hello!! I want to make a request ; is it alright if you can write about how seong je would be with a mute!reader? i just think it’d be an interesting dynamic ..! hmm other details i’d add is the reader often giving affection in a form of gifting (letters mayb?), cooking him a meal or quality time :) you may write this in whatever format you want!! thank youu and have a nice week (ps love your writing)
synopsis — seongje is a whirlwind of noise and chaos, but he finds unexpected peace in your silence.
now playing — sweet - cigarettes after sex
pairing — geum seongje x gn!reader (hard of hearing, selectively mute)
genre — hurt/comfort, slowburn, angst with soft moments, unconventional romance (nothing is conventional with seongje)
cw — ableism/mocking of hearing disability, bullying, violence (including implied offscreen physical assault), power imbalance, toxic behavior, minor blood/bruising, strong language
wc — ~2.1k
note: this was a pleasure to write <3 i hope i did ur request justice, anon. and please do not hesitate to tell me if i wrote something wrong or inaccurate to the experiences of hoh individuals.
masterlist | join the taglist | 400 follower event
seongje doesn’t do “quiet.” he doesn’t do subtlety, either. his entire existence is loud—his presence is a storm that makes everything feel tense and unpredictable. that’s how he’s known: the unpredictable, impulsive force, the mad dog. so, when he sees you for the first time, it’s almost like a challenge.
you’re sitting there, silently, in the bowling alley, a forced audience to the bullying happening around you. the union’s delinquents have gathered, sneering as they taunt you. they wave your hearing aids in front of you like a sick joke, expecting you to react. but you don’t. you’re quiet, your face unreadable, eyes glued to the floor, trying to stay as small as possible, like you’ve done countless times before. it’s a game for them, nothing more than a way to make you feel like an outsider.
“hey, freak, what’s wrong? can’t hear us?” one of them mocks, swinging your hearing aids back and forth with a smirk.
the noise is deafening to you in a different way—a slow, rising pressure in your chest. you want to speak, to make them stop. but your voice won’t come, and the words you want to say die in your throat, replaced by that quiet ache of helplessness.
that’s when seongje steps in.
he’s not supposed to be there. he’s supposed to be in baekjin’s office, probably arguing or being a general pain in the ass—but the noise coming from the alleyway catches his attention. he comes striding out, a curse on his lips as he surveys the scene, his eyes lighting up with the familiar flash of anger.
“what’s with all the fucking noise, fuckers?!,” seongje shouts, his voice dripping with disdain as he eyes the delinquents, but his gaze lands on the one holding your hearing aids, who freezes up as soon as he realizes who’s standing in front of him.
“aww, you guys are really fucking pathetic,” seongje steps forward, his mood shifting from bored to dangerous in an instant. he slaps the delinquent’s face, knocking the hearing aids out of his grip, and catches them before they hit the floor.
the delinquent stumbles back, startled, and seongje doesn’t miss the way his bravado slips. “hey, if you want to get your ass kicked, i’ll be happy to oblige. otherwise, get the fuck out of here,” seongje growls, and his voice carries an unmistakable warning.
the delinquents scatter quickly, realizing they’re not really looking forward to get beat up by the wolf himself. seongje watches them leave with a bored smirk, but his eyes return to you, where you’re still sitting silently, your gaze downcast. his anger bubbles under the surface, but it doesn’t seem to be directed at you—it’s more frustration at how they treated you. and, maybe… it’s confusion. because why would he be frustrated?
he despises those who put on a front, acting all tough and dominant when they're around someone they know is weaker, but turn into cowards the moment they face someone like seongje. the hypocrisy makes him sick—they don’t even have the balls to face him.
you look up at him then, your lips parting as if to say something, but the words stay locked inside. seongje stares back, a little too long, before he gestures to the now-empty bowling alley with a roll of his eyes.
“shit, it’s way too quiet in here now,” seongje mutters, half to himself. “i need a fucking drink. you coming?” his fist reaching out to you, making you flinch, but he simply turns and opens his palm to reveal your hearings aids, offering it back to you, his gaze not even meeting yours.
you hesitate, a flicker of uncertainty crossing your face. seongje doesn’t wait for a reply. he knows how this works—he doesn’t need words from you to tell if you’re okay. you’ve already said more than enough with that silence of yours.
it’s a few weeks later when seongje starts to notice something he wasn’t expecting—something soft. you’re not the type to speak, but you show him things. you leave him little letters. they’re simple at first, just words on paper—carefully written, neat and soft. but each one has meaning. you might leave him a note after a chaotic day, telling him, thank you for helping me today—a gesture he’s not used to.
seongje can’t stop himself from reading them over and over, even if he pretends they don’t matter. he tosses the first one aside in an exaggerated motion, but later, when he’s alone, he pulls it out again, trying to make sense of it. there’s something oddly comforting in your words. something real. his usual sharpness dulls just a little when he reads them.
it’s a typical night, and you don’t expect anything to go wrong. seongje has always been unpredictable, but you can’t stop yourself from trusting him. there’s a strange sort of understanding between the two of you now. he doesn’t need you to speak, and you don’t need him to be anything but… himself. still, you don’t expect what happens when he calls you to meet him in a parking lot late one evening.
the dim light from the streetlamps makes the whole place feel cold and detached. you spot him standing there, leaning against the hood of a car, his eyes narrowing slightly when he sees you approach. but there’s something different tonight—something unsettling in his stance.
"come here," seongje says, his voice almost too casual for the tense atmosphere.
your breath catches in your throat as the boy on his knees comes into focus. you've seen him around before—he’s one of the delinquents from the union. the same one who’d been taunting you in the bowling alley, waving your hearing aids like some cruel joke. that memory hits you sharply, and your stomach churns with discomfort as you recognize him now, his face bruised and bloodied, a lip split open, looking like he’s been through hell.
but why is he here? why is he on his knees, shaking in front of seongje? what happened to him?
seongje stands over him, his posture casual, his grin wide and wicked as he watches the boy with almost bored amusement. he kicks the delinquent’s side lightly, like it’s a game, and the boy flinches.
"come on, kid," seongje says, his voice teasing but edged with something darker, something almost amused by the kid’s fear. "just like we practiced."
the delinquent on his knees doesn’t speak, his eyes downcast, probably too terrified to even look up at seongje, but his shaky hand lifts. you watch as he tries to make the "a" handshape, his fingers clumsy as he attempts to sign. seongje looks down at the boy, his grin stretching wider as he watches him fumble.
the delinquent hurriedly completes the sign, his hands shaking, his breath coming in short bursts as he struggles to perform it correctly. he spins his hand in a half-hearted clockwise motion, and you can tell how hard it is for him to even try. he looks humiliated, and maybe that’s what seongje wants—to make him feel small, to show that he’s the one in control now. like how the boy probably felt back in the bowling alley with you.
“sorry.” he signed.
as the boy finishes, seongje pats his shoulder with an almost affectionate thud, a grin still plastered on his face. “good job,” he mutters, voice dripping with mock praise. but his eyes flick to you, then back to the delinquent, as if waiting for some kind of reaction.
the delinquent scrambles to his feet, not daring to say a word, but you can see the fear still fresh in his eyes. without another glance, he stumbles off into the shadows of the parking lot, and seongje doesn’t follow him, not bothering with any more theatrics. “now that’s how you apologize,” he sighs contentedly, glancing at you from the corner of his eye as he walks back to where you two came from.
you don’t respond, but you follow him. because, despite everything—despite how messed up all of this is—he’s still the one who, somehow, happened to feel like the safest person to be around. despite his… unique antics.
despite the way he does things no one else would dare to. because even if he’s rough around the edges, unpredictable and loud, seongje never made you feel small. and that, weirdly enough, was enough.
seongje’s desk at the bowling alley becomes a quiet sort of shrine to you—littered with your letters and notes, half-crumpled from him rereading them over and over. he never bothers to clean it up. they’re scattered across the surface like leaves in a storm, but he knows exactly where each one is. it’s an organized mess, chaotic in the same way he is. but if anyone even looks at them too long—tries to pick one up, makes a joke about the handwriting, even breathes too close to the edge of his desk—they’re basically asking for a death wish.
“touch it and you die,” he’ll mutter without even looking up, one foot kicked up on the desk, cigarette dangling from his lips. it’s not even a threat—it’s a promise.
somewhere in between the late night meetups—where the world is quiet and it’s just the two of you—and the stolen moments in back rooms lit by vending machine glow, seongje softens. not in a way that’s obvious to most, but in ways you catch. like when he plays bowling with you late at night at the union headquarters, just the sound of pins crashing echoing through the empty lanes. he’s terrible at it, but he doesn’t care. he would fair better hitting someone at the back of the head with these bowling balls. he only really lights up when it’s your turn.
you roll the ball, knock down every pin, and before you can even react, he’s throwing his hands in the air, exaggeratedly signing applause, a wide grin stretching across his face.
“that’s what i’m fucking talking about!” he shouts, clapping loudly on top of the sign for applause he just made, just because he’s still him—loud, obnoxious, impossible—but now he’s loud for you.
yeah… to seongje, you’re like a stray puppy at first. small, quiet, following him around without saying a word, eyes always wide and watching. at first, he thinks it’s kinda funny—endearing, even. you don’t talk back, don’t flinch when he’s loud, and you’ve got this habit of showing up with little notes or food like some soft, strange ritual he doesn’t understand. he starts calling you “puppy” just to mess with you, ruffling your hair whenever you come around.
but somewhere along the way, that fondness stops being just a game. no, you’re not a pet to seongje. but maybe, you became an equal.
he starts waiting for your notes. starts leaving his office door slightly cracked, just in case you come by. he catches himself watching you instead of his phone. gets weirdly pissed off when other people so much as look at you wrong.
and the night he realizes it’s different—that it’s not just him babysitting some quiet kid—it’s when you sign “stay” with soft hands after a long night, and he does. no grumbling, no jokes, just settles next to you and doesn’t leave.
after that, it’s not a question. you’re not a puppy. you’re his person.
and yeah, maybe he never said you were dating. but everyone knows. you leave your food in the union’s fridge, your letters in his desk, your comfort in the chaos of his life. and he protects you, respects you, listens to your silence more than he’s ever listened to anyone’s voice. and no one in the union dares to bring it up or even question your soft presence in the nitty gritty bowling alley.
seongje is loud. like, really fucking loud. he talks with his whole body, yells when he's annoyed, laughs like he owns the air around him, and never knows when to shut up. he's noise and motion and chaos wrapped in one, dangerously sharp-edged boy. but you—you're quiet. not just in voice, but in presence. you move gently, offer kindness without demanding attention, speak in ways that don’t need sound.
and somehow, in all the noise of his world, your silence is the only thing that ever made sense. he used to think silence was empty, but now it’s where he finds comfort. he’s still loud, still volatile, still the type to throw a punch first and maybe ask questions never. but now there’s this... softness around the edges. a space he carves out just for you. like you’re the eye of the storm, and he’s always, always circling back to you.
in your quiet, he feels understood. and maybe that's the wildest thing about this whole mess—that a boy made of sound found peace in someone who never had to say a word.
note: aaa i feel like this so short >><< i wanted to give them more of a backstory but for now this is what i’m going with. if you’d like to see more of them that’d be nice 🫶 this is such a different take from collarless tho, and it’s nice to also write a softer character to contrast our tough collarless!reader to explore more dynamics with seongje.
i don’t aim to reform or soften seongje, but have the peaceful presence of the reader be incorporated into his life without changing his ideals and personality.
synopsis — when you meet beomseok again under glowing neon lights, an unspoken understanding still hangs between you.
now playing — no one noticed - the marias, afterglow - taylor swift
pairing — oh beomseok x reader
genre — angst, hurt/comfort, ex-childhood friends, set before the boxing ring scene, when he started to hang out with the delinquents at school
cw — mentions of past child abuse (implied), cptsd, underage substance use (vape, alcohol), lyrics are not in order do not mention it i did my best to use them to the best of my abilities
wc — ~2.7k
part of the “i can fix him!” trilogy
masterlist | join the taglist | 400 follower event
note: finally got my last fic out for the i can fix him series <3 DECIDED to make it part of my 400 follower special as well last minute, so i am so sorry if the lyrics are not super accurate to the scene, it was a last minute decision to add it in !! ugh this has been in my drafts for so long and i am so so happy to finally present this to my beomseok girlies and besties that just want our pookie 2 be happy </3
reblogs appreciated !!
you’re not even sure how you ended up at the club in the first place.
your friends had dragged you out, something about blowing off steam. a little rebellion. just some innocent fun—maybe not all legal, but not dangerous either. fake ids, a connection to a staff member, someone’s cousin’s cousin who knew the bouncer.
the bass hits like a second heartbeat. lights strobe overhead, too hot inside, drinks already sweating in flimsy plastic cups. you hang back by the edge of the crowd, eyes sweeping across the room, not expecting anything—
until you pause.
you think you recognize someone.
maybe i lost my mind
a lanky figure by the bar: jacket sleeves pushed up, fingers toying with a vape, flicking it up to his lips. he exhales slow, leans into the words of a girl nearby, all relaxed like he belongs here. and something about the way he moves catches you. familiar. almost.
but something’s missing.
you almost brush it off—but then he turns just enough, and your stomach twists.
no one noticed
oh beomseok?
no one but you
the boy who used to trail behind you with a book bag twice his size and bruises on his wrists. the one who hated loud noises and flinched too easily, glasses always slipping down his nose. his glasses, that’s what was missing. aside from that, this was definitely your beomseok.
but it also… isn’t.
oh beomseok is vaping, the cloud lingers near his lips as he nods along to whatever some guy’s saying beside him—loud, messy, clearly drunk. but he looks tired, worn-in, like a pair of shoes that don’t quite fit anymore. you watch him reach into his hoodie and pull out a wad of cash, handing it to one of the boys next to him. the kid beams and rushes off to the bar, probably to order another round for the whole group.
you’re already moving toward him, and before you know it, you’re grabbing onto his wrist.
he yanks back, eyes flashing. “what the fuck, man?” his voice is sharp, defensive. but you don’t falter.
may have lost it (i need a virtual connection) / i have lost it (be my video obsession)
you grab his wrist again—tighter this time. your grip says you’re not messing around. “cut the bullshit, beomseok,” you mutter, dragging him through the crowd before he can resist again. his steps stumble behind you, but he follows.
you find a quieter corner near the back wall, where the bass thuds dull and distant. red lights flicker overhead. the air smells like sweat and smoke and too-sweet liquor.
you shove him—not hard, just enough to get his back against the wall.
his eyes narrow, guarded. but you catch the flicker there. the hesitation. like something in him recognizes you.
“what are you doing here?” you ask, voice steady, jaw set. “what a reunion, beomseok-ah.” you add, sarcasm dripping from your tongue.
his eyes meet yours—and something in them falters. like recognition stumbles into him too fast, as if it knocks the wind out of him, his mouth parting just slightly.
“y/n…?” he says your name like a secret. like it’s been buried somewhere he didn’t think anyone would find, “w-what are you doing here?” hi s voice falters.
“don’t flip it on me,” you mutter, arms crossed. “i asked first.”
he hesitates, “i’m just—out with friends.”
“friends?” you scoff. “i just watched you pay for their second round of drinks. didn’t see them offering to chip in.”
he doesn’t reply, just shifts his weight from one foot to the other like the floor’s suddenly unstable.
you exhale through your nose and grab his wrist again. “come with me.”
if you believe me i guess i'll get on a plane / fly to your city excited to see your face
you take his hand, pulling him away from the pulsing speakers and sticky floors, past bodies pressed together and clouds of cigarette smoke, until you’re outside, his hand in yours, feeling the warmth of it despite the cold air surrounding you as you lead him out into the neon-lit streets. the city buzzes around you, but it feels like you’re in your own little bubble, just the two of you. the breeze hits you both, a sharp contrast to the heat of the club you left behind.
you walk for a while, not really knowing where you’re headed, but you’re not rushing. you don’t really want to leave him alone, not like this. somehow, you end up at a 7-eleven, the bright lights of the convenience store a welcome change from the chaos outside.
without thinking, you grab a hangover drink off the shelf—something to steady the night, to offer some kind of relief. you pop it open and walk over to him, pushing it into his hand.
his eyes avoid yours, his face turned away as if he’s trying to shut himself off from you. it’s painful to watch, but you’re not letting him slip away again. “here,” you say, voice softer than before, “you should drink it. you look like you need it.”
he doesn’t respond right away, the silence between you both stretches. beomseok doesn’t really push you away this time around, his fingers brush the bottle briefly, but it’s clear that something’s stopping him from facing you completely.
you watch as his fingers tighten around the can, but he still doesn’t look at you. the silence hangs heavy, and you can’t stand it anymore. you step a little closer, your voice a little more urgent.
“beomseok… talk to me. this just isn’t you.”
no one tried / to read my eyes
he finally turns his face towards you, his eyes avoiding yours, but his words hit harder than you expected. “it’s been years, yn. you don’t know who i am anymore…”
no one but you
you feel a pang in your chest, but you don’t back down. you step forward, placing a hand on his arm, more firmly this time, almost desperate.
“no,” you push, your voice strong and steady. “i do know you. the real you. and this—this isn’t it. you’re hiding behind all of this. i don’t care what’s changed. i care about who you are, beomseok.”
he flinches slightly at your words, a flicker of vulnerability crossing his face before he quickly masks it again. it’s like he wants to fight back, but the weight of your words is enough to make him pause, just for a second.
come on, don't leave me it can't be that easy, babe
the silence stretches between you two, but you can’t let it hang there any longer. your voice softens, quieter now, like you’re afraid to speak the truth but know you need to.
“is it... is it your father again?” you finally cut through the quiet, your gaze searching his face for some sign, some clue.*
you see how he tenses, the tightness in his posture, and something inside you shifts. without thinking, you slide your arm over his shoulder, pulling him just a little closer to you. your hand gently rubs his arm, offering him a kind of grounding warmth that he hasn’t allowed himself in a long time.
hold me, console me and then i'll leave without a trace
“oh, beomseok…” you murmur, your voice full of quiet empathy. the words are more than just a sigh; they’re a soft acknowledgment of everything he’s carrying, of all the weight he’s been hiding behind that tough facade.
his body stiffens at first, but slowly, you feel him relax under your touch, just a little. the act is simple—just a touch—but it’s enough to make him stop pretending, if only for a moment. he doesn’t pull away.
beomseok breathes out shakily, and you can feel the weight of it, like he’s been holding his breath for far too long. he doesn’t say it out loud, but you can tell he needs this—needs you to be here with him.
i pinned your hands behind your back, oh / thought i had reason to attack, but no
slowly, almost as if he’s too exhausted to fight it, his head leans in to rest on your shoulder. his breath is warm against your neck as he buries his face there, gripping the hangover drink in his hand, the can trembling slightly as he exhales again, shaky and uneven.
you feel his breath against your skin, the tremor in his grip, and your heart tightens. there’s so much he’s been holding back, so much he’s been too afraid to show. but right here, in this quiet moment, you can feel the weight of his vulnerability.
it's so excruciating to see you low
you don’t pull away, just let him be, your hand still gently rubbing his shoulder, grounding him, offering the comfort he’s too scared to ask for.
just wanna lift you up and not let you go
and like for the first time that night, you finally recognize the beomseok you used to know, soft and unguarded, the one who used to cling to you when everything felt too heavy. the boy you always tried to protect. just like this.
“hey.” you let him pull back just a little, enough to lift his head. your hands find his shoulders gently, steady, coaxing him to face you. “look at me.”
his eyes meet yours, still guarded, still tired. but you hold his gaze like you mean it.
“i like when you’re like this,” you say, quiet but certain. “real. not all… tough. not pretending to be someone else.”
no one but you
your grip on his shoulders tightens just a little. grounding him.
“you’re kind,” you murmur. “maybe a little soft-hearted. but that’s not a bad thing, beomseok. don’t forget that.”
his breath catches, like he doesn’t know how to believe you yet. but he’s listening.
you pause, jaw tight, gaze unwavering. “the guy i saw back there? in the club?” you shake your head. “that’s not you.”
he doesn’t say anything right away. just stares down at his shoes, shoulders slightly hunched, like he’s bracing for something. you can see the way his fingers curl tighter around the bottle, the silence stretching between you.
then, slowly, his eyes flick up—not fully, just a glance from beneath his lashes. hesitant. almost like he’s scared of what he’ll find that he had already buried deep if he really looks at you.
like he doesn’t think he deserves to.
you feel your chest tighten a little. you keep your hands on his shoulders, steady.
i need to say, hey / it's all me, just don't go
“beomseok-ah,” you say, softer now. “it’s okay. i’m not going anywhere.”
you give his shoulders a light squeeze. not to rush him, just to remind him you’re still here. he still won’t meet your eyes all the way—just glances up at you from under his lashes, like holding eye contact would crack something open.
you let out a quiet breath. step a little closer.
“you don’t have to pretend now,” you murmur. and then—gently—you reach up and wrap your arms around him, loose at first, around his shoulders. your chin rests near his collarbone, the way it used to when things got bad.
“we can go through it again,” you whisper. “just like when we were kids.”
he doesn’t move right away. but he doesn’t pull away, either.
you shift your arm a little, meaning to hold him tighter—and that’s when you notice it. something hard presses faintly against your ribs, caught between you. your fingers reach down, curious, and brush against the edge of plastic.
you pull back slightly, just enough to glance down—and there they are. tucked halfway out of his hoodie pocket, half-crushed but unmistakable: his old glasses.
your chest tightens.
he brought them. he’s still carrying them, even if he refuses to wear them. like some part of him can’t let go.
you don’t say anything. you just ease them from his pocket with careful fingers, slow enough that he barely stirs. and then, without asking, you guide them gently onto his face. he flinches a little at the contact—like he thinks you’re going to push him away—but you don’t.
instead, you adjust them on the bridge of his nose, the way you used to when they always slid down. the frames sit slightly crooked, lenses already smudged.
your hand lingers at the side of his face for a beat longer than it should. then, quietly, like it’s second nature, you ruffle his hair.
“there,” you whisper, “now you look like my beomseok again.” pulling him back into your arms.
he doesn’t say anything.
chemistry 'til it blows up, 'til there's no us
and then—quietly, without meaning to—his vision starts to blur. tears prick at the corners of his eyes, sharp and sudden. he tries to blink them back, but it just makes everything worse. the glasses fog a little—like they remember him too, the edges of the world softening, slipping out of focus.
and all he can see is you. or maybe not even really you—just the curve of your shoulder, the messy strands of your hair, close and steady in front of him. the warmth of your body against his. you’re the only real thing in his whole line of sight.
he swallows hard, his throat tight. and then—slowly, like he’s scared to even do it—his hands come up, just barely brushing against your back. he holds you like you’ll slip through his fingers if he’s not careful. but then something snaps inside of him,
went off like sirens, just crying
his fingers twist into the fabric of your clothes, and suddenly he’s clutching you like you’re the only thing keeping him upright. his shoulders shake. the sob hits his chest first, then his throat, and then he’s just—crying. really crying. a full-body kind of ache, like he’s been holding it in for years. like he didn’t know he was allowed to fall apart until now.
it's on your face, don't walk away, i need to say
his shoulders tremble under your hands, full-body shakes like he can’t keep it in anymore. “god, y/n...” he whimpers, voice cracking as his thumbs dig into your back, desperate. like if he lets go even a little, he might fall apart for real this time. you lift one hand, slow and steady, and thread your fingers through his hair, brushing it back gently, soothing him the way you used to when you were kids. like muscle memory.
tell me that you're still mine / tell me that we'll be just fine / even when I lose my mind
and that night, beomseok doesn’t go home.
if you can even call it that—home.
he hesitates at the thought of it, like the word tastes wrong in his mouth. like it doesn’t quite belong to him. he doesn’t go back to that house—the one with slamming doors and cold hallways, where bruises are worn like silence and silence weighs heavier than words. the place that still smells like fear and waiting and things left unsaid.
instead, he goes with you.
i don't wanna lose, i don't wanna lose this with you
no questions. no second-guessing. just your hand holding his, steady and sure, like a lifeline he didn’t know he was allowed to take.
it’s quiet in your room. the kind of quiet that doesn’t feel heavy. beomseok lies on his side, curled up with his head pressed gently to your chest, right where he can feel the steady rise and fall of your breathing. like a grounding rhythm. like safety.
i need to say, hey / it's all me, just don't go
your arm stays wrapped around him, thumb tracing slow lines over the curve of his shoulder. his glasses are gone—left on your nightstand, lenses smudged and forgotten. his eyes are swollen and tired, puffy from all the crying, but they’re finally closed.
he doesn’t say anything. he just lets himself rest there, breathing in sync with you. after the blinding glow of the club and the alcohol, the neon lights and too many people who never looked close enough—this is what feels right.
meet me in the afterglow
and for once, beomseok feels like maybe he’s safe, maybe he’s allowed to stay, that he finally belongs somewhere—loved, protected, not needing to put up an act. that someone sees him.
if you liked this, i appreciate a reblog as well :3 it helps my works and writing spread to other ppl very effectively !!
💬 do u guys ever think that maybe, just maybe, if beomseok had this type of support system in the show, he wouldn’t have ended up that way? just someone to hold him, console him, and just see him, yk?
note: will be one of my last uploads before i go on a short break (to work and finish requests lol) so i will be back very soon, just no new fics released for a couple days ^^ i aim to be back by tuesday or wednesday next week (may 13 or 14) so thank u for giving the blog so much love and see u again soon !! and if ur still reading this, reblog with a photo of ur favorite whc boy <3 (hehe i might use it for something ;p)
Hello! Congratulations on 400 followers, i love your writing and you definitely deserve it💜
I was wondering if i could request an Scoups x reader with the song Still into you by Paramore? Super fluffy please
Here's to many more followers💜
still into you - c.s.c.
now playing — still into you - paramore
pairing — choi seungcheol (s.coups) x reader
genre — highschool sweethearts, romance, fluff, slice of life, strangers to lovers to married couple !!
cw — usual casual skinship, a little bit of a lover’s quarrel, cheol is so into you
wc — ~3k
note: oh cheol my beloved !! i love this so much and i hope u guys love reading it just as much as i did writing it (ㅅ´ ˘ `) so happy to finally welcome cheol to my growing masterlist !! thank u @reiofsuns2001 for this request !! im so sorry it took so long, rei >><< sobs i have so much piled up !!
11 out of 13 members, three to go !! so pretty plz request any china line: jun or hao (plsplspls i ult him)
can't count the years on one hand that we've been together...
you always sat at the front of the class—highlighters in perfect color-coded rows, your handwriting criminally neat, the kind teachers loved to show off as an example. you didn’t talk much because you didn’t need to. your grades spoke for you.
seungcheol, on the other hand, was sat behind you. laughing with his team in the hallways, quiet in class, his football varsity jacket nearly always slipping off one shoulder. he chewed gum when he wasn’t supposed to, passed notes to his friends during lectures, and somehow still managed to charm every teacher in the building.
you weren’t supposed to end up together,
you were the scholarship student, the overachiever. seungcheol was the football team’s rising golden boy, all brawn and charming grins.
but one day in sophomore year, he leaned forward with a crooked smile and an awkward scratch to the back of his neck.
“hey… can i borrow a pencil? i swear i’ll give it back.”
you didn’t answer, just handed him your backup—a pink mechanical pencil that had a little heart-shaped eraser on the end. he grinned, mouthed a silent “thank you” as you rolled your eyes and turned back around.
you never got that pencil back.
but three weeks later, he offered you a ride home after late labs, nervous hand gripping the steering wheel of his dad’s honda civic.
“i kinda owe you, y’know?” he huffed, the lamest excuse to spend a little time with you. “wanna maybe... grab a meal before i take you home?”
and you said yes. he told his teammates about it the next morning in the locker rooms like it was the biggest win of his life.
now, several years later, you’re sitting beside him in the university library, quizzing him on finance terms you already know by heart.
you’re wearing that same battered varsity jacket—the one with the stitched-on patch from your high school. it’s a little faded now, the sleeves too long with the collar fraying. but it smells like seungcheol and fits like a memory, and he always says it looks better on you anyway.
his arm is draped around your waist, hand resting gently on your thigh as you lean into him. the world outside is cold, deadlines piling up, futures uncertain. but in this quiet corner of campus, you’re just the girl who gave him a pencil, and he’s still the boy who forgot his.
seungcheol glances down at you, eyes full of something warm and familiar. “hey, babe. how long have we been together?” he suddenly pipes up, eyes scanning yours. “like... six years...?” you murmur, eyes still trained on the flashcards you were organizing. “that’s wild.” he whispers, mostly to himself. you smile at this, brushing your thumb against his knuckles. “yeah, and you still haven’t given back my pencil.”
he groans, burying his face in your shoulder. “you’re never gonna let that go, huh?”
“never,” you laugh, and in your chest, something soft tugs.
because after all those years later, it’s still him. it’s still you and him against the world.
and, baby, even on our worst nights / i’m into you (i’m into you)
it wasn’t a good night.
you were both running on empty—too many deadlines, too little sleep. you had snapped first, voice sharp and exhausted, tossing a sarcastic comment over your shoulder when he forgot to pick up the takeout.
seungcheol snapped back. it didn’t happen often, but when it did, it hurt in ways neither of you liked admitting.
the apartment was quiet after that. he shut himself in the bedroom, while you curled up on the couch with a blanket and a dull ache behind your eyes.
you were halfway through scrolling aimlessly on your phone when you heard the bedroom door creak open.
seungcheol stood in the doorway, hair messy, eyes glassy with his brows furrowed. he looked younger like that—vulnerable in a way he didn’t let the world see. only you.
he didn’t say anything at first. just walked over and sank down beside you, his shoulder brushing yours. you didn’t lean into him—not yet—but you didn’t pull away either.
“i’m sorry,” he said quietly. “i didn’t mean to… y’know, be a jerk.”
you nodded, eyes still fixed on the screen. “me too.”
there was a pause. then his hand found yours beneath the blanket, fingers weaving through automatically, like muscle memory.
his thumb rubbed slow circles into your skin.
“we’re not perfect,” he said, almost to himself. “but… i’m still yours, even when we fight, or when it’s messy. especially then.”
you turned your head, finally meeting his eyes. they were tired, but soft. “me too,” you whispered. “even when you leave the laundry in the machine for three days.”
he snorted, “low blow.” but he leaned in, kissed your temple, and pulled you into his chest. you let yourself melt against him, the warmth of his familiar varsity jacket surrounding you again like home.
some nights were hard, but even on the worst of them—you never doubted the way seungcheol loved you, and he never let you forget it.
recount the night that i first met your mother / and on the drive back to my house, i told you that, i told you that i loved ya
seungcheol had never been the nervous type.
not even back in his first big game, when the whole stadium would hold its breath waiting for the quarterback to make the play, not during final exams, or during his first part-time job interview or the time he accidentally ripped his pants before a group presentation as a freshman.
but tonight?
tonight, now a high school senior, sitting across from your mother at the dinner table, spoon clutched too tight in his hand—he was spiraling.
“you’re sweating,” you whispered while passing him the kimchi, amusement sparkling in your eyes. “you literally played full-contact sports in summer and didn’t sweat this much.”
he shot you a betrayed look, cheeks flushed. “why didn’t you warn me your mom was so intense?”
“she’s not. she’s just... thorough,” you replied, clearly enjoying yourself far too much.
his hands were clammy, he kept adjusting his posture like that would magically make the nerves go away. this was worse than the championship game sophomore year, when the entire school was watching and he fumbled a play.
your mom, across the table, had a polite smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes yet. her tone was kind, but her questions were anything but casual.
“so, seungcheol,” she said, folding her hands. “what exactly are your intentions?”
he blanked. the word ‘intentions’ echoed like a judge’s gavel in his skull. “uh... good ones?” he croaked, as your dad snorted into his drink. you kicked him gently under the table.
“i mean—i’ve been with y/n since we were sophomores,” seungcheol tried again, “and i... i’m really serious about them. always have been.”
your mom raised an eyebrow, making him want to just freaking disappear into the mashed potatoes.
still, she let him take leftovers when you left, in the nice, airtight lock containers, and that was a silent blessing if he ever saw one.
the car ride home was quiet at first. the hum of your shared playlist playing low through the speakers. you rested your hand on his thigh, thumb moving in slow circles.
“you did great, by the way,” you said softly.
“i bombed,” he sighed. “that was worse than any away game. ever. she had me sweating like i was back under the friday night lights.”
you smiled, turning your body toward him as the city lights streaked past the window. “she likes you, cheol. she just needed to see for herself what i already know.”
he glanced over at you, then back at the road. his grip on the wheel tightened, then loosened.
“i told myself i’d wait longer to say this,” he murmured. “but i’m kinda done waiting.”
your breath caught, turning your head fully toward him now.
“i love you,” he said, eyes still on the road but voice sure, steady—like a promise.
then, just as quickly, his bravado cracked, “you don’t have to say it back,” he rushed, hands tightening on the wheel. “i just—”
but you leaned across the console, cutting him off as you gently pressed your lips onto his cheek, and whispered, “say it again.”
seungcheol did. three more times before the red light turned green.
and from that night on, your mom always made sure to pack extra banchan for him “just in case.”
and to your favorite song / we sang along to the start of forever
that dumb summer playlist you made is still saved on his phone.
you pretend to hate it, rolling your eyes whenever “teenage dream” comes on.
but when your favorite track starts, seungcheol always turns the volume up, grinning like it’s some unspoken tradition.
he leans over and kisses your cheek, soft and sure—like he’s marking the moment.
that playlist becomes the background noise of your entire relationship: your fights, your makeups, those late-night fast food runs when neither of you want to be alone.
then one day, without much warning, he’s driving you back to that lake you used to sneak off to in high school.
the playlist is on shuffle, but you know he rigged it—because just as he pulls the car to a stop, your song starts to play.
he turns the volume up even louder, the corners of his mouth twitching into a nervous smile.
“remember this?” he asks softly, eyes locked on yours through the rearview mirror.
you nod, heart fluttering with all the memories: summer nights, laughter echoing over water, secrets shared under the stars.
he reaches over, slipping his varsity jacket off your shoulders and setting it carefully on the seat beside you.
his hand lingers near his pants pocket, fingers nervously tracing the small, worn box tucked inside—edges softened from years of carrying it around, though you don’t see it yet.
“i didn’t tell you where we were going,” he says, voice low but steady, “but this place… this is where everything started, isn’t it?”
you remember the day he took you here before, that nervous grin on his face, chest puffed out like he’d just won a championship, and how, just before driving you back home, he finally asked you out—your heart racing as you said yes.
you glance out at the calm lake, a quiet smile curling your lips as the sky blushes with sunset.
he kills the engine, and the soft hum of the playlist continues through the car speakers.
seungcheol opens his door first and steps out into the fading gold of sunset, the breeze tugging gently at his shirt. he walks around to your side, and for a second, just stands there—one hand on the roof of the car, the other fidgeting at his side.
then he looks at you like he’s memorizing this—your expression lit by the warm spill of twilight, the way the music floats out from the open car, soft and familiar. there’s something tender in his eyes, a quiet awe, like he still can’t believe you’re his.
“come on,” he says finally, voice thick with emotion as he opens your door and holds out his hand.
and when you take it, he squeezes just a little tighter than usual, like he’s holding onto something sacred.
for a moment, the two of you just stand there.
the lake stretches out in front of you, still and familiar, kissed by the amber glow of early evening. the gravel crunches beneath your shoes as you step closer to the edge. seungcheol doesn’t say anything right away—he just watches you, eyes searching your face like he's trying to soak up every detail.
his hand slips from yours briefly, brushing down the side of his jeans. you notice the subtle way he fiddles with something in his pocket, but before you can ask, he draws in a breath.
then, slowly, almost reverently, he lowers himself onto one knee. right there by the water’s edge, golden light spilling over his shoulders like something out of a dream.
your breath catches before your mind even fully registers what’s happening.
you blink—once, twice—like you’re trying to memorize every second, to lock it into place. the lake, the sky, the song drifting from the car, the way his hair glows like it’s lit from within. he looks up at you with that same expression he wore the night he first asked you out—hopeful, wide open, like you hung the stars.
your heart pounds so hard it almost hurts. not out of surprise, but because this moment feels so full, so right, it could spill over. it’s everything at once—past, present, future—folding into one perfect, dizzying breath. and when seungcheol speaks, you can’t help but feel all choked up.
“some things just make sense,” he says, eyes never leaving yours. “and one of those is you and i.” he opens the box to reveal a simple, perfect ring.
“not a day’s gone by that i haven’t been into you, so let’s make it forever.”
your breath catches as you feel hot tears start to pool in your eyes, and you reach out to pull him up—nodding eagerly, the start of forever written in the way your fingers find his, unshakable.
let 'em wonder how we got this far / 'cause i don't really need to wonder at all
mingyu’s trying to fix his tie in the mirror, frowning like the fabric personally offended him. “does anyone actually know how to do this right?”
jeonghan laughs from the couch, sipping a bottle of water. “you’re hopeless. give it here.”
across the room, seungkwan is adjusting the boutonnière on seungcheol’s lapel, squinting with all the concentration of a man diffusing a bomb. “stay still, hyung. i swear if this thing falls off during your vows…”
“i’m not even moving,” seungcheol chuckles, but his hands are shaking slightly where they rest in his lap.
“still nervous?” dokyeom asks, nudging his shoulder.
“a little,” seungcheol admits. “but it’s a good kind.”
mingyu glances over his shoulder with a smirk. “can’t believe they’re still putting up with you after all these years.”
“seriously,” soonyoung adds from where he’s scrolling through photos on his phone. “i would’ve bailed after the ramen incident back in freshman year.”
“or the time you mixed up your anniversary date and took them to a haunted house instead of a dinner reservation,” minghao mutters, deadpan.
the room breaks into laughter, recalling you and seungcheol’s moments over the years.
seungcheol just laughs, rubbing the back of his neck as the room buzzes with teasing. “you know what? i don’t even wonder how we got here.”
mingyu raises an eyebrow in the mirror, “no?”
the groom shakes his head, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “not even a little. they’ve always been it for me.”
mingyu nods slowly, fixing his tie. “yeah… ‘cause they’re the only one who’s ever looked at you like you hung the damn stars.”
jeonghan lets out a low whistle, “look at these guys getting sentimental before the ceremony.”
“hyung’s earned it,” wonwoo says quietly from the corner.
but seungcheol doesn’t disagree. not when he’s about to walk down the aisle to the one person who’s still into him—even on his worst days.
you’re still into each other, and seungcheol never needed to wonder why.
yeah, after all this time / i'm still into you
the music swells, the doors open, and time stutters.
seungcheol forgets how to breathe.
you stand at the end of the aisle, framed by flowers and soft light, looking like something out of a memory and a promise all at once. seungcheol’s breath catches, the nerves from earlier melting into something quieter, deeper—reverence.
soft piano keys ripple through the air, a delicate, heartfelt rendition of still into you filling the room—each note tender, every pause holding the weight of years you’ve shared.
“holy shit,” mingyu whispers beside him, and jeonghan elbows him in the ribs.
but seungcheol doesn’t hear a thing—his eyes are only on you.
each step you take feels suspended in warmth, in years’ worth of laughter, fights, slow study sessions, and late-night drives in his beat-up honda civic that survived highschool and the transition to university. his hands tremble at his sides, jaw tight like he’s holding in everything he can’t say just yet.
when you finally reach him, he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding as you take his hands. they’re warm and familiar.
the officiant speaks, but it’s background noise. everything else fades away.
all seungcheol sees is you, and all you see is him.
and when it’s time—when the words are said, and the universe feels like it’s holding its breath—he leans in.
the kiss is soft, sure. not rushed. like he knows he has forever to do this again.
here to request for dino + anything 4 u by lany :)))) it could be f2l au? bcs of the song's lyrics hehe
i hope u have fun with this and all ur other reqs too 💗💗💗
now playing — anything 4 u - lany *read with this playing for best experience
pairing — lee chan (dino) x reader
genre — childhood bestfriends to lovers, slow burn, chan is a yearner, u want each other so bad c’mon now, will they won’t they?
cw — usual skinship
wc — ~1.5k
masterlist | join the taglist | 400 follower event
note: oh calli... oh my sweet summer moot calli... maybe knight!dino might have to wait for a while but anything 4 u!dino is riiight here
i know the house you grew up in / all of the names of your best friends
you and chan have always been that kind of best friends. the ones who show up to everything together, who text each other about random dreams at 2 a.m., who say i love you without a second thought—because it’s always been safe, right? platonic. easy.
but something’s been different lately.
maybe it started with the way he said your name during that beach trip last summer, soft and a little too slow, like he was tasting it. or maybe it was when you got sick and he sat on your floor for hours, refusing to leave until you’d eaten at least two bites of soup. or maybe it’s the way he remembers everything—your coffee order, your brother’s graduation date, that one thing your ex said that made you cry.
i spent the summer on your couch / you fell in love with someone else / you came to me the times that it went bad
you were seventeen when you had your first real boyfriend. he was kind, on paper—the kind of boy your friends said looked good with you. but you remember the way he never quite listened, how he’d zone out when you talked about the things you loved, how his hands always felt a little too far away, even when they were holding yours.
chan never said anything back then. he just smiled that tired smile and asked if you were happy.
you said yes.
and then one night, you called him from the curb in front of a convenience store, mascara smudged and voice hoarse from holding it all in. “he said i’m too much,” you mumbled. “too sensitive. too emotional. too… everything.”
“he’s an idiot,” chan said without hesitation.
“you don’t have to say that.”
“i’m not saying it because i have to,” he said. “i’m saying it because it’s true.”
he showed up ten minutes later, even though it was past midnight. handed you a bottle of strawberry milk and let you cry into his hoodie. didn’t flinch when you said, “maybe i’m just hard to love.”
“you’re not hard to love,” he whispered. “you’re just waiting for someone who knows how.”
you didn’t know what to say to that. you still don’t.
you know the house i grew up in / you wouldn't knock, you'd just walk in / stay up for hours talkin' to my mom
and it was no secret that his mother was fond of you as well, you’ve always gotten along so well with mrs. lee—there’s something about the way she makes you feel at home, the way her kitchen always smells like freshly baked bread and the way she’d effortlessly get you talking about everything, from school to your dreams. she’d listen patiently, always with a gentle smile, as if nothing you said was ever too small or too silly.
prom night was no different. after slipping into your dress, she insisted on taking photos, her camera flashing just as chan stood awkwardly by the door, adjusting his tie for the third time. “you two look so grown up,” she’d said with a soft laugh, sending you off with a kiss on your cheek and a reminder to be safe.
chan, however, was a mess—eyes wide, hands fidgeting with his jacket, clearly flustered by the sudden attention, but still holding the door open for you. it was those little moments, where everything felt so familiar, so right, that made you realize just how deeply rooted you were in each other’s lives. like he was always meant to be here, in this quiet, unspoken way. and somehow, neither of you had noticed just how much love had grown in the space between the laughter and the shared silences.
after the breakup with your first boyfriend, things shifted—just a little.
i'm somethin' so familiar / that you don't even notice / the way i wanna love ya
chan started noticing more; walking on the side of the sidewalk closest to the street, waiting up when you stayed late on campus, texting you goodnight even on days you didn’t talk, not because he had to—but because that’s just what love looks like when it’s quiet and patient.
you once fell asleep at his place after a movie night, and when you woke up, he’d draped his leather jacket over you, your favorite playlist playing softly in the background. his own hoodie was pulled over his head as he dozed beside you, one hand still resting on the couch between you, fingers slightly curled like he’d reached for you and stopped himself.
he never pushed. never asked for anything back.
but sometimes, when you looked over and caught him already watching you—like he was memorizing your face for the hundredth time—you wondered how long he’d been waiting.
i'll catch a flight, go to the moon / lay on the floor of your living room
it was a quiet evening when it finally hit you, how everything had quietly changed.
you were sprawled across the couch in your living room, legs tucked up under a blanket as the soft light of the tv cast shadows across the room. chan was spread out on the carpeted floor, eyes closed, arms stretched out like he had no care in the world. his face looked so peaceful, but you could see the faintest hint of a frown pulling at his brows—like he was lost in a thought too heavy for him to easily shake off.
you were sure it was just the way he always was, calm and collected. but tonight, it felt different. you had been sitting in silence for hours, only the quiet hum of the tv filling the space between you. it had been an ordinary night, but somehow the stillness felt louder, deeper. the weight of it was pressing down on you, curling in your chest.
you peeked over the back of the couch, stealing a glance at him, and your heart gave a sudden, unexpected thud. he wasn’t paying attention, his eyes still closed, but there was something about the way he was positioned on the floor, so still, like he was waiting for something.
your voice broke the silence, soft at first, barely audible. “stay?”
he froze, eyes snapping open, and you felt your stomach twist. his gaze flickered toward you, concern lining his features, even though his lips only parted in hesitation. “you okay?”
you nodded slowly, the weight of your own words heavy in the air. “just… don’t want to sleep alone tonight.”
a long pause followed, thick with the unspoken words that neither of you had been brave enough to say yet. he looked like he might leave—like this was all just too much, too fast. and part of you almost wanted him to, because if he stayed, things might change. but you didn’t want him to leave. you never wanted chan to leave.
he took a slow breath, his eyes never leaving yours, and you could see him weigh it all. finally, without a word, he shifted on the floor, sitting up slightly, and reached a hand out toward the edge of the couch. his fingers brushed gently over your arm, seeking permission in the quiet of the moment. his gaze never wavered, asking without saying a word if it was okay for him to get closer.
it's time that you should know this, know this
you nodded, and that simple movement was all he needed. he slowly scooted closer, moving up onto the couch next to you. he sat down, hesitating for a split second before he lay down next to you, pulling the blanket further over your shoulders. his head rested against the cushion, his body close but not quite touching, until his hand found its way to your back, wrapping gently around your waist. he pulled you closer, as if he couldn’t help it, as if the closeness was instinctual, something he couldn’t deny any longer.
girl, just tell me what i have to do / i'll do anything for you
and for a while, neither of you said anything. it was just the quiet—just the steady rhythm of his breathing and the soft pulse of your own heart. but then, as the dim light from the tv flickered in the background, he whispered, his voice barely above a breath:
“i’d do anything for you, you know that?”
the words hung in the air, and for the first time, you didn’t need to answer. because the truth was written in the way his thumb brushed across your skin, in the warmth of his hand on your waist, in the way you fit together like the missing piece of a puzzle you hadn’t even realized was incomplete until now.
you’d always known. but now, in the quiet darkness of your living room, with his heart beating so close to yours, you could finally feel it.
and you knew—knew you’d do anything for chan, too.
note: omg what a way to open my 400 follower event!! thank u sm for requesting this, calli <3 and i hope u have fun reading it as much as i had fun writing it. and i had fun with the cover art and i had the song On Repeat the whole time 😭🙏 im inlove with this fic so much
to celebrate reaching 400 (!!!) i’m opening my inbox to a music-based fic fest ˖ ݁♬⋆.˚𝄞
by the end of the event, i would have completed my mixtape with all the songs sent in !!
send me:
(idol or character) with (song title – artist) + optional, but a small description maybe of what you’d like the story to be/how it would flow/a specific au you’d like to see
and i’ll write a fic based on the vibes, themes, or imagery of that song with the character you picked. this is your chance to send in your favorite love songs, sad songs, or anything that screams them.
format:
example: kim mingyu with “style – taylor swift”
example #2: kim mingyu with “style – taylor swift + hollywood!au”
or, if songs aren’t your strong suit, i also decided to accept prompts from here !!
then it’ll be up to me to choose what song i’d use based on what i would end up writing. ( ꈍᴗꈍ)
format:
example: kim mingyu with “prompt #4 – i can’t think straight”
notes:
– no request limit per person, just avoid spam
– not all requests may get picked
– nsfw is ok, just less chance to be picked up
– deadline of submissions: 20th of may, 2025
groups i can write for (but not limited to)
— seventeen, the boyz, nct, riize, xh, bonedo, loona, ateez, stray kids, astro, and the weak hero class boys ++ more !!
