kang wooyoung teasing you for being smaller than him !
cw: smut, size kink, teasing, protected sex, pussy eating, overstimulation, p in v, praise, rough sex
a/n: hii, this is my first post so likes and reblogs are very appreciated !! also don’t forget to send reqs <33
Wooyoung enters the room, his tall figure dominating the space. He notices you sitting quietly and can’t help but tease you. “There’s my tiny girlfriend.” He says with a playful smirk, ruffling your hair. “How cute.” You whine, trying to argue back, “hey! im not that small..” but he just laughs at your attempt to defend yourself. “You're adorable when you try to sound tough.” He picks you up easily, sitting you on his lap. He watches you pout silently, finding it too cute. He continues teasing you slowly, testing your reaction. "Baby, do you even reach 5'3?" He smirks, waiting for your response. You just huff in response.
He laughs again, your response childishly adorable. He pulls you closer, your back to his front. His large hands splay over your tiny waist possessively. "You know, most girls reach my shoulders. You barely reach my chest." He murmurs softly, his voice slightly lower this time.He feels you go quiet again, he decides to take things a bit further, his hands slowly sliding from your waist to your hips. He pulls you back against his chest, his face burying in the crook of your neck. "Shh, don't pout... I like you small.” He whispers in your ear, his voice low and husky, "It makes it easier for me to pick you up, carry you around, and do other things..." He lets the implication hang in the air as he presses a soft kiss to your neck.
Your face reddened at his words, knowing exactly what he meant. He was tall, muscular, and had the physique of an MMA fighter. You were much smaller in comparison. He could easily lift you up, throw you around... He grins mischievously against your neck, feeling you squirm. He suddenly stands up, still holding you in his arms. Your legs automatically wrap around his waist as he walks to the bedroom. "You know what I mean by 'other things', right?" He throws you on the bed, slowly uncovering your clothes while peppering kisses along your neckline.
He looks down at your small frame, his eyes roaming over your body. He can't help but compare himself to you, his large hands, muscular arms, broad shoulders and tall stature dwarfing your small figure. His hands quickly move to the hem of his shirt, pulling it off in one swift go and immediately goes to take his pants and boxers off at the same time, letting his cock spring free. He wraps one arm around your waist, pulling you back even further so your back is pressed against his chest. His other hand reaches down and grabs his huge, thick dick, pumping it slowly. He suddenly grabs your thighs, spreading your legs wide and shoving his tongue inside, sucking on your poor, sensitive clit, making you gasp with every movement of his delicate tongue.
He leans over quickly to grab a condom from the side table without breaking contact with you. His cock throbs against your back as he tears open the packet with his teeth and rolls it on swiftly. “There we go... now let's see how much of this big cock fits inside my pussy huh?” You moan at his lewd words as he lifts you up slightly and positions himself beneath you. Slowly, he lifts your legs and spreads them apart, revealing your small, innocent looking pussy. He runs the head of his huge dick along your slit, teasing you before slamming into you without warning. "Oh god..." You let out a loud cry as he enters you abruptly, his massive length stretching you open instantly. He doesn't give you time to adjust, immediately starting to thrust hard and deep. His hands grip your hips tightly enough to leave bruises as he pounds into you roughly. "Fuck... so tight..."
He grunts loudly with each thrust, his hips slapping loudly against yours. He can feel your small body bouncing up and down on his cock with each forceful movement. His large hands grip your tiny waist tightly as he pulls you down onto him harder and faster. “mhmm.. doing so good for me baby.” You can’t help but let out a whimper at his praise full words as he continues to drill into you. Moving his fingers upwards, he begins circling over your clit, purposely overstimulating your pussy and pleasure. “Wooyoung… hah.. too big” He ignores your protests, his fingers moving faster and more insistently over your clit while his cock continues to hammer into you. The combination of overstimulation and his brutal pace has you seeing stars, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from the overwhelming sensation. “Shh... take it...”
His movements become even more frantic as he feels himself getting closer to the edge. His fingers press down hard on your clit, rubbing it in tight circles while his cock swells inside you. He leans down and bites your shoulder hard as he starts to come deeply inside the condom.“Fuck...” he groans out lowly. He keeps holding you up against him as he finishes, his cock pulsing inside you with each wave of his orgasm. His bite on your shoulder turns into gentle kisses as he comes down from his high. He slowly pulls out of you, his softening cock slipping free with a wet sound.
He carefully removes the condom and tosses it aside before pulling you into his arms, holding you close against his chest. His large hands gently stroke your back as he presses soft kisses to your forehead and cheeks. He can feel you trembling slightly from the intense session and holds you tighter protectively. “Shh...you did so well for me baby” You cuddle into him, succumbing to the tiredness and falling asleep beside him, whilst he holds you close, staring at the mess he made, proud and satisfied.
genre: smut, aged up characters. i guess college au
warnings: mdni, nsfw, sexual content, bullying, dubious consent, cursing, rough sex, violence, name calling (bitch, slut, whore), no protection, threatening (i feel like su-gang is a warning himself).
author’s note: i watched brave citizen the other day just to find out she is the real baddie of the movie and he is a sore loser. still i wanted to write a han su-gang smut because i love villains 😝
word count: 2893
you genuinely felt like a playtime toy. they would bring you around in every hangout they had, almost as if you were part of the friend group. you would sometimes daydream about being friends with the girls there, participating in their conversations about the cute boys they met or the pretty clothes they just bought. your desire to feel like a normal girl grew bigger every day, wishing to only have a casual life, unnoticed and unknown to everyone. but they would never allow you to.
han su-gang would never allow you to.
you had always heard that bullying ended in college. after years of suffering in high school, you could finally have some peace to yourself. you imagined you could make a friend, maybe even a few. hang out with them on the weekends like every person your age did. oh how sweet it all sounded.
but you couldn’t be further from the eventual truth.
at least jin-hyung understood what you were going through. he was the only person who could comprehend the hell they put you through every single day. you two weren’t friends, and you only talked when necessary. but you silently were there for each other, just in case anything went too far.
su-gang didn’t treat the two of you equally, though. yes, he did bully the both of you as if his life depended on it, but your relationship with him sometimes felt more like ownership. he would let the others do whatever they wanted to jin-hyung, hitting and mocking him in every way their twisted brains could imagine. but su-gang was the only one that could order you around. the only one that could touch you, call you names, pull your hair or tell the others what to do with you. whenever one of them had tried to taunt you with none of his previous orders to do so, there had been consequences. you were like his own neglected puppy, always on his leash and only taking what he gave you.
you'd rather not have that attention, though. every word and action of his portrayed how little he thought of you, how superior he felt and how he genuinely believed it gave him the power to treat you as a possession. your whole life revolved around being his pet at that point, and you couldn't speak up.
you finished all your classes and rushed to the restroom, trying to gain a little bit of alone time before they guessed your location or sent you a text, basically forcing you to meet up. after just taking a few steps, you were able to see the familiar silhouette of a boy, limping while walking on the same direction as you.
"jin-hyung!" you shouted his name while running towards him. once you were up close, you stayed silent, analyzing his state in pure shock. it wasn't rare to see jin-hyung with bruises on his face or extremities, but it was way more brutal this time. he had cuts all over what you could see of his arms, a bruise on each of his eyes and another one on both sides of his jaw — too symmetrical, almost as if it had been intentional. “w-what…?”
“they had a lot of fun today.” he simply said while smiling sarcastically. you could sense the defeat in his eyes and his voice, which made your stomach turn. neither of you deserved that treatment, and it broke your heart seeing such an innocent soul be wrecked like that. you knew the reason why he endured all of that abuse, which brought tears into your eyes just by thinking about it. “i don’t know what’s up with them… i swear they are too bored, they are more evil than ever… you have to be careful.”
you just trembled in fear when you heard jin-hyung’s warning. how could their behavior get any more violent?
“you might need a little help patching those up. i got some bandaids on my backpack, come on.” you tried to change the subject, knowing that if you kept wondering about what they were going to do with you after, you would have a panic attack right then and there. jin-hyung just nodded, clearly feeling helpless at that point, accepting any kind of aid someone could offer.
you entered a random empty classroom, already rushing in fear of su-gang finding you. you knew it was risky — classes had already finished and he would not relish seeing you helping his other martyr at all. but you couldn’t go and leave jin-hyung all alone after what he just had to go through. you two were fighting that battle on your own, but you would always stick together in hard times like those.
he sat down on a nearby chair while you searched for the bandaids in the smaller pouch of your backpack. once you found them, you reached for his left arm and started to patch up some of his cuts, trying to be as careful as possible in order not to hurt him.
“i’m sorry, jin-hyung. i know we both aren’t at fault, but maybe i could have distracted them a little today and…”
“and they would have split the punches half and half? nah, i don’t think so. they’ve got enough for the two of us.” he finished your sentence, getting a small laugh out of you. you liked how you both joked about it, making the situation feel a little lighter at times.
after a few seconds of you laughing, you saw jin-hyung’s expression change abruptly, his smile dropping in an instant. you followed the direction of his eyes, only getting a few words out before you fully turned around. “what is it-?”
you opened your eyes in shock, tears instantly threatening to get out of your eyes. a wicked smile and evil eyes looked straight at you through the small glass, sending shivers down your spine. his smirk seemed predatory, almost as if he had caught his perfect pray, looking proud and excited to haunt you down.
the door slid open with a loud thud, not even trying to hide his rage towards the scene. “seems like you both have forgotten your place.” han su-gang simply said in the most bone-chilling calmed tone you had ever heard come out of his mouth. he just turned around and started to walk without looking back, clearly expecting you to follow him without questioning.
and you knew what you had to do if you didn’t want to end up dead that same day, although you considered that might have not been such a bad option after all.
han su-gang’s daily self was unhinged. but han su-gang’s enraged, furious self? words could not describe the evil that flowed through his veins. no guilt, no remorse. just pure cold-blooded, sadistic, psychopathic behavior. you were sure there had to be some sort of diagnosis for him — something that could explain the abundance of malicious thoughts and the drive to act on them he had.
you quickly got up from the chair you were sitting on, not looking back either. you weren’t even able to hear jin-hyung’s breath anymore. you hoped he would look for you later, at least to check if you were still alive and report it to someone if you hadn’t survived.
you followed su-gang’s tall silhouette into another random room on the second floor. it was filled with dusty books and old papers. sunlight peeked lightly from the window, making the place a little warm. it all felt too overwhelming, almost suffocating. you were just waiting for the worse: waiting for his words, his punches and his group.
but they never came.
the two of you were alone upon entering, which wasn’t like the usual. he didn’t speak for a few minutes, creating a tense atmosphere that you could almost physically sense. he kept running his hands through his hair and you could almost smell the rage in each one of his movements.
after what felt like a million minutes, he finally stared straight at you, leaving your body paralyzed.
“s-su-gang, i-i can ex-“
and just like that, you were pressed up against the opposite wall, his tight hold around your whole throat, making you gasp for air. his movements were too fast and unexpected, not allowing you to even try and unsuccessfully protect yourself.
“you fucker… you know what this fucking does to me, huh? you do this on purpose so i get more mad? you like to see me fucking lose my mind, i fucking knew it.”
you couldn’t hide your confused expression while still literally fighting for your life. you didn’t exactly know what he was referring to and you also couldn’t believe he truly thought you enjoyed making him mad. you were sure at that exact moment that he was the least self-aware person you had ever known.
“s-su-gang… i-i can’t-“ you tried to tell him you were on the verge of passing out, but he suddenly spun you around, pressing your cheek roughly against the wall.
his whole body hovering over yours.
a hardening member pressed against your upper thigh.
were you understanding him right?
“you fucking tease. trying to get me jealous. trying to get me mad so i finally lose control and fuck you, huh?”
“s-su-gang, i swear i wasn’t-“
“you are going to get what you want, fucking loser. i’m going to fuck you like the fucking slut you actually are, mmh?” his right hand kept pressing your head against the wall with all his force, making you hiss in pain. you could now feel his left hand ruffling your skirt up in rushed and clumsy movements. you weren’t fully conscious of what was happening. but you could feel his pure desperation, almost as if he had been plotting on doing that for quite some time.
“you are always acting like you are so fucking innocent. poor girl doesn’t deserve all that bullying, huh?” he dragged your panties down, quickly pressing his whole palm against your center. you tried to hold your sounds in, but a small whimper came out after you felt his thick digits against your core. “poor girl only deserves to be fucked like the whore she is.” he bit you ear roughly, making you moan more loudly than expected. “don’t act like you don’t fucking love this, fucking bitch.” he started to finger you in a rushed way, not letting your body adapt to the sudden intrusion.
“s-su-gang- wait-“
“that’s it. say my fucking name. know who you fucking belong to.”
you felt your walls clench, sucking his fingers in while not being able to control your sounds anymore. you could feel yourself getting closer to your climax, starting to grind on his fingers yourself to try and find the right friction.
“please-“
“desperate slut.” he suddenly pulled his fingers out of you, dragging your body uncaringly and slamming it onto the table that stood on one side of the room.
“fuck!” you exclaimed in pain, feeling him behind you while pressing his hand on your lower back, keeping you in a bent over position. your ass was fully exposed in that angle, making you tremble in embarrassment. you were not able to see him, just trusting your ears to guess what his next movement was. you could hear his belt unbuckling and his pants slide down while he groaned in need. you suddenly felt him rub his cock against you ass, making you whimper in shock.
“shit… can’t believe i didn’t do this sooner…”
he suddenly slipped it in without a warning, not letting your body adjust to his size. you screamed in pain, feeling his cock quickly stretch your walls in rushed thrusts.
“p-please slow d-down- please-“ tears started to run through your cheeks, feeling a indescribable mix of pleasure and pain.
“you wanted to- shit! you wanted to fuck that fucking loser so bad? you were fucking putting bandaids on the cuts I made? huh? who the fuck do you think you are, fucking whore?” he then sped up his thrusts even more, spit coming out of your mouth onto the table. he was fucking you senseless, wrecking your whole body in the process. “remember who you belong to, mmh?” he abruptly pulled your hair back, forcing your spine to arch and talking down your ear while keeping up with his tormenting pace. “fuck… if you breathe it’s just because i allow you to. you get it?… shit shit shit-“ he let go of your hair, slamming your body right back onto the table. he held onto your hips roughly to continue with his violent thrusting, marking your body down with purple bruises.
he suddenly slowed down all his movements, backing his body up gradually before thrusting his whole cock back in with extreme force. the unexpected thrust made your whole body crash onto the table, letting a yelp out in pain. he repeated his actions again, tears coming out of your eyes without a stop. you heard him laugh in pure joy, clearly enjoying your suffering in the most sadistic way possible.
“you always act so… shit!” another forceful thrust, another squeal coming out of your mouth. “so fucking tough. but i can fucking see the tears in the corner of your eyes every time” he sped up his pounding again, making you moan in full volume. “fuck, fuck… every time… every fucking time i have to go and fucking jerk off thinking about it… i should fucking take a picture, fuck!” you could hear him groan, breathing more heavily while his cock pulsated inside you. you knew he was close as you were feeling your climax coming in too, so you starting to tense up.
“s-su-gang, p-please, shit! please, pull out please!”
“beg all you want, fucking whore. you are walking- fuck… you are walking out of here stuffed full of my cum.”
“s-su-gang…”
“don’t act like you didn’t want this. you should have thought about it fucking earlier… before acting like a slut with that fucking bitch.”
“i-i told you i wasn’t-“
“fucking shut up and take it.”
you gave up then, your mind being too clouded with the pleasure building up in your lower stomach. you could feel your walls clenching around his member, making you cry even louder.
“you gonna come? mmh? you gonna come on your bully’s dick? such a fucking desperate whore.”
“yes yes yes, fuck! s-su-gang, i need-“
“that’s it, fucking beg for it. you come when i tell you so fucking beg.”
“please please please. please let me cum, i need it su-gang!”
“shit! i’m gonna fill you up so much…”
you were saying random words without thinking at that point. you were too fucked up to even reflect on the consequences of him fucking his cum into you, just focusing on how much you needed your release.
“come on my cock, fucking slut.” just as he said it, your body obeyed. you started to shake while whimpering, spit and tears mixing messily in your mouth. as you felt your climax ending, you heard su-gang grunt loudly, filling you up with his warm fluids. you cried out at the sensation, feeling his thick cum sticking onto your thighs.
silence came in then. you could only hear both of your pants, still recovering from the exhausting session you just had. you suddenly became too conscious of everything right then: his whole body was over yours, both of you covered in sweat, his thick cock still inside you and his cum dripping down your thighs.
he was still han su-gang.
you were still trembling in pure fear.
you suddenly felt him pull out in silence, getting a small whimper out of your mouth, feeling sore and sensitive. you didn’t know if you were allowed to move, but you still straightened your spine, pulling your body away from the table. you stayed still in that position, waiting for an order, or at least a comment that could let you guess what he wanted next.
“what are you doing? fix your clothes. you plan to get out of here looking this fucked up?” you saw him pull his pants up and buckle his belt, as well as trying to straighten his shirt with the palm of his hands. you quickly followed his orders, fixing your skirt and brushing your hair with your fingertips. as you were looking down, trying to see if your shirt was more or less presentable, you felt his grip on your jaw, forcing you to look up at him.
“listen. we don’t fucking mention this to anyone, yeah?” his eyes were as empty as always, so dark you could almost see your reflection in them. you could never get used to them, no matter how many times he made you look. “if you tell someone, i will know. and if i know, i won’t be so gentle next time.” an evil smile was planted on his face, a maniac laugh escaping his lips before roughly letting go of your face. he then turned around, getting out of the room without looking back at you once again.
you stayed still in shock while replaying his words over and over again in your head.
you prayed you hadn’t heard him right. but you sadly knew you had.
Includes: Geum Seongjae,Na Baekjin, Ahn Suho, Yeon Si-eun, Kang Woo-young, Oh Beom-seok, Go Hyuntak, Park Humin (Baku)
Note: This was an anon request! AND GOD, I swear writing — let alone reading — stuff like this makes me feel all kinds of weird. And I wrote each character at a different time of day so they wouldn’t all feel the same. Hope I pulled it off.
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Geum Seongjae
1. The Moment He Finds Out:
Silence. He just stares. Then his lip twitches.
The second you tell him you’re pregnant, Seongjae goes quiet for a few seconds. He looks unbothered on the outside, but you know a thousand things are racing through his head. In that moment, his whole “world” shifts.
“I knew no one else could ever give me something like this.”
He says it softly, but something breaks in his eyes — like the idea of ever letting you go has become completely impossible.
2. Possessiveness:
Obsession. Protection. Paranoia.
He’s not just protecting you anymore, but everything you’re carrying inside you. Even the tiniest bit of stress is enough reason for him to lock you in the house. If someone bumps into you by accident? Seongjae might beat them up in the middle of the street without a second thought.
“I better not see you cry again. I’m dead serious.”
Even the dark circles under your eyes feel like a personal insult to him.
3. Physical Obsession:
He’s obsessed with your belly. Every time he talks to you, his hand goes there like a reflex. At night, he lays his head against it and whispers things to the baby. He starts acting like a “family” way before the baby’s even born — but not in a normal way.
“There’s a piece of me inside you. That means you don’t get to leave. Ever.”
4. Jealousy & Going Insane:
Another guy checking you out while you’re pregnant? Your best friend trying to take you out of the house? It’s all a problem. At some point, he might even try to hide the fact that you’re pregnant altogether.
“Don’t wear that. There’s no reason to show your stomach like that. People don’t need to see. That’s mine.”
5. Random Kindness Spikes:
He’ll suddenly start talking about baby room ideas, sweet little dreams, out of nowhere. In those moments he seems normal, like a regular excited dad — but there’s always a breakdown bubbling underneath.
“If it’s a girl, you can name her. But if it’s a boy… I’ll decide.”
6. Before & After the Birth:
The closer it gets to your due date, the more controlling he becomes. He chooses the hospital, who’s allowed in the room, even the nurse that’s going to be with you.
“If anything goes wrong… someone’s paying for it. Got it?”
And after the birth? He isolates you, the baby, and himself like it’s a three-person world. He wants to build everything from zero — just you three.
“It’s only us now. Everyone else out there is dangerous. What else do I need to do to make you understand that?”
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Na Baekjin
1. When He Finds Out:
Silence. He masks his emotions, but his pupils shake. After you tell him, he holds your gaze — and stays exactly the same. Cold. Serious. Neither happy nor mad. Then he lowers his head a little.
“Is it mine?”
He trusts you. He does. But he still asks — not because he doubts you, but because he wants to believe so bad it physically hurts. And maybe… because he hates himself a little too much.
2. He Doesn’t Say “I Can’t Be a Dad,” but…
Responsibility? That’s not something he’s ever believed he deserved. He tells himself, “Someone like me can’t raise a child.” But he still parks outside your place every night, just watching. Making sure nothing happens.
“Don’t be alone. I’m behind you like a shadow — just act like I’m not there.”
3. His Way of Protecting You:
Silent. Brutal. Shadowed. Baekjin never publicly claims you. But anyone who threatens you? They start disappearing one by one. He’s given a silent order across the whole Union.
“If anyone even thinks about getting close to her — they better have their grave ready.”
4. How He Sees the Pregnancy:
It’s guilt mixed with obsession. When he sees your belly, his eyes freeze for a second. Because there’s a life inside you — his life — and he’s still struggling to believe something so pure could come from someone like him.
“If I were someone cleaner… maybe we could’ve really had this together.”
Still, his hands always go to your stomach. Every time he touches you, it’s careful. Gentle. Like he thinks you might break.
5. He Cuts You Off From the World:
The closer it gets to your due date, the more he isolates you. Friends? Family? Opinions? None of it matters to him.
“I don’t care what anyone says. If something happens to you… I’ll burn the f*cking world down.”
6. “Family” Becomes Real for the First Time:
Baekjin never had warmth growing up. Never had a real home. But now? Now the idea of building a house — not a place, but a feeling — with you and the baby is something he clings to in the dark. One night, he says without thinking:
“If someone had hugged me growing up… maybe I could’ve loved as good as you do.”
7. After the Baby’s Born:
He’s a wall. Cold, distant. But always there. He won’t hold the baby and coo over it, no. But he stands by the crib at night while you sleep, silently watching the tiny hand curled around his finger.
“Would it be okay… if I picked the name?”
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Ahn Suho
1. When He Finds Out:
Shocked. Eyes wide. “Wait, what? Are you serious?! We’re PREGNANT?!”
At first, it doesn’t compute. He asks you to repeat it like three times. Then his hands start shaking. He might even tear up.
“I’m… I’m gonna be a dad? For real?!”
His first reaction is pure joy — mixed with straight-up panic. He wants to pick you up and spin you around, but the moment you say “Stop, I’m nauseous!” he freezes and immediately puts you down.
2. Ridiculously Affectionate:
He flips into “mom mode” in two seconds. Tries cooking for you, watches YouTube videos on pregnancy massages, double-checks every corner of the house like “is this safe for her? for the baby?”
“No more junk food. Less salt. Sit down, feet up. This baby’s not stressing you out!”
3. Fighting His Own Demons:
Deep down, he thinks, “I didn’t have a good childhood… what if I mess this up too?”
But he never says it out loud. He just holds you at night and whispers to your belly:
“If I raise this baby with someone like you… maybe I won’t mess it up.”
4. Emotional Rollercoaster:
Your hormones? Yeah, his are worse. You cry, he cries. You snap, he sulks — but then brings you a fruit bowl with a pouty face. One time, you probably ended up ugly crying together while eating stuffed grape leaves.
5. Silent Jealousy:
If he sees you talking to another guy? His whole vibe shifts. He won’t say anything, but the pout, the slumped shoulders, the quiet little stares — they’re all there.
“Go out if you want, just… wear something warm. And text me. At every step. I just— I worry, okay?”
6. The Birth Itself:
Sweating. Shaking. Crying. Loving. If they let him in the room, he’s right there, holding your hand like it’s the only thing keeping him alive. If they don’t — he’s on his knees outside the door, praying like his whole soul’s in it.
“You’re both okay, right? Please… that’s all I need.”
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Yeon Si-eun
1. When He Finds Out:
His brain literally freezes for a second before it starts processing. When you say “I’m pregnant,” Si-eun just stares at you in silence. No yelling. No running. No hugs. His hands tremble a little.
“How long has it been? Are you okay? How many weeks?”
He hides his emotions — but every question screams, “I’m scared to death of losing you.”
“You’re not eating anything on this list. I’m serious.”
But also:
“But… if you’re craving something… I kinda snuck in a little chocolate. Please don’t be mad.”
3. He Suppresses Emotion, But Never Leaves You Alone:
He didn’t grow up with love, so he genuinely has no clue how to treat you or the baby. But one thing’s for sure: he’s not going anywhere.
He’s not the jealous type — but he is controlling. He won’t say “who did you hang out with?” but he’ll definitely check your phone later and mentally profile anyone who could hurt you.
“Don’t see anyone who might stress you out. Please. Not for me — for our child.”
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Kang Woo-young
1. When He Finds Out:
Silence. Eyes on the floor. Then suddenly, his breath catches. He doesn’t say a word at first — just stares blankly. But if you look closely, you’ll see he literally forgot how to breathe.
“…I’m gonna be a dad?”
His voice shakes, but he tries to play it off. His jaw clenches.
“Okay. I’ll… I’ll figure this out. Just give me a little time.”
And then he leaves — not because he doesn’t care, but because he never planned to build a family. It was always just you and him. But later that night, he comes back. Finds you asleep, puffy-eyed from crying. Slips into bed behind you, holds you tight, buries his face in your neck.
“Don’t ever think you’re alone. No matter what… I’m here.”
2. Shows Love Through Actions, Not Words:
He can’t cook soup, but he’ll leave water by your bed every night. He can’t write you poetry, but he’ll tie your shoelaces without a word. And the first time your belly starts to show, his eyes well up.
“God, this is so weird. But so beautiful.”
3. Protection Style:
Quiet But Deadly.
Someone bumped into you? Woo-young doesn’t say a word. But a few days later, you’ll hear that guy got beat half to death in some underground ring.
He promises no more fights — “for the baby.” But of course he still does it.
4. Obsessed With Your Belly — But Too Shy To Show It:
His eyes keep drifting to your stomach when he talks to you. But he’s too shy to touch it. One night, you place his hand there — and he literally forgets how to breathe. His fingers tremble.
“Did you really love me this much?”
That night, for the first time, he rests his head on your belly and whispers for hours:
“Don’t be like your mom. She’s too soft. This world’s harsh.”
5. Emotional Breakdowns: Silent Crying:
As your pregnancy progresses, every time he feels like he’s not doing enough, tears fall. But he hides in the bathroom so you won’t see.
“I have to be strong. For both of you.”
6. Day of the Birth:
Looks like he just stepped out of a street fight. Doesn’t yell at the doctors, but the fire in his eyes says enough.
7. Fatherhood:
He can’t stop the baby from crying. Can’t change a diaper right. But every single night, he stays up beside the crib. He lets you cry in his lap without saying a word.
“You don’t have to be scared. I’m right here. Always.”
⸻
Oh Beom-seok
1. When He Finds Out:
Stares blankly. He thinks you’re joking at first.
“Wait… are you serious? From me? Like, really…?”
Then his voice breaks. His eyes fill up, but he tries not to cry. Honestly? His world crashes down. Because his dad… well, you know. And it’s not about what’ll happen to him — it’s the fear of something happening to you or the baby.
“I’m gonna… be a dad?”
His voice cracks saying it. Because his father made sure the word “dad” left a scar on his soul.
2. Wants To Run — But Can’t:
In his head: “I’m someone who doesn’t know love, who grew up on violence, who shuts everyone out. What do I have to do with someone like you?”
But leaving you would be death to him. So instead, he goes quiet. Closes in on himself.
“I don’t want to hurt you… so I might keep my distance for a while. But I won’t leave. I promise.”
3. Blames Himself Deeply:
Lays in bed staring at the ceiling every night.
“What if I turn out like him? What if I am him?”
4. Hyper Emotional, Super Fragile:
Every time you’re tired, he blames himself. Don’t feel like eating? He tears up, thinking he messed something up.
“I can’t stand seeing you upset. I’ve already been so awful… don’t turn into me.”
To him, your pregnant body feels sacred. Sometimes he can’t even touch you.
“You’re carrying something inside you now. I don’t even wanna accidentally hurt you. I’m scared.”
6. The Birth:
He breaks. Shaking. Sitting in some hospital hallway, hands covering his face, sobbing like the world’s ending.
“Please… God, please don’t take her from me.”
7. Fatherhood:
Slow, but deeply tender. Doesn’t know how to hold a baby. But watches over yours every second of the night. Talks to the baby while you sleep.
And one day, watching the two of you together — he smiles. For the first time. A real, slow, genuine smile.
“I thought I had no place in this world. But… you gave me a room in it.”
⸻
Go Hyun-tak
1. When He Finds Out:
This man goes feral. In a good way. Just stands there with this shocked, joy-filled smile, completely speechless. Then suddenly:
“Wait WHAT? OUR baby? PROJECT LEBRON JAMES BEGINS!”
2. Protective Soft Side Comes Out:
He shows up for every single doctor’s appointment. Tries to learn everything he can. At home, he leaves little surprises — hot soup, a fruit plate, a stack of pillows. But he does it shyly, almost embarrassed.
“You feeling okay matters more to me than anything.”
3. His Excitement Is Contagious:
Shopping for the baby? He treats it like a mission. Toys, clothes, the perfect paint color for the nursery — he’s got opinions.
“Our baby’s gonna sleep in the nicest room on the block, alright?”
4. Tiny Panic Attacks — But He Bounces Back:
He sometimes spirals like “what if we’re not ready?” But then breathes in, looks at you, and says:
“We’re in this together. No matter what. We’ve got this.”
5. Jealousy Is Soft & Silly:
Sees you chatting with another guy? Pouts a little. Then immediately smiles again.
“Sorry… I just. You’re kinda my whole world.”
6. Birth Time = Full Support Mode:
He’s right beside you, holding your hand, hyping you up with every push.
“You’re strong. I’m right here.”
When the baby cries for the first time, he’s standing right there, trying to feed it with trembling hands.
“Look at our tiny Lebron James.”
7. Dives Into Dad Life Fast:
He’s hungry to learn. Wakes up for every night feeding, writes down every little milestone.
“We’re building something new. You, me, and our baby. It’s gonna be amazing.”
⸻
Park Humin (Baku)
1. When He Finds Out:
He screams. For real. Like he just scored the game-winning goal in the final second. Pure, goofy, chaotic happiness.
2. A Little Insecure:
His relationship with his dad? Yeah. Complicated as hell. He’s terrified of telling him, and even more scared he might turn into him. Just like Beom-seok, he fears becoming a bad father.
3. Quiet, Emotional Protection:
With you? He’s tough. Out in public? He smiles and holds your hand like you’re fragile glass.
“No one’s touching you. Baku’s right here.”
But when he’s alone, his chest aches with the memories of his dad.
4. Tiny Surprises & Care:
You’re tired? He sets up cute little things around the house. Brings your favorite dessert. Buys fresh chicken from your favorite spot.
“I know this isn’t easy… but we’ve got this. Together.”
5. Jealousy & Trust:
Sees you talking to other guys? His eyes tear up — but he never says a word. Keeps it buried.
“Just… understand me, okay? I just wanna protect you.”
6. During Birth:
Nervous as hell but stands strong. His palms sweat like crazy, but he holds your hand the whole time.
“You’re gonna be okay. You and the baby — you’re both okay.”
7. Fatherhood:
Soft. Steady. Scared. But loving. He’s clumsy at first, scared to touch the baby. But he never leaves your side. Stands by the crib every night.
“I’m not just here for you anymore. I’m here for them too.”
Hi! I wanted to make a request for Kang Wooyoung, who is one of my favorite characters (I love you cha woomin).
Wooyoung likes a girl he's been seeing for a few months now; it's not official yet, but they're something. The thing is, she's not a big fan of his fighting side over money. Unnecessary violence isn't his thing, and Wooyoung knows it, so he's put it aside a bit.The thing is, this girl started acting weird. She's been more on edge when she goes out, afraid to go out at certain times (night dates), and she's been a little anxious about her phone.The reason is that someone from her old school (either an ex-boyfriend or just a stalker) has been harassing her lately. Out of embarrassment, she didn't want to charge Wooyoung until something happened that crossed the line, and she decided to tell him.Desperate, she begs for help because she's afraid that person will hurt her, so much so that in her desperation She tells him she can give him money (I don't know if that bothers Wooyoung or alerts him, idk) So that he can threaten or scare this harassing person.
I don't know if what I wrote makes sense; English isn't my first language.Also, I apologize if this is something very specific or anything like that. I've had this idea for a long time, and I'm terrible at writing 😔. I've been discovering a lot more about Weak Hero Class 1 and I loved your Hurts fic
THUG;kwy
Warnings: Mention of harassment, extortion, description of violence, sexual content, unprotected sex.
NOTE: Thank you for your request! I hope this meets your expectations. Enjoy reading!
Wooyoung looked down at his knuckles. They were healed. The skin, which usually tended to be red, scraped, or bruised, was now a uniform color—almost boring.
He had gone two months without getting into a fight "for fun." Two months without accepting envelopes stuffed with dirty money from desperate students who wanted him to break someone’s nose.
And it was all ____’s fault. Or rather, thanks to her.
They were sitting on a park bench, sharing cheap ice cream that was melting way too fast. They weren’t officially boyfriend and girlfriend. Not yet. They were in that gray area where they held hands, sent "good morning" texts, and got jealous without admitting it.
But there was one rule between them: ____ didn’t like violence.
She knew who he was. She knew Wooyoung had a reputation as a fighting dog, someone who solved problems with his fists if the price was right.
And even though she had never explicitly forbidden it, the look of disappointment on her face every time he showed up with a fresh wound was enough to make Wooyoung want to quit.
"It’s dripping," ____ said, snapping him out of his thoughts.
Wooyoung blinked and saw a drop of vanilla about to stain his pants. He wiped it up quickly with his tongue, making her laugh.
"You’ve got your head in the clouds today," she commented, taking a bite of her own ice cream.
"I was thinking about how pretty you look today," he half-lied. She did look pretty, but she also looked tense.
She’d been like this for a couple of weeks. At first, Wooyoung thought it was exams or trouble at home. But it was something more physical. ____ was constantly on high alert. She bounced her leg compulsively when they were sitting down. If a motorcycle roared past, she would jump, her reaction exaggerated.
And her phone... her phone seemed to burn in her hands.
"Everything okay?" Wooyoung asked, draping an arm behind her on the back of the bench.
"Yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t it be?" she replied way too quickly.
Just then, her cell phone vibrated in her lap.
____'s reaction was instant. She flipped the phone face down, covering the screen with her hand as if she were hiding a criminal secret. Her breathing sped up a little.
Wooyoung frowned.
"Who is it?" he asked, trying to sound casual, though jealousy pricked at the back of his neck.
"No one. You know, those scammer calls..." she said, forcing a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. "Hey, it’s getting late. I should go home."
Wooyoung looked at the sky. It was barely six in the evening. The sun was starting to dip, but there was still plenty of light.
Before, they used to stay out until nine or ten, walking aimlessly. But lately, the moment the sun threatened to set, ____ would flee.
"So soon?" Wooyoung leaned in a little closer to her. "I thought we could go grab some tteokbokki for dinner. I know a new place near the station."
"No," she said, almost shouting. She realized her tone and lowered her voice. "I’m sorry. It’s just... I’m tired. And I have a lot of homework. Maybe another day."
She stood up abruptly, tossing the rest of her ice cream into the trash.
"I’ll walk you, then..." Wooyoung offered, standing up as well.
"No!" She stopped him with a hand on his chest. "Really, Wooyoung. I live nearby. I prefer to walk alone, I need to... walk fast. I’ll see you tomorrow."
Before he could insist, she turned around and practically ran off, glancing back a couple of times—not to look at him, but to scan the street.
Wooyoung stood there, hands in his pockets, a bitter taste in his mouth.
Something was very wrong. And Wooyoung, who had a sixth sense for danger, knew she was hiding something big from him.
Three days passed. ____'s attitude went from "weird" to "paranoid."
At school, she skipped lunch to stay in the library. She didn’t come out to the courtyard anymore. If Wooyoung tried to hug her from behind to surprise her, she would scream in fright and turn pale, shaking for minutes afterward.
Wooyoung was losing his patience. Not with her, but with the situation. He wanted to know who or what was stealing the shine from the girl he liked.
It was Friday. Wooyoung decided he wasn’t taking "no" for an answer. He waited for her outside her last class.
When ____ came out, she was glued to a group of girls who weren’t even her close friends, using them as a human shield. She kept her head down and had headphones on, but Wooyoung noticed they weren’t plugged into anything. She was just using them to ignore the world.
"____."
She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw his black sneakers blocking her path. She looked up. She had dark circles under her eyes and had bitten her lower lip until it was nearly bleeding.
"Wooyoung..." she whispered. She looked side to side, nervous. "You shouldn’t be here."
"I go to school here, remember?" Wooyoung gently grabbed her elbow and pulled her out of the flow of students. He led her to a quieter corner near the vending machines. "We need to talk. Now."
"I can’t, I have to go..."
"You’re not going anywhere." His voice was firm. "You’ve been avoiding me for days. You don’t want to go out at night. You jump if the phone rings. You’re scaring me, ____. Did I do something wrong? Are you bored of me?"
"What? No!" ____ looked at him with wide eyes. "It’s not you, Wooyoung..."
"Then what is it?" he insisted, softening his grip and stroking her arm with his thumb. "Tell me. I can help. You know I can."
She hesitated. For a second, it looked like she was going to break down and tell him everything. Her eyes filled with tears, and she opened her mouth. But then, her phone vibrated in her skirt pocket.
Terror crossed her face. It was an abrupt shift. Her skin lost all its color.
She pulled out the phone with shaking hands. She read the message.
Wooyoung watched as she turned even paler than usual.
"I have to go." Her voice was a thread.
"____, who is texting you?" Wooyoung tried to look at the screen, but she hid it against her chest.
"No one! Leave me alone, Wooyoung!"
She broke free from his grip with a sharp jerk and took off running toward the exit.
This time, Wooyoung didn’t stay put.
"Shit..." he muttered.
He adjusted his backpack and followed her. He didn’t run after her so as not to scare her more, but he kept a safe distance, trailing her through the crowd. He had to know where she was going and why she was so afraid.
He followed her for about five blocks. She wasn’t going home. She was heading in the opposite direction, toward an area of old parks and alleyways that was usually empty at this hour.
Wooyoung frowned. What are you doing going over there?
He saw ____ stop at the entrance of a narrow alley. She looked at her phone again, typed something quickly, and hugged herself, waiting.
Wooyoung hid behind a lamppost, watching.
A few minutes later, no one appeared. But ____ took something out of her backpack. It looked like... money. She counted some bills, wiped her tears, and put them back away. Then, she seemed to receive another message, turned around, and ran out of the alley, this time heading toward her house.
Wooyoung didn’t understand anything, but fury was starting to boil in his blood. Someone was blackmailing her. Or threatening her.
And Wooyoung knew exactly how to deal with that kind of trash.
That night, Wooyoung went to her house. He didn’t call first. He knew if he called, she would make an excuse.
He hopped the small garden fence—a skill he had perfected from all those times sneaking into her house to avoid her parents—and tapped gently on her bedroom window, which was on the ground floor.
Knock, knock.
The curtain moved. ____ peeked out, her eyes red from crying. When she saw him, she opened the window immediately, not to let him in, but to scold him in a whisper.
"Are you crazy?!" she hissed. "Go away! If they see you here...!"
"Who’s going to see me? Your parents? They’re not home, I saw their car leave." Wooyoung leaned against the window frame. "Let me in, ____."
"I can’t. It’s dangerous."
"Dangerous for who?" Wooyoung stared at her intently. "I followed you today."
____ froze.
"What?"
"I saw you go to the alley. I saw you take out money." Wooyoung spoke calmly, but he wasn’t calm at all. "Someone is screwing up your life. And you’re not telling me."
____ stepped back, covering her mouth. She started trembling violently.
"Wooyoung, please, go... if he knows you’re here..."
"He?" Wooyoung vaulted through the window, landing in her room. He closed the window and drew the curtains. "So it is a 'he'. Who is it? Someone from school?"
____ sat on her bed, defeated. She didn’t have the strength to lie anymore. Fear had consumed her completely.
"He’s not from this school..." she whispered, looking at her hands. "He’s from my old school. His name is Min-jae."
The name didn’t ring a bell to Wooyoung, which was weird, because he knew almost every troublesome bastard in the city.
"Your ex or something?"
"Something like that. We went out for two weeks and I dumped him because he was... intense." ____ hugged her knees. "But he didn’t accept it. He started following me. That’s why I changed schools. I thought I’d lost him, but... he found me a month ago."
Wooyoung felt the muscles in his jaw tighten.
"What is he doing to you?"
"He sends me messages. Photos of me leaving school. Photos of me in my house." ____’s voice broke. "He tells me that if I don’t go out with him, he’ll hurt my family. Or me. He asks for money not to 'post things'."
"Things?"
"Photos... private ones." ____ hid her face between her knees, sobbing. "They aren’t even real, Wooyoung. They’re edited. But they look so real... If he sends them to the school, my life is over. And today... today he told me he knew I was seeing someone."
Wooyoung went very still.
"He said if he saw you with me... he was going to kill you." ____ lifted her head, eyes full of pure terror. "He said you were a problem and that he’d take care of eliminating you. That’s why I was avoiding you. I don’t want anything to happen to you because of me."
Wooyoung let out a short, incredulous, dark laugh.
"Kill me?" He pointed at his chest. "Me? Does that idiot know who I am?"
"He doesn’t care who you are. He’s crazy, Wooyoung. He carries knives and weapons everywhere. He says he has friends."
Wooyoung walked over to her and knelt in front of the bed. He pulled her hands away from her face and held them in his.
"____, listen to me. I’ve fought guys carrying weapons bigger than a pocketknife. I’ve beaten people twice my size for money. do you think I’m scared of some high school stalker?"
"But you changed..." she said, tears in her eyes. "You stopped fighting. I didn’t want to drag you back into that. I didn’t want you to turn into... into that... because of me."
Wooyoung felt a pang of pain and affection. She was trying to protect his "integrity," his attempt to be a normal guy, while she was falling apart on the inside.
"I stopped because it wasn’t worth fighting for strangers' money. But this..." Wooyoung squeezed her hands. "This is different. You are different."
"I’m scared, Wooyoung. I can’t sleep. Every time the phone vibrates I feel like I’m going to throw up." ____ pulled her hands away and started searching for something under her pillow with frantic, desperate movements. "I don’t know what to do. I don’t have any more savings, I gave him almost everything, but he keeps asking for more and keeps threatening..."
She pulled out a crumpled white envelope and her wallet.
What happened next broke something inside Wooyoung.
____ opened the wallet and dumped out everything she had. Crumpled bills, some coins. She gathered it all up in desperation and held it out to Wooyoung. Her hands were shaking so much a coin fell to the floor.
"Here..." she said, her voice choked with crying. "I know it’s not much. I know you used to charge more. But I can get more. I can sell my laptop. I can ask my grandmother."
Wooyoung looked at the money in her hands. Then he looked into her eyes.
He didn't understand.
"What are you doing?" he asked, his voice hollow.
"Paying you..." she sobbed, pushing the money toward his chest. "Please, Wooyoung. I’m hiring you. I know you don’t do it anymore, but please. Make it stop. Scare him. Beat him up. Do what you used to do. I don’t care. I just want it to stop. Please."
Silence filled the room.
Wooyoung looked at the crumpled bills. They were hard-earned wons, probably from her allowance or part-time jobs. And she was offering them to him.
Not as her boyfriend. Not as Wooyoung, the guy who walked her home and bought her ice cream.
But as Kang Wooyoung. The hired thug.
He felt like he’d been slapped with an open hand.
The girl he liked, the girl he was trying to be better for, was so terrified that she had resorted to the one version of him she hated.
And worst of all, she thought she had to pay him for him to protect her.
"Do you think..." Wooyoung had to swallow hard to get his voice out. "Do you think I need you to pay me to protect you?"
"I don’t want you to do it for free..." she stammered, not understanding the pain in his eyes. "It’s dangerous. And you left that life. If I ask you to do it, it’s a job. I don’t want it to be... personal, because if you get hurt..."
"It’s already personal, ____!" Wooyoung exploded, jumping to his feet. The money she offered fell to the floor, scattering across the carpet.
____ shrank back, startled by his yell.
"It’s me! It’s Wooyoung!" He hit his chest. "We’ve been dating for months! We kiss! We hold hands! And you think I’m some damn taxi driver you pay for a service?"
"No! I’m just desperate!" she yelled back, crying harder. "I don’t want you to think I’m using you! That’s why I want to pay! So it’s fair!"
"Fair?" Wooyoung looked at her with a mix of fury and deep hurt. "What isn’t fair is that you think my loyalty to you has a price tag. What isn’t fair is that you went through this hell alone because you thought I’d only lift a finger if there was cash involved."
He walked to the window, running his hands through his hair, frustrated, hurt, feeling dirty.
"I thought you knew me," he said, turning his back on her. "I thought you knew that for you... for you I would do it for free a thousand times over. That I would burn the entire city down if someone touched you."
"Wooyoung..." ____ got off the bed, stepping on the bills without caring. "I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. It’s just... I’m so scared I can’t think straight."
She approached him and touched his back. Wooyoung tensed, but didn’t pull away.
"That guy... Min-jae," Wooyoung said, his voice turning cold and metallic, the tone he used before a serious fight. "Where did he tell you to meet him to give him the money?"
"In the old park. Tomorrow at ten at night."
Wooyoung turned slowly. His eyes were dark. There was no trace left of the sweet boy who loved eating ice cream and tteokbokki. The fighter was back, but this time, it wasn’t for money. It was for something he desired much more.
He looked at the money on the floor with disgust.
"Put your money away, ____. Buy yourself something nice. Or better yet, save it to take me to dinner when this is over."
"What are you going to do?" she asked, trembling.
Wooyoung walked closer to her. He cradled her face with one hand, wiping away a tear with his thumb. His touch was gentle, but his eyes were full of rage.
"I’m going to remind that asshole why nobody messes with what’s mine. And I’m going to do it for free."
He leaned in and kissed her forehead, a kiss that felt like a vow.
"Tomorrow your fear ends, ____. I promise. But never, never insult me by offering me money again. Understood?"
____ nodded, sobbing against his chest. Wooyoung held her, looking out the window into the darkness of the street, already visualizing what he was going to do to Min-jae.
It wasn’t just going to be a beating. It was going to be a lesson. And for the first time in a long time, Wooyoung was eager to beat someone up for free.
The next night, at ten o'clock sharp, the old park was empty. The broken streetlamps flickered, and the air was cold.
Min-jae was sitting on one of the rusty benches, checking his phone with a smug smile, waiting for his victim. He had brought two friends, "just in case," who were smoking near the swings.
Footsteps were heard. Heavy. Unconcerned.
Min-jae looked up, expecting to see a scared ____ with an envelope of cash.
Instead, he saw a shadow in black sneakers and a gray hoodie with the hood up.
"You’re late, princess..." Min-jae started to say, but shut up when the figure stepped into the circle of light.
It wasn’t her.
Wooyoung pulled down his hood. He wasn’t smiling. His face was a mask of stone, his dark eyes shining with anger.
"Who the hell are you?" Min-jae asked, standing up. His two friends tossed their cigarettes and moved closer, trying to intimidate him. "Where is ____?"
"She’s busy," Wooyoung said in a calm voice—too calm. "She sent me to give you your... payment."
Wooyoung took a step forward. He saw Min-jae instinctively step back. Bullies were always cowards when they didn’t have the advantage.
"Are you the boyfriend?" Min-jae let out a nervous laugh. "I told you if you came, I was going to..."
He didn’t finish the sentence.
Wooyoung moved fast. He was like the wind. His fist connected with Min-jae’s jaw with a dry crack that echoed through the empty park.
Min-jae dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes, spitting blood.
"Hey!" shouted the friends, lunging at Wooyoung.
Bad idea.
Wooyoung dodged the first blow with a fluid movement and drove his knee into the first guy's stomach, knocking the wind out of him. He grabbed the second by the collar of his jacket and slammed him against the lamppost.
In less than a minute, the two "reinforcements" were on the ground, groaning in pain and crawling away into the darkness.
Wooyoung turned toward Min-jae, who was trying to crawl backward, his face full of terror.
"No... wait..." the stalker stammered. "I have the photos... I’m going to post them..."
Wooyoung stomped on his hand with his shoe, hard. Min-jae screamed.
"The phone," Wooyoung ordered, holding out his hand.
Min-jae, crying, pulled out his cell phone with his free hand and handed it over, trembling.
Wooyoung checked it. He saw the messages. He saw the edited photos. He felt a wave of disgust and fury.
He threw the phone onto the concrete ground and stomped on it. Once, twice, three times, until it was nothing more than crushed plastic and glass.
Then, he grabbed Min-jae by his shirt and hoisted him up until his feet barely touched the ground.
"Listen to me closely, you piece of trash," Wooyoung whispered in his face. "If you ever write to her again. If you ever say her name. If you ever breathe the same air as her... I won’t be so nice next time. Understood?"
"Yes... yes, understood..." Min-jae whimpered.
Wooyoung released him with contempt. Min-jae fell to the ground and took off running without looking back, tripping over his own feet.
Wooyoung stood alone in the park. He looked at his knuckles. They were a little red, but nothing was broken. He took a deep breath, letting the adrenaline fade a little, but the need to see her was still there.
In ____'s room, time seemed to have stopped. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, biting her nails, checking the clock every ten seconds.
10:30 PM.
A knock on the window made her jump almost to the ceiling.
She ran to open it.
Wooyoung jumped in agilely. He brought the cold of the night in with him on his clothes and the smell of dampness, but there was no visible blood, except for a few scrapes on his hands.
"Wooyoung?" she asked, voice trembling, scanning him frantically. "Are you okay? What happened?"
Wooyoung didn’t say anything at first. He pulled something out of his pocket. It was the destroyed remains of a SIM card and a memory card. He set them on the nightstand.
"It’s over," he said, his voice raspy. "The phone is destroyed. He’s never going to bother you again. He ran off crying like a child."
____ looked at the pieces of plastic and then threw herself into his arms.
"Thank you!"
He caught her, hugging her tightly, burying his face in her neck. Feeling her warm, trembling body against his was the only thing that calmed the heat burning inside him.
"Thank you... thank you..." she sobbed against his chest. "I’m so sorry... I was so scared..."
Wooyoung pulled back slightly to look at her face. His large hands cradled her cheeks.
"You have nothing to thank me for." His eyes dropped to her lips. "But I’m still mad at you."
"For... for the money?" she asked, guilty.
"Yeah. For the money." Wooyoung gently pushed her backward until the backs of her legs hit the bed and she had to sit down. He remained standing between her legs. "You insulted me, ____. You made me feel like a stranger. Like my protection could be bought."
"I didn’t mean to... I just wanted to protect you..." she tried to explain.
"I know." Wooyoung leaned in, resting his hands on the mattress on either side of her, trapping her. His gaze darkened, full of an intensity that made ____'s heart race for a very different reason than fear. "But I need you to understand something. I don’t fight for money. I fight for what I want."
He leaned in closer and brushed his lips against hers.
"And I want you."
He kissed her. It wasn’t a sweet kiss of relief. It was a hungry, possessive kiss, charged with the adrenaline of the fight and the need to mark territory. ____ moaned, opening her mouth for him, wrapping her arms around his neck.
Wooyoung groaned, climbing onto the bed with her, pushing her down until she was lying on her back. His weight on top of her was comforting and overwhelming at the same time.
"Wooyoung..." she whispered between kisses.
"You wanted to pay me?" he murmured against her jaw, moving his hands down to squeeze her waist tightly. "You wanted to close a deal? Fine. Let’s close the deal. But I don’t want your money."
He started to lift her shirt, his rough fingers grazing the soft skin of her stomach, making her shiver.
"I want this," he said, kissing her exposed skin. "I want you to scream my name. I want you to know you’re mine and that no one else will ever touch you while you’re with me."
____ gasped, arching her back when he kissed her chest above her bra. The mix of relief that the threat was gone and Wooyoung’s intensity was driving her crazy.
"I’m yours, Wooyoung... only yours..."
That confession broke Wooyoung’s last dam of control.
He got rid of both their clothes with quick, clumsy movements. When they were skin to skin, the heat was instant. Wooyoung looked at her like she was the most valuable thing in the world, but also like he wanted to devour her.
"You’re beautiful..." he panted.
He settled between her legs and entered her in one deep thrust, claiming what he had been protecting. ____ gasped his name, digging her nails into his back, feeling him fill her completely.
"Look at me," Wooyoung ordered, grabbing her hands and interlacing their fingers against the pillow. "Look at me, ____."
He started to move, a strong, steady rhythm. Their hips collided, the sound of skin on skin and their breathing filling the room.
Wooyoung didn’t want to be gentle today. He needed to feel her, needed to erase the fear she had felt with pleasure.
"Who do you belong to?" he asked, thrusting deep.
"Yours... I’m yours!"
"I can’t hear you."
"I’m yours, Wooyoung!"
He smiled, that lopsided smile she loved, and leaned down to kiss her wildly while picking up the pace. ____ felt like she was going to come undone. All the stress of the last few weeks turned into a ball of fire in her belly.
"I’m going to... Wooyoung, please..."
"Come for me, baby. Pay me with that."
____ came with a stifled cry, her body contracting around him. Wooyoung groaned, giving her three final brutal thrusts before emptying himself inside her, trembling, burying his face in her neck.
They stayed like that for a long while, tangled in the sheets, catching their breath. Wooyoung’s heart beat hard against her chest.
Little by little, he relaxed. He rolled over to lie by her side and pulled her toward him, hugging her protectively, as if she were a glass doll he had just recovered.
____ looked up. Wooyoung had his eyes closed, but he looked peaceful. She caressed his cheek, brushing a small cut near his ear.
"Thank you," she whispered.
Wooyoung opened one eye.
"I told you not to thank me."
He looked at the floor, where the bills she had thrown yesterday were still scattered.
"And pick that up tomorrow..." he said, pointing at the money with his chin. "Buy me a pizza with that. A large one. With extra cheese."
____ laughed, a light, free laugh she hadn’t had in weeks.
"Deal."
Wooyoung smiled and kissed her forehead, closing his eyes again.
"Now go to sleep. No one is getting in here. No one is going to hurt you while I’m here, okay?"
And ____, curled up in the arms of the boy who had fought for her not for money, but for love, fell asleep instantly, knowing the nightmare was over forever.
So can you make like mixed sfw + a lil smut headcanons for Kyungjun from Night Has Come?🤭
Go Kyungjung | boyfriend headcanons
pairing: Go Kyung-Jun x gn!reader
genre: fluff, smut (mdni!), wc: 676
warnings: smut, edging, public sex, bj
a/n: English isn’t my first language so please bare with any grammar mistakes
@nyxayss: (>᎑<๑)/♡
sfw
- mean tease: if you're listening to music with your airpods and your phone lies somewhere out of your reach, he would just turn off your bluetooth
- runs away with your phone, asking you to catch him
- the type of boy who's mean to you to show he's interested: if you're wearing a ponytail, he's tugging on your hair, will search up weird stuff on your phone and claim that the school ministry can see it because you were using the school WiFi
- always chilling in your room just because he likes spending time with you
- emotionally intelligent, so he will pick up on anything you're trying to hide from him, bugging you about it until you finally spill it out
- at the beginning of your relationship he'd try to hide it but he's super emotional
- totally cries while watching sad movies but leaves the room with a weak excuse so you wouldn't see
- likes fashion trends and will gift you stuff (if there's a new sneaker dropping, trust you and him are the first to have them)
- forces you to play basketball with him, using the excuse of helping you with your form to keep his hands on your body at all times -> will cheer excessively, high fives and spinning you in the air for every time the ball even brushes the hoop
- takes a bunch of selfies with your phone and claims that you'll ask him for pictures anyway so he might as well do it beforehand— you'll actually find pictures of him in your phone on days you didn't even notice him snatch it
- he knows your passcode and you know his
- matching wallpapers
- falls asleep on your shoulder all the time, no matter the location
- deliberately "forgets" his stuff at your place like old T-Shirts or occasionally even a jacket just to watch you claim it, wearing the over sized stuff like a trophy
- always shares his food with you and won't hesitate to grab yours either, you're getting his first bite and he's taking your left-overs
- seats you on his lap at every occasion and likes resting his chin on your shoulder cause that way he can lazily kiss a trail up your neck
- won't hesitate to throw hands if someone is either chatting you up or bothering you — he doesn't see the difference, just your discomfort and that's making him mad
- super silly, so he'll be in for everything: build a bear, indoor playground (acing, challenging you to keep up with him)
- the second the word "bet" or "challenge" leaves your mouth, he's in
- spontaneous dates: knocks on your window just to show you that he's so athletic, he can make it up there
- spontaneous sleepovers: delieberately comes over when it's super late so he can be like "I'll just crash here, yeah? It's already super late and I'm so tired-"
- will send you thirst traps of himself
nsfw
- insane stamina like he can go multiple rounds as a warm up
- a mean tease: will edge you for hours because he loves the look of frustration on your face
- will ask you a million times what you want him to do because he loves how colorful your vocabulary gets when you're frustrated
- public sex, risks accepted cause he couldn't care less if someone saw "Shh. It's okay, just focus on me."
- acts of service for every blowjob — if you wake him up with one, he'd play personal assistant all day
- if you're the one initating the sex, you're not living it down easily "Are you that down bad for me? You need me to take care of you?"
- easily manhandles you
- lives for hickeys, on you to mark his territory and on him because he loves seeing how you seemingly can't get enough from him
- films you a lot especially while riding him but he wouldn't show it to anyone — the material is just for him to rewatch later
- FaceTimes you before going to sleep and on certain days he'd ask you to help him out, show a little more
- even tho he’a really pristine in general, in bed he’s messy, cumming on your face, your chest, your stomach — whatever he’s in the mood for
Summary: He’s rich, dangerous, and obsessed and you’re in his sights. After your brother’s rivalry with Hanwool turns brutal, hiding isn’t enough. Every shadow, every glance drags you deeper into a game you can’t control.
Warnings: NONCON, bullying, stalking, degrading comments, pregnancy threats, power imbalance
A/n:Sorry for the wait! Pt2 is coming soon and it’s going to be darker and more intense than anything before.
Wc: 4.4k
Ready at your own risk!! Sensitive content ahead!!
The air in the hallway always felt thinner when he was near. You'd developed a sixth sense for it, a prickle at the nape of your neck that screamed danger before you even saw him. Pi Hanwool. The name was a curse in your household, spat out by your brother Gamin with a venom that stained the walls. You knew the rules; keep your head down, take a longer route to class, never ever make eye contact. The rivalry between your brother and Hanwool was a raging, bloody war and you were determined not to become collateral damage. For a while, it worked. You were a ghost, flitting between home, school your part-time job at the quiet little bookstore. You existed in the negative space of Hanwool's world, or so you thought.
The shift was imperceptible at first. It began the Monday after the latest, most brutal fight between him and Gamin. Rumours swirled that Hanwool had been humiliated, caught off-guard by Gamin's clever tactics. The loss wasn't just physical; it was a blow to his pride, a currency he valued above all. And you, you were the perfect soft target.
It started in the nearly empty courtyard after school. You were stuffing your notebook into your bag when his shadow fell over you, long and imposing.
“Well, well if it isn't Gamin's precious little shadow?”
Your blood ran cold. You didn't look up, your fingers fumbling with the zipper.
“What, no hello for me?” His voice was a lazy drawl, dripping with false warmth. “Running home to big brother? Gotta tell him about your day?”
You tried to sidestep him, but he moved, a casual step that blocked your path. His friend, Minhwan, from behind a pillar, a snickering hyena to Hanwool's prowling lion.
“She's even prettier up close, Hanwool,” Minhwan leered. “No wonder Gamin keeps her locked up.”
Hanwool's eyes raked over you, from your worn sneakers to your hair. It wasn't a look of appreciation; it was an appraisal, like he was judging livestock. “Pretty is a stretch. That innocent face is a good act, though. Tell me, Yoon ssi,” he used your family name like an insult, “how many guys have you actually slept with? I know it's a lot. That sweet act can't save you.”
The vulgarity slammed into you, leaving you breathless. Your face flamed. “I don't…I haven't..”
“Oh come on,” he chuckled, a sound devoid of any real humour. “Living alone with your brother, just the two of you? No parents to watch? It's only natural. Hell, if you were my sister, I'd have tried my luck too. Can't blame Gamin for being….protective.” He delivered the last words with a tone that made your stomach churn. “Or possessive.”
“Leave me alone.” You whispered, the words barely audible.
“Or what?” He leaned in, his expensive cologne, something darker and spicy invading your senses. “You'll tell Gamin? Go ahead. See if I care. It'll just make things more fun.”
That was the first day. It didn't stop. It was like he had a radar for your vulnerability. He'd appear in the stairwell when you were alone, at the bus stop just as your bus pulled away, his comments a relentless, degrading torrent.
“Do you dress like that for him? The oversized sweaters? It's a tease, you know. Makes a man wonder what's underneath.”
“I was thinking, me and Minhwan, maybe we could have turns. Would you like that? A real experience.”
He was careful, always just out of sight of teachers, of crowds, of Gamin. The bullying was a private performance for an audience of two; you and him, with Minhwan as a gleeful spectator. The isolation was the point. It made the humiliation burn hotter, the fear sink deeper.
Then the touches began.
‘Accidents’ he called them, with a smirk that told you they were anything but.
In the crowded school hallway, his hand would ‘slip’ from the wall to graze the side of your breast, the contact brief but deliberate, his fingers curling slightly. You'd jerk away, heart hammering and meet his cold, amused eyes.
At your part-time job, he started showing up.
It was your safe place, a place of quiet and old paper smells. He shattered that. He and Minhwan would loiter in the graphic book section, not buying anything.
“Need to reach that?” he'd say softly, coming up behind you as you restocked a high shelf. His body would press against yours, his hand, his hand landing on your lower back, sliding down to cup your ass through your jeans, squeezing once, hard before you could wrench away. “My mistake. You're in the way.”
His friends, especially Minhwan, would laugh a harsh, ugly sound. “She jumped like a scared rabbit, Hanwool!”
The stalking became undeniable. You'd seen the sleek, black sedan that you knew was his idling outside the bookstore. You'd catch a glimpse of him across the street from your apartment building, leaning against a lamppost, smoking, his eyes fixed on your window. He was a phantom, a malevolent spirit haunting the edges of your life. You stopped sleeping. Every sound at night was him. The smell of his cologne seemed to linger in your clothes.
You couldn't tell Gamin. The shame was a thick, tar-like substance coating your throat. Telling him would make it real. It would fan the flames of the war between them, and you were terrified of what they would cost your brother. You saw the fresh bruises on Gamin's knuckles, the tired set of his shoulders. He was fighting his own battles. So you swallowed the terror, the disgust and tried to become smaller, quieter, hoping Hanwool would grow bored.
He didn't.
The escalation was a steady, horrifying crescendo. One afternoon, he cornered you in the deserted literature aisle at the back of the bookstore. It was late, and Mr. Park, the elderly owner, was at the front counter.
Hanwool backed you against a shelf of classic poetry, his arms caging you in. “You smell different today,” he mused. “Scared or…….excited?” He brought his face closer to your neck, inhaling deeply. You froze, paralyzed. “Definitely scared. But your heart is racing. I can see it here.” He pressed a thumb to the frantic pulse at the base of your throat. “Does Gamin make your heart race like this?”
“Please,” you begged, hating the tremor in your voice.
“Please ‘what’ ‘please stop’? Or ‘please more’?” His hand slid down, over your ribs, his thumb brushing the underside of your breast through your shirt and bra. You slapped his hand away, a bust of desperate courage.
He caught your wrist in a grip of iron, his amusement vanishing, replaced by something dark, more intense. “Don't,” he warned, his voice low and deadly. “You don't get to tell me no. Not after what your brother did. You're my payback. Every tear, every shudder,...it's for him.”
He released you with a shove that made the bookshelf rattle. “See you around, little sister.”
[♡]
The night it happened was a Thursday, Mr. Park asked you to close alone because his wife was ill. A knot of dread tightened in your stomach, but you couldn't say no. You worked quickly, your eyes darting quickly to the windows, to the dark street beyond. The bell above the door didn't jingle. He must have slipped in while you were in the back room, disengaging the lock.
You turned around from wiping the counter, and he was there, leaning against the locked door, a shadow in the dim light of the single lamp you'd left on. Your breath hitched, the cleaning spray clattering from your numb fingers.
“All alone,” Hanwool observed, his voice a smooth, poisonous velvet. “Just like I knew you would be.”
“Get out,” you said, your voice surprisingly steady. “I've already called the police.” It was a pathetic bluff.
He laughed, pushing off from the door. “No, you haven't. You're too scared. And too ashamed.” He began to unbutton his tailored black coat, his eyes never leaving yours. “This is a nice place. Quiet. Private. Perfect for what I have in mind.”
You backed away, your hip hitting the edge of the reading table. “Hanwool, don't–”
“Don't?” He echoed, tilting his head. “You don't give me orders. I've been patient. I've played these little games of cat and mouse. But I'm done playing.” He tossed his coat over a chair. Underneath, he wore a simple black t-shirt that stretched over his broad shoulders and chest, and dark jeans. He looked powerful, deliberately casual and utterly terrifying.
“My brother will kill you,” you spat, the fear morphing into a hot, sharp rage.
“Let him try,” Hanwool said, his smile cruel. “But first he's going to get a used sister back.”
You ran. It was instinctual, a blind bolt for the back door. You barely made it three steps before his arm hooked around your waist, lifting you clean off your feet. You screamed, but the shop was in a secluded alley. No one would hear.
He carried you, kicking and struggling, to the large, heavy reading table in the center of the shop, sweeping books and reading lamps to the floor with a crash. Your back hit the polished wood, the impact knocking the wind from you. Before you could draw another breath, his body was on top of yours, his weight pinning you down, one hand clamping over your mouth.
“Scream all you want,” he growled into your ear, his breath hot. “I like the sound. It's honest.”
You fought. You bucked, you twisted, scratched at his arms, his face. You were in a frenzy of panic but it was like fighting a stone wall. He was immovable, his strength absolute. He caught both your wrists in one of his large hands and slammed them above your head, holding them there with terrifying ease. With his free hand, he ripped at your clothes. The sound of your shirt buttons pinging on the floor was obscenely loud. The cool air of the shop hit your skin, followed immediately by the searing heat of his touch.
“Look at you,” he muttered, his eyes drinking in the sight of your bra, your chest heaving. “All this for Gamin? Does he appreciate it?”
“Fuck you!” you sobbed behind his hand.
“Oh, you will,” he promised. He released your mouth to yank your jeans and underwear down your thighs in one brutal motion. The vulnerability was instantaneous and total. You squeezed your eyes shut, a whimper escaping you.
“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice hard. When you didn't, he gripped your chin, his fingers digging in, forcing your face toward him. “I said look at me.”
You opened your eyes, tears blurring his handsome, hateful face.
“Good girl.” He let go of your chin and stood up between your spread legs, looking down at you, a predator savoring his capture. He pulled his shirt over his head, revealing a torso carved from muscle, showing just how much his wealth and dedication shaped his body. He unbuckled his belt, the snick of the leather, a death knell and pushed his jeans and boxers down.
You couldn't help but stare. He was fully, brutally erect. His cock was long, thick and veiny, a proud, angry-looking thing that seemed to pulse with malice. He saw your gaze and smirked, wrapping a hand around himself, giving a slow, taunting stroke.
“Bigger than Gamin's, isn't it?” He asked, his tone obscene. “He seems like the vanilla type. Nerdy. Tell me, does he even know how to fuck? Does he fulfill your needs? Or do you lie there thinking of a real man.”
You gathered what little saliva you had and spat at him. It landed at his chest.
He froze. The smirk vanished, wiped away by a wave of pure, icy rage. For a second, he just looked at the spit trailing down his skin. Then his eyes locked down on yours and you saw the last vestige of humanity leave them.
“Wrong move, you little bitch.”
He surged forward, not bothering with any more foreplay. He forced your legs wide apart with his knees, his body crushing you into the table. The head of his cock, hot and insistent, pressed against your dry, terrified entrance.
“How does Gamin fuck you, huh?” he repeated, his voice a guttural rasp against your ear. “Be honest. Maybe I'll be nice.” He chuckled, a dark hollow sound.
Then he shoved in.
A white, searing pain tore through you. You screamed, the sound that scraped your throat raw. He was too big, too rough. And you were too tight and too scared.
He didn't stop. He buried himself to the hilt inside you with one brutal thrust, groaning as he did. “Fuck. Like a virgin. Or just a tight little whore for your brother.”
He began to move, setting a punishing, relentless rhythm. The white-hot pain subsided into a deep, aching burn with every drag of his cock. The sounds were hideous; the wet, slapping noise of his body against yours, his grunts, your choked sobs, the creak of the table under the assault.
“You're taking it,” he panted, one hand still pinning your wrists, the other groping your breasts, his fingers pinching and twisting your nipples through the lace of your bra. “You're taking my cock so well. Maybe you were made for this. Made to be Gamin's secret slut and my personal cunt.”
He bent his head, his mouth latching onto your neck, sucking and biting, marking you. You could feel the bruises forming. His teeth scraping your collarbone. “Gonna cum inside you,” he muttered against your skin. “Gonna pump you so full, it might take. Imagine that. You, swollen with my child. My heir growing in Gamin's precious little sister. Would he raise it, do you think? Call it nephew?”
The degradation was endless. Whore. Slut. Brother-fucker. Each word was a lash. He released your wrists to grab your face, forcing a kiss on you. It was a violation atop a violation, his tongue thrusting into your mouth, tasting of mint and malice. You gagged, trying to turn your head away but he held you fast.
To your utter, soul-crushing shame your body began to betray you. The frantic struggle, the overwhelming assault, the brutal friction…..a heat began to coil low in your belly. Your breathing, once ragged with sobs hitched for a different reason. Wetness seeped between your joined bodies, easing his violent strokes, making obscene, slick sounds.
He felt it. Of course he did. He laughed, the sound triumphant and filthy. “Look at that. Dripping for me. I knew it. You're just a needy little thing. All that pretending and your cunt knows what it wants.”
He shifted, hooking your leg over his arms, driving even deeper. The new angle hit something inside you, a spark of unwelcome, electric pleasure that made you cry out.
“There it is,” he grunted, pounding into that spot with vicious precision. “Cum for me. Cum on the cock of the man who owns you now.”
You didn't want to. You fought it with every fibre of your being, but your body was no longer yours to command. The coil snapped and a devastating, shameful orgasm ripped through you, wringing a broken wail from your throat as you fluttered and clenched around his invading length.
“Yes!” He roared, his control snapping. “Fuck yes! Milk me You slut!”
His thrusts became erratic, frantic. He slammed into you a few final, deep times, then buried himself to the hilt with a shuddering groan. You felt the hot, sudden flood of his release inside you, pulse after pulse, filling you up. He held himself there, panting, his forehead damp against your shoulder.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of heavy breathing and the distant hum of the refrigerator in the back room. The reality of what had happened crashed down on you, heavier than his body. You felt the sticky wetness between your legs, the throbbing ache, the burning stretch. The smell of him, of sex, of your own betrayal filled the air.
He finally pulled out and you felt a sickening trickle escape you onto the wood of table. He looked down at the mess, at your limp ravaged body, with an expression of profound satisfaction.
“Perfect,” he breathed. He reached down, dipped two fingers into the combined fluids leaking from you, and brought them to your lips. “Taste it. Taste what we have made.”
You clenched your mouth shut, turning your head. He forced your jaw open, smearing his fingers over your tongue. The taste was bitter, metallic. You retched but he held your mouth closed until you swallowed.
He stepped back, putting his clothes on with calm, deliberate movements as if he'd just finished a workout. You lay there, unable to move.
“Clean yourself up. You look like hell.” He said. “If you tell Gamin….Well I'd love that actually. I'd love to see his face. But remember what comes after, this? He gestured vaguely at you. “This was just the beginning. I get bored easily. Next time I might Minhwan. Or others. And the pregnancy thing? That wasn't a joke. My family has ways of making things……permanent.”
He left the same way he came, silently, leaving the door unlocked behind him. You lay on the table for what felt like eternity before you could even twitch. Every movement was agony. You slid off the table, your legs buckling, and collapsed onto the floor amidst scattered books. With a lot of effort, you walked to the small staff bathroom, heaving dry sobs. You cleaned up as best as you could with paper towels and cold water. Your clothes were torn. You found your oversized cardigan and wrapped it tightly around yourself, hiding the ruined shirt. You mechanically finished closing the shop, your movements robotic. The world had taken on a fuzzy, distant quality.
The walk home was a blur of shadows and streetlights. You could still smell him on your skin, taste him in your mouth. You could feel the ghost of him moving inside you, the dull, deep ache a constant reminder.
You fumbled with your keys at the apartment door. It swung open before you could insert them. Gamin was there, his face tight with worry. “Where have you been? You're over an hour late! I was about to call the police and go down to the shop–”
His words died in his throat. His eyes scanned you. He saw everything; the tear-streaked, makeup-smeared face, the swollen lips, the red bruising marks on your neck peeking above the cardigan, the wild hollow look in your eyes, the way you stood hunched in on yourself, protecting your tender body. He saw the tremor in your hands, the rip in your jeans.
The color drained from his face. His knuckles, already scarred, turned white as he clenched the doorframe.
“No.” He whispered, the word a broken thing. “No no no….”
He reached for you, his hand shaking. “Who?”
The silence in the apartment hallway was louder than any scream. You stood frozen on the threshold, Gamin’s horrified whisper—“No.”—echoing in the hollowed-out cavern of your chest. You could see the exact moment his mind connected the dots: the ripped jeans, the cardigan clutched like armor over your torn shirt, the vivid, purpling bruises on your neck, the vacant, shattered look in your eyes that no amount of blinking could clear.
His hand, reaching for you, trembled violently. “Who?” The word was a crack in the dam holding back his rage.
Hanwool. He’ll kill you. Then he’ll send Minhwan. Or others. Permanent.
The threats, slick and venomous, coiled around your heart, squeezing tighter than his hands ever had. You couldn’t. You couldn’t paint a target on Gamin’s back bigger than the one already there. You couldn’t be the reason he walked into a slaughter.
You took a shuddering step back, avoiding his touch. The movement sent a fresh wave of pain radiating from your core, a brutal reminder. You focused on the dull throb, using it to ground yourself in the lie.
“Nothing,” you rasped, your voice raw from screaming, from crying, from the violation of his fingers in your mouth. You cleared your throat, forcing the words out. “Nothing happened.”
Gamin’s face contorted, a mask of disbelief and dawning agony. “Nothing? Y/N, look at you! You’re… you’re shaking. Your neck… your clothes…” His voice broke. “Please. Just tell me who did this. Tell me who touched you.”
“I fell.” The lie was flimsy, pathetic. You wrapped the cardigan tighter, as if you could physically hold the truth inside. “I was closing up… I tripped. Over a stack of books. Hit the table. It was… it was stupid. I’m just tired.”
“You fell?” Gamin’s voice rose, laced with a fury born of helplessness. He took a step closer, his eyes scanning the specific, bite-shaped marks on your throat. “You fell and got hickies? You fell and your shirt got ripped open? Do you think I’m an idiot?”
His anger, usually reserved for his rivals, now turned on you—the one person he was sworn to protect. It was too much. The fear, the shame, the searing pain, and now his accusatory glare—it all boiled over.
“Stop it!” you shouted, the sound sharp and desperate in the quiet apartment. “Just stop interrogating me! I said I fell! Why can’t you just believe me?”
“Because it’s bullshit!” he roared back, his own control shattering. He grabbed your shoulders, not hard, but the contact made you flinch violently, a full-body recoil that spoke volumes. He released you instantly as if burned, his eyes widening in fresh horror. “Someone hurt you. Someone terrified you. Look at you! You look like you’ve been… you’ve been…” He couldn’t say the word. It choked him.
His outburst, the raw fury on his face, it wasn’t directed at you, but it felt like it was. It felt like another assault. In that moment, the brother you loved, your fierce protector, was just another loud, demanding, frightening man.
“You’re scaring me!” you cried out, the truth of it breaking through. “Just leave me alone! You’re acting just like—” You bit your tongue, the name almost tumbling out.
“Just like who?” Gamin pressed, his voice dangerously low. “Who am I acting like, Y/N? Give me a name. Please. I am begging you.”
But you were done. The dam had burst, but not in the way he wanted. You shoved past him, your shoulder connecting with his chest. The smell of old books, dust, and him—that dark, spicy cologne—wafted from your cardigan. You saw Gamin’s nose twitch, his eyes narrowing in recognition or suspicion, you didn’t know.
You didn’t look back. You fled down the short hallway to your room, your gait stiff and painful. You didn’t slam the door. You closed it with a soft, final click that was infinitely more devastating than any bang. You turned the lock, the sound a small, pathetic shield against the world.
Then, you slid down to the floor, your back against the wood, and finally let the silent, wrenching sobs tear through you. You cried for the violation, for the betrayal of your own body, for the lie now festering between you and the only family you had left.
On the other side of the door, Gamin stood rooted to the spot. The sight of you, broken and retreating, was branded into his mind. The flinch. The specific, possessive bruises. The smell on your clothes—Pi Hanwool’s signature scent, mixed with the coppery tang of fear and something else he refused to name.
He slowly walked to your closed door, leaning his forehead against the cool wood. He could hear the muffled, heart-wrenching sounds of your crying. His fists clenched so tight his nails drew half-moons of blood in his palms.
“I’ll find out,” he whispered, a vow to the silence, to you, to the monster he now knew was responsible. “I will burn his whole world down.”
Across town, in a penthouse apartment that overlooked the glittering city, Pi Hanwool stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, a crystal glass of amber whiskey in his hand. He wasn’t seeing the skyline.
He was seeing you.
The way your eyes had gone wide with terror, then glazed with shock, then brimmed with those perfect, shame-filled tears. The way your body had fought him, then betrayed you, clenching around him in a climax you never wanted to give. The taste of your fear on his tongue. The feel of your skin, so soft under his bruising grip.
He took a slow sip, the liquor burning a pleasant path down his throat. The satisfaction of humiliating Gamin through you had been profound, a sweet, cold revenge.
But it was different now.
The revenge was now just the wrapping paper around a far more intriguing prize. He replayed every moment: your defiance, your spit hitting his chest, the subsequent shattering of that defiance, and the ultimate, exquisite submission of your body. You aren't just Gamin’s sister anymore. You are a puzzle. A challenge. A beautiful, broken thing he had reshaped with his own hands.
His obsession, once a tool for vengeance, had taken on a life of its own. It was hotter, darker, more consuming. He wanted to see that shattered look in your eyes again. He wanted to make you flinch at his shadow. He wanted to hear you sob his name, not in pleasure, but in total, helpless recognition of his ownership.
He smiled, a slow, predatory curve of his lips. You thought it was over. You thought the threat of telling Gamin was the worst of it.
You had no idea.
The game had just changed. The hunt was no longer about your brother. It was about you. And Pi Hanwool always caught what he hunted.
“Soon,” he murmured to the reflection of the city in his glass. “Very soon.”
He finished the whiskey, the ice cubes clinking like a tiny warning bell, already planning the next time he would see you, and what he would take from you then.
✸synopsis: pi han-ul, the school’s most dangerous student, finds you cornered after hours — and the fear he feels for you cracks open a part of him no one else has ever seen. on a forgotten rooftop above the city, his anger finally unravels into something raw and intimate, pulling you into a kiss that changes everything between you.
✸content warnings: mentions of harassment otherwise pretty tame
✸wc: 3k
✸an: lower case intended, no use of y/n, fem!reader / i miss study group!!!
[now playing: who am i — &team]
m.list
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school after dark feels like a place you were never meant to see. the classrooms are hollow silhouettes behind glass; the hall lights flicker with a low, electric hum; the distant clank of a locker door settling echoes like footsteps that aren’t really there. the air tastes faintly of chalk dust and autumn cold drifting in from cracked windows.
you’re walking fast. maybe too fast. your bag thumps lightly against your hip, the only real sound in the thick, empty corridor. you should’ve left earlier. but you stayed late — stupidly, stubbornly — finishing work in a classroom that’s now locked behind you.
the building feels abandoned. and something in your gut squeezes tight when you hear it — footsteps that aren’t yours. you slow. the footsteps don’t. they multiply — two, three, four — heavy, unhurried. like wolves who’ve already cornered their prey.
your breath turns thin. you turn the corner and freeze so abruptly that your shoes squeak against the tile. a group of boys stand in the middle of the hall — seniors. the kind who live off boredom and bruises. they look up, and the way their expressions sharpen is slow, deliberate, hungry.
one grins. “didn’t think anyone was still here.”
your throat closes. you take a step back— but another boy slides subtly to the side, blocking your retreat. the hall feels too narrow. your heartbeat feels too loud. he steps forward. “relax. we’re just—”
but he doesn’t finish. because the air shifts — someone else is here. not walking. not talking. just appearing. a shadow separates from the darker shadows at the end of the corridor, and pi han-ul steps forward like the hallway belongs to him.
his uniform is half-buttoned, tie loose, jacket hanging off one shoulder like he didn’t bother to put it on properly. there’s a thin scrape along his knuckle that catches the fluorescent light as he pushes a strand of hair off his forehead. he looks exhausted. irritated. like he’s coming down from a fight he didn’t want to stop.
but when his eyes find you — he goes still. his entire posture sharpens, focusing, grounding. like someone hit a switch inside him.
the boys notice him too late. han-ul doesn’t speak. doesn’t smile. doesn’t move fast. he just looks at them like they’re inconveniences blocking his path.
then his gaze returns to you. and when he speaks, his voice is soft enough that it shouldn’t scare anyone. but it does. “come here.”
you inhale like you’ve been underwater. the boys stiffen. “what? she mean some—”
han-ul lifts his chin a fraction — the action isn’t a threat. it’s a promise.
“move,” he demands.
just one word. the hallway holds its breath. the boys exchange glances — but there’s no bravado to save them here. something in han-ul’s eyes makes them look away first.
“whatever,” one mutters, shoulders hunching. “we were just talking.”
han-ul’s eyebrow twitches like he finds the excuse pathetic. they step aside — too fast to be nonchalant, moving as one unit.
as you pass them, han-ul shifts, placing himself slightly between you and them — a small, deliberate angle, like a shield he refuses to name. he doesn’t touch you yet. not until you’re out of their reach.
then his fingers graze your wrist. barely. but the touch is warm. steady.
“let’s get out of here,” he murmurs. you nod, even though your pulse is sprinting.
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outside, the evening has deepened into something colder, heavier. streetlamps cast pools of yellow light across the courtyard, and dried leaves skitter along the pavement in thin, restless spirals. you expect han-ul to say something sharp. or smug. or teasing. he doesn’t.
he walks next to you in silence — but it’s not the cold kind. it’s the type that’s tuned to you, hyper-aware of every shift in your breathing. his hands are in his pockets, but his eyes flick sideways every few seconds. checking you’re still there.
you stop at the edge of the courtyard. “i’m okay, now. really.”
he stares at you for a beat too long. “you don’t have to pretend.” the words are low, almost quiet enough to miss. but they hit directly.
“i’m not—”
“you’re shaking.” his voice is soft. but not gentle.
you look down at your hands. he’s right. he steps closer — so subtly that you barely notice the distance closing until he’s inches away. the faint smell of soap and cold air clings to his jacket. you swallow, and the sound feels too loud in the quiet courtyard.
his eyes flick down to your hands again, then up to your face — slow, deliberate, assessing. he’s not asking if you’re scared. he already knows. the wind picks up, tugging his hair across his forehead. he doesn’t move it. doesn’t break his stare. his jaw is locked tight enough that you see the muscle ticking near the hinge.
“they scared you,” he says plainly. it isn’t a question. it’s a quiet accusation against the world.
“i’m fine,” you try.
his lids lower half a millimeter. on anyone else, it would look like blinking. on han-ul, it looks like restraint.
“don’t lie,” he murmurs.
there’s no heat in his voice — not the kind that burns. it’s the kind that simmers under steel, the kind that lives in a fighter who trains himself not to explode even when every instinct tells him to.
“i’m not lying.”
“you are.”
the words land like a stone in water — heavy, certain, unshakable. he exhales through his nose, slow, controlled, like he’s trying to wrestle down something that wants to claw its way out of him. anger, maybe. fear. something sharper than both. he takes another step toward you. you don’t move.
his presence is overwhelming in the low light. tall. broad-shouldered. coiled under his skin like a storm he refuses to let break. everything about him is deliberate control — from the way he squares his shoulders to the way his boots scrape the pavement as he closes the last bit of distance.
the courtyard lamp flickers overhead, casting him in a halo of uneven gold. when he speaks again, his voice is flat and steady — but the steadiness only makes it more dangerous.
“if i hadn’t shown up,” he says, “what would they have done?”
your breath catches. he sees it. his eyes darken — not with rage. with something colder. something scarier. his hands are still in his pockets, but his shoulders tighten like he’s holding them there on purpose.
“don’t answer,” he says. “i don’t want to hear your guess.”
you swallow. “han-ul—”
“no.” the word is quiet but final.
he steps even closer, until you feel the warmth of him cut through the cold air. his shadow merges with yours on the ground. your heart is sprinting now, and he notices — you see it in the way his gaze dips to your throat, watching it work with each shallow breath.
“i’m not angry at you,” he says, voice low, roughened. “you do know that, right?”
you nod.
“good.”
he looks away for a second, jaw clenching once, hard, like he’s trying to bite down words he doesn’t trust himself to say. when he looks back, there’s something new in his eyes. not softness. not gentleness. focus.
“i’m angry because someone else thought they could touch you,” he says. “look at you. talk to you. corner you.”
the wind rushes past, lifting leaves and hair and tension all around you — but he doesn’t blink. “i don’t like that.” his voice drops an octave — quiet, razor-edged. “i don’t like anyone thinking they can get close to you.”
your breath stutters. he sees that too.
for the first time, he breaks his own rule and takes a hand out of his pocket. his knuckles are still scraped, the skin raw from some fight he probably didn’t even bother to mention. slowly — deliberately — he lifts that hand. his fingertips hover near your cheek. not touching. not quite. the heat of him brushes your skin like a warning.
“you’re still shaking,” he says again, softer now.
“because you’re scaring me,” you breathe.
that gets him. his jaw tightens, and he drops his hand instantly — as if touching you would set off something he isn’t ready to face. he steps back half an inch. not much. just enough to breathe.
“i’m not trying to scare you,” he tells you. the controlled fury is still there — banked embers under calm ash — but it shifts, cooling, redirecting. “i’m trying not to.”
you stare at him. and for a fraction of a second, you see it — the boy beneath the chaos. the one who watches every hallway you walk through. the one who gets angry when he’s worried. the one who feels safer in fights than in moments like this.
the courtyard light flickers again, then steadies. han-ul’s shoulders rise and fall with a slow breath, and his voice drops to a rumble you feel more than hear.
“come with me,” he says. not a demand. not a command. a request. quiet and taut and impossibly vulnerable beneath all the steel.
the city is a bruise-colored sprawl beneath you. han-ul didn’t say where he was taking you — he just hooked a finger in the strap of your backpack, tugged once in silent instruction, and walked. not fast. not slow. just with purpose. like if he stopped moving, the anger simmering under his skin would finally boil over.
you follow him across empty streets and past shuttered storefronts, the cold air stinging your cheeks. he doesn’t look back, but you can feel him checking on you in every sharp exhale, in the way he slows half a step when you stumble over a broken bit of pavement.
the rooftop is old — the kind of building that probably used to be something important twenty years ago. now it’s forgotten. a place no one looks at twice. perfect for someone like him.
han-ul pushes open the metal door. it groans in protest, its hinges shrieking. the air up here is colder, thinner, carrying the scent of exhaust, rain-soaked concrete, and the metallic tang of city night.
the skyline glitters in uneven lines — neon signs blinking, windows glowing like fractured stars. the wind whips at your clothes, pulling hair across your face. han-ul walks to the edge.
you hover several feet back. he braces both hands on the railing, head bowed. his shoulders rise and fall in slow, uneven breaths. he looks like a storm trying not to tear itself open.
you wait. you know better than to speak first.
his voice comes out rougher than you’ve ever heard it. “they shouldn’t have been near you.”
you swallow. “i’m all right.”
he laughs — not a real laugh. a sharp, humorless breath. “don’t say that right now.”
you blink. “han-ul—”
he turns.
the wind shoves cold air between you, but his expression makes everything inside you go still. his jaw is tight, eyes too bright under the flickering rooftop light. anger coils through every line of him — but it’s not the wild kind you’ve seen when someone pushes him in the hallway. this is quieter. heavier. almost frightening in its restraint.
“i almost hit one of them.” the words scrape out of him. “i wanted to.”
you step closer. “they didn’t touch me.”
“that doesn’t matter.” his voice cracks — barely, but it does. “the way they looked at you—”
the sentence closes in on itself. his knuckles flex.
he drags a hand through his hair, pacing once like he can’t stay still. “i’m good at fighting. that’s all i’m good at. i know that. but i—” he grits his teeth. “i lose it when it comes to you.”
your heart presses hard against your ribs. “han-ul.”
but he’s spiraling — quietly, controlled, but unraveling all the same. “i shouldn’t care this much. i shouldn’t feel—” his breath stutters on the cold air. “—this angry. this afraid.”
afraid. that word settles in the air like frost.
you walk toward him slowly, each step cautious, intentional. he doesn’t move, barely breathes, like he’s afraid he’ll snap if touched too suddenly.
you reach for his hand. at first, he doesn’t give it to you — his fingers hold tension like steel cables. but when your thumb grazes his knuckle, something in him softens. not much. just enough. his fingers curl around yours, tentative but desperate.
you squeeze his hand gently — but before you can say anything, he pulls it away and turns his back to you. not in rejection. in self-defense.
his shoulders are bunched tight beneath his jacket, muscles shifting like he’s wrestling with something you can’t see. the city wind lashes at him, tugging at his hair, his clothes, but he stands rigid, unmoving.
“don’t…” his voice breaks off, thin and ragged. “don’t look at me right now.”
you take a small step closer. “why?”
“because,” he says, breath shuddering out of him, “i’m barely holding it together.”
the confession hits harder than any shout would have. han-ul has always been the type who thrives in motion — in chaos, in adrenaline, in the wild crackle of a fight. but standing still in front of you, with no one to swing at and nothing to focus his fury on, he looks… lost. cornered.
his hands grip the railing again, knuckles pale in the cold. when he speaks, it’s a low, shaking whisper.
“when those guys had you there… when i heard them—” he swallows, voice fraying. “i saw red. i didn’t think. i didn’t even feel like myself.”
you step close enough that your coat brushes his back. “han-ul. look at me.”
he freezes. for a moment, the rooftop goes impossibly quiet — just the distant rumble of traffic far below, the hum of neon lights, the metallic rattle of a loose billboard chain shifting in the wind.
finally, slowly, he turns. and that’s when you realize he’s not angry anymore. he’s terrified. his eyes are glassy under the rooftop light, but not with tears — han-ul doesn’t cry. it’s something rawer. sharper. like he’s been stripped down to nerves and bone.
“you said i was scaring you,” he whispers. “and you were right. i could feel it. i was… too much.”
you shake your head instantly. “you weren’t—”
“i was.” he steps closer, voice quiet but fierce. “i’ve scared people my whole life. i just…” his breath catches, “…i never wanted to scare you.”
the wind curls around you both, tugging at loose strands of hair, pushing the scent of rain-soaked concrete between you.
“han-ul,” you say softly, “you’re not scaring me anymore.”
his jaw works, but he can’t seem to find an answer. so you take the risk — you reach up, gently, fingers brushing his cheek. he goes still. absolutely still. like the slightest movement would shatter him. his eyes close, lashes trembling.
his voice comes out small — too small for someone who fights the way he does. “i don’t know how to be… gentle,” he admits. “not with how i feel when it’s you.”
your thumb sweeps along his cheekbone. “then let me teach you.”
his breath leaves him in one quiet, broken exhale. he leans forward — not all the way, just enough that your foreheads nearly touch, enough that you feel the heat of him mixing with the rooftops’ cold, enough that the electric hum of the city slips away until there’s only this. only him. only you.
“don’t walk home alone,” he murmurs, voice barely there.
“then stay with me,” you breathe.
his hand comes up — slow, hesitant, like he’s afraid he’ll scare you again — and he cups the side of your neck, his thumb brushing your pulse. you feel him tremble.
“okay,” he whispers.
han-ul’s thumb is still resting against your pulse when he finally lifts his eyes to yours — dark, storm-warm, searching. the rooftop wind tugs at his hair, pushing a loose strand across his forehead. you reach up without thinking, brushing it away. your fingers skim his temple, soft, careful.
he inhales sharply. not because of the touch — but because of the tenderness in it, something he’s not used to surviving.
his hand flexes at your neck. “don’t…” he whispers, but the word dissolves before he can finish it. his gaze flickers down to your mouth. just once. just long enough.
your breath catches. he notices — of course he does — and his jaw tightens like he’s trying to swallow the urge right out of himself.
“han-ul,” you murmur.
that’s all it takes. he moves in slow, as if giving you every chance to pull away — but you don’t, and that last bit of restraint inside him finally gives. his forehead presses to yours first, a warm, quiet anchor. he breathes you in. you feel the tremor in him, subtle but real. then he tilts his head the slightest angle, brushing his nose against yours — a soft, searching nudge that makes your heart stutter.
something in him unravels. he leans in, and his lips meet yours — not rough, not wild, but careful. impossibly careful. the kind of caution that feels more intimate than any urgency could. his hand slides from your neck to your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek, as if grounding himself in every second of the kiss.
you rise onto your toes, fingers curling into the front of his jacket. he responds with a quiet inhale against your lips — like he didn’t realize he’d been starving until now.
the kiss deepens just a little, slow and warm, the city wind circling around you both while the rooftop lights flicker above. when he finally pulls back, it’s only by a breath — his lips still brushing yours, his hand still cupping your face.
you open your eyes. he’s already watching you. and the storm in him? gone. in its place is something steadier. quieter. terrifying in its honesty.
“this,” he whispers, thumb sweeping your cheekbone again. “this is what scares me.”
you lean into his touch. “it doesn’t scare me.”
his lips ghost yours once more — softer than the first time, a barely-there brush that feels like a promise he can’t yet say out loud. and for that moment, on a forgotten rooftop above the sleeping city, pi han-ul isn’t the leader of the entire school. he’s just a boy kissing you like he finally found something worth losing control for.
