❤︎ so overly protective. he’s not overbearing and he’ll never try to be that way but he’s always on the phone with you. texting, calling, or keeping track of where you are and if you’re safe or not. bad guys always find him.
❤︎ “princess? I didn’t mean to wake you but.. need you”
❤︎ his large strong hands are always on your waist or thighs. it’s just his thing, he loves those parts of your body the absolute most. if you ask him? he’d shrug his shoulders. not being able to answer. for some reason he loves your waist and how perfect it is. his hand fits perfectly on that spot and your thighs are so warm.
❤︎ “why are you so pretty, hm? my sweet pretty girl.”
❤︎ adores when you show up to watch him work out or practice. let’s say he’s in the ring! just for practice but it’s a bit of a rough practice. actually hitting and using a lot of new techniques. when he’s able to turn and look at you? he’s put back in the zone. you ground him.
❤︎ “I love you. I love you so much.. I can’t lose you.”
❤︎ insanely touching and LOVES cuddles. he’s so into cuddles that even when you’re cooking or baking he’s in the kitchen with his arms around you, swaying back and forth. humming softly or just talking to you about whatever it is that he wants to talk about. he loves it.
❤︎ “do you believe in fairytales? want to talk about it?”
❤︎ big on kissing. so big on kissing. kisses you so so much because he believes that’s how you show how much you love a person. his kisses are soft and very emotional. other times? it’s a bit more hot, wet, and a little needy. he wants you. needs you. all the time.
kyungmi’s note. no because this plot? so down bad for. it’s the fact that we all eventually have to move on even if it’s hard to do so. emotional hwajin, i really live for.
content warning. a LOT of sadness but happiness. it’s a good mixture of both. hwajin really falls hard and fast for reader. innocent touching. yearning. he needs and deserves happiness so falling for you is what gave him all that back. kissing. really? just love and affection.
the request! Can I request something with Na Hwajin, where he begins falling for his colleague (reader) but is conflicted since it feels like he’s betraying his deceased fiancé? (I think it’s also sweet to include Mr. Choi being encouraging towards him to procure reader)? Please and thank you!!
now playing. . .
──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ────
the sound of your screaming was the only thing he heard and the blurred silhouette of your body running towards him before everything went quiet, still, and dark. this mission wasn’t exactly what any of you were expecting. the students were far more worse than the other schools you’ve already visited and finished.
before the incident.
hwajin found himself watching you. you’d speak and his eyes immediately followed, watching the way your lips moved or how you smiled about something. when you frowned? it was the worst feeling. he didn’t want you to be upset or ever feel upset. this feeling was killing him.
“hwa? i took a look at this student..”
you started, but didn’t finish. he was already looking at you. you had to admit.. it made you feel a bit insecure. why would he stare at you? was it your facial expression or the way you spoke a bit loud at times. instead of him asking you to continue like he usually did, he stared.
“s-so.. it looks like he’s not only being bullied but they’re forcing him to scam people after school. when he’s caught he’s beat up by people who were scammed and i feel this is a bit more..”
you stopped again. hwajin’s staring was so intense that it was hard to breathe. his handsome features always made you so nervous and the way his arms were crossed over his broad chest.. what were you even thinking? he lost a wife only two years ago. how could you think of him like that? you were awful. so awful.
“you’re doing an amazing job.”
his sudden compliment took you by surprise and you bowed your head kindly, “thank you hwajin.”
that wasn’t the first time he had done this…
just as a student was about to hit you, hwajin grabbed ahold of your waist and pulled you back behind him, effortlessly shielding you from the hit. you gasped at how fast he was and how quick he was to protect you.
“boys don’t hit girls. weren’t you taught that?”
hwajin slapped him instead sending him flying across the room. sure you were still new and all but the way he protected you felt different. not like before.. when he wouldn’t even glance your way. now? that’s all he did was look at you, compliment you, touch you in certain areas that made your heartbeat quicken.. was this love?
it couldn’t be.
“we need to talk.”
hwajin sat down on the couch that sat in his empty and cold living room. mr. choi continued to stand, grabbing the photo of his daughter who hwajin had placed there years ago. he was close to saying something, a quiet ‘put that down’ but he didn’t which was weird of him.
“isn’t it time for you to be happy?”
“if this is about y/n then—”
mr. choi chuckled. of course it was about you. why wouldn’t it be? he saw everything. from the way hwajin stared at you to the compliments and even the lingering touches. what he had noticed is how happy and relaxed he seemed to be around you.
“it’s time. you’ve sent her off well and you’ll continue to love her for the rest of your life but she would want you to be happy. to find happiness.”
a tear rolled down hwajin’s cheek. it was warm. a bit red from the soju and he took a deep breath. not knowing what to say or do next so he stayed quiet and mr. choi understood. gently patted his shoulder and left the apartment where hwajin was left alone to cry and think about his feelings. truly? he wanted you.
another day. another school. another bully. hwajin had one and you had your own. a girl that broke in front of you that didn’t want to be this way anymore and you felt you could believe it.. until more problems came and she lied. it was stressful. exhausting. you sat in the office and waited for the next move. the right next move that was and hwajin took a seat next to you.
“hey pretty. you feeling okay?”
pretty. he’d never spoke to you like that before. it made you.. feel weird. that weird feeling in your belly. that weird feeling that women usually got around men who made them happy, shy, and excited. did he feel it too?
“y-yeah! just.. thinking. this one is a bit difficult.”
hwajin nodded and his hand then rested on your own. his thumb rubbed your index finger, “you’re doing so well. don’t give up, hm? we’ve got this. together.” and you finally looked at him. staring into his eyes that seemed so much more happier and lively. although he still cried every night wondering if this was a good idea. wondering if he was forgetting his deceased wife a bit too fast.. mr. choi urged him to go for happiness.
you three found a small restaurant to have lunch. finally being able to just relax and take care of your body after weeks of hard work. hwajin sat beside you, his chair a lot closer than it was originally placed. you shrugged it off but mr. choi? noticed. watched. his thin lips curled up into a smile watching hwajin smile. a genuine smile that he hadn’t seen in a long time.
“want to try some of my japchae? here, i’ll feed you.”
and you leaned in closer to his side, parting your lips for him to feed you. once you took the bite, he leaned in and smiled, “good huh? i’ll share with you.” but was that just an excuse to sit closer? he even forgot mr. choi who had been sitting across from you both.
“oh. you have some..”
hwajin took his thumb, wiping the corner of your mouth and licking it off which made your eyes widened. that’s something only couples did or.. two people that liked each other. “you’re so cute sometimes.” another.. compliment. he was more open than ever. nudging you at times and laughing, feeding you, wiping your mouth, paying for your meal, wanting to be alone with you..
it was all adding up. hwajin was in love with you.
it wasn’t confirmed until.. the incident.
you paced the waiting room, unable to think properly or sit down. he was in surgery. nothing like this had ever happened before but the student.. damn that student! had awful people above him. going as far as severely injuring hwajin. “sit sweetheart. he’s going to be ok.” mr. choi tried his best to calm you and keep you from having a panic attack but how could you? he was hurt-
“excuse me? are you both with na hwajin?”
you were quick to nod and run over towards the doctor who gave you the best news. his surgery went well. it would take him a few weeks to recover and that was when you knew, he needed you the most.
once he was in his own room, you sat beside him. laid half of your body next to him and slept. slept with him, holding his hand. hwajin woke up before you, smiling from happiness seeing you there. he was weak but was still desperate to touch you. feel you.
“pretty girl.”
his sweet voice pulled you from slumber and your eyes widened seeing that he was awake, “hwa! are you ok? do i need to get the doctor?” but he shook his head. what he needed? was you. only you. “come here.”
he pulled you onto the bed with him and you tried not to make it too uncomfortable but his arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer than you intended to be but.. it felt right. “you’re such a sweet girl.” he whispered softly and you smiled, “my sweet girl.”
“w-what?” and before you could say anything else he leaned up just a bit to press his lips against your own.
the kiss was sweet. slow. he reached up and grabbed the back of your neck in a gentle manner, stopping you from pulling away. he tilted his head, deepening the kiss which caused you to whimper and he smiled against your lips.
“what do you say, we have an official date after i get out of here?” and you nodded, leaning in to kiss him a hundred times if that was even possible.
SUM. just some things about being in a relationship with them
(BLDHS MLST) . includes: kim geonwoo, hong woojin · domestic fluff, est. relationship, a little smut (nothing detailed), slice of life
note. i’ve started rewatching bloodhounds.. mainly to see those red shorts again 😮💨
KIM GEONWOO
oh my gosh geonwoo :(
this man literally loves you to pieces.
he’s got it bad.
this could go either way to be honest.
he could be adorably shy when he tries to flirt :(
but also i can see him being the smoothest mf EVER.
personally i think he’d be a mix of both.
smooth flirting but if you reciprocate at all? his eyes go big and his ears go red and he panics.
geonwoo might look like a violent man because of the scar on his face and the frequent bruises and injuries.
but really he’s just a soft, cute little bunny
he also trusts you an awful lot and tells you more things than he tells most people so he’ll always protect your secrets really well.
he also really really loves seeing you in his clothes like loves loves it. there’s not a single oversized shirt he owns that you haven’t worn at least once.
any time you speak he always has this wide smile on his face and absolutely adores the sound of your voice.
he gets proud smiles on his face when he makes you laugh and snaps candid photos of you, saving them on his phone to look over before a fight if you couldn’t be there.
as soon as he gets home he greets you with a hard kiss and then a LONGGGG hug.
seems like the kind of guy to cup ur face a lot when kissing you, probably rubs his thumb over your cheek too.
FOREHEAD. KISSES.
will keep his arms around you or help you with dinner while he tells you about the fight.
also cuddles afterwards.
there’s lots of spooning, he loves to be the small spoon and feel protected by you for once.
he needs to remember how special he is from time to time.
so love him, play with his hair, tell him to not stress or simply help him relax in other ways.
geonwoo has no dominant bone in his body when it comes to sex, i’m sorry to say.
he’s so buff but once you’re towering over him he’ll completely submit himself to you.
loses it when you praise him, will become a whimpering mess for you.
he is not into dirty talk i think but you could make him cum with your sweet words.
he’d also mark you when he’s lost and would kiss them and apologize if he hurt you.
lowkey a pillow prince too.
HONG WOOJIN
he is definitely the type of boyfriend that will hold things very high so you can’t reach them.
and when you do he kisses you and has a soft gleam in his eyes that tells you how much he loves you.
is so sweet and caring to you.
random pics everywhere, his phone, cameras are full with you.
he is so fun and always down for whatever crazy ideas you’ve got brewing in your head!
24/7 can make you smile.
food is his love language, (this man does not play about his rib-eye).
but also loves to show his love with basic touches like playing softly with your hair, holding your waist.
basically keeping your body close.
l o v e s it when you blush or give him some kind of reaction.
he’d tease you quite often about these lol cause my man is playful af (yet possessive when jealous).
and fights would be nothing but petty and ridiculous.
the two of you weren’t the type to bottle things up—you argued, bickered, and then made up like nothing happened.
usually within a day, one of you would crack and things would go back to normal.
woojin always wants you in his corner when he fights. you are his good luck charm and the only one who is allowed to wrap the bandages around his hands before he slips into his gloves.
not that he needs any luck with the skills he has, but he loves seeing you press your sweet kisses on his boxing gloves and smile at him before you hug him tightly and tell him to please be careful.
whether he wins or loses he’d still want to celebrate with you any way he can because he knows it won’t be the last.
he often uses you as a pillow while sleeping, he’s the big spoon most of the time.
his hands always touching and roaming around your body.
very domestic and soft during sex and will make sure the both of you have a good time.
tease.
yup he’s a tease.
lives for making you squirm under his touch.
when it’s lovemaking he treats you like a princess.
he will worship your body and shower you with praise—always makes sure your pleasure comes first.
but when he’s submissive he will do anything you want him to, no questions asked.
summary : even though Sieun wasn’t the boyfriend to openly hold your hand on the street or hug you in the school hallways, he showed you love in the most unspoken ways. And you cherished these moments more than anything.
a/n : i just finished watching whc2 and i’m so happy with the ending. I loved this kdrama so much.
—
Sieun’s house was always a little too quiet, but you never minded. It made moments like this feel more intimate. The low hum of his desk lamp he specially moved to the living room, the occasional rustle of pages, the soft clicking of pens—it was a quiet kind of closeness you grew to love. And truthfully, you’d grown used to this silence ever since the two of you started seeing each other.
Today wasn’t any different. You sat cross-legged on the floor across Sieun who was flipping through a practice exam booklet with furrowed brows, highlighter in hand, fully immersed in the quiet rhythm of studying. His brows always furrowed when he studied, and something about that little detail made you want to stare longer than you should.
You had your books open too, a pencil twirling between your fingers, but most of your focus was on him. You weren’t even pretending to study at this point—just watching how his eyes moved, how his lips pressed together in concentration and how his hoodie sleeves were pushed up to his elbows.
“Is something wrong with the exercise?” he asked suddenly, catching your gaze without even looking up from the page.
You blinked, caught, but you nodded anyway. “Mhm.” you replied, nodding even though you hadn’t read a single question. “Totally confusing.”
He closed his book gently and moved beside you, taking your textbook without waiting for permission. You scooted a little closer, heart racing more from his closeness than from any actual academic confusion. You leaned in, resting your chin on your palm and you lips tugging into a small smile.
“What part?” he asked, eyes scanning the question.
“All of it.” You answered.
He started explaining, quietly, patiently. His voice was smooth, his finger moving across the page as he broke down each step. But you didn’t catch a word—your focus stayed fixed on him, not even glancing at the formulas.
“You’re not listening,” he said flatly after a few seconds, eyes flicking to meet yours.
“I am,” you lied, grinning.
He narrowed his eyes just a bit, not annoyed, but definitely unamused. “Then tell me what I just said.”
“…Something about the square root of something?” you blurted out, leaning slightly closer with a dramatic sigh.
Sieun exhaled, almost a laugh, but not quite. More like a breath caught between amusement and surrender. He didn’t respond. Just shook his head softly and went back to explaining.
Your story hadn’t exactly started with a confession. There were no butterflies-in-your-stomach speeches or dramatic realizations. It just… happened.
You weren’t even sure when it shifted from one-sided pestering to a relationship. Maybe it was all those late library study sessions, or the times you shared your snacks during break, or how you always waved at him even when he never waved back—at first.
The truth was, you’d kind of forced yourself into his quiet little world. Bit by bit, like sunlight creeping in through half-closed blinds. You didn’t knock, you just sort of let yourself in—loud, bright, and annoyingly persistent.
He resisted, of course. Gave you those flat stares, dry responses, and more than once told you to stop talking so much. But then came the little moments—how he started waiting for you outside class, the way he sat just a bit closer at lunch, how he texted you first just once and never really stopped.
So when he kissed you for the first time, it didn’t feel like a surprise. It felt like something that had been waiting to happen all along. Quiet, slow, and certain.
Sieun had long returned to his side of the table, diving back into his book with the same silent intensity he always carried. His eyes flicked across the lines, and the only sound in the room was the soft scratching of his pen as he scribbled notes.
You, on the other hand, lasted a solid thirty minutes before your patience cracked.
With a loud sigh, you dropped your pen and slid down until your back hit the floor. You sprawled out like a starfish, letting your arm flop to the side as you stared up at the ceiling.
Sieun glanced over, pen paused mid-word, looking completely dumbfounded. He didn’t say anything at first, just raised a brow and blinked slowly like he was trying to process whether you had actually just given up and collapsed on his floor.
“…What are you doing?” he finally asked, voice flat but clearly confused.
“I’m tired of studying,” you groaned, throwing an arm over your eyes. “I didn’t come here to write equations till my brain melts.”
“Then why did you come?”
You peeked at him from under your arm, a small smirk curling on your lips. “To spend time with you.”
Sieun blinked again, this time his gaze lingering on you a little longer before looking away. You thought maybe he was going to ignore it like he always did, brush past your teasing, but his hand paused on the corner of his page, like something in your words stuck.
“You could've just said that,” he muttered, eyes back on his book—but you saw the way his ears tinted just slightly pink.
You grinned, crossing your arms over the table now from your seated spot on the floor. “You’re blushing.”
“I’m not.”
“You totally are.”
“You’re annoying.”
“But you still love me” you teased.
He looked at you then—deadpan as always. “Delusional.”
You just laughed. It was so easy being around him, even with his wall up. Maybe especially because of it. Each word he gave you felt earned. Each look, every small shift in expression—it all meant something.
“So what exactly does that mean? How do you want to spend time with me?” He blinked, leaning his back slightly against the couch.
You looked at him for a second, then without a word, stood up and moved around the table. He followed your movement with his eyes, and before he could say anything else, you plopped down beside him. Close—closer than usual.
Then, gently, you leaned your head against his shoulder, letting out the smallest content sigh. Both of your arms wrapped around his, holding it close like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Like this,” you murmured. “This is enough.”
There was a beat of silence. The kind that hung heavy, not uncomfortable, but full of something else. Sieun didn’t move, didn’t say anything right away. You could hear the soft click of the clock on the wall, the hum of the fridge in the kitchen.
And then—you felt it.
A quiet shift.
His shoulder barely moved, but you felt it. A small pull at the corner of his lips.
You turned slightly to look up at him.
“Are you… smiling?”
Sieun exhaled through his nose, subtle but unmistakable.
“You’re imagining things,” he said.
But the faint curve on his lips betrayed him.
You grinned and tightened your grip on his arm just a little. “You so are.”
“Don’t get used to it,” he muttered, eyes flicking away, his smile not leaving his lips.
You stayed like that for a while—curled up beside him, your head on his shoulder, arms wrapped around his. At first, it was quiet—comfortable, easy. But it didn’t take long before you started talking. Random stories, the kind that didn’t need a point.
Sieun wasn’t the most talkative, and you still carried most of the conversation, but he listened—really listened—and when he spoke, it was warm, thoughtful, a little dry but always sincere. He’d answer with a soft laugh, or a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Sometimes he’d shake his head at your teasing remarks, and other times, he’d quietly add his own take, making you laugh.
It was one of those moments where time didn’t feel real. Just the two of you, tucked into the corner of his quiet world, talking about nothing and everything.
Even though Sieun wasn’t the boyfriend to openly hold your hand on the street or hug you in the school hallways, he showed you love in the most unspoken ways.
And you cherished these moments more than anything.
Being a foreign exchange student in a Korean high school isn’t just hard , it feels like a cruel social experiment. I barely keep up with the lessons and I laugh too late, answer wrong, mispronounce things so often I’ve stopped flinching when someone snorts. But none of that compares to Han Su-Gang.
content warning - dark!Su-gang, non-consensual and dubiously consensual situations, sexual harassment, slapping, hair pulling, gaslighting, bullying, blackmail, stalking, breaking and entering, and non-consensual photography. This story contains coercive behavior, manipulation, intimidation, invasive violations of privacy, aggressive physical contact, and emotionally distressing themes, with elements of angst throughout.
word count : 10k (my first 10k fic & it took me a week to finish it)
This was requested.
The classroom door slams shut behind me, and thirty heads swivel like they’re synced, eyes slicing into me like scalpels. Every morning, it’s the same walking into this sterile, chalk-dusted hell with my back straight and jaw tight, pretending I don’t hear the whispers or see the smirks. Pretending I’m not completely drowning.
Being a foreign exchange student in a Korean high school isn’t just hard, it feels like a cruel social experiment. I barely keep up with the lessons, get lost in half the conversations, always translating words in my head while everyone else is two steps ahead. I laugh too late, answer wrong, mispronounce things so often I’ve stopped flinching when someone snorts.
But none of that compares to Han Su-Gang.
That smug bastard.
From the day I transferred, he zeroed in on me like he was hunting something. Not with fists or open mockery that’d be too easy. No. Su-Gang prefers a slower, sharper game. Smirks. Whispers. Brushing past me just a little too close in the hallway. That slow, lazy drawl when he says my name, like he's tasting it, and he knows exactly what it does to me.
“Yah,” his voice purrs behind me now low, teasing. “Why so stiff today?”
I don’t need to look. I can smell his cologne sharp and expensive and feel the heat of his body as he moves closer. His presence wraps around me like static before I even turn.
I don’t turn.
I keep my eyes locked on the blackboard, pretending I understand a single thing scrawled across it. Pretending I don’t feel his breath brush my ear as he leans in, close enough to cross lines no one else dares to.
“You get lost again on the way to class?” he murmurs. “Or just hoping someone would come find you?” My fingers tighten around my pen until it creaks. He laughs softly in a mock-innocent way. “aigoo, don’t look so tense. I’m just being friendly.”
Friendly. Right.
Han Su-Gang doesn’t know the meaning of the word.
He drops back down into the seat behind me, just like he always does, and taps the back of my chair with his shoe. Light. Deliberate. A signal. A warning. Or maybe just a reminder. That I’m not invisible here.
Not when I’m Su-Gang’s favorite target.
And the day hasn’t even started yet.
Throughout class, he keeps playing with my hair.
It starts subtly a light tug on a loose strand when the teacher isn’t looking, like he’s testing how close he can get before I react. Fingers brushing the ends, slow and deliberate, until I can’t focus on a single word being written on the board. My scalp tingles, nerves stretched thin. I grit my teeth and ignore him. Pretend I don’t feel it. Pretend I’m not about two seconds away from snapping.
He’s behind me, so I can’t see his face but I feel it. The smirk. The quiet satisfaction in every tiny invasion. No one else seems to notice. Or maybe they do, and they’re just too smart to get involved.
I sit perfectly still, heart pounding under my uniform shirt, jaw locked so tight it aches. If I move, he wins. If I say anything, he gets what he wants. I just need to survive until the bell.
And then, finally, it rings and I’m on my feet before the last echo dies. My bag's already slung over my shoulder, my heart pounding with the relief of escape. I just need to get out of this room and away from his stare, his voice, his everything.
“Oh? Where are you going? Running away like a scared little bitch?”
Su-Gang’s voice slices down the hallway just as I turn the corner. Like he didn’t make the last hour unbearable. My pulse kicks up again, thudding in my ears. I keep walking. Fast. I don’t give him the satisfaction of looking back.
I’m already late for my next class, Mrs.So’s.
A new teacher. Young. Fresh out of university or something. I haven’t even spoken to her yet, and now I’m about to barge in late on her first day seeing me. Perfect. Just perfect.
I reach the door and shove it open, breath still uneven. Everyone inside turns toward me like I’ve interrupted a sermon. I drop my gaze immediately and mumble, “Sorry.” My voice is barely above a whisper. Mrs.So nods politely, says nothing, and gestures for me to take a seat.
I head straight to the back. Far corner. I sit down, still feeling the heat in my face, still trying to calm the rush in my chest. But less than a minute later, the classroom door bursts open like it’s been kicked in.
Su-Gang strolls in.
And he’s not alone. His little entourage files in behind him, laughing like they own the place. One of them bumps into a desk on purpose. Another whistles, obnoxious and loud. It’s a whole show.
Mrs.So straightens up behind her desk. “Excuse me. You’re late. What do you think you’re doing?” Su-Gang doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even blink. He just keeps walking, hands in his pockets, shoulders loose and cocky like nothing in this room, not even the teacher matters. His eyes flick lazily across the students until they find me.
And lock. My stomach knots.
“We got a little held up,” he says smoothly, mouth curling into that too-slick smile. “Sorry we missed your big debut, seonsaengnim.”
A few students laugh under their breath. Mrs.So opens her mouth, probably ready to call him out but then she hesitates. Just like the other teachers. Just like everyone else. One look at Su-Gang and suddenly nobody wants to push.
“Take your seat,” she says finally, voice clipped.
He does.
And as he moves past desks, his eyes never leave me. Not for a second. Like I’m some unfinished thought he plans to come back to.
He drops into the seat one row over, diagonal from mine. Close enough to see everything. Close enough that I can feel the pressure. Like a spider watching a fly settle into its web. The corner of his mouth twitches, and I can’t tell if he’s smiling or sizing me up.
Probably both. I shift in my chair and glance away, heart pounding so loud it’s hard to hear Mrs.So start the lesson. I feel his gaze crawling along my skin, patient, hungry, like he knows he has all the time in the world.
And worst of all? No one else seems to notice.
About halfway through the lesson, something lands on my desk.
A folded piece of paper.
I don’t need to look to know who it’s from. I feel his eyes on me before I even touch it, like a heat source pressed against my side. I hesitate for a second. Then I unfold it under the desk, keeping it hidden behind my textbook.
"Detention room. After school. You better be there."
Nothing else. No smiley face. No signature. Just instructions, written in a sharp, aggressive scrawl. My throat tightens. I stare at the words. My skin feels clammy. My fingers twitch like they want to tear the note in half, but I don’t. Not while he’s watching.
So I do the only thing I can.
I nod. Just once. Subtle. Barely a movement. And that makes him smile.
The rest of the class passes in a haze. I pretend to listen, nod at the right moments, even force myself to write something down. But I’m not really here. My mind’s racing too fast. I keep thinking about the way he looked at me earlier. Like he was already imagining something I haven’t agreed to. Like he was building a scene in his head, and I didn’t even have a say in it.
When the bell rings, I stand up fast and slip out with the crowd before he can corner me. I don’t look back. I don’t go to the detention room. I don’t even pretend to head that way.
Instead, I make a sharp turn down the back hallway, heart hammering. Past the supply closets. Past the broken lockers no one uses. Toward the back exit with the crooked fire door that barely latches. I push it open. It groans like it hasn’t moved in weeks.
Outside.
I don’t stop. I don’t check my phone. I don’t breathe until I’m three blocks from the school and halfway down a side street that leads to the convenient store. I think I made it. I think I actually got away.
But what I don’t know. What I don’t see is Su-Gang standing at the second-floor window above the back lot. Watching. He saw me slip out. He watched the whole thing. His smile is gone.
Replaced by something flat and cold. His hands rest on the windowsill, fingers tapping slowly. Rhythmically. Like he’s counting seconds or imagining someone’s neck. He stays like that for a long time, even after I’m out of sight.
When one of his friends finally finds him, laughs, asks, “Yo, she stood you up or what?” Su-Gang doesn’t turn around. He just mutters, voice low and terrifyingly calm, “She thinks she’s clever.” Then silence. A long beat.
And then, quietly
“I’ll show her what clever looks like.”
The next morning, I walked through the front gates like nothing happened. Like I didn’t run. Like I didn’t leave him standing there with a note and a plan and no one to play his little game with.
I keep my back straight. Shoulders loose. Head held just high enough to seem unbothered. My heart’s still thudding a little too fast, but I’ve trained my face into something blank. Unreadable. I even fake a yawn, just for show. If I look scared, I lose. And I can’t lose.
The halls are already crowded. Noise bouncing off the lockers. Shoes squeaking. Teachers barking half-hearted warnings about morning assembly. I focus on the stairs ahead, the textbook clutched to my chest like a shield.
I almost believe I’ve pulled it off. That maybe, just maybe, he’ll let it go. Then I feel it.
A hand slams into the back of my head, fingers curling tight into my hair, yanking it back so hard my knees nearly buckle. The scream gets caught in my throat. The hallway tilts as I’m dragged backward, spine arching, the world spinning in a blur of color and confusion. People stop. Some gasp. Some just stare.
But no one moves.
“Think you’re smart?” Su-Gang snarls above me, voice right at my ear, rough and wild and nothing like the lazy, teasing tone he always uses. “You think you can run from me?”
His hand twists deeper into my hair, roots screaming. My scalp burns, eyes watering. My hands shoot up to grab his wrist, but his grip is iron.
He jerks me sideways, pulling me into the middle of the hallway. I stumble after him, dragged like a puppet, books scattering to the floor. Everyone’s frozen, too stunned to even blink.
My shoes skid uselessly on the polished tile.
“Su-Gang, what the hell!” someone calls out, a teacher maybe but it’s distant, foggy, like it’s coming through water. He doesn’t stop. He doesn’t look back. He pulls me past classroom doors, past staring students, past lockers slamming shut.
“Was it funny?” he growls, low and vicious. “Running like that? You think that was clever? You think I wouldn’t see you?” I can’t even speak. My scalp is on fire, my breath short and sharp. “Let me go,” I manage through clenched teeth, but it comes out weak. Pathetic. And he laughs.
That soft, familiar laugh except now it’s twisted. Unhinged. “I told you to come,” he hisses. “I asked nicely. But you want to act like I’m some joke?” His grip tightens. My neck jolts back.
A classroom door swings open down the hall. Another teacher steps out, voice raised in alarm, but I don’t catch the words. Su-Gang finally slows, turns slightly, still holding me by the hair. And smiles.
Right at the teacher. Polite. Then says, smooth as ice, “Just having a talk. She doesn’t mind.” The teacher hesitates. Looks at me. My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Su-Gang leans in. “You say one word,” he whispers, lips brushing my ear, “and I’ll make sure you really have something to run from next time.” The teacher backs off. Just like that.
He lets go of my hair like he’s finished playing with a toy he’s grown bored of. My knees nearly give out, but I catch myself, heart pounding so hard I can hear it behind my ears.
He doesn't even look at me when he says, “Follow me.” Just two words. But they hit like a blade. I don’t move. Students linger around him, watching with amusement, like they’re waiting to see if I’ll disobey. No one laughs, though. Not now. The air feels wrong. Dense.
He turns his head slightly, just enough for me to see the edge of his smirk. There’s no threat in his voice. There doesn’t have to be. We both know what happens if I say no. So I follow. Up the stairs. Out of sight.
Through the metal door that groans open at the top of the building and closes behind us with a thick, final thud. The rooftop stretches out around us, windless and empty. Concrete walls on all sides. The city below hums, oblivious. The sky is pale, the sun bleeding through the clouds, too bright and too cold at once.
His friends are already here. Lounging. Laughing. Scrolling through their phones like this is just another break between classes. And I’m just standing there. Stiff. Out of place. Out of air.
Su-Gang sits on a ledge like he owns the building. He pulls a lighter from his pocket, flicks it on and off, even though there’s nothing to light. Just for the sound. The flash. The rhythm.
He doesn’t look at me for a while. Then he does. His eyes drag over me, slow and invasive. I cross my arms. Big mistake. He tilts his head and finally says, “Unbutton your shirt.” I stared at him like he had grown two heads. The rooftop drops silent. He stares at me, waiting.
There’s no smirk now. Just that cold patience. Like he’s giving me a test he already knows I’ll fail. “I’m not—” My voice catches. “I’m not doing that.” His tongue clicks. Then he stands. Slowly. Like he’s tired of repeating himself.
“I said,” he murmurs, “unbutton your shirt.” I take a step back.
One of the others stands too. Just the sound of his shoes scraping the ground makes my spine lock. I glance at the rooftop door behind me. It’s so far. Su-Gang walks toward me, and I can’t help it. I flinch. His expression twists with delight. Something ugly. “You’re scared again,” he says, voice soft like a lover’s. “I like you best like this.”
He stops right in front of me. Reaches out. His fingers skim the first button of my shirt. I slap his hand away without thinking. Silence. His friends shift. One lets out a low whistle. But no one steps in.
His smile doesn’t fade, but something behind it changes. His eyes narrow. Like he’s finally decided I’m not playing the part he wants. Then his hand moves. Fast.
A crack slices through the air before I even register what’s happening. Pain explodes across my cheek. My head snaps to the side. My breath catches. My vision blurs for a second, white-hot and stunned.
The sound of it echoes, not just in my ears but deep inside me, like the world just tilted wrong. I don’t fall, but I stagger, one foot dragging against the rooftop concrete. My hand flies to my face, clutching the sting. My skin throbs under my palm, pulsing where his knuckles landed. Warm. Humiliated. Tears well up immediately.
I bite down hard on the inside of my cheek to hold them back, jaw trembling with the effort not to break. Not in front of him. He just watches me. Detached. Like he’s studying his own reflection.
His smile returns, slow and sharp, like the sting on my cheek isn’t even real to him. “Maybe now,” he says softly, voice thick with something darker than anger, “you’ll listen when I tell you to do something.” Then his eyes flicker something glinting behind them.
Excitement.
“You’ve got a little fight in you today,” he murmurs, stepping closer, gaze dragging over me. “Good. That makes it more fun.”I can’t breathe. This isn’t just teasing anymore. This is a game I never agreed to play and I already know how it ends. Badly for me.
Su-Gang doesn’t say anything at first. He just looks down at me, hand returning to the first button on my shirt. And then he starts to unbutton them. One. Two.
My whole body is stilled, blood screaming in my ears. I feel the cool air touch my skin, inch by inch, and all I can do is stare at the concrete behind him and try not to collapse. He leans in, breath hot on my cheek. “You know,” he murmurs, “if you wanted attention, you could’ve just asked. Acting like you’re so shy, but look at you.”
Three.
His fingers brush the fabric. Slow. Calculated. “Underneath all that pretending,” he says, “I bet you like being watched. I bet you're getting off on this, aren't you?” My hands shake. My nails dig into my palms. I don’t cry. I won’t. But then he reaches the last button. And just as his fingers graze it—
The rooftop door slams open.
“Han Su-Gang!”
The voice cuts through the air like a bullet. He pauses. We both turn.
Mrs.So storms across the rooftop, her heels loud and sharp against the concrete. Her face is pale with fury. Her eyes aren’t wide with fear, they're narrowed with rage. Su-Gang’s hand drops casually from my shirt.
I clutch the fabric, step back, hunch in on myself like I can disappear. Mrs.So stops just a few feet from us. The wind is louder now. Or maybe it’s just the blood rushing through my head. “What the hell are you doing?” she demands, voice rising. “What do you think this is?”
Su-Gang just smiles. That empty, shark-eyed smile. “Teacher,” he says smoothly. “It’s not what it looks like.”
“You had her cornered. You had your hands on her shirt—”
He shrugs, all fake innocence. “She came up here on her own. Ask her.” His friends shift awkwardly behind him, but no one speaks.
Mrs.So doesn’t buy a second of it. “You think you can get away with everything because you’re rich and no one’s ever held you accountable?” Su-Gang’s smile slips slightly. “You’re not special,” she spits. “You’re just a coward who picks on people weaker than you.”
The rooftop is dead silent. I stare at her…this stranger who just walked into hell without hesitation. I feel my knees buckle. She sees it. “Come here,” she says to me, gentle now. “Come stand behind me.”
I do. I move like a ghost and stand behind her like she’s a wall between me and something feral. Su-Gang’s voice comes low, mocking. “Getting involved, huh? Bad idea.”
She doesn’t flinch. “You want to hit me?” she says, eyes locked with his. “Go ahead. You think I’m scared of someone like you?” His hand clenches once. Then he turns away. But something in his smile before he walks off…too slow, too deliberate, tells me this isn’t over.
Not even close.
I don’t remember getting back inside. One second, I’m on the rooftop with Su-Gang’s breath still hot in my ear. Next, I’m sitting on a chair in an empty classroom, the door closed, the windows dim with late-afternoon light.
My face still stings. Every heartbeat pulses in the bruise spreading under my skin. Mrs.So sits in the chair across from me, hands folded tightly in her lap. She’s silent for a long time. Watching me. Not like she’s waiting for me to speak like she’s trying to decide if she should.
I keep my eyes on the floor. The tile is cracked near the edge of my shoe. I focus on that. “Do you want to tell me what happened?” she finally asks, voice low, careful. I shake my head. I want to. I need to. But the words stay trapped in my throat. Like if I say them out loud, it’ll make everything real again.
She doesn’t push. “I saw enough,” she says. “You don’t have to explain it to me.” I blink hard. My throat burns. She exhales, rubbing her thumb against her palm like she’s working something out.
“That boy… Han Su-Gang,” she says. “He’s not just acting out. He’s dangerous.”
That word. Dangerous. No one’s said it before. Not out loud. She looks at me then. Really looks. Her eyes are softer now. But there’s steel under them. “Has he done this before?” she asks. “Or something worse?”
I nod. Barely. She swallows. Her expression tightens. “I need to report this,” she says. “He can’t keep doing this to you. Or anyone.” Panic spikes in my chest. “No.” The word slips out before I can stop it. My voice sounds too loud in the still room. “Please don’t.”
She frowns. “Why?”
I can’t explain it. Not properly. Not the looks in the hallways. The silence of the other teachers. The way Su-Gang moves through the school like he’s already untouchable. Like the building bends around him. She sees my hesitation and her voice softens again. “I’m not asking you to stand in front of everyone,” she says. “You don’t have to do this alone. I’ll handle it. I’ll keep your name out of it.”
I want to believe her. But I can still feel the ghost of his fingers at my throat. Still hear the way he said my name like it was already his. “He’ll come after me again,” I whisper. She doesn’t lie to me. She just says, “Then he’ll have to go through me first.”
I try to get through the rest of the day like it didn’t happen. Like he didn’t drag me by the hair throughout the hallway. Like I didn’t see something dead behind his eyes when I said no.
Su-Gang doesn’t speak to me for the rest of the day. Doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t even breathe in my direction. And somehow, that’s worse. The silence isn’t peace. It’s a setup.
I skipped lunch again. My stomach’s empty, but my nerves are too twisted to eat. I spend the break in the art room alone, pretending to look at student drawings while my brain replays every second on that rooftop in perfect detail.
I don’t go straight home after school. I take the long way. The side roads and alleys, avoiding the main streets, just in case. By the time I duck into the convenience store, the sun’s already sinking. The fluorescent lights buzz softly overhead. The warm, artificial air hits me like a blanket.
Normal. Safe. Or close enough. I grab a ramen cup and a drink. Something to pretend I’m okay. Something to keep my hands busy.
I sit by the window in the front corner and peel back the lid. Steam curls up. I wrap my hands around the cup and try to breathe. Outside, the street looks dull, quiet. Almost peaceful.
Until the glass fogs. Not from the ramen. But from a breath.
I was transfixed, unable to move.
A slow, deliberate smiley face forms on the glass right in front of me. Drawn with a fingertip. Then a second line. A heart. And behind the smiley face, Su-Gang’s reflection appears. Smiling, his tongue slid out slowly, tracing his lips like he was savoring a taste no one else knew. His smile that didn’t reach his eyes that only made your skin crawl.
He exhales again. The glass fogs deeper. The heart glows faint in the low light. He’s not even trying to hide that it’s him. The bell above the door jingles. He steps inside. But he’s not alone.
Two of his friends follow, laughing at something he said before the door even shut. He doesn’t grab snacks. Doesn’t say hi to the clerk. He walks straight back and drops into the chair across from mine like we’re meeting for coffee.
“You always run here after school?” he asks. “I was curious.” I look down fast, pretending I couldn’t hear him. Pretending I can make him disappear by not reacting.
He looks at me like he’s trying to decide what he wants to do with me. Then, without a word, he grabs my wrist. “Come here,” he says, voice low and too casual. I try to pull back, but he’s already moving. In one motion pulls me into his lap.
I gasp.
He wraps one arm around my waist, the other resting across my thigh, holding me there like I belong to him. My hands go stiff, hovering in the air, unsure whether to fight or freeze.
“Relax,” he says, brushing his cheek against mine. “I missed you.”
He presses a kiss to my cheek. Lingering. Like he’s daring me to scream. “You’re soft,” he murmurs near my ear. “I could get used to this.” I want to throw up. I want to disappear. I finally jerk, trying to stand.
His grip tightens.
He chuckles softly. “Don’t be like that. I came here to talk.”
“Let me go,” I whisper. “No,” he says, simply. “Not until you answer a question.” He shifts, letting me face him in his lap, his hands locked on my hips. His eyes narrow slightly. “What did you tell Mrs.So?” My stomach drops. “I—nothing,” I say.
He tilts his head, mouth curling slightly. “You sure?” he asks. “Because if I find out you’ve been running your mouth…” His smile vanishes. “…I’ll make sure you regret it.”
His hand slides slowly up my back, resting between my shoulder blades, just enough to make my whole body go rigid. “You wouldn’t want me to get upset,” he says. “Not when we’re just starting to get along.”
“I didn’t say anything,” I repeat, this time louder, trying to keep my voice steady.
He studies my face like he’s trying to peel it open.
Then, slowly, he smiles again. “Good girl.”
The bell charms.
Another customer walks in. Su-Gang finally loosens his grip, easing me off his lap like he’s letting me go because he chooses to, not because I asked. He stands, straightens his shirt, and leans down to whisper in my ear one last time.
“You’re lucky I like you. Anyone else would’ve already been dead.” Then he walks out. Leaving me there. Shaking. Humiliated. Half of my ramen spilled on the table. I sit there, chest heaving, hands trembling, the taste of his breath still on my skin.
And I know, he’s just getting started.
It takes me seven days to say something. Not because I’m unsure, or confused, or trying to convince myself it wasn’t as bad as it felt, it was, but because I already know how these things go. I know the shape of silence. I know the sound of disbelief.
Still, on the seventh day, I stay behind after class. I wait until the room empties out, until Mrs.So is gathering her papers and glancing at the clock like she has somewhere else to be. I tell her everything.
Slowly and carefully, like walking barefoot through glass. The rooftop. The convenience store. The way he touched me. The way he looked at me. The way he follows me, like a shadow with a mouth and hands. She listens. Her expression hardens, just a flicker, like a spark trying to catch flame. She says it’s wrong.
That it’s serious. That she’ll go to the principal and take it from here. That I’ve done the right thing.
The next morning I got called to the office. It’s too bright in there, sterile and quiet in a way that feels rehearsed. The principal doesn’t meet my eyes. He speaks in that calm, measured tone that sounds like it was written for a press release.
Han Su-Gang is a respected student. His family supports the school. There’s no evidence of misconduct. I should be careful, he says. Careful with words, careful with accusations. I sit there, hands locked in my lap, trying to breathe evenly, trying not to fall apart in front of him. Because I already know what’s happening. It’s not justice.
And when I step out into the hall, he’s there. Su-Gang. Leaning against the opposite wall, phone in hand, like he’s been waiting for the verdict he knew would come. His eyes flick up and land on mine. He smiles. A small, smug thing, like he’s already won. Like he never doubted it.
After that, the story spreads warped, twisted, gutted of the truth. Apparently I came on to him. Apparently I made it up. That I wanted his attention, then got bitter when I couldn’t handle it. Some girls laugh. Others look through me. No one asks what really happened. Not one. Even the teachers seem to look past me now, like I’ve become something inconvenient. A problem that won't go away.
And Su-Gang? He doesn’t even bother hiding anymore. He waits for me after school, half a block down, just far enough to say he wasn’t following. He sits outside stores I duck into. He shows up on the streets. I don't remember telling anyone I walked down.
Sometimes I take random turns, double back, and change my route. It doesn’t matter. He’s always nearby. Close enough to see me flinch. Far enough that I can’t scream without sounding crazy.
At night, I stop turning on music. I keep my curtains closed. I check the lock on my window twice, then again. The smallest sound makes my heart race. A knock, a phone buzz, footsteps in the stairwell. I don’t sleep. Not really. I just lie there, listening, waiting for something to happen. Something worse.
I try again. I tell a different teacher. She gives me that look. The soft eyes, tight smile that says she believes me and still won’t do a thing. I go to the school counselor. She asks if maybe I’ve misunderstood, if maybe he’s just struggling to express himself. I try a friend. She pulls away mid-sentence, says her parents know his family, says she doesn’t want to get involved.
And slowly, the air changes. People stop looking at me. Or they only look to see if I’ll break. Every hallway feels longer now. Every classroom colder. And the worst part isn’t the fear, not even the moments when I feel his eyes on me and know I’m not imagining it.
I was so stressed out that I didn’t even notice my apartment door was open. I came inside, took off my shoes out of habit, then headed straight to the kitchen. I opened the fridge to grab a bottle of water, and when I turned around, Su-Gang was standing right behind me with that terrifying smile and the deranged look in his eyes.
The sight of him hit me like a weight, pressing down on my chest, stealing the air from my lungs.
I don’t scream. I can’t. My voice dies in my throat before it even forms. My fingers go limp and the bottle of water slips from my hand, hitting the floor with a soft thud that sounds too loud in the silence between us. He doesn’t flinch. He just watches me.
I stagger back, my spine hitting the edge of the counter, but I don’t feel it. I’m too focused on him. On the way his pupils look too wide. On the twitch in his jaw. On that smile, too calm, too pleased, like this moment is everything he’s been waiting for.
“Cozy,” he says finally, looking around my apartment like he’s at an open house. His voice is soft, amused. Like this is funny. Like I’m funny. “Smells like you.”
"Did you miss me?" he asks, voice light, almost playful. But there's something in it like broken glass hidden in sugar. I say nothing. I can’t. My tongue is dry, glued to the roof of my mouth. My limbs won’t listen to me. All I can do is stand there, shaking, stupidly barefoot, defenseless.
“I was going to wait outside,” he goes on, stepping closer, slow and casual, like we’re sharing a joke. “But I got bored and you took too long.”
He’s between me and the door now.
He tilts his head, eyes flicking over me in that slow, devouring way that makes my skin crawl. “I thought we could talk. Just us. No interruptions this time.”
“What do you want?” I finally manage to whisper. My voice doesn’t sound like mine. It sounds small. Weak. And I hate that he hears it that way.
His smile grows. “You know what I want.”
He moves again, and instinctively I reach for something, anything, my phone, a knife, I don’t even know. But his hand is suddenly on my wrist, fast and hard, and I cry out without meaning to. He squeezes, just enough to make his point.
“Don’t,” he says quietly. “I’m being nice right now.”
My knees threaten to give. He’s too close. I can smell the familiar, expensive cologne he always wears. I can feel the heat of him, radiating off his body like an open flame. It’s worse up close, worse than anything in the hallway or the rooftop or the store. Because now there’s no one else. No distant teacher. No student who might glance over. No fluorescent lights. Just me and him.
He steps closer
“You’ve been ignoring me,” he says, tilting his head slightly, like he’s studying a bug under glass. “After everything we’ve been through.”
“I told you to leave me alone,” I whisper, but it comes out too thin. Too fragile.
He laughs softly, shaking his head like I’m the one being ridiculous. “You don’t get it, do you? I didn’t come here to hurt you,” he says, taking another step forward. “I came here because I care.”
His hand lifts, slow and deliberate, like he’s about to touch me again. I flinch before he even makes contact. His smile widens. "You’re so tense,” he murmurs, his voice dropping, more breath than sound. “It’s kind of cute." My stomach twists.
He’s too close now. The counter's at my back. The doorway's blocked. My apartment feels smaller than it ever has. Like the walls are leaning in, like the lights are dimming even though nothing’s changed.
"Don’t do this," I manage, my voice breaking. "Please."
"Do what?" he says, mock-offended. "I’m not doing anything. I’m just talking to you. Spending time together. Isn’t that what you wanted?"
I shake my head. “No.”
His expression darkens just slightly. Like the mask slips for a second and something uglier pushes through.
"Then why’d you talk to Mrs.So?"
My breath catches.
"You think I wouldn’t find out?"
I don't answer.
“I told you not to say anything,” he whispers, and this time, the calm is gone. His voice has teeth now. “You lied to my face. That’s not smart.” He leans in until I can feel his breath on my cheek. “I could hurt you,” he says softly, almost lovingly. “Right now. And no one would stop me. No one would care.”
He says it like a fact. Not a threat. Like he’s just stating the weather. Like he’s tested the world already and knows exactly how far it will bend for him.
I don’t move. I don’t breathe.
His fingers trail down from my forehead, slow, possessive, knuckles grazing the side of my face like I’m something he’s already unwrapped. His thumb brushes the corner of my lip.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he adds, almost sadly. “I just want you to stop making me the bad guy.” He leans in again, lips hovering just beside my ear. “You don’t tell anyone else about this. About me. Not your little teacher friend. Not your friends, if you still have any.” He chuckles softly.
“I won’t,” I whisper, too fast, too automatic, and I hate the way it sounds. I hate how small it makes me feel. But I say it anyway, because I have to. Because I’m not sure what happens if I don’t.
His breath is hot on my neck. His hand settles just above my hip.
“You’re learning,” he says, and he almost sounds proud. Like I’ve done something right. Like this is praise. Then his mouth grazes my cheek. Not quite a kiss. Not quite anything. Just heat and skin and intent.
“I could stay,” he says. “We could spend the night together.”
The terror pulses so deep in my chest I think I might be sick. I shake my head before I even realize I’m doing it. “No?” he says, still smiling. Still soft.
Then, without warning, he grabs my wrist and yanks me down the hallway toward my bedroom. I stumble, trying to resist, but his grip is iron. My mind races, how many times has he been here before?
When we reach the bedroom, he shoves me onto the bed. The mattress groans under the sudden weight as I scramble backward, pushing myself toward the headboard, trying to put any distance I can between us.
My hands shake. My breathing is shallow. He just stands there, watching me, that same twisted smile never leaving his face. There’s something in his eyes, something cold and frayed that makes my skin crawl. I want to scream, to fight, to disappear.
But all I can do is stare back, then he turns to the door. Clicks it shut. And locks it. That sound, the soft, final click is a bang to my senses. My breath shatters. He leans his back against the door, watching me with all the patience in the world.
Like a lion who knows the cage is locked. “You’re trembling,” he says sweetly, voice thick with something tender and terrible. “Is it fear? Or excitement?” I don’t answer. That’s when he moves. Not like a man. Like a predator.
His hand curls around my ankle, delicate and unhurried, as though he’s holding a teacup, not a girl trembling in her own bed. And then with a cruel sort of grace he pulls. I gasp, dragged down the mattress like a doll. My back hits the sheets, my legs falling open just enough to make shame twist low in my gut.
He crawls over me slowly, his tie hanging like a leash between us, brushing my chest. Still smiling. Still soft. Still wearing that goddamn blazer like this is a lecture hall and not my bedroom like he didn’t just take me from the hallway like a prize he’s been waiting to unwrap. “You looked so pretty just now. All wide-eyed.”
His fingers brush my thigh. Featherlight. A lover’s touch in a nightmare. “No?” he echoes when I shake my head, soft as mist. Tilting his head like a confused child. “Then why didn’t you run?” He leans closer. His breath fans over my throat. “Because deep down, little slut,” His hand traces around my face tenderly. “you wanted me to.”
A low whimper catches in my throat. He shushes me instantly, kissing the corner of my mouth. “None of that, now,” he whispers, velvet-laced. “No tears, no begging.” His other hand trails down, catching the hem of my shirt. “And now,” he says, voice rising with something honeyed and unhinged, “you’ll give me everything else.”
He watches me for a moment longer, head tilted, gaze dragging over my body like a match waiting to be struck. Then, without a word, he moves fast, precise. He flips me onto my stomach before I can react, the sudden shift knocking the breath from my lungs. I try to twist, to push up, but his hand presses gently between my shoulder blades.
“Shhh,” he breathes, already loosening the tie from around his neck with the kind of slow, deliberate care that makes my pulse scatter. “You’ll like this part.” The fabric is warm from his skin, and it slips around my wrists like a secret. He binds me with practiced ease as if he’s done this in his head a thousand times. Maybe he has. When the knot pulls tight behind my back, a gasp slips from me.
“There,” he whispers, lips brushing my ear as his fingers stroke my hair. “You look like a present… all wrapped up, just for me.” His voice is low, close, too tender to be sane. He presses a kiss just below my ear then bites. Sharp enough to make me flinch. His hand slides beneath me, under my stomach, and with one slow, possessive push, he lifts my hips. My body responds before I do, knees parting, cheek pressed into the sheets.
I hate how natural it feels. I hate how warm his palm is as he settles me in place like I’m a thing to be arranged. “Look at that,” he murmurs, almost to himself, as he sits back on his heels behind me. “Perfect little shape, it’s like you want to be taken.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, but it only makes his words sharper. “Such a good girl, staying still,” he croons. “Back arched, thighs soft, hands tied and trembling. You don’t even know how beautiful you are like this.” There’s a pause. Then a small click. My heart skips.
“Mmm,” he hums, pleased, as he lifts his phone and takes the photo. “Don’t worry, baby… just for me. Something to look at when I miss you.” He drags two fingers up my inner thigh, achingly slow. “When I’m alone and hungry and need to remember who belongs to me.”
His breath ghosts down my spine. “My little present. My quiet, messy, obedient whore.” His fingers curl around my hip. “You’re going to stay just like this for me. Pretty. Remembering that this is what you craved.” Another soft kiss behind my ear. Another picture. Another piece of me surrendered.
His fingers trail down, slow and teasing, barely grazing the backs of my thighs as he settles behind me. Not quite touching…just hovering. Just enough to make my nerves coil tighter with every breath. “So quiet,” he murmurs, as if he’s speaking to the air between us. “But your body’s already telling me everything.” His fingers finally make contact drawing invisible lines over my skin like he’s sketching me from memory.
He runs a knuckle just under the curve of my backside, then down, barely brushing the spot that makes my breath catch. “Tense,” he whispers, almost delighted. “Are you scared I’ll like how you taste?” I shake my head, a futile denial buried in the pillow. He laughs softly behind me, the sound honeyed and intimate. “Liar.” He reaches under the hem of my skirt and slowly pushes it up.
The fabric gathers at my waist, baring me to the cool air and his ravenous gaze. “Look at this,” he breathes, palm smoothing over the swell of my exposed ass. “So warm… so soft.” I try to close my legs, but he stops me with a firm hand and a sickly sweet murmur: “Ah-ah. Don’t ruin the view, sweetheart.”
Then his fingers find the edge of my underwear and tug it down. Not off. Just far enough. Just enough to humiliate. “I want it in the way,” he says, voice low and molten. “I want you to feel how barely undone you are.” And then…then I feel him lean in. The first touch of his mouth is like silk over fire. Gentle like he’s worshiping rather than devouring.
A single, slow stroke of his tongue that makes my entire body clench. “Su-Gang,” I gasp, voice trembling, “stop—” But he only hums softly against me, the vibration melting into my skin. “You don’t mean that,” he says, voice muffled, dreamy. “You’re already shaking. Already dripping. You’re mine, baby… and this is how I take care of what’s mine.” His hands slide up to my hips, holding me in place, and then he buries his face between my thighs like I’m something holy.
He eats like he’s savoring a secret, like he has all the time in the world. And I’m trying so hard not to make a sound, trying to stay silent, to resist. But every stroke of his tongue makes it harder. Every soft moan he breathes into me makes it worse. “Still pretending you don’t want it?” he murmurs, licking slow and deep, voice soaked in affection and filth. “Go ahead, baby. Lie to me with your mouth. Your body’s already told the truth.”
He doesn’t rush. His mouth lingers like he’s sipping from something delicate, something rare, tongue sliding in lazy, tender patterns that have nothing to do with urgency and everything to do with ownership. “Mmm,” he hums again, breathing hot and sticky against me.
“You taste like berries.” His tongue flicks, slow and deliberate, then retreats just enough to let the cool air kiss my skin. I squirm, breath shallow, legs trembling. He chuckles, warm and terrifying. “Sensitive,” he murmurs, kissing the inside of my thigh. “Are you always this easy to fall apart? Or is it just me?” My fingers clench behind my back, wrists straining against the tie.
I want to move, want to bury my face deeper into the pillow and hide. But he doesn’t let up. Doesn’t give me room to run. “You keep trying to deny it,” he says, brushing his lips just above where I need him. “But I think you like it when I play with you. When I talk to you like this,” His voice lowers into a dreamy lilt.
He presses a kiss to the spot just above my entrance, maddeningly soft. “And this?” Another kiss, lower now, warmer. “This is mine now.” Then he dips his tongue in again..shallow, teasing, just enough to make my hips jolt. He groans like he’s the one being ruined. “God, you're so sweet,” he whispers. “I could stay here all night, baby. Just like this with you all tied up and spread out.” He grins against me, licks again, slower.
“Bet you’re so confused right now, huh? Poor thing… shaking like you don’t love it, arching like you do.” His thumb brushes the base of my spine, gentle, reassuring, like we’re sharing something soft instead of something sick. “Don’t worry,” he coos. “I’m not mad at you for pretending. I think it’s cute.”
Another kiss. A playful nip. “But I see through you, sweetheart. I always do.” He pulls back just enough to blow warm air against me, making my legs quake. “And when I’m done? You’ll never be able to lie to me again.”
The moment it hits me, I can’t stop it. It shatters through my body like silk torn from the inside out..sudden, deep, humiliating in how good it feels. I choke on a gasp, back arching, toes curling, hands still bound and helpless behind me. And he just moans into me, like my climax is something he can taste, something he’s earned.
My legs twitch, my breath stutters, and I want to close them, to pull away from the pressure of his mouth, but he doesn’t let me. He keeps licking soft, languid strokes that make me flinch with every pass.
“There she is,” he whispers, kissing between my thighs like I’ve just told him a secret. “So pretty when you break.” I whimper, the sound muffled by the sheets, but he only smiles, sitting back slowly, lazily. He gazes down at me like I’m artwork. He's just finished painting half-naked, trembling, used.
“God, look at you,” he breathes. “I should take another picture.” His tone is teasing now, light and slow, high off my reaction. His hands don’t leave me, one stays curved over the swell of my ass, the other trails down, fingertips gliding between my thighs again, drawing lazy circles that make my hips twitch.
“Sensitive?” he murmurs, mock-concerned. “You can’t be done already, baby. Not when I’ve barely started.” He leans over me, chest pressing against my back, lips brushing my ear again. “You feel that? How soft you are now? How open?” A soft laugh. “You gave me that. And now I get to enjoy it.”
His hand slips lower, fingers teasing where I’m still slick, still pulsing. “Don’t worry,” he croons, “I won’t make you come again. Not yet.” He kisses the shell of my ear, then whispers with syrup-thick sweetness, “I just like the way you flinch when I touch you. Like your body knows who it belongs to.” He shifts behind me, breath hitching with a new note of pleasure. I don’t have to look to know, he’s rubbing himself.
I can hear it in the way his breath slows. I can feel it in the way his hand moves against me just enough to keep me open, helpless, and aware. “This is my favorite part,” he sighs, voice rougher now. “When you’ve already come, and you’re too tired to lie. When I can just watch you… and imagine all the other ways I’m going to keep you like this.” He groans softly behind me. “You’re going to let me, aren’t you?” A kiss to my shoulder. Another warm touch between my legs. “You won’t say no. Not when you already said yes with your whole body.”
And now, here I am tied, trembling, still slick from his mouth and raw from my own climax, waiting like prey that wanted to be hunted.
I hear it behind me: the soft slide of a belt, the slow zip of a fly, the crinkle of tension easing from his spine. A sharp, wet sound follows spit, thick and obscene, catching in his palm before a slow, rhythmic stroke begins. I don’t have to look. I feel it in the air. He’s getting ready to take me.
A slow inhale behind me. A reverent exhale.
Then, He speaks.
“You know…” His voice is silk dipped in poison, calm and unbothered. “You really shouldn’t look this pretty when you’re trying not to cry.” His words make my toes curl. He leans forward, pressing the weight of his cock to my entrance, not pushing in yet. Just settling there. Heavy.
“I could paint a picture of you like this,” he whispers. “Tied up. Split open. Waiting for me like a gift you already know belongs to me.” A slow thrust of his hips, not enough to enter, just enough to make me feel the slick drag along my folds. His cock nudges, teases.
“Beg,” he says, softly. “Or don’t. Either way, I’m going to take what I want.”
And with a single, deep push, he slides inside.
My mouth opens in a silent cry. It’s too much.. The stretch is hot and aching, every inch making me feel smaller beneath him. He stills once he’s buried to the hilt. “Feel that?” he breathes, mouth grazing my ear. “That stretch… that ache…” A slow pull out. A cruelly gentle thrust back in. “That’s mine.”
One of his hands cups the base of my spine, a barely-there pressure to keep me still. The other strokes down my side, fingers trailing like he’s reading braille in my bones. His voice remains maddeningly calm, like we’re discussing poetry instead of being split open on his cock.
His rhythm is slow but deliberate now, hips grinding in and out with a possessive control. “Don’t give me that little whimper like you don’t want it.” I can feel him smiling against my skin.
“You think I didn’t see this coming?” he continues, cock dragging slow, deep strokes that make my back arch without meaning to. “You in that tiny skirt. That quiet way you watched me in class. You wanted this….to be ruined like something fragile and sweet. You just needed someone willing to break you the right way.”
He thrusts harder, once. My breath stutters.
“And that’s me, baby.”
His blazer brushes my bare back. The tie digging into my wrist, holding me still as he starts to fuck me in earnest…deep, smooth strokes, like he’s carving his name into my body with every pass.
“Listen to yourself,” he whispers, biting gently at my shoulder. “That sound in your throat? That’s mine. That’s submission.” His thrusts slow again, cruel and controlled. His fingers brush between my thighs, finding the slickness he left behind with his mouth.
“You’re soaked. Dripping like your body knows who it belongs to.”
He rolls his hips in a long, punishing grind. My knees shake.
“Bet you thought you could hide it,” he breathes, voice low and smooth. “But I see everything. Every twitch. Every gasp. Every time you push back just enough to make me think you don’t need this.”
“You do.”
He leans forward again, breath warm against my cheek. “You’re mine now,” he says, a final whisper before he sets a new rhythm. “And after this, you’ll never be able to pretend otherwise.”
His fingers slip between my thighs again and I choke on a sob. The tension coils tight in my belly, unbearable. He circles that spot with maddening gentleness as he thrusts harder again, forcing my body to surrender to the rhythm he sets.
“Say it,” he murmurs, biting at my shoulder. “Say who you belong to.”
I shake my head at first and he laughs, low and cruel. The rhythm falters just long enough to make me whimper at the loss. Then he slams back into me and I scream, gasping, because it’s too much and still not enough.
“Say it.”
My knees buckle. His arm catches my waist and holds me up, tight against his chest. “You,” I gasp. “Yours. I’m—yours.”
His grip tightens. The tie digs in. His thrusts become ragged, brutal, as though the words snapped something in both of us. I cry out again, body shaking, every nerve lit, raw and burning with that final edge.
I shatter.
Clenching around him, shuddering as the orgasm crashes over me, white-hot and consuming. He doesn’t stop. He growls something low and inhuman against my neck and thrusts one last time, deep, buried to the hilt, and goes still with a strangled moan.
His breath is hot and uneven on my shoulder. He doesn’t pull out. Doesn’t untie me. Just leans there, breathing me in, cock still throbbing inside as if claiming every last inch. “You’ll remember this,” he says softly, voice thick with triumph. “Every time you pretend you’re still the good girl.” He presses a kiss to the nape of my neck, almost tender.
“And you’ll know better.”
He stays buried inside me for a long moment, like he owns the silence as much as he owns my body. His chest rises and falls against my back, breath slowing, the weight of him on my back. Then, without a word, he shifts, a deliberate pull of his hips that makes me gasp again as he withdraws, slow and unhurried.
The absence is as much a statement as everything that came before.
I can feel the wet heat between my thighs, dripping down, and I know he sees it too as he stands behind me, fixing his belt with calm, practiced fingers. The quiet click of metal feels obscene in the hush of the room.
“You’re a mess,” he murmurs, amused.
The sound of fabric rustling tells me he’s smoothing his shirt, straightening his blazer. Like none of this shook him. Like he does this all the time. Like he’s already decided this wasn’t a moment, it was a routine.
Then his fingers return to me, to the knot behind my wrists. He undoes it slowly, letting the tie free and it falls away. My arms drop forward, sore and tingling from tension, and I draw a shaky breath. But before I can move, he’s already guiding me, turning me, tilting my body until I’m on my back, sprawled across the bed like something ruined and displayed.
He leans over me, eyes scanning every inch of my flushed skin, from the marks on my thighs to the dazed, wet look in my eyes. His phone is suddenly in his hand. “Look at you,” he murmurs. “Perfect.” The click of the phone is soft, almost delicate. He takes one photo. Just one.
“To add to my collection,” he says, smiling.
My breath stutters again. I feel exposed. Under that gaze.
He leans in, phone still in his hand, and catches my face between his fingers. His thumb strokes my cheek, smearing whatever remnants of tears or sweat are still there, like he’s savoring the aftermath just as much as the act itself. Then he kisses me.
When he finally pulls back, I’m gasping all over again, not from what he did to my body, but from how completely he’s taken over my body. He smiles down at me, brushing hair away from my face, like he already knows what I’m thinking. “You’re mine,” he murmurs, voice low. “And this? This was just the beginning.”
He straightens, adjusts his cuffs, and starts toward the door unhurried, composed, as if what he just did to me was nothing more than a casual conversation. At the threshold, he pauses and looks back one last time. His gaze drags over me, bare and breathless in my own bed, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth. Like he’s proud of what he’s leaving behind.
Then he turns and disappears into the hallway.
The door closes behind him with a soft click, and I’m alone. The only sound left is my own breathing and the faint, lingering echo of everything he did. Of everything I let him do. In my own room. My world. And now it doesn’t feel like mine at all.
My bed’s a mess, sheets twisted, pillows half on the floor, the air still thick with sweat and something darker. The scent of him clings to everything. My wrists burn faintly from the tie, my thighs ache with every shift, and my lips are still swollen from the way he kissed me like he owned me. But it’s the silence afterward that feels the cruelest. No soft words. No reassurance. Just… gone.
Like I was a scene to be acted out. A need to be used up. I lie there on the bed for a long time, staring at the ceiling, letting the heat fade from my skin until I’m just cold. Empty. Slowly, I pull the sheets up over me. Just to hide.
I wake to the alarm’s buzz, head pounding.
For a second I forget why I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck. Then I shift… and the soreness between my thighs reminds me. My stomach knots. I force myself up, push through the routine like a ghost shower, brush, dress. But nothing scrubs him off.
I dress more conservatively than usual, as if fabric could protect me now. As if he didn’t already take everything he wanted. I glance around my room, still disheveled, sheets half-stained with sweat and spit and…My phone buzzes.
Unknown Number
Attached image: Me. Last night. Face dazed. Wrists red. Legs parted. On this bed. My bed. My world was invaded and taken. Below it: “Can’t wait to do this again.” I don’t breathe. The panic starts to slow a cold pulse in the back of my throat. I check the number. No name. No clue. But I know. I know. Then another message, like the first wasn't enough.
Unknown Number:
“If you tell Mrs.So anything… I’ll ruin what little life you have left.”
I drop the phone. My knees go weak and I sink onto the edge of the bed, hands trembling, stomach twisting in knots. The image still burns behind my eyes, not just the photo, but the memory. The sound of his voice. The way he’d said “mine”.
And now… I can't even scream. Because he made sure I wouldn’t.
School feels different now. Like every hallway is longer, every wall closer, every door hiding something I can’t unsee. I walk with my head down, hands cold, shoulders stiff with the weight of pretending nothing happened. But I feel it with every step. The ache in my thighs. The raw burn around my wrists. The phantom pressure of him is still inside me.
I can’t forget.
I move through the morning on autopilot, nodding when I’m spoken to, laughing at things I don’t hear. No one notices. No one ever does. But behind my eyes, everything’s trembling. And beneath my clothes, I’m still wearing last night like a bruise.
I see the back of him first, blazer perfect, hair neat, the same tie he used to bind me now looped neatly around his collar like it doesn’t remember. He’s surrounded by a few guys. Joking. Relaxed. Like he didn’t tear me open the night before and leave me in my own bed like a discarded thing.
I slip into the classroom early and sink into my seat. My hands won’t stop shaking. I stare at the blackboard. I pretend I’m just tired. Mr.Kim claps his hands once. “Partner project time! Random draw, no trading, so don’t ask.”
The names come fast. A blur. My name. “...and Su-Gang,” he says cheerfully. “You two will work together on the bonding unit. Chemistry of connection. Perfect, right?”
There’s light laughter. It cuts through me like a knife. I feel him before I see him, again. The shift in the air. The scrape of a chair pulled beside mine. The warmth of his presence before he even sits. He doesn’t speak right away. Just lets the silence stretch until I almost convinced myself I imagined it.
Then he leans in, breath brushing my ear.
“Told you this was just the beginning.”
I don’t blink. I don’t turn. I just stare at my notebook, empty and waiting, while my pulse pounds in my ears.
I nod when Mr.Kim asks if we’re clear on the assignment. I write the due date like it matters. He’s close enough that his knee brushes mine close enough to remind me I didn’t dream any of it. He’s in my school. In my class. Now assigned to me like some sick joke.
And I realize, right then, with cold clarity: I can’t get rid of him.
He’s not some ghost that will fade. He’s a presence now. Permanent. Invited into my world. My space, my silence, my life..all slowly coiling around him like a noose. After class, I don’t speak. I don’t look at him. I just walk. One foot in front of the other, trying not to run. I turn my phone off. I don’t want to see what else he’s sent.
When I get home, I lock my door and sit on the bed, still unmade from last night. The sheets are crumpled, the pillows still on the floor, the air still holding the memory of his breath, his hands, his voice whispering mine. The room feels smaller now.
I stare at the floor for a long time.
I just sit there, listening to the silence, and realize it doesn’t feel like safety anymore.
약한영웅 characters when you cry while patching them up ˳ ۫ 𓈅
includes class 2 + suho 𔓕 gn!reader 𔓕 w.c 3.4k+
genres — established relationship, fluff, hurt / comfort
click to continue reading! 𔓕 based on this request
warnings. mentions of blood, injuries, bruises, dacryphilia (?), canon-typical violence.
──────── yeon sieun
Baku had called you, his voice was weighed with worry as he told you Sieun was hurt badly and unconscious. Your heart had sunk right there, the world had become blurry. Everything that came out of Baku’s mouth through the phone sounded so far away, as if someone had put your head underwater. you had felt like your legs would give up any second.
You had rushed with some first aid to Eunjang right away, fighting the fidgety feeling and anxiety you felt the entire bus ride. When you reached the secret hangout room you found three of the four boys hurt, one of them— your Sieun, lying down, and unconscious.
You had questioned and scolded them but they knew your anger came from a place of concern. Juntae had said that he and Gotak were fine, he had half-lied. All three of them had come to some unspoken agreement to leave you with Sieun alone to patch him up.
Your chest tightens as you settle near Sieun, slowly moving his hair out of his forehead to look at his wounds. Red bruises abloom on both his cheeks and forehead, gashes on both his cheek bones and a busted lip— just what was he upto?
You start by cleaning his chin and hands with wet wipes. You then disinfect his face and forehead, your breathing becomes heavier. You don't know how to clean his lips properly, after all you're not a medical professional, so you just opt to clean the area around his mouth properly. Your eyes start to burn a little, your heart is getting heavier each passing second.
Sieun’s eyes flicker open, his gaze is far away but he soon notices your presence, you are trying to rip a bandaid out of its packaging. He calls out your name, his voice is shaky and hoarse.
You turn towards him, a wave of relief washing over you as you notice him awake. He tries to get up but you push him down to rest, your attempts are futile as he sits straight anyway. He looks dazed.
“Sieun-ah,” You say, you don't add anything else, unable to think of a proper statement. Your eyes start to burn again, you try to blink it away but instead tears start to trail down your cheek. Sieun mirrors your expression. His eyes redden as tears collect.
“I’m sorry.” He utters, raw and pained. Your chest tightens and a lump forms in your throat.
“It’s okay, I am here now.” You breathe out, your voice is weak despite nothing being okay, you try to be strong.
“No, no, I am sorry.” His words are a little slurred and drawled as repeats. You take his hand in your own, holding it gently, you start to run your fingers over his hand in soothing motions. Your touch is feather light, as if you're afraid that you'll break Sieun. He stops you and grips your fingers lightly with his own, signaling for you to respond. Your vision is getting a little blurred but you hold it in for Sieun’s sake.
“Okay.” You say, your voice is weak. “I accept your apology. Now, let me put this bandaid on you.”
Sieun switches from holding your hand to gripping your sleeve between his fingers. You peel off the wrapper and put the bandaid on his cheekbone gently. Sieun’s eyes start to water. You wipe them with the back of your fingers before they can fall past his under eyes.
“They… your tears… they will burn your wounds. So, stop, okay? There's no need to cry, okay? I am here now.” You speak softly.
You usher him to lay down, his hand holding onto yours firmly. He does not want to let you go. You bring his hand towards your face and press a faint kiss on the back of his hand. His grip loosens slightly as he passes out again.
──────── ahn suho
To say you were pissed would be an understatement. You were beyond angry at this point. As you put a dressing on his forearm, Suho finally breaks the silence.
“Wanna go to noraebang?” Typical Suho. Typical Suho behaviour. Always trying to change the topic.
“No.” You say.
“C’mon, I’ll take you to eat ice-cream after.” He tries to persuade you, taking your hands in his own, entwining softly. Subtly indicating that he doesn't want to talk about this, trying to put on an act to pretend that this never happened.
“No.” You repeat standing your ground.
He pouts as you retreat your hands and continue to apply ointment on his scratches.
“No use in pouting. I thought you were over this shit, beating up people and getting hurt.”
He doesn't respond so you refuse to meet his eyes. You start to apply some gel on the scratches of his face and he starts to pucker his lips, asking for a kiss. You put your palm on his lips.
“Stop it.” He licks your palm instead—? You withdraw your hand and smack him.
Wiping your hand with his uniform, you go back to applying the gel. Suho realises you're both awfully close, your face near his own. He looks at you, your face, how you have a little pout and how your eyebrows are furrowed as you delicately apply the ointment on him.
He notices how your lips tremble a little and your eyes are blinking a lot. Are you holding in your tears?
“Hey.” He holds your wrist. “I’m–”
“What?” You finally break– tears brim and fall out of your eyes. This time, you pretend. You pretend that you are not crying. You try to go back to patching him but his hold on your wrists is too strong.
“Hey, hey.” He utters softly, his voice sounds apologetic.“I’m… sorry. I know I told you I won't do this anymore but… it just happened.”
You bite the insides of your cheeks avoiding his gaze and silently sniffle and Suho’s heart breaks.
“Oh my.” He mutters under his breath, his hands quickly reach your face, palms holding your face like you were some fragile porcelain. His thumbs wipe your tears tenderly.
“I’m sorry, Y/n-ssi.” And with that, he kisses your nose. “It won't… I'll try to make sure it does not happen again.” He kisses your forehead next. “So, now please,” He kisses your philtrum, “Please, stop crying. It breaks my heart to see you like this.”
He continues to kiss your face until you break into giggles.
──────── seo juntae
Juntae looks at you like a puppy kicked by a human, eyes downcast and filled with tears, feeling as though it was something that was his mistake. His eyes don't leave your hands.
You are fuming. Brows furrowed together, you are taking long breaths to calm yourself down. You angrily rip off a medicine’s covering and Juntae gulps.
You turn your face towards him and he looks at you and then, quickly looks away. He feels guilty.
You both are on a bench in a park near the pharmacy you just visited. Juntae got beat up by some bullies and you had dragged him to the pharmacy despite him saying it was okay.
Juntae wonders if you're mad at him. You're not. You know that.
You take off his glasses, gently putting them away. You start to dab away the dirt and blood from his face, your touches are feather light. He winces. He thinks it ticked you off because you stop and discard the cotton ball.
“I know… that it hurts you every time I get…hurt. I'm sorry.” He says, you look away. He's afraid he might lose you if this continues, he doesn't want that to happen ever. He holds your hands, clasping your fingers with his own.
“Please don't be mad at me.” It breaks something inside of you.
Your anger melts and turns into something else. It turns into the tears in your eyes, you hold them in. Your nose feels tingly and your mouth feels strangely wet. Your lips are pursed, you are taking in his words, letting them settle in your mind. They feel heavy. You take a deep breath as the tears threaten to fall. You face him again.
This time the look in your face is not of annoyance but of hurt, your brows are no longer furrowed together, your eyelashes are wet with tears that might fall any second. Juntae feels guilty.
“I am not mad at you.” You say and then it happens. The tears start to cascade down slowly. Juntae’s lips quiver. You take your hands back and wipe your tears.
“I don't know why you think I'm mad at you. I'm just… frustrated about this situation. I worry for you, Juntae-ya. Every few days you show up with these new wounds and bruises, I feel sad. I don't know what you're up to, but…” You stop as you don't know what to say.
Juntae feels as if his insides got ripped out and seared, his eyes start to water instantly at this sight. Just how could he be the reason of your tears?
His hand reaches out hesitant towards you, shaking a little and it finally finds your back. He starts to rub you with one hand and takes out a napkin with another. He uses it to wipe your tears.
“I…am sorry. Please don't cry.”
──────── go ‘gotak’ hyuntak
“Does it cost money to be careful?” You mumble under your breath but they're still loud enough to be heard by Hyuntak. You did it intentionally.
“What? Aren't I supposed to be the one nagging you?” He sounds offended. “And if it really did cost money, you’d be evading–” You respond with a smack on the top of his head before he can even finish.
“Beggars can't be choosers.” You confuse him.
“That's literally not how the saying works. Ah–” You're now pulling his right ear.
“Can you stop abusing me?” He grumbles.
“Can you stop abusing me?” You mock him snottily.
Gotak realises there's no point in arguing with you further so he doesn't say anything. Instead, he looks away as you work on patching him up. You put gauze around his arm and some bandaids over his knuckles. You soon start to clean his face and that's when he finally turns towards you.
A q-tip is between your thumb and index finger layered with some gel, you're gently applying it to the corner of Gotak’s lips. He suddenly becomes hyper-aware about everything and his skin prickles with goosebumps.
Gotak realises that your sole focus is on his lips and blood rushes to his face, his ears reddening with every passing second. This close proximity isn't something that's rare but it's something that's not frequent either. Your dynamic has always been like this—too shy to be close and too committed to be farther than an arm’s distance.
Gotak takes in your features. Your eyes are glassy but focused on his lips and your nose seems a little red. Your bottom lip is between your teeth to stop it from trembling. You look like you're on the verge of crying. Shit.
“So, um…” Gotak starts, his intention is to distract you so you don't end up actually crying.
You hum in response. You finish up taking care of his lip and put away the q-tip in a plastic bag. Gotak looks at you, unable to muster up his words. He should’ve thought before starting to speak!
“So, yeah.”
You look at him incredulously, eyebrows raised but eyes still glassy, tears still sticking to your lashes.
“What?” You say.
You hear Gotak mumble a small Fuck this before he pulls you into his arms. One of his hands snakes through your back to your head, holding it gently. Gotak starts to pat you slowly. He then kisses the crown of your head.
“I’ll be careful next time.”
“Yeah. You better be.”
──────── park 'baku' humin
Baku had showed up to your home bloodied and bruised with his stupid injuries and wounds. You had led him to your living room, your parents weren't home fortunately. You wouldn't have to explain why there was a badly beat up boy in your living space.
This brings you to your current predicament— crouched in front of Baku as he sat on the sofa, cleaning the dried blood clinging to his knuckles. You work in silence and Baku lets you. He doesn't speak and neither do you. You don't ask or question. He doesn't tell you what happened.
But the silence is oh so suffocating. There is a lump in your throat that won't go down now matter how much you swallow and tears are pricking the inner corners of your eyes. After you're done cleaning his hands you settle yourself on the sofa and start to clean his face.
Baku is strong, that is a fact. He never loses, that is another fact. But he is not invincible or immune to getting hurt. He bleeds and bruises just like everyone else. He feels pain too. That is evident in how he winces when you apply cream on his knuckles before you put on a bandaid. That is also evident in the way he hisses in pain when you dab the cut on his face with a cotton ball covered in disinfectant.
It is also evident in the way his heart aches when he notices your hands trembling and your eyes watering. You sniffle involuntarily. Baku wants to scratch his face. His eyes become glassy.
He calls out your name delicately as if it was a glass sculpture that could break if his voice was any louder.
And your tears spill. You bite your bottom lip to try and hold it in but there's no use.
Humin takes the cotton ball from your hand and places it on the center table. His hands wrap around your torso and he pulls you into his embrace. No words are exchanged. Sometimes, words aren't needed to communicate. Actions are enough.
With your head on his chest and his arms around you firmly, he pulls you under his chin. He lets you cry it out. You must be scared after seeing him hurt so badly.
He starts to run soothing circles on your back with his hand until you calm down.
“I’m sorry.” He says finally breaking the silence. “I won't get hurt this badly next time.”
“So you plan on getting hurt again?”
──────── geum seongje
You are everything Geum Seongje is not– quiet, kind and gentle. Maybe that's why you're both together. Opposites attract or something.
But Outside Geum Seongje is different from Inside Geum Seongje. Inside Geum Seongje is reserved just for you. His words don't bite and he kisses with his lips instead of his fists. His eyes don't carry that crazed look, but a look of comfort and relaxation. He's not the adrenaline crazy wolf but a person who seeks softness and love.
One might think Seongje is the antonym of words like love, gentleness, kindness, softness etc. but that would be false. Seongje loves in his own way. He is cruel, yes, but there is certain gentleness when he pulls you into hugs. Geum Seongje knows mercy too. He is not soft like others but his edges and sharpness dull a little every time he's with you.
Maybe that's why he always seeks for you when he's injured. You offer him a quiet haven in your heart for nothing in exchange. You don't judge him. You don't ask questions. You don't look at him with fear or inferiority.
That's why he always crashes at your apartment after a big fight. You patch him up and offer him a warm meal. You offer him warmth no one else ever does.
Seongje looks at you confused. Your eyes are red and flowing with tears as you clean his bloodied knuckles. He does not understand why you're crying. But you look pretty, he doesn't want to question anything.
“I won, you know.” He breaks the silence.
“Yeah, I know.” You say, holding in a sniffle.
“So why are you crying?”
“Because you're hurt?”
Bloodied knuckles, busted lip, a black eye and different reds blooming under his skin on his body.
“You lack a sense of self preservation.” Seongje doesn't reply, he just studies your features. There's something unreadable in his expression. He silently acknowledges what you said as true. He doesn't know what to do when you sniffle and when your tears don't stop.
When you're finally done patching him up, you get up. He holds your wrist.
“The vegetables will get charred.” You say referring to the veggies on the pan you left unattended to focus on Seongje.
“Stay.” The ‘Please’ is left unsaid.
──────── na baekjin
It isn't common for Baekjin to get into fights. And it is more uncommon for him to come back scathed– you see, Baekjin doesn't get his hands dirty. He rarely does so. And it's rarer for him to get hurt. His moves are always calculated and precise, there's no room for surprises or to get hurt for that matter.
So it is quite a moment when Baekjin enters his office with a gash along his cheek, walks towards his desk and crouches down to pull out a first aid box and puts it in front of you on the glass table, calmly. You look at him dumbly.
“Like am I…?” You start but then trail off, because obviously, he meant for you to patch him up.
“I don't see a mirror in here.” Whoa, Na Baekjin can be sarcastic if he wants.
“Then sit down, sir.” And with that Baekjin settles down next to you on the black leather couch of his modest office.
There's distance between you, you gesture with your hands for him to come closer and he follows. You break the distance between you both by pulling his face closer to yourself to inspect his cut and Baekjin notices how your face curls up in pain.
“You’re lucky it wasn't that deep. You’d have to get stitches on your pretty face.” Baekjin doesn't respond to your statement, but his gaze softens. A little smile forms on his face but it dissolves right away.
You start by wiping off the blood that trickled down towards his jaw and Baekjin closes his eyes—feeling your soft touches. One of your hands holding his face while the other wipes away the blood, there is a certain domesticity to this which he cherishes. Not that he would admit out loud. But it's evident in how his shoulders relax a little when you're nearby and how his fingers always try to find yours in the quiet moments when you're alone.
For a second, Baekjin wonders if it was not for the Union, would you two get to be normal? Act like those schoolmates who are dating— holding hands in the hallways, holding hands under the table in the cafeteria and sneaking off to the secluded corners of the school to make out.
He is pulled out of his thoughts when you say something, your voice sounds a little shaky and weak.
“I won't use the disinfectant, it’ll burn too much, so I'll use this cream… instead.”
He sees your eyes brimmed with tears, eyelashes heavy with tears weighing them down. His gaze softens.
“You are crying.” He says in a matter-of-fact tone.
“I am not! Atleast, not yet.”
“You worry for me too much.”
“You say it like it's a bad thing.” Your tears fall.
Ok, fair enough, Baekjin thinks. You're the only one who can get him tongue tied. If he can worry for you, then you can too.
He wipes the tears with the back of his hands, his touch is tender. You hold onto his hand, not letting him take it back, leaning into his touch.
“I love you.” You sniffle. His thumb rubs away another tear.
“I know. I love you too. I won't get hurt again.” He says. His voice doesn't have the edge he uses with others. A special voice just for you.
His gravity pulls you closer, heads tilting in unison, just a few centimetres apar–
A knock and the door opens.
“Am I interrupting something?” Geum Seongje. Motherfucker.
You groan.
Baekjin sighs.
note Ꮺ
longest work till now! i switched to regular font instead of subscript because personally reading text that small for so long strains my eyes. i also posted my stuff on wattpad, so if you use it, please support me on there too!
homework and heart | yeon sieun x neighbour!reader
summary: yeon sieun is just trying to get through a study session without losing his sanity, but his lifelong neighbor makes that impossible—armed with sarcasm, zero personal space boundaries, and a habit of falling asleep on his arm mid-math problem. they argue like enemies, act like friends, and care like something they won’t admit.
author's note: i just know sieun would treat his girl like a delicate flower. everything about him (apart from his psycho tendencies) screams gentleman. the reader is sort of a tsundere or something. wrote this while listening to [ My Love Mine All mine - Mitski] . requests
“your handwriting looks like a drunk spider fell in love with a pen,” she said, peering over si-eun’s shoulder.
si-eun didn’t glance up. “you’ve said that before.”
“yeah, and it hasn’t improved.”
“you’re here for math help, not calligraphy critique.”
“i’m here for the free heating,” she declared, collapsing onto his bed like it owed her rent. “your floor heating is elite. i feel like a warm croissant.”
si-eun exhaled through his nose. “you’re supposed to finish the worksheet i gave you.”
“you’re supposed to stop being a fun vacuum,” she shot back, flipping onto her stomach and burying her face in his pillow. “why do you smell like laundry detergent and sad?”
he ignored that. “that’s page two. the functions review.”
she groaned into the pillow, her voice muffled. “why are you like this?”
“efficient?”
“emotionally unbothered.”
“that’s not a flaw.”
“it is when your only reaction to my suffering is to hand me a pencil.”
she sat up and tossed said pencil at him. he caught it midair without even turning his head.
“show-off,” she muttered.
“you threw it with the force of a butterfly.”
“rude. accurate, but rude.”
they sat in silence for a moment—her pretending to work, him actually working—until she groaned again and fell dramatically across the table, narrowly missing his open notebook.
“i give up. i’m becoming a flower shop cashier. i’ll name the succulents and everything.”
“you hate plants.”
“they hate me first. it’s mutual.”
“finish number five.”
“no.”
sieun said her name.
“make me.”
he leaned back in his chair, expression flat. “do your homework.”
she leaned forward, matching his energy. “make me.”
their faces were inches apart now, eyes locked in a silent, petty standoff.
“childish,” he murmured.
“lifeless.”
“stubborn.”
“robotic.”
“you still haven’t moved.”
“you blinked first.”
“that’s not how this works.”
“says who?”
“says logic.”
she rolled her eyes and dramatically scribbled on the worksheet. “there. number five. happy?”
he checked it. “that’s number six.”
“i hate you.”
“good. now do five.”
she cursed under her breath, then muttered, “you better carry my backpack at my funeral.”
“you won’t need a backpack if you fail this class.”
“then you better carry my coffin. same energy.”
si-eun glanced at her, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
she caught it and pointed. “there. you smiled. admit you like me.”
“i smiled because you said something dumb.”
“same thing.”
they didn’t look at each other after that. not directly, anyway. but she was quietly doing question five, and si-eun casually slid a bag of her favorite snacks across the table like it didn’t mean anything.
like always.
she got up without warning and dropped beside his chair, her chin resting on his arm, body invading his space like it was natural law.
“you need a break,” she muttered.
“you’re distracting.”
“good.”
he didn’t pull away. just let her stay there, still scribbling notes while her cheek pressed against the sleeve of his hoodie.
“you’re going to smudge the ink,” he murmured.
she shrugged. “you’ll rewrite it for me anyway.”
“that’s not how this works.”
she smirked. “isn’t it?”
they stayed like that, the sound of pen on paper and her breathing settling into rhythm.
she, of course, fell asleep fifteen minutes later. head still leaning against his arm, mouth slightly open, clumsy as ever.
si-eun didn’t move.
he just kept writing with one hand, while the other lightly tugged the blanket from the bed to drape over her shoulders.
outside, the sky finally decided to rain.
inside, there was peace—chaotic, uneven, stubborn peace. the kind only the two of them could create. the kind that made sense even when nothing else did.
