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starrose7mika · 8 days ago

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lookism boys as girl dads.

࿇ summary. well.. the title says it ࿇ characters. gun/goo/jake/gitae

࿇ word count. 1.7k ࿇ warnings. jake's daughter might be seeing the dead. gitae being a dad (i did my best), spanish also on his end. ࿇ author's note. this is highly self-indulgent, these 4 are my favorites

GUN PARK

When your daughter was born, Gun didn’t exactly know what to feel.

He hadn’t exactly seen himself as a father, but he loved you and respected your wishes to keep the baby—and so your beautiful baby girl was born and Gun feels his heart soften at the sight.

The problem is that—Gun didn’t know how to give familial love given his rough childhood in the Yamazaki syndicate in Japan. All he aimed for back then was recognition—to be acknowledged by his father. But all he has received was the loss of life in their eyes.

Now, almost a year into fatherhood, Gun feels like he was adjusting well despite his initial deflection of the fact that he was indeed a father. He was doing his best to be different this time—to be normal as much as he could, to be different from how Shingen had treated him then.

He didn’t think he would be listening to nursery rhymes to ease your daughter into sleep, but the munchkin was too busy babbling his ears off, but it puts a small smile in his face.

“Good thing your mother and uncle talk a lot,” he says as he rubs your daughter’s back, a small gesture that puts her to sleep easily. “I’m used to it,” he says quietly, turning his head to see that the baby was still eager to talk.

He chuckles, deciding to tone down the nursery rhymes and sit on the rocking chair in her room instead. “Okay, tell daddy what you want to say,” he murmurs, carefully adjusting the baby in his arms.

“Since you seem so invested in this story of yours,” he adds, and his daughter continues to talk, even clutching his shirt with her tiny hand. He nods, even humming as if he completely understands what the little girl was talking about. “I see. You miss mommy?” he asks.

The baby babbles louder, and Gun thinks that fatherhood, in his own version, isn’t so bad.

“I miss her too. But she’s on a work trip,” he casually explains. “Don’t worry, daddy will make sure that we get to bond together,” Gun says with a small smile.

Who knew that talking to a baby could be so entertaining?

“I’ll make all the food you like,” he promises, rubbing his daughter’s back, who slowly falls asleep at the promise. “Don’t worry.”

GOO KIM

“But daddy!”

The little girl, who is definitely a carbon copy of Goo, cries in front of him. Tears were already streaking her cheeks, eyes almost red from crying, hugs your husband’s legs.

“I thought you said you were rich!” she argues, sniffling loudly as you try not to laugh at the scene in front of you.

“I am, cupcake! Daddy has a lot of money!” he says, adjusting his glasses before picking up to carry your daughter, wiping her tears away as she hides her face on your husband’s shoulder.

“Then why don’t you get me the Barbie car from the movie?!” she asks, crying louder.

Goo, for once, is speechless and grimaces at his daughter’s request. It was so uncharacteristic to see him so quiet, being able to do nothing but comfort his daughter—but since he was a dad now, he’ll be making sure that he’ll be pulling some connections to get that Barbie car.

“Because you can’t drive yet, sweetheart,” Goo responds, hugging his daughter tightly and rocking her gently, trying to ease her tears away. “Daddy can get that for you when you turn 18, is that okay?” he asks, giving her that same look she does to him whenever she wants something.

“18 is too far!” she says, fresh tears streaming down her face. “I want it now!”

You can see your husband turning to you for help, and you already had half a mind in leaving him to handle his mess, but you don’t want two whining children in your ear later, so might as well fix this now.

“Honey,” you call out to your daughter who was reaching out to you. “Daddy just wants you safe,” you start to explain as she wipes her tears away, Goo wrapping an arm around you.

“If daddy gets you the Barbie car now and you drive it, you’ll break yourself and the car,” you explain gently.

“Remember when daddy had a big boo boo?” Goo pokes your daughter’s cheeks and she nods. “You drew on daddy’s bandages. That will happen to you if you drive a car now.”

Your daughter makes a face, realizing that she doesn’t want a big boo. “Will daddy buy me the Barbie car when I’m 18 then?” she asks quietly, calming down.

“Yes,” Goo immediately responds, giving his daughter a big smile. “Daddy will make sure that it’s pink and pretty just for my little cupcake!”

“Okay, daddy,” your daughter says. “When I turn 18 then you get me the Barbie car.”

JAKE KIM

“Higher, Jewwy!”

“Okay, little boss.”

“That’s too high, Jerry—!”

Jake says in a panic, but you cover his mouth to let him hear his daughter’s screams of delight as Jerry lifts her higher before settling her down on his shoulder.

You thought Jake would’ve been retired from the gang life when the two of you would have a kid together—but despite being protected when the two if you did it, you ended up getting pregnant.

With some scolding from Minseon and your insistence to keep the baby, Jake stepped up. It’s not like he wouldn’t—he loved you too much—but he wanted to make sure that you were sure first before taking the next step.

Everyone in Big Deal loved yours and Jake’s daughter. Sinu and Yeonhui often doted on her, and Jerry, by extension, thinks that he should protect her and make her happy. Jason and Brad made sure she was well-fed, and Lua and Lineman were the ones she often played with.

“She’s okay, relax,” you tell your boyfriend, who was about to look like he was about to have a heart attack at how high your daughter was from the ground. Jerry was a big and tall man, but he was so friendly and kind that your daughter can’t help but take advantage of that. “See?” you point out to him.

Jake, despite his initial panic, is relieved to see his daughter having fun. Although he could see that she couldn’t grab anything from Jerry’s head—he’s bald—so she settles on gently grabbing his cheeks.

“Little boss, where do you wanna go?” Jerry asks as he held the girl’s legs, ensuring that she is safe and sound. “Chinu and Yeoni!”

“They are not here,” Jerry explains lightly. “They went on an adventure.”

The little girl hums before perking up again, smiling as her eyes lands on you and Jake. “I wanna go to mommy and daddy!”

And so, Jerry brings little boss to you and Jake, who she quickly reaches out to her father before giggling. “Daddy!” she says happily, hugging her father.

Jake’s initial panic dissipates and is now replaced with the love he has for his daughter. “Yes, princess?” he asks, gloved fingers brushing her hair. “I wanna go to gramma!”

“Really? You miss her, huh?” he asks quietly, giving her a small smile before nodding. “Okay, we’ll visit grandma soon. You’re so attached to her,” he teases her daughter lightly.

“I wanna play wid the big man in the garden too!” she says excitingly, and Jake freezes on the spot and he feels his blood run cold. “What? Big guy?” he asks his daughter before looking at you then at his daughter.

“Big guy!” your daughter exclaims again, not really realizing how big of a revelation she just said. “The one in gramma’s frame!”

“He told me to call him grandpa!”

GITAE KIM

It was obvious that he had one goal in life, and that was to get rid of everything that was related to Gapryong Kim.

So, he was not meant to have a companion, much less a family and a father, but God forbid he let life happen and now he has all of those things—you, his wife, and your adorable daughter, making him a father.

“Mi flor,” he addresses your daughter as he was looking at her from his seat, immediately getting rid of his pipe so that her precious sense of smell wasn’t tainted with nicotine. “What are you wearing?” he asks, a lazy look on his face, although he is endeared at the sight.

His daughter was wearing a similar outfit of his—long-sleeves with a pinstripe design, but in baby pink. Baby jeans that had an embroidered design of flowers on the side, and her shoes with her favorite cartoon character on it.

He shouldn’t be so endeared at the sight given who he is, but life has softened him in the edges and that was due to you and your daughter.

“Papa, I’m like you!” she says with a smile as she runs towards him, toothy grin making Gitae’s smile right back at her—a rare occurrence for others, but it’s something that you and your daughter see whenever you both surround him. “Really? You like being like papa, mi flor?” he asks, picking her up to sit on his lap.

“Papa is cool! Maravilloso!” she exclaims this time.

“I’m glad to know you think papa is maravilloso,” he says, chuckling afterwards.

Cool was not something used to describe the likes of him, but a child doesn’t know better. And Gitae would rather save his daughter’s innocence than let her know what kind of person he truly was.

He’ll simply cherish the days where she still has child-like wonder over things.

“Because you are! I wanna be like papa one day,” she tells him. He feels like his heart is going to stop. “You can become a better person than papa,” he says solemnly, fixing her shirt. “Become even more maravilloso.”

“I can do that?” she asks, tilting her head as she looks at her father.

“Of course you can,” he responds, patting her head.

“You can be whoever you want to be when you grow up, mi flor.”

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starrose7mika · 10 days ago

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Uhh gang, I require your quick assistance. Not a straight up request but I could use some ideas for future drabbles 🤧

Unfortunate that's all I could managed to write than proper oneshot for now. Unsure when will I get the motivation again.

So please if you will ^^ maybe anyone from gen 1 and 1.5 <3

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starrose7mika · 14 days ago

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GRINDHOUSE

Part 2

“What do you say, wouldn’t it make for a nice evening?” your friend drones on while you stare vacantly at the papers in front of you. It’s been two days since your hospital visit, and you still haven’t managed to dig up anything substantial on your prospective patient. It’s as if someone deliberately wiped him past clean. The thought is driving you mad. You’re running on two hours of sleep. All you’ve got on him are tabloid headlines and the fact that a businessman named Charles Choi has taken credit for those crimes. Every murder he’s supposedly committed remains unresolved. It sparks an insatiable curiosity in you. You pick up your car keys again and again, remind yourself to behave, then gently set them back down.

“Y/N. Hey, are you even listening?” your friend raises her voice. You startle and turn to face her. She look at you in surprise for a moment, then blurt out “For God’s sake, what’s wrong with your eyes?” Her gaze lingers uncomfortably on your face, so you avert your eyes and fix her on something else.

“Don’t you dare tell me you spent all night researching that guy” she say, leaning back and taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry… he’s a crime machine. I only found out by chance in the paper this morning.”

Your eyes go wide and you hiss in frustration.

“So what,” you snap with a bitter laugh, “you sent me to some guy you know nothing about?”

“I didn’t know, I swear” she raise her hands in surrender. “Look, you can back out anytime.”

“For God’s sake, this isn’t even a case you’re qualified to handle. It’s outside your field, and if you slip up and things go legal, you won’t stand a chance. He needs someone more professional. A psychiatrist.” you say. Guilt flashes across her face under the weight of your words, and she fall silent. You draw in a deep breath and murmur to yourself, “I thought I’d dealt with every killer thanks to you, now I’m about to handle one myself.”

You haven’t been able to shake these thoughts for two days. Of course, the only solid fact you have is that the patient you’re supposed to treat allegedly committed a run of the mill murder and laundered money. But standing in front of you is someone who uses his body and, more importantly, his mind as a weapon. He exudes an energy so different you’re not sure you can handle it.

When you sit down at that table today, you’re jittery. But it’s not just nerves: it’s fear implanted deep in your psyche. Before you entered that room, warnings about his danger had burrowed into the corners of your mind, whispering that you must stay alert for any attack. That’s why you feel so on edge. Your training taught you this much.

Yet the real test begins the moment you open the door and step inside. You’re still tense when you sit down, your body is afraid even if your mind isn’t ready to admit it. Then he lifts his head and meets your gaze, and your fear dissolves into plain apprehension. It’s strange. Even when you speak, you sense that if he has a hypnotic trance ability, he’s chosen not to use it on you. He prefers conversation. Maybe it unsettles you so much because you left that room physically and mentally unscathed.

According to Mr. Choi, every doctor who’s sat at that table suffers mental damage; none of them remember events clearly, and they recall that entire time as a blank. But you remember everything. Every detail is etched into your mind as if recorded for posterity: his facial features, the knife scar above his eyes, the blunt way he speaks, even the tiny wounds on his lip. Why didn’t he use that same technique on you? Why, unlike everyone else, did he allow you to leave with your memory intact? Perhaps you’re overthinking. Maybe it’s simply that you can’t imagine someone so adept at gestures and expressions being mentally ill. Even though you haven’t been part of his treatment, you’ve witnessed countless patients and mental disorders.

You don’t know how long you stayed over those files, or how many times you Googled “Park Jong Gun.” When you finally look up from the papers, it’s already three in the afternoon. You have to get ready to leave, but you’re bone‑tired.

Before you find your office, you stop in the kitchen to brew a bitter coffee, hoping it will wake you up. As you place the mug on the counter and head back, your friend emerges from the bathroom, towel wrapped around their head, phone in hand. The moment she see you, her lips part, and one hand goes back to pat down damp hair.

“Choi texted” she say, twisting her hair absently “He says thanks, and by the way, didn’t you give him your number? He asked whether you’d show up.”

“Oh, I completely forgot,” you say, rubbing your forehead.

Time is running late, so you dash through a quick shower, dress, and head out without another thought. Your friend is cooking, warning that you’ll pass out if you go hungry. She offer you a snack, but you plant a quick kiss on her cheek and slip out the door. The drive is agonizing. You feel like you’ll get sick from stress. You turn on the radio to calm down, but even your favorite band’s best song does nothing. You’re still on edge, still consumed by anxiety. A bitter taste lingers in your mouth, like mud. Your stomach knots in a way you can’t ignore and you regret not eating when you had the chance.

“I’m here to see Mr. Choi.” you say to one of the nuns at the entrance. “Is he in his office?”

“Oh yes,” she replies, setting down a tray, “Please, go right in. He’s expecting you.”

You smile and follow her gesture down the hallway, expecting to see patients in the corridors—but they’re all in their rooms. Passing a few doors, you hear screams that make you shiver, but you force yourself to stay calm. At last you reach the familiar door. You nod to the nun, who steps away. You knock and wait. When you hear a voice from inside, you slip in and greet Mr. Choi, who’s standing to welcome you.

“Dr. Y/N,” he says eagerly. “I thought you wouldn’t come.”

“Hello…” you reply with a faint smile. “I needed to do thorough research before coming. I apologize for the delay.”

“Oh no,” he says, eyes gleaming, “It’s your job. I should be the one apologizing for doubting you.”

“Then,” you say with a laugh, “May I?”

“Of course, please,” he says, motioning you toward the door with his left hand. His expensive watch catches your eye. You nod gratefully and step into the corridor with him. As you pass each corner, you realize you’ve already committed every twist and turn to memory—as if you’ve worked here for years and could navigate alone without his help.

The corridor feels icy compared to the waiting room. Your palms are soaked with sweat, and a cold dampness trickles down your back, soaking the back of your shirt. Unnoticed, you brush your forehead with the back of your hand and fix your gaze on the path ahead. When you arrive at his door, Director Choi says, “I’ll leave you here,” and walks away without looking back. Your hand finds the doorknob, and you hesitate should you turn it? You stand there, weighing your options, until a sudden surge of courage prompts you to push it open and slip inside.

The room is even colder than the corridor. He stands there exactly as you left him, hands folded in front.

“Welcome, Doctor.”

His head is bowed, yet he speaks as if he sees you standing there. It’s unnerving. You shiver. He even chuckles softly, as though this moment has been rehearsed.

“Are you cold?” he asks, lifting his head to meet your eyes. His hair, longer and slicked back since you last saw him, frames a face that never blinks. When he finally does blink, you notice how his lashes move as one unit in a fraction of a second.

“If you’re cold, we can warm up” he offers.

“You must be cold,” you reply with a smirk. “Since you asked.”

“I am cold” he says, deadpan.

His unexpected honesty throws you off. You want to think he’s mocking you, but his tone is sincere. The room is frigid, the corridor just as much. The chill of your shirt pressed against your skin sends waves through your body. He’s been trapped in this icy cell for days, yet you suspect it’s not the room that chills him. Just like his handsome face contrasts with his crimes.

“I requested that they remove the handcuffs,” you say, trying to change the subject. But a sharp pang stabs at you. Are you really here to work with a killer? “Looks like my request was denied.”

“Oh,” he laughs, showing you the scars on his lips, “Handcuffs, you say? How did I earn this trust?”

“There’s no trust here,” you say, denying it outright. “I’m simply trying to build a bridge for effective communication.”

“But they don’t agree with you, Doctor,” he says, grinning as he shakes his head. “They won’t even take me to the bathroom. If you want them to do anything for you next time, ask for the litter box. Someone’s bound to soil this place.”

“Then,” you say, forcing yourself to ignore the pain in your chest, “they don’t feed you either, right?”

“I wouldn’t want to disappoint you,” he replies, rolling his tongue, “but the service here is zero.”

His words strike your conscience. You force your face to remain impassive. There’s a killer in front of you but your mind is consumed by the staff’s cruelty.

“Anyway,” you say, pulling a couple of files from your briefcase, “let’s begin.”

“Ah yes,” he says, leaning forward, “but tell me Doctor, does any of this feel right to you? Look at me.. am I anything like them?”

You pause and wait, watching his next move. He leans in as far as the handcuffs allow, adrenaline and stress ratcheting up your heartbeat until you hear it pounding in your ears.

“Do you think” he murmurs, tapping his handcuffs against his head, “this place is more complicated than all those pictures you’ll show me?”

He fixes his gaze on you, inches from your face. You can feel every contour of your skin under his stare.

“You’re beautiful.”

His words catch you off guard. Your eyes widen, your lips part. You watch him bite his lip as if tasting the words he just spoke.

“If you let me kiss you now,” he whispers, tilting your chin toward his lips, voice thick with desire, “I’d lock these bars myself, and leave the key between your fingers… who knows?”

There’s barely three and a half centimeters between you. You feel his warm breath on your lips like an alarm in your head. You don’t move, God knows why. If he’d given you a chance to step back, you might have left your heart on that table and run. His lips so close, you can’t think straight. He inches closer still.

You steel yourself, but the ringing in your ears grows louder, and he asks, “How can you be so beautiful?”

You’re frozen. Completely frozen. You’re rooted to the spot, unable to move a muscle. The session has gone off course, and you haven’t even touched your files. Your thoughts aren’t about therapy anymore. They’re about the ringing in your ears, the distance between you and his scarred chest, the warmth of his lips. You’re thinking of the red in his lashes instead of the blood that once dried there, of the perfect arch of his brows instead of the cut beneath them. You’re focused on the veins swelling from his wrists rather than the cuffs that caused them.

You don’t know what happens next. Summoning the last ounce of courage you have left, you pull back and furrow your brow. He watches you, his half smile deepening.

You leap to your feet so fast the chair scrapes across the floor, echoing through the empty room. You don’t break eye contact as you stand. You spin and fling the door open, every movement under his intense scrutiny, then rush into the corridor without losing your composure.

“Could someone come in here, please?” your voice slices through the silent hallway like a bullet. It’s not long before a guard appears, baton in hand, sprinting from the corridor’s end, breathless as he reaches you.

“Is something wrong, Ms. Y/N?” he pants.

“Oh..” you say, forcing a smile to ease his concern “I just need one thing.”

“I’m listening, ma’am,” he says, catching his breath.

“I’d like the key to that patient’s handcuffs,” you say, smiling faintly. “I assume you have it.”

“But Ms. Y/N,” he replies, suspicion and worry etched on his face, “He’s a convict. I don’t have the authority for that.”

“It’s part of his treatment,” you say, still smiling. “Before I leave, I’ll speak with Mr. Choi. Don’t worry, I won’t put you in a bind.”

He hesitates, studying you with doubt. Then he exhales deeply and, from the keyring at his belt, produces a small key and hands it over reluctantly.

“Here you go” he says.

You take it with a quiet “Thank you” and watch him disappear down the corridor. Then you slip back into the room and meet the man’s eyes again, he’s sitting exactly where you left him. He watches you, trying to anticipate your next move, glancing often at the door behind you. He must suspect you called someone. You step forward closer and closer until you’re standing at his feet, just as you did when you brought him water days ago. He watches, curious, as you crouch beside him.You place your hand gently on his handcuffs, and your nerves tingle from the contact. It’s as if his energy pulses through you, sending a shock to your brain. Without hesitation, you insert the key into the lock and turn it. The cuffs fall open with a sharp click, freeing his hands with a satisfying finality.

He never takes his eyes off you he follows every move, every twitch of your face. When you step back, gathering your files, you notice the bruises where the cuffs once bit into his wrists.

“You’re free”

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starrose7mika · 19 days ago

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touch starved

author's note ; highly inspired by latest ptj tt with alarms. first art cr. to loveissiwan on X.

Jonggun doesn’t ask for hugs. he doesn’t initiate warmth. and he definitely doesn’t admit to wanting it.

to most people, he’s all sharp angles and cold control — distant, untouchable. that’s how he likes it too. how he’s always been. people respect fear and power. and Jonggun is very good at giving them reasons to keep their distance.

raised on fists and discipline, taught that strength meant survival, he was trained to fight — not to feel. touch, in Yamazaki world, had always meant something else. a punch. a blow. a warning. nothing comforting ever came from it. so somewhere along the way, his body just stopped expecting softness altogether.

no one really hugged Jonggun growing up. no one ruffled his hair or held him helping hand. what he got instead were commands, missions, the expectations to be perfect weapon and leader. without any hesitations. emotions were inefficient. touch was a liability.

so now, when something warm and human stirs in his chest, he doesn’t quite know what to do with it.

Jonggun doesn’t want to fight you. that’s the first thing he understands.

he doesn’t want to intimidate, doesn’t want to keep you at arm’s length like he does with everyone else. but affection? that’s foreign territory. too soft. too vulnerable. too un-Jonggun.

so he does what he can.

he flicks your forehead when you're distracted. he pokes your side when you don’t respond to him. he pinches your cheek when you ignore his presence — subtle little things, rough around the edges. never quite a real touch, never too serious. just enough to feel you.

it looks like teasing on the outside. it’s easy to mistake it for annoyance actually.

but it’s the only way Jonggun knows how to ask for touches.

because he knows that you will always brush his hand away in annoyance. or slap his forearm in playful manner if he bother you too much. a fleeting touch of fingers. the slightest touch. such a small thing Jonggun can forgive himself for, but still wanting more.

because hugging you? that would be crossing a line he doesn’t know how to return from. asking for closeness would mean admitting he wants it — needs it — and that’s too exposed, too raw. he doesn’t have the language for it.

so he lingers instead. he sits a little closer than necessary. lets his shoulder brush yours. stands behind you quietly, watching, protecting even.

and if he ever tickles you — which he does more than he’d admit — it’s because laughter feels safer than silence. because if you’re laughing, you’re not questioning his motives. you're not asking him what he really wants. and you're not pulling away.

he doesn’t touch people if its not fight. but with you, he finds his own excuses.

Jonggun not trying to be cruel or confusing — it’s just all he knows.

so no, Park Jonggun never ask for hugs.

but sometimes, when he flicks your ear or pulls you into a half-hearted scuffle that feels more like a game than a fight — maybe he’s asking anyway. in the only way he knows how.

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starrose7mika · 19 days ago

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GRINDHOUSE

The memory of the two of you meeting when Jong Gun was in prison

“Gentlemen, gentlemen, I suggest you get in line. Hey Bobby, spit that candy out right now!” As you quietly walk beside the guard on your left, you make sure not to make eye contact with anything or anyone around you. You’ve already passed the third cell, and this godforsaken place reeks. Ignoring the stench that tickles your stomach is exhausting, and you’re close to cursing your profession as the bile threatens to rise. You keep swallowing frequently to stop yourself from vomiting in front of the guard beside you. It’s been more than two and a half years since you’ve seen a real mental hospital. During this time, you’ve been working in a clinic that barely qualifies as one it’s basically a cramped room. But even that hopeless, lightless space was a million times more bearable than this disgusting-smelling place. At least it gets aired out half an hour before appointments.

“It’s really good that you came, Doctor. Director Choi hasn’t slept in two days Hey, for God’s sake, put your underwear back on, Aldo!”

When the guard suddenly turns around and yells, you pretend not to notice the tall, burly man walking unsteadily down the hall, completely naked from the waist down.

“Sorry, what was I saying? Oh, right! Mr. Choi… This whole thing must’ve shaken him. He hasn’t slept in about two days. Neither have Sister Lee and the Chaplain. They think the boy is possessed by a demon. I’m not a religious person, but I’ve been praying for days. May the gods help us.” As you’re distracted by the man clawing at a wooden table with his nails, your attention shifts from the guard talking beside you. Your eyes involuntarily lock onto the man. His nails scrape the wooden surface with a grating sound, and blood drips from his nail beds down to his fingertips. But he doesn’t seem to feel the pain. He’s muttering to himself, shaking his head as if he forgets what he’s saying, then leaning harder onto the table and scratching more violently. Instinctively, your steps lead you to his table to stop him.

“Ms. Y/N, this way, please.”

The guard’s firm voice makes you pause. Your gaze shifts to him. The stern look on his face, his furrowed brows, is a clear warning: do not interfere. This is the kind of place where you can’t touch even a regular patient without permission. With that awareness, your eyes linger on the man once more. You sigh and return to the guard waiting a few steps away. You can’t even remember the last time you saw a real mental hospital. Let’s be honest you’ve never even treated a real psychiatric patient in your life. You’re a marriage and family therapist. Even your training was molded by a system too comfortable to care about actual patients. This job isn’t for you. And God knows, even you have no idea what the hell you’re doing here.

At the end of the cells, a wave of cold air hits your skin, making you shiver. This corridor doesn’t reek like the last one, which is good. The man next to you is saying something, but your mind is elsewhere. Report structure, next appointment… If you can get out of here without catching hepatitis, you should compile your report and set a time. But the first real thought that crosses your mind? Finding the friend who referred you to this hospital and murdering them.

“Director Choi is waiting inside, Ms. Y/N. Please, this way.”

You exchange a brief glance with the door ahead. Following the guard’s direction, you knock. You wait for a response, but the command you expect comes late. You turn to the guard, but he has already turned around and headed back toward the cells. Just as you open your mouth to call after him, a short “enter” comes from inside. You slowly open the door and slip inside. As your profession demands, you should appear confident—but your shoulders are already slumped. The room is stifling. Clearly a place that hasn’t seen sunlight in a long time. When you make eye contact with the man dozing with his head in his hands, you bow in greeting. He straightens immediately, adjusts his posture.

“Hello, sir. I’m Y/N. I was referred here,” you say.

His expression changes, and he smiles with satisfaction, reaching out with both hands to shake yours.

“Hello, Ms. Y/N. I’ve been expecting you. Please, have a seat.”

You sit where he gestures and observe the man standing. He’s tall, thin—maybe in his early fifties. He’s wearing a white shirt and classic dress pants that end at the ankles. He apologizes for a quick phone call, then asks for two coffees. He even pulls the phone away to ask how you take yours.

“I’m grateful you came, Ms. Y/N,” he says as he ends the call. “Believe me, thousands of patients have passed through these cells, but this… This is the first time I’ve seen anything like this.”

He rolls up his shirt sleeves to the wrists. You meet his eyes. With a tense smile, he pulls a file from the drawer. His voice, like his gestures, is tight. He takes a shaky breath and continues speaking.

“Three different specialists came. All three fled that room in a panic. This… how should I put it…”

He pauses for a moment.

“I haven’t used this word in years, but this is a terrifying case. You’re the best in your field—I’m not afraid to say it, Ms. Y/N. I haven’t slept in two days. I don’t know what it’s called in your profession, but I can say I was psychologically harassed. If I didn’t know he wasn’t a murderer… I’d think he put me in a hypnotic trance.”

“A hypnotic trance?” you ask curiously.

“Yes. A hypnotic trance. I don’t know what happened in that room. Nothing is clear. Not the conversations, not the expressions… You can’t imagine how hard I’ve tried to remember after that session, Ms. Y/N. But I can’t recall a thing. It’s like someone opened my head and stirred the inside with a spoon.”

His pupils are dilated, his voice trembling. He’s scared—seriously scared. You’re about to say something when a knock interrupts. A woman enters, sets the tray down, quietly places the coffee, and leaves.

“Inducing a hypnotic trance isn’t all that difficult, Mr. Choi. Don’t let that scare you. Anyone trained in the technique can do it. Controlling the brain takes effort, but the person you’re talking about must be very knowledgeable. Is there any issue with me speaking to him?”

As you place the coffee cup back down, Mr. Choi shakes his head.

“Your friend worked at this hospital. I know her well. I have no doubt you’re capable, but I hope this doesn’t overwhelm you, Ms. Y/N. The issues with that man’s mind are far more serious than anyone else in these cells.”

You nod and stand. The Director stands with you. He gestures, and you begin to walk with him. As you proceed down the corridor, heading away from the cells confuses you. Realizing he’s in a different section makes you furrow your brows. You pass through a door with a transparent curtain. At the end of the corridor is a locked room. As you approach, the tense aura presses on your gut, but you try to stay calm.

You continue until you stop in front of that locked door.

“This way,” says Director Choi. The guard trailing behind you steps closer with equally nervous steps. You try to maintain your composure as the tension clings to your skin. As the guard unlocks the cell, you hope he doesn’t fumble the job. When the door opens, Director Choi makes no move to enter. The guard turns and disappears. You frown and swallow involuntarily.

“His hands are cuffed. He hasn’t attacked anything yet.”

It sounds like he’s saying he doesn’t want to go in. You give a slight nod. You don’t want to go in either—not one bit.As you step inside, a tickle forms in your throat, but to avoid revealing your anxiety, you suppress the urge to cough, pressing your tongue to your palate. As the door opens, Mr. Choi stays behind, and you enter alone.

He’s right there in front of you. Head bowed, cuffed hands resting on the table. Strands of hair fall over his face, casting a shadow on his eyes. You can’t tell whether they’re open or closed probably closed. He’s wearing a plain shirt, buttoned all the way up to the crease on the sleeve. If not for the cuffs and the rumors, you could mistake him for someone high-ranking. Killers don’t wear neatly ironed clothes.

“Welcome.”

You were lost in observing him. The closing door startles you. The soft chuckle filling the room unsettles you, and your feet freeze in place. You’re not sure if he’s noticed you watching, but you feel observed. You remain composed, take a few steps, and decide to approach the table. His tan hands twitch, then rub together. His head remains bowed, and it unsettles you more than it should. You try not to notice how fast your heart is racing.

“Not going to speak, Doctor?” he says in a layered voice. You place your hands on your legs and take a shaky breath. You don’t want to stutter. You choose your words carefully.

“I’m Y/N. They told me inside that you need help.”

He laughs. Nods slightly, then lifts his head to meet your eyes. Now you get a better look at his face. You encounter his irises, unusually white pupils, which, rather than adding to his intimidation, seem to be a distinctive element that sets him apart from everyone else. The shadows cast by his hair don’t hide the sharp lines of his features, the shape of his nose, his eyes, his lips you memorize them. He has a beautiful face. Killers are supposed to be dirty. His isn’t. You spot a small mole on his nose and a red scar between his eyes. He runs his tongue between his teeth a few times. You’re struck by the shape of his mouth. You pause. You really wonder, is he even a killer?

“I do need help, Doctor” he says. Tilts his head and watches you. He looks like a small child. He swallows. As he does, a pained expression crosses his face.

“There’s a bit of pain between my legs.”

A child? Forget that.

You ignore the dirty joke.

“Director Choi said you hypnotized him and controlled his mind. Do you have that kind of expertise?” you ask, flatly.

He looks around the room. When he purses his lips, your hands cling to your pants without thinking. He appears thoughtful, then looks back at you.

“Did I do that?” he asks curiously. His voice is childlike, but to you it’s just annoying. You don’t respond. You wait.

“As far as I know, there’s no legal restriction in our country on who can or can’t perform hypnosis.”

Despite your tension, you chuckle a joyless laugh.

“If you’re that knowledgeable, then you should also know that manipulating someone’s mind violates a physician’s professional boundaries” you say.

He leans in, closer to your face. You grip your pants tighter, hold your ground. You’re now face to face. His eyebrows are neat, lashes aligned. His face is sharp and symmetrical.

“Sweating from increased body heat, accelerated heart rate…” He smiles. You hadn’t noticed the sweat until he said it. His breath fans across your face, making him harder to ignore.

“You must be having naughty thoughts to be this excited, Doctor,” he says, grinning. Gets closer.

“Or… You’re not a real doctor.”

His breath grazes your face again before he pulls back. He leans into his chair, watching your stunned expression with amusement. You part your lips and release your grip on your pants.

He keeps watching. You avert your gaze. You try to calm yourself down before you slam the door and walk out.

“Do you have a boyfriend, Doctor?” he asks. You look at him again. He’s still watching. His lips are dry, cracked. That dry? They must not be giving him water.

“I’m not satisfied with the service, Doctor,” he says. He must’ve noticed where you were looking. You quickly meet his gaze again. There’s a warmth there it confuses you even more. You take a deep breath and reach for your bag. He eyes the bottle of water you pull out.

“But you still haven’t answered my question, Doctor.”

You stand, approach him. The closeness triggers him, he studies your every move. You’re tense, but not like when you first entered.

“I’m not obligated to answer personal questions. Especially if the person asking is my patient,” you say. You open the bottle and bring it to his lips. He doesn’t break eye contact as he drinks. A drop trickles down from the corner of his mouth to his chin. You swallow. His lips now have more color. But his damned eyes still haven’t left your face. Your hands tremble as you return the bottle to your bag. You clear your throat.

“How sweet of you to already claim me, Doctor,” he says. You frown, face him.

“You won’t answer personal questions with me that makes me your patient too, doesn’t it?”

Is that what he focused on? He must be obsessed with details. You read a little article somewhere about murderers being detail oriented and symmetry obsessed. Now it gives you goosebumps remembering it.

“If that’s what you’re fixated on, I don’t recall implying that I would treat you,” you say.

He clicks his tongue, the sound echoing in the room. He lifts his gaze, meets yours. Tilts his head slightly to the right, keeps watching.

“Pity, Doctor. I could’ve behaved for you.”

Of course he’s playing. You know if you don’t take this job, your friend will kill you. You know what’ll happen if you object once you’re out of here.

“I think that’s enough for today,” you say, standing. “I have a report to deliver to Mr. Choi.”

He must’ve gotten the message. He smirks. Watches your body as you stand.

“I like you, Doctor.”

As you walk down the corridor, you wipe your forehead with the back of your hand. You’ve just come out of a terrifying session. You breathe easier now than you did inside the room. You wipe the sweat off your neck and shoulders with a tissue from your pocket. When you find Director Choi’s office, he lifts his head from the papers and watches you with curiosity. You drop your bag and speak before reaching for the file.

“In our next session, I want the cuffs removed. Also, I request a pitcher and glass be left in the cell” you say sharply. While he stares at you in shock, your eyes catch the name written in bold ink on the file cover.

7552 – Park Jong Gun

I don't think anyone will read this story, but the fiction suddenly teleported into my mind, so instead of keeping it in my notes, I'm writing it here lol. sorry if I wrote something wrong

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starrose7mika · 1 month ago

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Jonggun Park x Reader: Professor Park (Ablaze) P1

The first year of university prolongs for you as you scour to survive your adult life and the unnerving tension with your health sciences’ professor— who is a disgustingly brooding, and good looking man. After an eventful first quarter, however, things start to go downhill with the decline of your mental, financial and social situation as a whole. Mr Park pays this in mind, and while he tries not to make it his business, he does anything but. You’re his favoured student after all; meeting up to his ideologies and such— so it’s a shame if he didn’t showcase a little more care if any.

The life of crime is a past that Jonggun has put behind him— albeit his friend’s persistence in continuing on their ‘legacy’. The two live vastly different lives, with Goo scouting and digging whatever job deems enticing and expensive— sometimes straying far from home, far from Korea, and Jonggun spending his nights glossing over content for his students. The two friends are on different paths, but Joongoo comes back regularly to visit the black haired male here and there to check how his companion is doing.

Jonggun isn’t opposed to the visits either, and over the course of almost a decade, has become welcoming of Goo’s spontaneous schedule.

“What’s that?” The blonde chimes, pouring himself an alcoholic beverage.

“Student assignments,” Jonggun responds, cracking his neck and stretching his arm out.

“What a fucking bore.”

“The kids are actually insightful.”

“You talk as if they’re not in their twenties,” Goo deadpans, pouring himself another cup.

“My point still stands,” Gun says calmly, a quirk on his lips. “Anyway. My lecture begins in a bit. Keep the apartment tidy till I get back, won’t you?”

Goo grunts at this and takes off his shirt to toss on the ground.

“Take your time! I might have company over!”

The statement makes Jonggun scowl in disgust.

“You better clean things up if that’s the case.”

“Yes, Professor Park,” Joongoo snorts out in mock, waving him goodbye with a cup in hand.

The door clicks close, and Jonggun pats his hair down before setting off to work.

Inside the lecture theatre, everyone is seated meticulously, awaiting professor Park’s arrival. It’s a scary thing, this class. Because the lecturer is a terrifying man who’s amongst the most uptight people within the university.

But his teaching is to be praised. Everyone knows just how well he does his job, and how diligent he is in helping his students improve— which is why you suppose your pupils hold the utmost respect for him. And why you hold the utmost respect for him. Save for the times he’s stared you down and humiliated you in front of the class for turning in incompetent work as he calls it. Anyway.

Jonggun Park, in all his glory, steps into the room, already radiating an air of authority. He places his belongings down, takes off his glasses, and rubs his eyes.

“Good afternoon everyone,” his voice echoes.

It sends shivers down your spine, all the way to your tailbone.

“I apologise for being late. Open up your devices so we can start” His eyes scour the room while turning on the projector, gaze lingering a little longer on you— to which you’re unbeknownst to.

By the end of his class, you’re exhausted, and can’t wait to get back home. To rest, put your feet up, and throw away all your responsibilities. But as each student flows out the room, your name is suddenly called by your professor. Low, and sweet. So with a heart wrenching heave (and perhaps a nervous stomach), you manage to turn your body toward the black haired man, and hesitantly walk up to his desk. His eyes are still trained on his laptop, furiously typing away as he waits for everyone else to leave. Your classmates give you a pitiful look, some shaking their heads, and some putting their hands up as a gesture that they’re praying for you. You suck in a breath. Watch your professor’s forearm flex and unflex as he moves his arm around, and open your mouth to speak.

“Yes, sir?” But before you can finish your line, he looks up at you with disapproving eyes. It’s a look similar to that of scrutiny, but you know it’s anything but. You pray so.

“Sit. We have a bit to discuss.”

The tone of voice and his piercing glare shrinks you down as you take a seat on the chair across him— can’t help but press your legs together when you settle down.

As the door to the lecture theatre closes, he leans back on his chair while crossing his arms. White irises train on you, waiting for you to speak up. Only to overrun your words.

“Professor—” you begin.

“Your performance this past quarter has been extremely and utterly disappointing. Time and time again, I had to remind you of how the effort in your work has regressed. And time and time again had you reassured me that they were minor slip ups. I believed you in the beginning… seeing how studious you first were, but this ongoing lack of everything is not something I approve of. Were you ever in need of help, I was always here. Waiting.”

You gulp at his last word, and look down to fiddle with your fingers, feeling it too suffocating to meet his eyes.

“If there’s something wrong, tell me. I’m your professor. That’s what I’m good for,” he sighs, picking up your last assignment and tossing it in front of you.

“I’m not trying to ostracise you, but I know you can do better. So if there’s something bothering you, let me know.”

“Yes, sir,” you nod, picking up your work and standing up.

“Sit. We’re not finished.”

Defeated, you slowly sit back down.

“Do you enjoy this class?”

The question makes your head quirk up.

“Of course!” You sound defensive.

Professor Park doesn’t look convinced. One leg crosses over the other, and he taps on his chair’s armrest in a repetitive motion. You swear you see his jaw tighten, but he waves his hand in dismissal, suddenly not needing to talk to you any further. With a curt goodbye, you scamper out of the room, sweating profusely after being let off.

Jonggun Park breathes out a low sigh as he unbuttons his shirt enough to match his loosened tie. Body sagging from his conversation with you, his leg twitches with the longing to go after the person who just left as his eyes linger on the closed door. But he refrains from doing so. Because professor Park is someone of dignity and integrity.

Cold water trickles down Jonggun’s body, sliding in streams from the crevices of his toned muscles. The black haired man repeatedly massages his face in an attempt to refresh himself, but his mind is abuzz.

Yes, sir, you’d said earlier today, eyes avoidant, and body nervous.

Professor, you’d called out before he interrupted you.

Maybe it was Jonggun’s impulse to want to know everything about his students. It was in his nature to use that information to nurture and help them grow after all. So why hadn’t you reached out to him when you so clearly had something going on? Was he not reliable? Or perhaps you didn’t feel safe enough.

An aggravated sigh leaves Gun’s mouth as he finishes up his shower routine, wrapping a towel around his waist.

What a hassle. He thought all those years of professional help would’ve made him easier to approach.

Skincare products are slapped onto Jonggun’s face as he quickly retreats to his study to mark impending work. Water still dripping from his wet hair, the professor takes a seat before he hears the apartment door click open.

“I’m back!!” He hears Goo call out.

“Good to know,” Gun responds.

“Hello?!” The blonde screeches, sounding a little further this time.

Jonggun pinches the bridge of his nose and stands up to scream at Goo, tightening the towel around his waist as he walks out to the kitchen.

“Its 11pm, don’t go yelling unless you want to stay in your own apartment,” Gun scowls.

The blonde turns around with a grin.

That’s not good.

Then your head pops up from behind Goo.

“Professor?” You question, eyes widening.

Gun sucks in a breath before narrowing his eyes at Joongoo.

“Professor…?” The blonde scratches the nape of his neck. “Are you one of his students?”

“Joongoo, what the fuck is going on?” Gun asks, clutching the towel around his waist a little tighter.

“My new secret friend?” Goo sounds just as confused.

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starrose7mika · 1 month ago

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Gun Park x Reader: It starts with a plant

G/N. Fluff. Gun's home is cold and sparse. Masterlists

"Take this," you grin, holding out the small plant towards Gun. "It's for you."

He frowns, wondering why he would ever want that and makes no move to take it.

You thrust the plant closer, "Here."

"I don't want it."

Rolling your eyes, you place it down on his coffee table. "You need to look after it."

"I don't."

"It's a gift from me."

'I don't want it' is on the tip of his tongue again but the look on your face stops him short. Gun decides on saying thanks instead.

"Try not to kill it."

You had commented that his house is kind of a dump one morning, and Gun had countered that you didn't mind last night.

Not that he was particularly offended by that comment, he did live in the middle of a junkyard after all - let's not pretend there's anything glamorous about that.

His furniture was sparse, decor non-existent though hints of luxury still peeked out here and there.

It was just so... cold, though. A bit like the man himself, you suppose.

It starts with a plant.

You aren't trying to impose, or make your mark on Gun's home or anything of the sort. But then the salesperson spots you eyeing up this particular long-leafy plant (for your own home actually) and starts explaining how it's virtually indestructible, can put up with a lot of neglect, a lack of sunlight and still thrive-

Well.

It's just that plants liven up a place, don't they? A bit of healthy greenery is always pleasant to look at, and it's good for the air quality as well, something to consider when living amongst mounds of rusting old metal.

What's the harm in giving this to Gun?

Gun, to his own credit, actually listens to your parting words.

"Try not to kill it."

There's so much blood on his hands, and that has been so easy, that trying to keep something alive should be far harder.

Gun looking after a plant goes much better than anyone would expect. He is nothing if not meticulous with his methods.

Each time you visited him, which used to be a once-in-a-blue-moon middle of the night sloppy visit and eventually turned into weekly sleepovers, you noticed the plant steadily getting greener and more lush until one day-

"I think it needs a bigger pot."

Next was the blanket.

You buy it thinking about how warm and fluffy it is, how it has the cutest pattern and you get cold sitting with him on his threadbare sofa in that shack.

You did not buy it thinking about how out of place it would look in Gun's home.

Gun keeps his face carefully neutral when you unveil the monstrosity and drape it on the sofa. He refrains from commenting, refrains from looking at it at all and plans to burn it as soon as he can.

Then he sees you snuggling in it, a happy sigh leaving your lips, looking all snug and practically glowing.

He's not actually heartless, okay. At least not when it comes to you.

Maybe he can just stuff it in a dark corner somewhere when you're not around.

The candles are completely unnecessary though Gun will admit that they smell quite nice.

A couple of rugs also invades his home at some point, as well as a welcome mat for the front door.

"People aren't welcome here."

Giving him a side eye, you tell him it's just a name.

The wall 'art' Gun did put his foot down and refused. You come back with framed pictures of the both of you instead and- Gun sighs and concedes, fine.

Gun liked his house exactly how it was - blank and minimal.

The new decor and furnishing you got didn't really add to his quality of life but he keeps every item. Each time he looks at something, something that is vastly out of place in his previous bare home, it reminds him of you.

The plant continues to thrive, along with the few more that you gifted him and the blanket never moves from the sofa.

"Here," Gun says, handing you a toothbrush to keep neatly next to his. Along with your own dedicated closet space, and free rein to replace his furniture and decorate as you see fit.

"Stay." He says. For tonight, tomorrow, forever.

You can't keep the smile off your face. "Really?"

He nods, because this feels right. His house has been feeling less like his, and more like ours and to his surprise, like home more than ever.

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starrose7mika · 1 month ago

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Help a Family in Need

I am reaching out on behalf of my dear friend, Mohamad S., who is facing one of the most challenging times of his life. Mohamad is 37 years old and left his homeland in 2015 in search of a safer and better future. He’s a kind, hardworking man, and his small family has always been his greatest priority.

Living abroad, Mohamad has recently endured unimaginable loss and financial strain. Amidst the ongoing conflict in his homeland, his mother passed away, leaving behind his sister and her five young children—the last remaining members of his immediate family.

As the situation worsened, Mohamad managed to help his sister and her children escape to safety in Egypt, covering their immediate needs and securing a temporary refuge for them. Since then, he has been fully responsible for providing everything they need to survive during this transition.

In his efforts to support his family and cope with this devastating loss, Mohamad has found himself deeply in debt. To make matters even more difficult, he recently underwent knee surgery, which limits his ability to return to work for the foreseeable future. This has made it even harder for him to manage his financial responsibilities and the pressing need to provide his family with a stable future.

Mohamad is now working to bring his sister and her five children to join him in Belgium, where he hopes they can find stability and opportunity after all they’ve endured. This transition, however, requires significant resources that he is currently unable to meet alone.

For privacy reasons, we are not sharing Mohamad’s full name, as he has chosen to keep his identity discreet. While he initially refused the idea of asking for help, I couldn’t stand by and watch him struggle alone. I insisted on doing this for him because he deserves a chance to overcome these challenges.

Your contribution will help Mohamad repay the debt incurred during this difficult time, cover ongoing living expenses for his family, and assist with the costs involved in bringing them safely to Belgium.

Mohamad has been a good friend of mine for years, and I’ve always admired his resilience and generosity. Any support, no matter the size, will make an incredible difference in helping Mohamad and his family rebuild their lives after these painful experiences.

Thank you for reading his story and considering helping a man who has always done everything he can for his loved ones.

Adam

✅ Vetted by Association: @bilal-salah0

Donate & share: Donation Link

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starrose7mika · 1 month ago

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pt 4/4: little changes (gun park x reader)

...except the main character is goo and reader only plays a role in little dialogue. hear me out.

( pt 1 | pt 2 | pt 3 )

details: fluffy oneshot, gender neutral reader written in 2nd pov, general canon au, you and gun have been dating for a while in secret

summary: goo starts to notice little changes in gun, influenced by you. the thing is, gun is keeping his relationship on the low, so here are goo's antics of being annoying and trying to find out who you are.

a/n: we're at the finale! thanks for reading <3

What better way to get information about Gun than from the people around him? That tight-lipped man wouldn't ever say anything to Goo anyways.

Their boss was his first choice.

"Why do you care?"

"Good question." Goo gestured animatedly as he spoke. "It's... simple curiosity. I just want to know what he's up to. So, has there been anyone he's been getting close to lately?"

"I do not know and I do not care because it has not affected his work life. He's as diligent as always--aside from being late sometimes to night meetings, but that has yet to cause trouble for me." Mr. Choi spun around in his chair to face the window behind him. "Find out yourself if you're that desperate."

"But siiir!" complained Goo in a singsong voice. "Has there really been no one around him that you've see be close to him? A friend or anything?"

"No. He just does his job."

"Does his job involve--"

"Do you want your paycheck to be lowered this month?"

"No, sir," Goo said stiffly, already turning around and placing his hand the doorknob to leave Mr. Choi's office. "Sorry for bothering you! Goodbye!"

He sighed as soon as he shut the door behind him and looked up. "I'm not sure what I expected, but it was something more than just, 'I don't care.' Stupid old man..." Goo grumbled, walking down the hallway and entering the elevator to head down. "Whatever, he's our boss who's mainly neutral. Fortunately I know someone else who knows Gun personally."

Goo pulled out his phone to call Crystal, someone's he's only contacted whenever Gun wouldn't pick up the phone (which was often, because Gun liked to ignore him).

"What do you want, Goo?"

Goo grinned. "Hey, girl, I'm bothering to ask you about Gun. Not because he's not picking up the phone but because I've got a question for you about him. At least, I'm hoping you can answer it."

"Make it quick."

"You in a rush?"

"No, I just don't want to talk to you."

Goo laughed as he exited the elevator, leaving the office building while continuing to talk loudly on the phone. "I know, I know, I'm a very pleasant person." He hummed. "Anyways, I wanted to know if you know any people who have gotten close to Gun recently, or in the past few months."

"Why...?"

"Well, do you?"

There was a pause for a bit, but Goo was willing to wait. He walked out through the streets, listening closely. Eventually, she responded very hesitatingly, "This sounds like a set up for blackmail material. You're not planning to kidnap someone he cares about to torture them to get him to do something you want, right?"

Huh, somehow Goo didn't think about that. Good idea, Crystal, Goo'll store that in the back of his head. Although he's known Gun for years--if Gun really was serious about this "someone special," Goo wasn't sure he could even touch this person before Gun killed him. Or at least, that's what he'd assume, considering he's never seen Gun view someone as special to him but knew the man was dead set on things when he was serious about it.

Either way, Goo laughed and said back, "I'm not that cruel! I just noticed that he's been talking about someone special and got curious about who it could be~"

"Yeahhh, okay. If he didn't tell you, I'd be willing to bet he wouldn't want me to tell you."

"Aw, c'mon! For a bestie! I'll give you something good in return!" pleaded Goo.

"Nope, goodbye, Goo. I value my life." Crystal hung up and Goo froze in place, even though he had just started crossing the crosswalk.

"Fucking hell... well, at least Crystal confirmed this person exists." Goo sighed, not quite ready to give up but feeling at a loss. He pocketed his phone and continued to stay still, holding his chin while humming in thought. He ignored the cars honking at him while he tried to come up with an idea of what to do next.

"Stalk Gun, I guess?"

But how...? He'd figure it out later. Still, he pondered about it some more as he whistled and began to walk, once again ignoring the yelling and honking people were sending his way.

Goo figured it out. He'd just hire a black market professional to tail Gun and see if he's with anyone that isn't affiliated with him in a professional way. Why do the work himself, right?

For poor Goo, that idea was short-lived because two days later the man he employed came back looking like he had his tail between his legs.

"He caught me."

The emotion of disappointment but not really surprise filled up Goo. What could he expect, even he himself didn't want to follow Gun in secret because he knew he would fail, so how could he expect some other guy to do it? He sighed anyway and said, "I thought you were a professional."

The man tilted his hat, hiding his eyes a bit. "Apologies. He threatened to kill my wife and children if I didn't return to you, Mr. Goo."

Goo snickered. "Classic Gun. Well, now he knows I attempted to stalk him so there goes my plan..."

"Why am I even bothering to do this? Gun certainly seems to mean it when he says he doesn't want me to find his special someone, so maybe I'll never find out no matter how hard I try."

Fuck it. Goo wasn't going to waste his time. He attempted once and didn't get his answer, so he might as well just end there. As curious as he was to find out who could've possibly stolen a freak like Gun's heart, it wasn't something he needed to know. And Mr. Choi was right. Gun was the same as always, he just now had a secret lover or something.

Goo tossed a much too small envelope of money at the man who caught it with surprise. "There you go, money for attempting anyways."

"T... thank you..." Goo waved him off and the man shuffled out of his office.

"Here's to hoping Gun just slips up one day!" The blonde wasn't religious, but he clapped his hands together anyway and made a half hearted prayer.

"I fucked up."

Goo had not heard a single thing from Gun about his special someone ever since the failed stalking. Not that he minded particularly, but it was always interesting to hear Gun make small vague comments about this special someone, but now he was just back to his boring ass, stoic self.

Currently they were sitting quietly in the back of a car, driven by someone Mr. Choi sent to pick them up.

Goo got bored of Candy Crush already. Maybe Gun was right, he should just keep driving. He didn't know what to do with himself for twenty minutes. Social media was only fun for so long, and there was only so much to do by staring out the window.

He couldn't talk to Gun either, who, first off, sucked at casual conversations, and secondly, was busy texting. Maybe he could talk to the driver but also no because the car was specially built so that they were in a soundproof room to ensure the driver would not hear any confidential information Gun and Goo might talk about.

But they weren't even talking about things like that or at all, and Goo was bored out of his mind. Nap, maybe...? Nah, that wasn't his style. He just looked around before his eyes landed on Gun's phone screen. It was barely visible from his point of view so he leaned in slightly, but just as he did that, Gun turned so his screen couldn't be seen.

Goo crossed his arms. "Hmph. Texting your 'special someone?'"

"Yeah."

Once again Gun was being surprisingly honest, but then again he was never the type to outright lie... which was why he was often vague and never denied or confirmed anything. Damn him.

Goo leaned in some more, and Gun turned away even more. Then Goo just stared at the reflection of his sunglasses, managing to catch a glimpse of Gun receiving a text that said, "Be safe, okay?" before Gun pulled off his sunglasses.

He glared at Goo silently, and it was like a puff of angry black smoke was coming off of him. Goo just smiled mischievously and finally backed off, going back to staring out the window.

If he could tell anything from that text, it certainly seemed like Gun indeed had a lover. A romantic partner, huh... just who would fall for Gun, and who could possibly grab the attention of a man obsessed with nothing but fighting?

More curiosity grew in Goo, but he tried to ignore it. Again, he was curious, but he didn't really care. And he knew he would probably never find out anyways unless Gun fucked up since he seemed to be actively making sure Goo would never meet this person.

Goo ended up praying again.

Three months passed.

And suddenly, Goo's prayers came true.

He was at Gun's place to drop something off, but without warning because that was just what he always did. He knocked twice and heard the knob turning. A smile naturally plastered itself on his face as he prepared to say something snarky to his coworker but when the door opened, his eyes widened at the unknown person standing before him.

"Hello?"

An unfamiliar voice entered Goo's ears as his eyes scanned this person wearing a shirt he recognized to be Gun's--it was a little oversized on them. His mind was slowly processing what was going on and if he interrupted one of Gun's one night stands or if--

"IS THIS HIS SPECIAL SOMEONE?!" The smile on Goo's face turned into a grin. "It has to be! Gun never sleeps with anyone at his place; always at a hotel!"

He ignored the look of nervousness growing on the person's face as he leaned down a bit to be on their eye level and said in an overly gleeful tone, "Hi! I'm Gun's friend."

"Um..." The person trailed off, before glancing behind them. "Sorry, I thought you were the guy here to deliver food. Do you want me to get Gun for you or something...?"

"Oh, he's home? Yes, please! I'm here to drop this off for him." He added with a closed eye smile, "And to talk to him about something."

"Sure, wait here." The person awkwardly shut the door before walking away.

Goo could barely contain himself. He bounced on his heels, holding the box of what he planned to drop off, but internally he was evilly rubbing his hands together. There was no way Gun could get himself out of this one--Goo was going to hear for himself about this special someone of his!!

This... this special someone who looked surprisingly... boring? Plain? And very weak and average? Was that... Gun's type...?

"What the fuck." Goo immediately stopped bouncing on his heels. He had only seen this person for less than a minute, but they looked far from what Goo imagined Gun would be into. Yeah, again, he didn't really know what Gun's type would be, but his one night stands were usually very charming and attractive people.

On second thought: of course sex workers were charming and attractive, that was their whole job.

So... romantically... Gun liked normal people? The guy who liked fighting?? Or maybe this person was stronger than they looked, but Goo doubted it just based off his quick interaction with them.

Before he could think more about it, Gun opened the door, looking pissed off. It pleased Goo to no end.

"Sooo--"

"Give me the box." Gun didn't hesitate to cut him off.

"Ah, ah, ah!" Goo held back the box, practically daring Gun to jump him with the shit eating grin he had on. "Who's the person that opened the door for me, huh?"

"Give. Me. The. Box."

"Just answer the question, man!" Gun lunged forward, attempting to grab the box but Goo was quick to react. "Just tell me if that person was your 'special someone' and I'll give you the box!" Gun practically growled at him. Goo continued to grin. "Promise!" he chimed.

A tense silence fell over them as they stared (well, Gun was glaring) at each other. Million of emotions flew through Gun's eyes and knitted brows, but the easiest to pick out was, "I'm going to kill you." No effect on Goo, of course, but still fun for him to point out.

"...Yes," Gun finally admitted through gritted teeth.

Goo immediately started whooping and cheering. "I fucking knew it!" He laughed in between his words. He handed the box over like promised and nearly fell over with the force Gun used to snatch it out of his hands. "Hey!" Next thing he knew, the door was being slammed into his face.

He frowned but shrugged it off. Tonight's victory belonged to him anyways. He whistled a tune he made up as he walked off, unable to keep a grin off his face.

Maybe there was hope, after all. Next plan: find out what exactly this special someone to Gun was like!

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starrose7mika · 1 month ago

Text

pt 3/4: little changes (gun park x reader)

...except the main character is goo and reader only plays a role in little dialogue. hear me out.

( pt 1 | pt 2 )

details: fluffy oneshot, gender neutral reader written in 2nd pov, general canon au, you and gun have been dating for a while in secret

warning: sex repulsed aces look away theres nothing explicit but there's a lot more implications of gun and reader doing stuff in bed together than in pt 2 u_u"

"Look, there's a mark now when I told you to not leave one."

"Can you blame me for getting caught in the heat of the moment?"

"...Gun, come here."

"...Please put that lipstick down."

. . .

Goo dropped a napkin on Gun's face, who was currently laying on a lounging chair.

"What the hell." The dark haired man complained, but he didn't make an effort to move.

Goo sat down in the lounging chair nearby, taking a sip from the cup in his hand before saying, "As if your body being a cutting board wasn't bad enough, now you're leaving lipstick marks on it, too?"

That immediately made Gun sit up. "Where?" He grabbed the napkin before it fell to the ground as it slipped off his face when he sat up and pulled the collar of his shirt off his chest with his index finger, looking down at himself.

"Oh, so you didn't leave it there on purpose."

"Where, Goo?"

"Like right on the side of your neck, man." Goo pointed at his own neck to show.

Gun carefully brought the napkin up to said spot and dabbed a bit, pulling away and raising his brows at the red smudges on the napkin.

"Pfft, don't tell me you didn't even realize."

Grumbling something, Gun continued to wipe away.

Goo decided to keep jabbing at him. "You really have been careless lately, haven't you? Letting one night stands leave their marks on you." He sipped loudly from his cup again. "And you've been sleeping around more. I get it, it's spring, but keep the animal in you from getting so heated during breeding season."

"Genuinely?" Gun stopped dabbing at his neck for a second. "Shut the fuck up." He continued.

Goo nearly choked on his drink from laughing. He swallowed it down and then let the laughter roll out, saying, "I don't get you, Gun." He set his drink down on the table between them and laid down, crossing his arms behind his head. "You're seriously a pervert. This is why you'll never get a lover."

The conversation fell from there as Gun made an extremely dry laugh, one that somehow sounded sarcastic and genuine. What, like he actually had a lover and Goo didn't know? As if.

"You know what? I think this counts as revenge for last time, too."

"You're still not over the hickey thing? And what'd you do this time?"

"Look at your back~"

. . .

"My pretty face..." Goo whined, dabbing his injured cheek with alcohol, squinting his eye a little in annoyance rather than pain--he was too used to the latter. He continued to huff and grumble, grabbing the various medical tools on the desk and patching up his cheek, as well as his hands. "Today just had to be a messy fight, and now my skin is ruined." He turned around to look at Gun, who had his back turned to him as he was treating his own injuries. Goo eyed all the scars on his back and arrogantly said, "At least I'll never look like you."

"And at least I'll never look like you, either," mocked Gun, and Goo rolled his eyes.

Amongst the scars, Goo noticed some on Gun's upper back that seemed short and fresh--but not fresh enough to have come from the fight they just finished. Still, he laughed and asked, "Hey, what weakling managed to give you those small ass scars?"

"Hm?" Gun brought a hand up behind his back, fingers mindlessly tracing whatever scars he could feel.

Goo pointed a finger even though Gun couldn't see him. "There! Those ones. Kind of on your upper back."

Gun's fingers retraced a few scars and then he chuckled. He went back to patching up his front side.

"What? You just laughed, you're not gonna tell me?" Goo blinked, dumbfounded at the bare minimum reaction Gun responded with.

But, Gun did hum back, "The person who gave me those scratches is really strong, actually."

"Who, Daniel?"

"No. Someone who can actually bring me to my knees." Why did Gun sound proud...?

Goo stood up in shock anyways. "Who?! I need to talk to them ASAP so I can kick your ass with them!"

Gun just chuckled again. "Good luck finding them."

"What?!" Goo ran over to Gun, shaking him by the shoulders like crazy. "Tell me!"

"No."

"Ugh, I'll find out one day. You can't keep a secret from me forever--wait, is this person your new successor because they finally beat your ass in a fight? Did you finally find a good successor?"

"No."

Goo waited for extra information, but that never came. He just sighed and moved to stare at Gun's back again. He got a closer look at the scars--actually they looked like scratches. Gun called them scratches, too, didn't he? Anyways, he looked at them in disbelief. Someone gave him scratches that looked like they'd disappear within a few days, and this person was acknowledged to be strong by Gun?

Who could it be...

His... special someone? Actually. Yeah, that made a lot of sense. Gun was a complete psycho; if his special someone was just someone who could beat him up real good, Goo wouldn't be surprised.

"Where are you?"

"I'm sorry, work kept me busy, but I'll be right there."

"Oh, no worries then! Take your time. It's only a date."

"That's exactly why I shouldn't be late."

. . .

"Drive," immediately ordered Gun, slamming the door of the car shut as he sat down.

Goo did as asked, but not without complaining. "Hey, that's no way to greet your coworker who went out of his way to--"

"I'm serious, don't make me late."

"Seriously?" Goo might as well take the most detours as possible with the attitude Gun was giving him. "Why do you even need to arrive to a restaurant on time? 9 PM, too? Are you on a date or something?" He glanced at Gun and noticed the man with a bouquet of roses and immediately burst into laughter. "Ah, what the hell. You're actually on a date."

Gun gave no response and Goo raised a brow.

"Didn't think you'd go through the effort of buying roses to impress a one night stand."

Gun snapped, "It's not a one night stand."

"Yeah, right." Goo glanced at him again, expecting to see some sign of a lie, but he saw none. Gun actually looked even more annoyed now after Goo's comment, but in his usual Gun fashion, he said nothing more and stayed secretive.

"Now that's interesting..."

Goo whistled casually before asking, "Who's the unlucky person on a date with you? Is it that special someone you bought jewelry for a while ago?" He knew he wouldn't get a response, and he didn't, but he wanted to ask anyway to let Gun know he was onto him. He'd have to find out himself.

Tomorrow or something, though. Goo just wanted to go home and knock out after dealing with the headache that was his job of collecting money. Those teens could be really annoying.

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starrose7mika · 1 month ago

Text

pt 2/4: little changes (gun park x reader)

...except the main character is goo and reader only plays a role in little dialogue. hear me out.

(pt 1)

details: fluffy oneshot, gender neutral reader written in 2nd pov, general canon au, you and gun have been dating for a while in secret

warning: one part of these moments has implications of gun and reader in bed!

a/n: i dont rmbr how i got this information but at the time i wrote this, i heard gun couldn't drive so... yeah lol

(ironically i forgot gun's first appearance is him literally driving crystal around. but tbh, just bc i think its funny, i wanna keep it a headcanon that he can't drive LMAO)

"Make sure you don't text and drive."

"Hah, how old do you think I am?"

"Just saying! You text often on your travels so I wanna make sure."

"Don't worry, I always make my coworker drive."

. . .

The red stop light finally gave Goo a chance to snap his neck towards the passenger seat where Gun sat.

"Must be so nice to just sit there, huh?"

"Eyes on the road," Gun replied flatly, his gaze still glued to his phone. Nearly the entire ride he had his eyes on it. And it looked like he was texting.

Suddenly curious, Goo acknowledged Gun's comment with, "We're at a stoplight, dumbass," and then asked, "Who's so important you can't stop texting them?"

"Why is that the assumption?"

Goo scrunched a brow, lips twisting into a frown. "What does that mean?"

"I could be typing notes in my phone."

"Stop bullshitting, you and I never take notes."

For a second Gun looked like he was going to admit Goo was right, but then he just looked up and said, "The light's green again."

Goo looked back in front of him, only to see a red light. He deadpanned and turned back to Gun, staring down at his phone.

"Seriously, who're you texting? I've driven your ass around for twenty minutes and you've done nothing but stare and text on your phone."

"That's none of your business. How close are we to our destination?"

Goo tsked and sucked in a breath of sharp air, bringing his eyes to the road. "Almost there."

"Alright."

There was a pause as the light actually turned green this time and Goo pushed down on the pedal, pushing the driving limit like he always did. He decided to keep bothering Gun in the meanwhile.

"I know you're not texting the boss, he'd rather call you, and he only talks to us for business reasons. I'd guess it's also probably not Crystal since your conversations with her are always short and to the point. And you don't have any friends. Just who are you texting?" He kept on rambling his thoughts out loud, while Gun sat silently.

When Goo eventually gave up, he suggested Gun drive sometimes so he could just be on his phone for twenty minutes.

"I got Candy Crush levels to beat, ya know."

"You won't be alive to beat them if you allow me to drive."

Memories of a burning car with him and Gun standing in front of them flashed in Goo's mind three times--a different car each time--and he nodded.

"I don't know how you can fight a seven nation army but can't drive a car."

"That's a mystery to me, too."

Goo wanted to facepalm.

"That selection of jewelry looks so nice."

"You know you can buy it, right? My card is yours."

"No, Gun, we are not doing this again. Last time you let me use your card you ended up nearly buying the entire store for me."

"Hmph."

. . .

"Rubies, eh?" Goo held up the necklace he picked up, embedded with emeralds. He glanced back and forth between it and the ruby necklace Gun was holding. "You buying a necklace?"

"No, I don't like jewelry."

"The hell are you doing here then?"

"I'm buying a gift."

Goo snorted. "Very funny, now tell me the truth."

Gun stared through his sunglasses, not a single muscle moving on his face.

"Oh?" Goo leaned in, staring more closely at Gun's face like there was some hidden movement of an expression change or something. "Who's it for, huh? I didn't think you'd be the type to buy jewelry for someone."

"I'm buying it for someone special to me," Gun answered surprisingly honestly, leaving Goo flabbergasted for a moment.

"Uh." He leaned back to compose himself, adjusting his glasses. "First off, that's so cringe. Secondly, you actually have a friend?" Or maybe a lover or crush? Usually that's what someone special meant. Still seemed unbelievable, but just in case, Goo added in, "...Or something?"

Gun made a slight smirk. "I'm not incapable of creating bonds."

Goo shivered. "Ew, why do you always talk like an alien? Just say you made a friend." He followed Gun as the latter turned away to look at bracelets. "Who'd you become friends with? Some new successor you're trying to impress through jewelry?"

"When have I ever done that? Of course not."

"Then who?"

"Does my personal life matter to you?"

Goo swatted at his shoulder. "I could care less, but you've got me curious now. Who's this 'special someone' to you?"

"Stay curious," simply said Gun, picking up bracelets with his free hand and comparing them to the necklace in his other hand.

"Ugh."

Fine, Goo didn't care. It was probably some one night stand Gun just really liked the work of and wanted to keep around.

Actually... Gun had never said anyone was special to him before. It was cringey to hear him say that before like Goo stated, but now curiosity grew in him. What could it mean...?

"Oh, shit! I just remembered your meeting!"

"Damn, I lost track of time."

"It's fine, we both did, now hurry!"

. . .

Mr. Choi strummed his fingers across the table, not hiding his annoyance. "Gun, late again?" he questioned, Goo snickering.

Gun bowed his head slightly. "You called in a sudden meeting. I apologize for not being prepared, sir."

Goo was sitting leaned back in his chair, feet kicked up on the table. "Why do you look like a mess?"

Gun straightened up, finishing buttoning his shirt up and running a hand through his hair. His tone was much more sharper when replying to Goo. "I just said I apologize for being unprepared."

"So? It's late at night, what were you doing? Lounging around and being messy?" joked Goo.

Mr. Choi narrowed his eyes. "Or did you just come back from 'messing around?'"

Goo's jaw dropped when Gun's head slightly lowered once more.

"You youngsters..." Mr. Choi pinched the bridge of his nose.

"No fucking way!" Goo immediately started cackling as he leaned back, nearly falling from his chair. He moved to sit properly while giggling in between. "Sorry we interrupted your little fun~"

Gun ignored him and just mumbled an apology when Mr. Choi lectured him with, "I know you're an adult with the freedom to do as you wish, but don't be so careless by losing track of time."

The meeting began right after that, and Goo listened, of course. But he couldn't help but be mildly distracted by thoughts about the person Gun was "messing around with." Did they really do him so good he would lose track of time? Or did this person matter more to him than this meeting so he stayed back a little?

Probably the first, and it was also funnier if it was true. If the second was true though, that'd be interesting. Still kind of funny, though... Goo felt like he could never imagine Gun getting emotionally invested in anyone.

"Have fun at the party!"

"Ugh, I don't even want to go... promise me you'll still be here if I come back early. Which I probably will."

"Pft, sure."

. . .

Goo had a little too much to drink during this party. But he was having fun so who cares?

While chatting up some people, he saw Gun walking away to the exit of the room and ran after him, leaving the people he was talking to confused. He wrapped an arm around Gun's shoulder once he caught up, slurring, "Where're you going, huuuh~?" Gun shrugged him off but Goo just moved to hug his arm instead. "The party just began!"

"Ugh." Gun pulled his arm out of Goo's grasp. "I don't like parties like these."

"But you never leave this early! Come on, there's more to drink and eat!"

Gun sighed and looked around until he spotted a certain someone. "Crystal!"

"Hm?" She looked over at him, pausing from grabbing snacks at the tables.

"Keep this guy busy."

"What?" Gun was already sprinting away. Crystal started shouting, "Gun! GUN!! YOU ASSHOLE!!"

"Where's he going?" Goo wailed, heading to Crystal to lean onto her. "It's like he's sneaking away to see someone!"

Crystal shoved Goo away (or attempted to, because he kept falling on her like he didn't have a skeleton), saying something under her breath as she shook her head.

Goo didn't hear, and even if he did, he probably wouldn't remember tomorrow morning anyways.

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starrose7mika · 1 month ago

Text

pt 1/4: little changes (gun park x reader)

...except the main character is goo and reader only plays a role in little dialogue. hear me out.

details: fluffy oneshot, gender neutral reader written in 2nd pov, general canon au, you and gun have been dating for a while in secret

a/n: i wrote this quite a while back before i joined the fandom with this public account but still like it so i wanted to share it :]

"You don't usually wear colorful clothes, do you?"

"Not really. Why're you asking?"

"Oh. Well, I was thinking about how nice this shirt would look on you--"

"I'll get it."

"Wait, you don't have to--"

. . .

"Why do you have so many collared shirts?"

"They're the only shirts I wear," replied Gun, quickly adding, "And stop looking through my closet."

"No, I'm bored. And I won't stop until you hurry the hell up."

Gun sifted through the folders he had scattered about on the table he was standing by. "I can't afford to make a mistake so shut up and be patient."

Goo hummed over him, ignoring and not even hearing the last part of his sentence. "Ooh, more brightly colored clothes! I didn't know you had more. You always wear bland colors." A certain shirt caught Goo's eyes and he picked it out. "Whaaat? What is this? Did you really buy a tacky shirt like this?"

He held up the white shirt--light blue stripes and colorful flowers decorating it--just as Gun glanced over his shoulder to see. He turned away just as fast though, and Goo didn't get to see his expression.

All he got was Gun saying, "As if your clothes aren't tacky?" and then muttering, "Besides, it's a nice shirt."

"My fashion is better than yours." Goo rolled his eyes and went back to staring at the shirt in disbelief. "Also, this is kind of cute, but it's so gross to see in your closet. Why'd you buy a shirt like this? How expensive--" He gasped, seeing the tag on the back inside of the shirt's collar. "This isn't even from a rich brand! Did you buy this at... a normal mall or something?!"

"You sound utterly ridiculous right now. Stop spouting nonsense."

Goo hung the shirt back up, yelling back, "I'm serious! Do you secretly have a strange fashion taste or something?"

Gun sighed heavily. "Why does that even matter? Just go back to being quiet, I still need to focus."

"Alright, alright, just so we can get out of your boring ass house quicker." Goo continued to look through Gun's closet, being more shocked at other articles of clothing he found. Really, just anything that was brightly colored or had some kind of pattern on it.

"What a weirdo... what other secrets is this guy hiding from me aside from his weird fashion taste?"

"You look good like that."

"Hm?"

"Not beat up, I mean your hair. Whoever you got in a fight with that messed up your hair, they sure did it stylishly."

. . .

Goo raised a brow, watching Gun mess up his hair he always meticulously slicked back again. It was always by giving himself bangs over his right eye but leaving the rest of his hair mostly slicked back. Almost like he was purposefully styling it that way...? It must've been for someone else and not himself though, because he always complained about the inconvenience having bangs. When the hell did Gun ever do anything for someone else, though?

The blonde shrugged it off and turned back to look at himself in the bathroom mirror, fixing his own hair that got a little messy from a fight they both just finished. Once satisfied, he nodded to himself and smiled before looking over at Gun again.

He had just popped a piece of gum into his mouth and then looked up when he noticed Goo staring.

"What," he said dryly.

Well, since he was asking, Goo wasn't going to shrug it off this time. He was never the type to beat around the bush anyway. "What's up with you, lately? As far as I know, you hate having your hair in your face because it's annoying, especially in a fight, but lately after the end of the day, you always mess it up. Why?"

"Changed my mind," was the only short response he could get.

"Why?" Goo continued to press.

"I don't need to look professional or think about getting into fights when my job for the day is done, correct?"

"Hm." Suspicious, but Goo would take it as an answer for now. Plus, Gun most likely would be too stubborn to answer truthfully no matter how much Goo chose to be annoying.

Instead, he brought his attention to the gum pack Gun was holding in his hand. "How about the gum? What's up with that?"

Gun held it up, seemingly playing dumb like he was asking sarcastically, "Oh, this?" He tucked it into his pocket shortly after, questioning, "Is it illegal to chew gum in South Korea all of a sudden?"

Goo clicked his tongue. "You never chew gum. You hate sweets and chewy things."

At that, Gun went quiet and Goo immediately became even more suspicious about him. Still, he replied after a moment with, "Guess I changed my mind about that, too."

"Sure you did." Goo rolled his eyes and then held out a hand. "Give me a piece, by the way."

"Fuck off." Gun walked past him and Goo quickly slapped his back with the hand he had out.

He followed after Gun as they exited the bathroom, exclaiming, "Hey! Be grateful I don't feel like pressuring you for answers to your weird habits lately. I at least deserve a piece of gum for that."

"I don't owe you anything."

Goo grabbed Gun's collar for that, threats about to spill out of his sharp tongue until he saw a fear-ridden employee in the distance, clutching on the mop in their hands for dear life.

"Oops, forgot we were in a McDonalds." Goo made a girlish giggle and then waved casually at the employee as Gun continued to deadpan, just chewing on his gum. "Hi! Don't mind us, we won't cause any trouble here." Goo started dragging Gun out by his collar. "Have a good day, random civilian!"

The employee just watched them leave with wide eyes.

"Wow, no cigarettes today?"

"You said the smoke bothered you."

"Ah, right. Thanks for being considerate!"

"Of course."

. . .

"Gum again?" asked Goo, returning from the convenience store.

Gun ignored him.

"Come on, let me have a piece this t--" Goo was answered with a small sting in the face, a piece of gum thrown at him with lightning speed. He frowned, hand swiping to catch the gum before it fell to the ground. "You piece of shit."

"You got what you wanted."

Goo shook his head, beginning to unwrap it. "What flavor is this?"

"Orange."

"Orange!" repeated Goo gleefully, happily placing the gum in his mouth as he balled up the wrapper. He walked closer to Gun and leaned back on the wall with him before lazily flicking the balled wrapper at his partner's head, who made zero reaction. "Didn't think you liked fruity flavors. I thought you would pick mint or something."

"Either flavor is fine."

"Hmph." Goo pouted. "Fruity flavors are too sweet and don't fit a guy like you at all." He paused for a moment. "But I guess it's fine since you're fruity!" Goo laughed at his own joke as Gun rolled his eyes, hands tucking into his pockets.

"Did you buy what you needed?"

"Yeah, we heading back already?"

"It's been a long day." Gun let out a deep sigh. "Let's go."

He was already walking off before Goo could reply. "Jeez, you've been so eager to return home these days." He pushed himself off the wall with a, "Hup!" and tailed Gun, peeking over his shoulder. "What, you got a sweetheart waiting for you at home or something?"

Gun ignored him. Again.

Goo decided to change the topic since what he suggested probably wasn't true anyway. Gun, falling in love? Someone else feeling mutual love for a pervert like him? What a joke!

"Hey, hey, I've noticed you stopped smoking, too."

"And?"

"I thought you liked smoking."

"Not particularly."

"Huh? Why even smoke then?"

"It relieves stress."

"Okay, sooo..." Goo whistled. "You stopped smoking because now you don't feel stress anymore?"

"Stop asking questions."

Gun's harsher-than-usual tone (because he almost always sounded harsh) irritated Goo to no end, so he quipped, "Sounds like SOMEONE'S stressed."

"Really got the crowd laughing with that one."

"This fucking guy..."

Goo shoved his hands in his pockets before they could start swinging. "Are you replacing smoking with chewing gum or something as a stress reliever? Like a recovering smoke-a-holic or whatever?"

Ignored by Gun for the third time in under five minutes.

Goo decided to let it go. Just for tonight.

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starrose7mika · 2 months ago

Text

it tastes like over sweet shit

author's note ; you guys aren't funny with your “gun would quit smoking when he is with u” BRO. be f for real, this bitch is too nicotine addicted. and stressed. and honestly i understand this bitch.

tw ; cigarettes and smoke. remember my dears!! it's not healthy and cool to smoke, we highly not recommend whatever will be written next

special thanks to @aline1701 for understanding!! ifykyk🫡🫡

✮₊⊹₊⋆ ☠︎︎ ⋆₊ ⊹✮

street was nearly empty that night, the neon signs flickering in the distance, casting their artificial glow on the wet pavement. you had been wandering, lost in thought, when you realized — you were out of cigarettes.

with an annoyed sigh, you patted your pockets again just to be sure. nothing. just your lighter.

that's when you spotted him. your target!

a tall man, dressed in a crisp suit despite the late hour, leaning against a brick wall with a cigarette between his lips. the glow of the ember briefly illuminated his sharp features as he exhaled, completely unbothered by the world around him.

he looked... intimidating. dangerous, even. but the day was too hard and exhausting to avoid the only smoker in the sight right now.

that's what nicotine addiction gets you to!! to intimidating hot strangers on the street!!

“excuse me,” you said, stopping just a few steps away. “do you have a cigarette?”

he didn't reply right away. his dark eyes flicked toward you, assessing, before he reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack. with a flick of his wrist, he held it out.

marlboro. red. most classical ones. most shitty ones.

you hesitated.

his brow lifted slightly, catching your pause.

“never mind,” you said, forcing a polite smile. “thanks, but i'll pass”

he exhaled another slow drag, the rich, smoky scent invading your space. “you asked for a cigarette.”

“i did.” you shrugged. “just not that one.”

for the first time today, his lips curved — not quite a smirk, not quite amusement. just mild interest.

“mm.” he put the pack away, saying nothing more.

you left shortly after, still with hopes that you will find your favorite cigarettes in pockets, not realizing who you had just met.

✮₊⊹₊⋆ ☠︎︎ ⋆₊ ⊹✮

Jonggun lit his cigarette with a flick of his lighter, the ember flaring to life as he took a slow drag. the scent of marlboro — deep, tarry, unmistakable - filled the air, mixing with the crisp night breeze.

and from beside him — a disgusted scoff.

“ugh,” you groaned, wrinkling your nose as you pulled out your own pack. “do you have to smoke that crap every time?”

he barely glanced at you, as calm as always. “what's wrong with it?”

you shot him a glare before pulling out one of your own cigarettes — long, slim, and infused with a faint berry scent. the contrast between the two was almost comical. Jonggun's marlboros were strong, classic, the kind of thing a man like him would smoke without a second thought. neanwhile, yours smelled a little sweet, the filter faintly tinted with a hint of purple.

Jonggun eyed it with mild amusement as you placed it between your lips. “berry-flavored?”

“better than that garbage you smoke,” you shot back, lighting it. faint, barely perceptible sound of smoldering tobacco filled the silence as you took a drag, the berry aftertaste lingering on your tongue pleasantly.

Jonggun exhaled another puff of his own, letting the heavy scent of marlboro creep into your personal space like an uninvited guest. you grimaced.

Jonggun smirked. “problem?”

“yes, actually,” you said, fanning the air dramatically. “it’s too strong. makes me feel like i’m inhaling frustration, regret and pain.”

he chuckled, low and amused.

you rolled your eyes, holding up your own cigarette. “see, this is refined. smooth. a little fruity. something pleasant to smoke.”

Jonggun scoffed, clearly unimpressed. “tobacco isn’t supposed to be pleasant.”

“says who?” you took another leisurely drag, blowing the smoke toward him in defiance. the faint scent of berries drifted between you, mixing briefly with the harsher marlboro before it disappeared into the night air.

Jonggun studied you for a moment, his gaze unreadable. then, with a tilt of his head, he said, “give me one.”

you blinked. “what?”

“your cigarette,” he said, as if it were obvious. “i want to try.”

you narrowed your eyes. “you’re just going to make fun of it.”

“probably,” he admitted, smirking.

with a sigh, you plucked one from your pack and handed it over. Jonggun took it between his fingers, examining the slim shape like it was some foreign artifact. then, with practiced ease, he lit it and took a slow, deep drag.

a pause.

you watched, half-expecting him to nod in approval — until a strange expression flickered over his face.

and then, he let out the smallest laugh.

it wasn’t much — just a quiet huff of amusement — but it was enough. the sudden break in composure caught him off guard, and before he could recover, the smoke caught in his throat.

coughing and letting his small chuckle go, he croaked “how you smoke this muck? it tastes like over-sweet shit,” voice slightly hoarse from the cough and smoke in his lungs.

you blinked.

Park Jonggun just choked on smoke.

but he quickly coughed up the last of the smoke from his throat, coming back to his usual calm demeanor.

you kept staring. then, you grinned.

“no way,” you gasped, delighted. “did you just choke?”

his silence and murderous look only made you laugh harder. “oh my god, that’s the first time i’ve seen you struggle with anything.”

Jonggun exhaled sharply again, as if clearing his lungs of whatever betrayal had still occurred. “shut up… it’s too light. feels like i’m inhaling perfume.”

“you’re just mad because it made you cough,” you teased, nudging him with your elbow.

he just rolled his eyes and handed the cigarette back. “take your candy stick.”

you took it back, smug, and took a slow, dramatic drag right in front of him. “mmm. delicious.”

Jonggun lit another marlboro, you already could imagine that tarry scent. but this time, when he exhaled, he lifted his head slightly, letting the smoke drift away from you instead of in your face.

you noticed.

but said nothing.

with a satisfied smirk, you kept smoking your berry-flavored cigarette, the two of you falling into a comfortable silence, letting the night pass in a slow haze of smoke.

✮₊⊹₊⋆ ☠︎︎ ⋆₊ ⊹✮

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starrose7mika · 2 months ago

Text

Who'd try fasting? (Lookism hc)

A/n: GUYS GUYS ITS OFFICIALLY RAMADAN. Sending my regards to all Muslims out there <33 This hc is just for fun bc I couldn't sleep all day (damn you insomnia). If there's anyone else you think would be suitable for this hc feel free to add!

Masterlist

Gun Park

Hands down him. He have a healthy diet. Proper schedule for training etc yk the jazz. You cannot tell me he isn't intrigued by the concept of fasting. It's not even that hard. Iftar (open fast) with him would be so great. Eating dates and drink water on the porch while watching the sunset. 10/10

Jake Kim

Bc I'm biased and bc he's a good boy. If you're close, why not? Again. Not that hard. As a bonus, Jerry will tag along. The more the merrier. Oh and cooking together, eating together for iftar. *Chef kith*

Vasco

Not technically bias but he's a good boy. Whatever is to believe earn good deeds and benefits him (and others) he'll do it. I can imagine him loving dates, trust me bro.

Daniel Park + gang

Criminally underated even if he's the mc?? Tbh I'd imagine the mains in the fashion dept (jay, zack, mira, zoe) would at least be interest to try fasting. Let's be honest I don't think Zack would last. Zoe too. Jay, don't fw me you hardly talk. It wouldn't cost you shit. Daniel would made it through iftar too yay! I think the most dedicated one here would be Mira because she's a religious person :)

Honourable mention: Mary Kim

Bc yes??? Why wouldn't she? It's also an interesting type of exercise. Bonus Vin taunting her with food right on her face. "Oooh. Eat me, Mary. I know you want to~" Eh, his fate is sealed yk what's up.

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starrose7mika · 2 months ago

Text

Gun Park x Reader: Pre-Date Jitters

G/N. Who would have thought Gun could get nervous. Follow up to Awkward Flirtations. Masterlists

All of Goo's insults, that Gun thought he had perfected the art of tuning out over the years, are finally coming home to roost.

That fucking moron. I'm going to kill him, he thinks.

Gun had never particularly concerned himself with what Goo thought. After all, why would he, why should he. Does a human care about what a mosquito thinks?

Yet Gun looks at his reflection for a beat longer than usual, eyes drawn to his hair as uninspiring taunts 'did you dunk your head in grease', 'shave it off and start again' in Goo's whiny, irritating timbre echo in his mind.

I will kill him, Gun decides.

This morning is not starting off well.

It gets worse when Gun observes his wardrobe.

To his disdain, there are overlaps in brands and fashion houses between his and Goo's clothing despite Gun opting for a more muted, understated palette and Goo going for as obnoxious as physically possible.

Nevertheless, that never stopped Goo from running his mouth.

'You should burn that shirt.'

'Did you find that in a dumpster?'

But, and Gun's already sour mood turns even more sour at the realisation, Goo may have a point.

Well, actually no he fucking doesn't.

But what if your taste is more aligned to the blonde's that Gun Park's own. That you agree and find his hair overdone and his clothes tasteless.

Is he also going to need to don his glasses again to hide the unmissable scar between his eyes?

What the fuck, Gun thinks, eyebrows knitting together as he tries to dismiss all this uncharacteristic doubt.

"What the fuck," he murmurs, nostrils flaring as he slams his eyes shut and counts to ten.

On ten, he exhales. The thoughts disappear. All, except one:

I'm going to strangle Goo Kim.

At 1:50pm, standing outside the coffee shop, Gun burns through two cigarettes before the agreed meeting time of 2pm.

Then at 2:04pm, he lights up another, takes a short, solitary drag before stubbing it out.

At 2:07pm, he smokes one more to the filter in a single, long, inhale.

The annoyance, and nicotine, fully hits 30 seconds later as your absence becomes unbearably loud.

Less than ten minutes have passed, though with the anticipation coursing through Gun's veins, it feels like a lifetime and pride halts him from texting you.

Perhaps you got into an accident. Maybe you died on the way here. Or more realistically-

Did you waste his time? Have you stood him up?

That would certainly be a first.

Is this what being stood up feels like? A steady force of disappointment grows heavier with each passing second, eventually sure to crush him under its own weight.

Manifesting, twisting into anger and vexation in a split second.

What is he even doing with this moronic romanticism? Why would Gun Park be on a date? He does not form attachments, romantic or otherwise. Neither does he spend his time hanging outside coffee shops waiting for someone who he can't mould into his masterpiece. He shouldn't have, doesn't have interest in anything besides getting stronger or richer-

"Sorry!"

Your voice bursts through the spiralling thoughts as you grab his attention by squeezing his arm.

You ramble. Something about the traffic and getting lost but it doesn't matter. None of it matters.

The sun, resting high and pretty in the sky, illuminates you, casting a golden aura and your halo of light envelopes Gun.

All previous anger, gone. All uncertainty from this morning, vanished.

He inhales, like the first breath of air after drowning, and with his exhale, can't help the smallest smile that rests on his face.

"You look nice," you add sincerely after your apology, eyes roving approvingly over his form.

Gun finding his mouth suddenly dry, clears his throat and acknowledges your compliment with a nod. He looks at you, gaze softer than he ever thought capable, and with a hand resting on the small of your back, leads you into the cafe.

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