stand, you have a clear view of his sharp profile. the bruise he says he got from falling down the stairs at work earlier this week has become a deep purple, spreading across his cheekbone and toward his jawline. you suppose he could’ve gotten that in a fall. a fall that took place the same night hayden and charles were murdered. the same night you told him you wished jay’s killer would come for them next.
you want to say your boyfriend would never do something that insane. you want to say your boyfriend doesn’t have the kind of temperament required to commit vengeful crimes like these. but after almost ten years together, you think there have been enough signs to make you take pause.
soonyoung almost never got visibly jealous—never paid any attention to men who looked at you a little too long or sent the server to deliver you a drink. he was confident in his trust in you. it should’ve been comforting how unbothered he was by the attention you received, but sometimes, you felt offended that he wasn’t at least a little bit jealous.
these thoughts were vanquished immediately when one night, someone grabbed you at a bar. it wasn’t even inappropriate; the man just took you by your forearm and yanked you toward him in an attempt to keep you from getting crushed by a drunken patron who had zero spatial awareness.
you’ll never forget the rage you saw in soonyoung’s eyes when they landed on the stranger’s hold on your arm. he didn’t do anything—simply threw the hand off you and led you away, but the look stayed with you. it was a raw, all-consuming, unadulterated, and unchecked rage you don’t think you’ve ever seen with your own eyes before.
the kind of rage you think could be capable of murder, given the right circumstances.
it should’ve scared you. just like the idea of soonyoung murdering your coworkers one by one should scare you. but it didn’t, and it doesn’t now. exactly like back then, it gets you wetter faster than foreplay itself.
soonyoung turns the faucet off and wipes his hands on the towel. when he turns, he’s so startled to find you standing so close to him, he stumbles back.
“oh shit,” he breathes, laughing a little. “i didn’t realize you were so close. you move so quietly.” he notices the way you stare at him intently. like it’s second-nature, he wraps himself around you and pulls you into his chest. “what’s up, baby?”
“i want to try something,” you say softly, a little hesitantly.
you know what you’re about to ask for is depraved and worrisome and… inhumane. but you can’t bring yourself to care right now, not when your panties are this soaked at the thoughts flying wildly around your head.
“okay,” soonyoung says, laughing a little. “can you be more specific?”
“i want… to roleplay a little,” you say, gaze going down to soonyoung’s neck, then his chest. your fingers trace the edges and dips of his collarbones and his pecs.
his grip on you tightens. “is that right?” he says, smirking. “and who do you want us to pretend to be? are we strangers in a bar?”
you shake your head. “no, not strangers in a bar.”
“okay,” he acquiesces easily.
soonyoung is always eager to give you whatever you want, and it bolsters your confidence to ask this of him. he leans down to graze your ear with his lips.
“am i your sexy sidepiece you’re cheating on your boring ass husband with?” he whispers, running his hands down to your ass and gently squeezing, pressing your hips against his so you can feel him already hardening from this conversation alone.
you smile, eyes fluttering closed as he nips at your lobe. “nope, not that either.”
“tell me who you want me to be, and i’ll be whatever it is, baby.” he subtly grinds into you and you try not to moan.
“you promise you won’t judge me?” you whisper.
“i would never,” he promises, leaving open-mouthed kisses down your neck now.
“i want you to be him,” you say as he starts to bite and suck. “i want you to be the prank call killer.”
he completely freezes in your arms, mouth still against your skin. for a horrifying minute, you think you’ve crossed the line. of course soonyoung is going to think you’re a freak for asking something so debauched and immoral of him. you have little to no evidence that he would ever enjoy something like this.
you’re about to push him away and start groveling for forgiveness and promising to seek therapy, when he grabs you by the face with both hands and envelopes your lips roughly with his own. his kisses are hot and wet and his tongue is in your mouth before you can ask if this means “yes.”
he presses you up against the kitchen island, and you can feel his entire length against your thigh, fully hard now and begging to be inside you. you groan just thinking about it—thinking about the murderer that took your tormentors off the street fucking into you viciously and relentlessly.
“and who are you?” he asks, breaking away from the kiss and lifting you so that you’re sitting on the counter.
soonyoung’s voice is rough and raspy with desire you haven’t heard from him quite like this before, and you feel the wetness between your legs grow knowing he’s willing to do this for you.
“i’m exactly who i am right now,” you say, feeling a little shy, but when he moans at your words, you feel bold enough to be honest with your fantasy. “i’m your girlfriend,” you inform him, hands diving under his shirt and caressing the muscles there. “and you’re going around killing all the losers i fucking hate because you adore me so much.”
“fuck, you’re so goddamn hot,” he mutters as he takes both hands and rips your blouse open, buttons popping and fabric ripping. you gasp and he smirks at the sound, slipping the ruined piece of clothing off you. “shhh, don’t be scared, baby. you’re the one person in this world i would never hurt.”
the sentence undoes you.
“oh god,” you breathe, diving forward and capturing his lips again.
soonyoung makes quick work of your bra, throwing it somewhere behind him once it’s off. he massages your breast for a few moments before taking your nipple between his fingers and tugging.
you break the kiss to tilt your head back and groan, and he takes the opportunity to bite and suck at the space where your neck meets your shoulder.
“rougher,” you breathe. “c’mon, you’re a murderer.”
soonyoung laughs a little at that, his love bites turning into gentle pecks up and down your neck.
“and you think this killer… he’d be rough with you?”
your eyes blink open a few times, staring at the ceiling and losing yourself in thought. in the days following your colleagues’ deaths and your own resignation from work, you’ve had a lot of time to think—and touch—about this. when you envisioned soonyoung as your murderous protector, you saw him as vicious and wrathful and cruel. but when it came to you… his need was desperate and carnal, but always softer. gentler.
you realize it’s probably not so different from the way soonyoung already likes to fuck you: like you’re the only person in the world he cares about.
“how about…” soonyoung presses one last kiss to your neck before his hands are suddenly up your skirt. he pushes your panties aside and abruptly plunges his middle finger into your heat. your body jerks into his in response. “you let me take the lead here, and if you don’t like something, you just let me know, hm?”
every word you’ve ever known escapes you as he fucks you with just one finger, the wet sounds of your arousal embarrassingly loud as he moves in and out. his thumb lands on your clit when you let out a particularly filthy moan for him, and you lean back on your hands and open your legs wider for him for better access. he gives you another finger as reward.
“oh, soonie,” you breathe. “yes.”
“so warm, so wet,” he rasps, other hand landing on your chest and flicking your nipple. “so beautiful.”
“babe,” you whine, rolling your hips onto his fingers in frenzied movements. “tell me… tell me about—oh my god!”
“hm?” he hums before the sound of more fabric ripping fills the kitchen.
you frown and look down in time to see soonyoung bringing your panties to his nose. you have half a mind to scream at him to stop but his fingers are still inside you, rendering you absolutely speechless as he presses the lace against his face and inhales deeply. your instinct is to feel self conscious—to snap your legs closed and grab your ruined underwear back. but you watch as his eyes roll back into his head and his lips twitch up against the black lace, and you realize he loves it. he breathes in again, and this time, you feel the excitement it causes through his fingers. they move with renewed fervor, like they’re thanking you for the gift you’ve given soonyoung.
“smell so fucking delicious,” he all but growls as he balls the panties up and pockets them.
before you can say anything back, he’s bending down to let his tongue taste your clit briefly before pressing his thumb back against you. your hips jerk and you can’t help when your elbows give, making you collapse and lay all the way down on the counter.
his fingers pump in and out of you faster now, and he completely replaces his thumb with his tongue, guzzling and drinking you up so intensely, his face quickly becomes covered with the stickiness of you.
“taste perfect,” he moans into you, tongue lapping you up eagerly. “tastes like mine.”
it pushes you over the edge quickly, and your back is arching off the island counter as your orgasm seizes you. the room is filled with your boyfriend’s name as you ride out the pleasure on his fingers.
“what do you want me to tell you about?” soonyoung asks once you come down, thumb going back to your clit. he keeps his face close to your pussy as he speaks, nose occasionally slipping between your folds and inhaling as he does. “should i tell you about how i disembowelled that ugly, little douchebag, jay?”
your cunt spasms at the words and soonyoung huffs a laugh when he feels you clench around his fingers. he curls them inside you, easily finding the spongy spot he’s been purposely avoiding up until now. he slows his movements, rubbing you patiently and carefully.
you sigh at the sensation, unsure if it’s because you feel so good or because you’re frustrated he’s eased up.
“i ran my knife up his body until his bones wouldn’t let me butcher him any further,” he whispers, moving so that his mouth is over your stomach, tongue slipping out to trace patterns on your skin between words. “and i made him bleed, baby. fuck, i made him bleed so much.”
“soonie.”
“i made him bleed for looking at you, for breathing near you, for ever thinking he could make someone as perfect as you bend to his will,” he whispers, breath hot as it fans over your skin, fingers still working you to a second orgasm. “i painted his apartment red. and i made it hurt. i made sure to make it hurt. just… for… you.”
he pushes roughly at your spot as he says that last word, eliciting a lewd moan as the beginnings of your next orgasm start to settle over you. soonyoung smirks against your skin.
“as for charles, i cut his fucking cock off,” he tells you.
you gasp at that even though you know he’s just making shit up for the sake of roleplaying. still, you find it in yourself to hate how much you love the idea of soonyoung doing that to someone who told you to get on your knees and suck his dick. someone who wasn’t your boyfriend.
“he cried like a bitch,” he says, kissing your clit before straightening back up so he can properly watch you writhe under him. “cried all the way up until i slit his throat.”
you smile at soonyoung then, reaching for his free hand—the one not currently buried two fingers deep inside you—and bringing it over your tit and holding it there. he looks at you like you’re the reason he’s alive. like you’re the only good thing in the world.
he massages you, just as gently as he did when this first started.
“but my favorite…” he says, eyes heavy-lidded as he takes you in. all his. all the time. until the end of time.
he removes his hand from your chest and shoves his sweatpants down just enough for his cock to spring out. your hips immediately start to buck at the sight, but all soonyoung has to do is shake his head at you once for you to immediately stop moving. there’s something so demanding and powerful about his presence right now that you’re not willing to push the limits of his patience. the pleased look on his face makes your emptiness feel worth it. he takes himself in his fist, pumping a few times as he speaks.
“my favorite was hayden. do you know why, baby?” he asks, moaning when you start playing with your nipple and breathing his name. “can you imagine the shit i did to the loser who thought he could fuck what’s mine?”
“i am,” you sigh, nodding desperately. “i’m yours.”
soonyoung pumps even faster now, but his fingers never falter inside you, intent on getting you to another high. and it’s close. you can feel it building almost painfully in your lower abdomen.
“i cut that ugly tongue of his out of his fucking mouth,” he grunts. you clench hard around his fingers. “and i started chopping him to fucking pieces—”
“soonyoung, i’m going to cum!” you half-shout, twisting under him uncontrollably.
“i cut him up, and the entire time, i only thought of you,” he fucks into his fist harder as you start to lose yourself to your climax.
“soonyoung!”
“and i thought that i’d kill the entire fucking world if i had to… just to keep you mine.”
you cum harder than you ever have in your life, near-screaming as you squirt all over soonyoung’s hand. the feeling reaches every, single corner of your body, making you convulse with pleasure.
“holy shit,” you hear from somewhere above you.
you don’t have time to gather your senses, though, because immediately, your body is being dragged down to the edge of the counter until you’re flying right off it. your boyfriend catches you, standing you up and kissing you full on the lips as he shoves your skirt down enough for it to slip off you and pool at your feet. you take the opportunity to tug his shirt off too, hands all over his naked torso once it is.
“let me cum in you?” he asks without leaving your lips.
“god, please,” you whine, feeling the wetness soonyoung caused sliding down your thighs.
he wastes no time after that, turning you around so that your hips are flush against the kitchen counter. you feel the fabric of his sweatpants glide down the back of your thighs as he removes them, and that’s the last thing you remember before the darkness overcomes you.
your eyes squeeze shut as soonyoung slams into you in one go, giving you zero time to adjust as he starts to immediately rut into you from behind. it burns and hurts so delectably, having him stretch you like this. usually, he takes even more time than he did tonight, making his way up to four fingers sometimes, but having him fuck you like this—like if he waits even a second longer, it’ll be his ruin—it threatens to violently shove you into an abyss of pleasure you fear you’ll never get out of.
soonyoung makes sure to hold you up, one arm across your chest with his hand on your breast, the other on your neck, forcing you to tilt your head back and rest on his shoulder.
you feel his eyes on you, his breath fanning your cheek as his gaze rakes you top to bottom, and you know he looks like a god, but you can’t open your eyes to save your life right now. you think if you do, you might explode into a million little pieces, forever disappearing into the ether.
you feel his lips rest against your ear as he sloppily whispers, “do you like it? knowing i’d do anything for you?” his voice is hoarse as he fucks you rougher than he ever has, the debased sound of skin slapping against each other filling the kitchen. “that i’d kill anyone without a second thought if it meant keeping you forever?”
you moan loudly, eyes pathetically rolling when you attempt to open them. you give up, keeping them shut as you reach up and grab soonyoung’s hair. he groans as you tug.
“soonie,” you sigh, shoving your hips back to meet his and making him curse. “i love it. i love it so much.”
you don’t know that you’re playing a role anymore. the idea that soonyoung would do any of this for you is so titillating, you feel drunk off it.
“feel so safe with you,” you say in broken gasps, your boyfriend’s rhythm making it impossible to say more than two words smoothly. “know you’ll always protect me, soonie.”
soonyoung curses loudly and bites into your neck to keep from getting any louder. his hips snap to yours at an increasingly unforgivable pace.
“and i’ll always protect you too,” you tell him.
you don’t care if this is something you wouldn’t be able to double down on when his cock isn’t buried to the hilt inside of you; it feels like the right thing to say. it feels exactly like what you want to do for him too: everything and anything. just to keep him yours.
“i would do anything for you, soonie,” you whisper.
without warning, there’s a burst of warmth inside your cunt, and soonyoung’s hand briefly tightens against your throat before immediately relaxing again, nothing but his moans and your name taking up the air in the room. he comes inside you hard, hips gluing to your ass like he’s trying to keep every, tiny drop inside you.
the feeling of his dick pulsing against your walls, pushing his seed into you, claiming you as his—it pushes you to your third orgasm, a slow and rolling one, not as intense as the others, but impossibly more satisfying. because this one not only brings you pleasure and an endless well of love for soonyoung; it brings you clarity.
because as you finally open your eyes moments later, soonyoung whispering sweet affirmations, vows, and affections in your ear as he keeps his softening cock warm inside you, you realize with startling lucidity that it wasn’t just a little fantasy.
the idea of soonyoung covered in blood and gore on your behalf was the stuff made of your dreams—or, arguably, nightmares. the idea that you had someone who adored you so deeply, he would play god like that made your heart grow tenfold. and now that soonyoung has fucked the fantasy deep into places inside you you couldn’t reach, you didn’t have it in you to feel ashamed about it.
you’re happy those three are dead.
and you’ll be even happier when the rest of them are too.
🎞️ a portion from an early draft of the script for cult classic horror movie, “adoration,” by renowned screenwriter kwon soonyoung
HOSHI (leaning forward on the table) what’s your favorite scary movie?
YOUR ALIAS hmmm… (she buys herself time by taking a sip of her coffee) maybe… “saw”? why? are you big on scary movies?
HOSHI (shrugs) i like ‘em. probably more than other genres, yeah. (laughs nervously) what, um, do you like about “saw”?
she looks at him like she’s endeared by his nervousness.
YOUR ALIAS i mean, it was a really lengthy and roundabout way of doing things, but i guess i just enjoyed the idea of someone delivering retribution to people who deserved it but escaped it, not that i agreed all the victims chosen should’ve been chosen at all. just enjoyed seeing a few assholes die.
HOSHI (nods slowly) you like karma.
YOUR ALIAS (pauses with coffee at lips. she nods, maintaining eye contact) i do. (sips coffee) what’s your favorite scary movie?
HOSHI i like any slasher movie with a good final girl. if i had to pick, i’d probably say “halloween.”
YOUR ALIAS ahh, laurie, the final girl of all final girls.
hoshi visibly lights up at the comment, smiling widely at her.
HOSHI you know more about horror than you let on.
she nods, smiling back.
YOUR ALIAS just a little. i wouldn’t say i’m knowledgeable but i’ve watched a lot of the classics at least once. i’d call it a green flag that you root for the final girls. laurie’s a good one.
HOSHI i’ll take it. (obviously pleased) but humor me. why is it a green flag?
YOUR ALIAS (shrugs) when done correctly, final girls are the perfect mix of vulnerability—
scene suddenly and almost startlingly flashes to memories of hoshi’s mother for a brief second, accompanied by what sounds like a loud gust of wind. the memories are happy ones between hoshi and his mom.
YOUR ALIAS —and strength—
the memories become times his mother endured his father’s beatings.
YOUR ALIAS —and don’t subscribe to traditional gender roles and ideals. i’m not a huge fan of some films making it so that a lot of final girls are, like… holier than thou virgins, but i think the trope has come a long way.
hoshi nods, seemingly satisfied with her answer. she laughs and adds:
YOUR ALIAS unless you like final girls because you like to see a woman struggling against a violent serial killer. then red flag.
hoshi forces a laugh and shakes his head, looking down at his coffee and tracing the mouth of his mug.
HOSHI no, no. definitely more in line with the first one. i, uh… (looks up at her and seems to search for something in her eyes. whatever it is, he finds it and has the strength to be vulnerable for the first time in his life) my dad was abusive. with my mom.
her face falls and reaches forward to hold hoshi’s hand. the feeling is foreign and odd but he lets her hold it, even curling his own fingers closed around hers.
YOUR ALIAS i’m so sorry.
HOSHI she made me get out. she forced me to leave and never come back so i don’t really know what happened to her. i guess i just hope she’s a final girl.
she takes her second hand and closes it over the top of his and rubs it comfortingly.
YOUR ALIAS she must have loved you so much. (hoshi visibly bristles at that but doesn’t pull away) to be able to give you a better chance at life even if it meant never seeing you again… she absolutely is the final girl.
HOSHI (smiles) i like the way you described it. vulnerability, strength.
YOUR ALIAS (smiles back) tell me more about her.
the two talk until the cafe closes and kicks them out, and the audience sees a montage of the couple going on their second date, third date, until they are moving in together, and planning a future together. hoshi is the happiest the audience has ever seen him, and it seems the side of him that kills has been quieted, though we know that to be untrue from the murders happening present-day.
the montage moves into a scene where she comes home from work in tears. hoshi consoles her, but eventually, that same blank stare we first saw after his head injury comes back.
once she’s asleep, hoshi visits a storage unit he rents a few miles away. he reels up the door, revealing just one trunk in the unit. he walks up to it and opens it.
inside, is a mask, a robe, and a knife.
sex with you after that night in the kitchen has become twice as intense as it ever used to be, and soonyoung knows it’s because a big part of him isn’t holding back anymore—he’s bringing his whole self into bed with you, not bothering to pretend he isn’t completely eviscerating anyone who even looks at you funny in his spare time.
he tells you everything you want to hear, which funnily enough, is just the truth.
two more deaths to add to the list at your office, and he tells you exactly how he did it. he tells you what they said, how they begged, how he made them pay with their lives. between all of that, he never forgets to tell you he would do it time and time and again for you. he would do anything for you. kill anyone for you.
and the way you moan and gasp and cum at his words every time without fail is so goddamn addicting, he thinks he might die whenever he’s not inside you.
it’s dangerous, he knows that. as you start to tell him more stories you didn’t bother to when you were still working there, the itch to go annihilate that entire office becomes overwhelming, and he knows if he doesn’t control it soon, it’s bound to draw unwanted attention; he doesn’t know how it hasn’t already, with five dead bodies—all on the same team at the same company.
so for a few weeks, he doesn’t do anything about the mental list of names he has in his head, letting the headlines and panic die down.
you go out interviewing for jobs, he goes to work, you both come home and fuck each other’s brains out, and he stifles the voice in his head telling him to go murder every last person on that team.
but then, you ask for something terrifying.
you’ve been exploring your kinks ever since you first asked him to roleplay, and you’ve found the things you like and dislike—all things he agrees with so far. you like being tied up, you like blindfolding him, you don’t like calling him daddy (he absolutely fucking hated trying that one), you loved when he spit in your mouth, and he loved when you spit in his.
and while he was open to all your suggestions, there were some things he hesitated with. you asked him to choke you and though he initially agreed, he couldn’t, immediately getting soft when he tried to. you asked him to degrade you—call you a bitch, a slut, a whore—and he figured it was your way of coming to terms with what you experienced at your nightmare of a job. that maybe if it came from someone you loved and felt safe with instead of the asshole in the next cubicle, you’d slowly chip away at your trauma. but he couldn’t do that either.
you always handled his rejections gracefully, assuring him that you could do missionary with zero kinks involved for the rest of your life, and you’d be “on your knees thanking him for blessing you with his dick either way.” and you do your best to prove that to him, taking kinks off the table for a while and seemingly giving him a break. the only thing that stays constant is the “roleplaying,” though that’s probably more at soonyoung’s insistence than anything else. the intimacy he experiences from being himself in bed with you—truly himself—is unparalleled.
until one night, you ask him to use a knife on you during sex, and the panic attack it incites—the first soonyoung has ever experienced—is so massive, you almost call 911. he calms down enough to convince you not to, and the rest of the night is spent in your arms as you cry and apologize profusely for suggesting something like that when you know how his parents raised him. he tries to find the strength to tell you it’s okay, and that he understands, and that there’s no harm in asking, but each time he tries, nothing comes out of his mouth. he spends that entire time staring at the wall, and for the very first time, he experiences it: an undeniable thirst to plunge his knife into someone.
soonyoung isn’t sure why, especially since he just suffered the most exhausting mental breakdown over the measly idea of even holding a knife anywhere near your vicinity. maybe it’s to take his mind off the gruesome, nauseating thoughts of his hunting knife sinking into your flesh—images that flooded his mind against his will the moment you asked that of him. maybe it’s a need to recalibrate his brain, like if he kills another one of your tormentors, it will remind him of his devotion to you.
whatever it is, it nags at him day and night for the rest of the week until he accepts it’s something he needs to give into, no matter how callous and unwise it might be. in an attempt to convince himself it’s okay, he says this will be the last one; regardless of the handful of names left, he’ll do this last one, and he’ll move on. as such, he makes his last victim the one person who could’ve put an end to all of this from the start: your boss.
daniel park is a man of routine, soonyoung learns over the next few weeks. he leaves his home at a sharp 7 a.m., stopping by the same coffeeshop near his obnoxiously large house in the suburbs. he gets to the office around 8 a.m., a full hour after he required you (and no one else) to be in the office when you were still his employee. now that you’re gone, park is usually the first of his team in the office. he locks himself up inside his corner office doing fuck all while everyone else does his work for eight hours. he leaves the office exactly at 4 p.m., and from there, he either goes out for dinner and drinks with his team (something you were never invited to), meets equally old and ugly buddies for drinks, or goes to a bar alone for drinks. either way, the man is drunk by 6 p.m. every day.
then, around 10 p.m., he’ll make his sorry way home—driving drunk while at it—and he’ll stumble into his home, paying no mind to his already sleeping wife, who took care of the home and their child the entire day with no help from him.
soonyoung decides to be reckless one more time. it’s his last one, anyway. he wants this one to matter. he wants this one to be the one you think about for the rest of your life—enough to hold you over even if he never kills again.
he waits for a night when park drinks alone, usually around wednesday or thursday, when he’s gotten tired of his team and wants time alone with whatever stupid thoughts he has. soonyoung watches him from a corner booth at the bar, knocking back whiskey after whiskey like they’re shots. and when he stumbles out of the establishment, he easily guides him to his own car instead of park’s with little protest from the drunk.
he drives him right back to the office building that took so much energy and life out of you, using his badge to get them into the floor. he’s patient with park, letting the man nod off for an hour as he ties him up and prepares for the rest of the night.
when park finally blinks his eyes open, soonyoung is fully dressed in his usual disguise and standing before him in the darkness, only the moonlight filtering in from the windows to his left illuminating his shape. the way your boss startles so violently is deeply satisfying, and it takes everything in soonyoung to refrain from laughing in his face. park jerks his limbs, horrified to find them tightly bound to his own chair, wheeled out of his office and brought to the front of the team floor, where park keeps a whiteboard for their daily stand-ups.
“good morning, sunshine,” soonyoung says from beneath his mask.
“who are you?! what kind of sick joke is this?!”
“none of you were raised with manners, huh?” he grumbles. “all of you skip straight to your stupid questions. why don’t any of you know how to greet a fellow human being?”
he stills in the seat. “‘all of us’?”
soonyoung nods slowly, taking his knife out of his robes, freshly cleaned and polished the way it is before and after every single death. he feels a jolt of dread twist in his stomach when he looks at the blade, picturing it buried in your stomach. he shakes his head to free himself of the thoughts, and thankfully, park doesn’t notice, too busy blabbering all kinds of questions.
“shhh, shhh!” soonyoung shushes him, waving his hands erratically. “quiet, shut up, i’m irritable tonight and if you piss me off on top of that, i’ll make this ten times slower than it needs to be.”
his mouth clamps shut at that and he presses himself back into his seat.
soonyoung usually pretends to inspect his knife at this point just to intimidate his victims, but he couldn’t guarantee that he wouldn’t throw up looking at his own weapon right now, so he lets the arm holding it simply fall to his side.
“all of you,” he repeats. “jay… charles… hayden.” he walks to park slowly, menacingly. “leo, ian.”
your boss’s eyes widen as he hears all the names of his slain employees from the last several months.
“daniel,” soonyoung finishes his list. “you.”
“wh… what…?” he sputters, shaking his head in confusion. his words slur and this close, soonyoung can smell the alcohol on his breath even from under his mask. “you were actually targeting this office?!”
soongyoung scoffs. “well, yes. the only victims have been from this office.”
“b-but authorities! they said there have been a few others that could’ve been—”
park cuts himself off with his own scream as soonyoung’s knife pins his hand to the arm of his chair.
“oh my god!” he screams at the top of his lungs, entire body jerking against his restraints. “oh my god, you stabbed me! you fucking stabbed me! oh my god!”
“i told you to be quiet, right?” he reminds him. “are you going to be quiet… or not?”
your boss stops screaming, though his whimpering and sobbing is almost just as loud. he does his best not to look at his own hand like it helps him pretend it didn’t just happen. he stares up at the ceiling, taking shallow breaths.
“do you know what all of you have in common?” soonyoung asks.
“no,” park breathes, still blinking furiously at the ceiling.
“y/n,” he states easily. “that’s what you have in common.”
park’s eyes come down to soonyoung’s mask, wide and filled with tears.
“yeah, you know exactly why i’m here, don’t you?”
“i—i—” his mouth opens and closes several times before he says, “i’m sorry.”
“whatever for?” soonyoung asks sarcastically, pulling someone’s chair out from their cubicle.
he notices a light blanket on it, yanking it off and throwing it over his shoulder before he sits down. he slouches, bringing one ankle to rest up on his knee and cradling his chin in his hand, elbow on the armrest. he tilts his head in mock interest.
“for it all!” he shrieks. “i swear, i’m sorry, i know i should’ve done more! i’m sorry! i’m a fucking coward, okay?! please! i know what they did to her was horrible!”
“do you? know that?”
“yes, yes! i swear!”
“name them.”
“what?”
“if you can name everything they said and did to her,” soonyoung says, watching the way his blood drips from the armrest and stains the carpet below. “maybe i’ll make this quick. stab you in the heart and be done with it.”
“what?!” he protests. “what about you let me live?”
soonyoung scoffs exaggeratedly. “oh no, daniel. no. that’s cute, but no. the only way you’re coming out of this building is in a body bag. it really is just a matter of whether or not this will be quick and painless or… well, y’know… the alternative.”
he’s bluffing. he already knows exactly what he’s doing with park. he just likes giving him the illusion of control. when he rips it away from him, it’ll be all the more gratifying.
“you have a minute. i’d start listing if i were you.”
“they, uh, they bullied her!”
soonyoung rolls his eyes beneath his mask.
“they catcalled her! they took credit for her work! they made her do all of their reports! they, uh… they—”
“tick tock.”
“they made sexual jokes about her! talked shit about her during dinners! uh, they—um, they spread rumors about her!”
“okay,” soonyoung says, waving a hand and nodding. “good run.” park seems to sigh with relief. “how about you, though?”
“what?”
“how about you?” soonyoung repeats himself, and even though he’s still slouched casually in his seat, his change of tone makes your boss flinch. “what are some things you said and did to her?”
“i… i didn’t…”
“uh-uh,” he laughs, wagging a finger at him. “i already know everything, daniel. don’t try to lie to me.”
it’s another bluff. you told soonyoung you told him everything, but something about the way you said it never convinced him. he knew you were leaving something out, and if this was his last time with any of your vile colleagues, he might as well try to see what it was you were hiding.
“what’s it going to be, boss man? are we going slow or are we making it painless?”
“i passed her up for every promotion!” he shouts immediately, wincing when his enthusiasm jostles his hand against the knife. “she was the most qualified and i passed her up every time!”
soonyoung motions with his hand boredly. “okay… and?”
“i told her to suck it up! that boys will be boys! i told her if she wanted to move up, she needed to get used to it!”
soonyoung glares at him from beneath his mask.
“i—” he swallows hard, tears flowing down his face.
soonyoung sits up, sensing the revelation he’s waiting for on the horizon. he plants both feet on the ground, stands, and stalks over to park until he’s towering right over him. he whips the blanket off his shoulder, balling it in his fist before he rests his hands on your boss’s forearms and leans forward to meet his eyes, ignoring the way he gasps at the pain the movement causes.
“you what?” he asks calmly.
“i… oh god, i…” he swallows nothing again. “i’m sorry…”
“what are you sorry for, daniel?”
“i… i told her if she did want a promotion… she could do me some favors.”
soonyoung’s blood runs cold in his veins. that’s not something you ever mentioned to him, and he can imagine why. he wouldn’t have just gone on a murderous rampage; he would’ve blown this entire building up. he thinks he might break his own teeth from how hard he clenches his jaw. after a few moments, he forces himself to release the tension and open his mouth once more.
“what kind of favors, daniel?” he asks quietly.
“oh god, please don’t make me sa—SEXUAL!” he bellows when soonyoung presses a hand to the hilt of his knife, pushing down another inch. “SEXUAL FAVORS!”
“ah, there it is,” he grunts, nodding.
he stands back up. soonyoung unceremoniously yanks the knife out of park’s hand, flips it so that it’s blade up once more, and without hesitating, he brings the sharp side down on all four of park’s fingers. before the man has a chance to scream, he shoves the blanket into his open mouth, muffling any noise he planned on making.
“shhh,” soonyoung mutters almost soothingly. “shhh, you’re fine. it’s just a few fingers. you don’t need them where you’re going anyway.”
he pats park’s head condescendingly two times before hitting the same spot with the blunt end of his knife.
“you’re all just fucking assholes, aren’t you?” he asks as blood starts running down your boss’s temple. “is that on the job listing? ‘requirements: must be a misogynistic pervert’?”
he grabs a fistful of park’s hair, yanking back so that all he could see was the ceiling.
“i’m sure you know exactly what happened to the others,” soonyoung says, speaking so close to him, his mask presses up against the side of his face that isn’t bleeding. “i’m sure you know all about what i did to them.”
park sobs through the blanket, drool escaping the corners of his lips the harder he tries to speak through the makeshift gag.
“i bet you didn’t count on her having someone who adored her like this, did you?” he asks, voice low. “didn’t think someone would come punish you for hurting the person they love most in this stupid fucking world?”
“no. he didn’t.”
soonyoung freezes at the female voice that cuts through the floor from behind him. your boss starts to thrash with renewed hope that someone has caught him red-handed. his fist tightens around his hair, yanking to shut him up. painstakingly slowly, and without letting park go, soonyoung cranes his neck to look behind him, heart stopping when he sees you there, standing in the moonlight looking as breathtaking as ever.
he doesn’t dare say a word. under his mask, soonyoung frantically searches your face for any sign that you’ll run screaming from him, leaving him alone, never to see you again. he doesn’t find anything other than your usual, soft smile—“resting lovely face” he would call it on his especially sappy days.
you’ve pretended to be a murderer’s girlfriend dozens of times by now, but soonyoung had no reason to believe you thought any of it was real—that you suspected him of all the heinous crimes he’s committed for you. as you let the large bag hanging on your shoulder slip off and fall to the floor and you start walking toward them, he weighs his options.
he could run, but then what? leave you with a crime scene you’ll take the blame for? absolutely not. he could throw himself to the floor begging you for forgiveness, begging you to not turn him in but more importantly, begging you to stay with him. there’s a tiny, ugly voice that suggests he could also kill you. he shudders, shaking the thought away. if he resorted to that, he would have to follow right after. that had to be his last option.
you reach them, and soonyoung knows he’s run out of time. whatever you do or say next will dictate the rest of your lives.
when he forces himself to meet your gaze, though, he sees nothing there but absolute fondness and veneration. you rest a palm against his back as he continues leaning over your former boss.
“mr. park,” you say, turning your attention to the man bound to the chair now. soonyoung follows your gaze back to the man, who’s still being forced to stare at the ceiling. he releases his grip on him, allowing him to look at you. his eyes widen in what soonyoung suspects is fear. “nice to see you again under these circumstances. really nice.”
soonyoung feels his heart skip a beat. he straightens up to his full height now, eyes on you as you continue speaking. your hand snakes from his back to his arm, and down, down, down, until your fingers are intertwined with his.
“have you met my better half?” you ask him. “this is kwon soonyoung.”
he feels like his heart jumps into his throat at that moment, and he fights to keep from choking on nothing. you must feel the way he stills in your hold because you bring his gloved hand to your lips and kiss it gently.
your boss starts sobbing twice as hard, throwing what looks to be a restrained tantrum.
“i’m sorry,” you say, faking a wince. “you must have thought i was here to help you, huh?”
soonyoung’s mouth twists into what he’s sure is the largest, most insane smile he’s ever had the pleasure of smiling in his life. the adrenaline and dopamine that suddenly releases in his system makes him feel invincible in a way he never has before. because if you, the adoration of his goddamn life, know who and what he is and you still love him… then nothing will ever be able to stop him ever again. nothing stands between him and the entire world now.
“my bad,” you sigh. “i’m just here to watch you die.”
soonyoung takes that as his cue, lifting his knife toward park. but before he can do anything, your hand comes to his forearm, stopping him. he looks down at you, tilting his head in question. you look up and shake your head.
“i want to do it,” you whisper.
he doesn’t know why he doesn’t want to talk to you while his mask is on. whatever it is, he can’t say anything as you try to take the knife in your own hand.
sensing his hesitation, you smile and nod. “you’ve done so much for me, soonie. will you let me be my own final girl now?”
without a second thought, the tension in his arm dissipates immediately, completely surrendering his weapon to you. you hold his knife in your hand, and seeing it in your grip demolishes whatever last walls he had up between the two of you. you stare down at it like you’re holding a relic, and it takes him a moment to realize you’re imagining the men he’s killed in your name with it.
he reaches out, wrapping his hand around yours and tightening your grip on the hilt. your gaze flick up to him and his other hand briefly caresses your cheek. your eyes flutter closed, smile widening for a short moment. when your eyes open, there’s a fire in them he’s seeing for the first time, and he knows that whoever he walks out of here with is going to be a completely different person than the one he woke up next to this morning.
you give him a small nod before turning away from his hold and facing the man who’s made your life a living hell this entire time.
soonyoung decides he doesn’t want to watch park’s face as the light leaves his eyes. instead, he walks around the chair behind him, holding it from behind to keep it still for you, his eyes trained on your face and only your face.
the smirk that graces it now is glorious, and it takes everything in him to keep from falling to his knees and kissing the ground you walk on.
“sorry, nothing personal,” you say, obviously reciting something he’s said to you before. “girls will be girls, right?”
soonyoung barely hears the muffled screams that follow. all he can hear is his heart singing as he watches the life, light, and joy this job stole from you come back to you all at once. he’s never been more in love. and he thinks he understands now. this. this is love.
it was clear to you that something was escalating inside soonyoung for the last few weeks, and you knew he was gearing up to commit his last crime—you were sure of it.
you had your suspicions when you asked him to roleplay with you, but it was the week after that you became confident in your intuition. the week after, when authorities finally released the circumstances under which hayden and charles died.
you shouldn’t have been surprised when you read the dirty talk soonyoung used to get you to cum over and over again practically word for word in the article that detailed their murders. there was no way he would have been able to know all this information before the public did, and lucky guesses were out of the question, especially when every, last thing he told you was listed.
after that, two more of your ex-coworkers died, ones that made particularly lewd comments at you, something you noticed angered soonyoung more intensely than any other kind of offense. it made you feel more flattered than it should have—how possessive and jealous he got because of these assholes who thought they had any kind of entitlement to you or your body.
soonyoung had ruined you for anybody else long before you knew this truth about him; he had no reason to feel jealous. still, it made you feel so special, and you didn’t stop to question the toxicity and unhealthiness of everything you’ve been feeling in the last weeks—in the last year.
for the first time in so long, you felt good and you felt safe, and you had no intentions of changing that. you’ve been all in on soonyoung since your first date. this changed nothing.
so as he started escalating, you started watching. instead of attending job interviews like you claimed to be, you were following him. most of the time, it was just to the writers’ room, but a few times a week, it was to watch him tailing your ex boss.
between following him around and snooping through his things, it didn’t take long for you to piece together what he was planning, and with how erratic soonyoung’s behavior had gotten since you made the stupid, thoughtless, grave mistake of suggesting knife play in the bedroom, you knew he was going to be prone to mistakes. so you started preparing right alongside him.
when his gear disappeared from the creaky floorboard he kept it hidden under, you knew it would be time to act soon. then, today, as your boyfriend kissed you goodbye in the morning, he told you not to wait up; the writers room was going to run late to meet deadlines for next week’s episode.
you’ll give it to him; soonyoung was a really good liar. after all, he has kept this secret from you for a good amount of time. and if he’s so comfortable doing this, you imagine it isn’t his first time killing either. who knows how long he’s been lying to you?
but now that you were looking for the signs, it was easy to tell. he maintained eye contact too well, like he was actively telling himself to refrain from looking away and seeming suspicious. he smiled a little too hard. offered one too many details if you asked a simple follow-up question.
“oh okay, what time do you think you’ll be home?”
“fuck, not sure, this episode has a lot of rewrites because one of the actors is throwing a bitch fit about his lines, and they want us back at the drawing board—well, writing board—with, like, three new options for this asshole by tomorrow morning, so. who knows how long that will take. i’ll text you when i’m on my way, though, okay? i love you.”
as soon as he was out the door, you were moving.
you made a trip to your old workplace under the guise of needing a copy of your last paystub from HR, which happened to work right next to your team. while you were there, you made sure you were seen on every camera in the lobby, made sure to say hi to several people—even if some of those people were assholes you wish soonyoung would waste too. you allowed stray hairs to fall from your travel hairbrush. you scratched wildly at your skin. you coughed openly. you gave a valid and proper excuse for your DNA—and trace amounts of soonyoung’s DNA—to end up here other than for a murder.
and when no one was looking, you helped yourself to a jay minion’s cubicle while he was away from it. alex. you pocketed his badge, which he had a bad habit of walking around without, and you scheduled an email from his account addressed to your former boss, knowing full well that a lazy idiot like him would not be noticing a scheduled message in his account.
if soonyoung couldn’t kill him, life in prison was a good alternative.
once you were done with your part, you went home, dropped your phone off so that it couldn’t be tracked anywhere but home tonight, and packed a bag of extra clothes. then, you followed your doting boyfriend from his job, and once you saw him tuck your drunken former boss into his own car, you raced back to the office, where you were 99.9 percent sure he would be bringing him back. you scanned in using alex’s badge through the backdoor, where there were no cameras, you made your way to your team’s floor, and you waited.
not long after, when a tall, lean person dressed in the gear you’d found under your boyfriend’s creaky floorboard, walked onto the floor, practically carrying park on his shoulder, it took everything to keep from shrieking and giggling at how well you knew your own boyfriend.
you watched as he methodically and carefully tied him to his chair, rolled him to the exact spot he wanted him. you watched as he polished an already incredibly clean knife, shuddering uncomfortably a few times as he did. you wondered if it still bothered him—taking life. if maybe he wasn’t as seasoned as you thought, and the act still took something precious from him.
you hated the idea that something as generous as ridding the world of vermin like your ex-teammates could affect soonyoung like that.
what you hated even more was how turned on you were watching as he walked back and forth in his disguise, the muscles of his arms and his back still prominent through the tattered robes. but before you could debate jumping out of the shadows and convincing him to just leave and go home with you so you could ride him until dawn, your dumbass boss was waking up again.
you honestly didn’t know when you were supposed to step out, but the more soonyoung’s love for you shown—the clearer he made it that he truly would do anything for you, the less you cared about staying hidden.
and before you knew it, you were holding soonyoung’s very own knife, standing in front of a very dead daniel park, covered in his blood and laughing so hard, you thought maybe your nervous system was broken. but when the giggles died down and you didn’t burst into tears the way you expected you would, you knew you were perfectly fine. better than fine. you were thrilled.
“finally,” you breathe, reaching forward to yank the blanket out of your boss’s mouth, wiping the knife on a cleaner corner. “here you go.”
you hand it over hilt first toward your boyfriend, who’s still standing behind park, splatters of blood all over him too. he gently takes the weapon from you, tucking it somewhere within his robes. you watch him carefully, wondering what his face looks like, wondering what he’s thinking. instead, all you get is that permanent scream on his mask as it stares blankly back at you.
does he think i’m crazy? does it turn him off? would he rather be the one doing the saving?
you don’t voice any of your insecurities, though. you’re far too happy and relieved to ruin this moment with those thoughts. instead, you take the blanket you’re still holding and you dip it in one of park’s stab wounds until it’s soaked in his blood. you walk to the whiteboard behind his body and swipe at it in broad strokes, stepping back to view your work when you’re done.
you look back to your boyfriend to see him looking at the whiteboard.
FINAL
not for park or any of the other men soonyoung obliterated like a hurricane passing through, but for you. the final person standing, with the help of a man who loved you enough to make sure it ended this way. you hope he gets it and that he’s appreciating it the way you are.
while he continues staring at the board, you take the time to reach into the pocket of park’s jacket, fishing his phone out of it. because he treated you like his executive assistant, you knew most of his passwords, and you were banking on it being the same.
when his phone unlocks, you breathe a sigh of relief. you navigate to his email, pleased to find alex’s email in his inbox just like you planned for it to be.
to: [email protected]
from: [email protected]
subject: ! emergency situation, action needed
body: mr. park, we have a dire situation at the office that requires your attention. a few of the other team members and i will be working late into the night to remedy this; please stop by the office when you can to discuss next steps.
once you’re sure the message is marked read, you wipe the phone free of your prints with the blanket before tucking it back into his pocket. when you’re done, you let the blanket fall to the ground, eyes going back to your boyfriend, whose gaze is back on you now.
soonyoung still doesn’t say anything, simply walking to the duffle he left in the far corner. he removes his shoes, replacing them with a disposable shoe cover on each foot, before removing yours and doing the same for you, an act that feels so intimate, you’re tempted to take him right here, in the middle of this gore, effectively ruining all your efforts to keep him from getting caught.
he puts the shoes into spare trash bags and tucks them into his duffle before standing and holding his hand out for you to take. your fears that he’s mad you came here dissolve, and you take his gloved hand in yours.
he leads you away, picking up your own bag off the floor for you as you pass it. you think he’s leading you out of the building, but instead, you both end up in the showers, an amenity usually meant for commuters or people who went to the gym and worked out in the middle of their work day.
soonyoung sets both of your bags down on one of the benches in the locker room before nodding toward the showers. you follow him wordlessly, heat pooling in your stomach as you do.
he leads you into a shower stall, turning on the hot water and letting the water hit the both of you fully clothed. he turns around to face you, his mask wet with blood and water as it stares down at you. you hesitantly lift a hand up to rest on the jaw of it. you look up into the black holes of its eyes, hoping he understands you’re asking if you can remove it for him.
when he doesn’t stop you, you push up on the mask, lifting it completely off his head. the first thing you notice is that soonyoung’s platinum blonde hair is matted to his forehead with sweat, all of his visible skin slick with it. and when you meet his eyes, you’re immediately rooted to the spot, robbed of all air. his pupils are blown, making his eyes darker than you’ve ever seen them as they bore into yours. his mouth is parted, chest heaving as he breathes like he’s been running for hours.
without giving you a chance to think of your next move, he grabs the mask and chucks it somewhere behind you before wrapping his hand around the back of your neck and roughly pulling you to him. he cranes down to envelope your lips with his, wasting no time parting them and fervently shoving his tongue into your mouth.
it doesn’t take long for him to get the both of you naked; you’re not even really sure when it happens, but suddenly, he’s kicking your soiled clothes away from the both of you, his hands going from cradling your face to softly running across your shoulders, your back, your ass, and you realize he’s rinsing the death off of you, all while peppering you with feather light kisses as he does.
you hang your head, resting it against his shoulder as you watch red swirl down the drain, until it’s pink, until it’s clear. you sigh deeply at the sensation of the water pelting your skin and soonyoung’s fingertips dancing across every part of you. he presses his erection in between your thighs at the sound of your breath, and it quickly turns into a moan.
you reach to grip his cock in your hand, fisting it tightly. his breath hitches, and you decide it’s time to thank him for everything he’s done for you these last few months. you lift your head up off his shoulder and reach up to press your lips to his once more, gentle and chaste.
“thank you,” you whisper. he runs a hand across his face to get water out of his eyes.
“for what?” he asks, voice husky around the first words he’s said to you since the night started.
“for loving me like this,” you answer, pumping your first slowly as you speak. “for doing all of this for me… and for letting me be a part of it too.”
soonyoung closes his eyes, resting his forehead against yours, nothing but the sound of the water and his labored breaths as you stroke him filling the room.
“i love you, y/n,” he says in a voice you haven’t heard from him before. it sounds small, vulnerable, and emotional, and when he opens his eyes, you aren’t surprised to see tears gathered there. “i love you so fucking much.”
you don’t think he’s ever said that to you like this. getting him to even use the word “love” was like pulling teeth in the beginning of your relationship. now, he says it like he’s free of the trauma he’s tied to the word over the years of his childhood. you tiptoe to kiss the tears out of his eyes.
“i love you,” you return. “and i adore you. forever. now… let me show you.”
you kiss every bit of skin you can on your way down his body, until you’re on your knees. you look up at him one, last time, melting a little at the affection he stares at you with.
“don’t hold back, okay?”
he curses under his breath before nodding. he reaches one arm across the shower, planting a palm on the wall behind you to steady himself as you take his entire length into your mouth.
“fuck.”
you hollow your cheeks as you slide away, tongue swirling on the underside of his shaft and dragging across the veins of his cock. you wrap one hand at the base tightly before sliding him back in, knowing that taking his entire monster length wasn’t going to be sustainable for you or your throat. you blow him like this—pumping and twisting at the bottom of his shaft with your hand, your other one massaging his balls—for only a few moments before soonyoung absolutely loses it.
and ever eager to please you, he follows your instructions and holds nothing back. he palms the back of your head with his free hand and without warning, starts fucking into your mouth roughly. tears stream down your face, mixing with the hot water of the shower and the precum leaking out of soonyoung. the back of your throat starts to burn early on, but still, you want more.
your hands grab soonyoung’s ass, bringing him impossibly further into your throat on every thrust. he groans loudly, cursing in between shouts of your name.
“y/n,” he breathes, slowing his movements after a few minutes until his hips stutter to a full stop. you frown, looking up at him when he pops his cock out of your mouth. “i don’t want to cum in your mouth, baby.”
“why not?” you ask dumbly.
he laughs, obviously not expecting the question. instead of answering, he pulls you up and onto your feet, steadying you when you realize they’ve fallen asleep from the lack of blood flow. he presses you against the wall, caging you in and pressing his thigh between your legs to keep you standing as you regain the feeling in your legs. you gasp when his quad rests against your clit.
“there are better places to cum,” he finally answers, just barely moving his thigh against you.
the tiny movement is enough to coax another moan out of you, though. his fingers come down to dive in between your folds and trace your slit teasingly back and forth, gathering your arousal. he brings his fingers up to his mouth, shamelessly taking them in and tasting the way he makes you feel. his eyes close as he savors the taste.
“mmm,” he hums fondly like your lust is a five star meal. he opens his eyes, smirking at the way you’re staring at him. “want to taste?”
you nod eagerly. at this point, you’d take whatever he wanted to give you. you reach forward to kiss him, but he pins your shoulder to the wall with a hand, making you squeak in surprise, and when his other hand comes up your neck and grabs your jaw, tilting it up toward him and forcing your mouth open, you realize what he means and what he wants.
you fight your own smirk as you open your mouth wider, letting your tongue hang out as far as it will go. he presses his cock against you at the sight, cursing before he takes your face in both his hands, leans over you, and aims, spitting straight into your mouth. you whine pathetically when you feel it hit the back of your throat, immediately grasping both his arms and grinding down against his thigh while it’s still pressed between your legs.
“soonie, please,” you mewl, desperately and messily grabbing at whatever you can at this point just to get him closer to getting inside you, including his hair, his neck, his arms, his hips—anything.
he grabs your wrists when you won’t stop, holding them tightly in between your bodies with one hand, the other cupping your ass and guiding one leg to wrap around his waist, the tip of his cock already teasing your hole.
“behave,” he hisses, squeezing your wrists until they hurt. you don’t dare wriggle against his hold. “are you going to be good?” you nod. he immediately releases you, guiding one hand to his shoulder to keep yourself steady.
when both of your hands are wrapped around his shoulders, he takes your other leg and wraps it around his waist too, lifting you up and pinning you between him and the wall. he kisses you harshly and recklessly, tongue wrapping itself around yours as his cock starts to push into you.
he doesn’t wait until he’s fully buried in you the way he usually does. no, tonight, he can’t seem to help himself when he breaks away from you to remind you: “you’re mine.”
you nod, resting your head back against the wall, nails digging into his shoulders as he pushes in further. “yours,” you gasp. “always.”
“god, i love you,” he says for the third time tonight, making the burn feel all the better as he bottoms out. “you’re so perfect,” he breathes, adjusting to the feeling of your cunt around him. “so fucking tight.”
“fuck me, baby” is all you have the energy to whisper. and he delivers.
he easily bounces you on his dick in time with his own thrusts, the corded muscles of his arms hard, wet, and glistening as he holds you up against the wall. you don’t care how loud you are, letting your screams out as they come. at this point, you’re not sure you even care if the police catch you like this and arrest you.
all that matters is how soonyoung feels inside of you, how his mouth burns everywhere they press against you, how his fingertips dig into your flesh so hard, you think it’ll bruise. he rests his forehead against yours, holding unwavering eye contact with you as he fucks you like it’s simultaneously the first and last time.
“marry me,” he whispers suddenly. “fuck. marry me, y/n.”
you gasp as he thrusts hard, tip kissing your cervix. “a-are you s-seriously asking right now?”
he smirks, kissing you quickly before thrusting even faster and harder. the sounds that come out of your mouth are a pitch higher and nastier. “i’ve had a ring for a year. i can’t fucking wait anymore. marry me. god, please marry me.”
you don’t have to think twice. “yes,” you half moan. “yes, soonyoung. yes, i’ll—fuck! i’ll marry you!”
the thought does something to the both of you at the same, exact time, and you’re both shouting warnings at each other as you reach your highs. his teeth sink into your collarbone as he comes inside you, your fist closing around the hair at the nape of his neck as you reach your own climax on his dick too.
you stay in the same position for a few moments, both trying and failing to catch your breaths.
when you finally do, you tap soonyoung’s shoulder to let you down, but he refuses, stubbornly staying inside of you. you frown.
“what are you doing? we should shower and leave,” you point out, remembering there’s an incredibly deceased man outside.
“the longer i stay here, the longer my cum stays inside you, and the greater the chances i just got you pregnant,” he says cheekily.
you glare at him. “soonyoung, i’m on birth control.”
he glares right back.
“okay, fine,” you relent, laughing. the sensation makes soonyoung wince as you clench around his overstimulated cock a little. “kinda hot, though—you wanting to get me pregnant.”
he raises an eyebrow at you. “oh? another kink of yours?”
you blush, knowing you’ve been somewhat of a sex fiend since discovering your fantasy of having a murderous boyfriend—your reality now, you suppose. “maybe,” you murmur.
soonyong grins, kissing the pout away from your lips. “good. i’m going to keep trying.”
“okay, well, maybe we should try when we’re not in active danger of going to prison for life?”
“right.”
you both shower quickly, bagging the soiled clothes and changing into the outfits you both packed separately. you watch in awe as soonyoung takes out a blacklight and some kind of cleaning agent to get rid of any blood you both tracked into the shower. most of the evidence, it turns out, is right there in the stall, where his cum leaked out of you.
when he’s done cleaning, you both head to your cars, each parked in different lots, agreeing to meet at home after you pick up drive-thru dinner and he goes back to work to pick up his phone. and when you do get home, you find that soonyoung beat you there, the apartment dark save for a handful of candles. he’s on one knee when you enter, a small box open and turned toward you, the ring he claimed he got a year ago right there, staring you in the face.
“i love you,” he says. “i’ll spend the rest of my days loving you the way you deserve to be. adoring you with everything i have. will you allow me the honor of doing that as your husband?”
you don’t know how many times you scream yes at him as you drop the bags of fast food and throw yourself into his arms, the two of you collapsing into a pile of giggles and kisses.
TOP STORY • 2 MIN READ
Copycat serial killer sentenced to life in prison on three counts of torture, six counts of first degree murder
By Gale Weathers
Police investigating the torture and murder of Daniel Park, senior vice president of marketing at Loomis, Inc. two years ago.
Two years after a spree of murders rocked the local community, Alex Cho, former Loomis, Inc. employee, has been sentenced to life in prison, despite pleading not guilty to all charges.
Dubbed the "copycat prank call killer" for the similarities in mutilation amongst victims, Cho was found guilty on all counts of torture and first degree murder for the deaths of six fellow Loomis, Inc. employees, including his boss, Daniel Park, former senior vice president of marketing. Arrested just days after Park's murder, Cho was the authorities' main suspect since day one, according to a statement made by Police Chief Macher following the sentencing.
"Cho's name was on the board since the tragic murder of our first victim, Jay Lang," said Macher, "but as his spree escalated and became more frenzied, he became careless. The evidence against him became insurmountable after the death of Daniel Park."
Though evidence left behind by Cho at the previous murders still has not been disclosed by authorities to this day, his involvement in Park's torture and murder is clear. On the night of Park's death, Cho lured him to the office after-hours under the guise of a work emergency. Once there, Cho ambushed and tortured his boss before stabbing him almost 30 times and leaving his body to be found by other employees the next morning.
Police were able to arrest Cho early on, thanks to his email trail and the use of his badge at the Loomis, Inc. headquarters, just minutes before Park entered the building himself.
When asked about the sentencing of their former employee, a Loomis, Inc. representative told TOP STORY:
"Even two years on, we continue to mourn our tragically lost employees. As such, Loomis offers all our associates ongoing mental health resources and grief counseling. We also honor these victims with annual donations to various campaigns, including cancer research, LGBT support, and anti-bullying—all causes our former SVP of marketing Daniel Park championed. As for the sentenced individual, Loomis declines to comment, but ensures you that we are taking extra precautions and measures to vet all new employees, with annual mental evaluations of all existing employees. We are committed to the safety of our people, our clients, and all of our stakeholders."
As far as his "copycat" reputation goes, Cho denies drawing inspiration from the "prank call killer," though he continues to deny his involvement in the crimes at all. As of the publication of this article, the "prank call killer" remains an at-large, inactive serial killer, with the last victim dating back over 10 years ago.
Cho will be transferred to a maximum state prison later this month, where he will serve his life sentence with no chance of parole.
────
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🎞️ a portion from an early draft of the script for cult classic horror movie, “adoration,” by renowned screenwriter kwon soonyoung
HOSHI (clicks out of video news story of andrew's arrest) i can't believe you did all that for me.
YOUR ALIAS (smiles, scratching his scalp comfortingly with her left hand, eyes admiring the ring on her finger as she does) i told you, i would do anything for you. you protect me, i protect you, right?
HOSHI (smiles, leaning forward to press his lips to hers) always.
fades into black. credits roll.
...
POST-CREDITS SCENE
a long while later, audience finds hoshi and his wife in the kitchen of a much larger home now, seemingly as in love and as playful as they always were. they are interrupted by their teen daughter running into the room, with her backpack still on, screaming and crying. both of them immediately tend to her.
YOUR ALIAS baby, what's wrong? what happened?
DAUGHTER (shrieks) it's tiffany! she's going around telling everybody i'm sleeping with the entire baseball team! i've never even had my first kiss and she knows that!
hoshi stills, face becoming eerily blank. you both exchange a look.
YOUR ALIAS you're only 15... why on earth are they talking about those kinds of things?
DAUGHTER (throws mom an incredulous look) all of them have already lost their virginities, mom!
YOUR ALIAS (pinching the bridge of her nose) dear god.
DAUGHTER she gave my number to a bunch of dudes and now they're calling and texting and blowing up my phone asking me when i'm free to do... gross things! (wails)
YOUR ALIAS we'll change your number, baby, don't worry. and i'll meet with your principal and make sure she knows we won't tolerate this behavior, okay? are you alright if i talk to tiffany's mom?
DAUGHTER no, please don't, she's so vindictive. i know it'll just get worse.
hoshi exhales slowly.
HOSHI okay, we won't do anything you aren't comfortable with, but... you're also not going to let her treat you like that, do you hear me?
it's clear their daughter is a daddy's girl when her crying immediately stops and she nods.
HOSHI no one hurts you, understand?
YOUR ALIAS nobody.
DAUGHTER (whispers, still sniffling) nobody.
HOSHI if you won't let us talk to tiffany's parents, we're going to have to show you how to defend yourself, baby. how to stand up for yourself.
YOUR ALIAS (smiles) your daddy is really good at that. you'll let him help, right? (daughter nods) good, go get cleaned up and i'll order whatever takeout you want.
DAUGHTER (immediately) thai.
YOUR ALIAS thai it is. go on.
their daughter retreats from the kitchen, still sniffling as she goes up to her bedroom.
YOUR ALIAS we aren't going to stoop so low as to kill a teenager, are we?
HOSHI (snorts, wraps one arm around her waist) no, we aren't. but kids like that only learn behavior like that from one place.
YOUR ALIAS their parents.
HOSHI mhm.
YOUR ALIAS you have the key to the storage unit?
HOSHI mhm. (plants one kiss on her cheek before grinning and nodding to the front door) i'll drive.
cuts to black with the sound of a piercing scream.
a/n: credit for the news story photo goes to unsplash. all other photos taken from pinterest, ctto. okay bye, i don't want to talk about how crazy i feel LMFAO.
casualties of chemistry - choi seungcheol imagine finale
and here we are🤍 thank you so much for loving this fic. truly it's been a rollercoaster. I had so much writing it, seeing the response it got made me sooooo happy🥺tbh every time i post a fic, that's exactly how i feel. To have something I only imagined, something that only existed in my mind, and have it loved by others it always make my hear feel warm.
see you on the next fic🤍😊🌻
PART ONE | PART TWO
alsoooo i have a kofi acc, if anyone wants to send some coffee thank u in advance😊🌻🤍
Like neither of you say the words fully because speaking them too clearly might make everything too real. The last day before he went the atmosphere was heavy despite trying to find the light.
Even when the both of you try to not show the fear, the worry was obvious behind your eyes.
The last night, while you help him pack his stuff he takes a simple gold chain from his drawer and put the ring there before clasping it around your neck. He tucks the chain with the ring carefully beneath your shirt himself.
Neither of you says What if this is the last time because neither of you can survive hearing it out loud.
Then he was gone.
The first few weeks aren’t too bad. You get three updates total. Short. Obviously screened for safety but still it was enough to ease your heart and mind even for a bit. Enough to know he’s alive. Enough to keep breathing easier for another few days.
Cheol: Don’t forget to eat.
Cheol: Don’t drink too much coffee, take a cab if you’re too sleepy to take the bus
Cheol: I miss you
After that, it was silence.
Your own messages stop delivering entirely. Calls unreachable. No updates. Nothing. And logically, you know what that means. Operational security. Dangerous mission.
He told you enough information to know when this happens it means he’s in the middle of it all. The most dangerous part.
Eight weeks pass then nine. Ten. Then suddenly it’s been twenty six weeks total. One Hundred Eighty Two days.
Too long. Far too long.
Your shifts become harder somehow during this stretch.
You’re still Dr. Y/L/N in the ER. Still terrifyingly composed during trauma calls but now exhaustion follows you home differently because there’s no one waiting outside the hospital with coffee.
Just silence.
The ring stays around your neck every single day. Simple chain. Simple promise.
Sometimes during particularly bad shifts, your fingers curl around it instinctively beneath your scrubs. Like touching it grounds you.
Nurse Yang notices once while you’re scrubbing in for surgery.
“No news?”
You shake your head once but you repeat his words to yourself constantly now.
No news is good news.
Meaning somewhere out there… He’s alive. Somewhere out there Captain Choi Seungcheol is still fighting his way back to you.
That thought becomes enough to survive on. But logic becomes a fragile thing at 2 a.m. when you’re staring at your phone rereading old messages like they might suddenly update themselves.
Some nights are worse. You’ll sit alone in his apartment curled into the couch wearing one of his sweatshirts while rain taps softly against the windows.
The city glowing outside. That’s when your mind drifts too easily to possibilities, to worst-case scenarios, to all the things trauma surgeons know too well about fragile human bodies.
Those are the nights you force yourself toward the shelf with his medals instead.
Toward proof that he survived before, that he came back before.
Proof that Captain Choi Seungcheol is too stubborn to lose.
One particularly brutal night after losing a patient in surgery, you come home shaking with exhaustion. You barely make it through the apartment door before sinking onto his couch still in scrubs.
And for the first time since he left, you break. Exhausted tears hidden behind your hands because you miss him so much it physically hurts.
And eventually your hand slips beneath your shirt automatically until your fingers curl around the ring resting against your chest.
You close your eyes tightly and whisper into the empty apartment “You better come home, Captain.”
The silence afterward feels endless but somehow somewhere deep down beneath all the fear you still believe he will.
=
Thursday starts like every other impossible hospital day. Too bright fluorescent lights. Too much blood. Too little sleep.
You’ve been awake for almost twenty hours when you finally finish a trauma surgery that nearly went sideways twice.
By the time you step out of the OR, your scrubs are sticking to your skin and your shoulders ache from tension.
Still you saved them. So you scrub your hands slowly at the sink afterward trying to steady your breathing again.
Another life dragged back from the edge. Another day survived.
You’re already mentally preparing for charting when you push through the ER doors.
And then you see him, an officer standing near the nurses’ station.
Military uniform. Formal posture waiting by the main lobby. At first your brain doesn’t process it. Hospitals get officers sometimes. Paperwork. Routine check-ups.
You glance around briefly assuming he’s here for someone else.
Then he looks directly at you.
And suddenly every cell in your body goes cold.
No.
No no no.
The world narrows instantly.
You stop walking. The officer takes one careful step forward.
“Dr. Y/L/N?”
Your heartbeat becomes deafening.
Somewhere far away monitors keep beeping. Nurses move past. Someone calls for transport but all you can hear is blood roaring in your ears.
The officer’s expression shifts subtly.
Gentler.
Prepared.
And you know. You know before he even speaks.
The floor beneath your feet feels like it physically gives out
“Captain Choi Seungcheol was injured during deployment—”
No.
“—he was airlifted immediately—”
No.
“—he’s currently being transferred to the base hospital—”
No.
“—doctors are already operating—”
Operating.
“—the injuries were severe—”
Your breathing stutters violently.
“—he’s unconscious—”
The word slams into you hardest.
Unconscious.
Everything after that blurs.
Too close. Critical. Heavy blood loss.
None of it makes sense because this morning you were literally thinking about him while making coffee, because his hoodie you wore last night is still hanging over the couch.
Because he promised.
You stare at the officer but suddenly can’t feel your hands properly. Your fingers curl instinctively around the ring beneath your scrubs.
Cold metal against shaking skin.
No.
No no no.
Not him.
Not Seungcheol. Not your Seungcheol.
Your vision blurs instantly. The hallway tilts sickeningly.
Then somewhere nearby “Doctor Y/N?” Nurse Yang spots you talking to the officer, walking slowly towards you.
Bless Nurse Yang. She takes one look at your face from down the hall and immediately knows something is wrong.
“Y/N?”
Your knees buckle before you even realize it. The floor rushes up terrifyingly fast. Then suddenly arms catch you halfway down.
Voices erupt around you.
“Get a chair—”
“She’s pale—”
“Doctor, breathe—”
But all you can hear is:
Unconscious.
Severe.
Operating.
You start crying before you even realize you are. Terrified broken sobs that rip out of your chest uncontrollably while Nurse Yang kneels in front of you holding your face steady.
“Hey hey hey—look at me”
Your breathing turns sharp and uneven
“I can’t—” you choke out “I can’t—”
“Yes you can” her hands wipe your tears quickly like she’s done this your entire life, purely maternal. Grounding. Steady.
You grip desperately at her sleeves
“Where is he?” you choke out in between sobs
The officer answers carefully, “He arrived at the military hospital approximately twenty minutes ago.”
“Is he alive?” The question comes out broken. Barely audible.
The officer pauses just long enough to destroy you further
“Yes.”
You inhale shakily. Alive.
Alive.
Alive.
You cling to the word immediately.
Nurse Yang smooths your hair back gently while you struggle to breathe through the panic crushing your chest.
“You need to go” she says softly
Your eyes snap to hers immediately “But—”
“He needs you more right now.” That nearly breaks you all over again.
You shake violently while trying to stand. Doctor instincts and terrified girlfriend instincts colliding painfully together.
Your brain keeps supplying possibilities automatically.
Internal bleeding. Head trauma. Ventilator. Emergency thoracotomy.
You know too much. Far too much.
“Hey.” Nurse Yang grips your shoulders firmly before you spiral further “Don’t do that to yourself yet.”
Your eyes fill again instantly “What if I’m too late?”
Her expression softens painfully “This is the same man who waited for you for seven hours. I’m betting everything that even now he’s fighting his way back to you”
Neither of you can promise that and you both know it but she still says it to you.
The officer offers to escort you immediately. Someone brings your bag. Someone else presses water into your shaking hands.
The ER around you keeps moving. Life continuing cruelly normal while yours cracks apart in real time.
As you walk out of the hospital, your fingers clutch the ring beneath your scrubs so tightly it hurts.
Your engagement ring.
Your promise.
Your Seungcheol.
Please. Please come back to me.
Because suddenly the thought of a world without Captain Choi Seungcheol in it feels impossible to survive.
The drive to the base feels unreal, it felt like you’re watching someone else’s life happen through thick glass.
The officer beside you speaks occasionally.
You think. Maybe. The words barely register. Everything sounds distorted underwater.
Your hands won’t stop shaking. You keep rubbing your thumb against the ring hanging beneath your shirt until the skin feels raw.
Outside the car window, the city passes in blurred streaks of light. Entire worlds continuing normally while yours feels suspended somewhere between hope and catastrophe.
By the time you reach the military base hospital, your body is running purely on adrenaline and terror.
Everything there feels colder somehow. Security escorts you through corridors too clean and too quiet.
You catch glimpses of uniforms. Doctors moving quickly. Restricted doors.
No one tells you much. Only fragments.
“He’s still in surgery.” “There was significant blood loss.” “Multiple shrapnel injuries.” “Close-range impact.”
Each sentence lands like another crack splitting through your chest. And because you’re a doctor that makes this infinitely worse. You know what significant blood loss means. You know how dangerous shrapnel is, how unpredictable.
How one tiny fragment can tear through organs and arteries like paper.
Your brain fills in every possibility automatically no matter how hard you try stopping it.
You imagine ventilators. Chest tubes. Open abdomen. Internal hemorrhage.
You hate yourself for knowing too much.
They settle you in a waiting area eventually.
Someone offers water, coffee, food but you refuse all of it. You can’t swallow properly anyway.
Hours pass strangely after that. Time becomes measured in footsteps outside the OR and every time the doors swing open your heart nearly stops.
At some point an officer quietly approaches you again.
Older. Gentler expression. The kind reserved for terrible conversations.
Your stomach drops instantly.
“Dr. Y/L/N,” he says carefully “may we speak privately for a moment?”
No.
You already know what kind of conversation this is before he even finishes.
You stand. Your legs feel numb walking into the quieter office nearby.
The officer gestures toward a chair.
“Captain Choi updated his records before deployment.”
Your chest tightens violently. The forms, the ones at the dining table. The ones you cried over.
The officer continues carefully
“In the event of worst-case outcomes, you were designated primary next of kin regarding medical authorization and personal directives.”
Worst-case outcomes. Your vision blurs immediately again.
The officer slides a folder carefully across the desk. Inside are signatures you recognize instantly.
Seungcheol’s handwriting.
Steady. Certain. Prepared.
Prepared for things he never prepared you for.
Your breath catches painfully.
“There are protocols we may need to discuss if his condition worsens—”
“No.” The word leaves you instantly. Sharp.
The officer pauses gently “Doctor—”
“No.” You back away slightly from the desk
Because if you let this become real. if you let yourself imagine life support decisions and emergency directives and memorial procedures. You’ll shatter completely.
“He’s alive,” you whisper desperately
“Yes”
“So don’t talk to me like he’s not coming back”
Then it was just silence again. Not the comforting kind, heavy. Too loud.
The officer’s expression softens further. Not pity. Something sadder. Understanding.
“Captain Choi spoke very highly of you” he says quietly instead
You look away quickly before another sob escapes. The officer thankfully doesn’t push further.
Eventually he guides you back toward the surgical floor where the waiting becomes unbearable again.
Hour four.
Hour five.
Hour six.
You don’t move.
Not really.
You sit curled slightly forward in the chair outside surgery with your hands clasped so tightly together your knuckles ache.
Every doctor who walks past makes your head snap up instantly. Every time it’s not his surgeon, disappointment crashes into you again. Someone drapes a blanket over your shoulders at some point.
You don’t notice who.
Your eyes burn continuously from exhaustion and crying.
Still you stay.
Because what if he wakes up? What if he asks for you?
What if—
You can’t not be there.
By hour seven you’ve started bargaining silently with every higher power you’ve never properly believed in.
Please. Take anything. Take sleep. Take years off your life.
Just let him survive this.
Just let him come home.
Please.
Then finally by hour eight the surgery doors open again. This time a doctor steps out removing his surgical cap slowly. And immediately you know this is it.
Your body jerks upright so fast the chair nearly tips over behind you.
Your heartbeat becomes violent.
The surgeon looks exhausted. Blood still staining part of his scrub sleeve.
You cross the distance toward him before he even fully reaches you.
“How is he?” Your voice breaks halfway through the question
The doctor studies your face for one terrible endless second “He survived the surgery.”
The air leaves your lungs so sharply it hurts.You physically stagger with relief.
Alive.
Alive.
Alive.
But the doctor’s expression stays serious.
“He lost a dangerous amount of blood,” he continues carefully “There was significant internal damage. We removed the shrapnel we could safely access”
Your chest tightens again instantly.
“He’s critical right now,” the surgeon says honestly “The next twenty-four hours are extremely important.”
Not safe yet. Not stable. But alive. You understand fully what he’s talking about but still it’s like the words are not sinking in.
You nod shakily while tears spill again despite yourself.
“Can I see him?”
“…Yes.”
And suddenly your legs almost give out from relief and terror all over again.
Because Captain Choi Seungcheol survived.
Barely but he’s still here.
Still yours to hold onto.
The first twelve hours pass with your heart lodged permanently in your throat. You didn’t even dare to sleep even when your eyes hurt and every fibre of your being was beyond exhausted.
The fear is still flowing stronger in your system that every time you so much close your eyes for 5 seconds, every ugly outcome plays in your head.
So you stay awake through the night, until the day breaks again and the world continues turning while yours stay suspended.
Every monitor beep becomes life or death.
Every slight shift in his vitals sends adrenaline through your bloodstream instantly.
You barely sleep. Barely eat. Barely move from the chair beside his bed.
But he makes it through the night.
Then another and another.
By the second day, the doctors cautiously stop using the word critical every other sentence.
By then you finally breathe slightly easier. Not fully but enough to stop feeling like the world might end every time a nurse walks toward his room.
As a doctor, you know exactly what his body is doing right now. Healing takes time especially after trauma like this. You know waking him too early would only strain recovery further.
So instead you wait.
That becomes your entire existence. Waiting, watching, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat through machines.
Sometimes talking quietly to him when the room gets too silent.
Telling him about your shifts.
About Nurse Yang threatening to physically drag you home if you didn’t shower soon.
About how Minho nearly cried seeing him in surgery recovery.
Anything. Everything.
Because the idea of him waking up alone feels unbearable somehow.
By day three, nearly everyone on the floor knows you.
The exhausted ER doctor who refuses to leave Captain Choi’s bedside.
The nurses start bringing you coffee without asking, one older nurse even gently scolds you for sleeping bent over his bed like you’re trying to become part of the furniture.
Nurse Yang arrives that afternoon carrying an overnight bag and enough judgment in her face to rival a disappointed mother.
“You look horrible” she says immediately
You nearly cry from affection alone “You came.”
“Obviously.” She hands you the bag then hugs you tightly. Exactly what you needed after all these days.
“Fresh clothes. Toothbrush. Skin care because frankly this situation is tragic.”
You laugh weakly for the first time in days. Then immediately start crying afterward anyway because exhaustion makes emotions ridiculous.
Nurse Yang hugs you tightly again “He’s alive,” she reminds softly
You nod shakily against her shoulder “I know.”
Still you don’t leave. Even after showering in the hospital facilities and changing clothes, you return right back to his bedside.
Because this is where you belong right now. Beside him. Waiting for him to come back fully.
And finally on the third night Seungcheol wakes up.
At first, it’s pain.
Everywhere.
Heavy. Blunt. Like his entire body’s been shattered apart and stitched back together wrong.
His chest burns. Hiis ribs ache sharply every time he breathes. Something pulls unpleasantly at his arm. Machines beep steadily nearby.
Then memory crashes back all at once.
The mission. The explosion. Blood. Darkness.
And instantly his eyes force themselves open harder.
Disoriented.
The room swims briefly before focusing slowly.
Hospital. Recovery room.
Alive.
Then—
You.
That wakes him fully despite the pain screaming through his body.
His head turns sharply enough to make dizziness hit immediately but he barely notices because there you are curled awkwardly in the chair beside his bed.
Asleep.
Your body slumped at an angle that absolutely cannot be comfortable. Eyes obviously swollen even during sleep. One hand loosely gripping the edge of his blanket even in sleep.
And his hand—
His hand is resting against your cheek like at some point you must’ve taken it carefully and placed it there yourself.
Seungcheol stares at you silently. His chest hurts worse for entirely different reasons now.
You look exhausted.
No—destroyed.
Dark circles heavy beneath your eyes, like the light that was there before he left also went away with him. Cheeks thinner somehow like life drained everything from you the past months he wasn’t present.
His throat tightens painfully.
How long have you been here? The thought alone nearly wrecks him immediately.
Slowly, carefully, he shifts his fingers slightly against your cheek.
Tiny movement but enough to stir you awake. As if even in your sleep, your body is in tune to his movements.
Your brows twitch faintly then your eyes slowly open. Disoriented at first, heavy with exhaustion. You blink once.
Twice.
Then freeze completely.
Your gaze locks onto his and suddenly you’re awake.
“Cheol?” Your voice cracks instantly
Seungcheol tries speaking but his throat feels wrecked
“…Hey pretty girl.”
The moment you hear his voice awake and real, it took you a second to let it all sink in. And then… you break.
A sob leaves you immediately before you can stop it. You stand so fast the chair nearly crashes backward.
“Hey—”
“Don’t,” you choke out instantly while tears spill down your face “Don’t even start.”
Seungcheol looks at you like he’s seeing sunlight for the first time. Then suddenly you’re gripping his hand carefully with both of yours like you’re terrified he’ll disappear if you let go.
“You idiot,” you whisper through tears “You absolute idiot.”
His lips twitch weakly “There she is.”
“You almost died!”
“I know”
“You promised me!” the words come out broken.
Small, breaking with each syllable and somehow that hurts him more than the explosion ever did.
Seungcheol’s gaze softens painfully while watching you cry beside him. His thumb brushes weakly across your cheek.
“I’m sorry”
“You scared me so bad” your voice shakes violently now “I thought—”
You can’t even finish it because saying it out loud feels impossible. It’s a version of reality you don’t even want to speak out to the universe.
Seungcheol watches you silently for a second before gathering enough strength to squeeze your hand back.
“But I came back.”
That absolutely ruins you. You lean forward carefully immediately, forehead pressing shakily against the back of his hand while you cry silently.
And Seungcheol… even half destroyed. even barely conscious, even in pain looks at you and realizes one terrifying undeniable truth:
Coming back to you was the only thing he thought about while dying.
You cry, you let out all the tears you didn’t know you still had in you even after the past 4 days you’ve cried by his bedside. And Seungcheol, even with the stabbing pain on his side, every bone aching in his body, he holds you close.
He soothes you as you cry, until it quiets down and you’re sniffling softly still glued to his side.
You look at him, thankful you get to see those eyes again staring back at you.
“Don’t you ever, and I mean ever scare me like that again. I swear I will revive you myself just so I can scold you some more” you mumble jokingly, earning a small smile from him.
Despite the bruises, cuts, and wires still attached to him, you see that dimpled smile. He’s still him. Still your Seungcheol.
Still the same man who promised he’ll come back to you every single time.
=
The following weeks settle into something quieter. Like the universe finally decided you both suffered enough for a while.
Seungcheol gets discharged with strict instructions and an even stricter girlfriend.
His doctors barely finish explaining the recovery guidelines before you’re already nodding seriously beside the bed.
“No strenuous activity.”
You nod.
“Limited movement.”
Another nod.
“Absolutely no returning to active duty until cleared.”
You point directly at Seungcheol “You hear that?”
Seungcheol, still pale and sore in the wheelchair, looks entirely unbothered.
“Yes ma’am.”
One doctor snorts into his coffee, another outright laughs but you ignore them.
“This man,” you continue firmly “thinks almost dying means light stretching.”
“It was one time,” Seungcheol mutters
“One time too many” you glare at him
The nurses adore you instantly. Mostly because Captain Choi Seungcheol—terrifying decorated military officer—apparently becomes suspiciously obedient around you.
Back at his apartment, you immediately take over. You of course still refused to leave his side. Not that he minded, he loved it even. Seeing his apartment slowly turn into a shared space with you.
He sees a plant by the windowsil. He knows you’re definitely the one who put it there. He never stayed home long enough before to bother taking care of anything.
But that small plant, that was a simple reminder of all the months you waited for him. All the weeks you both were standing opposite sides of the world, under the same sky, different timezones.
The following days it has become clear you run the house now. You move his medications into neat schedules. Adjust pillows behind his back before he can complain. Hover whenever he walks too quickly.
And god forbid he tries lifting anything heavier than a water bottle.
On day three post-discharge, you walk into the kitchen to find him reaching for a pan. Your expression hardens immediately.
“Choi Seungcheol.”
He freezes mid-reach, slowly glances over “…Yes?”
“Put it down.”
“It’s one pan”
“You have internal stitches.”
“I was making breakfast”
“You were making bad decisions.”
He laughs while obediently setting the pan down anyway.
Honestly, the near death experience somehow made him worse because now he looks at you with this soft, unbearably fond expression every single time you fuss over him.
Like almost dying only made him love you harder. Which is deeply unfair.
A week after discharge, reality unfortunately catches up again.
You have to go back to work.
You stand near the front door in scrubs fixing your ID badge while glaring suspiciously toward the couch.
Seungcheol lounges there comfortably in grey sweats and a black shirt, watching obiediently before he gets scolded yet again.
Still healing. Still slower moving. Still the prettiest man you’ve ever seen apparently.
“I will know,” you warn seriously, pointing at him “And I mean it, Choi Seungcheol. I will know if you don’t rest today.”
He raises both hands immediately in surrender
“Yes ma’am.”
“Don’t yes ma’am me”
“Yes doctor.”
“That’s worse.”
His laugh rumbles warmly through the apartment.
God you missed that sound so much.
You grab your bag dramatically “I’m serious.”
“I know.”
“No lifting.”
“Mhm.”
“No training.”
“Mhm.”
“No pretending you’re fine.”
That makes his expression soften slightly “…Okay.”
You hesitate then.
Because even after weeks beside him in hospital beds and recovery rooms, leaving him still feels wrong somehow. Like your body hasn’t fully recovered from almost losing him.
Seungcheol notices instantly.
Of course he does.
His voice gentles “Come here.”
Immediately your eyes widen
“What?” You rush toward him instantly “What hurts? Your stitches? Let me see.”
You’re already kneeling beside the couch trying to inspect him before he starts laughing softly.
“Pretty girl”
“What happened? What hurts?”
“Nothing.”
“You said come here in the serious voice!”
“There’s a serious voice?”
“Yes!”
He chuckles helplessly before catching your wrist gently. Then with surprising ease despite the healing injuries, he pulls you closer until you tumble onto the couch beside him.
“Cheol—careful—”
“I’m okay.”
You immediately check his expression anyway.
So instead of teasing further, Seungcheol reaches slowly beneath your scrub top.
You blink “What are you—”
His fingers find the chain around your neck. The one you’ve worn every single day.
Carefully, gently, he pulls it free. The ring catches softly in the morning light.
Your breath stills immediately.
Seungcheol’s expression changes then. Softer than you’ve ever seen it.
No captain.
No soldier.
Just him.
Just the man who came back to you.
His fingers carefully unclasp the chain while you stare silently.
“You kept wearing it,” he murmurs quietly
Your throat tightens “Of course I did.”
His gaze lifts to yours slowly. Then with infinite care he slides the ring onto your finger.
Exactly where it belongs.
Your breath catches sharply the moment it settles there. Seungcheol’s thumb brushes gently over your knuckles afterward. Staring back down to your finger where now the rings sits beautifully.
“Told you I’d ask when I came back.”
The tears hit instantly. Again.
You let out a watery laugh while covering your face briefly.
“Oh my god.”
Seungcheol smiles softly. Not teasing, almost nervous somehow. Which feels insane considering this is Captain Choi Seungcheol.
“You’re crying already,” he murmurs
“You almost died!”
“And?”
“And now you’re proposing on a random Tuesday morning!”
“It’s Wednesday.”
You stare at him in disbelief “That’s your defense?”
His dimples appear immediately and despite yourself, despite the tears and fear and everything you’ve both survived—
You laugh.
The kind he was terrified he might never hear again.
Seungcheol watches you like the sound itself keeps him alive.
“I was serious, you know.”
Your laughter fades slowly “I know.”
“When I said I want a life with you.”
Your chest aches painfully because you believe him completely, because you can’t imagine if you didn’t get to live this moment. Because you know you can’t see any other version of you and him but this.
Together.
Seungcheol reaches up carefully, fingers brushing stray damp hair away from your face.
“I know my life is…” He exhales softly “Complicated.”
“You got blown up.”
“A little dramatic, yeah.”
You glare instantly “Choi Seungcheol.”
“Sorry” but he’s smiling faintly now. Then serious again
“I can’t promise easy,” he says honestly “Or normal.”
You shake your head immediately “I don’t need normal.”
His eyes search yours carefully.
“I can promise I’ll love you properly though.”
That destroys whatever composure you had left. Your mouth trembles before you lean forward suddenly and kiss him hard enough he nearly forgets every injury in his body.
Seungcheol makes a startled sound against your lips before immediately kissing you back.
One hand cradling your jaw carefully while the other settles against your waist.
When you finally pull back, both of you breathing unevenly, your forehead drops against his.
And finally, finally he asks
“I used to think coming home meant a place. I used to tell myself I can’t want that, a future, a normal life. That I wouldn’t llve long enough to long for it. And then came you” he breathes out, the most vulnerable he’s ever been in his entire life.
This is all him, Captain Choi, your Seungcheol, all versions of him you’ve come to love, completely surrendering to you.
“If I get a second chance at life, I want to spend every second of it with you. Will you marry me?”
You’re crying, laughing, smiling, grabbing at his face as you mumble yes over and over again.
He laughs, holding you close.
“You know,” you whisper shakily, “you’re really lucky I’m obsessed with you.”
“Obsessed?”
“Unfortunately.”
“Good,” he murmurs “Because I’m pretty sure I’ve been in love with you since the convenience store.”
You freeze then slowly pull back.
“…What.”
Seungcheol immediately realizes his mistake but it’s too late. Your eyes widen dramatically.
“The convenience store?!”
His ears redden faintly.
You gasp loudly. “Oh my god you fell first”
“I’m recovering, be kind.”
“No absolutely not.”
You grab his face immediately “You were gone for the convenience store girl?”
He groans while you laugh helplessly. Sitting here in his apartment wrapped in morning light, your engagement ring warm on your hand while the man you love looks at you like surviving was worth it—
You realize something quietly wonderful.
You made it.
Against every terrifying possibility.
You made it back to each other.
=
One year later, somehow, the world still hasn’t slowed down for either of you.
Your schedules are still terrible. Your sleep schedules even worse.
There are still nights you come home with blood on your shoes and mornings Seungcheol leaves before sunrise without being able to tell you where he’s going.
Some things never change.
But now, now there’s always someone waiting at the end of it.
And that changes everything.
It’s been one year since the hospital room.
One year since the ring slid onto your finger in his apartment while he looked at you like surviving was the only option.
One year of learning each other’s rhythms completely.
Your toothbrush permanently beside his. His clothes somehow invading every corner of your shared apartment. Your coffee order already waiting before shifts.
His hand automatically finding yours whenever you walk beside each other.
Home becoming less a place and more a person.
Tonight you’re exhausted enough to hallucinate.
The ER was chaos from the second your shift started. You barely sat down once.
By the time you finally clock out close to midnight, your shoulders ache and your brain feels fried.
You’re half listening to one of the nurses complaining about a resident while walking toward the hospital exit when suddenly you stop.
Then immediately bolt “OH MY GOD—”
The nurse behind you yelps in shock as you sprint full speed across the parking lot “Doctor?!”
But you’re already gone. Because leaning casually against a black SUV under the parking lights is Seungcheol.
Freshly back from deployment.
Four weeks gone this time, dhorter than before. Still too long.
The second he sees you running toward him, his entire face softens and then you crash into him hard enough that he actually stumbles backward laughing.
“Hey—” “YOU’RE HOME.”
Your arms lock around his neck instantly while his wrap tight around your waist. Lifting you fully off the ground without effort.
You don’t even care that several nurses and staff definitely witnessed you abandoning professionalism entirely.
Let them.
Your fiancé is home.
Seungcheol buries his face briefly against your neck while holding you impossibly close.
God you missed him.
“You almost tackled me,” he murmurs against your skin
You finally pull back enough to look at him properly. Healthier this time. No visible injuries. No bandages hidden beneath clothes.
Just slightly longer hair, tired eyes, and the familiar warmth that settles in your chest every single time you see him.
Your hands immediately grab his face anyway
“You’re okay?”
Seungcheol smiles softly “I’m okay.”
You inspect him suspiciously “Any scratches?”
“Pretty girl—” “Answer carefully.”
He laughs quietly “No scratches.”
“Good”
Then you kiss him. Right there in the parking lot.
Like you physically cannot help yourself.
Seungcheol kisses you back instantly, one hand warm against your jaw while the other stays firm at your waist.
Somewhere nearby someone whistles loudly.
You break apart immediately glaring toward the hospital doors.
“Mind your business!”
The ER nurse cackles while disappearing back inside. Seungcheol laughs helplessly against your temple.
God, he missed this life.
Later, he drives you somewhere unexpected. A convenience store.
Specifically the convenience store. The one where this entire disaster started.
You stare at him as he parks “…Seriously?”
He shrugs innocently “You said you were hungry.”
“You’re sentimental.”
“You’re dramatic.”
“Correct.”
Now you both sit outside on the little plastic convenience store chairs under bright fluorescent lights.
If someone told either of you that that night was going to change both you’re lives, you wouldn’t believe it. But here you are now.
You’re wearing his hoodie over your scrubs while inhaling instant ramen like you haven’t eaten in years.
Seungcheol watches you with narrowing eyes
“How much ramen did you eat while I was gone?”
You freeze mid-slurp “…Normal amount.”
“Define normal.”
Silence. Seungcheol already looks unconvinced.
“Babe.”
You avoid eye contact aggressively
“Y/N.”
“…Enough.”
“How enough?”
You point your chopsticks at him accusingly
“First of all, your fault.”
“My fault you committed sodium crimes?”
“You stocked the pantry with ramen!”
“Emergency ramen.”
“Every ramen is emergency ramen when you work trauma.”
Seungcheol groans while rubbing his forehead
“Pretty girl, that cannot be healthy. You’re literally a doctor.”
You immediately defend yourself “I barely slept!”
“That’s not helping your argument.”
“You think after twenty hours I’m cooking vegetables?”
“Yes?”
“I could barely identify my own reflection.”
He stares at you in disbelief “So you just lived off ramen?”
You mutter into the cup quietly “…Maybe.”
“Yah.”
“What?!”
“Three weeks!”
“I added eggs sometimes!”
He shoots a fond but disappointed look “That’s not nutrition!”
“It’s garnish.”
Seungcheol looks genuinely distressed now meanwhile you continue eating shamelessly. Then suddenly his hand reaches over and wipes broth from the corner of your mouth with his thumb automatically.
The movement is so practiced now neither of you even pauses.
You look at him while chewing slowly
“…I missed you.”
His expression softens immediately “I know.”
“No, like seriously.” You slump dramatically against his shoulder afterward “I almost started talking to your plants.”
That makes him laugh, the sound still feels like home to you.
“It was dark times.”
You lean more comfortably against him while the cool night air settles around you. Cars pass occasionally. The convenience store doors slide open and shut every few minutes.
Nothing extraordinary and somehow that’s what makes it precious.
Because your lives are anything but ordinary.
Tomorrow you’ll both go back to chaos again. He’ll return to military briefings and dangerous assignments. You’ll return to trauma calls and impossible surgeries.
There will always be risk.
Always uncertainty.
But now there’s this too.
Plastic convenience store chairs at midnight. His hand resting warm on your thigh absentmindedly. Arguing over ramen like an old married couple.
Love woven quietly into ordinary moments between disasters.
Seungcheol suddenly glances at you.
“What?”
He studies your face for a second.
“Still ran toward me.”
Your brows lift slightly.
“Huh?”
“In the parking lot.” His thumb brushes lightly against your knee. “Every time I come back, you still look at me like that.”
Your chest squeezes immediately.
Because he says it like he’s still surprised, like some part of him still can’t fully believe someone waits for him this way.
You set your ramen down quietl before you lean over and kiss him once.
When you pull back, your forehead rests briefly against his.
“Captain, I would run through wars for you,” you whisper, giggling against his lips.
He chuckles, not doubting for a second you would. Just like he would, and always will.
Seungcheol looks at you silently afterward and even after everything he’s survived but nothing has ever hit him harder than that simple promise.
His hand lifts slowly, thumb brushing over your engagement ring glinting beneath the convenience store lights.
Then he smiles softly.
And sitting there beside him one year after everything almost ended, you realize this is what makes all the chaos survivable.
You wrote him so well odmdndkkd. I don't think anyone can outdo this seungcheol's character. The story the plot the characters the emotions everything was SOOOOOOO good and well written. I love thisss
Summary: Every time Mingyu tells you no, you somehow end up even more spoiled by the end of the night.
Wc: 3,074
Warnings: age gap (Mingyu is mid 35, reader is in early 21), reader is rlly bratty lol, also kind of sugar bby!reader except they’re also in a relationship, oral (f receiving), swearing, arguing, slightly suggestive. I think that’s all?
A/n: experimenting with ceo!mingyu x bratty reader 😀 thoughts? This dynamic was so fun to write should I do more 🤣🤣
MASTERLIST
-
The argument started before you’d even finished your makeup.
You were sitting at the vanity in a tiny silk robe, legs crossed, gold jewellery scattered across the marble counter while your stylist zipped garment bags nearby.
The party dress hanging on the wardrobe door was tiny. Silver. Backless. Absolutely inappropriate for the kind of event Mingyu hated.
Which was exactly why you wanted to wear it.
“You’re not going.”
Mingyu’s voice came from behind you.
You met his eyes through the mirror and immediately rolled yours. “Don’t start.”
“I’m not starting anything.” He loosened the cuffs of his shirt as he walked further into the dressing room. “I’m ending it.”
Your lips parted in disbelief. “You don’t get to decide that.”
“I already did.”
You spun around on the velvet stool to face him properly, glaring up at him while he stood there looking infuriatingly calm in dark trousers and a black button-up rolled to his forearms.
Every magazine in Seoul loved him. Every investor feared him. And unfortunately for you, he carried that same authority into your relationship without even trying.
“It’s a birthday party, Mingyu.”
“It’s a Hanseong networking party pretending to be a birthday party.”
“So?”
Mingyu stared at you for a second like he couldn’t believe you were even asking.
“So,” he said slowly, voice calm in that way that always made you feel more defensive, “the people hosting that party have spent the last six months trying to tear my company apart.”
You scoffed dramatically, crossing your arms tighter over your chest.
Unfortunately, the movement only pushed your cleavage up higher in the tiny robe. Mingyu’s eyes flickered down automatically.
Brief. Instinctive. But you still caught it.
His gaze snapped back up to your face almost immediately, jaw tightening slightly when he realised you noticed.
His eyes narrowed slightly at the little twitch in your lips before continuing.
“They leaked false reports about my shareholders three weeks ago,” he said. “They’ve been feeding reporters rumours, trying to tank stock prices, trying to bait me into reacting publicly—”
“Okay, and?”
Mingyu’s jaw flexed slightly.
“And I’m not having my girlfriend photographed drinking champagne in the middle of all that.”
Your chin lifted immediately. “I’m not some extension of your company.”
“No,” he agreed. “You’re the one thing they know would get under my skin.” You hated when he answered too honestly.
Still, you rolled your eyes again, stubbornness digging in deeper even though you weren’t stupid.
You knew exactly what showing up to that party would look like. Knew the headlines would explode by morning. Knew people would twist it into betrayal, disrespect, scandal.
Whatever narrative benefited them most.
But a part of you wanted to go anyway. Just to push him. Just to see that look in his eyes when you stopped listening.
You crossed your arms harder. “I haven’t even taken your last name.”
Mingyu huffed out a quiet laugh through his nose, humourless.
“Exactly,” he said dryly. “And somehow you still spend my money like you have.”
Your jaw dropped instantly. “Kim Mingyu.”
“What?” he asked innocently. “Was I lying?”
You stared at him in disbelief before scoffing. “I don’t see you complaining when we’re in bed though.” That finally got a reaction.
His tongue pressed briefly against the inside of his cheek while he looked at you for a second too long, dark eyes narrowing with amusement.
“You always get mouthy when you’re losing an argument, did you know that?”
“I’m not losing.”
“You absolutely are.”
You rolled your eyes dramatically and turned back toward the mirror, grabbing one of your earrings with unnecessary attitude.
“You’re just mad because I look hot in the dress.”
“The dress isn’t the issue.”
“Then what is?”
“The issue,” Mingyu said patiently, “is that you act like actions don’t have consequences.”
You scoffed loudly. “Gyu, you sound eighty years old.”
“And you behave like you’re eighteen.” That actually made you laugh a little despite yourself.
“That was only three years ago,” you pointed out smugly. “Besides, I’m not that immature.”
Mingyu just stared at you.
A long, unimpressed stare that immediately started irritating you again.
“What?” you demanded.
“You bought a six-thousand-dollar lamp yesterday.”
You spun around immediately. “Because it was pretty!”
“It doesn’t even light up.”
“It’s decorative!”
“It’s a fucking lamp.”
“You are so unbelievably judgemental.”
“And you are unbelievably spoiled.”
The words should’ve sounded harsh, but they didn’t. Not with the way his eyes dragged slowly over you afterward, equal parts exhausted and fond like he couldn’t decide whether to argue with you or kiss you quiet.
Honestly, probably both.
Mingyu pinched the bridge of his nose slowly, already looking drained from the conversation.
Your stylist, who had been pretending not to listen from the corner of the dressing room, suddenly cleared her throat awkwardly.
“I, um… I’m just going to steam the other dress downstairs.” She disappeared from the room almost immediately.
The second the door shut, you stood up fully.
“I already told everyone I’m coming.”
“Then tell them you’re not.”
“You’re embarrassing me.”
“No,” he corrected calmly. “I’m protecting you.”
You hated that tone. That calm, patient tone like he already knew he was going to win.
“I don’t need protecting.”
Mingyu walked closer, large hand settling on the vanity beside you while he looked down at your expression.
He could see it written all over your face, that stubborn little spark in your eyes that always appeared whenever he told you no. It wasn’t even really about the party anymore.
You just liked pushing against him. Liked testing him to see how far you could get before he snapped and handled you properly.
“You’re not going.”
Your chin lifted. “I can do whatever I want.”
His eyes darkened slightly at that. Not angry, worse. Amused. “You really wanna play this game tonight?”
Your stomach flipped annoyingly. “No,” you snapped. “I wanna go to a party.”
“And I said no.” Silence. Heavy silence.
Then you shoved past him dramatically, grabbing your phone off the counter. “You’re being controlling.”
“I’m being smart.”
“You’re acting like my father.”
That made his expression change slightly. Mingyu stepped forward suddenly, grabbing your wrist before you could storm out.
“You know the difference between me and your father?” His voice was low now.
Your heartbeat stuttered slightly when he stepped closer, towering over you. “What?” you asked quieter this time.
Mingyu looked down at you for a long second. Then he gave a humourless little smile.
“He never spoiled you enough to get away with this attitude.”
Your lips parted immediately.
The words hit harder than they should have because they were true. Painfully true. Mingyu had ruined you. Completely.
You used to argue with people and lose. Used to hear no and deal with it. Used to think before spending money, before acting out, before testing boundaries just because you could.
Then Mingyu came into your life and suddenly there were no boundaries anymore.
Anything you wanted appeared before you even properly asked for it. Jewellery. Trips. Apartments. Designer dresses you wore once before abandoning in a closet.
And worst of all, his attention.
Because Mingyu indulged you constantly. Even when you were difficult. Even when you were bratty and dramatic and intentionally impossible just to get a reaction out of him.
Especially then.
“You think because I buy you pretty things and let you mouth off that you suddenly run this relationship?”
His hand landed on your waist suddenly, pulling you flush against him before you could fire back another argument.
Your breath hitched softly.
“You don’t.”
You hated when he talked to you like that. Mostly because it worked.
“You’re so full of yourself.”
“And you’re still testing me.”
Mingyu’s grip tightened slightly against your waist, just enough to make heat crawl up your spine.
“You wanna know why?” he asked softly.
Your brows furrowed. “Why what?”
“Why I let you get away with half the things you do.” His eyes dragged slowly over your face.
“Because at the end of the day,” he murmured, “you always come right back here.”
Your throat suddenly felt dry.
“You spend all day fighting me, acting spoiled, pushing every button I have—” His hand slid higher against your waist. “—and then at night you curl into my side like you belong there.”
Your expression faltered slightly. Mingyu noticed immediately. Of course he did. A smug little smile tugged at the corner of his mouth before he leaned down closer.
“So no,” he said quietly. “You don’t run this relationship.” Your pulse was beating way too fast now.
“But you do run my patience,” he added dryly. “Which is honestly impressive."
“But,” Mingyu said softly, thumb brushing against your waist almost absently, “I love you for it.”
Your expression flickered slightly. That was the problem with him. He could go from cold and controlling to saying something like that so easily it left you completely disarmed.
Mingyu watched your face carefully before the corner of his mouth lifted.
“Which is why,” he continued calmly, “you know I’m gonna put a ring on your finger soon anyway.”
Your breath caught.
Your lips parted slightly before you could stop yourself. “Mingyu…”
“Hm?”
“You can’t just say things like that in the middle of an argument.”
“Why not?”
“Because—” you frowned, suddenly flustered, “—because it’s manipulative.”
A quiet laugh escaped him.
“Baby, if I was manipulating you, you’d already be upstairs taking that robe off.”
Your glare returned instantly, weaker this time.
“You’re annoying.”
“And you’re still not going.”
Before you could snap back, his hand suddenly came down against your ass through the thin robe.
Sharp enough to shock you. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to make your breath hitch. Your lips parted immediately.
“Mingyu!"
He leaned down slightly, mouth close to your ear now, voice low enough to make heat crawl up your neck.
“You’re not going,” he murmured. “End of story.”
The warmth in your face burned hotter instantly.
“You’re being mean.”
“And you’re being a spoiled brat.”
The words should’ve sounded harsh, but the amusement in his voice ruined it completely.
Mingyu pressed a casual kiss to your temple afterward like he hadn’t just completely thrown you off balance.
“I’ll be in my study.”
Then he walked away. Like he hadn’t just casually told you he was going to marry you someday. Like he hadn’t completely ruined your entire night.
~
The first purchase notification hit Mingyu’s phone twelve minutes later.
He was sitting in his study reviewing contracts when the vibration buzzed against the desk.
He ignored it. Another buzz. Then another. Then another.
His eyebrows lifted slightly as he glanced down at the screen.
"AMEX ALERT — Guiseppe Zanotti Purchase Approved"
Mingyu didn’t even look up at first. Then another came through.
"AMEX ALERT — Chanel Purchase Approved"
Mingyu leaned back slowly in his chair. Another notification lit up the screen.
"AMEX ALERT — Van Cleef & Arpels Purchase Approved"
He actually laughed. A low, tired chuckle while rubbing a hand over his face.
“Unbelievable,” he muttered to himself.
He could practically picture you sprawled dramatically across the couch upstairs, angrily buying as retaliation.
Another notification lit up the screen.
"AMEX ALERT — Hermès Purchase Approved"
Mingyu shook his head, amused now more than anything.
“You little brat.”
The funniest part was that you genuinely believed this was punishment.
As if he wasn’t the one who’d handed you the black card in the first place.
Another buzz.
"Porsche Deposit Pending"
His eyebrows shot up this time. “Ah,” he murmured. “Now we’re spiralling.”
He shook his head, smiling to himself before returning to his emails.
~
By the time Mingyu came upstairs nearly an hour later, the penthouse was quiet again. Too quiet.
He opened the bedroom door and stopped immediately.
Your suitcase was open on the bed. Clothes everywhere. Designer heels tossed carelessly onto the floor. Jewellery cases open. D
You were aggressively folding bikinis with tears of frustration sitting in your eyes.
Mingyu stared for a moment before calmly loosening his tie. You looked up instantly. “Oh, now you care.”
“Hm?”
“You don’t see me packing?!”
“I do.”
“And?”
“And your folding technique is terrible.”
You stared at him in disbelief. “Mingyu!”
“What?” he said calmly. “You wrinkle everything.”
He tossed his watch onto the nightstand before sitting on the edge of the bed directly on top of one of your dresses.
“Get up!”
“No.”
“You’re sitting on silk!”
“You’re having a tantrum.”
Your mouth fell open.
“This is not a tantrum.”
“You bought a car because I told you no.”
“I was upset.”
“You spent nearly a million dollars upset.”
You crossed your arms. “Well maybe if you weren’t so controlling—”
“You were not going to that party.”
“Yes I was.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“You’re so annoying!”
“And you’re still not leaving.”
You wanted to scream. Instead you grabbed another armful of clothes aggressively.
“I’m staying at Yuna’s.”
“Yuna’s in Paris.”
“…Then Mina’s.”
“She’s in Bali.”
You froze.
Mingyu looked up slowly. “You don’t actually know where your friends live, do you?”
You glared so hard it almost made him laugh. “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
You stared at him in disbelief while he calmly unbuttoned his shirt like none of this was happening.
“How are you this annoying?”
“Hurry up and get into bed.”
Your mouth fell open. “You cannot be serious-"
The words disappeared completely when Mingyu suddenly grabbed your wrist and pulled you into him.
The kiss shut you up immediately. Hot. Slow. Possessive.
“You done?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“You’re cute when you’re angry.”
“I don’t wanna be cute right now.”
“Too bad.”
“Mingyu—”
Your angry little noises melted against his mouth as his hand slid up your thigh beneath the robe.
“There she is,” he murmured against your lips. “Much prettier when she stops yelling at me.”
You smacked his chest weakly, but it lacked any real heat now. Especially when his mouth moved down your neck. Especially when his hands untied your robe.
“You’re still mean,” you mumbled breathlessly.
“Mhm.”
“You hurt my feelings.”
“I bought you a Chanel bag an hour ago.”
“That doesn’t count.”
“It usually does.”
You tried to keep complaining, but it got significantly harder once he pushed you back against the bed like you weighed nothing, moving the half-folded clothes aside with one hand.
“Mingyu…”
His eyes flicked up to yours knowingly. The one that always ruined your attitude in seconds.
“You still angry, baby?”
“Yes,” you lied softly.
“Hm.”
Then his mouth disappeared between your thighs and your entire body jolted. Your fingers tangled into his hair automatically. Traitorous body. Mingyu smiled against your skin knowingly.
“Oh my god—”
“Still angry?” he asked against your skin.
Your fingers tangled in his hair immediately.
“Yes—”
A laugh vibrated against you. You were still trying to rant between shaky breaths.
“I still think you’re controlling—”
“Uhuh.”
“And annoying—”
“Sure.”
“And I wanna go to Seychelles,” you breathed out shakily, words barely coherent anymore.
Mingyu’s hands tightened slightly around your thighs at the request, his mouth dragging slow and teasing against sensitive skin before he answered without hesitation.
“Okay.”
Your brain short-circuited for a second.
“What?”
He glanced up at you , dark eyes calm like this conversation wasn’t happening while you were sprawled beneath him completely ruined.
“We’ll go next week.”
You blinked down at him, stunned. “…Really?”
“Yes."
Then his attention dropped back to you again, completely unbothered.
Just like that. Like rearranging international flights and clearing schedules across two continents was nothing.
To Kim Mingyu, maybe it wasn’t.
Your fingers tightened in his hair slightly, still trying to process how easily he gave in to you sometimes.
“And I want a new car too,” you said immediately, taking advantage of the moment.
Mingyu laughed softly under his breath this time. “You already bought one tonight.”
“That was an anger car.”
That actually made him pause. Then he laughed properly. Full laugh.
Warm and deep and completely disbelieving while he shook his head slightly.
“An anger car?”
“Yes.”
“What’s this one for then?”
You thought about it for a second through the haze in your brain before answering seriously. "A forgiveness car.”
Mingyu looked up at you like you were genuinely ridiculous. But there was too much affection in his eyes for the judgement to land properly.
“Fine,” he said anyway. Of course he did.
You narrowed your eyes suspiciously despite how dazed you already felt.
“You’re only agreeing because you’re distracting me.”
“Is it working?”
His smug smile against your thigh made heat crawl all the way up your neck.
“Yes.”
Mingyu looked far too satisfied hearing that.
Now, you thrash above him, grabbing at the sheets and at his head as you come undone.
Arching your back so pretty, pressing your wet core right on his face as he laps you up.
He knows he was hard on you today, and you need the extra attention.
Mingyu makes you orgasm three times before coming up got air, kissing you possessively so you can taste yourself on him.
And you're more docile now, you always were after he's tamed you and gotten you off. Like you've orgasmed the brattiness out of you.
Except it never lasts long, but he'd take what he could get.
He tucked the blankets around you carefully once you started falling asleep, pressing a kiss into your hair while you mumbled incoherently about beach clubs in Seychelles.
Eid Mubarak 🌙🤍
To all my Muslim subs, whether you’re celebrating today or unable to celebrate this year, I’m sending you love, peace, and duas.
May Allah accept your prayers, your patience, your tears, your efforts, and every silent struggle you carried this year. And for those spending Eid feeling lonely, overwhelmed, grieving, struggling financially, or far from loved ones, may Allah ease your heart and replace every hardship with something beautiful.
Even if today doesn’t feel joyful for you, your faith, your sincerity, and your existence still matter deeply. 🤍
May this Eid bring barakah, healing, comfort, and happiness into your life.
wowow, thank uu for tagging me @cheolliecherie 🍎🍒 !!
had a long day, and seeing this makes me lil happy. anyway, why is it so pinkish wwkwk, my pinterest algorithm thinks that im a pink princess. i think that sums it up of what kind of person i am 🙂↕️ (half of these are like abt 99.9% accuracy(?)
tagging: @ashlinxloves @rosequartz-archive @kwanrose @mellow-wishes and everyone else who'd like to join !
i don’t really got a specific color on my pinterest feed since i rarely go there to look for aesthetic images lately but this is was really cute and almost accurate, ESPECIALLY SEEING MY GIRL FALIN 🤩🩵
tagging random people if anyone wants to join : @slytherinshua @thestraybunny @woozilovespinkunderwear @choco-scoups
Pinterest be glitchin ig, idk if red is really my color but whatever we do it for the sake of the game yall 😉. And I really loved to see kate as the first character when i searched, my loveee!!!!
Tagging @livmarauder @caratchronicles @coupsalchemy @woo-wonwoo @slut4kwon no pressuree!!!
my pinterest goes through hard reset and severe mood swings depending on my hyper fixations. but i love how i got mikasa as my character, i love her sm.
tagging @kwonhs96 and anyone else who wants to join, no pressure </333
A/N: Idk tbh my first ever time writing a story here ᕦ(ಠ_ಠ)ᕤ hopefully it's good 😔☝🏼
the apartment's front door opened with a soft yet firm click. wonwoo stepped in, raising his eyebrows at the quietness engulfing the apartment. usually he'd step in to the sound of oil sizzling in the kitchen and pans clattering around. wonwoo would walk over and lean in against the wall or the counter, stealing food from the plates as you swatted his hand away.
other days, he'd walk in to you sprawled across the couch, book open and snacks lying around. some tv show playing in the background that you were absolutely not watching and yet refused to turn off.
today, this silence feels out of place. wonwoo takes off his coat, steps in his house slippers and walks in. the door to your bedroom is slightly ajar. the lamp is turned on and he finds you laying there snuggled into the comforter, your eyes closed.
he steps in, walking towards your side of the bed. "bad day?" wonwoo murmurs, kneeling on the floor, softly tucking away a few strands of stray hair from your face.
"how did you know i wasn't sleeping?" you ask, snuggling deeper into the bed.
a soft smile tugsat wonwoo's lips. he leans in closer, flicking your forhead. "hmm, maybe because i've known you since you were a child?" he then totally pushes the comforter away, tugging at your arms. "get up, we're going out."
you protest in response, mumbling about how tired you were but wonwoo doesn't listening, already dragging you off the bed, putting you shoes infront of you, wrapping your coat and scarf on, as you pretend to pout while secretly enjoying it. though you'd never admit it infront of your boyfriend.
"where are we even going?" you act like you are complaining as you lean your head against his shoulders. the lift lets out a soft ding, indicating that the lift has arrived in the garage. wonwoo puts his arm out, interlocking his hand with yours as you both walk towards his car.
"its a secret." he says as he opens the door for you to sit in before he gets on his seat and drives the car off.
"you're no fun". you complain while getting comfortable on the passenger seat, humming to the soft tunes wonwoo plays on the speaker. one of his hands reaches out and he interlocks your fingers together. his eyes still focused on the road.
you pretend to not notice the way your heart flutters with that familiar giddiness everytime wonwoo does these little things. its the attention to tiny details, an after thought, and yet he always makes sure to be mindful of these details.
the car winds through the mountains, the city skyline glowing in the distance. it comes to a stop at an empty spot, perched at the top of the hills. wonwoo stops the car, and before you can open the door, he's already at your side, opening the door like a gentleman.
you take his hand as you walk towards the benches, sitting down as you look at the beautiful evening sky. wonwoo doesn't speak first. he just takes something out of his pocket and hands it over to you.
a smile tugs at your lips as you look at your favorite candy in his hands.
"you're acting like i'm a child you have to bribe." you state taking it from his hands. he looks at you, his gaze all serious. "looking after you is harder than looking after a child."
"wonwoo!!" you complain, trying your best to glare at him. "i am not a child thankyou very much." wonwoo just shakes his head and smiles in response.
you sit there, hand in hand, wonwoo talks about his day at office, how one of his employees almost made him trip over a stack of papers. and then proceeded to apologize throughout the day because he got scared of wonwoo's quietness.
you just laugh at his funny stories, shaking your head at how people in his office think wonwoo is a scary guy, when he has been nothing but soft ever since you met him for the first time.
"so," he says, pulling you out of your thoughts. "care to tell me why you were rolled like a kicked puppy today?"
"woww, what a way to ask me about what happened." you shake your head at him, turning your face the away. wonwoo laughs, pulling you close, tilting you head up making you look up at him.
the proximity does something to you and you find yourself at a loss of words.
"seriously, it's nothing. just a bad day at work, little things piling up at work." you say and smile up at him. but wonwoo just shakes his head. "i dont care if its a silly thing, or if its not important, i want to know about your day, even if you felt unreasonable, i want to know your thoughts". he says, his eyes sincere.
fondness creeps into your heart, at the way he always knows what to say, the way he knows you enough to make you feel better. you sigh out, lips tugging up as you poke his cheeks. "thankyou for taking me out here, it really helped take my head off stuff".
wonwoo hums as he pulls you into a close hug. "anyday love, you dont have to carry everything alone, when we're together, we're together in everything. even the things that appear too small to fuss over" he says as he plants a small kiss on your forehead.
and there, on your small escapade on the hills sitting on a bench looking at the sky line, you could never be more grateful for the love you and wonwoo share for each other. life can be extra harsh on some days but as long as you have wonwoo by your side, everything becomes much more bearable. because you know he will always have your back. and that is enough comfort for you.
*Romance, Contemporary Fiction, CEO/Billionaire Trope, Power Dynamics, Romantic Luxury, and Fluff.*
The atmosphere inside the headquarters of Choi Enterprises was often described as "stiflingly regal." When Choi Seungcheol moved through the halls, employees pressed themselves against the walls, bowing so low their spines ached. He was the Commander, a titan of industry who operated with the surgical precision of a general. In his world, his word was law, and his law was absolute.
But everyone in his inner circle knew the one exception to the rule: the moment the elevator hit the penthouse suite and Y/N stepped out.
Seungcheol sat at the head of a mahogany table that sat thirty people. He was currently tearing through a proposal for a multi-billion dollar land acquisition. His eyes, dark and piercing, scanned the papers with terrifying speed.
"This is sloppy," he stated, tossing the leather-bound folder into the center of the table. It slid to a halt right in front of the trembling CFO. "You’re asking me to gamble on a 'feeling' that the zoning laws will change?"
"Sir, the projections-"
"I don't pay you for projections. I pay you for certainties," Seungcheol cut him off, his voice a low, vibrating bass. "The answer is no. This project is dead. Pack your things and-"
The heavy oak doors creaked open. The security detail outside didn't even try to stop the intruder; they knew better. You walked in, the rhythmic click of your Stilettos cutting through the suffocating silence. You didn't look at the board; your eyes were fixed on the man at the end of the table.
The transformation was instantaneous. The predatory stillness in Seungcheol’s posture evaporated. He surged to his feet, his chair screeching against the floor, but he wasn't moving to confront an intruder. He was moving to welcome his Queen.
"Honey," he breathed, his entire face softening into an expression of pure, unadulterated worship.
He met you halfway, taking your hand and pressing a lingering kiss to your knuckles. The board members watched, paralyzed, as the man who had just been ready to fire his CFO became a soft, attentive shadow.
"You're early," he murmured, his thumb stroking your skin. "I would have come down to the lobby to get you."
"I heard you were being difficult, Cheol," you said, your voice calm but commanding. You walked past him toward the head of the table. Without being asked, Seungcheol pulled out his own chair the seat of ultimate power and waited for you to sit.
He didn't return to a seat of his own. Instead, he stood behind you, his large hands resting on your shoulders, his head bowed slightly as if waiting for his next set of orders.
You picked up the folder he had just rejected. You flipped through the pages, the only sound in the room being the rustle of paper. Seungcheol leaned down, his lips brushing your ear.
"I told them it was a waste of capital," he whispered, though loud enough for the front row to hear. "But if you see something I missed, I’ll take it all back."
"The zoning laws aren't a gamble, Seungcheol," you said, looking up at him. "My company handled the lobbying for this district last month. The change is already signed; it just hasn't been publicized. This land will triple in value by Q3."
Seungcheol didn't even look at the data. He didn't check your sources. He simply looked at the board members, his eyes turning back into chips of ice the moment he stopped looking at you.
"You heard her," he commanded. "The deal is back on. Full funding. Use the secondary reserve."
"But Mr. Choi," the CFO whispered, "you just said-"
"I said what I said because I didn't have her insight," Seungcheol snapped, his hand tightening protectively on your shoulder. "In this room, my word is final. And my word is whatever she decides. If she says the sun rises in the west, you start buying shades for the west windows. Am I clear?"
Once the room was cleared of the terrified executives, the "Commander" persona crumbled entirely. Seungcheol dropped to his knees beside your chair, resting his arms on the armrests so he could look up at you. He looked like a man who had finally found his North Star.
"Was I too much?" he asked, a trace of a smirk playing on his lips, his eyes searching yours for approval.
"You were a bit dramatic," you teased, running your fingers through his thick, dark hair. "You nearly gave that poor man a heart attack."
"I don't care about them," he whispered, leaning his forehead against yours. He took your hand again, worshipping the palm with soft kisses. "I only care if you're pleased. My company, my reputation, my life... it’s all just a platform for you to stand on, Y/N."
He stood up, pulling you with him and tucking you into his chest.
"Let’s go to lunch," he suggested, already reaching for your coat. "My treat. Or yours. Actually, you choose the place. You choose everything. I'm just here to make sure no one gets in your way."
You tilted your head, a playful, sharp glint in your eyes as you leaned back into the plush leather of his executive chair. You didn’t get up. In fact, you kicked your heels off and propped your feet right onto the mahogany table, directly on top of the billion-dollar merger papers.
Seungcheol didn’t flinch. If anything, his pupils dilated with a surge of dark, devoted heat.
"The place I want to go for lunch is three hours away, Cheol," you said, examining your manicure with an air of bored indifference. "And I don't want to take the car. It’s too stuffy."
"Three hours?" one of his remaining assistants whispered in the corner, horrified. "But sir, you have the press conference at two-"
Seungcheol’s head snapped toward the assistant, his gaze lethal. "Cancel it."
"But the international media-"
"Did I stutter?" Seungcheol’s voice was a whip-crack. "If my wife wants a three-hour trip for a sandwich, we are going. Clear my schedule for the rest of the week if she asks for it."
He turned back to you, his posture immediately softening into that of a devoted acolyte. He walked over to the table and, instead of asking you to move your feet, he picked up a silk handkerchief from his pocket and began to gently buff a microscopic speck of dust off your heel.
"The helicopter can be ready in ten minutes, baby," he murmured, his voice thick with affection. "Or I can call in the private jet if you want to nap on the way. Which one?"
"I haven't decided yet," you huffed, spinning the chair around so your back was to him. "I'm feeling... irritated. You were so loud when I walked in. It gave me a headache."
The "Commander" of the business world actually looked pained. He moved behind the chair, his large, calloused hands coming down to massage your shoulders with expert pressure. He leaned down, pressing his face into your hair, breathing you in like you were his only source of oxygen.
"I’m sorry, Princess," he whispered against your skin, his voice vibrating with sincerity. "I was being a brute. Tell me how to make it up to you. Anything. Do you want that boutique on 5th Avenue? I’ll buy the building today. Do you want me to fire the CFO for breathing too loudly while you were talking? Just say the word."
"Maybe," you teased, turning your head just enough to see him hovering over you. "And I want you to carry me to the elevator. These floors are too hard."
The corners of Seungcheol’s mouth quirked up the only person in the world allowed to see him smile like a lovesick fool. To the rest of the world, he was a wolf. To you, he was a golden retriever on a diamond-encrusted leash.
"Only to the elevator?" He scooped you up into his arms effortlessly, cradling you against his chest as if you were made of the finest porcelain. "I’m carrying you all the way to the helipad. And if you’re still grumpy when we get there, you can use my chest as a footrest the whole flight."
As he carried you out through the main office, passing rows of stunned employees who had never seen their "Commander" act as a footman, Seungcheol kept his head high. He wasn't embarrassed. He looked proud as if carrying your bags and catering to your every bratty whim was the highest promotion he had ever received.
"Eyes down!" Seungcheol barked at a group of interns staring at the scene. "Nobody looks at her but me."
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