#ryeoun x reader

[freakmcnastyy]

Weak Hero Boys x P!Reader Headcanons

Weak Hero Class boys x pregnant!reader (fluff)

Includes: Geum Seongjae,Na Baekjin, Ahn Suho, Yeon Si-eun, Kang Woo-young, Oh Beom-seok, Go Hyuntak, Park Humin (Baku)

Note: This was an anon request! AND GOD, I swear writing — let alone reading — stuff like this makes me feel all kinds of weird. And I wrote each character at a different time of day so they wouldn’t all feel the same. Hope I pulled it off.

⸻

Geum Seongjae

1. The Moment He Finds Out:

Silence. He just stares. Then his lip twitches.

The second you tell him you’re pregnant, Seongjae goes quiet for a few seconds. He looks unbothered on the outside, but you know a thousand things are racing through his head. In that moment, his whole “world” shifts.

“I knew no one else could ever give me something like this.”

He says it softly, but something breaks in his eyes — like the idea of ever letting you go has become completely impossible.

2. Possessiveness:

Obsession. Protection. Paranoia.

He’s not just protecting you anymore, but everything you’re carrying inside you. Even the tiniest bit of stress is enough reason for him to lock you in the house. If someone bumps into you by accident? Seongjae might beat them up in the middle of the street without a second thought.

“I better not see you cry again. I’m dead serious.”

Even the dark circles under your eyes feel like a personal insult to him.

3. Physical Obsession:

He’s obsessed with your belly. Every time he talks to you, his hand goes there like a reflex. At night, he lays his head against it and whispers things to the baby. He starts acting like a “family” way before the baby’s even born — but not in a normal way.

“There’s a piece of me inside you. That means you don’t get to leave. Ever.”

4. Jealousy & Going Insane:

Another guy checking you out while you’re pregnant? Your best friend trying to take you out of the house? It’s all a problem. At some point, he might even try to hide the fact that you’re pregnant altogether.

“Don’t wear that. There’s no reason to show your stomach like that. People don’t need to see. That’s mine.”

5. Random Kindness Spikes:

He’ll suddenly start talking about baby room ideas, sweet little dreams, out of nowhere. In those moments he seems normal, like a regular excited dad — but there’s always a breakdown bubbling underneath.

“If it’s a girl, you can name her. But if it’s a boy… I’ll decide.”

6. Before & After the Birth:

The closer it gets to your due date, the more controlling he becomes. He chooses the hospital, who’s allowed in the room, even the nurse that’s going to be with you.

“If anything goes wrong… someone’s paying for it. Got it?”

And after the birth? He isolates you, the baby, and himself like it’s a three-person world. He wants to build everything from zero — just you three.

“It’s only us now. Everyone else out there is dangerous. What else do I need to do to make you understand that?”

⸻

Na Baekjin

1. When He Finds Out:

Silence. He masks his emotions, but his pupils shake. After you tell him, he holds your gaze — and stays exactly the same. Cold. Serious. Neither happy nor mad. Then he lowers his head a little.

“Is it mine?”

He trusts you. He does. But he still asks — not because he doubts you, but because he wants to believe so bad it physically hurts. And maybe… because he hates himself a little too much.

2. He Doesn’t Say “I Can’t Be a Dad,” but…

Responsibility? That’s not something he’s ever believed he deserved. He tells himself, “Someone like me can’t raise a child.” But he still parks outside your place every night, just watching. Making sure nothing happens.

“Don’t be alone. I’m behind you like a shadow — just act like I’m not there.”

3. His Way of Protecting You:

Silent. Brutal. Shadowed. Baekjin never publicly claims you. But anyone who threatens you? They start disappearing one by one. He’s given a silent order across the whole Union.

“If anyone even thinks about getting close to her — they better have their grave ready.”

4. How He Sees the Pregnancy:

It’s guilt mixed with obsession. When he sees your belly, his eyes freeze for a second. Because there’s a life inside you — his life — and he’s still struggling to believe something so pure could come from someone like him.

“If I were someone cleaner… maybe we could’ve really had this together.”

Still, his hands always go to your stomach. Every time he touches you, it’s careful. Gentle. Like he thinks you might break.

5. He Cuts You Off From the World:

The closer it gets to your due date, the more he isolates you. Friends? Family? Opinions? None of it matters to him.

“I don’t care what anyone says. If something happens to you… I’ll burn the f*cking world down.”

6. “Family” Becomes Real for the First Time:

Baekjin never had warmth growing up. Never had a real home. But now? Now the idea of building a house — not a place, but a feeling — with you and the baby is something he clings to in the dark. One night, he says without thinking:

“If someone had hugged me growing up… maybe I could’ve loved as good as you do.”

7. After the Baby’s Born:

He’s a wall. Cold, distant. But always there. He won’t hold the baby and coo over it, no. But he stands by the crib at night while you sleep, silently watching the tiny hand curled around his finger.

“Would it be okay… if I picked the name?”

⸻

Ahn Suho

1. When He Finds Out:

Shocked. Eyes wide. “Wait, what? Are you serious?! We’re PREGNANT?!”

At first, it doesn’t compute. He asks you to repeat it like three times. Then his hands start shaking. He might even tear up.

“I’m… I’m gonna be a dad? For real?!”

His first reaction is pure joy — mixed with straight-up panic. He wants to pick you up and spin you around, but the moment you say “Stop, I’m nauseous!” he freezes and immediately puts you down.

2. Ridiculously Affectionate:

He flips into “mom mode” in two seconds. Tries cooking for you, watches YouTube videos on pregnancy massages, double-checks every corner of the house like “is this safe for her? for the baby?”

“No more junk food. Less salt. Sit down, feet up. This baby’s not stressing you out!”

3. Fighting His Own Demons:

Deep down, he thinks, “I didn’t have a good childhood… what if I mess this up too?”

But he never says it out loud. He just holds you at night and whispers to your belly:

“If I raise this baby with someone like you… maybe I won’t mess it up.”

4. Emotional Rollercoaster:

Your hormones? Yeah, his are worse. You cry, he cries. You snap, he sulks — but then brings you a fruit bowl with a pouty face. One time, you probably ended up ugly crying together while eating stuffed grape leaves.

5. Silent Jealousy:

If he sees you talking to another guy? His whole vibe shifts. He won’t say anything, but the pout, the slumped shoulders, the quiet little stares — they’re all there.

“Go out if you want, just… wear something warm. And text me. At every step. I just— I worry, okay?”

6. The Birth Itself:

Sweating. Shaking. Crying. Loving. If they let him in the room, he’s right there, holding your hand like it’s the only thing keeping him alive. If they don’t — he’s on his knees outside the door, praying like his whole soul’s in it.

“You’re both okay, right? Please… that’s all I need.”

⸻

Yeon Si-eun

1. When He Finds Out:

His brain literally freezes for a second before it starts processing. When you say “I’m pregnant,” Si-eun just stares at you in silence. No yelling. No running. No hugs. His hands tremble a little.

“How long has it been? Are you okay? How many weeks?”

He hides his emotions — but every question screams, “I’m scared to death of losing you.”

2. Switches to Practical, Strategic Dad Mode:

Hospital? Booked. Doctor? Researched. Nutrition? Charted. Stress? Monitored.

“You’re not eating anything on this list. I’m serious.”

But also:

“But… if you’re craving something… I kinda snuck in a little chocolate. Please don’t be mad.”

3. He Suppresses Emotion, But Never Leaves You Alone:

He didn’t grow up with love, so he genuinely has no clue how to treat you or the baby. But one thing’s for sure: he’s not going anywhere.

He’s not the jealous type — but he is controlling. He won’t say “who did you hang out with?” but he’ll definitely check your phone later and mentally profile anyone who could hurt you.

“Don’t see anyone who might stress you out. Please. Not for me — for our child.”

⸻

Kang Woo-young

1. When He Finds Out:

Silence. Eyes on the floor. Then suddenly, his breath catches. He doesn’t say a word at first — just stares blankly. But if you look closely, you’ll see he literally forgot how to breathe.

“…I’m gonna be a dad?”

His voice shakes, but he tries to play it off. His jaw clenches.

“Okay. I’ll… I’ll figure this out. Just give me a little time.”

And then he leaves — not because he doesn’t care, but because he never planned to build a family. It was always just you and him. But later that night, he comes back. Finds you asleep, puffy-eyed from crying. Slips into bed behind you, holds you tight, buries his face in your neck.

“Don’t ever think you’re alone. No matter what… I’m here.”

2. Shows Love Through Actions, Not Words:

He can’t cook soup, but he’ll leave water by your bed every night. He can’t write you poetry, but he’ll tie your shoelaces without a word. And the first time your belly starts to show, his eyes well up.

“God, this is so weird. But so beautiful.”

3. Protection Style:

Quiet But Deadly.

Someone bumped into you? Woo-young doesn’t say a word. But a few days later, you’ll hear that guy got beat half to death in some underground ring.

He promises no more fights — “for the baby.” But of course he still does it.

4. Obsessed With Your Belly — But Too Shy To Show It:

His eyes keep drifting to your stomach when he talks to you. But he’s too shy to touch it. One night, you place his hand there — and he literally forgets how to breathe. His fingers tremble.

“Did you really love me this much?”

That night, for the first time, he rests his head on your belly and whispers for hours:

“Don’t be like your mom. She’s too soft. This world’s harsh.”

5. Emotional Breakdowns: Silent Crying:

As your pregnancy progresses, every time he feels like he’s not doing enough, tears fall. But he hides in the bathroom so you won’t see.

“I have to be strong. For both of you.”

6. Day of the Birth:

Looks like he just stepped out of a street fight. Doesn’t yell at the doctors, but the fire in his eyes says enough.

7. Fatherhood:

He can’t stop the baby from crying. Can’t change a diaper right. But every single night, he stays up beside the crib. He lets you cry in his lap without saying a word.

“You don’t have to be scared. I’m right here. Always.”

⸻

Oh Beom-seok

1. When He Finds Out:

Stares blankly. He thinks you’re joking at first.

“Wait… are you serious? From me? Like, really…?”

Then his voice breaks. His eyes fill up, but he tries not to cry. Honestly? His world crashes down. Because his dad… well, you know. And it’s not about what’ll happen to him — it’s the fear of something happening to you or the baby.

“I’m gonna… be a dad?”

His voice cracks saying it. Because his father made sure the word “dad” left a scar on his soul.

2. Wants To Run — But Can’t:

In his head: “I’m someone who doesn’t know love, who grew up on violence, who shuts everyone out. What do I have to do with someone like you?”

But leaving you would be death to him. So instead, he goes quiet. Closes in on himself.

“I don’t want to hurt you… so I might keep my distance for a while. But I won’t leave. I promise.”

3. Blames Himself Deeply:

Lays in bed staring at the ceiling every night.

“What if I turn out like him? What if I am him?”

4. Hyper Emotional, Super Fragile:

Every time you’re tired, he blames himself. Don’t feel like eating? He tears up, thinking he messed something up.

“I can’t stand seeing you upset. I’ve already been so awful… don’t turn into me.”

To him, your pregnant body feels sacred. Sometimes he can’t even touch you.

“You’re carrying something inside you now. I don’t even wanna accidentally hurt you. I’m scared.”

6. The Birth:

He breaks. Shaking. Sitting in some hospital hallway, hands covering his face, sobbing like the world’s ending.

“Please… God, please don’t take her from me.”

7. Fatherhood:

Slow, but deeply tender. Doesn’t know how to hold a baby. But watches over yours every second of the night. Talks to the baby while you sleep.

And one day, watching the two of you together — he smiles. For the first time. A real, slow, genuine smile.

“I thought I had no place in this world. But… you gave me a room in it.”

⸻

Go Hyun-tak

1. When He Finds Out:

This man goes feral. In a good way. Just stands there with this shocked, joy-filled smile, completely speechless. Then suddenly:

“Wait WHAT? OUR baby? PROJECT LEBRON JAMES BEGINS!”

2. Protective Soft Side Comes Out:

He shows up for every single doctor’s appointment. Tries to learn everything he can. At home, he leaves little surprises — hot soup, a fruit plate, a stack of pillows. But he does it shyly, almost embarrassed.

“You feeling okay matters more to me than anything.”

3. His Excitement Is Contagious:

Shopping for the baby? He treats it like a mission. Toys, clothes, the perfect paint color for the nursery — he’s got opinions.

“Our baby’s gonna sleep in the nicest room on the block, alright?”

4. Tiny Panic Attacks — But He Bounces Back:

He sometimes spirals like “what if we’re not ready?” But then breathes in, looks at you, and says:

“We’re in this together. No matter what. We’ve got this.”

5. Jealousy Is Soft & Silly:

Sees you chatting with another guy? Pouts a little. Then immediately smiles again.

“Sorry… I just. You’re kinda my whole world.”

6. Birth Time = Full Support Mode:

He’s right beside you, holding your hand, hyping you up with every push.

“You’re strong. I’m right here.”

When the baby cries for the first time, he’s standing right there, trying to feed it with trembling hands.

“Look at our tiny Lebron James.”

7. Dives Into Dad Life Fast:

He’s hungry to learn. Wakes up for every night feeding, writes down every little milestone.

“We’re building something new. You, me, and our baby. It’s gonna be amazing.”

⸻

Park Humin (Baku)

1. When He Finds Out:

He screams. For real. Like he just scored the game-winning goal in the final second. Pure, goofy, chaotic happiness.

2. A Little Insecure:

His relationship with his dad? Yeah. Complicated as hell. He’s terrified of telling him, and even more scared he might turn into him. Just like Beom-seok, he fears becoming a bad father.

3. Quiet, Emotional Protection:

With you? He’s tough. Out in public? He smiles and holds your hand like you’re fragile glass.

“No one’s touching you. Baku’s right here.”

But when he’s alone, his chest aches with the memories of his dad.

4. Tiny Surprises & Care:

You’re tired? He sets up cute little things around the house. Brings your favorite dessert. Buys fresh chicken from your favorite spot.

“I know this isn’t easy… but we’ve got this. Together.”

5. Jealousy & Trust:

Sees you talking to other guys? His eyes tear up — but he never says a word. Keeps it buried.

“Just… understand me, okay? I just wanna protect you.”

6. During Birth:

Nervous as hell but stands strong. His palms sweat like crazy, but he holds your hand the whole time.

“You’re gonna be okay. You and the baby — you’re both okay.”

7. Fatherhood:

Soft. Steady. Scared. But loving. He’s clumsy at first, scared to touch the baby. But he never leaves your side. Stands by the crib every night.

“I’m not just here for you anymore. I’m here for them too.”

[oyasumiaikko]

I saw ur taking requests so hear me out!!! Virgin baku and virgin reader not being ready to fully have sex yet…so dryhumping. Dryhumping is a dying art we need to bring it back

hot and bothered

park humin (baku) x fem! reader (one shot) 18+ | whc 2 ★

pairing: park humin (baku) x fem! reader

wc: 2.2k

warnings: sexual content (minors dni !!), intended lowercase, usage of y/n, established relationship, reader and baku being really awkward and lowkey pathetic in an adorable way together lol

genre: smut (dry humping only, not direct intercourse)

(gotak’s version of this request can be found here ♡.)

summary: when you and your equally inexperienced, sweet, hopelessly-in-love boyfriend baku end up alone together in his room, the quiet, simmering frustration of wanting each other only grows hotter with every passing minute — until neither of you can hold back anymore, and you finally decide to do something about it.

author’s note: i’m so silly writing a scenario set in summer during the christmas season lololol. i’m literally freezing rn bhaha. anyways, this is basically my first proper smut so far, so hopefully it won’t disappoint (ᵕ—ᴗ—) likes, comments, and reblogs are highly appreciated, thank you 💌 !!

you and baku had been dating for a while now, and honestly, the two of you were impossible. anyone who spent even five minutes around you could tell it was the first relationship for both of you.

you got stupidly giddy over matching outfits. baku even bought you matching phone cases without a hint of embarrassment. you wore baku’s jersey with his number to every match like the proudest, most lovestruck fan. and the two of you insisted on feeding each other at lunch to the absolute horror of everyone watching.

and when you and baku finally had your first kiss? he spent the next month talking gotak’s ear off about it, replaying every second until gotak crashed out, saying that if he’s gonna hear one more word about that kiss, he’s gonna make sure baku has no mouth to kiss with ever again in the first place. (so dramatic lol)

yeah… you both were idiots in love. inexperienced, clueless, and so ridiculously down bad for each other, so much it almost hurt to look at.

but with all that inexperienceness came also this… awkward energy between you and baku.

you two were, in general, pretty comfortable around each other. for example, you walked around his room barefoot like you lived there your whole life, he didn’t even think twice before burping in front of you, you’d ask him to buy you sanitary products when you got bad period cramps, and such. all of this was silly but at the same time it created these strangely intimate moments that you wouldn’t share with anyone else, besides each other.

however, there still was this unsure lingering feeling between you despite all of that — this constant quiet question mark. was it okay for him to rest his hand on your thigh under the table? was it okay for you to kiss him when he was getting sleepy? could you let your hands wander over his abs without crossing some invisible line? would you get mad at him if his eyes dipped to your chest for a second longer than they should?

you two wanted each other, really badly. that much was obvious. but neither of you were sure how to… approach any of it. how to talk about it without instantly combusting from sheer embarrassment. how to be bold when your hearts were beating loud enough for the whole world to hear.

so you danced around it. shy, flustered, aching. simply hoping the other would make the first move.

and well, tonight was the night that baku decided to man up. or well, decided was a strong word. it was more like… he just couldn’t resist his own impulses anymore.

it was a hot summer night, the kind where the air sticks to your skin and everything feels a little too overwhelming.

baku’s dad had his own plans that evening, leaving you and baku alone in his room. you two were “watching” some movie on his laptop, sitting shoulder to shoulder on his bed, the glow of the screen brushing over your faces. but neither of you were actually concentrating on the plot of the movie, not even a little bit.

your eyes kept drifting to baku’s hands. those strong, muscular hands, veins running up his forearms, looking unfairly good in the short-sleeved t-shirt he had thrown on.

and baku… well, he kept trying really, really hard not to stare at the soft, exposed skin of your thighs peeking out from your shorts, but he failed miserably.

you were both getting warmer by each minute. the air felt heavy, charged with something unspoken. every tiny movement — the brush of your knee against his, the shift of his arm beside you — sent sparks shooting up both your spines.

tonight, something had to change.

and baku knew it.

his heart was pounding so loud, he was pretty sure you could hear it. and well, you weren’t any better yourself to be fair.

baku gulped loudly, mentally preparing himself for what he needed to say, no, what his whole body was basically begging him to say at this point.

“um… y/n? can we pause the movie for a minute?” he asked, smiling awkwardly.

you nodded immediately, your cheeks already warm. you wanted to blame it on the heat, but deep down you knew it wasn’t the weather at all — it was because your own fantasies about humin had been spiraling the moment you stepped foot inside his room tonight.

baku leaned forward to pause the movie, staying hunched over his laptop for a second, taking one long steadying breath before turning back to you.

“i don’t really know how to say this without sounding… weird. or like a perv, but—” he didn’t get to finish his sentence, as you placed your trembling hand over his. “i— i know what you’re thinking,” you whispered, your voice shaking “i… feel it too, humin.”

baku went red instantly. there was a beat of silence until… “okay, so… now that we both know we’re horny, what do we do—”

“lord, humin, don’t say it like that!” you yelped, throwing your hands over your face in pure mortification. baku burst into loud laughter immediately, gently pulling your hands away so he could see your expression.

“i’m sorry! but i’m nervous too!” he insisted, cheeks flushed, eyes bright. “you make my body feel all weird and excited and i wanna make you feel good too but i… i don’t know how, you know? and neither gotak, sieun, or juntae have any game with the ladies, so i can’t exactly ask any of them for advice.” he let out a breath, shoulders sagging in shy frustration. “i just… i don’t wanna mess this up with you.”

you let out a tiny breath you didn’t even realize you were holding and shuffled a little closer to him until your knees brushed his.

“you’re really sweet, you know?” you mumbled, eyes flicking to your hands tangled with his “i don’t wanna mess this up with you either, humin…”

your fingers slipped between his a bit tighter — a quiet i want this too. he squeezed back instantly, like he’d been waiting for any excuse to touch you at the moment.

“let’s just… take it slow, okay?” you said, your voice going soft at the edges. “i mean, we don’t have to go all in tonight. it’s not like this is the last time we’re gonna—” you cut yourself off, cheeks heating up. “y’know…”

that made him giggle, this breathy nervous sound that somehow made your stomach flip even more. “i’m really a lucky guy, huh? having a pretty girl in my room admitting to wanting to sleep with me multiple times.”

you nudged him with your shoulder, trying (and failing) to look annoyed. “shut up… i’m trying to be serious.”

you hesitated, then leaned even closer, your voice dropping without you meaning it to.

“i just meant… we can start slow. like… just touching. figuring each other out.” the last words came out barely audible. “exploring.”

baku’s breath hitched and he looked at you like you’d just knocked the air out of him. “yeah,” he whispered, nodding a little too fast. “okay. yeah. i… i want that. i want you.”

you nodded at his words, heart thumping, and leaned in to kiss him first. baku practically melted the second your lips touched, like every ounce of tension he’d been carrying just slipped right out of him. his hands slid away from yours so they could settle at your waist, warm and hesitant, while your fingers came up to hold his face and pull him deeper into the kiss.

it didn’t take long before it stopped being a simple kiss and became… well, more. slow and messy, breathy little noises slipping out when either of you got brave enough to move your mouth a bit differently. the whole room felt too warm, too quiet except for those soft, desperate sounds that neither of you could control.

when baku finally pulled back, both of you were breathing like you’d just ran a marathon. his cheeks were flushed, lips a little swollen, eyes glued to yours before flicking down for a split second.

“it… it feels really tight…” he whispered, voice cracking at the end. he swallowed hard, embarrassed, and gave the smallest nudge of his head towards his shorts, like he couldn’t bring himself to say anything more than that.

you let out a shaky breath, your eyes flicking down before you could stop yourself — and yeah, the sight definitely did not help with the warm, aching pressure building between your own thighs. your face felt hotter than before, if that was even possible.

“o-okay… let’s… let’s try this.” you whispered, barely being able to hear your own voice over your heartbeat.

baku froze when you shifted closer, his hands flying to your hips automatically like he needed to steady you — or himself. he wasn’t sure. and then, with this hesitant little swallow, you moved to straddle him, settling over his lap clumsily, nervously, like you were both learning how to breathe for the first time.

his eyes widened, pupils blown, mouth parted like he couldn’t believe you were actually doing this. his fingers tightened just a little, careful, scared to push too far, but unable to hide how badly he wanted you to do something about the ache in his pants.

“y-y/n…” he whispered, voice cracking “this is… i’m gonna lose my mind.”

you felt your own breath stutter, leaning in so your forehead touched his, both of you shaking.

the moment you felt him poke you underneath, you let out a small strangled moan — which was already more than enough to send baku over the moon.

you took a few breaths, as you gathered courage to continue and then you wrapped your hands around his neck. slowly, you started grinding yourself against his clothed cock, chasing pleasure for the both of you.

baku tried really hard to sustain his own moans, but it was all pointless — at the end of the day baku was known to be quiet the talker.

“y-y/n this… this feels so good—“ he’d whisper, as he threw his head back and let his hands wander a little lower to rest on your ass, giving your cheeks a light squeeze.

you leaned into him even more, your chest pressed tight against his own, as you tried to speed up a little, your mind clouded by pleasure.

for so long you dreamed about being this close to humin, the amount of times you tried to get rid of that heat between your legs by using your own pathetic hands in the dim lighting of your room, when all you truly needed was this — humin’s hard cock against you, his grunts in your ear, and his hands touching you wherever he pleased.

and humin? he was in heaven. he swore to god he had never felt so good, and the fact that this wasn’t even the whole package of what sexual life offers, already made him feel overwhelmed.

through his half-lidded eyes he’d glance down at the mess you were creating while endlessly grinding yourself against his body and he let out the deepest groan known to mankind at the sight in front of him — your cute shorts soaked wet, right where his hard on was resting against you, shaking as you kept chasing your high.

the moment humin pulled his head back up, he used one of his hands to push your head closer to him, kissing you passionately, teeth clashing together, his tongue basically vacuuming your whole mouth, which made you let out even more moans, that he found to be his favorite sound in the world from now on.

“h-humin i’m so close…” you’d breath out desperately against his lips, as you yanked your shirt over your head, feeling too hot, leaving you just in your bra. everything was too much for you at the moment.

and baku couldn’t complain at the sight — beautiful girl with swollen lips from his kisses, flushed cheeks, pussy wet against his leaking cock, now just in her bra? he was praying this wasn’t one of his wet dreams at the moment, as he took in your whole appearance.

“c’mon pretty girl, please… let yourself go. i-i can’t get enough of you…” he’d whisper, as he’d try to grind against you himself, which would make you let out another loud moan, as you picked up your pace.

it didn’t take you even five minutes when you fell apart on humin’s lap, his hands steadying you once more by your hips, as you completely laid down on his chest, breathing hard, your orgasm completely washing over you.

baku rutted against you pathetically few more times till he felt his own release approaching. “oh fuck…” he’d grunt out, as he held you tight in his arms and let himself finally relax as well, the tension of arousal leaving his body.

the cum stain wasn’t huge just on your shorts now, but on baku’s too — which he felt rather proud of. he was about to say that he’d never wash them again, meaning to sound sentimental at first, but upon realizing how gross it’d actually sound, he changed his mind, letting the silence settle between the two of you.

as baku held you against him, steadying you while you came down from your high, he looked down at you with this stupidly sweet smile.

“you good, sweets? need water? anything?” he murmured, fingers slipping into your hair and gently combing through it like he couldn’t help himself.

you barely managed to lift your head, still dazed and warm and kind of floating, before you shook it lightly and tried to curl even closer into him.

“no… just want you close…”

“your wish is my command.” he laughed quietly, pressing a soft kiss to your hairline.

you let out a tiny breath, cheek smooshed against his chest “i didn’t even know stuff like this could feel that intense… it was unreal…”

baku’s cheeks went warm as that dreamy, lovestruck look took over his face again. “oh yeah, tell me about it…” he muttered, honestly just as overwhelmed as you.

fin.

if you’d be interested in reading more of my work make sure to check out my weak hero masterlist !! ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭

🏷️ tag list @rinswirls @flowersandsuch111 @chxrrybomb22 @bubblydrpepper @serelune7 @aliceskzfan @imaoboredlol @stxr-lilac @moonzyu @stxrxyyz @shumous @tuneinwlosers

[slytherinshua]

☆　EYES FULL OF STARS　( 박후민 )

genre hurt/comfort , baku x fem!reader   cw spoilers for weak hero class 2 (fic takes place sometime during ep 6) , injuries (cuts and bruises) , not proofread   wc 800   request yes   note there's no one more obsessed w ryeoun's big beautiful eyes than me i could post a gifset of baku later (i did make this gif just for the fic tho ejkfjkd)   net @kstrucknet

You don’t remember much before you blacked out. Union guys threatening you, some with weapons, some just with words. Na Baekjin asked you where Baku was. You wouldn’t tell him. Maybe you should have risked his safety to protect yours. He was physically stronger, a skill fighter, and smart in these kinds of situations. He would’ve handled it, like he always did. But he was pushed between a rock and a hard place, and you just wanted to give him a break for even one day.

After he had refused to continue doing Baekjin’s little tasks, he came to stay with you. No one knew about you. At least, Baku thought no one knew about you. It wasn’t hard for the Union to track you down, figure out the connection between you two, and use you as leverage to get to Baku. Baekjin freely used your boyfriend’s friends and father, and now you.

You attended a completely different school; only saw Baku on some days of the week. You kept yourself out of the trouble the guys were facing. Baku didn’t want you to get involved in any way, and only told you the least concerning parts of what was happening. It shouldn’t have to concern you what mess Eunjang High was facing. It was his job to deal with it. He never thought Baekjin would somehow get his hands on you.

When Baku got the impudent call from Baekjin asking if he would still refuse to do what he wanted when they had you hostage, he saw red. More than a few faces left bloodstained that night. Baku left with you in his arms. 

You stirred in his arms halfway back to your apartment, groaning in pain and blinking your eyes open. He walked a little slower and held you a little tighter. 

“Baku… I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. I should’ve made sure they never got to you. It’s on me for thinking they wouldn’t find you,” he sighed, gulping down the guilt and trying to find the means to smile. For you. 

“Hey… I’m okay. You got me now,” you closed your eyes again, smiling through the exhaustion and pain. Being in your boyfriend’s arms always gave you a sense of comfort. Even when you had bruises all over your body and multiple cuts. Even when you could still picture it all fresh in your mind. 

Baku had the basic first aid kits in his room, along with plenty of bandages he was used to applying by himself. He made sure you were comfortable on his bed before starting to inspect where all your injuries were.

“Tell me honestly. How badly did you beat them up?” you asked, nervous for the answer. Baku knew not to cross the line, but there was no one he was more protective over than you. As soon as you got hurt, all sense went out the window. You could imagine the levels he could reach to get back at them. 

“They’re all still alive,” he said carefully, flashing you a reassuring smile that did nothing to curb your worries.

“Park Humin.”

He frowned, hands pausing their unwrapping of a large bandage. “Don’t call me that.” 

“Baku,” you corrected, your voice softer this time. “Violence isn’t the answer for violence.”

“It’s the only language they understand,” he said simply. “I don’t like it either. You know I’d never fight someone unnecessarily,” he reached for your hand, the gentle squeeze he gave you enough to relax your tense muscles. 

“I know. I just don’t want you to get hurt too.”

He nodded, “I’ll make sure I don’t then, okay?” He smiled; the kind of big grin that you could always count on to make you feel better. 

“Okay,” you smiled as well. More tentative and held back than Baku, like you knew that the situation was much more complicated than promises to not get hurt could suffice for. But you chose to let his words silence your anxiety for a while. For the current moment, you were both safe. That was all that mattered. 

“Let’s get you bandaged up,” Baku got back to work, disinfecting any scrape or cut and covering them with carefully placed bandages. Each time you winced from the pain, he would kiss you gently, and by the end of it, the pain wasn’t so bad anymore. 

Some people only saw your boyfriend as loud and overbearing, while others feared his physical strength. Most students at Eunjang High respected him, but rarely did they ever get to know him. Few knew the challenges he faced, and even fewer knew how caring he truly was. 

But you knew him inside out, and if there was ever anyone who you would stick by for the rest of your life, Baku was just that. 

k-drama taglist (bolded could not be tagged): @eternalgyu,, @wolfmoonmusic,, @cha3w0n-hearts,, @candewlsy,, @cosmicwintr,, @blossominghunnie,, @parkjennykim,, @seunghancore,, @emmylksblog,, @bananabubble,, @hrtsvivis,, @hursheys,, @lexeees,, @cupidslovearrows

[celestialhymns]

WHAT AM I TO YOU? ❛ 메아리만 맴도는 방에 ❜ ꒦꒷

─────────────────────────────────

synopsis‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ :‎ ‎ ‎ wherein you part ways with words too bitter and too heavy . . .﹆ׂׂʚ ❪🌃☁️🌑❫

〔 𝐚𝒓𝒅𝐨𝐮𝐫 〕 ｡ 𝗽𝗮𝗿𝗸 '𝗯𝗮𝗸𝘂' 𝗵𝘂𝗺𝗶𝗻 x 𝒇!reader 𖦆‎ 2537THOU ‎ ‎ ‎💭 ‎ ‎ ‎ req? yes! ‎ ‎ ──‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 𝗵𝘂𝗿𝘁 𝗻𝗼 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗳𝗼𝗿𝘁 , mentions of violence , 𝗲𝘀𝘁｡ 𝗿𝗲𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗽 , mentions of seongje's bitchass 忧 / 나 혼자서만 떠돌아 내내

⌗ note‎ ‎ ‎ :‎ ‎ it's been marinating for so long, and i still don't feel like it's good enough. unfortunately, this is my blog and i can post it even if its bad. it's kinda related to my first baku oneshot (also my first post!!) that i posted here. crying baku. luv it. im posting this at 12am so im not checking this before i post it. gnight yall

ʚ(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )ɞ for my beloved ♥︎ [ @soovues ]

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ☆ ‎ REBL0G4K1SS

you waited inside the warm room anxiously. you checked your phone every few minutes, checking the time as you waited for him to come home. you were particularly grateful his father was around at this moment, because it would've only been harder for you had he been here.

you had even finished cleaning his room, putting away the cups and making his bed. and now all you could do was wait.

when you left your house earlier today, you knew exactly what you were going to do. you strengthened your resolve because you couldn't do this any longer. you couldn't look him in the eye and hide everything you were doing when he wasn't looking. or rather, you couldn't keep lying.

as you heard the door open in the distance, you instinctively stood up. though you couldn't see him, you knew he was taking his shoes off and hurrying to the bathroom to wash his face and hands before he saw you. you didn't have to see him to know what he was doing.

once the faucet turned off, humin entered the room with a huge grin on his face as he embraced you in a tight hug. you cherished his touch for what would probably be the last time and hugged him back, fingers caressing his back gently.

as he pulled away, he smiled at you brightly, but you could see the look in his eyes. he was nervous, anxious even. perhaps the way you texted him, 'we need to talk', did the damage, but humin knew either way that something was wrong. and you weren't sure how he'd take it. you were still fidgeting with the sleeves of your cardigan as you sat down next to him on his bed.

"so, that thing you mentioned earlier," humin began, "what did you want to talk about?"

you swallowed hard, as you mentally prepared yourself to explain the situation to him. so you began talking, right from the very start.

─────────────────────────────────

a few weeks ago, the union successfully took over your school, seowon high school. naturally, the bullies were thrilled to find out. everyone was aware that the union paid well, that is, if you play your cards right. the existing school violence that didn't usually affect you suddenly became overwhelming. anyone who kept to themselves immediately became a target. and then phones started going missing, and people would come back to their class only to find out that their money had been stolen.

when this became a daily occurrence, you knew you had to do something. you had already gotten your money stolen a few times, but things were gradually escalating within the school. luckily, you managed to find out exactly who had been taking your money and ended up in a confrontation outside of school. you had hoped to avoid this, but before you knew it, you were already throwing hands with a girl. both of you got pretty fucked up, but she had more people, so you were obviously on the more fucked side.

but you got lucky, very lucky. a man happened to see the whole thing. before her friends could give it another shot, he interrupted, "a one v four doesn't seem quite fair, does it?"

the girls stopped before they could throw another punch, as he walked into the alley, a cigarette lit between his lips, "your leader has already given up. do you really think you stand a chance?" he sighed, flicking the cigarette butt onto the ground and crushing it beneath his feet, "get going. continue this another time, hm?"

you recognised him from the glasses and the bright orange jacket and everything baku had told you about him. geum seongje. na baekjin's right-hand man and the psycho who'd beat people to a pulp if they dared to look at him for more than three seconds. he waved his hand at the girls, and they helped their leader up and headed out. if they wished to continue in the union, they'd better not piss him off.

he watched quietly as you got up slowly, limping slightly after you took a hit to your leg. "you're pretty good."

when you stayed silent, he chuckled, "well, when it comes to defending yourself, that is. that won't be very effective in a fight. you need to be able to land a hit in a fight, just defending isn't enough."

"what do you want?"

he smiled widely, "i was hoping you'd ask. you see, we think you'd make a good fit for the union."

you threw your backpack over your shoulder and stared him down for a moment, "do you know who i am?"

seongje nodded, "i do. you're dating baku, right?" he scoffed, glancing at the blood on your knee, "does it matter?"

"if you know that, why would you want me to join the union?"

"the same reason baekjin wants baku to join the union," he said, stepping closer, "besides, aren't you tired of having to be careful around your classmates every day? you could be the one they walk on eggshells around, if you join the union."

you scoffed, "you have to be completely out of your mind to think i'd ever do that."

"i guess. either way, if you change your mind, let me know."

"i won't."

"we'll see about that." seongje walked away, leaving you alone.

as you walked home, you found yourself thinking about what he said earlier. joining the union didn't sound so bad, but if baku was strongly against it, he must have a good reason. you had been subject to his monologues about how he regretted teaching baekjin, his childhood friend, how to fight. he only wanted the boy to learn how to defend himself. but he had made a mistake.

even though you saw him that day, you didn't tell him anything about what happened. not about the fight or about seongje. you knew he could sense something was wrong, but he didn't push it when you kept insisting it was nothing.

though he didn't believe you, he let it be.

and for a while, you thought you'd be alright. that you could just keep defending yourself against bullies, but the final straw came when you received a call from the hospital, only to find out one of your closest friends had been hospitalised due to a head injury. you rushed to the hospital as soon as you could and found your friend on a bed, barely holding on. the doctors went on about how they got lucky, but you didn't care anymore, even when your friend told you not to do anything stupid.

usually, you wouldn't lose it even in the face of this situation. but your patience had already been running low. the next thing you know is you're straddling mihee kang in an alleyway and punching her face until you broke her nose and gave her a black eye. you'd had enough of it. her dummies had to drag you away from her to stop you.

as you headed home, you made a decision. you dialled his number and heard his voice come through the other end, "did you change your mind?"

"yeah. fuck it. i'll join your stupid union."

and thus, here you were. hiding everything from baku had been hard enough, as he noticed the injuries, but you remained adamant on avoiding explaining things. you realized you had been more irritable than usual and would snap at him even if it wasn't that serious. but not anymore. you couldn't keep lying to him when you knew he could see the bandages on your body and the marks on your face. you couldn't lie to him anymore.

and you didn't have an option either.

─────────────────────────────────

you waited, holding his hands in yours as you waited for him to say something, anything. but he didn't. he stayed quiet, staring at the floor. you gently rubbed your thumb across the back of his hand, something you'd do often to comfort him. but he didn't react.

he refused to look up at you as he spoke, "why didn't you tell me?"

his eyes seemed unreadable as he finally looked up, "if you were in pain, if you were suffering, you should've told me!"

"i couldn't, baku. i thought i could handle it on my own. i didn't want to drag you into my mess."

he scoffed, "your mess? baekjin sent seongje after you because of me. if this is anybody's mess, it's mine."

you sighed, letting your eyes fall to your lap, "i just.. i wasn't sure what to do. i didn't want to add on to your problems, and i really wanted to handle it myself. i don't want to rely on you to protect me."

"i am not asking you to let me protect you," he said, his voice slightly agitated, "i am asking you to rely on me. if things get hard, just let me handle it for you."

picking up on the agitation in his voice, you scoffed. you weren't sure what you were thinking anymore. your head felt like chaos but you didn't stop. even when you knew you should've, you didn't. even when you wanted to.

"and what? should i rely on you every time things get hard? everytime i feel i can't do it, i should just give up and turn to you? do i seem that fragile and naive to you?" you stood up as baku followed, "i don't want to live my life relying on others for everything."

"i am just saying, " he held your wrist, as he pulled you back to sit down and knelt in front of you, "i don't want you to suffer alone. i am not questioning what you can or can't do. all i am saying is asking for help doesn't make you weak."

maybe he was right. maybe you should've turned back from your decision, but you were too agitated. too irritable. too scared.

"perhaps you're right. but i can't be with you knowing that i lied to you and went against everything you believe in. it's too heavy on my conscience."

baku felt a lump in his throat, his voice barely a whisper as he moved closer towards you, in hopes he had misheard, "what? what do you mean?"

"i am saying that," you swallowed, trying to ignore the look in his eyes as you spoke, "i think we should break up."

"what?"

"i think we should break up," you pursed your lips, trying your best to hold back the tears threatening to spill over, "i can't do this anymore. i can't leave the union, you know how it is."

"no," he whispered to himself more than you as he slowly began to panic, "no, no,no. y/n, listen to me. we'll figure it out, alright? i'll talk to baekjin, and i am sure i can talk him out of it—"

"no," you saw the way his eyes brimmed with tears, "it's either you or me. and this is a decision i made. the only one responsible for it is me."

at this point, baku had tears streaming down his face as he tightly held your hands in his own trembling hands, "please. you don't understand. we can fix this."

"no, we can't," you looked away, "there's nothing to fix, baku. i just can't pretend like everything is fine when it's not. i can't keep lying to you and smiling at you when my entire body hurts. i can't do this. i can't be with you."

"then don't. just lie to me, scream at me — anything. just stay with me, hmm?" he spoke, his voice choking on his tears. his knees ached from kneeling on the cold, hard floor, but it felt like nothing compared to the ache in his heart. his voice rang in your ears, and yet your resolve remained unshaken.

you stood up, "no, humin-ah. there's no reason for me to stay. and none for you to hold onto me."

he held your hand tightly, so tight his knuckles turned white. he was afraid that if he lets go of you now, you might disappear. he shook his head. it didn't matter what you said to him. his resolve was strong, but his hope was withering away. he wasn't sure how tightly he had to hold you to keep you from leaving.

"i can't let go. i won't let go. if you've made your decision, then i have made mine." he says, swallowing down the lump in his throat.

you reached out to him and gently brushed your thumb against his cheek. you wiped away the tears staining his face. he was a sniffling, sobbing mess. your heartstrings tugged within your chest at the face of the boy you've only ever seen smile at you. it made you wonder how many times he cried this way, with no one to give him a shoulder. how many times had you missed this sight?

you freed your hand from his grip and cupped his face, and leaned in, "are you going to keep crying this way? you need to stop, humin-ah. you look pathetic, you know?"

even though your words hit hard, baku didn't care about being pathetic. he didn't care if he seemed pathetic. he didn't care if you humiliated him or stepped on him. he didn't care if you insulted him or called him all the names in the book. he could let it all slide if it meant you'd stay.

"please.." he felt short of breath, "please don't do this."

"oh but it's already done," you patted his cheek, gently wiping away a tear that slid down his face, "we're done, baku. take care, hmm?"

you stood up straight, looking ahead at the mirror across from you. your reflection stared back with glossy eyes, and your fingers ached to touch him again, to pull him in your embrace and tell him you won't go. but you will.

baku didn't try to stop you anymore, as if he had already accepted your decision. he only cried silently, his head fallen and his gaze glued to the floor. he didn't dare to say another word. all he did was hope that perhaps for a moment, you would reconsider.

instead you left the room with quick, long strides, not daring once to turn back. even though you could still hear him breaking down, you couldn't walk back inside or take your words back. you couldn't take it back. no matter how badly you wanted to. and he knew it was final.

you walked out of the front door, closing the door behind you as your back pressed against the door. you held your hand to your mouth as you finally let your emotions drift freely. your heart raced within your ribcage, and each breath served as a reminder that you had lost the one person you adored the most in the world. you could only regret and grieve a relationship you ended.

your heart sank as you looked down from the apartment complex. your eyes met another sharp pair of eyes, and by the look on your face, na baekjin could tell you had been obedient.

© celestialhymns 2026. 𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗲𝗱.

[echoes-ofmoonlight]

blinding light

✸synopsis: a grumpy, reserved you struggles to take the loud, joyful baku seriously, misreading his care as a joke and pushing him away. but when a rainy-night accident forces you together, the walls break down, and both confront your true feelings in a heartfelt, cinematic reunion.

✸genre: one-shot, canon adjacent, grumpy!reader x sunshine!baku, strangers-to-lovers, miscommunication trope, confession, angst with comfort

✸pairing: park hu-min x reader / baku x reader

✸content warnings: miscommunication, poor judgment crossing the street, a sad baku :(

✸wc: 2.9k

✸an: lower case intended, no use of y/n, gn!reader / do i even write fanfic for weak hero if i don’t write at least one grumpy!reader x sunshine!baku?

[now playing: to love someone — yuta]

m.list 

─────

baku comes into your life like someone cranked the volume from quiet café music to festival fireworks. he laughs, loud and unrestrained, the kind of laugh that echoes through hallways and seems to push the air aside just to make room for itself. he talks loud, he moves loud — he feels loud, like sunlight spilling into a darkened room, and somehow, he expects you to notice.

and you? you’re built for small corners and quiet days. for sitting in the back of rooms, clutching your notebook or your phone like armor, pretending the world doesn’t notice you — pretending he doesn’t notice you.

“good morning!” he shouts one morning, as if the sun itself asked him to greet you. you squint at him, blinded for a second by that grin — that radiant, blinding grin that makes it impossible to look away. it’s too wide, too genuine, too everything, and it catches the light in a way that almost hurts. almost.

you murmur, barely audible, “yeah,” like it’s a shield.

but he doesn’t care. of course, he doesn’t care. he never does. he just keeps appearing — in the hallway, outside your classroom, at the corner café where you always sit alone. he brings dumplings he swears are “life-changing,” playlists that he insists will “fix your soul,” and the stupid little keychain he says looks like you (it doesn’t, but he doesn’t see the flaw). and always, always, there’s that belief, that unapologetic certainty, that the two of you belong in each other’s lives.

he teases you. he hovers. he leans in close when he laughs, and the sunlight — or maybe it’s just him —seems to catch his teeth, his eyes, the tips of his hair, and for a moment the whole world is almost painfully bright.

“you like me,” he says one morning, nudging your shoulder with his elbow, voice so casual it’s infuriating.

you roll your eyes, muttering, “delusional.”

but the truth sits heavy in your chest. you don’t know how to handle someone like him — someone who means things, someone who cares so loudly, so relentlessly, that it makes your chest ache.

so you laugh at him instead. you pretend it’s a joke. pretend it’s all games and teasing and him needing entertainment — because if you let yourself believe he’s serious, if you let yourself look directly at that blinding, sunlit smile, maybe you’ll realize you’re the only one laughing.

and for a moment, when he grins at your rolling eyes, so wide it almost hurts, you do realize — you are the only one laughing.

─────

the weeks pass.

at first, it’s subtle. he texts you every morning with a “good morning” that makes your chest tighten, but you shrug it off, ignore his calls, and bury your face in your hoodie when he appears in the hallways. you smile faintly when he nudges your shoulder, when he makes that loud, ridiculous joke about the cafeteria line, but you say nothing. you tell yourself you’re busy, focused, immune.

but he doesn’t notice. or maybe he refuses to notice.

on a crisp wednesday afternoon, he finds you by the library stairs, the scent of old books mingling with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafting from the cup he cradles in his hands, claiming it possesses some sort of magic. his grin is infectious, radiating warmth like the morning sun breaking through the clouds, illuminating the surrounding space. leaning slightly closer, he locks eyes with you, his expression earnest and playful, and says, “you know, i think i might like you. like…really like you.”

the sincerity in his voice sends a flutter through your chest, making the moment feel both exhilarating and terrifying. you let out a laugh, sharp and bitter, the sound echoing in the air between you.

“you like me? please. that’s a joke,” you say, your voice laced with disbelief and a hint of sarcasm.

he frowns, his brow furrowing for just a second, a flicker of hurt crossing his features before he shrugs it off. he takes a slow sip of his coffee, the steam curling up into the chilly air. “it’s not a joke,” he says softly, his tone earnest and sincere. “i—”

“are you serious right now?” you interject, your voice rising despite your efforts to stay calm. heat rushes to your cheeks, a wave of embarrassment washing over you. you understand he’s full of energy, but this joke has crossed a line. “you’re always laughing, always smiling, always… it’s just too much! how can i take you seriously when everything you do feels so absurd?”

he goes quiet, staring at you like you’ve pulled the rug out from under him. his grin, normally so blinding, falters just a fraction, and for a moment, you see the vulnerability beneath it. but you turn away, chest tight, and walk off before he can respond.

later that week, he waits outside your building with a small, hand-made card. the rain is falling in sheets, soaking him, but he doesn’t move. he calls your name softly, patiently. when you step out, you see him holding the card with both hands, shaking slightly.

“i wanted to tell you…again. i like you,” he says, voice barely louder than the rain.

you feel a tremor in your lip, but you quickly bite it to hide your reaction. rolling your eyes, you flick the water off your sleeve. “baku, come on. just stop. i don’t…you can’t just say things like that and expect me to take you seriously.”

he swallows hard, and for the first time, you notice the tension in his jaw, the tightness in his shoulders. his voice cracks when he says, “i mean it. you don’t have to—”

“don’t have to what?” you retort, your tone more cutting than you meant. “don’t have to trust you? don’t have to entertain your words? don’t have to put up with you being… yourself?”

he exhales, long and low, like he’s carrying the weight of the world on his back. and still, he doesn’t leave. not yet. not until you do.

the next few weeks follow the same cruel rhythm. he leaves little gifts on your desk: a tiny origami crane, a scribbled poem, a playlist with songs he says remind him of you. every time, you laugh through clenched teeth. every time, you tell yourself it’s absurd. and every time, you feel your chest tightening, your heart responding despite yourself.

until one morning.

he’s at your door again, holding a ridiculous bouquet of flowers that smell faintly of spring and something else you can’t place. his grin is blinding, more dazzling than sunlight reflecting on wet pavement.

“i wrote you a song,” he announces, voice too bright, too earnest, too heavy with hope.

you freeze. your chest tightens. words die in your throat. you can’t respond to this level of honesty. you can’t process it. you want to laugh to cover up the panic and the shame, but it comes out as a snarl.

“i…baku,” you begin, voice rough, gruff. “stop. stop with all of this.”

the grin falters, just slightly, and in that split second, you see it — hurt. disbelief. vulnerability.

“stop caring?” he asks, quietly, almost a whisper.

“i don’t know what you want from me! i can’t take you seriously!” you bark, turning away, jerking your hands like you’re pushing the words out of your space.

he exhales, a sound you’ve never heard before — quiet, low, defeated. not the baku you know. “i…okay,” he says, stepping back slowly. “i get it.”

and just like that, he leaves.

you don’t chase him. you don’t call. not immediately. there’s a strange relief in your chest, a hollow sense of control that feels both empowering and unsettling. you sit in silence, the weight of your decision pressing down on you like a heavy blanket.

but deep down, in the quiet moments when the hallway is empty and the sun slants across your desk just right, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air, there’s a hollow, aching emptiness that gnaws at your insides. it’s a void that echoes with memories of laughter and warmth, now replaced by a chilling solitude.

─────

the days stretch. weeks stretch. the hallways are quieter. the café doesn’t feel right. even the sunlight feels dull. you see him sometimes, in passing. his laugh still bright, still blinding, but he doesn’t stop. doesn’t wave. doesn’t tease. doesn’t belong to you anymore.

you walk through the school hallways, earbuds in, but the usual background chatter feels hollow. each laugh, each slam of a locker door echoes differently now — sharper, emptier.

you pass by the spot where he used to wait for you, leaning casually against the lockers, bright grin on his face, hair falling into the sunlight. you freeze mid-step, heart lurching. but it’s just another student now, another shadow in that place he once owned.

your chest aches, tight in a way you don’t like admitting. you realize you’ve been expecting him to burst in at any moment, to yell your name, to shove you playfully or nudge your shoulder. but he doesn’t. not anymore.

you keep walking, shoulders tense, a dull weight pressing against your ribs, and you know — you miss the chaos he brought. you miss him.

after school, you slide into your usual corner seat at the café. the barista gives you a faint, sympathetic smile — it’s clear they’ve noticed he no longer comes with you. you pick at the edge of your coffee cup, staring at the foam.

once, he would have been there, sliding across the table with his oversized grin and a ridiculous joke that made everyone in the café glance over. he would have insisted you try something new on the menu, something “life-changing,” and then mocked you lovingly when you didn’t like it.

now, there’s silence. you stir the coffee, watching the swirls reflect the gray sky outside, feeling the emptiness settle around you. you can almost hear him calling your name, and it makes you flinch.

sometimes, you see him — just for a second — across the courtyard or down the street. his laugh carries faintly, and it’s like sunlight has returned for a fraction of a moment.

he’s with friends, maybe laughing at a joke you don’t understand, his hands flailing like he always does. that blinding grin. the way his shoulders tilt when he’s leaning into someone else’s joke.

you look away, heart twisting. he’s still him. still brilliant, still radiant, still alive. but you’re not part of that anymore.

you try to tell yourself it’s okay, that you’re fine. but the hollow inside you only grows, spreading like shadows at dusk.

you can’t stop thinking about him. little flashes replay in your mind, stabbing at you softly — the way he remembered your favorite snacks, even the weird ones you’d forgotten you liked. or how he would sneak notes into your backpack, ridiculous poems written in messy handwriting, always ending with some dramatic flourish or a heart doodled too big. you remembered the way he made the worst jokes — the kind you wanted to roll your eyes at — but then you’d laugh anyway because he laughed so fully, so earnestly. you especially miss how his eyes softened when you didn’t push him away, when you let him sit closer or brush your hair from your face, and you realized he cared too much to leave, too much to let go.

each memory hits like a spark against dry kindling, and you feel the heat of regret building, rising until it’s unbearable.

one evening, you sit alone on the roof of the school, the city lights blinking below you. the wind lifts stray strands of hair, and the faint sound of traffic hums like distant music.

you think of him — the way he shouted your name, the way he barged into your life like sunlight breaking through a cloudy morning. you remember every time you laughed at him instead of with him, every time you assumed his care was just performance, every time you turned your back because it was easier than admitting you were terrified of feeling so much.

and suddenly, it hits you: it wasn’t him who was too much. It was you. You shut him out. you misread his care as noise. his joy as performance. and now…now you can’t stop wanting him back.

your hands curl around your knees. your chest aches. you whisper his name quietly, almost ashamed.

“baku…”

the night wind catches the word and carries it into the city.

somewhere, maybe, he hears it. somewhere, maybe, he’s thinking of you too.

─────

the day had been heavy. everything felt off — the hallways too quiet, the sunlight dull and uninviting, the café stale and tasteless. you’d tried to focus, tried to bury yourself in work, but nothing worked. every glance at your phone, every empty seat across from you, reminded you that he wasn’t here.

by evening, frustration and longing had coiled into something you couldn’t shake. you needed air. needed movement. needed to feel anything besides the ache of absence. so you grabbed your hoodie, pulled it over your head, and walked without thought, letting the city streets swallow you.

the sky had already turned slate gray. rain began as a drizzle, tapping softly against the hood of your jacket, a sound you usually found calming. but tonight, it only echoed the emptiness inside you. you kicked at puddles reflexively, letting water spray over your shoes. the neon signs from shops and streetlights blurred into long, fractured lines in the wet asphalt, reflecting your mood — fractured, chaotic, hollow.

you hadn’t noticed the car until it fishtailed, tires screeching on wet pavement. a cyclist swerved wildly, rubber squealing, nearly toppling into the street. your heart slammed in your chest, panic rising. you froze, your instincts screaming too late, the world slowing around the edge of a potential disaster.

“watch out!”

the voice was impossibly familiar. strong, urgent, full of life — the kind of voice that always demanded attention.

before you could react, a hand shot out, gripping yours with unyielding strength, yanking you off the slick asphalt. you stumbled, knees hitting the edge of the curb, heart hammering.

baku.

soaked through, hair plastered to his forehead, jacket clinging to him in dark, wet sheets. his eyes, bright and searching, scanned you quickly, memorizing that you were unharmed.

“you’re insane,” he shouted over the rain, voice hoarse and ragged. “do you even think before you walk into traffic?”

you gape at him, dripping wet, chest heaving, heart racing. the absurdity of the moment doesn’t register yet — all you feel is the gravity of seeing him again, in the flesh, alive, real.

“i…” you start, voice shaking, “i didn’t mean to—”

he cuts you off, shaking his head. “no, don’t. don’t apologize. i… i just—i couldn’t let anything happen to you. not you.”

the words hit like a physical weight, crashing into the hollow spaces inside your chest that the weeks without him had carved out. he’s here. he cares. he’s still here.

he steps closer, wet jacket clinging, rain dripping from the ends of his hair, hands hovering near yours before he settles into holding them, thumb brushing the back of your knuckles. that blinding light, that chaotic energy you used to run from, now feels like the only anchor in the storm.

“i…missed you,” he admits, quiet but raw. “every day, i’ve missed you. i shouldn’t have let you go, even when you…pushed me away.”

the emptiness of the past weeks crashes over you like cold rain. all the times you laughed at him instead of listening. all the times you misread his care as performance. all the times you told yourself he was “too much” instead of admitting he was everything you’d wanted.

“i…missed you too,” you whisper, voice trembling. “i just…didn’t know how to take you seriously. you’re too loud, too…bright. i…thought it was easier to laugh, to push you away.”

he tilts his head, searching your eyes, the rain plastering his hair and dripping down his lashes. “you think i care about loud or bright? i care about you. that’s it. you. always you. nothing else matters.”

the rain falls harder, the neon bleeding into puddles beneath your feet. you step closer, letting the warmth of his soaked jacket and his presence fill the hollow you’ve carried for weeks. he wraps his arms around you, careful but firm, shielding you from the rain and the storm of your own regret.

“you’re blinding,” you murmur softly.

“i know,” he says, voice low, vulnerable. “but i’ll always be yours, if you’ll let me.”

you lean into him, forehead resting against his chest, letting the weeks of absence, the cold, the fear, all fall away. “i’ll let you,” you whisper.

his grin returns, bright, blinding, triumphant, though softened now by relief and love. he presses a light kiss to your temple, then tucks wet strands of hair behind your ear. “good,” he murmurs. “because I’m never letting you go again.”

for a heartbeat, the world is just the rain, the neon, and him. then he tilts his head, brushing his lips softly against yours. the kiss is tentative at first, a question in the downpour, tasting faintly of rain and warmth. you respond immediately, pressing closer, letting weeks of longing, fear, and regret pour into it.

the rain pelts down around you, neon lights fractured in puddles beneath your feet. everything else disappears — the empty streets, the loneliness, the silence. only him. only this.

he takes your hand, intertwining fingers with yours. you squeeze, anchoring yourself to him, letting the storm wash over you, letting everything you’ve missed and lost be drowned in this single, blindingly real moment.

together. finally.

[jenslvt]

My Masterlist

Night has come

Go Kyungjun

'Night has come' Kyungjun x OC (WATTPAD)

Go kyungjun x OC headcanons

NSFW alphabet

Weak Hero Class

Yeon Sieun

Ahn Suho

Park Humin

Go Hyuntak

Geum Seongje

Actors

Cha woomin

Being his girlfriend

.

[freakmcnastyy]

Possession Games

Park Humin x f!reader

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, semi-public setting, fingering, unprotected sex, light pain, biting, possessive behavior.

Summary: Baku loses control of his jealousy after seeing you meet with an old friend.

Note: Anon requestttt

⸻ /Flashback/

Your eyes were fixed on the fractured navy of the sky. A soft breeze stirred the lazy whispers of the trees. The wind brushed against your back, speed danced at your feet, and a childlike hope glowed quietly in your gaze. You swung higher and higher on the swing, unaware of the two sets of eyes watching you.

In the far corner of the yard, hidden under the shade of an old walnut tree, two boys sat side by side. The weight of their conversation didn’t quite suit their age. They heard only your laughter, watched only the way your hair danced in the wind. But the meanings behind their gazes were far from the same—one held trust, the other, a secret.

Baek-jin tilted his head slightly, fidgeting with a stone in his pocket. The words sat heavy on the edge of his tongue, refusing to fall.

Baku’s brows were furrowed; he didn’t like this kind of silence.

“What is it?” he asked, his tone clipped and direct.

Baek-jin blinked, then subtly nodded in your direction as you soared back and forth.

“I love her,” he said.

The words hung in the air for a moment, suspended in time. Even the breeze seemed to still.

Baku didn’t respond at first. He squinted toward you, then turned back to Baek-jin.

“What did you say?”

“Yn,” Baek-jin repeated, firmer now. “I love her. I have for a long time. Maybe you’ve noticed, maybe not. But I… I don’t know. Keeping it in this long is starting to eat away at me. And when she smiles… it’s like I can’t think of anything else.”

Baku said nothing. But his jaw tensed, a flicker tightening the muscle near his chin.

Baek-jin noticed—but didn’t back down.

“Everything’s going to change, I know. We’ll grow up. But no matter what happens… I think I’ll always love her.”

He looked down at his hands, then back toward you.

“Have you ever looked at someone and felt time stop? Like… even just the way they breathe feels like a miracle?”

Baku’s eyes shifted back to you again.

Baek-jin’s voice returned, quieter this time, unsure:

“Maybe I’ll tell her someday. Or maybe I’ll just stay beside her… quietly.”

Baku clenched his jaw, but stayed silent.

What was he supposed to say? Don’t love her, because I already do?

⸻ /Today/

It was a small café on a street corner. The table by the window sat in soft afternoon shadow, sunlight spilling through the glass at an angle. A slow jazz tune played in the background, and the outside world blurred into something cinematic.

You glanced at your phone. The time matched exactly what you’d agreed on.

Then the door opened.

Baek-jin.

His hair was slightly messy, his eyes familiar but a little more tired than before.

But the second you saw him, you stood without hesitation and wrapped your arms around him. It wasn’t a long hug, nor a short one. It was the kind that held just enough weight to carry everything unspoken.

You both sat down. The way you crossed your legs under the table, the sip you took from your coffee, the way you tilted your head—it all showed you still cared.

“How’ve you been?” you asked, voice soft.

Baek-jin didn’t look away. He smiled, faintly.

“Alright. Life’s shit in its own way, but I’m getting used to it.”

You paused. Your eyes lingered on his.

The distance between you wasn’t new or old. Just… known. Familiar.

That’s why you asked without hesitation:

“How’s the Union going?”

There was concern in your tone, though your smile stayed gentle.

“I don’t want to see you getting in trouble again.”

Baek-jin said nothing for a second. He took a sip of his coffee, then looked toward the window.

“I’m trying to grow it,” he replied. “But the more you build something like that, the more enemies come crawling out.”

Your head lowered slightly.

“Just… be careful,” you murmured. “There are still people who care about you. Not everyone’s abandoned you, okay?”

Baek-jin closed his eyes briefly. He sighed.

“I know,” he said. “I know you’ve always been there. But…”

He didn’t finish. Because both of you already felt the weight of that but, lodged somewhere in the space between.

While you spoke, someone was watching.

A few tables away, a boy in a hoodie sat motionless, hands clasped together, elbows resting on the table.

Baku.

His eyes were locked on your face.

The way you smiled, how your fingers danced around your cup, the gentle angle of your head—he saw it all.

But what really anchored him was the way Baek-jin looked at you.

That same look, from that same afternoon under the walnut tree.

“I love her,” Baek-jin had said.

And maybe he still did.

Maybe he always would.

Baku’s jaw tightened. His eyes narrowed.

Maybe he couldn’t hear what you were saying—but body language didn’t lie. Every gesture between you two felt like a quiet threat. Not because he didn’t trust you. But because he did.

And that made it worse.

⸻

Your footsteps echoed softly against the wet pavement. The exhaustion of the day hung over you like a damp coat, and the night had swallowed the city into a hush. You were only a few blocks from home, having cut through a quiet side street where hardly anyone ever passed. No music in your ears. No phone in your hands. You didn’t hear the footsteps behind you.

Until it was too late.

An arm wrapped around you from behind, pulling you back into a firm chest. A hand pressed over your mouth.

A warm breath brushed against your neck.

“Don’t scream” came a familiar, low voice.

Your body tensed—not out of fear, but surprise.

“It’s me” Baku whispered.

Your breathing was still uneven. Your heart felt like it was trying to punch its way out of your chest. He let you go slowly—but didn’t move his hand away from you.

“How long have you been seeing him?”

You tried to turn your head, but he didn’t let you move far.

“I never stopped,” you whispered. “We’ve always kept in touch.”

Baku spun you around, gently but firmly. His gaze locked on yours.

“And you didn’t tell me?”

His voice wasn’t just accusing—it carried a quiet, bruised betrayal.

“Because I knew you wouldn’t like it,” you admitted, voice small but honest. Your eyes didn’t look away. You didn’t hide.

He took a step closer.

“Then why are you still seeing him?” he said, the calm in his voice barely holding.

“He’s dangerous. He’s into shit again. He could hurt you.”

“He’s my friend,” you replied.

And that—that word—was what set him off.

“Friend?” he scoffed.

The word rolled off his tongue like poison.

Before you could process it, your back was pressed to the wall. His body didn’t touch yours fully, but the air between you vanished.He raised a hand, brushed your cheek, then slipped his thumb under your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes.

“Don’t act like you don’t know how he looks at you. He still wants you.”

His voice dropped, turning into something dark, something real.

“And you let him.”

His hand slid to your waist, no longer gentle. Fingers curled under the hem of your shirt, dragging upward slightly before smoothing back down. You gasped, and he felt it.

He didn’t stop.

“The thought of someone else imagining you like that… fucks with my head,” he murmured.

“But what messes me up more is knowing you don’t even care.”

The heat between you changed. Anger turned to desire. Possession became need.

Baku’s eyes burned with something deeper than jealousy now. His fingers slid lower, past your waist to your hips. His other hand tangled into your hair.

His lips didn’t kiss—but hovered.

Close enough to feel. Close enough to want.

But not yet.

“You knew you’d drive me crazy, didn’t you?” he whispered.

When his hand squeezed your ass, you leaned into him—instinctively.

Not because you had to.

Because you wanted to.

Fingertips skimmed just under the edge of your skirt, tracing the elastic of your underwear.

But he didn’t slip inside.

He just stayed there.

Right at the edge.

“I could go lower” he murmured, his lips ghosting your skin. “Should I?”

“Finish what you started” you finally muttered, breathless. “Do it.”

Baku chuckled. He already knew you’d give in—but hearing it lit a fire in him. Without hesitation, his hand slipped under your skirt and into your panties. But he didn’t dive in just yet. He wanted to feel how much you needed it first.

“God” he muttered, “is this what being claimed does to you?”

He laughed, low and dark.

“I haven’t even kissed you yet… and look at you.”

And he was right. You were soaked. Because nothing turned you on more… than knowing you were his.

He couldn’t wait any longer. Two of his fingers slid into your entrance—not to get you off with them, but to prepare you for something much bigger. You nearly screamed when you felt his thick fingers stretch you from the inside, but he caught your cry with his mouth. His kiss muffled the sound, but not the overwhelming feeling.

His movements were rushed. Was it because he wanted to finish before anyone found out? Or was it because he just couldn’t wait to be inside you? You couldn’t tell. Not when those two fingers were scissoring you open, making it almost impossible to think straight.

Your eyes were teary now, your legs trembling like they could give out at any second. But he held you down so easily, one hand gripping your waist, the other steadying you with his body. Just when your vision started to blur, Baku pulled his fingers out. It wasn’t supposed to end yet. You felt the sudden emptiness, but knowing what came next eased the ache.

He looked at you one last time. He needed to be sure. And when you looked back with eyes full of need, he didn’t hold back anymore. While you clung to him, he unbuttoned his pants—not all the way down, just enough to free himself. His hand found your underwear again, but this time, just to push it aside.

It was too dark to see anything clearly. You could only feel it. And what you felt now was something thick pressing at your entrance. Your eyes widened.

“Baku—fuck—what is that?” you gasped. He chuckled and kissed you again, his tongue invading your mouth with no hesitation. Your tongues tangled in a messy rhythm until he bit your lip suddenly. As you flinched at the sting, he used that moment to sink into you completely. Your eyes rolled back from the shock, your body frozen for a moment in white-hot overload.

He pulled back from your lips only when he was fully inside. You bit down on your own moan, trying not to make a sound, but fuck—he was huge. He waited, letting you adjust, not moving just yet. Instead, his mouth latched onto your neck, sucking in a slow, burning trail.

If someone walked in right now, you’d both be screwed. But neither of you cared. You were too far gone, wrapped up in each other like the rest of the world had disappeared.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, hips rolling into you at a steady pace. His voice sounded like he might stop if you said yes. But you knew he wouldn’t. And honestly, if you weren’t clinging to him, your legs would’ve collapsed by now.

When you didn’t answer, he picked up the pace. His bare cock kept slamming into you, again and again, harder every time.

“I was gonna do this in a more romantic way, but—fuck,” he groaned, thrusts turning frantic. “But you don’t respond to sweet talk, do you?” he finished through gritted teeth. He was pounding into you so hard, it felt like the wall behind you was going to crack.

And about a minute later, it wasn’t the wall that cracke—it was you. The orgasm hit you like a freight train, so intense it nearly knocked you out. He’d already come deep inside you by then.

The moment was so overwhelming you couldn’t catch your breath.

“Humin—what the hell are you, some kind of monster?” you asked, still panting, while he was still buried inside you.

“Oh yeah. A pink one,” he teased, making a joke out of it. And it was funny—if you weren’t so completely wrecked you might’ve laughed.

When he finally pulled out, the emptiness made your face twist into a grimace. Your legs felt useless, like they weren’t even yours anymore. He moved fast, adjusting your clothes, taking care of everything without needing to be asked.

“Want me to carry you?” he asked, completely serious.

“You better” you half-joked, half-meant it.

Everything had happened so fast, it felt surreal. But you didn’t regret it. Meeting Baekjin that day had been the best mistake you could’ve made—because if you hadn’t, this moment might’ve never happened.

[echoes-ofmoonlight]

the shape of his voice

✸request: ahhh, finally one of the few angels who write for twinkling watermelon! can I request a ha eungyeol x blind!reader fic where they go to the same school and he always admired her from afar before finally gathering the courage to approach her? (she can be blind or mute, you decide <3 if she's blind, you could write her asking to feel his facial features) he's so underrated, fanfics about him are scarce 😭

✸synopsis: a blind girl and a modest guitarist slowly fall in love at school, learning each other not by sight, but through sound, touch, and the courage to finally be heard.

✸genre: one-shot, canon adjacent, classmates-to-lovers, fluff

✸pairing: ha eun-gyeol x reader

✸content warnings: slight ableism in one part, but mostly just two cuties falling in love <3

✸wc: 4.4k

✸an: lower case intended, no use of y/n, fem!reader, blind!reader / i had my liked songs on shuffle while writing, and this song fits it so perfectly!

[now playing: watch me — labi siffre]

m.list

─────

the school is loud in ways most people don’t notice.

lockers slam like thunder. shoes scrape and scuff against tiled floors. voices overlap until they blur into a single rushing sound that fills the hallways from morning bell to last dismissal. for most students, it’s noise — something to push through on the way to class.

for you, it’s a map.

you walk with measured steps, cane tapping softly ahead of you, counting echoes without thinking about it. the hallway outside the science wing is narrow; sound comes back quickly there. the stairwell near the auditorium is wide and hollow, voices stretching longer, footsteps rounding out before they fade. you know where you are long before anyone says your name.

but there are places you linger. not because you’re lost — never that — but because the air changes there. because sound does something different.

the hallway near the music room hums even when the door is closed. notes slip through the cracks like secrets, vibrations traveling through the walls and into the floor beneath your feet. sometimes it’s just warm-up scales. sometimes laughter. sometimes silence broken by a single chord, hesitant and searching.

when you hear a guitar, you stop. every time.

it’s not a conscious decision. your body stills before you realize it has, like the sound has reached out and placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. you tilt your head, listening — not just hearing, but tracing. the rise and fall of the melody. the way fingers press and release strings. the difference between confidence and uncertainty, between someone playing for themselves and someone hoping to be heard.

from down the hall, ha eun-gyeol notices this. at first, he thinks it’s coincidence.

he’s mid-practice, sitting on a worn stool with his guitar resting against his knee, fingers aching pleasantly as he strums through the same progression again and again. his bandmates are arguing softly behind him about tempo, about whether the bridge should come sooner, about everything and nothing at all. he tunes them out, singing under his breath, voice low, unpolished, honest in a way he rarely allows himself to be.

then the hallway goes quiet. not empty — but different. like the sound has been gathered and held. eun-gyeol glances toward the door without knowing why.

through the narrow window in the practice room door, he sees you standing just outside. still. cane resting against your leg. head slightly tilted, as if you’re listening not just to the music, but to him.

he misses a chord. the string buzzes, sharp and wrong, and he winces, correcting himself quickly. his bandmates don’t notice. they never do. but his heart starts beating faster, uneven, like it’s trying to match a rhythm it doesn’t quite understand.

you don’t move when the song ends. you don’t move when the talking starts again. you only shift when someone strums another chord — one clean and bright — and your lips curve, just barely, like you felt it rather than heard it.

eun-gyeol swallows.

he’s seen you around school before. everyone has. you pass through the halls with quiet confidence, navigating with ease, greeting people by voice instead of face. he’s noticed how some students lower their voices around you, how others rush to help without asking, how you thank them anyway.

but this — this feels like something else. he plays again, softer this time, then louder, testing. watching. each time, you pause. each time, your head tilts just a fraction more, like you’re memorizing him.

a strange thought settles in his chest, warm and terrifying all at once. does she know it’s me?

he doesn’t know why the idea matters so much. he’s never played for anyone in particular before. music has always been safer than words, easier than conversation. but standing there in the echoing hallway, listening like the sound belongs to you, it feels like you’re reaching out across a distance he didn’t realize existed.

when a teacher’s voice drifts down the hall, you straighten, fingers tightening around your cane. you turn and walk away, footsteps fading into the noise of the school.

eun-gyeol doesn’t stop watching the door even after you’re gone. his guitar rests against his chest, still warm. and for the first time, he wonders what it would be like to be known — not by how he looks, or how shy he is, or how quiet he seems — but by the sound of his voice, and the way his hands move when he plays.

─────

the practice room smells like dust and old wood, the kind that settles into instruments no matter how carefully they’re cleaned. eun-gyeol sits on the floor this time, back against the wall, guitar balanced across his lap. the others are late. someone always is.

he doesn’t mind. with no one watching, his shoulders relax. his fingers find the strings without hesitation, muscle memory guiding him into a melody he hasn’t named yet. it’s quieter than what they usually play — less performance, more confession. when he starts to sing, his voice follows the same rule. soft. unguarded.

it’s not meant for anyone else. it never is.

he closes his eyes as he sings, letting the notes rise and fall naturally, not worrying about pitch or timing. the song is unfinished, words trailing off where feelings get too close to the surface. he hums the rest, thumb brushing the strings gently, letting the sound linger in the air.

he doesn’t know you’re standing outside again. not until the final note fades and the room seems to hold its breath. there’s no applause. no movement. just the faint echo in the hallway beyond the door. eun-gyeol opens his eyes, heart stuttering, and listens.

nothing.

he exhales, a little embarrassed at himself, and begins packing up just as the others start filtering in — loud, distracted, full of opinions. practice resumes as usual, louder now, messier, layered with jokes and interruptions. still, something feels different. like the air has already been claimed.

later that day, the hallway outside the library is crowded in the slow, drifting way it always is after lunch. eun-gyeol weaves through it with his guitar case slung over one shoulder, eyes on the floor, mind still caught on a half-finished song.

that’s when something skitters across the tile. a pen. it rolls to a stop near his shoe. he bends automatically, picking it up just as a voice says, “oh — sorry.”

he looks up. you’re standing there, hand outstretched, cane tucked against your leg. there’s a crease between your brows, like you’re concentrating on the sound of the room, on where he is in relation to you.

“here,” he says, placing the pen gently into your palm. your fingers brush his. it’s brief, accidental, but it sends a strange jolt up his arm. he pulls back quickly, clearing his throat. “you dropped it.”

“thank you,” you say, and then you pause. not the awkward kind of pause. the listening kind.

your head tilts slightly, just like it did in the hallway outside the practice room. eun-gyeol feels his pulse quicken. he hasn’t spoken enough for you to recognize him. he’s sure of it.

then you smile. “you sing in that band, right?”

the words hit him like a missed step on the stairs.

“i —” his voice catches. he stares at you, heat creeping up his neck. “how did you —?”

you laugh softly, a sound like you’re not teasing him, just amused by his surprise. “i remember voices,” you explain. “and sounds. you have a very… distinct one.”

distinct. he’s never thought of his voice as anything but ordinary. something to keep low, something that blends in. he rubs the back of his neck, unsure what to do with his hands. “yeah. i mean — yes. i sing. and play guitar.”

“i thought so,” you say. “i heard you earlier.”

he wonders how much you heard. the unfinished song. the parts he never meant to share. his chest tightens, but there’s no embarrassment in your expression — only warmth, and something like certainty.

from that moment on, his voice changes things.

when he says hello to you in passing, your smile comes faster, like you were waiting for it. when he explains something in class, you angle your body toward him, listening with an attentiveness that makes him forget what he was saying halfway through. you recognize him without needing to ask, without anyone else introducing him.

and eun-gyeol starts to notice it — the way your lips curve when he speaks, like the sound of him is something familiar now. something welcome.

he’s never been someone people look for in a room. but somehow, without ever seeing him, you always know when he’s there.

─────

the first time it happens, you’re standing near the auditorium doors during lunch.

the space is alive with sound — students drifting in and out, chairs scraping against the floor, someone laughing too loudly from the stage. inside, a band is rehearsing for an upcoming event. the music bleeds through the walls, the bass humming low enough that you can feel it in your chest, the guitar cutting clean and bright over it.

you’re smiling. not because you know who’s playing, but because the sound is full and unafraid. It fills the space without apologizing for itself.

“hey — uh, you probably shouldn’t stand here.”

the voice comes from your left. concerned. careful. you turn toward it. 

“i’m fine,” you say politely.

“it’s really loud,” they insist, lowering their voice as if volume itself might hurt you. “i can walk you somewhere quieter.”

before you can respond, another voice cuts in—calmer, steadier. “she didn’t say she wanted to leave.”

eun-gyeol steps into the space between you and the other student without touching you, without crowding. his presence is unmistakable once you know it — his voice carrying the same warmth it does when he sings.

“it’s okay,” he continues, not unkind but firm. “she knows where she is.”

there’s an awkward pause. you can hear it in the way the other person shifts their weight, the way their breath catches. “i was just trying to help,” they mumble.

“i know,” eun-gyeol says. “but you should ask first.”

the footsteps retreat. the air settles. you let out a slow breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. 

“thank you,” you say quietly.

“you’re welcome,” he replies. then, after a beat, “i hope that was okay.”

you smile.

later, you’re sitting together on the low steps near the side entrance of the auditorium, the music now a distant thrum behind thick walls. Eun-gyeol fidgets with the strap of his guitar case, nerves creeping back in now that the moment has passed.

“i’m sorry,” he says suddenly. “if i spoke for you. i didn’t mean to —”

“it was fine,” you interrupt gently.

he hesitates and then speaks again. “i just… i didn’t want them to assume. or decide for you.”

you turn toward him, listening to the sincerity in his voice. “people do that a lot,” you admit. “they think quiet means fragile. or that because i can’t see, i shouldn’t be around things that are loud or messy or overwhelming.”

you pause, choosing your words carefully.

“i like music because it’s honest,” you say. “it doesn’t pretend i’m fragile.”

eun-gyeol goes still. the sentence settles into him slowly, like a chord he’s never played before but somehow recognizes. honest. unapologetic. unafraid of taking up space.

“oh,” he murmurs.

you laugh softly. “besides,” you add, “i’d hate to miss something just because someone thought i couldn’t handle it.”

he nods, throat tight, unsure how to respond without sounding foolish. “i’m glad you stayed,” he finally says. 

that night, back in the practice room, eun-gyeol plays differently.

not louder — just clearer. he lets the strings ring out instead of muting them too quickly. he stops pulling back on notes he used to soften, stops worrying about whether he’s being too much. when he sings, he doesn’t lower his voice at the end of each line.

he imagines you standing in the hallway, listening without flinching.

and for the first time, he plays like the music deserves to be heard — fully, honestly — by someone who never needed it to be quieter.

─────

he asks you on a thursday afternoon, voice careful in the way it gets when he’s nervous.

“we’re practicing after school,” eun-gyeol says as the two of you walk down the hallway together, the late-day quiet settling in. “if you want to listen. i mean — properly. in the room.”

he waits, like he’s bracing for you to say no.

“i’d like that,” you answer easily.

the practice room door is heavier than it looks. eun-gyeol holds it open, letting you step inside first, describing the space without being asked — where the chairs are, where the cables run along the floor, where he’s sitting. you appreciate that he tells you instead of guiding your body, that he trusts you to navigate on your own.

you take a seat near him, close enough that the edge of his knee brushes yours when he shifts. the floor beneath your shoes vibrates faintly when someone tests the bass amp, and you smile despite yourself. the room hums with anticipation.

eun-gyeol settles his guitar against his chest, fingers resting on the strings. when practice starts, he plays softer than usual, like he’s trying not to startle you. the sound is careful, contained.

you tilt your head, listening. after a moment, you reach out, not touching him — just enough that he knows you’re addressing him. “you don’t have to do that.”

he glances over. “do what?”

“hold back,” you say gently. “play like you normally do.”

heat creeps up his neck. he hadn’t realized how obvious it was. 

“sorry,” he murmurs. he takes a breath and starts again.

this time, he lets the chord ring out fully, rich and resonant. the vibrations travel through the floor, up the legs of the chair, into you. you feel it in your chest, in the tips of your fingers. his voice follows — steady, sure, no longer hiding.

your hand begins to move without you noticing at first, fingers tapping lightly against your knee in time with the rhythm. it’s not perfect, not polished, but it’s instinctive.

eun-gyeol watches. not your hands — though they’re beautiful in their own way — but your face. the way your expression shifts with the music, the way your breathing syncs with the tempo, the way you lean just a fraction closer when he hits a familiar progression.

you don’t miss a thing. if anything, you catch more than the others do — the slight change in pressure when his fingers press the strings harder, the hesitation before a lyric he hasn’t fully decided on yet, the way his voice warms when he forgets to be afraid.

when the song ends, the room is quiet for a beat too long.

“that was good,” someone says eventually, breaking the spell.

eun-gyeol barely hears it. he’s looking at you, still tapping out the last echoes of the song, smile soft and unguarded. he realizes, with a sudden clarity that steals his breath, that you’ve been listening to him more closely than anyone ever has.

not watching for mistakes. not judging. just hearing him — completely. eun-gyeol finds himself thinking that maybe this — this quiet understanding, this shared rhythm — means more than he ever let himself hope for.

─────

the school is quieter after practice, the kind of quiet that feels earned. lockers are shut, hallways emptied, the noise of the day finally settling into something gentle. eun-gyeol slips his guitar case over his shoulder and hesitates when he sees you waiting near the exit.

“i can walk you home,” he says, the words coming out a little too quickly. then, softer, “if you want.”

“i’d like that,” you reply.

outside, the air is cool and open. your footsteps fall into an easy rhythm together, his slightly longer stride adjusting without comment to match yours. he points out small things as you go — the uneven sidewalk near the corner, the stray branch someone forgot to clear — never assuming, always offering.

for a while, you walk in comfortable silence, the distant hum of traffic filling the space between you. then you speak. “can i ask you something?”

“yeah,” he answers immediately.

“your guitar,” you say. “what does it look like?”

he blinks, surprised by the specificity of the question. “um. it’s… worn. the wood’s kind of dark, but the edges are lighter where it’s been played a lot. there’s a scratch near the bottom from when i dropped it once.” he winces at the memory. “the strings are silver. i keep meaning to change them.”

you smile. “and how does it feel?”

he thinks about it. about the weight of it against his chest, the familiar curve against his arm. “solid,” he says finally. “like it fits. i don’t really think about it when i’m playing.”

you nod, absorbing the answer. after a moment, you stop walking.

“could i… hold it?” you ask, carefully. “if that’s okay.”

his heart stutters. “yeah. of course.”

he slides the case off his shoulder and opens it slowly, like the movement itself matters. he positions the guitar in your hands, guiding only enough to make sure it’s steady. when your fingers brush the strings, it’s tentative, exploratory. the sound is soft — just a whisper of a note — but it hangs between you.

your fingertips trace the curve of the body, the smoothness of the wood, the tension of the strings beneath them. you pause over the scratch he mentioned, thumb brushing it lightly.

“you play it a lot,” you say.

he laughs quietly. “that obvious?”

“mm,” you hum. “it remembers you.”

something shifts then — small, but undeniable. the air feels thicker, charged with a closeness neither of you names. eun-gyeol watches your hands like they’re doing something sacred, like you’re learning a language he’s been speaking his whole life.

when you hand the guitar back, your fingers linger for just a second longer than necessary. his breath catches.

“thank you,” you say softly.

“no,” he replies, just as softly. “thank you.”

as you start walking again, the distance between you feels different — not wider, but more intentional. like something has been acknowledged, even if it hasn’t been said aloud yet.

for the first time, courage doesn’t feel loud or dramatic. it feels like this — quiet, steady, and close enough to touch.

─────

the practice room is empty when you return.

it wasn’t planned — just a quiet understanding between you that neither of you is ready to go home yet. the lights are dimmed, the hum of the building settling into its nighttime hush. somewhere far away, a door closes. the sound echoes, then disappears.

eun-gyeol sets his guitar down carefully, like he’s afraid to disturb the stillness. you stand near him, close but not touching, the air between you charged in a way that feels fragile and precious. for a moment, neither of you speaks.

then you do.

“i like knowing people through touch,” you say quietly.

he turns toward you fully, heart starting to race. “you do?”

you nod. “voices tell me a lot. so do footsteps. but touch…” you hesitate, choosing your words. “touch tells me things people don’t always mean to share.”

he swallows. the room feels smaller somehow. you take a breath. “can i ask you something?”

“yes,” he answers immediately, barely realizing he said it.

you angle your body toward him, careful, respectful. “can i feel your face?”

the question lands gently — but it changes everything. eun-gyeol freezes, breath caught halfway in. his first instinct is to apologize, to deflect, to laugh it off. instead, he forces himself to stay still. to be brave.

“okay,” he tells you softly.

you step closer, slow enough that he could stop you if he wanted to. he doesn’t. he barely breathes as your hands rise, hovering just for a moment in silent permission before you touch him.

your fingers are warm. you start at his cheekbones, tracing their shape with light, deliberate movements. he hadn’t realized how much tension he carries there until your touch lingers, curious, unhurried. his jaw tightens instinctively.

“that happens when you sing,” you murmur. “right here.”

his breath stutters. your hands move lower, following the line of his jaw, noticing where it softens and where it holds. you pause at the corner of his mouth, thumb brushing gently, almost reverently. his lips curve without him meaning to.

“there,” you say, smiling. “you smile when you think no one’s listening.”

something inside him breaks open. no one has ever noticed that — not his bandmates, not his friends, not even himself. he’s always thought of that smile as something fleeting, accidental. not worth seeing.

but you felt it. your hands fall away after a moment, retreating as carefully as they came. the room seems to exhale all at once. eun-gyeol opens his eyes. you’re standing right in front of him, expression soft, certain. like there was never any doubt. 

in that moment, he understands something that leaves him breathless — you don’t need to see him to know him. you already do.

the silence afterward is different. not fragile. not uncertain. it settles around you both like something earned, something that knows it belongs there. eun-gyeol is still where you left him, heart racing, skin warm where your hands had been. he wonders if he should say something — anything — before the moment slips away.

so he does.

“i noticed you before you ever spoke to me,” he says quietly. the words surprise him with how easily they come, once he lets them. “you used to stop outside the practice room. every time. i didn’t know why at first, but… i started hoping you’d be there.”

you don’t interrupt him. you never do.

“i started singing louder because of you,” he admits, a small, self-conscious laugh in his voice. “not like — trying to show off. i just wanted you to hear me clearly. like, if i was brave enough, maybe the music would reach you.”

your breath catches.

“i always knew when you were in the room,” you say softly. “before anyone told me. before you said anything.” you turn slightly toward him, like you’re listening for something that’s already there. “your music felt like someone reaching out. as if it wasn’t meant to pass by me — it was meant to stay.”

he feels the words settle deep in his chest, warm and overwhelming. without thinking too much about it, eun-gyeol reaches for your hand. this time, his touch doesn’t shake.

he gives you space to pull away. you don’t. your fingers curl around his, natural and certain, like they’ve always known where to fit. the room seems to shrink again, holding just the two of you in its quiet.

he doesn’t lean in. you don’t either. there’s no rush. no kiss. just the steady understanding of two people who have finally said what’s been true all along — and are content to let it rest there, unspoken but undeniable.

for now, that’s enough.

─────

he doesn’t write the song all at once.

it comes to him in fragments — half-formed melodies scribbled in the margins of his notebook during class, a lyric whispered under his breath while waiting for the crosswalk light to change, a chord progression worked out slowly on his bed long after the house has gone quiet. at night, when even the refrigerator hum feels too loud, he plays softly, careful not to wake anyone with the light, letting the sound settle into his chest.

he thinks of you every time. the way you pause when music finds you, as if the world has gently asked you to stop. the way you listen with your whole body, like you’re gathering something precious instead of letting it pass through. he tries to write a song that does that too — one that doesn’t rush you, that doesn’t demand anything, that simply stays.

he doesn’t tell the band about it. this one isn’t for practice, or performance, or approval. this one is yours.

a few days later, he asks if you’ll stay after practice again. the others pack up around you, voices loud, laughter echoing down the hall. eun-gyeol waits until the door closes behind them before he speaks, the room suddenly feeling much bigger and much smaller at the same time.

“i wrote something,” he says. his voice is calm, but his hands betray him — fingers tightening around the neck of his guitar, then loosening, then adjusting the strap twice even though it’s already fine. “would you… listen?”

you don’t hesitate. you step closer, like the answer has always been yes.

you sit on the floor this time, backs against the wall, close enough that your shoulders almost touch. the proximity feels intentional, careful. he can feel the warmth of you beside him, steady and grounding. when he starts to play, the first chord hums low and full, and you feel it immediately — the vibration traveling through the wood of the guitar, through the air, through him, and into you.

his voice follows. it’s steady. sure.

he doesn’t hide in the spaces between notes anymore. he lets the sound linger, lets it fill the room completely before moving on. the song is simple, built on honesty instead of flourish. it doesn’t rush you forward or pull away when things get too close. it stays, allowing each chord to breathe, allowing silence to mean something instead of fearing it.

as he sings, you can hear the smile in his voice — not the nervous one he gets when he thinks people are watching, but a softer, grounded warmth. the kind that comes from being understood.

without thinking, you reach out. your fingers brush the sleeve of his jacket, then settle there, light and sure. the contact is barely there, but it anchors both of you. his breath stutters for half a second, then steadies again. he keeps playing.

when the final note fades, it doesn’t disappear so much as it settles, like it’s found a place to rest. neither of you moves. the room holds the quiet gently, as if it knows better than to interrupt.

“that,” you say softly, “is how i see you.”

he turns toward you, eyes wide, throat tight. “yeah?”

you nod, fingers still resting against his arm. “through sound. through the way you hold space. through how you let yourself be heard.”

he exhales, long and slow, like something deep inside him is finally loosening. something he’s been holding onto without realizing it was there. some people are known by sight — by first impressions, sharp outlines, the way they look from across a room. but others are known by what they leave behind instead.

by sound, and touch, and the steady beat of a heart that finally isn’t afraid to reach out — and stay.