kyungmi’s note. my shayla. he’s so cute but annoyed me so bad at first… we’ll let that slide since he’s a cutie.
content warning. ENEMIES TO LOVERS !!!! so expect him and reader to hate each other a lot until… the very obvious happens. kissing. touches but not in any sort of inappropriate way. gotak is a jealous little thing but tries so hard to pull it off. slight immaturity—not a lot.
now playing. . .
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“shouldn’t the answer be 276 mrs. kim? the way she explained and did the equation confused me.” it was his voice, again. you stood at the board feeling like a complete idiot in front of the class because of his odd and rude remarks. it’s been weeks of studying, it’s been weeks of trying over and over again until you were able to confidently explain and solve this equation. slowly you turn to face the class after mentally preparing for everyone to laugh or make comments, surprisingly no one did—but him. gotak. the person you absolutely hated the most. you wished for almost three years now that he would transfer to a different school, far far and far away from here but that never came. it was fate.
“if you’re so smart why don’t you try and solve it?”
you heard a few snickers from around the class after your remark and took a seat back at your desk which happened to be right next to his, unfortunately. a soft sigh left your lips and you turned towards the window to look out but the feeling of eyes burning through your head made you look—just a quick glance. go hyuntak.
“what? stop looking at me, creep. shouldn’t you go up there and try to explain the equation better? since you think you’re so much better than me. such a dumbass.”
his thick lips pulled up into a smirk. that stupid little smirk that he always gave you. not only did it send shivers down your spine but it—not shivers in a good way, of course. or maybe.. it was that way and you did your best to ignore it. you’ve hated him for years now. gotak ended up living in your same neighborhood and seeing him everyday was awful. or was it? little did you know, your smart remarks towards him only made him feel more attracted to you. he hated you. oh so much but he couldn’t help but to feel a bit.. attracted to your smartness. wittiness. and even attitude. he liked it.
“you’ll fail the test and be at the bottom of the class. again. i can already see it now. the look on your little face when you see that i’ve scored higher than you.”
higher? than you? how hilarious. gotak never cared about grades. he was too obsessed with sports and how he looked walking around with his little group that thought they were professional ball players. pathetic. “you’re such a prick. i hate you. stop talking to me.” class ended and you were quick to grab your things but he followed, as he usually did. baku would come sooner or later and pull him away, begging him to stop and just leave you alone but he never wanted too and that was the weirdest part. it felt weird. forced almost. why did he care so much about picking on you and pushing all of your buttons? was he that obsessed?
“no, bro. i hate her. i can’t stand her attitude and how she walks around like that.. it pisses me off. she’s been this way for years. once she fails this test, i’ll be able to take the spot i want and be satisfied. this year is almost done and i won’t have to see her ever again. finally.”
baku would push at him, tell him to shut up and focus on the ball game but his goal was to make your life at school a living hell. so for weeks he tried his hardest to study more. slip away into the library and study when he could so passing the test would be much easier.
unfortunately for you, he ended up passing the test and making his way up towards the top of the class. you? way beneath him. missing a few answers on the test caused you so much trouble and you fell short. not able to pass—not even by a little! your vision blurred as you stared at the paper in your hands and the familiar scent and laughter brought you back to reality. gotak. again.
you’ve had enough. it’s been years of constantly being at each other’s throats and it was enough. it’s ending.
“you’re such a asshole gotak, did you know that? i don’t care that you scored higher than me. i’m done with this competition with you. i’ve had enough. of you and your awful attitude.” you shoved the paper at his chest and turned walking away from and baku who called out for you but—you continued. tears streaming down your face. it was humiliating. it was almost traumatic in a way that you couldn’t explain. gotak was left standing there with his lips parted, eyebrows furrowed, and a feeling in his chest that he didn’t like. he hated you. he was so sure of that and he felt.. bad. seeing you cry like that was pulling at every emotion in his body. why?
you playfully picked at the rice pile in your bowl and looked out the window, watching two guys fight about who was going to get the last drink from the vending machine. it was stupid but hilarious—why not just share the drink? it would be so much easier. just as you were about to stand a hand pulled on your arm and you sat back down turning to see who it was, baku. he was sweet and kind. always protecting everyone in the school. “yes?” you questioned and he smiled. a smile you’ve never seen before. crossing your arms you waited for whatever nonsense that would come from him but—nothing came. instead he moved his head to the side and stood. obviously wanting you to follow him out of the cafeteria and stupidly, you followed him.
outside near the quietest spot at the school.. stood gotak with flowers. “this is so stupid. i knew when i was getting myself into something when i followed you.” gotak sighed and walked over to you, pushing the flowers in your face but in a gentle way of course. you didn’t take them, why? you were sure this was all baku’s idea. forcing you two to get along for once.
“look. i’m sorry for the way i acted. just take the flowers and let’s move on.” this time you rolled your eyes. such a non meaningful apology. “apology not accepted.” and you walked off. not caring how many times baku had called out your name wanting you to come back.
it was like this for the next few weeks. baku would push you and gotak to interact. sometimes he would have flowers, notes that said nice things, or.. worse, your favorite candy from the convenience store. how he or baku knew that was beyond you. finally, you wanted it to stop. you’ve had enough. “just hear me out. alright? he wants to apologize and talk to you privately. he’s in the same spot as before. just go out there.” baku had a firm grip on your wrist and wouldn’t let go until he knew you’d go meet with gotak. so—you did. he stood in the same spot, eyes slightly lighting up when he seen you. “alright. make this quick, i need to study.”
“i’m sorry. i mean that from the bottom of my heart. so.. i was able to talk the teacher into giving us the test again. retake. you’ll be able to ace it this time.”
it was your turn to stand there in complete shock. unsure what to do and say. your lips parted and you avoided his eyes even though you felt they were on you. “w-why would you do that?” your voice cracked and it was truly the most embarrassing moment ever. gotak didn’t answer, his hands were in his pocket and all he did was shrug. of course. he couldn’t answer.
“thanks.” it was awkward. he was awkward. you were awkward. slowly you turned to walk away but his warm hand grabbed your arm. how weird. he’s never touched you. not ever. “w-what now?” you tried so hard to keep that attitude but it was slipping away. so easy? so fast? why. it pissed you off. “please accept my apology.” is all he said and you nodded quickly, “accepted this time.”
few more weeks passed. you retook the test and aced it this time. you were now at the top of the class. you felt so relieved. so happy.. so satisfied. finally all of your studying paid off. “congratulations.” you turned to see gotak. hands in his pockets and eyes on the ground. avoiding yours at all costs. “thank you..” your voice was quiet. not loud. not confident like before. he nodded and looked up but not at you. it was awkward once again. “well.. see you around.” but he stopped you.. like before. “i was wondering if you wanted to have lunch with me and baku today. in our room.” he’s never asked you anything like this. it’s been nothing but fighting and hating each other for years—until now. slowly you nodded and he smiled, “see you then.” he walked off leaving you there unable to speak or even move.
“gotak! she’s here.” you heard baku and a loud crash that made you jump, almost spilling your tray of food but the second the door opened you seen a very red and flustered looking gotak. “um.. hi.” you said and he nodded, letting you in the room. baku was stuffing his face making you quietly laugh to yourself which gotak caught and it made him smile. you were.. adorable.
you sat next to him but left space. for a while it was nothing but silence—other than baku’s loud chewing and gotak sniffing. “are you okay?” you asked him and he turned to look at you, “me? yeah. i caught a little cold or something. all good.” he laughed it off and you nodded. eventually baku left and you two were alone for a while. sitting in silence until gotak cleared his throat and looked at you. “i..i was thinking you could come by to baku’s place tonight. we were gonna hang and maybe study.” you laughed, “you’re not going to be studying.” he turned to laugh, “you’re right. we just like to hang. practice some basketball and talk.” you looked at him finally. his eyes were so pretty and so were his lips. “sure.” is all you said before silence took over.
“you’re so annoying! just let me make a few shots.” gotak looked over at you to see if you were watching. you were. that made him feel satisfied. baku knew what he was doing and kept going until he almost died of laughter. it was hilarious to him. even if you two hated each other for years—it sure wasn’t the case now. gotak made a few impressive shots and you clapped which caused him to turn and smile. shyness took over him. something that never happened before. he was already confident and cocky in a way. “i gotta take this phone call.” baku ran off leaving you two alone once again and this time it wasn’t awkward. you watched him make a few shots until he asked you to come over.
you stood in front of the basket, “just toss it up.” he said and you sighed, unfamiliar with playing. it was new to you and missing a shot would’ve been embarrassing but he was pushy with it. with a click of his tongue, he stood behind you and wrapped his arms around your own, grabbing the ball that your own hands held.
“like this.” and he helped you throw the ball up, the ball easily going into the basket. it felt.. fun. you felt good. you cheered and turned to look at him—he was looking at you already. “gotak.” but instead of saying anything back he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your lips. it was a soft single kiss. nothing more than that. your eyes widened and you reached up to touch your lips, unable to believe what just happened. “g-gotak.” but he did it again. this time the kiss was longer and his hand was placed on your waist to keep you close to his body.
“i like you.” this time you were the most shocked. your heart was racing and you searched his face for any sort of clue.. but couldn’t find anything. he was serious. he was genuine. it wasn’t a joke. “why..” is all you said. he didn’t answer. he kissed you again and was going to until you kissed back—but this time you did. a shaky hand reaching up to grab his shoulder. when he pulled away he let his forehead rest on your own, “i’m sorry but.. i can’t hate you anymore. you’ve pulled me in.” and just as you were about to speak, it was ruined by baku taking pictures of you two and screaming.
kyungmi’s note. first post kinda nervousss but I’m so in love with this man you guys don’t understand! ugh.
content warning. bullying, blood, reader is depressed and feels like the world is out to get her, seongje is not a jerk ( somewhat ) falls for reader QUICK, kissing, and a whole lot of touching. that man is so touchy. love it.
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2 months—of nothing but enduring bullying from the same group that for some reason wouldn’t leave you alone. for some reason.. hated you. so so much. why? no one knew. not you. not the others in the class with you and not a single soul protected you. stood up for you or even tried to defend you. not once. how could people be so cruel? how could people ignore bullying?
tripping you at lunch. slapping you across the face in the bathroom until your nose bled, until your cheeks were stained with tears. no one helped. no one cared to ask if you’re okay. no one stood in front of you and protected. absolutely no one. until.. seongje. the day you met him was the day the sun was bright and warm. the sky was blue and the wind blew—blew hard and forceful. a flower landed in front of your shoes and he, the seongje himself, bent down to grab it. you watched as he stared at it for a few minutes almost as if he was checking for something, something you weren’t aware of and then.. he handed it to you. it was simple. quick. he left without saying a word and wasn’t seen again for a few more weeks. a few more weeks of pure agony.
“you’re such a fucking moron. why’d you come here?”
you never said anything back. it would make things worse for you. instead you’d try to get up, fight back at times but.. the group had a few males who would use their strength against you. it wouldn’t stop no matter how much screaming you did. that was until you felt a shake. small. quick. your head lifted and beside you laid the same guy that had slapped you earlier. furrowing your eyebrows, you looked up slowly and in a weak manner. seongje. you sat on your knees and watched him take down each one that tournented you. he did it so easy. so effortlessly. quick. moves were smooth.
“get up.”
is all he said as he offered his hand for you to grab and weakly you took it. his strength pulled you up within seconds. you flinched when he raised his hand and his eyes softened but he continued, brushing off your uniform that had been ruined for the 20th time now.
“t-thank you..” your voice shaky. soft but weak.
he didn’t say a word. nodded and pulled out a pack of cigarettes which your eyes widened. smoking.. inside the school bathroom? he was trouble. so much trouble that pulled you in. you wanted more. needed more.
for the next few weeks, you saw him. his eyes would be on you already and it took your breath away. he’d wink or even smirk. something so small as that made you.. weak. fall to the ground and hope you’d see him again. you did. in school. after school. all around. he followed you and you didn’t mind. not at all. stopping at your favorite convenience store nearby—you bought all of the snacks that made you feel whole. like a human again since everything else made you feel like a rotten corpse. birds pecking at you and eating you for as long as they could. opening the gimbap package with your teeth and happily taking one, he sat next to you. he, who you already knew was seongje. the smell of his cologne and cigarettes was the first thing you could recognize and you turned to look at him. he was already looking at you with a small smirk across his lips.
“give me one.”
he was demanding but you gave him one anyway and he ate it with that same smirk. it didn’t drop. it didn’t even move. did he feel sorry for you? all of the rumors that surrounded him were true. you had seen it with your own eyes at some point. he was in the union which was a scary place filled with the most dangerous students from different schools. he was the main minion and it didn’t scare you. not even a little bit.
“why do you follow me? and.. help me?”
he shrugged. it caused a slight sting at your heart only because you thought maybe he would come up with something a bit more interesting than that. or maybe you desperately wanted him to like you in a way that was romantic. what you didn’t know is that, he did.
“for some reason i hate seeing you get bullied. usually i wouldn’t give a shit but you’re different.” he stopped to look at you, “i hate that you’re different. pisses me off.”
you didn’t say a word. turning away from him you took a small bite of your gimbap and looked out the window. watching couples and friend groups walk past. sadly you didn’t know the feeling of a friend group or a.. boyfriend in any sort of way. it was you and only you.
“follow me.”
and you followed like a lost puppy. like a pathetic girl who’s down bad for.. the bad boy. maybe you were? or maybe you liked his company so far. whatever it was, you wanted more. he walked close to you. close enough that you felt his warmth. smelt his scent which was comforting in a weird way. you had no idea where he was taking you but you continued to follow until you stopped in front of a large door. it looked creepy in a way but you continued to trust him. he led you inside and took a seat on the couch. you brushed off the side you were going to sit on and slowly sat down, looking around. his eyes? were on you. only you. always you.
“come here after school. those pricks won’t follow you or touch you. they know not to come here. not after the things I’ve done to them here. alright? come here.”
you nodded. wanting to be.. near him. always.
after school you’d come here to this same spot. he would be there and sometimes he had things to deal with which he told you to put his headphones on until he was finished. you stayed in the room he left open for you, listened to music, and took them off when he returned. it was like this for weeks. months. everyday it was something new and he even started keeping you there when he had meetings or.. a very intimidating but handsome guy there speaking with him. sometimes you’d listen and it didn’t sound like they were on the best of terms. maybe back then but not now.
“finished. come sit with me.”
so you did. you sat far so he had space but he was quick to close that space when his hand reached for your own and pulled you against him. you gasped and he smirked. silly girl, he thought. cute. soft. sweet.
“fuck. it’s been a long week. sick of this shit. you? make it better for some reason. it’s fucking annoying.”
compliment? maybe. his compliments were weird. rude but nice. sassy but rugged. he gave you chills in a way you’ve never felt them. his hand left your own and was on your waist in seconds. you jumped at the feeling but he squeezed your hip, wanting you to know he wasn’t going to do anything to you. just wanted to touch you. keep you close. “let me lay on your lap. come on.”
you laid back and so did he but he laid his head on your lap and shook it—wanting you to what? your hands were in the air unsure what to do and how to place them since he didn’t ask you, “hey. don’t be so scared. play with my hair. it ain’t going to hurt you. do it.” and so you did. slowly moving your hands into his soft brown locks that felt so good against your fingers. he was perfect even if his words weren’t exactly perfect.
you two were in this position for hours until the sun had completely disappeared and he sighed, lifting himself off your lap but he didn’t say a word. instead? he stared at you. you stared back and your entire body heated up. his gaze was.. mesmerizing. it almost pulled you in and wouldn’t let you out. slowly he inched closer to you.
without warning his lips were on yours. the kiss was not soft. sweet. or romantic. he was quick. messy. it was hot and something you’ve never experienced before but it was.. enjoyable. especially when his hands were on your hips pulling you into his lap. it wasn’t sexual but comfortable. he didn’t touch you in a way that scared you but it was enough tension. when he pulled back he stared at your swollen lips, thumb wiping them before caressing your cheek. he licked his lips before going in and kissing you again. deepening the kiss by tilting his head and biting down on your bottom lip—that’s when you pulled away and he chuckled, pushing his glasses back up correctly on his nose. “you’re so sweet.”
seongje brought you everywhere. he walked with you hand in hand at school. you sat with him during his boring meetings and he even downloaded games on his phone for you. it was quick. sudden but.. it felt so right. good. normal. as if it was meant to be. as if him helping you that day was the start to something so special and beautiful. seongje was your savior and you felt thankful that he had been there during the most difficult time in your life. no one messed with you again and not a single person disrespected you. not when he was around. not when he wasn’t around. it felt like the world had changed colors. from a dull grey to a bright and beautiful yellow that was filled with hope and joy.
“come on baby. follow me.”
he was still the same. the only difference now was he used pet names. held you by the waist, kept you close and kissed you often. his favorite thing to do was kiss you. glasses stayed on. he’d wrap his jacket around you and keep you close to his chest. kissing you down your neck and nipping at the skin in a teasing way. you’d let out a whine and he’d chuckle knowing that he was getting to you. that was his favorite thing ever.
summary: you always knew that your boyfriend was violent, but after witnessing what he did to go hyuntak, the dynamics in your relationship shift drastically.
author’s note: i saw discussions online about whether hyuntak’s knee injury was caused by seongje or baekjin, but i’ve always seen it as seongje’s doing, so that’s what this story is inspired by. let me know in the comments what do you think about this! i’m lowkey unsatisfied with the ending but oh well (｡ᵕ ◞ _◟)
you belonged to seongje. that was a known fact. even long before you decided to give him a chance, he’d claimed you. made sure no one looked at you, that nobody besides him dared to talk to you. and if someone disobeyed… well, seongje knew how to take care of that.
but that was years ago. now, the two of you were technically happily dating. of course, your relationship was far from perfect. seongje wasn’t the kind of boyfriend who showed up at your door with flowers or planned cute picnic dates. no. his affection came rough around the edges. his kisses were messy and hard, and whenever he held your hand, his grip lingered — a little too tight, a little too possessive.
and yet, you didn’t mind. because you loved seongje. you loved him even if he was violent and reckless, because that was your seongje. you never doubted that he loved you back, either. he showed it in his own ways — switching his food with yours when he noticed you didn’t like what you ordered, letting you win in video games, throwing his jacket over your shoulders without a word when you shivered.
he didn’t say “i love you” but you didn’t need him to. you understood him. the language of his silence, the warmth hidden under the bruised knuckles.
still, lately… things had started to spiral. you weren’t blind, and you weren’t stupid. you knew how he was — rude, unpredictable, quick to anger. fights followed him like a shadow. but after he joined the union, it got worse. darker. the way baekjin treated the eunjang kids was cruel, and seongje, as his right hand, was always the one who got his hands dirty.
you’d tried to ignore it. to look away. to pretend you didn’t see the way seongje dragged some poor kid into an alleyway on your way home.
but one night, you’d had enough.
he’d promised you that tonight was yours. no fights, no phone calls, no union business. you’d dressed up casual, but cute, something that said you’d tried. his hand was warm in yours, and for once, it felt like maybe things would be normal.
and then his phone rang.
whatever he heard made his lips twitch into that cruel little smile that you hated.
“okay, sounds fun.” he said into the phone before hanging up.
“hey, babe, mind doing a little detour?” he asked, letting go of your hand to light a cigarette. smoke curled around his face as he exhaled, not even looking at you before turning down a different street.
“but you promised we’d get parfaits tonight!” you protested, half-pouting as you hurried after him.
he chuckled under his breath, the sound lazy, distracted. “don’t worry, we will. just hurry up, yeah? the sooner we get there, the sooner you’ll get your parfait.” his eyes never left his phone.
your stomach sank. something about the air felt heavier now, like the night itself was warning you.
after a few minutes, you reached the basketball court of eunjang high.
“seongje, for the love of god, what are we doing here…” you muttered, crossing your arms, anxiety curling tight in your chest.
he glanced over his shoulder, grinning “babe, quiet, okay? just sit there and wait for me.”
he pointed towards the seating area near the court, then turned towards a figure you hadn’t noticed at first — a guy in a gray hoodie, a basketball resting at his feet, phone in hand, back turned to you.
before heading off, he pulled the glasses off his face and handed them to you. “hold onto these for me.” he said casually, his voice low and steady, like he’d done a hundred times before.
you did what seongje said. you always did. you sat down quietly, the night air sharp against your skin, holding his glasses gently and watched him walk away.
you told yourself you knew what was coming. just another one of seongje’s little “lessons.” you expected him to rough the guy up a little, maybe take his money or his phone. nothing too brutal. nothing you hadn’t seen before.
seongje walked up to the unknowing guy, his steps steady, shoulders loose, that kind of calm that only made you more nervous. he called out “hey,” tapping the stranger’s shoulder, and before the poor guy could even blink, seongje’s fist connected with the boy’s cheek.
the guy stumbled back, startled, clutching his side as he turned around and at that moment your stomach dropped. it was go hyuntak. you’d heard that name before, whispered between union members and seongje himself. baku’s closest friend — the one at the root of baekjin’s obsession with tormenting the eunjang kids.
hyuntak recovered fast, pushing seongje back and swinging a punch of his own — sharp, clean, practiced. you remembered hearing that he does taekwondo. but it didn’t matter. seongje was faster. angrier. the kind of furious that didn’t stop once it started.
the sound of fists hitting skin echoed across the empty court. you looked away, pressing a hand to your mouth. fights weren’t new to you — but this seemed more violent than any that you’ve seen before.
then you heard it. a bloody scream.
you turned back, and your heart dropped. hyuntak was on the ground, gasping, one eye swollen shut, a bloody scratch in the middle of his face. seongje was on top of him, that manic grin on his face, eyes shining with something dark and unrecognizable. his leg pressed hard against hyuntak’s knee — the kind of pressure that made your stomach twist just watching.
“seongje!” you shouted, rushing forward, grabbing his arm “that’s enough! you’re going to kill him at this rate, please!”
he didn’t even look at you at first. you tried to pull him off, but he was too far gone “seongje, stop— ! please!” your voice cracked, tears spilling over.
finally, he snapped his head toward you, breathing hard, his expression cold. “baekjin told me to handle it,” he muttered “it’s not enough yet.”
“if you don’t stop right now,” you said, your voice trembling “i’m leaving you.”
for a second, everything froze.
he stared at you, eyes empty in a way that made your whole body tense. then, slowly, he let out a breathy laugh.
“okay. okay.” he stood, brushing off his hands like nothing happened “but if i get in trouble with baekjin for this, you’re the one explaining it to him, yeah?”
you didn’t answer. couldn’t.
he glanced down at hyuntak, who was barely sitting up, pain written all over his face. seongje grabbed a fistful of his hair and leaned in close, voice low “you’re lucky my girl’s here. she saved your pathetic ass this time.”
then he let go, shoving his hands into his pockets, and turned to you with that same easy tone that made your stomach twist, taking his glasses back “come on, let’s get those parfaits, pretty girl.”
you stood frozen for a second longer before following him, your legs shaking. you glanced back at hyuntak, whispering, “i’m so sorry…” before turning away.
the walk to the café was quiet at first. light rain had started to fall again, faint and cold, the streets slick under the streetlights. seongje hummed as he was walking, the faint smell of smoke and blood still clinging to him.
“damn,” he muttered, flexing his bruised knuckles, the corner of his mouth twitching into a grin “that prick was pretty resistant, huh?” he chuckled, glancing sideways at you “but you’re gonna patch me up when we get home, right?”
he said it lightly, teasing — the way he always did after a fight. like it was some inside joke between you two.
but you didn’t laugh. you didn’t even look at him. your eyes were fixed on the pavement, each step heavier than the last.
the silence stretched.
seongje frowned, running a hand through his hair before pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose “what’s with you?” he asked, voice carrying that edge again.
you swallowed hard, but the words wouldn’t come out. you didn’t know what to say — how to say it. how to tell him that the image of hyuntak’s twisted knee and broken stare wouldn’t leave your mind.
when you didn’t respond, he scoffed, shaking his head with a bitter laugh.
“do you care about that eunjang guy or what?” he said sharply, his tone caught somewhere between disbelief and irritation. “you’ve seen me fight before. what’s up with you?”
his voice hung in the air — rough, impatient. you could feel his eyes on you, searching for something, maybe guilt, maybe betrayal.
you kept walking, trying to shake it off, but seongje’s hand shot out, gripping your wrist firmly, stopping you mid step.
“we’re not going anywhere until you answer me,” he said, voice low and sharp, knuckles pressing just enough to make you wince. “you never cared when i beat someone up, and now you’re suddenly tearing up over some random punk?”
you avoided his gaze, your voice trembling but steady “why are you being jealous even now, seongje? no, i don’t care about him. it’s just… isn’t that guy an athlete? i heard at the bowling alley that he does taekwondo. why mess him up this badly just because of baekjin’s petty fight with his friend? it’s not even your problem, yet you got your hands dirty anyway… you didn’t just land a punch or two tonight, seongje. i felt like throwing up when i saw it. he’s in serious need of medical help, and you expect me to just sit and eat parfaits like nothing happened?”
for a moment, everything went quiet — the hum of the city, the faint smell of smoke lingering from his clothes, the weight of his hand on your wrist — all pressing against you.
seongje blinked at you, his expression dark but amused. after a long pause, he finally shook his head and let out a low, dry chuckle “okay, okay… if we call an ambulance now, will your highness forgive me?”
you just gave him a small nod.
you fished your phone out of your pocket and called, keeping your voice steady despite the adrenaline still coursing through you. “uh, hi… i saw some kids fighting at the basketball court at eunjang high. it looked pretty bad… someone might be hurt. yeah, please send help.” of course, you didn’t mention seongje’s involvement.
you stayed few meters away from eunjang high till the ambulance arrived. you let out a long sigh of relief. finally, some weight lifted off your chest.
but before you could even relax, seongje’s hand shot out, gripping yours. he pulled you close, his dark eyes flickering with a dangerous glint that made your heart skip.
“now,” he murmured, voice low and firm “you have to promise me something. never reach out to him. never look for go hyuntak again.”
you hesitated, your stomach twisting, but reluctantly, you nodded “okay… i promise.”
a slow, satisfied smirk spread across his face. he pressed a soft kiss to your knuckles. “good girl” he whispered. and then, finally, letting go, he tugged your hand as he guided you away from the chaos.
“i’m too tired for parfaits now. let’s just head home.” you said quietly, leaning a little into seongje’s touch. you weren’t sure if it was because you wanted his warmth or because some part of you wanted to reassure him, to ease the jealousy still flickering behind his eyes.
“yeah, sure. whatever you say, princess.” he murmured with a lazy yawn.
later, at home, seongje sprawled across your bed, one arm draped over your waist as he dozed off, his steady breathing filling the quiet room. you stayed still for a while, just watching him, tracing the faint lines of his jaw in the dim light.
eventually, curiosity got the better of you. you picked up your phone from your night stand and searched for hyuntak on instagram, your fingers trembling slightly as you scrolled through his profile. there weren’t many posts — a few from his taekwondo competitions, photos with baku, laughing and looking carefree. they were literally just… boys. it was jarring to see him so normal, so happy, knowing what had just happened.
as you scrolled through the images, your heart got tight in your chest, hoping he wasn’t hurt too badly, and wondering what exactly drove baekjin to treat him the way he did.
seongje stirred slightly in his sleep, tightening his hold over your waist. you lowered your phone for a moment, glancing down at him, and felt a strange mix of relief, fear, and love all at once.
a few days later, you noticed something that made your stomach twist. hyuntak had deleted all of his taekwondo photos from instagram. the competitions, the medals, the candid smiles with his team — gone. it felt like a piece of his identity had vanished overnight, and you couldn’t stop thinking about it.
you told yourself not to get involved. but guilt gnawed at you until you couldn’t take it anymore. you needed to know he was okay.
you’d seen which way the ambulance drove that night, and after some searching, you figured out which hospital he’d probably ended up in. you didn’t tell seongje. he’d made it painfully clear that you were never to reach out or even mention hyuntak again.
you slipped into the hospital quietly, your hood up, heart hammering in your chest.
“um… i’m here to visit the patient brought in from eunjang high a few nights ago,” you told the nurse, voice barely above a whisper “he was injured during a fight. go hyuntak.”
after a brief exchange, the nurse finally nodded. “room 214. but please, keep it short, he needs to rest.”
you nodded quickly and made your way down the hall. the antiseptic smell made your stomach twist even more.
when you stepped into the room, you froze. hyuntak was sitting up in bed, a gray blanket draped over his legs. one of his eyes was still swollen shut, a cut ran across the bridge of his nose, and his knee was wrapped tightly in thick bandages. he looked rough.
“you…” he said slowly, confused “you’re… that girl.”
you hesitated, guilt crawling up your throat. “yeah. i… i just wanted to check if you’re okay.”
he stared for a moment before letting out a small breathy laugh “you didn’t have to come.”
“i did.” you said quietly, guilt pressing down on your chest. “i feel horrible, knowing that it was my boyfriend who—”
“hey,” he cut in gently, shaking his head “it’s not your fault. you didn’t hit me.”
“but i didn’t stop him either.”
he smiled faintly, though the movement clearly hurt. “you tried. i remember your face. you were crying.”
you looked down at the floor, unable to meet his eyes.
a pause. then he exhaled shakily. “the doctor said i’ll have to quit taekwondo.”
your head snapped up. “what?”
“my knee’s messed up. bad,” he said, his voice flat but not cold — more like he’d already accepted it. “they said even if it heals, i won’t be able to compete again. no tournaments. no practice. nothing.”
the silence that followed was suffocating.
you felt tears sting your eyes. “i’m… i’m so sorry.” you whispered, voice trembling.
he forced a small smile. “you don’t have to apologize for him.”
“still,” you said quietly “you didn’t deserve that.”
for a moment, neither of you said anything. the only sound was the faint hum of the machines.
then, after a beat, he asked softly, “what’s your name?”
“…y/n.” you murmured.
“y/n..” he repeated like it was a secret “pretty name.”
you forced a small smile and stood up “i should go. i wouldn’t like to cause any more trouble. i just wanted to see how you’re doing.”
“wait,” he said quickly, his voice strained “will i… see you again?”
you hesitated, hand on the door “…i don’t know.”
“take care, y/n.” he said quietly.
you nodded once and slipped out before you could cry.
a nurse entered just as you left, holding a clipboard. she glanced towards the door, then at hyuntak.
“your girlfriend seems really worried about you.” she said, scribbling something on his chart.
hyuntak blinked, caught off guard. “my—? no, she’s not—”
the nurse just chuckled “sure she isn’t. i can tell when someone cares.”
and as she walked out, hyuntak sank back against his pillow, staring up at the ceiling — your voice, your apology, your eyes now haunting him more than the pain in his knee.
when you came home that evening, the apartment was dim, lit only by the soft glow of the tv. seongje was sprawled across the couch, phone in hand, his jacket tossed carelessly over the armrest. he glanced up when you walked in.
“you’re late.” he said, not accusing. just observing.
you forced a smile “yeah. stopped by the store. we were out of milk.”
it wasn’t a total lie. you had stopped by the store. just after spending an hour at the hospital.
he hummed, eyes narrowing slightly “is that so?”
you nodded, slipping off your shoes, keeping your gaze low. the silence that followed wasn’t unusual. seongje was never much of a talker, but tonight it felt heavier. it pressed down on you, the memory of hyuntak’s words still echoing in your head. i have to quit taekwondo.
“you good?” he asked finally, his tone almost casual.
“yeah. just tired.”
he stood, walking over to you. his hand found your chin, tilting your face up so your eyes met his “you’ve been ‘just tired’ for days now.”
your breath hitched “but i really am.”
he studied you for a long moment, then let go, muttering, “yeah. sure. alright.” he turned away, running a hand through his hair.
the space between you felt like a quiet accusation neither of you wanted to voice.
the flowers arrived a week later. a simple white bouquet, lilies mixed with small sprigs of lavender, wrapped neatly in paper. there was no sender’s name, just a small card that said:
thank you for checking up on me. i’m doing better now — don’t worry.
p.s. i got your address from the nurse since you signed it at the reception. i didn’t stalk you, haha.
your stomach dropped when you read it. the handwriting was neat, careful. it didn’t take a genius to guess who it was from.
you placed the flowers on the kitchen counter, unsure what to do with them. maybe you’d throw them away later. maybe.
but you didn’t get the chance.
the door swung open sooner than you had expected, and seongje stepped inside, tossing his keys down with a familiar clang “you home, princess?” he called, his voice rough with exhaustion. then he spotted the bouquet.
he froze.
“what’s that?”
you hesitated. “flowers.”
“yeah, i can see that.” he walked closer, his tone turning sharp “from who?”
you swallowed. “i don’t know.”
his jaw clenched. “don’t lie to me.”
“i’m not lying, seongje.” you tried to keep your voice steady, but the tension in the air felt suffocating.
“you think i’m stupid?” he snapped, stepping closer. “you think i wouldn’t recognize the look on your face? that damn guilt you’ve been carrying for weeks?”
“i told you, it’s nothing—”
“is it that eunjang guy?” he cut you off, voice low, dangerous. “the one whose ass i should’ve broken worse?”
“he didn’t do anything wrong!” you blurted before you could stop yourself.
his silence after that was worse than his shouting.
he stared at you, disbelief clouding into something darker. “unbelievable.” he let out a humorless laugh. “you’re defending him?”
“you nearly ruined his life, seongje!” you shot back, voice cracking. “you don’t even see it, do you? what you’ve become—”
“what i’ve become?” he took a step forward, and your body reacted before your mind did — you flinched.
just a tiny movement, instinctive. but enough.
he froze.
the anger drained from his face, replaced by something raw and broken. his hand fell to his side.
“…you just flinched.” he said quietly, as if saying it aloud would make it less real.
you couldn’t look at him.
he took a slow step back, eyes unfocused “you’re scared of me.”
“i—”
“don’t.” his voice cracked, low and unsteady. “don’t say anything. i can’t—” he turned away, running a trembling hand through his hair “shit.”
the air between you was heavy. he didn’t yell again. he just stood there, breathing unevenly, the weight of what he’d done pressing down harder than any punch he’d ever thrown.
you wanted to say something, hoped to sit down and find some quiet, peaceful resolution together, but seongje just grabbed his keys and left without another word.
seongje wasn’t supposed to be there.
yet there he was, standing outside the convenience store near eunjang high, smoke curling lazily from the cigarette between his fingers.
hyuntak showed up eventually — walking stiffly, knee still bandaged under his jeans, earbuds in. seongje almost turned away, almost let it go. but then he saw the crutch tucked under hyuntak’s arm, saw him limp slightly, and something ugly in his chest snapped.
“hey.” seongje called out, voice sharp.
hyuntak stopped, frowning. his expression shifted when he saw who it was “you’ve got to be kidding me.”
seongje dropped the cigarette and stepped closer, grinding it under his heel. “relax. i’m not here to finish the job.”
for a moment, neither of them spoke. the air was thick, heavy with things unsaid.
then seongje said “you sent her flowers.”
hyuntak blinked. “what?”
“don’t play dumb.” seongje hissed. “white lilies. a cute little note. that was you, wasn’t it?”
hyuntak’s expression hardened. “i just wanted to thank her. she came to the hospital when no one else did.”
“oh, so that’s what we’re calling it now?” seongje scoffed. “thanking her?” he took a step closer, eyes narrowing. “you’ve got a crush on her, don’t you?”
hyuntak didn’t answer right away. he just looked at him — calm, steady, too steady for seongje’s liking.
“you really think everything’s about you, huh?” hyuntak finally said. “i don’t have a crush on her. i just felt sorry for her.”
that hit harder than it should’ve.
“sorry?” seongje’s voice turned cold.
“yeah,” hyuntak continued, his voice quiet but sharp “because it’s clear she’s walking on eggshells around you. she looked terrified when i just mentioned your name at the hospital. and now that i’ve seen your face again, i get why.”
“watch your mouth.” seongje warned.
“or what? you’ll break my other leg?” hyuntak shot back, taking a shaky step forward. “go ahead. maybe that’s all you know how to do — hit things until they stop talking.”
seongje’s jaw clenched, hand twitching like he was fighting the urge to swing. but he didn’t. not this time.
instead, he just laughed. a hollow, humorless sound. “you think you know her, huh? you think you understand what we’ve got?”
“i don’t have to.” hyuntak said simply. “i just know she deserves better than someone she’s afraid of.”
the words cut straight through him.
for a moment, all seongje could do was stare.
“you should’ve stayed out of it.” he said finally, voice low, almost shaking.
“yeah,” hyuntak replied. “maybe you should’ve too.”
then he walked past him — limping, slow, but unflinching.
seongje didn’t follow. he just stood there, watching him disappear down the street, his chest tight, his reflection burning in the store window behind him — a stranger with bruised knuckles, hollow eyes, and guilt written all over his face.
you’d tried to stay awake all night, waiting for seongje to come back after he’d stormed out during your fight before, but he never did. you’d texted him, called him, each message and ring unanswered. eventually, exhaustion won, and you passed out on the couch, phone still clutched in your hand.
and yet… despite everything, you loved him. maybe that was what hurt the most. you’d seen him violent, ruthless, and anyone else would’ve been terrified enough to leave. but not you. you wanted to stay. but now, uncertainty gnawed at you. what if he decided it was better for both of you to step back so he could sink fully into the union, instead of trying to be better for you?
when you woke, it was just past six. the faint sting of cigarette smoke hit your nose immediately. your eyes fluttered open, and there he was — leaned against the counter, staring at the bouquet that still stood in its vase, a war waging in his expression. you softened at the sight, relief washing over you, but that was cut short when the smoke made you cough.
“seongje… it’s too early for smoking,” you murmured, voice thick with sleep. “open the window at least.” you moved past him towards the window, but his hand shot out, gentle yet firm, gripping your wrist.
he dipped the cigarette into the ashtray, then reached for your other hand, holding it too, softer than ever before. and in that moment, all the walls he’d built, all the cruelty, all the darkness… it seemed like it might finally crack.
“i fucked up.” he said, voice breaking, raw “yesterday… when you flinched… that was it. that was the moment i realized just how far i’d gone. i made you scared of me. the only person i love… thought i might hurt her.”
he dropped to his knees, which made you gasp, but you couldn’t bring yourself to utter a word at this moment. his eyes darkened with something you hadn’t seen before — guilt, regret, desperation.
“i got blinded by the union, by baekjin… i thought being strong, being feared, made me important. but it only made you slip further out of my reach. while other boys took their girlfriends on trips to jeju, wore matching outfits, took photos with stupid filters in photobooths… i made you sit with me in the dark bowling alley, surrounded by all the other union guys… i looked at you and hated myself in that moment, resizing just how much more you deserve. when we go out, i see how your gaze lingers at those couples, and i… i tried to be strong instead. strong enough to protect you at least. but all i did… was scare you.”
he pressed his forehead lightly to your tights, his hands wrapped around your knees, breathing unevenly, his voice barely a whisper now, hoarse from holding it in. “i know what i did to hyuntak… and i can’t take it back. i can’t undo it… but i swear, i’ll listen to you. i’ll try. i’ll be better. i’ll be the man you deserve. not perfect… not gentle like him… but someone who won’t make you flinch.”
you let your hands fall into his hair, carefully threading your fingers through it as your tears spilled freely. “seongje… what you did to him… you changed his life. but… i love you. i still love you. and i’ll stay… if you’ll actually listen, if you’ll let me guide you when you… when you go too far.”
he lifted his head slightly, eyes shining wetly, desperate. “i’ll do it. i swear. i’ll listen. i don’t deserve you… but i’ll do anything to keep you. please… please don’t leave me.”
you brushed his bangs away from his face gently, your chest aching. “okay.” you whispered.
and there he stayed on his knees, the rough, possessive edge of him still intact, but broken and raw in front of you. the man you loved, finally realizing the weight of what he’d done, and the only way forward was to fight not with his fists, but by being better for you.
fin.
if you’d like to read more of my work make sure to check out my weak hero masterlist !! ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭
PART 1 -- Addressing the deceptive behavior of leejenowrld
While some of you may know @/leejenowrld for her Sunghoon and NCT fanfiction or for her controversies, there is a far more significant side to her presence in this community to bring to light.
This isn't just another 'fandom drama'. It is a (poorly) calculated pattern of identity fraud, deepfaking, and plagiarism. It isn't the first time she's gotten exposed for lying; she's gotten caught and confronted for feeding other creators' hard work into AI and publishing the results, all while denying such actions.
Well, that exact pattern of using AI to steal and deceive has escalated from stealing written work to real human faces.
For more sweet information -> click here ♡
Part 2 is to come soon <3
With a sweet dose of passion,
Passionfrxit🍷
I genuinely feel so sick right now. The fact that I even defended her by letting her manipulate me into thinking she was right. I am utterly speechless and feel so betrayed. I thought she was my friend but I was soo naive.
I apologize to anyone I may have spoken ill of or offended because of blindly following someone I thought I could trust.
i genuinely let myself get manipulated just because she was sweet and created a “safe space” then proceeded to gaslight us into thinking everyone else was in the wrong but her. all of us her “victims” did 😭
and yes i do feel dumb cause it was IN MY FACE and now so many things make sense
apologising deeply to anyone i spoke badly about just to match my opinion to hers so i wouldnt stir drama/lose her. just because i trusted someone and thought they were genuine.
PART 1 -- Addressing the deceptive behavior of leejenowrld
While some of you may know @/leejenowrld for her Sunghoon and NCT fanfiction or for her controversies, there is a far more significant side to her presence in this community to bring to light.
This isn't just another 'fandom drama'. It is a (poorly) calculated pattern of identity fraud, deepfaking, and plagiarism. It isn't the first time she's gotten exposed for lying; she's gotten caught and confronted for feeding other creators' hard work into AI and publishing the results, all while denying such actions.
Well, that exact pattern of using AI to steal and deceive has escalated from stealing written work to real human faces.
For more sweet information -> click here ♡
Part 2 is to come soon <3
With a sweet dose of passion,
Passionfrxit🍷
REQ. hii!! i love your works so much :)) could you please do obsessed bf gotak version too? or anything else with gotak if it feels repetitive!! hope you have a great day and never stop writing pls, i love it sm 💞
(WHC MLST) . go hyuntak x fem!reader · fluff, bf!gotak, est. relationship, lovesick!gotak, sfw
obsessed bf!gotak who is so down bad for you. talks about you a lot to baku and juntae, always saying things like “oh, she likes this too” or “she would love this” just somehow always fitting you into conversations and don’t even notice.
obsessed bf!gotak who isn't at all subtle about his feelings for you, his crush wasn't a secret and his love during the relationship is even less of a secret, somehow.
obsessed bf!gotak who loves it when you play with his hair, and lowkey turns into a bit of a brat when you don't play with his hair at least once during the day.
obsessed bf!gotak who is always staring at you. not even subtle about it. listening to you talk? he’s smiling. listening to you rant about your day? he’s frowning like he personally needs to fight someone.
obsessed bf!gotak who will absolutely kiss you mid-conversation out of impatience then pull back like nothing happened like “ok, continue”.
obsessed bf!gotak who’s love language is acts of service. he is always there in your corner, supporting/fighting for you however he can. and every time he hears an “oh, tak, you didn’t have to do that!” he is determined to show you just how high your standards ought to be.
obsessed bf!gotak who also secretly loves physical touch, he loves when you randomly reach for his hand or rub his back, feeling weird whenever your hands aren't on him.
obsessed bf!gotak who is easily jealous but never controlling. just gets extra clingy.
obsessed bf!gotak who pulls you in by the belt loop of your jeans. whether he wants to kiss you or to simply have you closer to him. he’ll hook his finger through the loop and pull; his hands immediately resting on your hips and a teasing smile on his face.
obsessed bf!gotak who fixes your hair for you after making out. he pulls away from the kiss, wiping the string of spit as he apologizes with a laugh.
obsessed bf!gotak who just sits there looking at you with so much love. you, who sits on his lap, lips a little swollen, and hair still a bit of a mess, but you’ve never looked more beautiful.
go hyuntak x fem! reader (one shot) | weak hero class 2 ★
pairing: go hyuntak x fem! reader
wc: 2.0k
warnings: usage of y/n, intended lowercase, established relationship, maybe slightly ooc hyuntak
genre: fluff, jealousy
summary: your boyfriend hyuntak gets a new haircut that earns him way more attention than you’re comfortable with, while he just finds your jealousy ridiculously endearing.
author’s note: this story is inspired by this tweet specifically lmao + minjae (gotak’s actor) looking glorious in his newly posted instastory also helped my creativity flow bhaha, though i’m once again unsure whether i’m satisfied with how i wrote it uhh. nonetheless likes, comments and reblogs are highly appreciated ദ്ദി◝ ⩊ ◜.ᐟ
you were sitting at home, pretending to focus on your homework, when your phone dinged. the moment your boyfriend’s nickname lit up your screen, you couldn’t help but smile. you’d been waiting for this. today was a big day for him.
haircut day.
a stressful day for any guy… and an even more stressful one for you.
gotak 💢: hey
gotak 💢: so its done
gotak 💢: idk how to feel about it
y/n ♡: why omg!
y/n ♡: send me a pic quick
y/n ♡: im dying in anticipation please please please
gotak 💢: so impatient omg
gotak 💢: its just super different from how ive had it for years idk
gotak 💢: look
gotak 💢:
you opened the pictures so fast you nearly dropped your phone — and then you stopped breathing altogether.
there he was. your glorious boyfriend, looking better than ever.
his bangs, usually hanging over his forehead in that adorable messy way, were now pushed to the sides, revealing all of his features. his hair looked healthier, freshly trimmed, and you could even see tiny little curls at the ends.
he looked… beautiful. stupidly handsome. unfairly handsome.
you always knew your gotak was the prettiest boy in the world, but right now? right now he looked like the final boss version of himself. you were mid-stare when another notification snapped you out of it.
gotak 💢: can you respond woman?? 😭
gotak 💢: im gonna shave my hair off if you dont respond in 30 seconds swear
you burst out laughing at his dramatics and immediately started typing back, spamming him with every compliment you could think of, completely unaware of how violently he was blushing on the other side of the screen.
however, what you also didn’t know…
was just how much attention that new haircut was about to bring him.
before today, your boyfriend wasn’t exactly “popular.” his constant bickering with baku — who somehow always managed to ragebait him in public — and his sailor-level swearing didn’t exactly make him charming to strangers.
but now…
now suddenly everyone had eyes for him.
when you spotted him waiting for you by the gate of your school, leaning against the wall, scrolling on his phone, completely unaware of the chaos he was causing — you froze.
because a group of girls were literally circling him.
pointing.
giggling.
whispering like he was some celebrity doing a fansign there.
that was… unusual to say the least.
gotak didn’t even notice. he was too busy squinting at whatever meme baku had probably sent him.
you marched straight to him, grabbed his arm, and he looked up with that warm little smile he reserved only for you.
but as you two walked out of the school grounds hand in hand, the weirdness didn’t stop.
you only wanted to grab some sweet drinks together — a cute, simple date — but instead, some pretty girls suddenly stopped right in front of him.
“excuse me,” one of them said, slightly breathless “um… are you a model perchance? or an idol?”
you blinked.
gotak blinked.
“me?” he pointed at himself, voice cracking just a bit “uh— what? no— i mean—”
the girl giggled “oh my god, you’re blushing! that’s so cute.”
and you watched him.
watched how awkward he got.
how shy.
how red his ears turned.
that was also… very unusual.
even in the beginning of your relationship, gotak was not the type to shyly kick his feet or get flustered like this. but now, one compliment from a pretty stranger and he was suddenly smiling like an idiot.
your eye twitched. just a little.
“can we— maybe— get your instagram?” the girl asked, already reaching into her bag for her phone.
gotak opened his mouth, about to respond— and at that moment you fake-coughed. loudly.
“we… should get going,” you said with the sweetest, fakest smile known to mankind “right, babe?”
you squeezed his hand like a warning shot.
he glanced at you, saw the fire burning in your eyes, and gulped so hard you actually heard it.
“uh— yeah, sorry,” he told the girls, stepping back immediately “i… i gotta go. my girlfriend— she— uh— we’re— yeah bye!”
smooth.
he practically speed-walked away with you, the girls whispering behind him.
after a few steps he risked a tiny peek at you.
“…you okay?” he asked carefully.
you raised a brow “were you seriously about to give them your instagram?”
“i wasn’t!” he defended quickly “i was— thinking. about not. giving it. maybe.”
you narrowed your eyes.
he squeaked. actually squeaked.
“i swear i wasn’t gonna give it to them! i didn’t even know what my own instagram username was in that moment— my brain stopped working— i panicked—”
you just stared.
“please don’t kill me.” he whispered.
your grip loosened, but barely “i won’t kill you… but you’re buying my drink.”
“…yes ma’am.”
later you sat across from him at the café, straw between your lips, eyebrows permanently glued into a frown.
hyuntak stared at you like you were a ticking bomb.
you didn’t say anything.
you just sipped your drink.
slowly.
angrily.
threateningly.
finally, he couldn’t take the silence anymore.
“y/n…” he leaned forward, elbows on the table “come on. what’s wrong? you can’t seriously be jealous over a couple compliments.”
you glared at your tapioca pearls like they personally offended you.
“i’m not jealous.”
“you’re extremely jealous.”
you kicked his shin under the table.
“ow— okay— but like— seriously,” he continued, rubbing his leg dramatically “you act like nobody ever flirts with you.”
you raised a brow.
he pointed at you accusingly “don’t give me that look. you know exactly what i mean.”
you blinked innocently “i don’t.”
“oh my god.” he dropped his head into his hands. “y/n, you’re literally the center of attention every time i bring you around.”
you snorted, but he kept going.
“baku tries to ‘jokingly’ ask you out every five minutes.”
“he just likes making you mad.” you shrugged.
“juntae turns into a tomato if you look at him for more than two seconds.”
“he’s just shy.”
hyuntak threw his hands up “SEE?! and i don’t get jealous about any of that!”
you looked at him over your cup.
slow sip.
then a quiet “maybe you should.”
his jaw dropped.
“WHAT?!”
you bit back a smile “i mean… it would be nice to know you care.”
“are you kidding me?” he practically slid across the table to grab your hands “y/n, i care so much i got stress-induced chest pain every day the first two months we started dating.”
you blinked “…really?”
he cleared his throat and sat back like he didn’t just admit that.
“anyway. point is. i’m not into anyone else. not even a little. you’re the only one for me. always have been.”
you stared at him. your frown softened.
he stared back, hopeful puppy eyes fully activated.
you sighed “fine. i wasn’t that jealous anyways...”
“you were furious.”
“i was mildly irritated.”
“you looked like you were about to rip my head off.”
you kicked his shin again.
he winced, but grinned anyway.
“there she is,” he teased, eyes warm “my jealous little menace.”
you threw a napkin at him.
he caught it.
and smiled like you just handed him the moon.
the moment you two stepped out of the café, something in hyuntak shifted — probably the fact that he realized his life’s true purpose was annoying the absolute hell out of you now.
he slipped an arm around your waist immediately, not casually or subtly, but possessively.
“hyuntak,” you muttered “we’re literally just walking home. if it’s about before, i’m fine really—”
“mm-hmm.” he hummed, pulling you even closer “i’m just making sure nobody thinks i’m single, you know.”
you side-eyed him, pouting a little “now why would anyone think that?”
“oh, i don’t know,” he said dramatically “maybe because my girlfriend was glowering like a jealous little gremlin the moment someone complimented me, so that probably means i’m not showing you off enough or—”
you smacked his chest “stop saying that.”
“jealous.” he sing-songed.
“hyuntak.”
“jeaaaaalous.”
“go hyuntak i swear—!”
he stopped walking, turned to you, and grinned so wide you wanted to smack him again.
or kiss him.
maybe both.
“you know what’s crazy?” he said, leaning down until his nose almost brushed yours “i think you being jealous might’ve been the cutest thing you’ve ever done. a little scary. but cute too.”
you shoved his face away “stoooop.”
but he just laughed, grabbed your hand, and laced your fingers together like he was scared you’d disappear.
you walked a few more steps before he tugged you into his side again.
then even closer.
then even closer.
“hyuntak, i can’t walk like this—”
“sorry,” he said, absolutely not sorry “i just… kinda like when people see us together.”
you blinked “you do?”
he shrugged, cheeks tinted pink “yeah. feels nice. like… now that i got this stupid haircut, i’m finally kinda on your level.”
you stopped “my level?”
“yeah.” he scoffed lightly, like it was obvious “you’re, like… stupid pretty. and now i guess i’m— i don’t know— less embarrassing next to you?”
you stared at him, dumbfounded. “hyuntak, you’re literally the stupid one. you’ve always been on my level. with or without a haircut.”
his ears went red.
he stopped walking, right in the middle of the sidewalk, turned you towards him, and held your hands gently in his bigger ones.
“you’re just… really cute when you’re jealous, you know that?” he murmured “i guess i should make you jealous more often.”
“hyuntak,” you warned, narrowing your eyes “don’t you even dare—”
he cut you off by brushing his nose against yours, smirking.
“too late. i’m never letting this go.”
and then he kissed you, still annoyingly grinning against your lips.
BONUS ໒꒱:
later that evening, while you were sitting on his couch watching something on tv, hyuntak plopped down beside you with the smuggest look you’d ever seen.
immediately suspicious.
“what?” you said flatly.
“nothing” he replied, lying through his teeth.
you narrowed your eyes.
he hid his screen from you.
red flag. waving violently.
“hyuntak. what did you do.”
“nothing!” he insisted, voice cracking like a guilty middle-schooler.
you lunged for his phone. he yelped, twisted away, nearly fell off the couch, and clutched the device to his chest like it contained state secrets.
“why are you being weird? let me see.”
“nope.” he grinned “you’ll see soon enough.”
within thirty seconds, your phone buzzed.
notification: @ gotak__ posted a new photo.
your stomach dropped.
you opened it.
it was a mirror selfie — the one you took earlier when he just came from the barber shop to your home and you were teasing him about his haircut. on the pic you had your face pressed into his shoulder, nose scrunched, obviously in mid-laugh, while he was looking at the camera like he owned the world.
the caption?
my girl gets jealous now… i must be doing something right.
you felt heat crawl up your neck.
“HYUNTAK.”
he was already giggling like a menace.
an actual menace.
“look at the comments” he said, wiggling his eyebrows.
you did.
@ baku: LMAO SHE JUST NOW REALIZED HE’S HOT
@ sieun: didn’t even know you could pull
@ juntae: you two look so cute together❤️ shes really pretty. nice haircut, gotak!
you glared at him, mortified “delete it.”
“no” he chirped, leaning over to kiss your cheek loudly.
“hyuntak.”
“what? i like showing you off.”
you groaned into your hands “you’re insufferable.”
he stretched out next to you, head on your shoulder, smile softening despite the teasing.
“mm. maybe. but now if someone asks for my instagram, they see my beautiful girlfriend next to me right away. i’m just obeying your wishes at the end of the day, aren’t i?”
you flicked his forehead — gently — and he just laughed, already reaching over to pull you into his chest.
“also,” he whispered, lips brushing your ear “you getting jealous was the highlight of my month. so i’m keeping the post.”
you smacked him again.
he kissed you again.
and didn’t the post.
never planned to anyways.
fin.
if you’d be interested in reading more of my work make sure to check out my weak hero masterlist !! ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭
Summary: Seongje’s gentle girlfriend protects timid Juntae from Hyoman, and later, Seongje himself steps in to defend Juntae—showing the Union that for her, he’d do anything.
Geum Seongje x reader
A/N: nothing to add here
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The Union had teeth. Everyone in the city knew that. Their name carried weight, whispered with respect or dread depending on who was speaking. And at the center of that name was Seongje — feared, respected, and unbending. He was the kind of man who made a room fall silent just by walking into it.
And then there was you. His girlfriend.
On paper, it made no sense: you, all warmth and softness, someone who could coax laughter out of even the coldest member of the group; and him, razor-sharp, cold-eyed, a man who trusted no one but you. But somehow, that contrast was exactly why it worked. Where he brought the iron, you brought the silk. Where he froze, you thawed.
And because you were with him, you knew everything about the Union. He didn’t keep secrets from you. He never felt the need to. And though you weren’t blind to the darker parts of their world, you loved him — all of him. Maybe that’s why the other Union boys adored you too. You weren’t naïve, but you were kind to them in ways they rarely experienced. When Seongje’s sharp stare had them stiff and nervous, your gentle smile reminded them that not everyone next to him had to be made of stone.
You were on your way to the bowling alley that night, the familiar neon lights glowing faintly in the distance, when you heard voices down a side street.
“Come on, you really that useless?”
You knew that tone. Sneering, sharp. You slowed, peering around the corner — and your stomach tightened when you saw them.
Hyoman, shoulders hunched like a hyena, had his hand clutched in the collar of a smaller boy. Juntae.
You’d seen him before, a handful of times. He wasn’t Union material, not in the way others were. Too timid, too hesitant, like he carried an apology in every step. And that made him an easy target.
Hyoman shoved him against the wall. “What, you too weak to even talk back? Pathetic.”
Something in you snapped.
“Hyoman.”
Your voice cracked through the air like a whip. The two boys froze, heads turning toward you.
Hyoman’s smirk faltered. “Oh, it’s you.” He tried to recover, straightening up, but there was a flicker of unease in his eyes. Everyone knew who you were. Seongje’s girlfriend. And Seongje’s girlfriend meant untouchable.
Still, his pride made him sneer. “What, you come to rescue your new little puppy?”
You strode closer, your expression flat, cold. It wasn’t often you let yourself be harsh, but you could when you needed to. And this? This was worth it.
“I don’t like weak men picking on someone smaller than them,” you said, voice sharp. “You think this makes you look strong? It makes you look pathetic. And you know what else it makes you look like?” You tilted your head. “Like someone who will never belong to the Union.”
Hyoman stiffened, his jaw working. He didn’t like the way you said it — not with fear, but with disgust.
“Tch. Whatever. Not worth it,” he muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets. But his eyes flicked nervously around, as if expecting Seongje himself to appear any second. And with that fear lodged in his chest, he backed off and left.
You turned immediately to Juntae, softening your expression. “Hey. You okay?”
He hesitated, swallowing hard. His eyes darted to you, then away, as if he wasn’t sure if he should even look directly at you. “Y-Yeah. I… I think so.”
You smiled gently, offering your hand. He blinked at it before slowly taking it, letting you help him steady himself.
“Don’t let him get under your skin,” you said kindly. “Hyoman just likes to bark. That’s all he’s good at. If he tries again, let me know. Or…” you smiled faintly, “better yet, let Seongje know. He wouldn’t even get the chance to touch you.”
Juntae’s eyes widened a little. The idea of Seongje even noticing him — let alone protecting him — seemed surreal. But still, he nodded quickly. “Th-Thank you.”
“Anytime.”
The bowling alley was alive with laughter and chatter when you walked in. The boys immediately perked up when they spotted you.
“Noona!” one of them called, waving.
“You made it!” another grinned.
“Yah, she looks way too good to be here with us,” one teased, earning laughter from the others.
You laughed softly, waving back at them all as you weaved through the crowd. They always greeted you warmly — not out of obligation, but because you were genuinely kind to them. They all saw the way you looked after Seongje, and in turn, after them in little ways.
And then you spotted him.
Seongje sat back against the sofa like a king on his throne, cigarette burning low between his fingers, eyes half-lidded but sharp. The second he saw you, though, his gaze softened. The corner of his mouth twitched upward in the smallest of smiles.
You slid in beside him, nestling into his side. His arm immediately draped over your shoulders, pulling you close.
“You’re late,” he murmured.
“Got caught up.” You tilted your head up at him. “I saw Hyoman on the way.”
His gaze sharpened. “Hyoman?”
“Mm. He was bothering someone. Juntae.”
His brows furrowed. “That kid?”
You nodded, sighing. “He looked terrified. I stepped in, but… I just feel bad for him, Seongje. He doesn’t deserve that.”
He exhaled smoke, watching you closely. You could tell he was turning it over in his mind, weighing it, deciding how much it mattered. To him, Juntae was nothing. Not Union, not worth his time. But to you? It clearly mattered. And for him, that was enough to plant a seed.
“Mm. I’ll keep it in mind,” he murmured.
You smiled, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “Thank you.”
From across the room, one of the boys called out teasingly, “Hyung, you’re so whipped!”
The others burst out laughing, and even you couldn’t help but giggle. Seongje just gave them a flat look, but the faint pink in his ears betrayed him.
“Shut up and bowl,” he muttered, tightening his arm around you as if to prove his point.
When Seongje saw Hyoman again a few days later, shoving Juntae against a wall, he felt irritation pulse through his veins.
He could have walked past. Normally, he would have. Juntae wasn’t his business. Not Union. Not anyone important.
But your voice echoed in his head. He looked terrified. I just feel bad for him, Seongje.
That softness in your eyes, the way you’d pressed closer when you said it — he wanted to keep that look on your face. Always.
So he stepped in.
“Hyoman.”
The name cut through the air. Hyoman froze, hands dropping from Juntae’s shirt as if burned.
Seongje’s stare was ice cold. “Still picking on someone weaker than you? That’s the only way you feel strong?”
“Hyung—I was just—”
His fist cracked across Hyoman’s face before he could finish. Blood sprayed. Hyoman stumbled, clutching his jaw.
Hyoman glared, but fear swam beneath it. “Why do you even care? He’s not Union!”
Seongje’s lips curled into a smirk, sharp and dangerous. “Because my girl cares.” His voice dropped. “And that’s enough for me.”
Another punch, harder this time. Hyoman collapsed against the wall, groaning. When he scrambled away, it wasn’t with bravado — it was with fear.
Silence lingered.
Juntae stood frozen, trembling, eyes wide. He looked at Seongje like he wasn’t sure whether to run or bow.
“...You okay?” Seongje finally asked.
Juntae nodded quickly, words tripping over themselves. “Y-Yes, thank you. I—”
“Don’t thank me,” Seongje cut him off. “Thank her.” He shoved his hands back in his pockets and walked off, leaving Juntae trembling but safe.
Inside, though, he thought of you. Of your smile when he told you. Of the way your face would light up because he’d done something that mattered to you. And that thought alone made his fists ache less.
That night, when he came home, you were curled on the couch, waiting for him.
“You’re still awake?” he asked softly, leaning down to kiss your temple.
“Couldn’t sleep without you,” you murmured, tugging him down beside you.
He watched you for a moment, then said, “Saw Juntae today.”
Your eyes widened. “You did?”
“Hyoman was on him again. I took care of it.”
You blinked, processing. “You… you did that for me?”
“Of course.” He cupped your cheek, thumb brushing over your skin. “You wanted him safe. That’s enough.”
Your heart swelled, tears pricking at the edges of your eyes. “I love you.”
He kissed you, slow and certain. “I’d do anything for you. Don’t ever forget that.”
Hi! I really love the way you write. 🫶 I would like to place a request please
Si Eun has a girlfriend who kisses him with red lipstick that doesn't easily come off.
He won't stop going to class because of it.
kisses gone wrong
yeon sieun x fem! reader (one shot) | weak hero class 1 ★
pairing: yeon sieun x fem! reader
wc: 2.3k
warnings: usage of y/n, intended lowercase, for storytelling purposes they aren’t attending an all boys school, established relationship
genre: fluff, slight comedy
summary: you cover sieun’s face in playful kisses before school, not realizing your brand new red lipstick is extra waterproof. when it refuses to come off, you panic… but sieun stays weirdly calm about walking around with your lipstick stamped all over him.
author’s note: hello anon, tysm! i’m not really sure whether i like the way i wrote this honestly but i hope you’re going to enjoy yourself nonetheless ♡ also let’s ignore how unrealistic this scenario is to happen at a korean school, okay haha? TT likes, comments and reblogs are highly appreciated ദ്ദി◝ ⩊ ◜.ᐟ
you were sleeping over at sieun’s place on a school night — something he rarely allowed. he always claimed he couldn’t concentrate on homework when you were around, but he always said it with that slight blush on his cheeks, that told you he didn’t mean it in a bad way.
but sometimes he let it happen anyway, like today for example. because at the end of the day he liked having you around, even if he’d never say it out loud.
he liked making instant noodles with you, liked watching whatever dumb show you insisted was “super trending online right now” even though he’d never heard of it, liked the way you fell asleep on his chest and the way your hair got sprawled all over his pillows by morning.
it all felt so stupidly intimate.
something no one else ever got to touch.
this morning, he’d woken up first, of course. and had to remind you at least three times that you were gonna be late for school, before you finally crawled out of bed.
and then came his least favorite part of your sleepover aftermath: being the “waiting boyfriend.”
he was already fully ready, uniform neat, hair perfect, bag packed — while you were still in front of the mirror, sitting at his desk, going through your entire morning ritual.
he sat on the edge of the bed and watched you curl your hair, blend your makeup, do all the things he absolutely did not understand but found himself unable to look away from.
“you do this… every day?” he asked, genuinely confused. it just seemed like an exhausting amount of effort to him.
“yeah, i do. i like to feel good about myself.” you smiled at him through the mirror, adding your final touches. then you turned around, bright and proud “and with my makeup done, i get to do this!”
before he could react you grabbed him by the collar and smothered his face in kisses, one after another after another. he froze, blinking rapidly, his entire body stiffening like you’d just short-circuited him.
you pulled back, already laughing.
his face was covered in red lipstick marks — bright, fresh, and very obviously from you.
“hehe, now you’re branded as mine.” you grinned, turning the mirror towards him so he could see the damage.
sieun stared.
then stared harder.
expression flat, but his ears a violent shade of red.
“…does this come off?” he asked finally, voice painfully plain.
“yes, of course! see?” you grabbed a cotton pad, poured micellar water on it, wiped your own lips confidently.
but nothing came off.
barely a smear.
his eyes flickered from your lips, to the cotton pad, to your lips again “it… didn’t come off, y/n.” his voice was slow and cautious, like he was trying to run calculations on a situation he absolutely could not compute. and underneath that calm exterior, his brain was exploding.
you stared at him for a second.
“what?”
you rubbed at your lips again. then again.
nothing.
you frowned, flipped the lipstick over, and there it was in microscopic letters: extra waterproof.
you let out the most awkward little giggle and slowly turned to sieun, holding the tube up like a confession “um… sooo…”
he looked at the packaging. then at your lips. then back at the packaging.
another sigh — long, tired, very him.
“whatever. we’re gonna be late.” he said, heading to the door and already sliding into his shoes.
“wait— wait, you’re ACTUALLY going to school like this??” you shouted, practically sprinting after him to the front door.
“i can’t skip school. it’s fine.” he said casually.
you just stared at him, because this was the same boy who hated pda, who barely let you hold his hand in public unless the sun was setting and literally no one was around.
half the school didn’t even know you two were dating, that’s how discreet he was.
and yet here he was. calm and completely serious about going out looking like this.
the walk to school was torture.
you thought he would be the flustered one, but no, somehow you ended up blushing harder than sieun, who walked beside you like he didn’t have your bright red kisses stamped all over his face.
students stared. whispered. pointed.
because to be fair it didn’t take a genius to connect the dots: your perfectly done red lipstick + his face covered in the exact same shade = you two were not subtle. at all.
you tugged at his sleeve, mumbling “sieun… seriously… it’s not too late to turn back home, people are staring—”
“ignore them.” he said calmly, as if it was nothing.
you swore he was blushing this morning. you knew it.
but now?
nope. composed. annoyingly unbothered.
you, meanwhile, were ready to dissolve into thin air.
but nothing prepared you for entering the class.
the moment suho looked up from his desk and saw you two in the doorway, his stoic face twitched… and then completely cracked. he doubled over, laughing, full, uncontrollable, borderline wheezing laughter.
“no way. no freaking way—” he wheezed, pointing directly at sieun “bro, what— what happened to your face—”
“shut up.” sieun muttered, already heading to his seat.
but suho was only getting started.
“woah, sieun,” he said, laughing harder “i didn’t know you were a loverboy like that.”
you felt your soul leave your body.
suho came to sieun’s desk, eyeing the red stains like he was inspecting a crime scene evidence.
“aish man seriously? at least have the decency to clean your face before showing up like this!” he added, shaking his head with exaggerated disappointment.
“i tried to wash it off!” you blurted out defensively “it’s— it’s waterproof—”
“clearly…” suho snorted “and you y/n, did you attack him? or is this your way of marking territory?”
you immediately covered your burning face with your hands.
sieun sent suho a glaring look, definitely a warning.
suho just smirked, still amused, still teasing, but with that soft glint in his eyes that said he wasn’t actually being mean.
“unbelievable,” he sighed dramatically “you two show up like this and expect me not to say anything? get real.”
and the rest of the school day didn’t get any better after this.
if anything, it got worse.
because suho decided that teasing you two was now his full-time job.
every time you or sieun made an eye contact with him, he puckered his lips dramatically and made the most obnoxious kissy noises.
mwah mwah mwah.
sieun just rolled his eyes so aggressively you were surprised they didn’t fall out.
“ignore him.” sieun muttered under his breath, not even looking up from his notebook.
“i am ignoring him.” you whispered back.
you weren’t. not even a little.
by lunch, suho was still at it.
you sat down with your tray, sieun beside you, and instantly suho leaned forward with a smirk, cheeks full like a chipmunk.
“so—” he began, talking through a mouthful of rice “i’m gonna be honest— sometimes i thought you two weren’t even dating. like, i seriously thought you were just pranking me—”
“suho…” you groaned, burying your face in your hands.
but he kept going.
“i mean, no hand-holding, no hugging, nothing—”
sieun shot him a death glare.
suho ignored it.
“but today?” suho pointed a chopstick at you, then at sieun “today proved me wrong. because wow. that was— that was some serious dedication, y/n.”
you choked on your water.
he turned fully to you now, squinting.
“actually— how did you get him to sit still for that?” he asked “like, genuinely. this guy flinches when someone pats him on the shoulder. did you tie him down? drug him? hypnotize him? i need to know—”
“can you chew,” sieun cut in sharply “before you talk?”
suho blinked.
and sieun didn’t stop there.
“and honestly,” he added with that cold edge only he had “it’s no wonder no one’s kissing you. you eat like an animal.”
you wheezed.
suho put a hand over his heart like he’d been mortally wounded.
“wow,” he whispered dramatically “hurtful. completely uncalled for. i’m reporting this to the ministry of friendship.”
sieun just rolled his eyes and calmly stabbed another piece of kimchi.
you bit your lip to stop from smiling.
because even though he looked annoyed…
his ears were pink.
however that wasn’t enough for suho, so he continued “y/n, you hear that? you really don’t care that you’re kissing a guy who spits venom from his lips?”
you opened your mouth to respond, but he kept going.
“respectfully, y/n… how? why? are you okay? blink twice if he cursed you.”
you kicked him under the table.
“OW— okay, okay, i’m done,” he groaned, rubbing his shin but still grinning like an idiot “i’m just saying. brave of you. someone had to say it.”
the walk home was quiet at first — the kind of quiet that wasn’t awkward, just… full. full of all the things you wanted to say but didn’t know how.
you kept sneaking glances at sieun, who walked beside you with his hands at his sides, hair falling into his eyes, looking like he was pretending none of today happened.
finally, you couldn’t take it anymore.
“sieun…” you murmured, tugging lightly at his sleeve “i’m really… really sorry about all of that. i didn’t mean for you to go to school looking like—”
“like someone beat me with your lipstick?” he said flatly.
you winced “yes. exactly. i swear i thought it wasn’t waterproof and— i promise, when we get home, i’ll try everything to get it off. oil cleanser, micellar, even—”
“y/n.”
you blinked. his voice was quiet. careful.
he paused in the middle of the sidewalk and looked at you with that intense, unreadable gaze he got when he was fighting himself internally.
there was the faintest pink dusting his cheeks.
“i didn’t… mind.”
your breath hitched.
“huh?”
he looked away, ears turning red now too “i said i didn’t mind.”
you stared at him, stunned.
his fingers twitched like he wanted to hide his face in his sleeves, but instead he kept talking, words a little rushed, like he wanted them out before he lost the nerve.
“it was embarrassing,” he admitted “obviously. and suho won’t shut up about it for a month.”
a tiny, awkward pause.
“but… it felt kind of nice.”
you blinked again “nice…?”
he nodded once, stiff but sincere.
“that everyone saw.”
a beat.
“that you’re mine.”
your heart flipped.
“and i’m yours,” he added quietly “without us having to… do anything extra.”
the air went warm between you, buzzing with something soft and shy and overwhelmingly tender.
you stepped closer, just a little, and his eyes flickered to your red lips for half a second before he tore them away, flustered beyond saving.
“so…” you whispered, smiling softly “you liked my lipstick attack?”
he groaned “don’t call it that.”
you laughed and looped your arm through his.
he let you.
and he didn’t complain once the whole way home.
BONUS ໒꒱:
the moment you two got back to his apartment, you dropped your bag and marched straight to the bathroom like a soldier on a mission.
“sit.” you ordered, pointing at the edge of his bed.
sieun raised an eyebrow, but obeyed — a little too quickly, honestly — sitting stiffly with his hands in his lap, eyes following you as you gathered every makeup remover product known to mankind.
“shh,” you said, climbing onto your knees in front of him “i mind. you’re not going to bed looking like you got mauled by me.”
“i did get mauled by you.” he mumbled.
your hands froze. face heated.
he did not just say that.
“s–shut up..” you whispered.
his lips twitched — dangerously close to a smirk. a rare sight.
you dipped a cotton pad in cleansing oil and gently cupped his chin.
the moment your fingertips touched his face, sieun went rigid.
like someone unplugged him.
“relax..” you said softly.
“i am relaxed..” he lied, shoulders up to his ears.
you rolled your eyes and began wiping away. except… the red stains barely budged.
you scrubbed a little harder.
“ow.”
“sorry—”
“it’s fine.” he said instantly, even though his eye was twitching.
you tried again.
nothing.
you pulled back, holding the pad up. “okay… why is it not coming off? this is literally cleansing oil.”
he stared at the pad — clean as your crimes — then looked at you.
“…maybe it’s a sign.” he said quietly.
you blinked “a sign of what?”
his voice dropped, soft and low and stupidly sweet.
“that you should… leave it.”
your breath stalled.
he met your gaze for half a second before looking away, ears red again.
“i meant what i said earlier,” he muttered “i like it. even if it’s embarrassing.”
you couldn’t help it — a smile pulled at your lips, slow and warm.
you reached out, brushing your thumb gently across one of the stubborn stains on his cheek.
“you’re cute like this.” you whispered.
his inhale was sharp.
“d-don’t say stuff like that.” he said, voice cracking.
“why not?”
“because,” he muttered, eyes flicking anywhere but you “i won’t… be able to think straight.”
you grinned.
“good.”
he stared at you for a few seconds and then, with all the awkward, quiet determination in the world, he leaned forward and nudged his forehead against yours.
not a kiss.
not yet.
just a tiny, shy, warm press.
“you’re the one who attacked me,” he whispered “but i’m the one losing my mind right now...”
your heart melted.
and the stains?
yeah, they stayed.
the whole night.
fin.
if you’d like to read more of my work make sure to check out my weak hero masterlist !! ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭
hey hi hello !! there's uhm a lot of new people here, so if you're actually interested in reading something of mine, i'd like to direct you to a few options ;))
BIRDS OF PREY
who is it for: mafia boss!kim hongjoong x f!reader (waitress, bottle girl, informant)
what is it: a 118k-word completed series, noir- and action-based slow burn, and there is a ✨torture scene✨
FOOTPRINTS IN THE SNOW
who is it for: jung wooyoung (the fic will tell u the rest)
what is it: a 24k-word horror oneshot if you're down for something atmospheric, who's tension builds with the patience of a hunter
SOLACE
who is it for: prince!park seonghwa x advisor/childhood bff!reader with a side pairing of grand duke!joong
what is it: a 33k-word oneshot of pure yearning, frustration, and royal au-brand tension
MR. NICE GUY
who is it for: supervillain!kim hongjoong x superhero's assistant!reader
what is it: a 21k-word fic that gradually makes you question societal corruption and the fine line between "good" and "bad" (oh, and hongjoong flirts a little idk)
BEDFELLOWS
who is it for: jeong yunho (friends 2 friends who cuddle?)
what is it: short and silly 1k-word drabble that is low-key my favorite thing ever (don't tell the others)
6:17PM
who is it for: kang yeosang x reader
what is it: the most recent thing i've written/posted; < 1k of just soft prose
Morning comes slowly—soft light slipping through the curtains, the world quiet in that fragile, in-between hour where nothing feels rushed yet.
You wake first.
Not fully. Just enough to register warmth, weight, the steady rhythm of breathing around you.
Your cheek is pressed to Kim Geon-woo’s chest, his arm heavy and secure around your waist even in sleep, like letting go isn’t something his body knows how to do. Behind you, Hong Woo-jin is curled in close, his breath slow against the back of your neck, one leg thrown over yours like he claimed you sometime in the night and never gave you back.
You don’t move.
You just lie there, suspended between them, feeling it—this quiet, steady thing the three of you have built without ever putting a name to it.
Geon-woo stirs first.
A small shift. A deeper inhale. His hand flexes slightly against your side before his chin dips, brushing your hair as he wakes. “You’re up,” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep.
“Barely.”
He hums, like that’s enough.
Behind you, Woo-jin groans, dragging you closer by instinct alone. “Why are you two conscious,” he mumbles into your shoulder. “This feels illegal.”
You huff out a quiet laugh. “Then go back to sleep.”
“No,” he says immediately, tightening his hold just to prove a point. “If I suffer, you both suffer.”
Geon-woo exhales something that might be a laugh, his chest rising under your cheek. His hand slides up your arm, slow, grounding—like he’s checking you’re real, still here, still theirs.
“Breakfast,” he says after a moment.
Woo-jin groans louder. “You’re obsessed.”
“I'm hungry.”
“You're always hungry. That’s not a personality trait.”
Geon-woo doesn’t argue. He just presses a brief, absent kiss to the top of your head and carefully shifts out from under you, already moving like he’s decided something.
Woo-jin immediately replaces him.
Of course he does.
You barely get a second before you’re pulled back into warmth, his arm wrapping around your middle as he buries his face into your neck. “Five more minutes,” he mutters.
“You said you were awake.”
“I lied.”
Breakfast is simple.
Too simple to match the weight of the moment that’s coming, though you don’t know that yet.
Geon-woo moves around the kitchen with quiet efficiency—cracking eggs, flipping them, plating things without needing to think about it. Woo-jin leans against the counter, stealing bites when he thinks he won’t get caught.
He always gets caught.
“Stop that,” Geon-woo says without looking.
“I’m taste-testing.”
“You’re eating half of it.”
“Quality control.”
You laugh softly into your cup, watching them fall into something easy, something practiced.
It feels like home.
By the time you’re all sitting down, it’s quiet again. Not awkward. Just… settled.
Geon-woo exhales, shoulders squaring like he’s stepping into a fight he’s already decided he’s going to win.
“It’s not a proposal,” he says quickly.
You blink.
Woo-jin lets out a short, disbelieving laugh. “That’s a wild way to start this.”
“I mean it,” Geon-woo insists, shaking his head. “I know we can’t— I know how this looks. That’s not what this is.”
But even as he says it—
He drops to one knee.
Silence.
Thick. Immediate.
You stare at him, your heart climbing into your throat.
Woo-jin goes completely still beside you.
Geon-woo doesn’t waver this time. Not even a little.
He opens the box.
Three rings.
Matching.
Simple, but solid. Intentional.
“One for each of us,” he says, voice quieter now—but steadier than anything else in the room. “Not because it’s official. Not because anyone else has to understand it.”
His gaze flicks between you and Woo-jin.
“But because it’s real.”
Something in your chest cracks open.
Woo-jin exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair like he’s trying to process and failing. “You really—” He stops, shaking his head with a soft, incredulous smile. “You really thought this through.”
Geon-woo shrugs, a little awkward now. “I just… didn’t want it to be something that disappears.”
It lands harder than anything else he’s said.
He reaches for your hand first.
Of course he does.
His touch is careful, grounding, like he’s holding something fragile even when he knows you’re not. He slides the ring onto your finger slowly, like he’s memorizing the moment as it happens.
Then he takes Woo-jin’s hand.
There’s a second—just a second—where Woo-jin hesitates.
Not pulling away.
Just… feeling it.
Then he lets Geon-woo guide his hand forward.
The ring slips into place.
And finally—
Geon-woo takes the last one.
He doesn’t make a show of it. Doesn’t look up for permission.
He just slides it onto his own finger like it belongs there.
Like it always has.
“There,” he says quietly.
No big speech.
No dramatic finish.
Just that.
Woo-jin looks at his hand, turning it slightly, watching how the light catches on the band. “You’re insane,” he mutters—but his voice is softer than you’ve ever heard it.
Geon-woo huffs. “You don’t have to—”
“I didn’t say I didn’t want it,” Woo-jin cuts in, quick and firm.
That shuts him up.
You reach for Geon-woo before he can retreat into himself, fingers curling around the front of his shirt as you pull him closer. He lets you, easily, like he was waiting for it.
Your forehead presses against his.
“Thank you,” you whisper.
He doesn’t answer right away.
Just breathes you in, steady and warm, his hand coming up to rest at your waist again like it belongs there.
Woo-jin shifts closer too, one hand settling at the back of each of your necks.
“Guess this means you’re stuck with us,” Woo-jin murmurs.
Geon-woo glances at him, something softer flickering in his expression. “I always was.”
Your fingers intertwine without thinking—three hands, three rings, catching the same light.
𝐏𝐑𝐄𝑳𝐔𝐃𝐄 ﹒∬﹒ your daughter decides to choose someone else for her valentine !
💗 park seonghwa x f. reader ✦ fluff dad au 𝓦. physical touch, a small kiss, pet names, lmk if i missed anything !
MILAN’S 💭 NOTE happy valentine’s day from me to you ! decided to drop a little something while i take a break from my wips, so here you go ! hope you enjoy ♡︎
you and seonghwa sat together on the plush sofa, papers spread in his lap with scribbles from a five year old all over them. he studied the words buried underneath all of the color, lips moving slowly as he read them to himself.
“seems like she’s doing fine to me,” he said, handing you the paper. this was the norm for you both, every afternoon sitting together and checking your daughter’s school folder to see her progress.
you hummed, skimming through the paper as you read her answers to the questions and the big green check marks that her teacher had put by the ones that appeared to be correct.
as you both gathered up the papers that you had examined already, placing them back into her folder, your daughter was sat on the floor in front of you.
she was humming to herself—a nameless tune—as she sat coloring in a red shape.
“lily, baby, what’re you making?” seonghwa asked gently, leaning forward to stroke her hair softly.
she looked up at her father, giving him the biggest grin you’ve ever seen.
“a card!”
seonghwa chuckled, glancing down at the unevenly folded piece of paper, corners overlapping each other. he noticed that lily had scribbled a large heart shape over what appeared to be the front of the card.
“oh, is that for appa?” he asked. “my valentines gift?”
“no!”
lily continued coloring her card, wriggling her little body in a happy dance as she smiled to herself.
seonghwa snapped his head to look at you, taken aback at her answer.
“did she say—?”
you folded your lips inward, holding back the laugh that was begging to burst out of you.
“honey, i’m sure she just wants to surprise you.” you reassured him. seonghwa’s eyes narrowed as he turned back her.
“then who’s it for, bug?”
lily dropped her crayon, a bashful smile on her face as she glanced up again.
“uhm, yejun…” she mumbled.
your heart immediately fluttered as you sat upright on the sofa.
“aw, babe—she has a crush!” you pouted, tapping hwa’s shoulder excitedly.
he sat there, jaw dropped in disbelief as he let his daughter’s words settle in.
“no way,” he said quietly. “is yejun better than your appa?”
lily giggled, deciding to continue coloring her card and not entertain her dad’s antics.
seonghwa sulked—his arms folded as he sat back against the sofa, his body slumped in defeat.
“oh, hwa, stop it.” you snicker. “she’s only five, i was five when i had my first crush.”
“i’m her valentine every year,” he grumbled.
you laughed even harder, his expression mirroring lily’s whenever she was upset about something.
lily had looked up at the both of you now, immediately noticing her father’s face.
she frowned, “i’m sorry, daddy. did i hurt you?”
your face softened, your daughter’s concern for others was something that never failed to make tears well up in your eyes.
“no, baby. daddy’s just surprised that he’s not your valentine this year, that’s all.”
lily stood up, leaving the crayons on the floor as she climbed in seonghwa’s lap. his arms wrapped around her immediately as she leaned into him.
she patted his cheek gently, “i’m sorry.”
seonghwa kissed her hand, “don’t be, my love. daddy’s just sad that you’re growing up.”
he had dreaded the day that she would come home to the both of you, telling you about a boy that she had met or a boy in her class. but that was just a dad thing. deep down, it was the most adorable thing to him.
“you can be mama’s valentine,” lily said softly.
“i would love that,” hwa said to her before he turned to you. “baby, will you be my valentine?”
“of course.” you smiled, leaning in to kiss his cheek.
thinking about ... san who uses you as a pillow .ᐟ
you barely make it halfway onto the bed before SAN collapses on top of you like a wwe wrestler. “san—” you gasp, trying to fight for air as his weight sinks into you, arms already wrapping snugly around your waist.
“i missed you.” his voice is muffled against your chest, his broad shoulders nearly swallowing your frame whole as he burrows deeper like a sleepy little kitten. “couldn’t sleep right last night, because my shoulders hurt again.”
you sigh upon hearing this, threading your fingers through his dark hair, it’s not the first time he is telling you this, but you are the only person that makes it comfortable enough to endure the pain. “i told you to try sleeping on your back, or stomach.”
“i can’t,” he groans, nuzzling against your collarbone. “my shoulders are too wide, and i just keep rolling over… i almost fell from the bed.”
he’s ridiculous, like literally utterly ridiculous, but at the same you can’t really blame him for not getting a decent sleep. “so what, i’m your pillow now?”
“the best pillow,” he murmurs, pulling you closer somehow. “so soft and warm, smells like strawberry chocolate cake, and you scratch my scalp just right—ah, there, like that…” he practically purrs under your touch, muscles relaxing beneath your fingertips as you gently massage his head. his biceps flex slightly as he shifts, dragging your leg over his hip like a possessive little monster. clingy, much?
you raise a brow, not because you are not used to this, simply because it comes out of nowhere, and very abruptly. “sannie, you’re being needy today.”
“i’m always needy,” he says without shame, cuddling into your warmth, smiling against your exposed skin. “especially with you.”
rolling your eyes, pretending to be annoyed, however, your hand doesn’t stop moving through his hair, and your fingers trail down his bare arm, tracing the lines of his muscle with just enough pressure to make him twitch.
“also, i’d like to file a complaint.”
“hmm?”
“you’re making it really hard to focus on your face when your arms are out here lookin’ illegal.”
he lifts his head, a grin that reaches his eyes, even making his dimples come out of hiding. “oh? baby, do you mean these?” he flexes, just slightly, watching your eyes follow the movement.
you swat him, not hard enough, but just enough to make him stop teasing you. “san, stop that! you’re too pretty and you know it.” he laughs, before ducking back down to kiss the side of your neck: gentle, lingering, stupidly in love. “i love you, you know?”
you pause, fingers threading through his hair again. “yeah, i know, and i love you too.”
but it still hits you like it’s the first time every time. when san says those three words, you forget about everything, when you look at him, he is the only one you think about. he may be a lovesick idiot, but you are crazy in love. “and i love your stupidly wide shoulders,” you murmur into his hair. “even if they’re the reason i wake up squished half the time.”
at that moment, you felt him relax, and yes, he was asleep. san always falls asleep quickly when you are here next to him, can’t blame him, you do smell like strawberry chocolate fresh cream cake, oddly specific but that’s just san for you.
𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄: smut, fluff, angst, dystopian world, mr and mrs smith inspired
𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: you’re an undercover agent sent into the orbit of park sunghoon, marry him, gain his trust, and kill him but what no one accounted for is that he’s been ordered to kill you too, and the longer you stay married, the more lethal it becomes to choose love over survival.
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: graphic sexual content throughout; mutual violence and bloodplay; sadomasochism; knives, guns, handcuffs, ropes used, rough sex, choking, biting, bruising, spanking, orgasm denial, hair-pulling; power exchange, marking and branding, public sex, emotionally charged hate sex and angry sex; knife play and fear play, shower sex, floor sex, desk sex, window sex, stairwell sex, mutual masturbation and voyeurism, degradation and filthy talk, exhibitionism, themes of addiction and compulsion; obsession, possessiveness, unhealthy attachment, blood, sweat, and gun oil as sensory elements, references to grief, trauma, loss of a child, violence, murder, and sadism depicted alongside intimacy, morally gray main characters, ongoing themes of control, surrender, and survival at all costs.
The world you live in is run by syndicates, ancient, merciless networks that control everything worth owning in this city, whether people admit it or not. The skyline glitters like money while the streets rot quietly underneath, and the distance between those two realities is where the real business happens. The skyline drips gold like fresh blood; down below, the streets fester, swallowing the desperate and the naïve whole, and it’s in that yawning, rot-slick gap that the real deals are carved. Loyalty is treated like currency, traded and spent until it’s worthless, and the only vows that mean anything are the ones enforced with guns. Love is spoken about like a myth, something soft people used to believe in, something that got them killed. Here, marriage is a tactical maneuver, leverage sharpened to a point, a blade sheathed in silk with a smile for a handle, and when two signatures fuse into one, every soul in the room understands the translation: someone just staked their claim on how—and when—the next body will drop.
For months your handlers have spoken of him only in absences, no prints, no shadows, no bodies left recognisable, and still his presence seeps into every briefing like a knife pressed to the back of your neck. They slide dossiers across the table with the photographs carved out, whole paragraphs redacted, and you learn to read the hush that settles whenever his codename, “the Quiet,” “the Winter,” brushes the air, as though syllables alone might slice skin.
His work is visible only in aftershocks: an elevator that opens empty but dripping, a CCTV feed that flickers one frame short of a heartbeat, a single white camellia blooming from a corpse’s fist. Park Sunghoon moves through the syndicate the way a blade moves through silk, no drag, no echo, only the cold certainty that if he has been assigned to you, the ending has already been honed, and your blood is shaping the edge.
His origins are whispered, never written, every story you’ve heard contradicts the last. Some say Park Sunghoon was born inside the syndicate itself, the first breath he ever took steeped in blood and smoke, his father a mythic kingpin whose word toppled governments, his mother a casualty so early her name is little more than a threat. Others claim he appeared in the city one winter with nothing but a blade and a scar and a name no one dared repeat, violence braided into the way he walked, cruelty stitched into the smallest of his gestures.
Every attempt to redeem him ended in tragedy; by the time most boys are learning to lie, Sunghoon had already killed for the syndicate, a prodigy leashed so tightly only fools tried to pull the chain. No teacher, lover, or rival has ever lasted long enough to leave a mark. He passes through parties and power plays as a ghost, faces turn toward him and then away, unsure if they ever saw him at all. In photographs, he’s always a shadow on the edge, all suggestion and threat, the line between presence and absence blurred until no one can tell if he’s really there or if they only hoped he was.
The underworld believes he has no heart; even in the rare retellings where he does, it’s a heart carved from winter, a thing that never learned to beat for anything but the kill. Lovers, friends, even family—if they ever existed—are counted among the vanished. The rest is rumour and contradiction, stories told in bars by men who survived only because they were never important enough to remember.
In the underground, Sunghoon’s name is spoken only as a warning, his true identity blurred behind layers of code and myth. “The Winter King,” they call him, ice-cold, elegant, fatal. His reputation is stitched with impossible kills: bodies that vanish without trace, assassinations staged so perfectly they read as suicides, scenes marked only by a single calling card, a white camellia pressed into a whisky glass, or slipped inside a jacket pocket, a final bloom before oblivion. No one agrees on his face, every sketch is different, every witness unreliable. They say if you meet his eyes and survive, the memory haunts you for days, chilling the blood, staining the dreams. Even rival syndicates use his codename as a curse, cross the line, and the Winter King will come for you, silent and precise, and by the time you realize you’re being hunted, it’s already far too late.
It begins with one unforgivable misstep, your people skim a whisper thin cut from Sunghoon’s blood tithe and boast to the wrong courier, a breath of insolence that reaches his ear, and the city’s underbelly jerks like acid has been poured into its veins. Sunghoon doesn’t issue threats; he erases them. Associates who once sat at your table vanish with obscene elegance: one drops on a cigarette break, heart stopped clean in his chest, another is found posed in the backseat of his own car, eyelids sewn shut around a white camellia. Your handlers begin to understand that they’re not being hunted, they’re being culled, each absence a calculated lesson in what it costs to cross him. Every meeting in the weeks that follow smells like sweat and defeat; every conversation with your superiors is delivered in code, brittle and clipped, as if language itself is too dangerous a commodity.
By the time they crawl to his side for negotiation, it’s not diplomacy, it’s capitulation. He enters with nothing but a shadow at his back and a smile that never quite reaches his eyes, sitting at the head of the table like a king about to accept tribute. No demands for territory, no requests for secrets or blood money, just a single, surgical condition. He names you. The one thing he wants for their continued survival is your hand, your body, your signature on a contract that reads less like a marriage and more like a binding clause on your freedom. He doesn’t explain, doesn’t gloat, doesn’t even bother with the theatre of seduction or threat. The request is so stark it leaves your handlers stunned and scrambling for meaning; they search your history for the reason, fail to find it, and agree before they can risk asking. You’re bartered, boxed, and signed away before you can even draw a breath.
Nobody knows why he asked for you. Not your superiors, not your rivals, not the city’s rumor-hungry underworld. To some, you’re a trophy, a hostage, a warning shot sent across the bow of your syndicate’s pride. To others, you’re a fix for some private obsession, a dark hunger written into the spaces between his words. Your marriage is spun for the media as an alliance, a seamless merging of empires; in truth, it’s a spectacle for only two audiences, the men who now own your fate, and the shadow who demanded it. The ring on your finger is heavier than a shackle. The vows you will be made to recite are just another kind of order. You’re not chosen. You’re requisitioned, handed over at the edge of a blade, your future snapped shut in his fist. And whatever Sunghoon intends, punishment, pleasure, power, or ruin, you’re the answer to a question no one else is brave enough to ask.
Your handlers slipped a single, silent clause into the marriage contract, a line printed in ink too fine for a casual eye, a directive encrypted in legal jargon he will never bother to parse. It orders you to kill Park Sunghoon. The logic is brutal and simple: once he signs the union, his assets, alliances, and iron-clad secrets funnel through you. One bullet, one blade, and everything that made him untouchable transfers to your syndicate before his blood even cools. Greed writes the motive, control of his offshore vaults, sway over the mercenary crews that answer only to his name, leverage on politicians who fear his midnight calls and politics seals it. With Sunghoon gone, the fragile peace can be spun as sacrifice rather than surrender, your leaders credited for ending a monster they publicly embraced. His death is an audit, a hostile takeover by knife, and you are the instrument sharpened to balance the books.
The instructions arrive in three sentences, delivered like a prayer you’re meant to memorize. Marry him. Gain his trust. Wait for the signal. Kill him before he kills you. They don’t explain the “why” like you’re a person who deserves context, only the “how” like you’re a weapon that needs calibrating. They give you the venue. They give you the attire. They give you the timeline down to the minute and the exits down to the inch, and they do it with the calm certainty of people who believe the world is theirs to rearrange. Your blood debts are mentioned like they’re numbers on a spreadsheet, like they’re not stitched into your ribs, like they’re not the reason you wake up every morning with your jaw clenched and your body already braced for impact, and the message is always the same no matter how they phrase it: you will do this, because you have nowhere else to go.
They assign the blade to you because every ledger of murder they keep still groans under your name. In six years of sanctioned bloodletting you’ve never missed a mark, never left a witness capable of spelling your face to the cops, never burdened the syndicate with collateral they could not bury in a night. Your handlers keep a private tally, thirty-two kills confirmed, thirty-four suspected, and the two “unverified” disappearances everyone pretends were accidents because the victims carried political weight. They recite the numbers when they brief you, like scripture: high-value diplomat in Macau, poison slipped beneath the papery skin of his wrist; rival accountant thrown from a penthouse garden, body staged as a lover’s leap; cartel heir found in a locked hotel room, heart neatly cored from his chest.
But statistics are only the surface. They want you because you’re an apparition: no fingerprints since childhood, no digital footprint beyond the aliases they provide, no birth certificate anyone can trace back to daylight. You learned early that survival is purchased in silence, your mother beaten into ash by debt collectors, your younger brother folded into a shipping container when the family couldn’t pay. After that night, you traded your given name for a knife and resolved the debt in blood, stalking the collectors one by one until nothing remained of them but rumors and cautionary tales. The syndicate noticed. They offered you a retainer instead of a grave, and you took it with steady hands and colder intentions.
Since then you have become their hidden asset, the feminine myth men mention only when they need to frighten subordinates into obedience. You move in couture and shadows, kiss like anesthesia and kill like mathematics, clean, silent, absolute. You are what Sunghoon believes women are not: the end of every contingency plan. Your handlers know that if anyone can reach him, slip past his paranoia, soften the edge of his vigilance, touch the throat he guards with entire armies, it is the woman whose very presence lulls targets into believing they still have time to beg. So they choose you for one reason that eclipses greed, politics, and desperation alike: because death follows wherever your heels land, and Park Sunghoon will never see it coming.
In this city, women are accounted the way dirt is accounted for, something to be walked over, swept aside, pressed down until it forgets its own shape. Every contract, every back-alley decree, every boardroom vote is stamped with the same contemptuous math: men inherit names, women inherit silence; men leave scars, women become them. Girls are raised on the knowledge that the price for breathing is obedience and the sentence for dissent is an unmarked grave. Assassins, couriers, politicians, none bother to distinguish a woman’s throat from ornament. The ledger of the city is written in masculine arrogance, and for centuries that arithmetic has balanced in blood.
Park Sunghoon believes the arithmetic still holds. He thinks you’re a concession, a body wrapped in lace to soothe an open war, a pliant throat offered so he can taste victory without tasting guilt. What he does not know—cannot know—is the history coiled behind your smile: the mother smothered beneath a debt she never owed, the sister traded like contraband, the girl whose name was stripped and sold until only ghosts remained. He hasn’t seen the blade hidden in the boning of your dress or the venom swimming behind your teeth. He hasn’t read the scripture of vengeance inked beneath your skin, each line a promise that someone will suffer enough to make the math even.
You will walk toward him masked in softness, draped in silk and shadow, every step a lullaby for men who underestimate sharp things dressed in luxury. Your heartbeat is steady, your pulse cold, your mouth tilting into an invitation that feels almost gentle, until the light catches the edge of your grin and turns it carnivorous. He wanted a bride; he’s marrying a liability with a flawless memory for every sin committed against the sex he thought expendable. Soon he will learn that the most lethal weapon in a world that calls women worthless is the one woman who has decided the balance sheet must drown in red.
What they don’t tell you, what sits in the hush between signatures and silk, is that Sunghoon answers to no syndicate, no council of old men counting coins in smoke-choked rooms. He drafted his own command, signed it in the dark with the same hand that will cup your throat: Marry her. Let her bloom on your arm. Then slit the stem and drink what spills. It isn’t business; it’s appetite. He wants to watch the light leave your eyes the moment after you trust him, wants to feel your pulse stutter against his tongue and know the power to grant or deny that final beat is wed to his pleasure alone. No witnesses, no loose ends, because the only proof he craves is the heat of your blood on his skin, a private sacrament pressed into memory.
You can sense it in the static of every room he enters, the way the air folds around his stillness like tall grass around a crouched predator. The blank envelope, the funeral-bright dress altered to fit a body he intends to unmake, the way your own handler flinched from your gaze, every detail is a courtesy note from a man who believes the world is a hunting ground and that you’re the most interesting prey it has offered in years. He doesn’t want peace. He wants the slow undressing of your defenses, the soft slide of a knife through satin, the moment when marriage becomes murder and devotion tastes like copper on his lips.
By the time the day comes, it already feels like it’s been decided for you. The city is drenched in rain that never fully commits to storming, a constant static hiss against glass and pavement, like the world is trying to wash itself clean and failing. You’re driven upward in a car with tinted windows and a driver who never speaks, the kind of quiet that isn’t peaceful but surveilled, and the higher you go the more the air tastes like money, sterile, filtered, too expensive to breathe. The rooftop ballroom is all gleaming architecture and curated beauty, its glass walls spitting reflections back at you until you can’t tell what’s real and what’s an illusion. Below, the city stretches out in broken lights and deep shadows, a living thing with a heartbeat you don’t trust, and for a second you imagine how easy it would be to jump, how clean it would be to choose your own ending, before you remember you stopped being the kind of person who gets to choose.
Park Sunghoon is already there when you arrive, waiting like he was built for this. Black suit, immaculate, no sign of nerves, no sign of anything that resembles uncertainty. The rumors about him float through your head uninvited, highest-ranking, ruthless, heartless, untouchable, and yet he looks almost bored, as if ceremonies are beneath him, as if the only thing worth paying attention to is the angle of your throat and how quickly he could end you if he decided to. His gaze meets yours like a lock clicking shut. Not affectionate. Not warm. Just aware. Just measuring. You wonder if he can see the mission written behind your eyes, if he can smell it on you the way animals smell fear, and something sharp inside you tightens anyway, because you’ve never liked being seen and he looks at you like he’s been studying you for years.
Your handlers linger in the periphery like shadows with human faces, tuxedos disguising holsters, earpieces tucked behind sleek hair, their attention fixed on your hands as if they’re afraid you’ll reach for the wrong thing too early. There are no friends here, no family, no laughter that isn’t rehearsed. Even the music feels staged, the kind of soft string arrangement that makes people think of romance when it’s really just there to hide the sound of whispered instructions. Someone hands you a bouquet that looks too perfect to be real, white petals like fresh wounds, and you can feel the weight of the ring in your pocket before you even touch it, cold metal waiting to close around your finger like a shackle.
When you step into the sliver of space beside him, heat radiates off his body like a low-burn furnace, the kind that promises ruin long before flame. Up close, he’s all ruthless geometry, chiselled cheekbones cleaved from marble, a mouth cut in a cruel line that should not be inviting and yet drags your gaze back like gravity. His eyes are storm-dark, fixed on you with a hunger so controlled it feels ordained, as if he is already tasting the echo of your pulse. The scent clinging to him is expensive cologne underlined by gun oil and wet stone, the aftershave of a man who can pull a trigger between heartbeats and still button his cuffs without a tremor. It hits you then, the obscenity of how intimate this tableau is, sworn tenderness staged between two people sworn to spill each other’s blood. The officiant drones on, spinning fairy-tale vows no one in this room believes; your handler watches the second hand like a countdown. Sunghoon, lit by the bruised city light bleeding through cathedral glass, studies you with that slight, knowing tilt of his mouth, like a predator who already worked out the puzzle of your anatomy and is only pretending to wait for permission to break it open.
“Do you—” the officiant begins, and you almost laugh, because what a question. Do you what? Do you want this? Do you choose this? Do you promise anything? You swallow it down, lift your chin, and answer anyway, because you were trained to deliver lies with steady breath.
“I do,” you say, and your voice comes out clean, controlled, even, like it belongs to someone who believes in the words.
Sunghoon’s “I do” lands with lethal exactness, clipped and cool as a scalpel kiss, and the sound spears straight beneath your ribs, an edge so honed you feel the air split around it. His gaze never warms, never flickers, yet something flares there for half a heartbeat, a flash of hunter-bright comprehension, as if he tastes the lie gliding off your tongue and answers it with the promise of steel. No tremor, no hesitation: just negotiation masquerading as consent, acceptance coiled with threat, a silent covenant that the real ceremony will be written later in bruises and blood.
The rings are presented, and for a heartbeat the room feels too quiet. You slide the band onto his finger and feel how warm his skin is compared to the metal, how human that warmth is, and the thought makes you angry because you don’t want him to be real. You want him to be a target. You want him to be a monster so you can kill him without hearing your daughter’s name in your head like a curse. His fingers close around yours when it’s his turn, steady pressure, too firm to be romantic, too deliberate to be accidental, and when the ring settles on your hand it feels like a sentence being completed.
comment to be added to the tag list. if you can't wait and are desperate to read it now, then you can !!!, you can read the entire fic on patreon.
