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theglassofmiddleearth · 3 days ago

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Imagine Being Isekai'ed into KPOP DEMON HUNTERS. (part 4)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 5 Part 6

This chapter is mainly Romance (Rae oriented!) This one is a bit of a filler episode so I have a feeling that you might not enjoy this one as much but nonetheless, HAVE A GOOD READ!

Breakfast was actually quite nice. Jinu had brought back some hang-over soup, whilst Romance brought back some coffee. To top it all off, Mystery slipped Y/N a sweet bread that she had been craving since a week ago. The spicy soup was able to help her wake up, and Jinu had placed a cup of water on the table inconspicuously to Y/N’s ignorance.

‘Okay well, this has been nice but I have to go.’ Y/N unlocked her phone to a notification from the Huntr/x group chat, asking her if she could supervise the upcoming live recording of Golden.

‘What? But you said we still have to practice to be perfect.’ Romance protested immediately, standing with his arms crossed.

‘Romance-’

‘Rae. My name is Rae-Jin but just call me Rae.’ He breathed, sitting back down in his chair with a whump.

‘You’re abandoning us to go hang around Huntr/x?’ Jinu rolled his eyes, looking as if Y/N had greatly offended him.

‘Need I remind you that technically I abandoned them for you lot?’ Y/N raised a single eyebrow, hands on her hips in an imposing stance. ‘Besides, you all just need to practice choreo and singing. That’s all you guys.’ Y/N shrugged, picking up her keys and swiping her notebook and phone. She checked her belongings making sure everything was in order.

‘You’ll call us if something comes up?’ Jinu said, taking Y/N’s phone from her easily, punching in his number and drop-ringing it.

‘Huh, no password? That's not safe Y/N.’ The leader furrowed his brow, trailing off as he handed Y/N’s phone back to her.

‘And ghost writing music for a demon boy band is?’ Y/N cheeked, nudging him with her shoulder playfully.

‘Touché.’ He let out a soft smile, as Y/N turned her back to grasp a bottle of juice on the table.

‘Hey, I’ll call you guys if anything comes up okay? Keep practicing! I’m gonna go to work.’ Y/N waved as she headed towards the open elevator doors, taking a swig of her drink, replying to a work text.

‘Stay safe!’ Beom called out as the elevator doors closed.

The boys were left in silence, staring at the closed metal doors. Each of them were thinking the same thing.

‘She’ll be ok, right?’ They all asked in unison.

‘The Honmoon is getting weaker, which means that demons will become more prevalent. I don’t know if it’s safe for her to be out there on her own.’ Abel turned to the group, arms crossed over his chest, his compression shirt stretching.

‘I mean, when we first tried to take her soul, it didn’t work. Maybe she’s unaffected by demon powers?’ Mystery reasoned, trying to reassure the group.

‘I’m not one for taking chances, and we just got our producer. What are we going to do if something happens to her?’ Jinu concluded, slipping off his barstool smoothly.

'Besides, even if they don't take her soul, they can still harm her physically.' Rae shook his head, dissatisfied with Mystery's reason.

‘If she’s with the demon hunters, then shouldn’t she be safe?’ Beom reasoned, pointing out the truth. ‘Maybe we’ll wait for her call?’

‘I think one of us should stick with her, but stay out of sight. Just to be safe.’ Jinu countered, looking disgruntled.

‘I’ll do it.’ Abel offered easily, shrugging his shoulders.

‘No, we need you for choreo. You're the strongest but most of us haven’t got it down perfectly yet.’ Beom shook his head, looking disappointed. Each of the boys felt the urge to follow Y/N, but on the other hand, they wanted to make sure they did justice to Soda Pop, as their debut stage.

‘Rae, you go. You’ve got everything down almost to a T. Report back if you hear anything, make sure you use your phone. I didn’t acquire them as decorations.’ Jinu sighed, waving Rae off, knowing that the pink haired man was already half way out the door.

‘He’s gonna just jump down the stairs in demon form isn’t he?’ Beom asked, looking at Jinu.

‘Mhm.’ Mystery nodded along, as the stair door swung shut with a clank.

‘Aw rats. Why didn’t I think of that this morning?’ Abel whined, slapping a head on his forehead.

‘I don’t know man. You act so stupid at times but we all know you’re not.’ Jinu laughed, slapping Abel on the back.

‘Lower expectations and then deliver the minimum so people are impressed. That's how I got by dear Jinu.’ Nodding cheerfully while holding a thumbs up.

‘Hey.’ Jinu called over a shadowy blue figure, prowling its way from under the marble kitchen island. ‘You’ll watch over her too. Come find me if she runs into anything that could be dangerous.’

The creature purred in agreement, rubbing its blue head against the leg’s over Jinu before sinking into the ground, wearing a small gat on its head.

‘Alright, let’s get back to work. Y/N said she thought we had to work on the verses a bit more.’ Jinu clapped his hands, ushering his friends back into position.

‘I thought it didn’t matter what Y/N thought.’ Mystery snickered, pulling his arms into his beginning position.

‘Whatever. Let's take it from the top.’

–

Meanwhile, Y/N had gotten into a chauffeured car, scribbling the lyrics of Takedown in her notebook. The girls were currently in an interview, expressing how Golden reflected each of their own journeys in life. She flipped between pages, pondering if she should start, What It Sounds Like as well. Y/N wasn’t sure if movie logic actually applied in this world, seeing as this was her new reality.

She decided to also write down the lyrics of What It Sounds Like as well, just in case.

Honestly, since Y/N had received her memories, she’d felt bad for the girls. It wasn’t their fault Y/N had never been invited to anything. She was admittedly, rather anti-social. If people didn’t try to initiate conversation, she would sit there and do her own thing. Y/N wasn’t afraid to be alone with her thoughts as they were usually filled with lyrics and working on her next beat for the girls. Besides, most of the issues were rooted in Celine’s upbringing of Rumi. The girls weren't the ones keeping her away, it was herself and her own insecurities.

‘We’ve arrived Miss L/N.’ The driver spoke, severing Y/N’s train of thought.

‘Thank you sir! Have a good day!’ Y/N called into the car, before swinging the door shut. Y/N rang up Bobby, hoping that he’d pick up. It was still relatively early in the afternoon.

After a short conversation, Y/N was brought to the back entrance of the studio, given a staff pass and ushered into the dressing room of Huntr/x.

‘Y/N!’ Sorry we didn’t tell you about launching Golden..’ Rumi smiled sheepishly, looking remorseful.

‘It’s alright, I wrote it so you guys could sing it anyways.’ Y/N shrugged, giving Rumi a forgiving smile.

‘You look like you haven’t been sleeping well.’ Mira stood from her chair, walking closer to Y/N, bringing a hand to grip the ghost writer's chin.

‘Have you been staying up late? Y’know that's bad for you.’ The lean girl sighed, rummaging through her bag for eye cream and handing it to Y/N. The still sleepy girl took it gratefully, smearing some of the cream under her eyebags.

‘Were you up late writing a new song?’ Zoey bounced on the spot, her spacebuns bopping along with her.

‘Uhh, kind of!’ Y/N agreed, looking down at her notebook. Technically, she had been writing a new song. Both for Huntr/x and the Saja Boys. Was it bad that she was helping the Saja Boys at the moment? She had been able to slip Beom and Abel away from the manipulative whispering of their former master but…

Was it permanent?

Was it even real?

‘Five till rehearsal guys! Let’s get the ball rolling!’ A studio executive’s voice called out, clapping their hands authoritatively.

‘Rumi, wait. Can I talk to you?’ Y/N gently grasped the wrist of the purple haired girl.

‘Yeah what’s up?’ Rumi beamed, nerves abuzz from the imminent performance.

‘Rumi I-’

‘Come on Huntr/x lets show them how it's done, done, done!’ Bobby yelled, pushing all the girls off into the stage recording area.

Y/N winced, watching the girls get herded off.

‘Y/N! We’ll talk later okay? Wait for me!’ Rumi called back, using both hands to imitate a megaphone.

‘Okay!’ Y/N called back, feeling a cold shiver creep through her pores, raising the hair on her arms. Y/N broke into a cold sweat, shaking slightly as she took her place in a back corner, hidden away from view.

‘You’re cold.’ A voice whispered, placing a jacket over Y/N’s shoulders.

‘Wha- Romance?’ Y/N spun around, the newly placed jacket on her shoulders billowing around her. Romance’s pink hair was tied up, tucked into a hoodie, his pink bangs peeking out. His face obscured by a high collared shirt underneath. Behind him was… Jinu’s blue tiger? It gave a low rumble, its pupils dilating at the sight of Y/N.

Aw, it was wearing a tiny hat! It was Jinu's demon familiar. Huh, was he concerned for her?

Nah, couldn't be.

‘It’s Rae, and also, before you say anything, this was Jinu’s idea.’ Rae murmured, pulling the jacket firmly around Y/N once more. ‘Come on, let's get your arms through. Can’t have our writer getting sick.’

‘Thanks…’ Y/N flushed slightly, a soothing warmth spread over her skin, caught off-guard by the domestication of the act. The opening bars of Golden began to fill the studio, Y/N recognising her song, snatched her eyes from Rae’s lavender, grey eyes. She felt soft fur under her fingertips as the blue tiger rumbled quietly, circling Y/N’s legs.

Rae however, kept his eyes on Y/N, moving to stand next to her, as Y/N watched the girls with intent.

‘Y’know, I can dance and sing too. They’re nothing special.’ He huffed, slightly perturbed by Y/N’s lack of attention.

‘Hm? Yeah I know.’ Y/N laughed, breathlessly, relenting to Rae’s tiny tantrum. ‘I’d say you’re the best dancer out of the group other than Abel.’

‘Hmph, well Abel was a swordsman for the Emperor. He can adapt to these rough boyish dances.’ Rae flipped his hair casually.

‘I was a court dancer. I performed Jeongjae for royalty. Rae gave a cocky smile, awaiting Y/N’s praise.

The girl gave him a double glance, taking in his tall stature and elegant limbs. It was clear that the boys were all able to dance, however Rae was right. He possessed a certain amount of grace that the rest of the boys made up for with vigour.

‘Huh, I can see it. When I was watching your group practice, you were quite eye-catching.’ Y/N gave him a reassuring smile, gently stoking Rae’s ego.

The pink haired man gave a hum of satisfaction, nodding in approval before the sound Y/N had dreaded pierced through the studio.

Rumi’s voice had faltered.

Y/N stepped forward instantly but her wrist was caught.

‘Where are you going.’ Rae furrowed his brow.

‘I have to talk to her. Rae, I’ll see you when I get home okay?’ Y/N wrapped her other hand around the boy’s wrist, giving him a gentle squeeze.

Rae’s grip loosened, momentarily stunned by Y/N’s fleeting touch allowing her to slip out of his grasp.

‘You okay?’ Mira placed a hand on Rumi’s shoulder, as the girl in the centre cleared her throat.

‘Yeah. Yeah I’m fine. Let’s take it again! From the top!’ Rumi pointed, walking back to the starting position.

Y/N dug her fingernails into her palm, watching the performance start again from the beginning. A hand gently prised her fingers out of her palms, silently smoothing out her fingers. Y/N turned slightly, seeing Rae’s familiar hoodie next to her for a second before he disappeared in a puff of smoke.

‘I’m done hiding, now I’m shining like I’m born to b-’ Rumi coughed, the music cutting off instantly.

‘Uhm, Rumi? Are you okay?’ Bobby stepped forward. ‘Do you need some water?’

‘I just need five. I’m gonna take five.’ Her eyes were wide, hands covering her throat.

Protests arose, complaints flew across the room.

‘What?’

‘Five? We go live in ten minutes!’

Y/N hurriedly followed Rumi, power walking behind her.

Rumi slammed the dressing room door open, panting heavily as she ripped off a part of her costume. She practically tore off her jacket, staring into the mirror.

‘Rumi!’ Y/N caught up, running toward the trembling girl. She spotted the girl, leaning over the vanity, chest heaving.

‘Y/N… My voice…’ Rumi gasped, trembling as she touched her neck.

‘Rumi listen I know-’

‘Y/N I…’ She shook, her hands pulling up her jacket.

‘Rumi, I know about your patterns.’ Y/N closed the door behind her calmly, walking toward the panicking girl carefully.

‘How-’

‘You never want to go to the bathhouse with Zoey and Mira. You always wear long sleeves, no matter the weather, and Celine gets this weird look on her face when she talks about demons and your mother.’ Y/N rattled off, guiding Rumi to sit down with her.

‘They used to just be on my arm. My shoulder. But they’re spreading, Y/N look.’ Rumi shakily pulled down the zipper of her collar, revealing the crawling line of purple patterns.

‘Y/N, how am I supposed to fix the world, fix me, when I don’t have my voice?’ She buried her face into her hands, ‘Why now? When I’m so close?’

‘Rumi-’

‘WHY?!’ Rumi roared, her voice a timbre that she’d never heard before. The shout rippled scarlet red through the room, like a drop in a calm surface of water. The red lines flashed through the city, as the girls gaped at the scene through the window.

Rumi let out a choked gasp, turning to Y/N in horror.

‘Y/N listen, I’m not one of them. I’m not a-’

‘Rumi.’ Y/N slipped off her seat, kneeling in front of Rumi. ‘I know you’re not a demon. This is what I wanted to talk to you about.’ She placed her hands on Rumi’s shoulders.

‘You knew? And you’re not afraid?’ Rumi’s eyes were welling with tears of fear and uncertainty. ‘You don’t think I’m a monster?’

‘Yes. I knew and I know you're not a monster. Rumi, the only time I'm afraid of you is when I’m standing in between you and Kimbap okay?’

‘Okay.’ She sniffled, letting out a watery laugh.

‘Look. Rumi, I know you released Golden because you thought it would speed up the process.’ Y/N looked up at Rumi through her lashes, giving her shoulders a squeeze.

‘…’

‘And another thing…’ Y/N gave a sheepish smile. ‘You really should tell Mira and Zoey. They’re your family. If you put it off, it’ll be harder for them to understand why you never told them.’

‘But what if they treat me differently.’ Rumi shook her head, holding onto Y/N’s hands. ‘Celine has always told me to hide my patterns. That nothing would change until I turned the Honmoon gold.’

‘Celine was wrong. Look at me, I know you. You aren’t a bad person, your patterns are a part of who you are.’ Y/N stood up, prompting Rumi to stand with her. ‘I see you for who you are Rumi, a huntress who happens to have patterns. You may be part demon, but that doesn’t mean you’re a bad person.’

Y/N squeezed Rumi’s hands, giving her a rueful smile, ‘I’ve been told that some humans act more like demons than demons themselves. You aren’t defined by the world, Rumi. You’re defined by your actions.’

A single tear slid down Rumi’s cheek, caught by Y/N’s thumb as she brushed it away.

‘Do you really think I should tell Mira and Zoey?’

‘Without a doubt.’

Rumi inhaled a long breath, brushing away her unshed tears, smudging her eyeliner.

‘Okay. I’ll do it tonight.’ Rumi slipped back on her jacket. ‘Can you be there when I do?’

‘Yeah, of course!’ Y/N brushed off Rumi’s jacket, zipping up the girl’s collar. ‘But first, we’re gonna go get some kimbap. Come on, let's go.’ She grinned, dragging Rumi out of the room, toward the back exit. A puff of purple smoke revealed Rae, as his silhouette became visible in the corner of the room, where the girls had just left.

‘A hunter that's part demon?’ Rin’s eyes narrowed as he stared at the open door.

–

By the time Y/N and Rumi had made it back to the Huntr/x tower, the sun had long set. Rumi was carrying a plastic bag of Kimbap and Y/N was carrying a bag of tteokbokki. They were discussing how to break the news to Mira and Zoey, deciding that they would have to make sure Celine was not around.

As the doors opened, Mira and Zoey rushed toward the girls, enveloping both in a hug.

‘We were so worried when you both disappeared.’ Zoey’s voice was muffled by Y/N’s clothes.

‘Are you both okay?’ Mira was frantic, spinning Rumi around, checking for wounds. Zoey was circling Y/N with eagle eyes.

‘We’re okay.’ Rumi laughed, placing a hand on her group member’s shoulders. ‘But I do have something I have to talk to you both about.’

‘But first, is Celine here?’ Y/N cut in, looking around the room with a raised eyebrow.

‘No, she left a while ago, we didn’t tell her about what happened.’ Zoey shook her head.

‘Okay, you guys should probably sit down for this.’ Y/N gestured towards the couch.

‘What is it?’ Mira and Zoey sat down, leaving Y/N and Rumi standing.

‘Well, first of all, I’m sorry. I’ve been keeping a secret.’ Rumi began, clasping her sweating hands together. ‘Well there's no easy way to say it so I’ll just show you.

The leader of the girl group slowly took off her jacket, revealing her arms, littered with purple lines, jagged and jarring.

‘I have-’

‘You have patterns?’ Zoey blinked confusedly.

‘Huh. Not what I was expecting.’ Mira’s eyes were blown wide.

‘Yes, Celine said that my father was a demon. I’ve had these patterns since I was born but Celine always says-’

‘We are hunters. Voices strong. Your flaws and faults must never be seen.’ Both girls repeated, mocking Celine.

‘Yeah… So, that's why I always kept these hidden. So that you wouldn't think I was a monster.’ Rumi ended, her voice breaking.

‘Oh Rumi…’ Zoey rushed towards Rumi, grasping at her hands. ‘We know you’re not a monster. You’re our family.’

‘She’s right, and I understand why you didn’t tell us.’ Mira also stood, placing a hand on her friend's shoulder. ‘Being told you have to hide who you are for years definitely takes a toll on you mentally.’

Y/N smiled proudly, watching the girls come to terms with their new information.

It made sense that they were understanding. In the movie, they had already encountered Jinu and several other barriers before Rumi’s revelation. It was no wonder Zoey and Mira were scared.

‘Y/N helped me tell you guys.’ Rumi stepped aside, grabbing Y/N’s hand from behind her. ‘I wasn’t sure if I was going to tell you but…’

‘I knew that you guys would understand.’ Y/N nodded, stepping forward. ‘And I think I have a song for you guys.’

‘Really? Already?!’ Zoey looked excited, grabbing her own notebooks.

‘Yeah, I actually used a lot of what you’ve said, from your own stories. Have a read and see if you like it.’

The girls read over and each teared up.

‘How do you put into words how we feel so well?’ Rumi sniffled, wiping her eyes on her sleeve.

‘The scar’s a part of me. Darkness and harmony. My voice without the lies, this is what it sounds like?’ Mira muttered in awe, ‘We don’t pay you enough do we?’

'Uh, actually I get a royalty on all your songs so... I'm actually living pretty comfortably.' Y/N laughed.

After agreeing to come up with the demo for What It Sounds Like that night, Y/N had taken a car back to her area. Remembering to thank the driver as she stepped out.

'Your hunter friend is part demon?' Y/N was greeted by an angry looking Jinu as she exited the elevator into her apartment.

'Uh, am I in trouble?' Y/N looked around, confused by the reaction of the room. All the boys seemed to be... upset?

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gojosatoruhumper · 2 months ago

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Separated | Ahn Su-ho x reader

Summary: When Su-ho, Si-eun and Beom-seok don’t bring the money to Gil-su, he takes away someone important from Su-ho.

Warnings: Fighting, violence, swearing

WC:2.4K

Notes: based on this request

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

You and Su-ho have known each other since the early days. Your parents would always bring you to the small Korean diner near your house ever since you were little and that's how you met him. Friday nights were always your favourite because you could see him.

Later on you would just casually stop by, offering to help but mostly just so you could spend time with Su-ho. He was a great guy, always lifting your mood cracking jokes and being protective over you.

You knew he worked hard so you would often invite him for dinner, your parents grew fond of him, telling him how he is always welcome in your household any time.

And well, an unexpected confession slipped past his lips one evening when you were together taking a late night walk. That day you made it official.

When Su-ho made new friends, Si-eun and Beom-seok, you were happy for him, always encouraging him to go hang out with them even if it meant less time together. He would of-course bring you along frequently, but you also didn't want to interfere.

But you also started worrying more. He got into fights more often, always brushing it off like it was nothing. He could see how concerned you were for him so he decided not to tell you about the trouble he got into with Gil-su's gang.

His favourite part of the day was when you would walk out of your school, chatting with your friends and the look of your face when you saw him never failed to put a smile to his face. He would press a kiss to your cheek, wrapping his firm hand on your shoulder and tell you all about his day, even the smallest details since he mostly slept through all classes.

You always felt so safe and secure with him, of course you could handle yourself, but with a man like Su-ho you felt protected. He made it clear to every guy who looked your way that you were in a relationship.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

After being tricked by Yeong-bin Su-was furious. He hated when people picked him and his friends as targets. WHen Beom-seok brought the 15 million won, both Si-eun and Su-ho refused to take it to Gil-su, they didn't own him shit.

All three of them were now walking out of school, spotting the gang they encountered earlier waiting for them. "Guys wait here, I'll go alone." Su-ho spoke up, shoving his hand in his pockets.

"Su-ho, are you sure? We can just give them the money and-" Beom-seok was cut off by him. "If something happens I will text you, call the cops if what, okay?" he said, eyeing the car parked upfront.

Si-eun just stood there, staring at him. "What? You don't trust me?" Su-ho nudged Si-eun, throwing him a smile and walking away from the two.

"Hey, kid" Gil-su spoke up with a smile, all his minions just standing beside him. "Did you lose the other two" the man laughed. "Oh shut up" Su-ho whined, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"Okay okay, give it to me" Gil-su demanded, the smirk still plastered over his face. "Listen shithead, leave me and my friends alone, we don't owe you anything" he explained,

eyebrows furred. The man across him just laughed, crooking his head sideways.

"Yeah?" "If you say so" he put a hand on Su-ho's shoulder, he gripped it, shoving it away.

"Keep your hands to yourself, asshole. Don't bother me or my friends ever again" Su-ho firmly said, without a stutter and turned back to his friends.

Gil-su looked back at the guys standing next to the car door. "Eh? This guy has quite the attitude" he trailed off "Get in the car and lets follow him." He smirked.

Walking back to Si-eun and Beom-seok, Su-ho had a gut feeling something bad is a bout to happen.

Pushing the feeling aside he smiled and threw a thumbs up at his classmates. "We're good now, lets go quick, I have to get Y/n" he said, throwing his arms around their shoulders.

"Huh? Did they let us go so easily" Beom-seok asked, genuinely surprised. "Yeah dude, wouldn't you be intimidated by a guy like me?" Su-ho replied. Si-eun stayed silent, even though he could sense he was lying.

Su-ho was complaining about how hungry he was all through out the walk to your school. They were a little late by now so they could clearly see you on the bench sitting alone, looking down at your phone.

When he noticed you, a wide grin immediately spread across his face. You looked up, happy to see him, waving at you like a kid. He stepped up, giving you a quick peck, now hand holding your shoulder instead of their friends.

"Hello" you smiled at his friends. "Hi" Beom-seok replied as well as Si-eun who murmured a quick 'hi.’

"Lets gooo, I'm so hungry I could eat one of you, you know" he whined, placing a hand on his stomach in annoyance, cracking a laugh from all three of you.

In the distance Gil-su was watching. "That one" he pointed at you, "get that girl and bring her to me"

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

You were now all walking back from the diner Su-ho had picked, hands interlocked as Si-eun and Beom-seok was walking beside him. You came to a stop, needing to split up at this

point. You said your goodbyes to the two boys, "Goodluck at your cram school Si-eun" you waved at him as he said thank you, turning to go on his way.

You always liked Si-eun more than Beom-seok, because you could see how he sincerely looked out for Su-ho, always being there for him.

You and Su-ho started walking towards your house, your backpack with cute charms dangling on Su-ho's shoulder. "Ahh, you're so cute" he smiled at you, ruffling your hair with his hand, laughing when you got frustrated.

"I told you to stop doing that" you tried to fix your hair, turning your head to your boyfriend, "Does it look okay?" you asked, looking up. "More than okay" he smiled.

When you both came to a stop outside of your house you spoke up. "Are you sure you can't stay the night?" you asked, taking your backpack from him. "I wish I could Y/n but I have to work today" he hugged you pressing a kiss to your lips. "Text me when you're done" you smiled at him, entering your house and waving your hand at him.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

It was the next day, you were walking to school with your head down, feeling the sunrays hitting your head. You spotted a car slowing down next to you.

You had no time to react as two guys jumped out of it, one holding you as the other put a cloth over your nose and mouth.

You started screaming, but the chemical scent quickly took over, vision becoming blurry and eventually black.

You woke up with ringing on your ears, a migraine pulsing at your temples. "Ah the princess is awake" an old man laughed coming closer to you. You sat on the cold floor in a room, hands aching from them being tied together, as well as your legs.

You were scared. Really scared. All you wanted to do is cry, but you knew it would give the people in front of you satisfaction. From what you could make out, the man in front of you - the most.

"What's your name?" he asked, crouching down. You just stared at him, eyebrows furred. You didn't know if it was from anger or confusion. "Hey, bitch I asked you a question" he got angry, hitting your head. You stayed silent.

He stood up, laughing. "This whore." he turned to you again, getting angry. "You don't wanna talk?" A hard kick landed on your ribs. And another one after that. Now you couldn't hold the tears in, whining in pain as you were now laying on the ground, kick after kick landing on you.

He grabbed your head by your hair, crouching next to your face. "What would you friend Su-ho would think of this, huh? Being rude to your elders" He asked, now gripping your hair tighter than before. The name hitting home deep in your heart.

"Su-ho.?" you raised your eyebrows, salty tears falling down your cheeks. "Yeah. Su-ho" he tsked.

"That arrogant shithead" he murmured. Now you were getting angry. "Look at yourself, you look like a dickhead who should've been in a retirement home long ago" you snapped.

He was furious by now. His fist met with your nose, blood spilling out almost immediately. The metallic taste lingered in your mouth, mixing with the saltiness. "You bitch" he started punching your face, now bruises and cuts forming.

"Let's see what he would think of this" he stood up, proud of his work. You could see a phone in his hand, "smile." he snapped a pic, lighting up a cigarette. You looked around the room, glaring at all the guys in the room, staring at you. "Let's go for now" he turned to them, walking out.

As the door slammed shut, you fell to the ground again, the pain taking over. Your ribs were aching, face throbbing, legs and arms already bruising. You could barely breathe.

Gil-su sat on the sofa, laughing as he typed in the message. 'Sure you don't have the money?' 'Such a waste of a pretty face' he attached the photo of you with the address, clothes dirty, bloody face as it dripped onto your school uniform. Your face was twisted in pain.

Su-ho was now walking with his two friends as he felt his phone. His face dropped when he read the messages. "Is everything okay, Su-ho?" Si-eun asked, scanning his face. "I- I have to go" he said, burring out his words. "Where-" the boy was cut off

"I really need to go, don't worry about me" he said, now running.

He was now enraged, getting there quickly as he could. The door flung open as he banged it. ""What the fuck did you do?" he screamed, not sure at who.

His eyes landed on Gil-su as he started lunging at him. "Woah there" he smiled.

"Guys take care of him" he nudged the gang, as they stepped closer to him. "When you're done, tie him next to the cunt" he said, pulling a cigarette pack from his pocket. The words sent Su-ho to insanity.

"Don't fucking call her that" He punched one of the guys who was lunging at him, knocking him out instantly. There were 7 guys including Gil-su surrounding him.

His fighting skills were coming really in handy. He landed a kick on one guy, in the process punching another. He was surprised by a sudden punch to his nose as he stumbled back. "Boss this guy is pretty tough" Su-ho panted, looking up. "Only 'pretty tough'?" "I guess I'm doing something wrong" he lunged back at them again, 3 guys lying on the tiles bruised up and 3 out of breath, standing as Gil-su just watched the scene unfold.

He failed to notice Yeong-i coming through the doors, tired from the errands she was forced to do.

She was caught by surprised as she saw all the guys in action, seeing you behind the door which was slightly open.

She knew Gil-su had planned to capture some girl, but she certainly didn't expect it to be you. Yeong-i didn't want to interfere with the fight, so she quickly hid behind the door, pulling out her phone and texting Si-eun.

“Come here quickly!! They got Y/n, Su-ho is in trouble” she typed in, pressing send and attaching the address.

Si-eun opened the message right away, truth to be told is he was already searching for Su-ho, interrogating Yeong-bin.

He wasted no time, running to the address he was given. He got there quicker than the cops, shoving past Yeong-i and seeing 6 guys whining and passed out, Su-ho being choked by Gil-su.

Si-eun pulled out his pen, stabbing Gil-su in the shoulder. He let go of Su-ho, clutching the pen in pain. Si-eun could see the relief on the other’s face as he gasped for air. His hair was messed up, dried blood on his nose and lips.

“You fuckers” Gil-su gritted his teeth, swinging at Si-eun, who luckily dodged it. Su-ho quickly took action, landing a kick on the side of his head, as he now fell to the ground in pain.

“I take back what I said, you’re good.” He laughed once again, whining. “I said leave my friends alone” Su-ho got the last word in as he heard the police cars pulling up. Gil-su tried to run away through the door, being met with two police officers, guns pointing at him.

Si-eun raised his hand, pointing to the slightly opened door. “Y/n” he said, a little above a whisper as Su-ho already was barging through it. As he saw you, his heart ached. You were passed out, body swelling with bruises.

He ran up, untying you and tightly hugging you, gripping your uniform. “Y/n..” he said, voice muffled. Your eyes slowly opened as you looked at him, a slight smile on your face. “Thank you, for coming to me” you said, voice cracking.

He was mad at himself. “I’m sorry I came to late, you didn’t deserved this, I did” he looked at your body, inspecting for any internal damage.

“You’re here now, that’s what matters” you said as you felt him pick you up. Si-eun was looking at you both, a subtle smile on his face, he was happy for Su-ho, having such a caring person in his life.

Su-ho carried you over to the ambulance, police coming up to question him. “You can get my statement after she is taken care of” he said, caring only about you at the moment.

As the ambulance drove to the hospital, it was only you and Su-ho in it. “Y/n I will make sure all of them pay for what they did” he leaned down, kissing you as you laid in the somewhat of a bed, his hand in yours.

He brushed your hair with his fingers, as you slowly fell asleep. He stayed with you in the hospital the whole night, Si-eun, Beom-seok and Yeong-i coming in to check up on you both.

#fanfiction #whc1 #weak hero class 1 #whc2 #weak hero x reader #ahn suho #ahn suho x reader

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k1mbe3rly · 3 months ago

Note

Weak hero class 1 boys (yeongbin,sieun,suho,beomseok) having a cigarette adict s/o (fem) headcanons??

Like she has family problems and she always says she knows its bad for her but its just her way of feeling safe or wtv??

IDK ITS RANDOM HOPE IT ISNT CONFUSING!!

Weak hero class boys having a cigarette addict partner headcannons

warnings: just smoking

YeongBin:

• Yeongbin smokes with you half the time, he likes these sessions with you because your actually able to open up to him when something happens at home

• In a middle of a smoke session with you he would just simply tell you “Stop smoking.”

• Even tho he seems like he doesn’t care, deep down he’s worried about your relationship with smoking, he knows that there bad for you and they slowly kill your lungs and he doesn’t want that for you

• Sometimes he would even refuse a couple of smoke sessions with you just for you not to smoke as well

Yeon sieun:

• Sieun doesn’t mind you smoking just not all the time

• After all he still cares about you and your health and he does know what your going thru which makes him understand a bit but not completely

• Sometimes he would even go up to you and take your cigarette from your mouth smashing it on the floor, basically his way of telling you to stop

• He still would lecture you about it and how it’s bad for and it kills your lungs

• Eventually if he notices you doing it more often he does get upset about it and always demands for you to stop smoking, and if not he would just say he will break up with you if you don’t

• He genuinely starts feeling concerned for you especially with the problems you have and suggests for you to use something else as a stress relief (wink wink 😉)

Ahn Suho

• It’s the same thing for him, he doesn’t really care that much he just doesn’t want you to become totally addicted to smoking

• Sometimes he will smoke with you and give you a chance to open up if you want, or he would just ask you what’s wrong and if your okay

• Everytime he sees you smoke he automatically thinks that something happened at home or someone said something to you

• Over time he doesn’t get a bit worried about you and your health and tries to distract you from smoking

Oh beom seok:

• Beom seok when he first found out about your addiction he automatically told you stop smoking (before he went all evil)

• He starts getting worried about you and constantly checking up on you and even making sure you don’t have a pack of cigarettes on you

• If he ever catches you smoking he starts crashing out and smashing your cigarettes on the floor and complains how it hurts him to see you smoking

• Now after he started hanging out with the bullies he would rarely do smoking sessions with you

• Maybe only once or twice than quickly tells you to stop

#weak hero class beom seok #weak hero class yeon si eun #weak hero class #weak hero class one #weak hero class 1 #weak hero class 1 imagine #weak hero x reader #Weak hero class ahn suho #ahn suho #whc1 oh beom seok #whc1 sieun #whc1 suho #whc1 x reader #whc1 #yeongbin #yeong bin weak hero class #whc1 yeongbin

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aleese1111 · 2 months ago

Note

Hi!

I’ve been diving into your Weak Hero class creations — you nailed it!

Would it be possible for you to write something for Ahn Su-ho? With a mix of heavy angst and some fluff at the end? Maybe they're in an argument — slow burn style.

not about trust, but fear | ahn suho x fem!reader

summary : they've always been each other’s safe place—until one night in suho’s room when a name, a worry, and a few misunderstood words nearly tear them apart. an argument fueled by fear and love spirals out of control, but in the aftermath, they find each other again.

warnings: heavy angst, yelling, emotional vulnerability, miscommunication, hurt/comfort, slow burn to fluff, established relationship, anxiety, past trauma references .

author's note: ops with this one .. anyway! my first ahn suho fanfic hooray! requests ,,

✶ ᶻz .ᐟ , .. one .. two .. ??

The rain was soft against the windowpane, a rhythmic tapping like the pulse of a quiet heart. The glow from the small lamp on Suho’s desk threw golden halos against the walls, and the room—though small and plain—held a lived-in warmth. His backpack sat by the door. A few stray books were stacked unevenly on the floor. A hoodie—hers, oversized and faded from too many washes—was folded neatly at the foot of his bed.

The silence was the kind that stretched too far, hanging heavy between two people who knew each other too well. She stood by the door, arms crossed, chewing the inside of her cheek like she was keeping something bitter from escaping. He sat on the edge of his bed, hands braced on his knees, watching her with guarded eyes.

She was the first to speak.

“Why him?”

Suho blinked. “What?”

She stepped forward, her arms still folded. Her voice was quieter now, but the edge hadn’t dulled. “Beom-seok. You keep bringing him up lately. You said he’s your friend now. That you hang out with him after class, that he’s... what? Part of your little group now?”

His brows knit together, confusion flickering across his face. “He is. Si-eun, Beom-seok, and I—we’ve been through some shit together. He’s not as bad as you think.”

“I didn’t say he’s bad. I said he’s… off.” Her fingers tightened around her arms. “Something about him doesn’t sit right with me. I’m just... worried.”

Suho exhaled, the sound sharp. “You don’t even know him.”

“I don’t need to know him to feel—”

“—To judge?”

The word cut her off like a slap. Her arms dropped to her sides, eyes widening slightly.

“Seriously?” he continued, standing up now, voice rising. “You’re going off of a feeling? Do you even hear yourself? You don’t like him, and now you’re acting like I’m the one in the wrong for making new friends?”

Her chest was tight, her breathing shallow. “I never said you couldn’t have friends. I just—I don’t trust him. Not you. Never you.”

“Right. Of course. You don’t trust him,” Suho said, his laugh short and humorless. “Is that really it? Or is it just that you don’t trust me?”

That landed like a blow.

Her mouth opened, closed, then opened again, but nothing came out at first. “Don’t twist this,” she said finally, the words barely above a whisper. “Don’t you dare twist this into something about me questioning you.”

“Why not?” His voice was a low thunder now. “It’s always the same. Every time I try to let someone else in—even just a little—you get like this. Suspicious. Defensive. Like I’m going to disappear on you if I let someone else stand next to me for five minutes.”

“That’s not what this is—”

“Then what is it?” he demanded. “Because from where I’m standing, it feels like you’re waiting for someone to hurt you. Like you expect it.”

Her voice broke when she spoke. “I never doubted you. I just—Beom-seok feels wrong. I don’t know how else to say it. It’s not jealousy, it’s not possessiveness—I’m scared for you.”

The words were raw, straining at the edges. “I see the way he looks at you sometimes. The way he talks. There’s something in his eyes. I can’t explain it. But it makes me uneasy, and I just... I don’t want you getting pulled into something that hurts you.”

Suho didn’t reply right away. His jaw was tight. His shoulders stiff. And when he spoke, it wasn’t anger anymore, but something quieter.

“Of what?”

Her throat burned. “Of losing you. Of something happening that I could’ve seen coming and didn’t say anything about. I’m not trying to control you—I’m trying to protect you.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

His eyes—soft brown, usually so warm—were unreadable now. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Couldn’t tell if she had just made everything worse.

Then Suho looked away, raking a hand through his hair. “Damn it.”

She waited. Her heart was thudding too loudly in her chest.

Finally, he looked back at her. “I shouldn’t have said that. About the trust issues. That was... cruel.”

She didn’t answer, just stared at him, eyes glossy, shoulders trembling under the weight of too many emotions.

“I didn’t mean to throw your past in your face,” he added, stepping toward her with slow, careful steps, like approaching a wounded animal. “That wasn’t fair. I was pissed, but I wasn’t thinking.”

She bit the inside of her cheek. “You meant it, though.”

He hesitated. “I meant that I was hurt. That you didn’t believe me when I said Beom-seok’s okay. But I didn’t mean to make you feel like you’re broken. You’re not.”

Her arms wrapped around herself again, this time not out of defense, but comfort. “It’s hard. I want to trust people. I do. But every time I try, it feels like a risk I can’t afford.”

“I know,” he said quietly. “I’ve seen it. I’ve seen how hard you try, even when you don’t think I notice.”

She looked up at him now, eyes brimming. “Then why’d you say that?”

“Because I was scared too.” He let out a heavy breath, gaze dropping. “Scared that you’d never fully let me in. That no matter what I do, you’d always keep one foot out the door in case I left first.”

The words were raw. Honest. The kind of vulnerability that was too heavy for a teenage heart to carry, and yet they both held it like it was the only thing anchoring them.

She took a shaky breath. “I don’t want to keep doing this. The fighting. The pushing.”

He reached for her hand slowly, and when she didn’t pull away, he threaded his fingers through hers. “Then let’s stop. Right now. Let’s start over.”

She stared at their joined hands. Then, finally, she nodded.

A pause passed between them—still, but not tense anymore. More like the eye of a storm after the destruction had cleared, the quiet relief that came after surviving something painful together.

He tugged her gently toward him, and she followed. Her forehead met his chest, and he wrapped his arms around her without hesitation.

No more words were needed.

Not yet.

They’d talk more—explain more—when their hearts weren’t so bruised. But for now, they held each other in the soft lamplight, the sound of the rain filling the gaps.

And in that silence, they began to heal.

✶ ᶻz .ᐟ , .. one .. two .. ??

#weak hero class x reader #weak hero class #whc #ahn suho #ahn suho x reader #kdrama #kdrama x reader #x reader #aleese1111

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freakmcnastyy · 24 days ago

Text

Behind closed doors

Oh Beom-seok x f!reader (one-shot)

Summary: There wasn’t supposed to be anything between you two — until you realized that sleeping with your dad's best friend's son wasn't such a bad idea.

Warnings: Slow burn (really long), smut.

Note: Anon request! (I separated it with emoji before smut started )

⸻

The restaurant was huge. Loud with voices—dads talking business, the clinking of glasses blending with the soft clash of cutlery on porcelain plates. Everything screamed luxury. Not the warm kind.

And you… you were used to it. Maybe too used to it.

But Beom Seok?

He didn’t belong there.

You didn’t even notice him at first. He had on a plain black sweater, collar of a shirt peeking out faintly. Sat upright, stiff, hands clasped over his knees, knuckles pale as paper. Like someone had dropped him off and vanished.

You didn’t realize you were staring— Not until he noticed.

He turned his head slightly, caught your eyes for a heartbeat, then looked away almost instantly. That was the first time your eyes met.

His gaze was distant. Uneasy. Almost guilty.

Like he was silently saying, “Don’t look at me.”

But it was already too late.

Your father was laughing at something when you gently turned your head, pretending to be politely bored. But your mind stayed on him.

Everyone was talking, everyone was laughing, life moved on—

But he stayed frozen. Right there. Like he was afraid even breathing wrong would ruin something.

And for just a second, a thought crossed your mind:

What happened to him?

But you didn’t ask. You knew these dinners too well. You answer what’s asked. You say what’s needed. The rest? Gets lost in eye contact.

When your eyes met his again, he didn’t look away this time. Not immediately. He tried to hold your gaze—but failed. His pupils shrank, his jaw tensed. Like not just your presence, but his own existence was too much for him in that moment.

Because you…

You were something else entirely to him.

Maybe the child his father wished he had.

Maybe someone he could never be.

Maybe just… you.

You kept your face neutral. No smile. No judgment. Just attention. The kind people give when they’re trying to understand the difference.

But he mistook that too.

Took it as pity.

After that night, it became a routine—seeing them, eating with them. Your dads were close and wanted to hang out often.

⸻ /TIMESKIP/

Beom Seok’s mom greeted you at the door. She smiled, but didn’t say a word. Just a soft nod, then silence. It was so quiet your heels felt too loud. As you took off your shoes at the entrance, your eyes drifted—he was already there. Sitting across the living room.

At the table, the dads jumped into conversation—politics, the market, the usual nonsense. You poked at your food, listening quietly. Beom Seok did the same. Every bite he took seemed to last forever. Or maybe he just needed time. You couldn’t tell.

Then it happened.

His dad suddenly stopped mid-sentence. Like he’d been holding something in and couldn’t anymore. He slammed his fork down.

“You skipped school again today,” he said.

Beom Seok didn’t lift his head.

“Who were you with this time? Those delinquent friends of yours?”

The air in the room shifted.

Forks froze.

Even you turned without meaning to.

Beom Seok didn’t move. Didn’t say a thing.

That silence only made his dad angrier.

“How long are you going to keep disgracing this family?”

His voice rose.

Your father stepped in, smiling politely, trying to calm things down.

“Come on now, he’s just a kid. We were all young once. Friends matter.”

But Beom Seok’s dad snapped toward him.

Eyes narrowed like he was waiting for this chance.

“Easy for you to say. You’ve got YN. Always so quiet, so well-behaved. She sits like a lady. I hear she’s doing great in school too. Not like my failure of a son.”

Everyone turned to look at you.

You smiled.

Didn’t say a word.

Beom Seok still hadn’t spoken.

His eyes locked onto a spot on his plate.

There was nothing there, but he wouldn’t look away.

His mom?

Didn’t say a word.

Didn’t even look at him.

Kept eating like no one was being torn apart in the same room.

Your dad looked like he wanted to say something else, but the man had already changed the subject.

Your eyes met again—but he pulled away.

This time, not just from you.

He looked at the corner of the room like he wanted to disappear into it.

⸻

The dinner was over. The adults had sunk into the living room couches, drinks in hand, crystal glasses clinking with slow-melting ice.

You sat in a corner, quiet.

Nodding, smiling when needed. Pretending to listen.

But your mind was elsewhere.

There was an absence.

Beom Seok had left the table a while ago.

He hadn’t returned.

No one noticed.

No one called for him.

Like he was never really there to begin with.

You didn’t say a word.

Just stared at your water glass.

Finger tracing the rim.

Then: “Can I use the bathroom?”

No one objected.

Out in the hallway, it was even quieter.

No more laughter leaking through.

Your steps felt weightless on thick rugs, past clean-cut furniture.

You knew where his room was.

The door was sliding.

You didn’t knock.

You just placed your palm on the cold wood, held your breath—

And slowly slid it open.

There he was.

Sitting on the edge of his bed, hunched forward.

Hands dangling between his knees.

Glasses in one hand.

Eyes locked on the floor.

He wasn’t thinking. Or maybe he was thinking everything at once.

He flinched when he saw you.

His shoulders jumped.

His eyes found yours.

Silence.

“Can I come in?” you asked.

He didn’t look at you for long. Just gave a small nod, patted the space beside him.

You stepped inside.

Now there wasn’t much space between you.

He was still gripping his glasses.

His hands were tense.

He didn’t speak.

So you whispered, “Why do you do this to yourself?”

“You let them crush you. Don’t you ever wanna fight back?”

That’s when he turned to look at you.

But not gently this time.

His eyes were sharp.

There was a fire in them.

Like every word you said had cut deeper.

“You don’t know anything,” he said.

Cold.

Tight in his throat.

“You don’t know me. You don’t know my dad. You don’t know this place. But you talk like you do.”

He turned fully toward you.

“Your life’s easy. Everyone likes you. You sit there and get praised. No one ever humiliates you. What would you know about being me?”

You hadn’t expected that tone—but your face didn’t flinch.

No fear.

Just disgust.

You didn’t hide it.

Your lips curled.

You stood up slowly.

“Oh God,” you said.

Just that.

And it chilled the whole room.

“Maybe your dad’s right,” you added.

“Your loser friends really did mess you up.”

You didn’t stay.

Turned around.

Slid the door shut behind you.

Left.

But some part of you…

Some part of you stayed in that room.

Because in Beom Seok’s eyes, there was a loneliness so deep—

Even rage couldn’t cover it.

Even you walking away… couldn’t erase it.

⸻ /TIMESKIP/

The restaurant was crowded.

Wealthy laughter, the thick smell of food, and the clinking of ice-filled glasses were all competing to be heard.

You sat quietly in your seat.

Pretending to listen, but you weren’t really hearing anything.

Slowly, you stood up. No one thought twice about it.

“I’m going to the restroom,” you said.

You didn’t walk too fast. You didn’t want unnecessary attention.

As you moved between the seats, the fabric of your dress brushed against your legs. Your heels tapped lightly on the wooden floor.

When you entered the hallway, the sound of the restaurant began to fade behind you.

Only your footsteps remained now.

You stepped into the women’s bathroom. It was empty.

You placed your bag on the counter.

Took out a makeup brush.

Touched it lightly to your cheeks.

Not too much. Just a little.

But then the door opened.

A hum ran down your spine.

You didn’t even need to turn around to know who those echoing footsteps belonged to.

It was him.

And just like that—he closed the door behind him.

Then… he locked it.

Your heart jumped into your throat.

You watched your face in the mirror first. Then slowly turned to look at him.

“What are you doing?” you asked.

Trying to stay calm, though the weirdness of the moment unsettled you.

Still, you stood your ground.

You weren’t scared of him. But… you didn’t understand.

Beom Seok took a step toward you.

It wasn’t rough. It wasn’t soft either.

But it was certain.

His eyes were locked onto yours.

There was something open in them this time.

Like a darkness mixed with hurt.

He spoke slowly.

“I’m sorry… for last time.”

You saw the shame in his eyes.

But what you felt wasn’t sympathy.

Just a brief pause.

“It's okay,” you said.

You didn’t want to drag this out.

You didn’t want to fix it with a confrontation or a conversation.

You turned toward the door. You wanted to leave.

But…

Suddenly, he grabbed your wrist.

Not tightly.

But firmly.

You didn’t pull away.

You slowly turned back.

He gently pulled you toward the counter in front of the big mirror.

Cold marble touched your back.

You shivered as it met your skin.

He was in front of you.

So close.

Not even an inch between you.

Your eyes drifted to his.

But this time, you couldn’t glare.

Because the tension inside you… was turning into something else.

It was hard to speak.

“What?” you asked.

Beom Seok’s eyes were frozen.

But the cracks were showing now.

“I don’t want to be your enemy,” he said.

His face was so close to yours.

You could feel his breath on your skin.

You looked away for a moment, then looked back again.

“We’re not,” you replied.

Short. Clear.

But he wasn’t satisfied.

“Then why do you… look at me like you pity me?”

His voice was low.

“Why do you act like I disgust you sometimes?”

That sentence—

It hit you like a nail in your brain.

You swallowed hard.

You didn’t answer.

Maybe because you didn’t have one.

Or maybe you did… but it was too close. Too raw. You didn’t know what it would touch if you let it out.

In that silence… Beom Seok’s eyes fell to your lips.

Your eyes were locked on his face.

And then—

For a moment.

Quick.

Sudden.

He kissed you.

The touch of his lips on yours—

It wasn’t warm.

It wasn’t soft.

It was short.

But it hit you like lightning in the chest.

Your eyes widened.

Your cheeks burned.

Your body froze for a second.

Then he pulled away immediately.

Almost like he startled himself.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

His breath was shaky.

“I don’t know why I did that.”

He looked down.

His face was burning red.

You were still standing there.

But your heart wasn’t.

Everything had scattered.

He walked to the door.

Unlocked it.

Opened it… and left.

You stood in front of the mirror for a while.

Just stayed there.

You didn’t know what to feel.

⸻ /TIMESKIP/ 🔞

Dinner had been over for a while. Everyone was sitting in the living room, chatting casually. This time, the gathering had taken place at your house. You never really understood why both families insisted on having a full meal every time they met. God, how boring they were…

You were in the kitchen, reaching for the plates on the counter, loading the dishwasher.

Each time you bent down and stood up again, the back of your dress tightened just a little. Your hair fell over your shoulder.

It was quiet.

Just the soft drip of water from the faucet and the clink of porcelain against porcelain.

You were placing the last plate when you heard footsteps.

Slow, deliberate…

There was a slight pause before someone entered.

You didn’t need to look back. You already knew.

Beom Seok.

You weren’t surprised. But he hadn’t known you’d be here.

A subtle smirk tugged at your lips the moment you realized.

You weren’t going to test him.

But you weren’t about to run, either.

A little mischief wouldn’t hurt.

You straightened up.

Turned around.

Beom Seok paused slightly when he saw you.

Like someone had flipped on the lights in a dark room.

His shoulders tensed ever so slightly.

His expression… not guilty, not exactly sorry—

But definitely uneasy.

Still, he composed himself.

Didn’t look away.

But didn’t look into you either.

You crossed your arms.

Didn’t take a single step back.

“What is it?” you asked.

Beom Seok hesitated.

As if the weight of what he wanted to say was sitting right at the edge of his tongue.

Finally, he seemed to gather up the nerve.

“About that day…” he said.

His words were scattered, like he’d rather die than have this conversation—

But could no longer avoid it.

“I mean… that kiss. If it felt disrespectful to you—”

“It didn’t,” you cut in, flatly.

His eyes locked on yours.

He held his breath, but you could feel it—whatever he’d been holding back was about to burst free.

“Yes, sometimes I do look at you with disgust,”

you said, tilting your head slightly.

Your words were cold—

But carried a strange heat underneath.

And then you took a step forward.

Slow. Deliberate.

“But you look at me like you want to eat me alive,”

you murmured,

“and that turns me on like crazy.”

Beom Seok’s eyes widened.

His lips parted, but no words came out.

Something flickered on his face—confusion, arousal, surprise.

By then, you were already right in front of him.

One step. Just one step left between you.

You leaned in, lips brushing near his ear.

Your breath grazed his neck.

“If you want to fuck me, don’t bother hiding it…”

You looked him in the eye. Whispered again.

“Because no matter how hard you try, your pants are already giving you away.”

It was jarring, hearing something so filthy come from someone like you.

On the outside, you looked so composed—

That contrast threw Beom Seok off completely.

In that moment…

His body stiffened.

His eyes locked onto yours.

“Good. I want it. Now.” he said suddenly.

You pulled back. That wasn’t your plan.

You just wanted to tease him and disappear—

You didn’t expect this.

His hand had already reached the edge of the kitchen counter, pinning you between it and his body.

“Not now,” you whispered. “Someone might catch us.”

But he didn’t care.

He stepped in closer.

Closed the distance.

His body pressed against yours.

His hands slid over your curves—possessive, rough.

“Just a quick fuck” he murmured into your ear.

His warm breath sent a shiver down your spine.

He leaned in, captured your lips in a harsh kiss.

One hand slid up, cupping your breast through the thin fabric of your dress.

Your lips crashed harder. Your breathing grew heavy.

But life continued outside—

People were still moving around in other rooms.

Anyone could walk in.

You both knew it.

He unzipped his pants just enough—

In a way he could quickly fix if needed.

He didn’t undress you.

Just pushed your panties aside.

He lifted one of your legs, hooked it around his waist.

Pulled your dress up.

At first, he only slid in the tip—

And even that felt so damn good, you almost moaned—

But he quickly slapped a hand over your mouth.

You pushed yourself closer to him, wanting more.

And the moment he realized what you needed,

he buried himself deeper, without hesitation.

Bigger than you imagined.

It felt like he might tear you apart.

Too much. Too full.

“I-it won’t fit,” you gasped against his hand.

He didn’t answer.

Just kept pushing.

You bit your lip to stifle your moan.

His movements got faster, more desperate.

His hand tightened around your mouth.

You were wet enough to help him slide in and out without making too much noise.

You had the advantage.

He pulled you even closer—

His thrusts became shorter, deeper.

He was trying to hold it in, finish without a sound,

but it was getting harder with every push.

He buried his face in your neck to muffle his groans.

His other hand gripped your ass tightly,

fingers digging in.

With one last deep thrust, he came inside you.

Both your bodies trembled from the intensity.

He stayed inside for a moment, holding his breath.

Then he quickly pulled out, fixing his pants.

Left you panting, back pressed against the cold kitchen counter.

“Damn…”

⸻

The air in the kitchen still felt hot and electric, your bodies buzzing with aftershocks.

You both stood there, breathless.

Your chest rising and falling rapidly, heart pounding loud in your ears.

You couldn’t meet his eyes.

Your hands trembled.

What the hell did I just do? you asked yourself over and over.

Beom Seok looked just as stunned—

But a hint of pride lingered on his face.

You stood side by side,

a strange silence hanging between you—

An invisible curtain that hadn’t been there before.

Just then, the kitchen door creaked open.

Your mom walked in.

You quickly pulled yourself together,

smiling like nothing had happened.

“Mom?” you said calmly,

like this had been just another ordinary minute.

She smiled gently.

“Oh… I was just wondering where you two disappeared to. Looks like you finally became friends, huh?” she teased.

“Come on now,” she added, gesturing toward the door.

“You're about to go home.” she said, giving Beom Seok a little glance.

You and he shared a brief look—

Still carrying the tension,

but on the outside,

you were just two perfectly normal people.

⸻

Life went on surprisingly normally after that.

Neither of you pretended it hadn’t happened.

Because it had—

And neither of you regretted it.

Still, you had to hide.

Moments no one else knew about, saw, or even suspected.

Secret meetings began.

In quiet cafés, in parks, in alleyways…

You’d meet without a word.

Quick glances, stolen touches.

Now that your families sat you next to each other at dinners,

he’d always find a way to touch your thigh under the table—

Or you’d simply hold hands in secret.

Sometimes in crowded places, like restaurants or cafés,

you’d excuse yourself to the bathroom—

and he’d silently follow.

Your hands would meet, your lips would crash—

and you’d have quick sex behind closed doors.

Those brief moments washed away the exhaustion of the week,

lit new fires in your hearts.

What you were doing wasn’t exactly right.

But you kept doing it.

And you would—

for a long time.

Eventually, the families would find out.

But it wouldn’t be the kind of scandal that destroyed reputations.

If anything, if things got serious,

it might even bring both families closer.

And neither of your parents would complain about that.

#weak hero kdrama #weak hero x reader #weak hero class 1 #weak hero class 2 #weak hero class 2 x reader #oh beomseok #beomseok x reader #weak hero one #weak hero class #weak hero #weak hero class 1 x reader #whc1 x reader #whc1 #beom seok #smut #slow burn #hong kyung #beomseok

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loserlvrss · 1 month ago

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𝐃𝐎N'T N𝗘𝗘D TO 𝙎AY IT ───── weak hero class ꒰ y. sieun xreader # ). was i just a little too late?

newton’s third law: for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction 𓂃. sieun hadn’t forgiven himself for what happened to suho. you could tell, eyes don't lie.

★ slight spoilers for season one , , angst / hurt-comfort ⓘmentions of fighting blood & cuts 🛞 3kish

It’s said that the eyes are the window to the soul—the way you see everything beautiful in the world. But then the opposite would have to reign true too, wouldn’t it? They can be cold or full of warmth and love. They tell you so much about a person.

A gift given and so easily taken.

Horrified was an understatement. “What the fuck… did you do?” Disturbed by the sight in front of you; Your best friend, half-dead in a sterilized room, you couldn’t believe your eyes.

Immediately, the man at the patient's side got to his feet, spinning around to face you in the doorway. He had a sickly look, worse than one from just a stomach ache. His mouth opened and closed, clearly not sure what to say—what would be right to say. His eyes were teary, obviously distraught. But you couldn’t see past the blue-hot rage rushing through you. There was a knife in your hand, and you didn’t care who it was pointed at.

Just that it hit someone.

That it made them feel pain like you did—like you couldn’t stand. Call it selfish, but if you were going to feel destroyed, then you’d do the same to everyone else.

“It’s not fair!” Your voice raised, and so did some walls; ones you thought were lowered enough for the man in front of you to create an understanding strong enough to outweigh the tragedy. To trauma-bond. But, nothing compared to the feeling of losing someone you never thought you would, “I can’t pretend anymore. I can’t see you sit here everyday. I hate this—them. You. I can’t stand to see you, Si-eun, get out of my face!”

But it was the guilt. The agony. Maybe you should’ve been the one in the hospital bed, you bargained, you should be the one who dies, not him.

…It wasn’t always like that though.

You used to be a normal friend group. You used to laugh. You used to joke. You used to hang out at random snack stands. You used to deny your feelings for Si-eun, back when Suho was the only one who knew (you barely even knew). Feel comfortable. You used to call Beom-Seok someone you trusted, someone you liked. You used to be able to look in the mirror and not hate who was staring back at you. You used to be dedicated to studying, focused on the future. But now all you felt was comatose, regretful of a past you felt you hadn’t appreciated enough. A closeness between people you held and let vanish. A gaping hole that you now only had a shovel in.

“Yeon Si-eun,” Your friend motioned to the shorter boy next to him who was clutching the straps of his backpack, “I saved him, I’m sure you heard.”

“Actually, I heard you stopped him.” You contradicted, eyeing over the man who was expressionless, even after you imposed his violence, “I heard he would’ve killed those boys.”

Ice-cold. That’s what Suho described Si-eun as a day ago when he was sitting on your bed, and you could see it. But it seemed like he only disguised himself with that to survive, to not draw attention, to mask a pain that was deep-rooted.

Or maybe it just took one to know one.

“It’s nice to meet you… Yeon Si-eun.” You held out your hand to him, “Yn, Suho’s best friend—not girlfriend, he’s definitely not my type.”

Suho threw his head back, rolling his eyes, “Yeah, whatever, fuck you. I’m everyone’s type, right Si-eun?”

The familiar beat of a popular song started playing, and you immediately stood up. You grabbed a spoon and an empty Soju bottle from off the table, putting them together as a makeshift microphone for the time being.

Suho’s eyebrows rose as you joined Beom-Seok in the middle of the small room, iconically singing Mingyu’s opening to HOT by SEVENTEEN.

Then, he burst out laughing, dragging Si-eun’s body back and forth as he practically spasmed in his seat. But Si-eun had a smile on his face too, arms crossed over his chest—though, not because he was uncomfortable, it was natural looking. Something you could get used to seeing more often.

He didn’t want to, but he was opening up to your friend, in turn, you and Beom-Seok as well.

“Here,” You glanced up from the mock exam you were bent over at a familiar voice, sights meeting a very calm Si-eun. He had a bruise on his cheekbone that he tried to hide by turning his head, but you saw it. You knew he knew you did too. “Suho got you a snack.”

“And he didn’t give it to me?” You quizzed, going back to the paper, although setting the pen down, “I thought he was a delivery boy.”

Si-eun let out a huffed-laugh, and your eyes widened in surprise, hidden by your downturned gaze. He knew how to do that when Suho wasn’t around?

“Are you two dating?” Suho laughed out, resting further back into the couch cushion behind him, “Because you look good together.”

“You know he doesn’t have eyes for anyone but you,”

Suho scoffed, your eyes rolling in return. But you could tell your best friend caught the way you glanced in Si-eun’s direction after, “Besides, I’m too busy to date anyone—especially, one of you guys who keep fighting like a bunch of… well, men. I have standards, you know. And, I’m so close to leaving the country to study abroad. I hate long distance, I don’t think I could do it.”

Si-eun remained silent, looking curiously between you two. He was a man of few words, however, you often could tell his emotion now; through body language, through slight variations in his expressions. Call it intuition.

Perhaps the opposite reigned true as well though.

Definitely not a crush.

“Did you seriously fail again?” You gawked in Suho’s direction, “I gave you the answers this time!”

Then your hand was flying out to lightly smack the man next to you on the arm. He flinched, grabbing at where you made contact—though you know he’s been hit harder. You’ve even seen it. And, as much as it was terrifying, you had to hand it to him, he had determination.

“Si-eun! What happened to getting him to pass?”

His eyes were wide, innocently so, “We were working all night.”

Beom-Seok, who was next to Suho in the restaurant booth, let out a chuckle, just listening. He knew you’d spare no offense in mocking your friend's lack of educational-dedication. But, you knew Suho had other priorities, you just wished he’d listen to your pleas a little more than he actually did.

Though, it didn’t stop you from joking, knowing you’d stay up ‘till dawn to help him memorize the periodic table, and algebraic formulas again and again if you had to. “Working… hardly at all, I see.”

“That’s not funny, yn, I tried my best!”

“You fell asleep halfway through, the only circles you were drawing was from the drool coming out of your mouth!”

Laughter sounded in the small space, and you realized that maybe a simple life was better than all the exotic future plans; the adventures you wanted to go on with Suho, the better life you thought you could give Si-eun, the childlike love you had for the three of them.

Maybe you didn’t want to leave after highschool. Maybe you wanted to stay and grow with them instead—there were plenty of good schools here that could offer you piloting classes.

“Can I ask you something, Si-eun?” You stumbled into him, grabbing at his arm to steady yourself. You could feel his body tense, but then relax. “Did Suho actually get me that during exam season?”

Eventually, you came to a stop outside a snack shop, one that sold Tteokbokki and fish cakes, and you squealed—shifting through your purse for some loose cash. In your intoxicated state, you thought that sounded like the most delicious thing you could eat.

As you were shifting through your bag clumsily, Si-eun had already bought you a platter by the time you looked up with a bill clutched between your fingers.

He wordlessly handed you a toothpick to stab the rice cakes with, while he held a cup with skewed fish cakes and broth for you later.

You didn’t know why he offered to walk you home, you lived in the opposite direction of him, but you were glad it was him by your side. You were glad he caught you when you stumbled. You were just glad it was Yeon Si-eun: someone you thought you’d only see from a far.

Your lip jutted out at the gesture, “Really?”

He slightly shrugged, “You looked excited.”

You took a bite, the spiciness hitting the spot. You loved it, it was one of your favorite ways to eat food.

“I, uh—like you.” You slurred through a mouthful, giggling and then slapping your lips with a gasp, “Wait! Did I just say that? I’m sorry. It’s true but, I mean I didn’t—wasn’t going to say anything—”

“Yn... I like you too.”

But then everything came crashing down. Every plan you had crumbled. Every scooter ride with Suho where you would scold him for going too fast or taking a turn too sharp suddenly seemed like a luxury you’d never get back. Every stolen glance between you and Si-eun, every light brush of the hand, every word that went unsaid seemed like it would now remain as a stain on your heart. Every rainbow was monotone, void of color in a world that used to be so vibrant. Every smile and joke, and I trust you and I love you’s were in the past, long-lost to a violent and pain-filled future.

One you never in a million years would have planned for.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Si-eun never said much, and when he did it was blunt and to the point. Some might say he was rude, cold, but truthfully, you think he just felt like nobody ever listened if it wasn’t short-winded and sharp enough to cut. “I don’t need your pity.”

He’d gotten into another fight, God knows when, and somehow ended up at your doorstep. A cold night, maybe reflective of the sorrow in the air. The weight on his shoulders. The crushing guilt.

He swore he’d stop.

But It was always a fight. It was always punches and kicks that ruined everything. And eventually, it hit hard enough to break your heart in a million pieces.

You weren’t exactly close anymore, after what happened to your best friend Ahn Suho last year, but you couldn’t resist opening the door wide enough for the man to make his way in.

Afterall, you used to be friends, and something in between. You used to know him.

And there was something alluring about Si-eun. He’s always had it—the way his eyes portray every emotion on his otherwise monotone face. The way he walks around like an aimless vessel. You hadn’t seen him in a while, but it seemed like something had broken inside him since that time, something darker by nature. But something sadder, too, lived simultaneously.

You reached to the side, grabbing a tube branded by some antibacterial ointment off of the sinks porcelain.

“I don’t pity you, Si-eun.” You replied, squeezing a glob onto the end of a cotton swab, “Not after what happened.”

He slumped over a little more at your words, avoiding your gaze by looking at the ground instead, where you stood in front of him. He was sitting on the toilet, after you’d caught a glimpse of the bruises and cuts his skin had, ushering him into the bathroom to play doctor.

Truthfully, you don’t know why you did it—why you opened the door. Maybe it was the moonlight that glistened over his features, the ones you used to admire all those months back. Maybe it was the clear sense of longing that overtook your body when you’d finally heard a word from him—a broken plea, your name, from his cut up lips. Maybe it was the familiarity of a past life you missed.

Maybe it was because he was the only thing you had left of Suho… The only memory you could stand to remember.

Si-eun sighed, hands coming together in his lap. He shifted, almost like he was uncomfortable—but, you can’t remember the last time you’d actually seen him be comfortable; Maybe it was before your shared friend went into a coma, or maybe he never has been.

However, somewhere deep down you could see the smile on his face that used to brighten up any room. One that would only come out when Suho, Beom-Seok, you and him would hang out. Back before everything ripe turned rotten. Back when it was the four of you against the world. Before the bloodied knuckles and bruised eye sockets.

Before you told Si-eun you couldn’t stand to see him anymore, that one stupidly contrasting day; sunny and boiling hot, to your harsh and cold tongue.

You couldn’t will yourself to remember, but you’d never actually forget what everyone at your school seemingly has; the boy in the back of the class who slept so soundly despite the noise, the straight A student who broke and moved schools, and the man who suddenly went missing before the dew on the spring leaves even began to dry.

“I’m sorry,” He whispered out under a breath, “I’m really sorry, yn.”

And suddenly all you could see behind your eyes was the disheartened look of a man who sat outside your shared lifelines hospital room. Shoulders hunched as he typed messages he feared would never be read. As he held back tears and swallowed down the crushing guilt.

He’d seen you once, but there was a lifeless look behind his eyes. One that you couldn’t recognize, like he didn’t recognize. A vague sense of displacement, hopelessly devoted, like he couldn’t stand to see himself reflected off of you.

And that’s when you realized, he never stopped blaming himself. He bent only so far before he broke. You heard about it; Smashing widows and cracking bones. You heard the desperation in his cries. Your heart shattered with him and for him: Everything Si-eun used to be. Everything Si-eun could’ve been. It all came crashing down, and he was still trying to climb out of the rubble.

And that’s why you distanced yourself from his name. Because it hurt too much to see the what-if’s that never happened… But could’ve. Everything Si-eun should’ve been to you. It hurt too much when people would ask you how Suho was doing (for the first couple of weeks), if he’s progressed or had taken a turn for the worse, so you stopped going to school.

What Si-eun was doing now, so you erased him from your memory, pretending you’d never met. How you were holding up losing everything you had ever wanted, so you tried anything to protect your heart.

You hated them. You despised them. They took everything from you. The choice you never got to make. A version of yourself you were still mourning. The happiness your friends brought you. Suho, Beom-seok… Si-eun.

“For what?” You laid your palm against his cheek, lifting his head enough to apply the ointment over a rather deep cut. You didn’t think that was the thing pestering him though. Still, he avoided your gaze. And you were going to ignore it until you felt a tear brush past your hand.

You put the cotton swab down, taking the other side of his face. He unconsciously leaned into the touch. The warmth on his cold skin. The comfort that you would always bring. Suho always said you were the sunlight on a cloudy day, but you’ve never felt more overcast than you do now.

But then, finally, your eyes met, tears falling slowly over your thumbs as you brushed them away.

And, for the first time in what felt like forever, you saw it. The scars that were constantly ripped open. The inner-turmoil that was debilitating: Not eating and not sleeping. You saw it. The love he harbored and pushed aside, respecting your wishes to never see his face again. You saw it.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

And maybe the beliefs had gotten it wrong, all the stories that said the eyes were the window to the soul, because all you could see was a reflection of the person looking back at you. All you could see in Si-eun’s eyes was you.

“It’s not your fault, Si-eun.”

The air was coated in a mutual understanding; It lingered. The pain lingered… He lingered. The memory has seemingly dug its claws deeply into your heart and wouldn’t let up. He knew it, you knew it. There was something so devastatingly romantic about it all—how evil life could be. It took and it gave, and it was never fair. Inflicted wounds that only got infected, but gave you someone who was hurting the same way. Someone who related to the way you couldn’t close your eyes without being haunted. The torment your heart felt.

But the price tag on codependency was high, and you didn’t seem to have the funds back then—the will to stay.

You should’ve stayed. You should’ve been his comfort, his friend and something in between. You shouldn’t have been scared to keep him close, afraid you’d lose him as you lost your safety-net.

“I-I—“ He started, “I haven’t been able to sleep since. I haven’t been able to close my eyes without seeing him. I-I—it’s my fault, yn, he shouldn’t have gotten involved. None of you should’ve. I’m sorry,”

Suho had never let you get involved in his hobby to learn self-defense skills, and then Si-eun came along and suddenly it was all fists and glory. Guardian-angel this, guardian-angel that.

Nonetheless, maybe the eyes were insightful. Because you saw it. A play-by-play of every interaction: When Suho introduced you to his new friend who he described as ‘cold as ice’, to two-weeks later when you sang karaoke, and three-months in when you got drunk and confessed your undying love for Si-eun. Then Beom-seok selling you all out because of jealousy, and fight after stupid fucking fight. Crumbling, crushing, shattering. And then nothing. Everyone was suddenly gone, and sometimes that felt longer than them actually being in your life.

And you blamed him only because you needed someone to blame. But your guilt ate at you.

As he did too.

“I forgave you, Si-eun.” You leaned down, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He hesitated before you felt the embrace you longed for—the embrace he longed for. “Forgive yourself.”

reblogs appreciated ! loserlrvss 2025 rights reserved. @kstrucknet @slytherinshua @gyuwrites @sknyuz

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maxinehufflepuffprincess · 1 month ago

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I Like Him Too

Yeon Si-eun x Reader x Ahn Su-ho

Taglist. Masterlist. Progress Update. Love at First Fight Collections.

Summary: You and Su-ho have a heart-to-heart about Si-eun.

Si-eun didn’t know why he was here. Why had had agreed to meet with you, Su-ho and Beom-seok? But you had rang him that morning, sweetly asking him if he wanted to hang out. Su-ho’s voice had promised him they would all study. You had kept to that promise for a couple of hours until your boyfriend had pulled you away to play with him. He had watched as Su-ho handed you the cue, before wrapping himself around you, helping your position and helping you hold the cue properly, before helping you to hit the ball. Si-eun could see that you could play well on your own, but it was a chance for Su-ho to get close to you. You hadn’t moved, just allowed him to wrap himself around you like some sort of shield. You had giggled, like this was a regular occurrence.

“Look what Hyeong’s about to do.” Su-ho spoke, gaining Si-eun and Beom-seok’s attention. Si-eun watched as Su-ho made his move. You were taking a few pictures. Su-ho hit the ball with the cue.

“Oh!” Beom-seok spoke as he held his own cue from his spot next to Si-eun.

“Okay! Mark ten points.” Su-ho grinned. He walked over to you, kissing you on the cheek before gently patting your ass.

“That was a good shot, lovely.” You told him happily. You happily pressed a short kiss to his lips before pulling away.

“We should be studying for our assessment, right?” Si-eun asked as he looked at Beom-seok, who was smiling brightly.

Beom-seok’s smile dropped as he took in Si-eun’s words. His hands ran around the cue as he looked at the quiet male. “Yeah, you’re right.” He nodded in agreement.

“Hey, pretty boy. It’s the weekend, yeah? We need to let our blood circulate so our brains can function better. We need to have a little fun once in a while. Besides, Baby studied with you already this morning. Let loose, have some fun.” Su-ho spoke as he set up for his next shot. He moved the cue, and the balls clattered into each other.

“You’re not going to college?” Si-eun asked, now looking over at you and Su-ho. You who had the prettiest outfit on. You had been walking around in heels all day, the perfect shade of lilac purple to match your skirt. The heels had little bows on the front of them and a strap that went around your ankles to keep them on. He knew you had a pair of shoes in your bag for just in case you wanted to switch shoes. He only knew because you told him after catching him looking at your pretty heels. Surprise, surprise, the shoes in your bag were also purple.

Su-ho let out a whine. “Man, almost.” He threw his head back in disappointment at the balls having not moved the way he wanted them to. He then turned to Si-eun. “Climbing back into hell? Huh? Are you literally insane? Get up. Your turn.” Su-ho walked over to Si-eun, standing directly in front of him. Su-ho used his free hand to grab Si-eun’s, pulling the shorter male up from his seat. You had managed to take a picture of the interaction. “Get up and play. Don’t pay hard to get! Aah! This guy.” Su-ho handed Si-eun a cue.

Beom-seok watched from his seat, a smile on his face as he watched the two males interact.

You watched Su-ho come to stand beside you, both of you watched Si-eun, waiting for him to make his move. Your phone was out, ready to take a video. Si-eun watched as Su-ho wrapped an arm around your waist. He couldn’t help but think about how good the two of you looked together.

“You’ve got this, baby boy. Take your time.” Your voice was filled with so much encouragement. And oh, that was a new nickname. He hadn’t heard that one from you yet, but he didn’t hate it. He liked how it flowed, he liked how you said it so elegantly, like it was his name. But he decided he didn’t like it as much as he liked Sweetheart. Si-eun shook the thought away.

‘Reflection principle. The incident angle and the reflection angle are the same from the centre of the billiard ball. Incident angle, 35 degrees. Margin of error, within three degrees. Probability of success, 90%.’ Si-eun leaned forward, placing the cue in the correct position. He hit the ball. It was perfect. Effortless.

Beom-seok let out a surprised gasp, and Su-ho let out an impressed laugh, tilting his head back a little. “That was so clean, Sweetheart.” You told Si-eun, you moved over to him after stopping the video you had just taken. You placed a short kiss on his cheek, causing the male to blush deeply.

Si-eun quickly turned around and grabbed his bag. “Let’s go study.” He simply said in return. He put his backpack on as Beom-seok moved to follow after the quiet male. As Si-eun moved to leave, waking between two billiard tables, Su-ho, who was leaning against one, let his cue fall so that one end landed on the table across from him. The cue to act as a barrier to stop Si-eun from moving any further.

Si-eun stopped in his tracks, he turned his head with a sigh to look at Su-ho. His eyes went to you for a moment as you walked up to the pair. Su-ho grabbed your hand in his free hand, his eyes never leaving Si-eun’s as he pulled you close.

“Where are you going? We play three rounds. A hundred points to start off. Okay?” He raised an eyebrow as he relaxed in place. His thumb, absentmindedly, gently stroked over your knuckles.

Si-eun took a moment to look at Su-ho. Then he looked behind him for a moment, and he looked at Beom-seok, who now had his backpack on, waiting to see what the four of you would be doing next. Si-eun then looked at you. His eyes were almost pleading for you to convince Su-ho to let him leave.

You let out a soft sigh. "Love, maybe we should let him go. We can't keep him here if he doesn't want to be there. Though we would really enjoy it if you stayed a little longer, Sweetheart."

Si-eun couldn't decide if you were trying to convince Su-ho to let him go or for him to stay. Si-eun sighed as he locked eyes with you before turning back to Su-ho. “I think it’ll be the same result.”

Su-ho grinned and looked away for a moment. “Ah, shit.” He then stood up, letting go of you with a serious look on his face, yet somehow he still looked playful. It was something both you and Si-eun noticed.

“You think so? Huh? You think it’ll be the same? Let’s bet on jjajangmyeon and tangsuyuk. No wait, gochu japchae. Are you in, Sweetheart?” Su-ho got closer to Si-eun as he spoke.

There it was again. Your nickname for him, only this time, Su-ho had spoken it. He had said it without a second thought. What were the two of you doing to him? The way you both called him ‘Sweetheart’ was somehow the same yet so different. The way you said it was always sweet. Always with a kind, caring and happy tone. As if that was the only name you knew him to be called. He liked how your words and voice wrapped around him like a cosy, safe blanket that could keep him warm from the cold. Su-ho’s vice had been playful, teasing. He spoke the nickname as if it were Si-eun’s real name. As if his name was actually Yeon Sweetheart and not Yeon Si-eun. His voice lit something inside of Si-eun, much like how your voice did. Su-ho’s voice made him feel like nothing and no one could get to him. That no one could hurt him. Whilst your voice had been a blanket of comfort, Su-ho’s voice had been a flame, lighting up the darkness around the quiet boy. But the two of you made him feel warm and safe.

Si-eun let out a small sigh. He decided that yes, he would stay to play a few more rounds.

—-------------------------------------

Walking outside, it was now dark. Su-ho had lost against Si-eun every time, which you thought was hilarious. Su-ho had pouted, but he had had fun, so he couldn’t complain much.

“You know I went easy on you.” Su-ho told Si-eun as he wrapped his jacket around your shoulder, seeing you shiver slightly.

“No, you didn’t.” Si-eun told him. He didn’t believe a single word out of Su-ho’s mouth.

“Agh, I feel so miserable. Shit. Whatever. Let’s grab a beer.” Su-ho said as he watched you slip your arms into the sleeves. He then zipped the jacket up for you.

Si-eun watched Su-ho work. Like this was normal for you both. Like it was normal for Su-ho to do these random little things for you. It was sweet. “I’m leaving. Go ahead.” He spoke with a small shrug.

“Why? Let’s go together. I got it.” Beom-seok said, wanting the group to hve some more fun together. He didn’t want to lose this feeling. This feeling of fun, of having friends.

“You guys already put me behind schedule, at least Baby let me study for a little this morning, but I’m still behind.” He hadn’t realised he had called you Baby. It wouldn’t register in his brain until he was alone again. He was so used to hearing Su-ho refer to you as Baby that he had accidentally picked up on it. It was strange. Whilst yes, Su-ho called you all sorts of nicknames, Baby seemed to be his favourite for you. He didn’t call you by your actual name. You were Baby. Just like how Si-eun was Sweetheart.

Su-ho had noticed. Of course, he had. “All right. Go home safe. It’ll just be the three of us.” He said with a nod. He walked over to Beom-seok and wrapped an arm around his shoulder. “You got lucky today, Sweetheart. Next time, I won’t go easy on you.” He turned. He and Beom-seok began to walk away until he realised you weren’t following. “Baby, you coming?” He asked curiously, his voice softer.

You nodded. You were starting to feel tired, it had been a long day. You no longer had your heels on, instead having your other shoes on now. You turned to look at Si-eun. You gently wrapped your arms around him in a hug, and Si-eun went stiff, having not expected this. You pulled away after a few seconds.

“Sorry, I should have asked first. Make sure to text us to let us know you got home, okay? I won’t be able to sleep properly if I’m worrying about whether you’re safe or not. See you tomorrow, Sweetheart. Make sure you get some sleep. Don’t spend all night studying.” You told him with a sweet but tired smile. And with that, Si-eun watched you walk over to Su-ho, who quickly wrapped his arms around you, kissing the crown of your head and promising to go home soon.

—-------------------------------------

You were home. Su-ho was lying on his side of the bed. You had just finished in the shower, and now you felt clean and had your favourite pyjamas on. You walked over to your side of the bed and got under the cover, sitting up so you were leaning against the headboard.

“Su-ho, love. Can we talk?” You asked him curiously.

Su-ho turned to look at you before sitting up. “Of course. You can talk to me about anything, you know that.” He told you as he took one of your hands in his.

He was right. You knew he was. You and Su-ho didn’t really have secrets. You communicated well with each other and could tell each other anything. You gently squeezed his hands, and you turned your body to face your boyfriend.

“I wanna talk about Si-eun.” You confessed, a part of your voice shook with nerves.

Su-ho nodded. I was wondering when we’d talk about him. I’ve noticed you’ve taken a shine to him. Always calling him Sweetheart. I know you, you don’t just give out nicknames like they’re lollipops.” He explained. He was calm, he was collected. He had a small smile on his face. He spoke your name. “Talk to me, baby. Tell me what’s going on in that pretty head of yours.”

You bit your bottom lip softly before nodding. “I think I’m falling for him. There is just something about him that fills me with butterflies, like how you do. He’s quiet, but his eyes say so much. I love how he can match you. You can say something, and he isn’t afraid to clap back. I like that every time we hang out with him, he slowly comes out of his shell just a little more. I like that he hasn’t changed our contact names in his phone. I like that he actually texted to let us know he got home safe. I like how smart he is and that he uses his brain. I like watching the two of you interact, it makes my heart skip a beat.”

Su-ho was quiet as you spoke. He nodded along to show you that he was listening. Your voice was shaky, and he hated that tears were welling up in your pretty eyes. You felt like you were betraying him by having these feelings, but he didn’t hold it against you. How could he?

“I’m sorry.” You let out a cry as you shook your head.

Su-ho cupped your cheeks in his hands. His thumbs wiped away the tears that had fallen down your cheeks. He spoke your name again. “Listen to me. You have nothing to be sorry for. You’re not the only one who’s been falling for Si-eun. I like him too. I like that he seems to melt around you. I like that he looks at you when he wants something, even if it’s just to get me to stop talking for two seconds. There is something that pulls me towards him, like how I felt when we first met. I was drawn to you. I’m drawn to him. He makes the quiet feel comfortable, you make the loud feel comfortable.” He explained.

You couldn’t help but smile at his words. Su-ho always knew how to make you smile. It was a relief knowing that you and Su-ho both had feelings for Si-eun. You weren’t betraying each other, you were just opening your hearts up to another person. For someone who had gone from a classmate to a friend. You were both still getting to know Si-eun. Neither of you wanted to rush into this with the quiet male, didn’t want to scare the boy away.

“He called you baby before we left.” Su-ho told you.

“I know, I like the way he said it. You called him, Sweetheart a couple of times today.” You smiled up at the male.

“Well, you call him sweetheart so much, I thought I’d try it out. He didn’t seem to dislike it. That’s a good sign at least.” He let out a small breath before thinking. “We’ll invite him out, just the three of us. We’ll get to know him better, and if you want, after some time maybe we can tell him how we are both feeling.”

You nodded your head in agreement with his words. “Yeah, I like that. Sounds like a good idea to me. And we’ll make it clear that if he just wants to be friends, then we can do that.” Neither of you would hold it against Si-eun if he didn’t like you both the same way. For now, you were happy being friends with the male. Happy to spend time with him.

“Alright. Let’s get some sleep. You look like you’re ready to fall asleep sitting like that.” Su-ho lay down as he noticed you yawning, and you quickly copied his action after turning off your lamp. Su-ho spooned you from behind, which was the position the two of you more often than not slept in when you shared a bed or a surface to sleep. Su-ho kept a gentle but firm grip on you, protecting you even as you slept. Your back was against his chest. The two of you fell asleep that night, cosy and warm under the covers, snuggled together. Everything was okay. You both fell asleep with one wish in your hearts. ‘Please let our Sweetheart like us back.’

—-------------------------------------

Love at First Fight Collection Taglist: Thank you for supporting me. Let me know if you wanna be added to or taken off of this Taglist.

@thecheshireprincess @potato-vagina @spanish-delulu-23 @deliciousmagazinequeen @mizxuqii @psychobitchsthings @hikaerys @pookynknowntranger @eijizwrld @seungminsbestywesty @d4ily-s-nsh1ne @all-of-kpop @mirwors @cassidyysblog @gublerstylesobrien1238 @louissst28 @gaylilslut @edensparadisee @ghost-reine @yeon103 @sousydive @aple-piie @kamiliora @lhaehyuck @dna-black-and-blue @btsgangleader @yuuuumii @lonenymphaea @lveegsoi @sm3156 @swe3tyann @stxr-lilac @iara-ximena17 @ineed-myspace

#weak hero #weak hero class #weak hero class one #weak hero x reader #weak hero class x reader #weak hero class 1 #yeon sieun #ahn suho #yeon sieun x reader #ahn suho x reader #yeon sieun x ahn suho #ahn suho x yeon sieun #yeon sieun x reader x ahn suho #ahn suho x reader x yeon sieun #LoveatFirstFightCollection #polyamarous #throuple

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calekinnieplus · 1 year ago

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Star Instructor, Master Baek !!

The MC is so silly lmao. Reminds me of them ⬇️

The backstory of being a bad guy and being on the good side now, acting like a silly guy ⬆️

"Didn't mean to become a good professor, but since I'm already here, I'll be the best" vibes ⬆️

Not just the design and the Murim setting, but Something about them seems similar to me. Their attitude? IDK THE VIBES ARE THERE

From evil sect in his first life to helping people in his second life ⬆️

Basically, I like this manhwa so far hehe

It's a chill read, with good art and the basic academia in murim cliché

#star instructor master baek #baek suryong #dazai osamu #jinmu #also known as the guy from #wandering warrior of wudang #academy's undercover professor #ludger cherish #rudiger chelsea #ludger chelsea #WHAT IS HIS NAME FR #beom hang #heavenly grand archive's young master

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juliettejwnewinesa · 25 days ago

Note

imagine beom-seok’s betrayal of su-ho actually involving you. you know how jealous he was of su-ho, and seeing him with such a pretty, funny girlfriend who was so nice to him and made him laugh was the tipping edge. beom-seok found himself wanting to hang out with only you, offering to buy you stuff as soon as you complained you were running out, etc. after he cut the breaks on su-ho’s bike, he couldn’t handle the way you looked at him. he’d been the one to spill the beans to you about his family life and stuff because he trusted you, but trying to kill your boyfriend? that was an all time low. he became such a self destruct afterwards (leading him to do everything that he did to su ho and stuff)

Title: A Smile He Couldn’t Steal Pairing: Ahn Su-ho x Reader | Jeon Beom-seok x Reader (unrequited) Genre: Angst, Drama, Betrayal POV: Third person (Y/N focused) Length: Extended full fanfic

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I. Before the Fall

Jeon Beom-seok didn't mean to fall for her. Not really. Not on purpose. It just sort of happened—like most dangerous things do. Like storms. Like fire. Like envy.

Y/N had been Ahn Su-ho's girl for as long as Beom-seok had known them. She wasn't loud about it, but everyone could see it: the way her hand always found Su-ho's sleeve in a crowd, how he leaned in a little closer when she laughed, the softness in his eyes whenever she spoke.

But she was kind to Beom-seok, too.

That was the problem.

"Beom-seok, you're bleeding," she'd said the first time. He'd been fresh out of a fight, lips cracked, nose leaking blood. She'd crouched in front of him in the school hallway, pressing tissue gently to his mouth like it was nothing. Like he was nothing to be afraid of.

And when she smiled?

It burned.

II. The Small Things

She complained once that her phone charger was fraying.

"Piece of crap's gonna short-circuit me," she'd muttered, tugging it out of the wall during lunch.

The next day, a new one was in her locker. No note. No name.

She showed it to Su-ho with a grin. "You didn't have to!"

Su-ho blinked, confused. "I didn’t."

She giggled. "Secret admirer, then."

Beom-seok said nothing.

Another time, she came to school sick—headache blooming across her temple, voice scratchy and dull. Beom-seok left a thermos of ginseng tea on her desk.

"You're too good to me," she joked when she found it, nudging Su-ho with her elbow. "You should open a cafe."

Su-ho stared at the thermos like he wanted to throw it.

Beom-seok smiled into his lunch tray.

III. A Kind of Hunger

It wasn't about her at first. Not really. It was about him.

Su-ho had it all. The quiet strength. The loyalty of friends. The respect of others. And her.

Beom-seok had only ever known emptiness. Cruel fathers. Bruised skin. Being overlooked. Passed over.

Until her.

She saw him. Talked to him. Asked him about his day. Listened, even when he fumbled his words.

Once, behind the gym after school, she found him curled into himself, shoulders shaking.

She sat beside him without a word.

"I hate going home," he whispered. "Sometimes I wish I could disappear."

She put a hand on his arm. "You're not alone, Beom-seok. You have us."

He looked at her like a dying man looks at light.

He didn't want her kindness anymore. He wanted her.

IV. The Break

It was stupid.

A moment. A glance.

Su-ho was standing against the school gates, laughing at something she said. His head tilted back, expression soft. She reached up and fixed the collar of his uniform, smiling up at him like he hung the damn moon.

Beom-seok's stomach twisted.

That night, he crouched beside Su-ho's bike.

His hands shook as he pulled the wire from the brakes.

He told himself it wasn't about her.

But it always had been.

V. Impact

Su-ho didn’t die.

Of course he didn’t.

Bruised ribs. Scraped hands. A cracked helmet and a night in the ER.

Y/N cried when she saw him. Held his face between her palms like she'd never let go.

Beom-seok visited. Brought fruit. Said it must have been a defect.

Su-ho didn’t say much. Just looked at him.

Too long.

Too hard.

And Beom-seok knew then: Su-ho knew.

VI. The Confession

Y/N found him two days later. Alone. Back behind the gym.

"You did it," she said.

He didn't pretend. Didn't lie.

"Why?" she asked, voice breaking.

"Because I wanted you to look at me that way. The way you look at him. Like I'm someone worth saving."

She stepped back.

He reached out.

She slapped his hand away.

"I trusted you," she whispered. "He trusted you."

And then she was gone.

VII. Descent

Beom-seok spiraled.

No more pretense. No more guilt.

He let the rot inside him bloom.

Started fighting more. Drinking. Burning every bridge he had left. The Union welcomed him. Used him. He didn’t care.

He saw her once—months later. Her hand in Su-ho's. Laughing. Still soft. Still kind.

And all he could think was: she had chosen him.

Even after everything.

VIII. The End of It

"I didn’t want to hurt you," he said the last time he saw her.

It was raining. She looked like a ghost, hair soaked, umbrella trembling in her hand.

"But you did," she said.

He smiled, bitter and hollow. "He still has you."

"Because he’s good."

He turned away.

She didn’t stop him.

He never came back.

IX. After

Healing took time.

Su-ho never said the words, but she knew. He knew what Beom-seok had done. And he bore it silently, the way he bore everything.

They didn't talk about Beom-seok. Not after a while. Not aloud.

But sometimes, when Y/N woke from nightmares, Su-ho would hold her tighter.

"He can't hurt you anymore," he'd whisper.

And eventually, she believed him.

Because love didn’t have to burn to be real.

And some things—like kindness, like healing—could survive even the ugliest storms.

sorry if this was shit

#cute #smut #weak hero class #weak hero class 1 #weak hero class two #ahn suho #weak hero class one #weak hero fanfic #ahn suho x reader #ahn suho smut #ahn suho imagines #ahn suho fluff #whc2 #weak hero #suho fanfic #suho #suho x sieun #suho ahn

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beom-s-author · 17 days ago

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txt reactions- they got a call from you in the midnight

Choi Soobin

He was sleeping actually after from the tiring exercises. But his phone ringed at 1 a.m. He sighs and he picks up without looking. He thought it was Beomgyu, that he called from the other room actually. "What happened again?" He mumbled to the phone but his eyes got widen with your trembling voice. "Did I wake you?" He sat on the bed immediately and turn on his lamb. "No,no. I am listening." He heard your soft sniff. "I saw a nightmare and I couldn't help but get anxious after it. It is like keeping me up all night." He sighs and he replied. "İt is okay. Just tell me what did you see.." you started telling him your nightmare. It was about his busy schedule and you guys broke up in your nightmare. Soobin sighs and he replied. "Sweetheart, this is not gonna happen for sure. I am busy, it is true but that doesn't mean I will give up from my favorite girl,so..Keep sleeping,okay? Do not forget that I love you." A few seconds later, you hangs off the phone. Soobin sighs. He knows you have anxiety attacks a lot nowadays. And he should be there for you whenever you had.

Choi Yeonjun

Yeonjun was up last in the night. He was playing Ps5 with Hueningkai. He kept complaning about the games all rounds. But he stopped the game when he got a call from you. He picked up. "Honey, why are up so late?" He replied. And he heard your cracky voice. "I am sorry, I didn't mean to call but I couldn't find anyone ask right now. I think I got cold and I need some pills. But I ran out and the chemistry is so away from my house." He sighs with worry. He got up from the couch while searching for his phone and Keys. "Okay, sweetheart. I will get them and I will take care of you. Just try to sleep, I got the Keys I can open the door." He replied. He heard your words and hangs off the phone. He was still worried about you. He rushed and paid for the medicines. He was there with you in 10 minutes and he fed you with soup. He was sure that you took the pills and he helped you to sleep. He held your hand and he stroked your sweaty forehead because of the fever.

Choi Beomgyu

Beomgyu was awake for sure. He was playing with his phone and searching in the net for something. He was tired but not ready to sleep yet. And he got distracted by your name on his phone. "Honey?" He replied. But your voice got cutted his thoughts. "Beom, My dog got sick. I don't know what to do..I called my vet for an appointment now. He said He will be in the clinic at 15 minutes. But I couldn't drive while he is trembling in the backseat." Beomgyu's heart breaks into pieces with your words. He rushed out of the dormitory. He didn't know how early he arrived to your house but when he found you on the couch crying, he got you in his arms. "Shhh..shh..it is okay. We will get him checked and he will be okay,for sure." And you nodded. He brang you to the clinic and the doctor checked your dog. And you went back to hiuse with your dog. He was fine just he made his stomache ache with the things he ate earlier. But in the night, Beomgyu spent all his night to comfort you.

Kang Taehyun

Taehyun came back to the dormitory after his gym session. He was sweaty so he decided to take shower. He took it and went to the livingroom. Hueningkai replied. "Hyung, want to look at your phone calls?" Taehyun got worried when he said that. He picked his phone and saw your calls. You called him about 4 times. He called you back and you answered right back. "Taehyun, are you busy?" Your voice was like so terrible. "No,I am not what happened?" "Taehyun, I think a thief is in my house." And Taehyun got mad with the idea that you got hurt. He immediately got up. "Okay, Stay here and don't make any sound. I am coming right away and I will call the police." And Taehyun rode to your house. And he rushed in your house while waiting for the police's arrive. He saw you in the 2nd floor and he helped you out. And the thief was actually a street cat that you forgot the door opened and it got into the house and hides under the couch all night. You chuckled. "So I was hiding from this little ornage cutie one." Taehyun nodded. And You guys decided to adopt this little cat.

Hueningkai

Hueningkai was awake still and he was chatting with the members about the latest comebacks and how is the actual gym treatments.And he heard his phone ring tone. He saw your name. He got worried. You were actually not a night owl. "Yes,honey?" He heard your little mumbles."Ning,you are awake?" He replied. "Yes,I am..but why are you awake in that late?" You sighed after his words. "I think I am having insomnia again. I got stressed about my exams lately a lot so I think it attack to my sleeping schedule." Hueningkai sighed and he replied. "Did you try to sleep like you always do?" You mumbled as yes and he replied. "I know you are stressed and I want to come over but I can't right now. But tomorrow, My first thing will be to come there, come to you. But for now, I can stay with you on the phone call. You can put the phone to the nightstand. Maybe I can tell you about my day and You can focus on my voice only, that will make you asleep." You nodded and listened his advice. You closed your eyes. Hueningkai told about his day, his program. He was happy to tell you even know you are stressed and not focused on his day. But he smiled when he hears your soft mumbles that prove to him that you are asleep.

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countyourfreckleslikestars · 13 days ago

Text

Where It Hurts I Stay

Beom-Seok x gn!reader

Warnings: mentions of family abuse, kissing, mentions of fighting

It was the way he swore you were just a friend — someone who cared in the friend way, nothing more.

It was the way he let you clean his busted lips after another bad night with his dad and pretend like it didn’t hurt. Like he didn’t flinch every time you got too close.

It was the way he stared at you like you held the stars and swore he didn’t know it.

You and Beom-Seok had become friends — well, more like you had adopted him. He didn’t say much when you first started sitting next to him in class, but you noticed everything.

The way he never raised his hand even when he clearly knew the answer. The way he walked like he was trying to disappear. The way he never ate the food on his tray unless he thought no one was watching.

You noticed.

And instead of leaving him alone, you did what you always did — barged into his life like a storm and made space for him at your side. Whether he liked it or not.

At first, he didn’t say much.

Then he started sitting near you during breaks.

Then you caught him waiting outside your class even when he didn’t have a reason to be there.

Then he started bringing two strawberry milks.

You teased him about it the first time, snatching the extra drink with a grin.

“For someone who’s always alone, you sure seem to bring a lot of snacks for two.”

He just shrugged, lips twitching in something close to a smile.

Now? It was a routine. Just like everything else.

You had so many little traditions.

Sitting on the rooftop of your too-small apartment building, talking about life like the city below didn’t exist.

Riding your rusty, barely-functioning bike with him clinging awkwardly to the back, his arms brushing yours every time you hit a bump.

Sprawling across your tiny mattress, watching old movies with subtitles because he liked to listen even when he didn’t understand all the words.

Saying nothing about his bruises.

Saying everything with your silence.

You never asked questions he wasn’t ready to answer.

And he never asked why you let him stay.

The tension between you both grew slowly — like ivy in the cracks. Soft. Quiet. Persistent.

It laced itself into every glance that lasted too long.

Every moment your fingers brushed and neither of you moved away.

Every night he stayed a little later. Every time you made room for him in your world without asking for anything back.

It was there — constant, unspoken, almost sacred.

You didn’t name it.

Not yet.

Not until that night.

There’s a knock at your door — soft, barely there, like whoever’s on the other side doesn’t really want to be noticed.

You almost ignore it. It’s late, your eyes are heavy, and you’re halfway through brushing your teeth. But something… pulls at your chest.

And then there’s a second knock. Louder. Hesitant.

You open the door and your heart stops.

Beom-Seok stands there, bleeding.

His hair is sticking to his forehead, damp with sweat and something darker. A cut slices across his cheekbone, and his bottom lip is split, swollen and caked with dried blood. His shirt hangs crooked on his frame, the collar stretched like someone grabbed him by it. His hands are trembling slightly, one of them clutching something — a mess of twisted metal and cracked lenses.

His glasses.

Your mouth goes dry.

“Beom-Seok…”

He squints, unable to meet your eyes clearly. “They broke,” he mumbles, voice quiet and shaking.

You don’t even realize you’re moving until your hand reaches out to touch his wrist, guiding him inside, kicking the door shut with your foot.

“Sit down,” you whisper. “Don’t move.”

He listens.

He always listens to you.

You grab a small stool and sit in front of him, heart thudding in your chest as you inspect his injuries. You don’t touch him at first. You just look. Take it all in. Your breathing gets shallow.

He shifts awkwardly, like he’s used to this part. “I’m fine. Really, I—”

“Beom-Seok.” Your voice is sharp. His eyes widen.

You sit back in the chair, chest rising and falling with the weight of what you’re feeling — not pity. Not concern. Something much hotter. Much sharper.

Your hands curl into fists at your sides. “Who,” you say slowly, “the fuck did this to you?”

He flinches, just a little. “I… it’s not important. It’s just guys at school. It’s fine. They were just— joking around.”

Your jaw clenches. That same weak excuse. That same haunted tone in his voice.

You reach out and gently tilt his chin up with your fingers, forcing him to look in your direction — even if he can’t really see you.

“Does this look like a joke to you?” you ask, barely holding back the edge in your voice.

He swallows. Doesn’t answer.

“Your face is bruised, your glasses are ruined, and your knuckles are bleeding. I swear, if I find out who—”

Your breath hitches. You stop yourself. You’re shaking now too — not from fear, but fury. A kind of helpless rage that’s boiling under your skin.

And yet your fingers soften as you brush a thumb across his cheek, just below the cut.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

He gives a bitter laugh, short and broken. “Because it happens all the time. You just don’t always see it.”

That’s what does it.

You stand, pacing, running both hands through your hair. Your whole body feels like it’s buzzing. Not from adrenaline — from the fact that someone thought they could do this to him and get away with it.

When you finally speak, your voice is low. Deadly calm.

“I’m going to find out who did it.”

Beom-Seok straightens slightly, alarm flickering in his eyes. “Wait— no. You don’t have to—”

“I do,” you interrupt. “Because no one gets to hurt you and walk away smiling.”

He stares at you like he’s seeing a version of you he never expected — fierce, protective, unshakable.

“But… why do you care so much?” he whispers.

You look at him for a long moment, heart pounding.

And then you crouch down, cupping his face with both hands now — gently, reverently — like he’s something fragile and worth protecting.

“Because you’re not just some boy I found bleeding on my doorstep. You’re mine, Beom-Seok.”

Your thumbs stroke over his cheekbones. “And no one touches what’s mine.”

He doesn’t say anything.

His lips part slightly, eyes blinking behind the blur of his broken vision.

And in the silence that settles between you — thick and electric — something shifts. Something breaks loose.

He leans into your touch like he’s never been held before. Like he might fall apart if you let go.

Your thumbs brush the curve of his jaw, the fading blood smudged across his skin, the bruises blooming beneath his eyes. He’s still trembling, still not meeting your gaze — because he can’t — but he’s holding still like the moment itself is holding him up.

You don’t say anything. Not yet.

You just let your hands cradle his face, let the quiet stretch until the air feels thick and breathless between you.

And then, softer this time:

“You hear me?” you whisper. “You’re mine.”

Something breaks in him.

His breath shudders out of his chest, and when his hand reaches up to wrap around your wrist, it’s desperate — like he’s trying to ground himself in your skin. Like he needs to make sure you’re real.

“I thought…” He chokes a little, shaking his head. “I thought you were just being kind. Like everyone else.”

“I’m not.”

He looks up — blindly, but straight at you.

“I don’t want kindness,” he whispers. “I want you.”

That’s all it takes.

You don’t know who moves first — maybe it’s you, maybe it’s him — but suddenly your foreheads are touching, your noses brushing, and your breaths are one tangled thread. He smells like rain and blood and something soft underneath it all, something him.

You tilt your head and he follows like instinct.

And when your lips finally meet, it’s not gentle.

It’s a crash — raw, hungry, aching with everything you’ve both been holding back. His hands are in your hair, gripping like he’s scared you’ll disappear. Yours are still on his jaw, pulling him closer, closer, until there’s nothing between you but heat and breath and the pounding of two hearts that finally found a rhythm.

He kisses like he’s never been allowed to want anything this badly.

And you kiss him like you’ve been waiting your whole damn life to show him he was always worth loving.

When you finally pull away, barely an inch, your forehead rests against his, and his hands are still shaking — but it’s not from fear anymore.

It’s from everything.

“I’ve wanted to do that since the day you looked at me like I wasn’t invisible,” he murmurs.

You smile — and press one more soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, just above the bruise.

“You were never invisible to me, Beom-Seok. Not once.”

Authors Note: Holy shit 2 fics in 24 hours? Who am I?? Just kidding. Honestly I had fun writing this and hopefully I can get more into writing.

Love yall, Moon

Tags: @amoristt @lousypotatoes @infinetlyforgotten @mirahyun @inotaku-talkz @sxmmerchxld @multifandomgirllol @gizaspicebag @truefandemonium @d-dilemma @lovestruck-sky @cheruphic

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hyewka · 1 year ago

Note

alo! love ur sub beomgyu universe

could u write sub cat beomgyu being too clingy nd bratty that he gets punished by his owner or simply just being in unbearable heat nd begs for his owner to breed her??? hybrid fics r crazy mad nd im crazy

warnings; sub!gyu, hybrid au, not proofread

imagine kitty!beom who keeps looking over at you with a permanent pout on his face because you scolded him and told him to keep his distance for scratching you earlier. his bottom lip would wobble as he attempts to get you to make eye contact, kitty claws buried in the pillow hes holding tight against him but youre just not budging.

“i didnt mean it.” he finally breaks.

“you didnt mean what?” you dismissively mumble keeping your eyes on your laptop as you finish up your report.

he whines, throwing the pillow away to all of a sudden break your command and cling onto your arm. “you know i didnt mean to hurt you, i really didnt! please dont be mad”

“beomgyu you crossed the line, i told you to keep a distance.” you warn.

“who cares about the line! just tell me youre not mad!”

and ofc hes holding onto you and shaking you to try to get you to look at him like hes owed your forgiveness

kitty beomgyu who cant really sit through a punishment without purring and pressing his body flush to yours whining for you to forgive him that he’ll do better but that only has you snap and promptly put your hand down his pants to shut up his bratty adamant complaining. it does just that. having him bucking and panting already, its like he does this to get this exact reaction out of you, to have your hand wrapped around his dick. pumping it but not letting him cum. his loudness tonight has you getting a migraine so you end up shoving a finger in his watering mouth which he eagerly wraps his lips around sucking earnestly and moaning wantonly—slut.

when you can’t focus on doing two things at once you slip your fingers out of his mouth, a string of saliva breaking. the moment you do, he’s loud again, whining and mewling, you resort to slapping his thighs punishingly. “use your shirt kitty”

and as you pump his pretty cock, trying to focus on your computer, beomgyus biting the ends of his shirt so hard, he drenches it with his saliva he ends up tearing it which again serves to put you out of your productivity. you look over at him, a scowl thrown his way that he doesnt shy away from, this brat. “you cant even control yourself for more than two minutes?” you ask incredulously.

he doesnt even pretend, he immediately shakes his head. “i cant” he breathes out, “i need your pussy, feel like im gonna die”

“aww, kitten feels like he’s gonna die so i just have to give you my pussy don’t i?”

the audacity to nod has you scoff. “raise your arms.” despite how entitled hes been acting, he enthusiastically obliges. when you leave to get a scarf to makeshift a restraint he whines at the loss of your hands on his weeping cock. “what do you want your master to do beommie?” you implore, making sure to tie a tight knot.

he replies almost immediately, without skipping a beat. “wanna breed you.”

you laugh a scoff, straddling his lap, your clothed cunt grinding on his sensitive dick. you could tell it’s driving him to a brink already, he already attempts to break from the scarf. too bad you know how to tie your knots well. “breed me? beommie, let’s not get too absurd, it’s too much even for you.”

you dont expect for him to break so quickly but he does, starting to sniffle, his cute ears twitching uncontrollably, tears welling up in his round eyes. “sit on my cock….p-please.”

you slide the soft cotton of your panties up and down his wet dick, pouting mockingly at the way his face falls into a distraught show of his arousal. his mouth hangs open and hes drooling like a mutt you have to slap him to get him to behave. “don’t be dirty. look pretty with your lips shut.” you say, mouthing at his bare neck.

you can easily pick up on his close mouthed whimper, his pathetic attempt at fucking your heat doesn’t serve to do anything for him and it turns you on even more. “wanna cum on my panties? wanna soil it with your little seed?” you goad, getting breathy yourself as you increase your speed on his fat cock, letting your weight engulf it even more.

he shakes his head, tears streaming down his reddened cheeks. “baby please, i-im gonna die, i’m g-gonna—hic—im gonna burst, baby. it hurts. i don’ wanna cum, jus wanna be in your pretty cunt,”

he lets out another broken plead when you rub his earflaps in circles, making it extra soothing just like he loves, “let it all out kitty, its okay” you drawl

he almost does just that, letting out a deep purr, his tummy untensing. but then its like he snaps out of it, shaking his head in defiance. “dont want to. if im gonna cum its gonna be in your pussy, ill have you drip with my-”

you dig your fingers in his bare skin and he yelps, jolting, uncontrollably sobbing by this point. “jeez, so sensitive. what a baby. arent you, kitty? just a baby needing to be tamed.”

speeding up, having the head of cock brush against your clit every now, then he finally spills his load, warmth spreading on the bed, dirtying your sheets. his chest’s heaving, and you take some time to look over his tummy, his shirt completely ruined.

“you’re cute” you conclude getting off his softening dick. “but now im serious, dont misbehave. i really need to get my work done, ‘kay beommie?”

he huffs, pouting and turning his head, practically giving you the silent treatment as you shower him with praises, untying the scarf around his wrists and cleaning his thighs up, his stuck up nature shining through. you find it mildly annoying at worst but adorably very beomgyu. you hum in contentment, what a cute brat

#✶ ━━ rana ; answered #txt smut #hybrid smut #beomgyu smut #txt hard hours #txt hard thoughts

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soobmint · 4 months ago

Text

moon song | choi yeonjun [a] ; [s] (14.8k words)

“so i will wait for the next time you want me, like a dog with a bird at your door.” moon song, phoebe bridgers

first installment in the “punisher” collection. masterlist can be found here.

pairing; choi yeonjun x fem!reader

blurb; for better or worse, you have placed your heart in the hands of choi yeonjun, a struggling musician trying his best to be all you expect of him. but when you realize you’ve been losing more and more of yourself just to keep him near, you fear you may be too far gone to keep yourself from falling down with him.

genres; angst, established relationship

warnings; alcoholism, profanity, suggestive content, themes of mental illness & destructive thought spirals

playlist; find it here!! shoutout to @heetendo for helping me make this, she found half the songs for it <3

author’s note; hi all, welcome to the first piece in my punisher series! this is my first time putting out both a suggestive fic and a fic that’s 99% angst haha. it was really exciting to try out some new things, and it helped me get out of my writing slump for sure! do be sure to check out the warnings before reading, and i hope you enjoy moon song <3 (also, highly suggest giving the song a listen!! you can find it here.)

taglist; @hoonbear @hyuckworld @heetendo @yeonjuniper @soobin-chois @magicalstellar @maplecornia @baekberrie @boba-beom

[back to my masterlist]

WHEN THE MOON RISES, YOU FEEL AT PEACE.

The muted blue reflects off the ocean, illuminating the stones beneath your bare feet with a soft glow. In the distance, the bright beam of a lighthouse streaks its way through the dark blue sky. Waves gently caress your toes, but you can hardly feel the chill of the evening sea. Instead, you feel the warm hands covering your own, tucked away in the front pockets of your coat.

As you sink back against a firm chest, you can hear a far off sea barge blare its horn. You taste salt on your lips, smell the smoke from a campfire a little ways down the beach. If it weren’t so cold out, you would suggest taking a walk down the pier to your favorite ice cream stand, but the biting air keeps you in place. You close your eyes, snuggling back against the figure standing behind you. He chuckles, pressing a soft kiss against your cheek.

“Happy birthday, Y/N,” He says quietly, lips brushing against your skin. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do anything special for you today.”

You shake your head. “Don’t be. This is perfect.”

“Perfect? Really?” The doubt lacing his voice makes you smile. He has always been so unsure of himself.

“Yes, perfect.” You tighten your grip on his hands. “Just being here with you is enough for me.”

It’s quiet for a moment. Then he asks, “Do you remember this place?”

Of course you do. It’s the place where you had first met him. It seems like so many years ago now, you have begun to lose track of how much time has passed since then, all the days blurring together in one whimsical haze.

“How could I forget it?”

He rests his chin on your shoulder. “Look up,” he whispers.

You cast your eyes upwards, and what seems to be hundreds of thousands of stars speckle the sky, surrounding the blue moon. When you see the stars, you can’t help but think of his eyes. They would sparkle just like this from time to time, entrancing you with their wonder, as if endless possibilities lied just beyond them. God, you would do anything if it meant seeing that starstruck gaze for even one extra moment.

“They’re beautiful,” you say.

“Wanna know something?” He asks.

“What?”

“For you, I’d capture every single one of those stars. I’d bring them right down to earth, tie them up with strings, and hang them from your ceiling so you could see them every night before you go to sleep.”

You laugh a bit, heat rushing to your cheeks. “You’d do that? With your bare hands?”

“Of course.” You can hear the smile in his voice. It’s velvet, warm and soft.

“And what about the moon?” You tease.

“The moon? No problem – I can give you that too.”

“And how would you go about doing that?”

“Easy – a lasso. Throw it around the whole thing and pull it down to you. I’ve been working out a lot more recently, you know.”

Your laughter is vibrant this time; contagious as it falls from his lips as well.

“I love you,” you say.

His lips are on your neck now. “I know.”

There’s a burning in your throat. Your chest is tight, mind racing. There’s so much you want to say – so much you need to say – but the words are stuck on the tip of your tongue. It’s as if your head has been overcome by a fog. You feel everything all at once; desperation, panic, desire, hope, anything and everything in between.

You turn around. “Yeonjun.”

The space behind you is empty.

----------

When you wake up, you remember nothing of your dream other than the faint taste of salt.

Your phone is ringing beside you on the couch. You rub the sleep from your eyes, glancing at the time before answering the call. It’s 11:42 PM, and you can hardly see anything in the pitch black room.

“Hello?”

“Y/N, thank God! This is my fourth time calling you.” It’s Yeonjun’s friend, Wooyoung, on the other line. You’ve gotten quite used to his late night calls.

“I’m sorry, I fell asleep.” You stand up and flick the lights on, forcing your mess of unfolded laundry and empty coffee mugs out of hiding. You wince at the disarray; you’ll be sure to clean up later. “Where are you guys?”

“We’re at Mr. Kim’s, it’s on the –”

“The corner of First and Main. I know.” You grab your keys – heavy with an assortment of keychains, most of them gifted to you by your boyfriend – from amid a pile of notebooks and loose pieces of paper on the coffee table. In your hurry, you don’t even take the time to change out of your house slippers. “I’ll be there in five.”

The drive feels long, though it only lasts a few minutes. You crank up the volume on the radio, the generic pop song nothing but white noise to your buzzing mind as the lights of your small town turn to one big blur out the window. When you park beneath the street lamp outside Mr. Kim’s pub, you close your eyes and take a deep breath before you step out of the car.

The bell above the door jingles as you enter the pub, the smell of grilled pork and fried rice filling your nose. The place is nearly empty, a few drunken laughs and dated music from the crackling speakers filling the otherwise quiet atmosphere. The fluorescent lights flicker. You squint, scrunching your nose. You’ll have to take a couple painkillers when you get home – you always get a headache from the blaring artificial light.

Hands in the pocket of your sweatshirt, you glance around. It doesn’t take long for you to spot your boyfriend, face down on his usual table in the back corner of the restaurant. Wooyoung is seated across from him, head in his hands, several other empty plates abandoned on the table. The rest of the group must have left already, you suspect.

Wooyoung catches your eye and waves you down. You nod, making your way towards the table. “Sorry for waking you up,” he says when you arrive. He gestures to Yeonjun, who hasn’t made a single movement since your arrival. “I just figured he shouldn’t stay out like this for much longer.”

You wave off the apology. “No, it’s okay. Thank you.” Gently, you brush a hand through Yeonjun’s bleached hair. His skin is warm when your fingertips grace his forehead, glistening with sweat. He groans, and you’re glad – a tiny part of you always wonders if he’s even alive when he gets like this. “Rough day, I’m guessing?”

Wooyoung shrugs, stacking the scattered shot glasses together. “I thought it was okay. We played a gig down the street. Got a couple hundred bucks out of it. He looked so happy for a while but then he just . . . I dunno. Started drinking.”

You nod, easing your arm around Yeonjun’s waist. “Hey, time to get up. Let’s go home.”

It takes both you and Wooyoung to lift the barely conscious Yeonjun from his seat. He’s leaning against you as you pull him along, feet dragging along the laminate. The scent of cherry soju is strong, bitter as it overcomes your senses. You’ve always hated the smell; it reminds you of the cough syrup your mother would have to force down your throat when you were a child. Yeonjun never seemed to mind it.

You stop by the front counter. The pub’s owner has just come out from the kitchen, and you pull your wallet from your back pocket. “How much, Mr. Kim?”

He shakes his head, eyes crossing from the money in your hand to Yeonjun’s head on your shoulder. “He can pay me for it himself next time he comes in here – next time he’s sober, that is.”

You sigh, pushing your card closer to him. “We talked about this. No more handouts.”

“It’s not a handout. I’m just waiting for the customer himself to pay me. Consider it me putting it on his tab or something.”

“No use arguing with him, Y/N,” Wooyoung says. He spots Yeonjun’s guitar case by the door before you do, picking it up as he throws a wink at Mr. Kim. “We’ll see you soon then, sir!”

“Sooner than I’d like, I’m sure.” Mr. Kim’s gruff voice is difficult to hear when he mumbles. “Why don’t you ever offer to pay, eh? You’re just as bad as he is!”

“See you!”

Wooyoung practically pushes you and Yeonjun out of the pub, bell ringing once more to announce your exit. He hurries to open the passenger door of your car, and you all but drop Yeonjun into the seat. He moans, squinting at the brightness that falls from the streetlight. You buckle him in and close the door, sighing as you brush the hair from your face that had begun to stick from sweat.

“You know, these days you have to act more like a mom to him than a girlfriend.” Wooyoung’s voice breaks your moment of solitude. He closes the trunk – you assume he’s put Yeonjun’s guitar in there. “And by these days I guess I mean the past like, eight months or something.”

“Funny. I’m barely containing my laughter.” Your voice is monotonous, not a trace of humor to be found.

“Sorry. Too far?”

“Always.”

He smiles, but it doesn’t last long. “I’m wondering though, Y/N. How long are you gonna keep doing this?”

You lean back against the car, raising a brow. You don’t smoke, but if you did, you figure you’d be craving a cigarette right about now. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t you think Yeonjun’s been treating you like shit lately?”

The question is a knife to the heart. It’s instinctual, the way you shake your head in an instant, standing up straight and squaring your shoulders as though you’re preparing to defend your very life. “Of course not. He’s just going through a lot right now. You know that.” Your words are sharp, retaliation for the stab of Wooyoung’s.

He raises his hands in defense. “Hey, I never said he wasn’t. He’s my friend, so of course I’m sympathetic to what he’s going through. What we’re both going through. He’s not the only one in a failing band.”

“If you understand, why would you accuse him of treating me like shit?”

“Because he is!” The force of his voice takes you by surprise, and you’re stunned into silence. He sighs, pushing his hands into his pockets. “Sorry, sorry. It’s just – you’re my friend too, y’know? So I see what you’re going through because of him, and I can’t help but get pissed off.”

“I appreciate it, Wooyoung. Really, I do.” You pause, reading the doubt in his eyes before glancing over your shoulder. Yeonjun’s leaning his head against the window, lips pursed. You swallow. “I swear, it’s fine. We’re fine.”

It’s Wooyoung’s turn to lift a brow, leaning forward onto the balls of his feet. “Really? Tell me then, did he get you anything for your birthday today? Or at least acknowledge that it’s your birthday?”

“That’s not fair. You know he’s had so much going on today and –”

“Y/N, would you listen to yourself? He could’ve sent a text, left a note, or God forbid, given you a phone call at the very least.” He’s not yelling anymore, but his words still strike like blades across your skin, and you flinch.

Wooyoung closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. When he opens them again, the frustration is gone. Now, he’s looking at you like you’re a wounded dog, desperate and dependent, waiting for something that’s never going to come.

“When’s the last time he asked you about your passions? Your dreams, your goals? Have you even had time to sit down and write lately?”

Your silence is the only response he gets. The muggy air is suffocating you.

“You deserve more than this, Y/N. You deserve so much more.”

Your eyes are burning, and you feel the lump in your throat that’s been there for what seems like days get bigger.

“I love him.” It’s all you can say, because in your world of drunken calls at midnight and the bitter scent of cherry soju, it’s all you know to be true.

He sighs in defeat. “I know you do. I just wish you would give a damn about yourself sometimes too.”

You go your separate ways after that, him giving you a halfhearted wave as a farewell. His words are still lingering as you put the car into drive and begin your route home. When you hit a red light, you glance over at Yeonjun, his sharp features glowing crimson in the hue. His brows are knit together, sweat beading above them. You notice his dark roots growing in; it’s been months since he last got his hair bleached. His cheeks are flushed, lips parted. He used to look so peaceful when he slept, you recall. You wonder how long it’s been since you’ve last seen him without that crease between his brows.

Carefully, you wipe your hand across his forehead to rid him of some of the sweat. He sighs, leaning into your touch before taking hold of your wrist. “Y/N?”

“I’m here, Jun,” you say, ignoring the tears that bead in the corners of your eyes. “I’m right here.”

He presses his lips into your palm, kissing you once, twice, three times. Your heart dances at the touch, aching for more. Yet the desire is diluted by the smell of alcohol and the absent look in his eyes. The light turns green, and you can’t bring yourself to pull away from him. You make the rest of the drive with one hand.

When you get home, it takes all of your strength to get him out of the car and into the apartment. His feet are dragging, and he’s clinging onto you as though you’re his lifeline as you stumble through the living room, nothing to light your way but a single lamp in the corner of the room that you had left on just for this reason. He accidentally knocks one of the empty coffee mugs to the ground, mumbling an apology that you immediately dismiss.

“It’s fine, baby,” You say without a second thought. “Just focus on getting to the bed, yeah?”

Somehow, you make it to your room, moonlight spilling in through the crack in the gray curtains as you drop Yeonjun onto the unmade bed. You push your hair back from your face, sinking into the mattress. His eyes are tethered to you, glazed and heavy, watching you pull his feet into your lap as though he’s in a trance. You’re trying, desperately, to push your conversation with his bandmate out of your mind, even as the words swarm you like moths to a flame. With an absent mind, you untie his shoelaces, slipping the sneakers off his feet and setting them down on the carpet.

I love him. I love him. I love him.

It’s a mantra in your buzzing mind, the only loose thread you have left to cling to as everything else unravels. Your days may be hell, your nights may be lonely, moments may go by like whispers in the wind. But you love him. You love him, and this should be enough. It is enough.

You’re grabbing the cuffs of his socks now, rolling them together before placing them inside one of the sneakers. Taking hold of his wrists, you gently pull him towards you so that he’s sitting up. For some reason, you’re unable to meet his eyes as you begin to unbutton his shirt; perhaps you’re afraid he’ll be looking at you with the same pity that Wooyoung had shown earlier, or even worse, with some amount of contempt or disdain for you.

The first button is undone, then the second. When your fingers hover over the third, you pause. Yeonjun’s fingers gently encircle your wrist, his thumb tracing its way along your veins. Heart in your throat, you meet his gaze. He’s looking at you with heavy lidded eyes, pink lips barely parted.

“Yeonjun?” Your voice is barely above a whisper. “What’s wrong?”

He moves your hand, slowly, til your palm is pressing into his exposed chest, fingertips brushing against his collarbone.

“Touch me,” he rasps. “I want you to touch me.”

You’ve gone still at his words. You know he needs rest – that you need rest. But his eyes are begging you, his hands luring you, as he moves your own further up so that it’s on his neck, your fingers touching his hair. He leans forward, his forehead on yours, nose just barely meeting the skin of your burning cheek.

“Please,” he whispers, and you feel his breath against your lips. “I need you.”

Those three words; simple in theory, but dangerous in practice. They’re your Achilles’ heel, your fatal flaw. You’d do anything, anything, if it meant that he needed you. You’d lose yourself in him completely if that’s what it took to see the stars dance in his eyes once more, to see his shoulders lift as though the weight of a thousand worlds no longer rested upon him, to see his brow unfurrow from the release of his countless burdens.

You’d do it all a thousand times over. Why, for him, you’d even offer the moon.

And so, you oblige to his request, unable to ignore the fire in your own chest as you push your fingers into his hair, raking your hand through the knots and tangles. He sighs in what must be relief, grabbing your thighs and pulling you onto his lap. You make quick work of the remaining buttons on his shirt, pushing it off of his shoulders and tossing it to the ground. He buries his face in your neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses against your collarbone. You bite your lip, feeling the trail of sparks he leaves against you as he works his mouth along your skin. Your hands are moving up and down his bare chest, feeling every bump, every line, every perfect imperfection. The feeling of his skin on your own is addictive; you cannot satisfy your senses, the urge to feel all of him, everywhere, all at once fogging your already clouded mind. You can feel him beneath you now, as his hands travel higher up your thighs, fingers playing with the hem of your shorts. Breath hitching, you press against him, feeling warmth between your legs.

“God, yeah, just – just like that.” He groans, hips raising up to meet yours as he catches the skin of your neck between his teeth. A whimper slips through your lips as you keep your hips moving against his, your lips following your hands as they explore his jaw.

“Don’t stop,” he mumbles against you, fingers pressing into your thighs so hard, you’re sure they’ll leave marks; but you don’t mind. In fact, you only wish he’d press harder, your body aching for him more and more, even as you’re practically melded together. You want to feel him on every cell of your skin. You want to taste him, to cover him, to breathe him in and never exhale.

It’s sudden when he pushes on your shoulders, causing you to fall back against the mattress. He’s over you now, taking both your hands in one of his and holding them above your head, his other hand sliding beneath the hem of your shirt, traveling up your ribs. Your back arches at the touch; you’re desperate to push ever closer to him, even if it’s impossible. He pulls the neckline of your shirt down, exposing your shoulder and the top of your bra. His lips are on your chest now, sucking and biting at the skin there. You suck in a sharp breath at the feeling, your eyes rolling shut as he slides his knee between your trembling legs, his tongue tracing its way along your collarbone.

You’re panting, chest heaving as his lips travel back up your neck, your jaw, your cheek; every inch of your skin is burning in his wake. You’ve been aching to feel his lips on yours, craving the sweet taste of him in your mouth.

But when his lips finally cover your own, the taste isn’t sweet like the vanilla ice creams you used to share on the pier, or the peaches you had sunk your teeth into backstage before one of his first gigs all those years ago. Instead he tastes bitter, the traces of cherry soju still burning on his tongue.

It’s the taste that brings reality crashing down around you. Suddenly, the burning between your legs isn’t pleasant – it’s too hot, too dangerous. His hands are singeing your skin now, your name falling from his lips a curse rather than a blessing. It’s a brutal reminder: he’s not sober. That’s why he’s doing this. It’s a stab straight to the gut.

“Yeonjun,” you whisper, breathless, when he comes up for air. “You’re drunk.”

His breathing is shallow, his hand still gripping both of yours. “What?”

“You’re drunk,” you repeat, freeing your hands from his grasp. You place your palms on his shoulders, easing him back as you sit up. “We have to stop.”

He’s breathless still, lips red and raw and hanging open, hair tousled. His eyes are searching yours, pupils big as saucers, his ever-knit brows showing his confusion – or maybe even concern. “Y/N, I –”

“It’s okay, Jun. Really.” You push a halfhearted smile, brushing a strand of bleached hair behind his ear. “You should rest.”

There’s so much he wants to say. You can see it in his eyes. But you also see the exhaustion, the confusion, the dismay. You’re terrified of what may come next.

Pity.

Regret.

You need to leave before he even has the chance to show a hint of either.

You lay him down, pulling the covers up over him. When you lean down to press a kiss to his forehead, his heavy eyes are already falling shut.

With a sigh, you walk to the window and cast a quick glance at the sky before pulling the curtains all the way shut. You leave the bedroom, pulling the door shut behind you as quietly as you can. You hate the silence that has settled over the apartment, the only sound being your bare feet against the cold floor. There’s a sudden sharp pain in your heel and you wince, looking down to see a single shard of glass that had chipped off the mug Yeonjun knocked over in his drunken haze.

You pull the shard out of your skin, hobbling one-footed to the bathroom to grab a bandaid. When you open the cabinet above the toilet, all that’s left in terms of bandages are the cheap Iron Man ones Yeonjun had bought nearly a year ago. As you peel it open, wiping the blood from your skin before pressing the bandage on, you almost smile.

After taking care of the cut, you head towards the kitchen. You light the candle on the counter, slowly filling the room with the faint scent of vanilla and amber, the wooden wick crackling as the flame begins to flicker. After setting the lighter down, you pull open the fridge and grab a paper plate covered in plastic wrap. It holds a single slice of semi-stale chocolate cake, leftover from the last-minute birthday treat your coworkers had purchased during your lunch break. You grab a fork from a drawer and glance at the clock. It’s 12:59 AM; too late to even wish yourself a happy birthday.

When you sink down on the couch and take your first bite, you can’t help but think that the cake tastes quite bitter as well.

----------

Yeonjun is cold when he wakes up the next morning.

The sun beats in through the tiny slit in the curtains and he groans, pulling his pillow down over his face. He tucks his blanket around his body, desperate to kill the chills that shake his nearly naked self, but it’s no use. With an exasperated sigh, he turns onto his side, stretching his arm out.

“Y/N,” he mumbles, fingers searching for your body in the bed beside him. He pries his eyes open when he doesn’t feel you. Your side of the bed is bare.

He sighs, tossing his pillow off and running a hand over his face. When he sits up, he sees his discarded clothes on the floor and the memories of the night come rushing back to him. He remembers the heat of your body, the desperation in his voice as he practically chanted your name like a prayer. Most of all, he remembers the ache in the pit of his stomach as he watched your eyes go dim beneath him, and the defeat on your face as you laid him down to sleep.

Choi Yeonjun, you fucking idiot.

He’s no stranger to calling himself names. His mind is no friend of his.

He stumbles out of bed and towards the pile of unfolded laundry in the desk chair, pulling on a pair of joggers and one of your old tee shirts. It’s not his size, but he doesn’t mind; he likes how it smells just like you. Your favorite lavender perfume must be embedded within the threading, filling him with both comfort and guilt as the scent overtakes him.

In the living room, he finds you curled up on the sofa. No blanket, no pajamas – just a half-eaten slice of cake on the coffee table, the T.V. remote loosely gripped in your hand, reruns of an old sitcom buzzing on the screen before you. Slowly, he takes the remote from your hand and switches off the T.V., brushing his fingers over your cheek before he kisses it lightly, careful not to wake you.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. Of course, you don’t hear him. Deep down, in some twisted way and for reasons he cannot attempt to explain, Yeonjun is glad that you don’t.

He walks to the kitchen, seeing your favorite candle still burning in a pool of melted wax. He blows it out, watching the tendrils of smoke rise and dissolve in the air. He walks to the cabinet, pulling out garlic, bean paste, and some red pepper. He puts some water on the stove to boil, grabbing the tray of diced vegetables you keep in the fridge for him. Though he doesn’t mind the taste of his own haejangguk, he much prefers it when you make it; but he knows it would be cruel of him to wake you up.

The water has come to a boil, so he throws in the rest of the ingredients for his hangover soup. His head’s pounding, and he wishes he could shut off the sun as its streams in through the skylight above him. He sets the burner to low heat and puts a lid on the pot, leaving it to simmer for a bit.

He leans back against the counter, his hand brushing over a small stack of photos behind him that you had recently gotten developed, knocking some to the floor. With a sigh, he crouches down to gather them back up, his hand pausing as he grabs the first one. It’s a picture of him with his arm around your waist, both of your hands cupping his cheeks as he holds a vanilla ice cream cone. In the background, the sun is setting over the ocean, the sky painted in strokes of pinks and purples and reds and golds. You have a dot of the ice cream on your nose – he remembers that he had smeared it there himself after you tried to take a bite of his dessert. Both of you are laughing, mouths wide, your eyes scrunched up into crescent moons while his bright gaze is fixed on you. He remembers Wooyoung taking the picture during one of your walks to the pier near your home. It’s dated back two summers ago.

A smile is tugging the corners of his lips. He can’t remember the last time the two of you had taken a photo together. For the briefest of moments, he can feel a ghost of the joy that had once filled him. It’s spilling out of the picture in his hands, seeping through to his chest.

The feeling doesn’t last long. It never does.

The smell of his soup boiling on the stove draws him back to the present. He quickly scoops the rest of the scattered pictures together, setting them back on the countertop as he rushes to the stove. He takes the pot off the heat and switches the stove off, taking the lid off to let the steam free. The spices fill his nose, causing him to cough as they overpower his senses. You have always told him he’s a bit heavy-handed when it comes to adding the red pepper, but he only seems to remember your advice when it’s too late. Every time.

“Jun?” He turns at the sound of your voice, seeing you sleepily rise from the couch. You rub your eyes, covering your mouth as you yawn and make your way towards him.

“Morning,” he says, trying his best to smile, though he can’t be sure what the correct way to speak to you is right now. He knows he acted selfishly last night, but he also knows that you’ll refuse to bring it up. At times, he wishes you would unleash all hell on him; he wishes you would scream, dig your nails into his skin, bite into his flesh with the words of resentment and anger he only imagines you have buried deep within your heart of hearts.

But you never do. And he’s far too much of a coward to ask you to. The tension of last night will linger, you’ll both carry on until the next thing happens and it snowballs, getting bigger and bigger but never crashing down around you. You wrap your arms around his waist, looking down at his breakfast. “You should’ve woken me up, Jun. I know you like my haejangguk more, I would’ve made it for you.”

“I know you would’ve,” he says. “That’s exactly why I didn’t wake you up. You need to rest.”

“I’m fine though,” you mumble, leaving his side to pull a couple of bowls down from one of the cabinets. He notices the dark circles beneath your eyes and wonders how fine you truly could be. You take a ladle from a drawer and scoop two servings of the soup into the bowls, fishing out some spoons to eat with.

“You don’t have to eat this babe. You’re not hungover.” He watches as you set the dishes down at two of the bar stools, climbing up to sit atop one of them. “I’ll make something else for you.”

“I don’t mind,” you say, smiling sweetly at him. “It tastes pretty good regardless. Can you bring me the black pepper?”

He nods, turning around to find it. When he turns towards the cabinet, his eyes fall on the calendar that’s hanging on the side of the refrigerator. Yesterday’s date is circled in red, with poorly done doodles of a cake and confetti surrounding two words written in bright pastels: Y/N’s Birthday.

His stomach drops. There’s a big black line crossing out the date.

“Do you have any gigs today?” Your voice is distant to him, his gaze still stuck on the calendar as his head swarms with thoughts, his hand shaking around the can of pepper in his grasp. How could he forget your birthday? How had he reached such a devastating low that he couldn’t even properly celebrate with you, the one person who had stuck with him through every high and low? And how could you not even think of mentioning it to him?

“Jun? You okay?” He slowly turns back to face you at the sound of your voice, seeing the worry lines creasing your forehead. One day, those wrinkles would be permanent, and he can’t help but feel like the full responsibility of it will fall upon his shoulders.

He walks towards you, passing you the pepper you had asked for as he sits down beside you at the counter. Hesitantly, you take it from him, but your eyes are still fixed upon him as he stares down into his bowl, his appetite seeming to be completely erased from him.

“What’s wrong?” Your hand is on his shoulder now. His skin nearly burns at the touch.

“I missed your birthday.” His voice is quiet, heavy. Silence settles in the room afterwards, and he can’t bring himself to look at you. Your hand drops from his shoulder.

“Oh. That. Seriously, don’t worry about it. I know you’ve had a lot going on lately with the band and all, so it makes sense that –”

“Y/N.” He cuts you off, his eyes meeting yours. You stop mid-sentence, mouth ajar. “Stop it. Stop making excuses for me.”

“They’re not excuses, it’s just the truth. What kind of partner would I be if I got mad at you for being overworked all the time?”

“And what kind of partner would I be for letting myself get away with forgetting your birthday?” His words are piercing, but he can’t help it. He already feels terrible, and for some reason, the lack of anger or spite on your part is making him feel even worse. You shrink down into your stool, gazing absently at your soup.

He closes his eyes, sighing as he runs his hand down his face. “Y/N, I’m not – I’m not angry. Not at you anyways; just at myself. I’m sorry for getting frustrated, it’s just . . . God, I wish you would care more about yourself.”

“I care about myself enough, Jun.” You’re almost whispering now, moving your spoon around in your bowl but not taking a single sip of the broth. “But I care about you too. Of course, I was a little disappointed but – I don’t know. I just want to be here to support you, I can’t justify getting angry at you when I know you’re having a hard time.”

The words are not new to him. He’s heard them from you countless times before. At first, he found them comforting; knowing you would always be there for him, supporting him through the dark times and not just the good. But as time went on, the words had begun to weigh him down. How often was he there to offer you the same support you gave to him constantly? How often did you even ask for it?

He sets his spoon down, taking both your hands in his. Your eyes go wide when they meet his, your shoulders tense.

“I’m going to make it up to you, Y/N. I swear.” His words are firm, and he means them, truly, with every bone in his body. He’s tired of being a burden to you, so tired that he makes these promises to you almost every day. But this time, he’s going to keep it; this time, for sure.

Your eyes look dim when you smile. “Alright.”

“Where do you want to go? We’ll do something tonight, right after my show at the Alley.”

You purse your lips, mulling over a thousand different possibilities in your mind. “Can we go down to the ice cream stand at the pier? The one we used to go to all the time.”

He nods, squeezing your hands tightly. “Of course. It’s a date.”

Your smile grows wide, and you lean forward, pressing a kiss against the tip of his nose. He lets his eyes fall shut, savoring the way the kiss warms his heart that had felt like ice for so long, even if the relief only lasted a moment.

He is going to do everything he can to keep you smiling this time. He is done making you wait for him – he has to be. This is the promise he makes to himself.

And so, the cycle begins.

----------

The air is muggy inside the venue that night. The red lights are dim, the aroma of spilt beer and fried chicken taking over Yeonjun’s senses as he steps inside the small building known as the Alley, home to many aspiring bands booking their first venues or failed musical acts who never made it past this point. The line between the two categories is quite thin.

The crowd is gathered round the stage, a few stragglers left behind at the bar near the back of the open space. The venue capacity sits around two-hundred, and it looks to be about halfway full. He has to push along the edge of the crowd to make it to the waiting rooms.

Yeonjun is pulling you along behind him, his painted fingers interlocked with your own as the hum of the crowd buzzes over the grunge rock spilling from the loudspeakers. He’s got his guitar slung over his shoulder, tightly clutching the strap in his free hand. When he glances down at you, he can tell that you’re a bit nervous – this crowd was a bit larger than most of the open mic nights that Yeonjun and his band frequent.

“Are you sure you’re gonna be okay, Jun?” You ask, straining to be heard over all the noise as you make your way to one of the back rooms near the stage. “I know you get nervous with larger crowds.”

You’re not wrong, of course. One of the more popular up and coming bands in the area had asked Yeonjun’s to open for their set. Most of the people in the crowd tonight – if not all of them – have no idea who they are. Not to mention the fact that the venue hadn’t even offered them a soundcheck – they were coming in cold, with little to no preparation.

“A little bit,” he answers honestly. He smiles, bumping his shoulder against yours. “But the show must go on, right?”

You smile back at him, giving his hand a squeeze. “You’ve got this.”

“And what about the rest of us?” A high-pitched voice pierces Yeonjun’s ears as Wooyoung joins the both of you, throwing his arm around your shoulders. “Are we gonna do well too, or is it just him?”

You laugh, the three of you entering the assigned waiting room with floors made of checkered tile and a cheap popcorn ceiling overhead. Nobody else is there yet – the room is empty aside from a cheap wine-stained couch and a couple of folding chairs.

“Of course you’re gonna do well too, Wooyoung,” you assure him, leaving Yeonjun’s side to sit down on one of the folding chairs. “I just figured that went without saying.”

“Where are the others?” Yeonjun asks as he sits on the other folding chair and begins tuning his guitar, Wooyoung stretching out on the couch and taking up all the space for himself. “They usually come with you.”

“Not sure; they haven’t been answering my calls at all today.” Wooyoung sighs, pulling out his phone. “It might just be you and me tonight.”

Though Yeonjun is disappointed by the statement, he can’t say that he’s surprised. The days where he and Wooyoung end up taking the stage alone have become more and more frequent. He twists the final peg on his guitar, plucking the strings one by one to check that they’re in tune.

“We’ll make it work,” he says.

Wooyoung nods. “We always do.”

Yeonjun can feel your eyes on him, but he doesn’t look your way. He knows you’re worried about him. He knows you want to offer him support and encouragement, but he can’t take it right now. He’s terrified of letting you down – again.

A woman with bright blue hair dressed in all black pops her head into the room. “You guys are on in five. Get ready.”

Yeonjun nods as she disappears, standing up from the chair with his guitar in hand. He glances in the full-length mirror hanging before him on the wall, wondering if he’s underdressed in his ripped black jeans and Pink Floyd tee that’s so old, he would label it as ancient – but you always correct him, preferring the term vintage. He doesn’t have time to contemplate his choice of dress any further though, as you and Wooyoung both stand up with him, following him out the door and up the stairs that lead to the side wings of the stage.

Wooyoung pulls his drumsticks from his back pocket, making a quick glance at the rusty old drumset sitting towards the back of the stage. You grab hold of Yeonjun’s sleeve, smiling up at him as you squint against the colorful lighting. Yeonjun notices the way your nose crinkles along with your eyes – something he’s always loved about you.

“Knock ‘em dead, yeah?” Your voice is as soft as it can be while still being heard above the murmuring crowd. You run your fingers through his hair, a last-ditch effort to fix up a few of the pieces that frame his face.

He gently takes your wrist in his hand, lowering it from his face as he leans down to kiss you swiftly. “I’ll do my best.”

The stage is set with a single microphone in the center, the drumset a bit behind it. There’s a single spotlight hanging low over the mic, the same burnt red as the rest of the lighting in the venue. He glances at Wooyoung, who gives him a reassuring nod. He clutches the strap of his guitar.

He takes his first step out onto the stage, Wooyoung following close behind. A few people in the crowd notice, turning towards them. Most give the two of them a passing glance, checking to be sure that they’re not the main act of the night, before they resume their buzzing conversations or boisterous laughter.

He stops in front of the microphone, tilting it upwards so that it matches his height. He spots the aux on the ground and leans down to plug it into his guitar, a high-pitched screech humming over the room for a brief moment before it fades away. He looks over his shoulder to see Wooyoung take his seat behind the drums, giving him a thumbs up, mouthing the familiar words, You ready?

With a sigh, Yeonjun gives the only honest answer he can think of by shrugging his shoulders. This was their routine as of late.

He taps a finger against the mic, the familiar thumping coming out muffled through the loudspeakers. He clears his throat, taking another look out at the crowd.

“Hey everyone, how are we feeling tonight?” His voice is clear, gaining the attention of a few more people in the crowd. A couple of half-hearted cheers resound, and he’s thankful for that at least. “My name’s Yeonjun, and this is my buddy Wooyoung on the drums. We’re happy to be here tonight to open up the show for you.”

He looks over to the wing, seeing you standing there, hands clasped together over your chest. You’re glowing red from the overhead lights, eyes sparkling. You perk up when you catch his gaze, throwing him your ever-warm smile. He can only lift the corner of his mouth, his nerves already beginning to wear him down.

He glances back at Wooyoung again, giving him a nod as he adjusts his grip on the neck of his guitar, fingers clasped tightly around the pick. The drummer smiles, clicking his drumsticks together, counting off the beat.

One, two, three, four.

He strikes the first chord, letting his eyes fall shut as the sounds of his strings fill him, drowning out the buzz of the crowd. When the first lyrics leave his lips, he’s already felt himself drift away. Eyes closed, he can imagine himself being somewhere else, anywhere but here. He’s not standing on the stage burning beneath the lights, overwhelmed by the flood of voices kept in time by the steady beat of the drums and the thrumming of his heart, sending hot blood coursing through his veins.

Instead, he’s sat upon a blanket in the sand, the plucking of his guitar harmonizing with the waves melting against the shoreline, a crackling fire burning before him beneath the starlight, slightly blocked out by the wisps of a few gray and blue clouds. The salt air is muddled by the smell of smoke, the gentle breeze tickling the tip of his nose. Wooyoung’s fast asleep on the other side of the fire, arm covering his eyes as his mouth hangs open, a trickle of drool slipping down his chin.

And you. You’re there by Yeonjun’s side, head resting upon his shoulder as he picks out the melody, singing softly, the words falling upon your ears alone.

This, he thinks, is what music is meant to be. A connection from himself to you, the lines of a song reaching your heart much deeper than any words he could speak. Words failed him so often when he tried to talk. If he could sing forever, serenading you with all the right words set to a lulling melody that rang sweet in your ears, he would sign himself away to it in a heartbeat.

The first song has ended, and he opens his eyes to find himself back in reality, square center on the stage. It’s not you he’s looking at – it’s a crowd of uninterested strangers, eyes seeming to fall anywhere but himself. It’s like whiplash, the serenity he felt moments ago rapidly being replaced by the anxiety and displacement he’s become all too familiar with. The lights are too bright, the voices are too loud, the air is too warm. He feels so small. He shouldn’t be here – he should be anywhere else.

He turns to look at you again. Even across the distance that separates you, he can see the worry swimming in your eyes as you give him a thumbs up. He’s certain that the words of his song had fallen short even upon your ears. You had probably heard nothing but your own racing thoughts, screaming with worry and tension as you watched him intently, wishing for him to not fail.

He knows you – perhaps a little too well. His throat is tight, his chest screaming for air. He’s never felt as far away from you as he does in this moment.

The rest of the set flies by in a haze of tension and suffocating disinterest from the crowd. He expected this, prepared for it even. But for some reason, he can never seem to get past the disappointment that comes from it.

He manages to push out a quick “thank you” to the mic when they’re finished, but he can hardly see the point in it as it falls upon deaf ears. A few people clap, but Yeonjun doesn’t stay on stage long enough to hear. He unplugs his guitar, all but running towards where you wait for him in the wing.

“You did great, Jun,” you say. “I mean it.”

He can’t even force himself to smile now. He needs to get out of here.

“Good job, sweetheart!” Wooyoung throws his arm around Yeonjun’s shoulders, drumsticks clanking together as he clutches them in one hand. “How we feeling?”

“Can we get out of here?” Yeonjun feels as though there’s a fist around his throat, choking all the air out of him at an alarming pace. He rubs a hand along the base of his neck, skin burning. “I can’t – I’m not thinking clearly.”

“Yeah, yeah of course.” You waste no time in linking arms with him, pulling him alongside you down the steps with Wooyoung following close behind. “Woo, can you grab his guitar case from the waiting room and meet us outside? I think he needs some air.”

“Sure thing. See you out there.”

Yeonjun is in a trance, not feeling his feet touch the ground as you guide him along the edge of the crowd once more towards the exit. When he takes his first step out into the cool night air, he feels like he’s finally come up from underwater, taking a cleansing breath in, exhaling moments later. He sits down on the cement steps, ignoring the thud of his guitar hitting the concrete behind him. You waste no time in sinking down by his side, rubbing his arm in an effort to provide even the smallest bit of comfort.

“You okay?” You ask. He can feel the pity in your eyes without even looking at them. He keeps staring down at his scuffed sneakers.

“I’m alright.”

He hears the door open behind them and looks up to see Wooyoung hovering above him, his black guitar case littered with stickers in hand.

“You good?” His friend asks, motioning for Yeonjun to hand his guitar over.

He lifts the strap over his head, grabbing the guitar by the neck and handing it to Wooyoung. “I just needed some air. I’m okay.”

“I think we did a pretty good job,” Wooyoung says, kneeling on the ground to set the guitar in its case. “We got a decent response from the crowd.”

Yeonjun watches you nod in agreement, but he himself remains quiet, fiddling with his shoelaces. He can hardly remember any of their set to begin with, and what little he does recall feels like it’s the opposite of “decent”.

“So, what’s the move for tonight?” Wooyoung asks. “Celebrating a late birthday for Y/N? Oh wait – did you ever end up remembering it in the – ow!”

You’ve leaned down to smack Wooyoung’s cheek, ending his trail of harsh – but well deserved – words that were no doubt pointed towards Yeonjun. He doesn’t miss the venom in his friend’s voice, and he feels the sharp pang of guilt dig deeper into his chest than it already was before.

“We’re gonna go down to the pier,” he says in response, forcing a smile. “See if the ice cream shop is open.”

He feels your eyes on him again, but can’t bear to look. He knows that concern he doesn’t deserve will be waiting for him in your gaze. It’s nothing but salt to his open wound.

“You know Jun, maybe we should just go to Mr. Kim’s tonight instead.” He looks at you then, eyes widening at your suggestion. “You’re not feeling the best, and it’s super cold out – I bet the shop isn’t even open during this time of year anyways.”

“No, Y/N.” He grabs both your hands, shaking his head. “It’s your day, we’re going to the pier. That’s what you wanted.”

You smile, running your thumb along his knuckles. His skin tingles at the touch. “Seriously Jun, it’s okay. We can just wait til it gets warmer out. It’ll be more fun at that time anyways.”

Yeonjun glances at Wooyoung, surprised to see his friend minding his own business for once – or at least pretending to mind his own. He’s whistling the tune of one of their songs, securing the latches on the guitar case as he clearly does everything in his power to avoid eye contact.

The one time I need his loud ass to chime in and back me up, Yeonjun thinks. He’s really useless, huh?

He looks back at you. “Y/N –”

Your lips cover his, cutting his words off. He hesitates before his eyes flutter shut, taking in the warmth that comes from the feeling of you against him as his body shakes from the chilling air.

When you pull away, you’re still smiling. “It’s okay, Jun,” you whisper. “Let’s go get something to eat.”

He remains quiet for a moment. He can’t quite tell if your smile reaches your eyes.

“Okay.” His voice is barely audible, his nose brushing against yours. “Let’s go.”

You nod with contentment, standing up and pulling him to his feet along with you. “What about you, Woo? Wanna come with?”

“Sure, why not.” The drummer smirks as he walks closer to Yeonjun, bumping their shoulders together while wiggling his eyebrows. “As long as this guy’s paying. You’re good with that, right sweetheart?”

“Stop calling me that,” Yeonjun mutters, sinking his elbow into Wooyoung’s side with enough force to send the latter stumbling back a few steps. “And I’m paying for my girlfriend, of course. But you’re on your own.”

Wooyoung flashes a middle finger, tongue stuck out in mockery, and Yeonjun returns both gestures as he wraps his arm around your shoulders, noticing the hand you’ve placed over your lips in an attempt to hide your laughter. “Lead the way, sweetheart. Y/N and I will be close behind.”

“Screw you,” Wooyoung says, unable to mask the smile blossoming on his lips. “And take your stupid guitar too. It’s heavy.”

Yeonjun grabs the case with his free hand, the two of you falling into pace behind Wooyoung as you make the short walk to Mr. Kim’s pub. The lights outside are flickering; Yeonjun makes a mental note to remind Mr. Kim to check the batteries later. That is, if he remains sober long enough to remember to do so.

But tonight is about you. He will stay sober if that’s what it takes to make things up to you. He has to.

The bell above the door jingles in its familiar tune, the scent of soju and samgyeopsal wafting towards you as soon as the three of you cross the threshold. The pub is fairly quiet, only a few of the tables occupied by guests.

Mr. Kim is waiting behind the counter, barely containing his eye roll when he spots Yeonjun and Wooyoung. “You two again? Was last night not enough for you?”

“Relax, Mr. Kim.” Wooyoung’s voice is smooth and assuring – he’s very used to charming his way into various kinds of situations. “We’re not here to drink our sorrows away tonight. It’s our lovely Y/N’s post-birthday celebration! You wouldn’t want to turn away your most loyal and dearest customers on such a special occasion, would you?”

Mr. Kim’s eyes narrow when they land on you, peeking around Yeonjun’s shoulder, offering a meek wave in greeting. He sighs, gesturing towards the table in the back corner of the room. “Just go sit down.”

“Ah, see! I knew you had a big heart.” Wooyoung reaches towards the older man with two arms, almost as if he were going in for a hug.

Mr. Kim flicks him square in the middle of his forehead. “Get away from me.”

“Love you too, Mr. Kim!” Yeonjun notices the redness that the elder’s contact had left behind in the center of Wooyoung’s forehead – there would definitely be a welt there tomorrow.

Yeonjun leaves his guitar propped up in the corner behind the counter like always before he leads you back to your usual table, pulling out your chair before he takes his place beside you.

“Three servings of rice and samgyeopsal, please!” Wooyoung yells, earning a shout of confirmation from the staff as she heads back towards the kitchen. “And a few bottles of cherry soju!”

“Wooyoung.” Yeonjun makes a cutting motion across his neck with his hand, head shaking with intent. “No soju.”

“It’s okay, Jun,” you say, pushing his hand down. “I wanted a drink anyways.”

His brows crease, lips pursed. “But you hate the cherry flavor.”

You shrug, pouring a cup of water from the jug on the table. “It’s growing on me.”

Your words linger with him as the waitress sets a few glasses and two bottles of cherry soju on the table.

“Two?” Wooyoung asks, raising a brow. “You guys think that’ll be enough?”

“Should be.” Yeonjun takes a sip of your water as Wooyoung fills your other glass first with the fruit-flavored alcohol. “I’m abstaining.”

There’s silence for the briefest of moments. Then, boisterous laughter echoes across the room, drawing the attention of a few other patrons. Wooyoung is clutching his stomach as he continues to laugh, and Yeonjun kicks his shin under the table.

“Would you shut up?” He hisses, nodding a thank you to the waitress as she sets down a few bowls of rice along with the plate of uncooked pork.

Wooyoung wipes the corner of his eyes, the laughter finally having subsided. “Sorry. I just – I’ve never seen you turn down a drink.”

“There’s a first time for everything, right?” He turns the grill on, smiling at you when he notices you staring at him with wide eyes, hands frozen around the glass of soju. “Come on,” he says, nudging you in the side. “Drink up, birthday girl.”

You hesitate before throwing the shot back, eyes crinkling up as you take a hard swallow. Wooyoung cheers as you pour him a glass next.

“I haven’t seen you drink in ages, Y/N,” he says before taking his first shot as well. “You deserve to let loose a bit tonight.”

You cough, placing your palm flat against your chest. “Well, I’m remembering now why I don’t drink. This tastes awful.”

“Nah, you’re just not used to it.” Wooyoung motions for you to raise your glass again. “You’ll be loving it in no time.”

You shake your head in disagreement, but oblige to his request as you lift your glass up once more, taking your second shot. You shake your head, lips pursed in disgust as you force the liquid down.

“Alright, stop forcing her, Wooyoung,” Yeonjun insists, pushing his friend’s hand away as he raises the bottle towards you once more. “You’re the kind of person they warned us about in middle school during all those assemblies about peer pressure.”

“You’re one to talk,” Wooyoung mutters, pouring a second shot for himself and taking it down only seconds later. He barely even flinches at the taste. “I see you drunk way more than I see you sober.”

Yeonjun pauses, and Wooyoung immediately knows he’s crossed a line. You clear your throat, gesturing towards the plate of pork. “I think the grill’s warm. Want me to put the meat on?”

“No, stay still,” Yeonjun insists, glad for the break in the uncomfortable tension that has settled over the table. “I’ll do it.”

The grill sizzles as the pork settles atop it, the savory aroma immediately filling his senses. He pushes the pieces around with the pair of tongs that were resting beside the plate, focusing all his attention on his task as he tries desperately to ignore the scent of the soju creeping in. The sight of the third shot glass, empty and untouched, burns in the corner of his vision. He’s determined to ignore it.

Yeonjun sets the first few pieces of cooked pork on your plate, giving Wooyoung a pointed look as he does so. The meal carries on smoothly for a bit – no more talks of sobriety or peer pressure from Wooyoung for you to take another shot of the bitter drink. There’s light conversation and laughter, reminding Yeonjun of how things were just a few years ago when the three of you first started hanging out together, right after he had asked you out.

“It’s nice to be out together again – all three of us,” Wooyoung says, taking the last piece of pork from the sizzling grill. “Why’d we stop doing this again?”

“We just got busy.” You take a swig of water, bowing your head in thanks to the waitress as she sets another dish of meat to cook and two more bottles of soju on the table – Wooyoung had already drained the first.

“You’re right. How could I forget our band taking off in infinite success?” Wooyoung shakes his head, emptying the contents of the new dish onto the grill. “The life of a star isn’t an easy one, I suppose.”

You laugh a bit, but quickly bite it back, glancing over at your boyfriend. He forces a laugh of his own, though the words of his friend are piercing blows to his already fragile ego.

“Lighten up, sweetheart.” Wooyoung reaches over the table, ruffling Yeonjun’s hair. “It’s all jokes.”

Yeonjun smiles bitterly, nodding in assumed agreement. He passes the metal tongs to Wooyoung who then takes his turn cooking the meat, returning to the light-hearted conversation he had been having with you moments before.

This leaves Yeonjun with the perfect opportunity to begin thinking.

And thinking.

And thinking and thinking and thinking.

He thinks about the buzz of the disinterested crowd watching their show that night, a sea of blank faces and muddled voices drowning him out.

He thinks about the bright lights, burning through his eyelids despite how tightly he shut them, desperate to keep the beams from slipping through the cracks.

He thinks about the steel strings of his guitar, digging into the calloused skin of his fingertips, the pain so familiar he hardly feels it at all anymore, but still potent enough to remind him that it was there.

He thinks and he thinks, until he cannot bear to do so for a second longer.

Without a word, he takes an unopened bottle of soju and twists the cap off with the ease that only comes from what feels like a lifetime of experience. Ignoring how your eyes burn into the side of his head, he pours himself a glass and throws back the shot. The alcohol burns its way down his throat, and he closes his eyes as the feeling overpowers him and then subsides all in an instant.

Just one shot, to keep me sane. That’s all.

He lets his eyes meet yours once again. You quickly look away, reaching toward the grill as the second batch of meat finishes cooking. He glances at Wooyoung, who is pointedly keeping his eyes anywhere but his best friend.

It’s guilt this time that’s flooding Yeonjun’s entire being. God, how could he be so fucking selfish? It was just one night, one night that he needed to push his own needs aside for yours. He wanted to, more than anything. Yet, somehow, he always lost in this battle against himself. No matter how hard he tried, what moves he made, this was a game he was forever destined to lose.

His throat feels like it’s closing, ears ringing, head swarmed with the sounds of the restaurant. The relief from the first shot is long gone, and he’s staring at the bottle of soju again. He’s merely a puppet, the bottle of burning liquid his master, pulling the strings as he reaches forward and takes the bottle in his hands once more.

He had already screwed things up. One more shot couldn’t hurt, right?

When he throws back the second shot, he tells himself it is just to keep the thoughts quiet. With the third, he assures himself that it’s to loosen up the tightness in his chest – nothing more.

The fourth is to chase the third. He hates leaving things on odd numbers.

By the time he gets to the fifth, sixth, seventh, and eighth, he’s far too tired to think of reasons why he continues to down them. He loses count soon after that.

----------

Deep down, you had known the night would end up this way from the very beginning.

You tell yourself that you’re not resentful. It doesn’t bother you at all, the fact that you’re leaving Mr. Kim’s with Yeonjun’s arms wrapped around your neck from behind as you desperately try to pull him along the sidewalk, the buzz from the two shots you had taken long gone. All that’s left now is a searing headache and a knot in your stomach.

Wooyoung has left already, carrying Yeonjun’s abandoned guitar with him. He had offered to help you bring Yeonjun home, but you insisted that he go first. You don’t know why, but you’re embarrassed – not of Yeonjun, of course, but of the fact that Wooyoung thinks you can’t handle him on your own. You’ve gotten quite used to this.

You’ve made it a couple blocks down the street, drunken words falling from Yeonjun’s lips in incoherent rambles that you’re too exhausted to try and make any sense of. You shift his weight, bringing one of your arms around his waist as the other holds the wrist of the arm that he has draped across your shoulders.

“Y/N,” he mumbles. “Stop.”

There’s sweat beading on the back of your neck. You shake your head, gritting your teeth as his feet drag down the sidewalk. You hate to think of the scuff marks it’s sure to leave on his sneakers “No, Jun. We’ve gotta get you home.”

“I wanted to walk you home tonight,” he croaks, his words followed by a few hiccups. “It’s your sort-of-birthday, I should – I should be carrying you.”

You shake your head, biting the inside of your cheek. “Don’t worry about it, alright? Just focus on walking. Left foot, right foot, left –”

“No.” He plants his feet, legs wobbling. The movement is so sudden that it causes you to trip, bringing him crashing to the cold hard ground with you. The back of your head smacks against the pavement, his form crashing down atop of you. You hiss in pain, but you quickly push the feeling aside, sitting up to grab Yeonjun’s shoulders.

“Are you okay?” You ask, eyes searching his dull ones for any hint of pain. He blinks at you slowly, lips settled into a pout as he brings his hands up to cup your face. His palms are clammy, fingertips rough with guitar-string callouses.

“Yeonjun.” You grab hold of his wrists, voice dripping with worry. “Are you hurt? Talk to me.”

“Do you love me, Y/N?”

The question is so sudden, it freezes you to your core. You go still, hands clasped around his wrists.

“Of course I love you, Yeonjun.” The words require no thought on your end, spilling from your lips freely. You’ve said them so many times, you’re not sure why he even feels the need to ask you to say them again. Maybe you’ve done a worse job at showing it than you thought.

He frowns, brows knit as always. “How much?”

“What?”

“How much do you love me?” You can see tears brimming in his eyes, and your heart aches.

“So, so much, Yeonjun,” you say, running your finger along the back of his hand in a soothing rhythm. “More than you could ever imagine. I’d do anything for you. Anything at all.”

He sighs, eyes falling shut. He leans forward, resting his forehead against yours. “Would you catch the stars for me?”

It’s an odd question. If he weren’t completely wasted and practically sobbing in your arms in the middle of the street, you might even find it to be an endearing one. “Yeah, sure. I’d catch the stars. I’d bring each and every one of them down to the ground for you.”

“What about the moon?”

“The moon too. If you asked me for it, I’d give it to you. I’d give you anything, Jun.”

He stares at you in silence, a single tear falling down his cheek, hanging onto his jaw.

“Kiss me,” he rasps, leaning even closer so that his lips are only a breath away from yours.

For some reason, you’re hesitating. His lips are practically against your own already, tempting you closer to the comfort they always provide for you, melting the worries of your small and insignificant world to nothing as you’re taken over by thoughts of nothing but him.

But tonight, you don’t want your worries to fall to the wayside. You’re searching his eyes again and remember how you used to see the stars shining in them. Tonight, you curse the city lights under your breath. They’ve killed your shot at seeing the starlight’s reflection there when you need it the most.

His eyes fall shut. “Y/N. Kiss me.”

Your throat feels tight, the worries in your mind pressing in on you, like the walls of a prison cell that are about to cave in, locking you forever in their grasp. They come closer, and closer, until you fear they’ll suffocate you and swallow you whole.

You throw away any reservations, closing the distance between yourself and Yeonjun, taking his lips captive with yours. Every clash of your teeth, every swipe of his tongue against your chapped lips, every breathless whisper of your name falling from his mouth – it all pushes the negative thoughts further and further away. His kiss is a haven, despite the burn of the cherry soju, just like you knew it would be.

You’re reminded once more, as you are every moment of every day: you love him. You love him, and it’s still enough to get you by.

----------

No matter how many times Yeonjun wakes up in bed with a hellish hangover, he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the pain and guilt that simultaneously wash over him within an instant of him opening his eyes to the late afternoon light seeping through his window.

When he turns over on his side, squinting against the brightness in the room, his guilt multiplies tenfold when he realizes that you’re not in bed next to him. Again.

He sits up, running his hand over his eyes. He takes a whiff of his own breath, nearly gagging at the rancid smell of sour soju that pours out of him. One sniff is all the motivation he needs to drag himself out of bed and stumble towards the bathroom. He grabs his toothbrush and toothpaste, getting to work at remedying the horrible version of morning breath that’s plaguing him.

The memories of the night before are coming back to him, playing one by one in his head like a bad movie looping on a broken DVD player, skipping and replaying all the most dreadful moments, savoring the bad luck of the lovers on screen. He squeezes his eyes shut, scrubbing furiously at his back teeth as his mind works against him once more, reminding him of how badly he’s screwed up, of how awful you must feel, of how you’re definitely not going to bring it up to him, and of how he’ll need to make it up to you for certain this time, promising you to never screw up that badly ever again.

He spits into the sink, turning on the water to rinse it down. He watches it go down the drain, eyes unfocused as his mind races. He’s tired, he’s so tired of this vicious cycle that he puts you through every week – no, every day. He can promise himself til the end of the world that he’s going to change, that he’s going to abandon his reckless ways, that he won’t let the thoughts win ever again.

But he’s afraid. He can hardly believe his own promises now. How long can he keep convincing you to have faith in him, when his faith in himself is already gone?

He hears the front door to the apartment open, followed swiftly by your voice. “Jun? You up?”

He turns the faucet off after splashing a bit of cold water in his face. “Yeah, in here.”

“Ah, perfect. You’re already here,” You say as you turn the corner into the bathroom. There’s a plastic bag in your hand, and you set it on the counter, pulling the items out one by one. A box of black hair dye. Conditioner. A pair of plastic gloves. A plastic mixing bowl and a brush.

“What’s this?” Yeonjun picks up the box of hair dye, turning it over in his hands.

“Your roots are growing in.” You stand on your toes, gently pulling your fingers through his hair. His eyes flutter shut for just a moment, savoring the touch, before the guilt in his stomach pulls him back to reality. “I know it’s not really in the budget for you to go back for another bleach, yeah?”

He nods, setting the box dye back on the counter. “You’re gonna dye it for me?”

“Of course.” You respond without hesitation, and he’s not surprised. Your words from the night before are seeping into his brain, clouding everything else around him.

If you asked me for it, I’d give it to you. I’d give you anything, Jun.

You’re prying open the box, pouring the color and developer into the bowl. His throat feels tight. Whether it’s from the chemicals or the lump of regret he’s been harboring for what feels like decades, he’s not sure.

Per your instructions, he sits down on the closed toilet as you pull on the plastic gloves. You clip up a section of his hair, slowly working the product into his blonde strands, fried from too much bleach. Every touch from you against his scalp, every brush of your chest against his shoulders, every breath from your lips that he feels gently caress his neck as you lean in for a better angle is working a fire up within him. He’s suffocating from the inside out. He needs you closer, your touch, everything. The fire is creeping his way through his stomach, invading his lungs, burning his throat. He needs you. Yet, at the same time, he wants you to step as far away from him as possible. He’s afraid, so afraid, of this consuming fire within him jumping from himself to you, burning you alive right along with him.

He’s quiet during the entire process, and so are you for the most part, only the occasional hum from your lips breaking the silence. He realizes you’re humming one of his songs. His eyes burn. He chooses to blame it on the chemicals.

“Okay,” you say when you’re finished covering his hair with the black dye. “All done. I’m gonna hop in the shower while it develops, then you can rinse it out.” He nods, and you narrow your eyes. “Jun. Have you eaten today?”

He gulps. “No. . . Kinda just woke up.”

You huff out a breath, pulling the gloves from your hands tossing them in the garbage. “Go eat, please. I’ll come get you when it’s time.”

You practically shove him out of the bathroom and towards the kitchen before turning back to put the shower on. He glances over his shoulder, seeing that you’ve left the door cracked open. He wanders towards the fridge, trying not to itch his scalp. The dye burns a bit, but he barely notices.

He finds a cup of yogurt and fishes a spoon from the drawer, propping himself against the counter as he slowly starts on his “breakfast”. Soon enough, he’s finished the cup and he hears you shut the water off.

“Jun!” You call. “It’s time!”

“Mm, coming,” he mumbles, tossing his garbage into the can before he slowly makes his way back to the bathroom. He pushes the door open, a thick cloud of steam hitting him instantly. He waves his hand through the air a bit and stops when he sees you through the fog, nothing but a towel wrapped around your body, hair wet and sticking to your shimmering skin. His breath catches in his throat as his eyes travel up your body, tracing all the curves and edges until he meets your gaze.

You smile softly at him. “Ready?”

“Ready?” He rasps, clearing his throat. “I mean – for what?”

“To rinse your hair?”

He swallows. “Oh.” He pulls off his tee shirt, leaving him in just his boxers. He feels warm as the steam wraps around his bare skin. You push back the shower curtain and motion for him to step inside. He sees the stool that you’ve set on the floor of the shower and sits down, watching as you step in behind him. You pull the shower head down and turn the water on, testing the temperature on your hand before letting the water run over his hair, gently running your fingers through his locks.

The water is lukewarm and muddied from the black dye, trickling down his neck and bare chest. He’s not sure why he feels so guilty for the way his heart is pounding against his chest, the way his hands are aching to touch you as you stand behind him and rinse the product out. He’s been with you for so long and he’s seen every part of you time and time again, but no matter how much he tries, he can never seem to shake the nervousness that overcomes when he feels your breath down his neck, sending sparks flying down his spine, igniting a fire in his veins that he had no means of extinguishing. Every touch of your fingertips against his scalp pains him. It makes him want you more and more.

“Y/N.” His voice is raspy. He clears his throat. “How long is this gonna take?”

“I’m supposed to rinse until the water runs clear.” You’re leaning down when you answer him, probably to get a better angle as you continue to run your hands through his hair as you rinse. He’s sure you’re unaware of the way your lips accidentally brush against the shell of his ear when you speak, but he isn’t so lucky. He can’t ignore it. The sparks are running all along his skin now.

He swallows. Hard. “And how long does that usually take?”

You laugh lightly, your fingers casually sliding a bit further down the nape of his neck before retreating back behind his hairline. “Why, Jun? Do you have somewhere to be?”

He doesn’t understand how you still can’t seem to see the agony you’re causing him. He doesn’t quite understand it himself; he’s made you his countless times. Yet, for some odd reason, he still feels the same desperation, the same urgency, the same overwhelming longing for your skin against his as if it’s the first time all over again.

He reaches behind him and clasps a hand around your wrist, stilling your movement. His chest is rising and falling with labored breaths, water continuing to slide down his skin, pooling beneath his feet.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He slowly pulls your hand down, your palm sliding over his shoulder and down his chest. By pulling your hand down, he’s also drawn you closer to him. He feels the rough fabric of your towel against his back. “Nothing’s wrong.”

You’re closer now; he can feel your breath against his neck more distinctly than before. Your breathing has become labored to match his own. He feels your chest push against his back with each inhale. He tilts his head back so he’s looking up at you as you loom over him. Your cheeks are flushed, and he’s unable to tell if it’s because of him or the lingering steam. He keeps one hand over yours on his chest and brings the other up to cradle your jaw, his fingers lightly grazing over your cheekbone.

“Jun.” You inhale sharply after whispering his name, still holding the showerhead in your other hand. The water is pointed at the shower floor now, occasionally splashing up onto his legs. He pulls your face down, closer to his own, until his nose is brushing against your skin. Then, his lips are against yours, soft and gentle, heart fluttering in his chest.

You sigh against him, your hand moving freely along his chest now, tracing circles across his damp skin. He moves his other hand up to hold the other side of your face, pulling you further against him. He wants to remain gentle, afraid of the intensity of the fire that continues to blaze within him. Yet, as though entranced, he parts his lips and closes them around yours with more pressure than before. You hum at the movement, your hand halting briefly against his chest before slowly sliding lower down his stomach, reaching dangerous territory as your fingers tease the waistline of his boxers.

Electrified by the sensation, Yeonjun loses control. He breaks the kiss, leaving you with your mouth agape as he stands abruptly, prying the running shower head from your grasp and hanging it back in its place. The water pours over both of you now like rain, black from the dye as it runs down Yeonjun’s bare chest. He tosses the stool out of the shower, ridding himself of the only obstacle between himself and you.

He cups your neck in his hand, pulling you flush against his chest as he collides with you once more, desperate and feverish as his teeth graze your bottom lip. You gasp against him, hands sliding up his back, tangling themselves in his dripping black hair. He turns and pushes you back against the wall, hands desperate as they work to unravel the towel that still covers you. He tosses it over the curtain rod once you’re free of it, his lips trailing down to explore what he’s just uncovered. Your hands are still in his hair, small gasps and moans slipping past your lips when he reaches the sensitive spots on your chest with his lips, biting gently before smoothing the skin over with his tongue.

Your hands slide down his chest, followed by a trail of black from his hair as they wrap around to his hips. You pull him into you as his mouth travels back up to the crook of your neck, grinding your hips against his. He gasps, biting at your skin when you make contact.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he whispers, palms covering your breasts as you push yourself into him once more. He groans, resting his forehead on your shoulder as you continue to move against him rhythmically, kissing along his collarbone.

“Yeonjun,” you rasp, moaning softly when he slides his knee between your legs, pushing against your sensitive spot.

“I want you, Y/N.” He knows you know this, but he feels the need to say it at this moment.

You still at his words. He raises his head, eyes meeting yours. He can’t be sure if it’s tears or the shower water, but something is welling in your eyes.

He furrows his brow, brushing your sopping hair behind your ear. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

You smile softly, shaking your head. “Nothing. I just– I needed to hear that.” You softly push your lips against his, sliding his boxers down as you kiss him slowly.

“I love you, Jun,” you whisper against him, jumping up to wrap your legs around his waist. He catches you, holding you against him as he kisses you back, gingerly, closing his eyes and shutting out the pain he had just seen in your gaze.

He’s too aware now– aware of why there were tears in your eyes. About the guilt he’s felt all these months, and the sickening feeling that has been growing in the pit of his stomach; it’s all become so clear to him. The way he’s been holding onto you so tightly, without thinking about how he’d been dragging you down with him. How he’s been so afraid of the person he was becoming that he couldn’t bear the thought of being alone with himself– without you.

Because he knows, at the end of the day, that you would do anything for him without him even having to ask. That you would stay beside him with claw marks in your skin and bruises around your wrists from how desperate he had been to keep you there, no matter the cost.

He knows that you would ruin yourself a million times over for him. You would never let him go.

Not without him letting you go first.

----------

You had heard it said before that everything would feel just right for a fraction of a moment right before it all went so horribly wrong, so horribly fast.

It’s subtle at first. You open your eyes, smiling as the sunlight trickles through the open window. Rolling onto your side, you reach out your arm, hoping to brush your hand against his skin. When you find the space beside you to be empty, you’re disappointed, but not particularly surprised. This is to be expected.

However, when you sit up, something is off. Everything is too quiet, too empty. You slide out of bed, wandering into the kitchen, heart rate increasing with each step you take.

“Jun?” You call, biting the inside of your cheek when silence is the only response.

You see a note taped to the front of the fridge. Your breath catches.

Before even reading it, you’re certain you know what it says. There’s a feeling somewhere deep in your gut, toiling like a stormy sea.

You hold your breath as you pull the note off and begin to read.

Y/N,

Have I ever told you how much you remind me of the moon? You are soft, glowing, lighting the darkness. Constant – even when I can’t see you, I know you are there. Somber, kind. Beautiful.

Everything.

How could I deserve to love the moon when, right now, I can barely even see the stars?

I am the tide. Pulling close to you, then rushing far away. I want to stay close, but right now, I can’t. Something pulls me back, each time.

I love you. So, so much. Because I love you, I have to let you go. I need help. The kind of help that would be cruel to continue asking you to give me. I want to get better, not just for you, but for myself as well.

My moon, please continue to shine. I may not see you, but I will always know you are there. And, like the tide, you will still hear me, even from afar. In the songs on the breeze, the melodies in the trees, the steady beat of your heart. Remember me in all of it.

When the time is right, and if I can get better, I will find you again. I promise. But in the meantime, I ask you just one thing: don’t waste away waiting for me to return. Live. To the fullest, in the most beautiful way you can. Please don’t forget to live.

Love, Jun

Teardrops stain the paper. Your hand shakes as you sink to the ground, unsure of what sounds leave you as your chest heaves, eyes squeezing shut to block out the sunlight that now feels blinding.

Yet, in the midst of it all, something small and warm settles into the pit of your chest. It burns, yet it comforts you. As you sob, fists wrapped up in the soft fabric of his tee shirt that you had fallen asleep in, you pretend that you are holding on to that warm feeling, keeping it close, never letting go.

This feeling – this hope – is what keeps you going. You know that, despite it all, you will not forget to live.

----------

THE SUN SETS, AND YOU FEEL AT PEACE.

The soft pinks and purples of the last bit of sunset begin to fade, rippling away with the ocean’s waves as the sun sinks beneath the horizon line. You take a deep breath, closing your eyes as the salt air fills your nose. The sand is cooling beneath your feet and you shiver as the breeze flows by, wrapping your cardigan tighter around your shoulders.

There’s nobody behind you now, but that’s okay.

A bell dings in the distance. You turn, letting your eyes slide open.

You aren’t sure if it’s him at first, partially due to the distance, and partially because his hair is now back to his natural black color. He’s riding his bike, dinging the small bell from the handle. As he approaches, you can see the soft smile settling on his lips. In his hand, he holds an ice cream cone.

Tears prickle at the corners of your eyes, but you smile, so big you can’t help but laugh.

He stops in front of you, nearly dropping the ice cream cone from his hand before he lets the bike fall to the ground. His own eyes are full of tears, but he too smiles, stars dancing in his eyes. He extends the ice cream cone to you, and you smile wider, fingers brushing against his as you grab hold of it. “Happy birthday, Y/N.”

Your heart skips a beat at his voice. “Thank you, Jun.”

You’re both silent, soaking in the presence of one another, listening to the waves crash against the shore, saltwater spraying across your ankles. His head is tilted towards the sky.

“Look up,” he whispers.

You lean your head back, sighing in contentment as the moon comes into sight.

“It’s beautiful,” you say.

His hand slides into yours.

“Yes. You are.”

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