Title:"Hell on Me" [inspired by hell on me by jhonny huynh] Minho had always noticed Han's smile. Not because it lit up the room, but because it pretended to. It was the kind of smile that tricked the world wide, bright, and full of jokes. But behind it, Minho saw the cracks. The tired eyes. The silence in the moments between laughter. They had known each other for years, orbiting in the same group, writing lyrics late at night, sharing ramen, swapping dreams. But somewhere along the line, the air between them shifted. Minho started staying a little later. Han started letting his guard down. And one night, Han finally broke. “I’m tired, Min,” he said, voice hoarse, hands shaking slightly. “Of pretending. Of being fine. Of holding everything in.” They were alone in the studio, dim lights casting shadows on the walls. Minho didn’t speak just moved closer, rested his forehead against Han’s, and whispered, “Then let it out. I’ll carry it for you.” Han laughed bitterly. “You don’t want that.I’m... I’m a mess.” Minho’s hand cupped the back of Han’s neck gently. “Then let me carry your mess. Let the world put hell on me if it means you get peace.” Han blinked, startled. “Why would you do that?” Minho’s eyes searched his. “Because I love you. And I don’t care how heavy it gets I won’t leave.” That night, Han cried for the first time in years. And Minho held him through every shiver, every tear. He didn’t try to fix him. He didn’t offer empty words. He just stayed. And from then on, when Han’s world got loud, when the shadows in his mind screamed louder than the music Minho was there. Sometimes with words. Sometimes with silence. Always with love.

Title:"Cars Outside"[inspired by Cars Outside by james arthur] The rain drizzled against the windowpane like soft whispers, each droplet tapping a reminder of the time ticking away. Outside the airport terminal, cars honked and headlights blinked in the haze of a gray morning. But inside, it felt quiet too quiet. Y/N sat on the cold bench near Gate 23, her fingers curled tightly around the handle of her coffee cup. It had long gone cold. Her eyes didn’t leave the departure board, even though she knew what it said. Flight 702 to Los Angeles. Departing in 1 hour. She felt his presence before she saw him. That familiar rhythm in her chest, the way the air always shifted when Bang Chan walked into the room. He was wearing his black hoodie, his hair slightly messy from the wind, and his eyes those warm, tired eyes landed on her like home. He didn't say anything at first. Just sat beside her, close enough that their shoulders touched, close enough to feel each other's heartbeat in the silence. "You really have to go?" she whispered, voice barely audible over the distant announcements. Chan let out a slow sigh, his hand finding hers. “Yeah… but I don’t want to. Not from you.” Y/N blinked back the sting in her eyes. “You always say that. And then you leave.” “I don’t want to leave this time,” he said, turning to her fully now. “If I could, I’d stay. I’d throw it all away. The tours, the music, the lights just to wake up next to you every day.” She looked down at their intertwined fingers. “Then why don’t you?” He hesitated. Not because he didn’t love her he did, more than he knew how to say. But his world wasn’t simple. There were fans, commitments, a dream he’d been chasing since he was 13. And somehow, in chasing that dream, he’d found her but he was always being pulled away. “I have to finish this,” he said quietly. “But I promise you something, Y/N. One day, when the cars are outside again, waiting for me to go” She looked up at him. and nod.

Title: "Behind My Bright Smile" [inspired by Dont make me by bixby] Sunoo was the kind of boy who smiled too much. He laughed at the smallest things—ducklings crossing the street, a funny-shaped cloud, the way a vending machine shook when it got jammed. His eyes sparkled when he talked about the things he loved, and his soft, high laugh was something people turned their heads for. But it wasn’t real. Not all of it, anyway. Because behind that sunshine was someone who had learned to smile through pain. At home, Sunoo wasn’t the cheerful kid everyone thought he was. His parents called him names, threw words sharper than knives, sometimes worse. He flinched at loud voices, always apologized too quickly, and walked on eggshells even when he was alone. Everyone at school just thought he was “a little weird,” “too soft,” “too girly.” Some of the guys picked on him pushed him in the halls, called him names. He never fought back. He just smiled, said it was okay. He was used to pretending. Except when Y/N was around. Y/N didn’t talk much. She walked like she owned the hallway, glare cold enough to stop gossip mid-sentence. People moved out of her way. She was sharp words and leather jackets, fists that didn’t miss and eyes that didn’t soften. Except when it came to him. She noticed the way Sunoo smiled like it was armor. How his sleeves always covered his wrists, how his backpack seemed heavier than it should be. She didn’t say anything at first. Just started showing up when the bullies did standing behind him with her arms crossed until they backed off without a word. Sunoo would look up at her, blinking in surprise. They never confessed. Not in words. But in the way she walked him home every day. In the way he waited for her at the front gate every morning with a juice box in hand. In the way she punched a wall when she saw him flinch at his own phone vibrating. In the way he put stickers on her motorbike and she didn’t rip them off It wasn’t loud but real.

Title: "Those Eyes" [Inspired by Those eyes by the west] Han had lived in the apartment next to Y/N since they were both teenagers. Same creaky stairwell. Same shared balcony rail. Same 2AM ramen cravings that led to awkward run-ins by the vending machine. He didn’t remember when he first started noticing her. Maybe it was the night she sat on the steps crying quietly into her sleeves. Or the morning she knocked on his door just to borrow sugar but stayed for tea and three hours of talking about absolutely nothing. But ever since that day, Han started to remember her in everything. The way she tied her hair when she was focused. The laugh she made when she was caught off guard. The song she always hummed even when she didn’t know she was humming it. And, most of all, those eyes. The ones that looked like they held a thousand stories most of which she never said out loud. One summer night, Y/N knocked on his door. “Can we go somewhere?” she asked, her voice softer than usual. No questions asked Han grabbed his hoodie and followed her. They ended up on the rooftop of their building, feet dangling over the edge, the city glowing below them like a lazy heartbeat. She looked out at the stars and said, “Do you ever feel like everyone’s moving on except you?” Han glanced at her. “All the time.” There was a long silence. Not uncomfortable just full. Like both of them were carrying words that had never made it past their lips. Finally, Y/N whispered, “Sometimes I feel like I’m easy to forget.” Han’s heart broke quietly at that. He turned to her, voice barely above the wind. “I never forget you.” She looked at him then. Really looked. And Han knew she didn’t realize how much she meant to him. How many nights he stayed up replaying old conversations. How he memorized her routines not because he was trying, but because his heart just did. How she made his ordinary days feel like something worth writing about..

Title: "When I See Love" [inspired by Renegade by Aaryah shah] She wasn’t made for soft love. Y/N was fire jagged edges and tired eyes, the kind of girl who spoke in silences louder than screams. Her past wasn’t pretty. She didn’t come wrapped in innocence or ease. She was all sharp words, buried pain, and nights where she didn’t know how to ask for help — only how to hide She didn’t believe in forever. She barely believed in tomorrow.Then came Bang Chan. He was light — not the blinding kind that made you flinch, but the steady warmth you didn’t realize you needed until the cold crept in. He wasn’t loud, but his presence filled every space. He led with kindness, but there was steel beneath it. The kind of quiet strength that could carry others without ever asking for anything in return. He saw Y/N. Not the version she showed the world. Not the armor or the chaos. But the girl underneath it all — terrified of being too much and never enough at the same time. She tried to push him away the first time he got too close. “You don’t want this,” she told him, voice low and tired. “I’ll ruin you.” But Chan didn’t flinch. He looked at her like she was art — messy, brutal, honest art. And he stepped closer. “Then ruin me,” he said. “I’m not scared of you.” No one had ever said that to her. Not without fear. Not without conditions. Their love wasn’t easy. It came in storms — sudden, hard, and unforgiving. Arguments at 3AM that ended with hands in hair and whispered apologies. And of distance that broke her, followed by the way Chan would find her every time and say, “Come home. To me.” He didn’t try to fix her. He loved her. He loved her in all the ways no one else had — not despite her chaos, but because of it. He saw the rage in her bones and kissed the fire. He held her in silence when she couldn’t speak, stayed when she shut down, and never once asked her to be anything less than who she was. And she loved him in return.

Title: "Hidden Flame" [inspired by desire by bixby] By day, Y/N is the elusive ninth member of Stray Kids — the only girl in the group, sharp in choreography, magnetic on stage, and impossible to pin down. Fans are captivated by her presence, her mystery, the way she moves like she’s holding something just out of reach. What they don’t know is… she is. Behind the flashing cameras, behind the curated perfection of K-pop, Y/N is married — to Seungmin. The voice of reason in the group. The quiet warmth. The boy whose voice lingers like a memory and whose love is a slow-burning fire. They’ve been married since 2022, a secret bound tightly between stolen moments and unwavering trust. Only the members know. Their silence is sacred — a brotherhood that protects what matters most. On stage, it’s all professionalism. Off stage, it’s everything else. It’s Seungmin’s hand resting at the small of her back when no one’s watching. It’s the shared looks across dance studios, the way their eyes speak a language no one else hears. Their love isn’t loud. It doesn’t need to be. It thrives in whispers, in brushed fingertips and late-night phone calls from opposite sides of hotel rooms. It’s in the hoodie she steals when he’s not looking, in the way he always orders her favorite drink before she even says a word. It’s dangerous — loving in secret. But it’s also real. And in a world built on image, Y/N and Seungmin choose truth behind closed doors. Two years strong. And every second, worth it

? Title: "Killin' It, Girl" [inspired by j-hope "killin it girl"] In the heart of Seoul, where the city pulsed with neon dreams and street rhythms, Minho was known for two things: his smooth dance moves and his low-key charm. A rising choreographer with a magnetic energy, he lived for the music, the motion—and lately, a girl who moved through the world like she owned it. That girl was Y/N. She wasn't trying to impress. She just was. Confident, kind, stylish—like every sidewalk was her runway. She worked at a design studio by day, danced in underground cyphers by night, and wore her ambition like perfume—subtle but unforgettable. The first time Minho saw her was at a small dance event in Hongdae. She stepped onto the floor like it was made for her, dressed in loose denim, a cropped hoodie, and that expression—the one that said “I don’t chase, I attract.” She danced with fire. Not flashy, but full of soul. Every move said: I know who I am. Minho was stunned. “She’s killin’ it,” he whispered. "Who?" his friend asked. He pointed. "Her." A week later, they crossed paths again—this time at a rooftop jam session. Minho was invited to perform. Y/N was just there to vibe. He danced like he had something to prove. She watched, arms folded, eyes lit. When he finished, breathless and smiling, their eyes locked. “You’re good,” she said. He smirked. “You’re better.” She laughed—one of those rare, melodic laughs that made people turn around. “Flattery or challenge?” “Both,” he replied, stepping closer. “Dance battle?” She raised an eyebrow. “You ready to lose?” From that night on, they kept meeting—on rooftops, late-night ramen spots, and graffiti-lined alleys where they’d dance just to keep warm. They talked dreams, swapped playlists, traded late-night texts full of inside jokes and heart emojis they’d pretend not to mean. Minho was captivated by how Y/N didn’t just exist in the world—she owned her space in it. He admired her grind, her confidence.

Title: "When I See You Across The Room" [inspired by g.o.a.t by People said Felix had everything—talent, looks, the kind of confidence that didn’t need to be loud to be felt. But what no one saw was how hollow it all felt. The lights, the fame, the noise—it never touched the part of him that mattered. Until her. He didn’t know her name at first. Just a flash of her in a crowd, like a secret meant only for him. She moved through the night like it belonged to her—like the moon itself bent to her shadow. And when she laughed, it hit him like déjà vu, like he’d heard it before in a dream he couldn’t quite remember but never wanted to wake from. Y/N. That name felt sacred the first time it left his lips. He couldn’t explain it. The obsession didn’t grow—it was there, full-formed. Like his heart had waited its whole life just to find hers beating somewhere in the same rhythm. He watched her without shame, learned her without asking. Not in a possessive way—but in that soul-deep hunger to know every version of her: the way she twisted her ring when she was nervous, the way her eyes dimmed when she pretended to be okay, the way she smiled with her whole being when something truly made her happy. She was chaos and comfort. A paradox. A war he never wanted to win. And he would give it all up—fame, glory, even his own name—if it meant he could keep her. Not because he needed her to complete him. Because she was him. The echo to his voice, the breath behind his lyrics, the fire in his quiet. One night, under a violet sky, she asked, “Why me?” And Felix just stared at her, like she’d asked why the sun rises. “Because there’s no one else. There never was.” He didn’t just love her. He worshipped her. Not like a fairytale prince, but like a man who had walked through a thousand lives just to stand in front of her and say: "You’re my greatest of all time. My only. My forever." She didn’t answer right away. She just kissed him slow, aching, certain..

Title: What Was I Made For? [inspired by what was i made for by billie ellish based on a true story 50% of it is] Y/N was sixteen, but she didn’t feel it. She spent her afternoons sketching sunflowers in her school notebook instead of paying attention to trigonometry. She liked pastel socks and songs that made her feel like she was floating. She wore butterfly clips in her hair, even though people whispered it was “childish.” Y/N was trying—desperately—to hold on to some version of herself that felt like sunlight before the world told her to grow up too fast. But lately, it felt like everyone had decided she didn’t fit." Why do you still dress like that?” “You’re too old for that stuff.” “You need to act more mature.” Every comment was like a tiny blade. She tried to laugh it off. Tried to keep dancing barefoot in her room at night. But each time she looked in the mirror, she wondered if they were right. Maybe she was weird. Maybe the world didn’t want her softness. And then came Minho. He wasn’t like the others. He had this stillness in him that made people pay attention without him ever asking them to. He played guitar in the music room after school, fingers tracing strings like they were secrets he didn’t want to let slip. He was seventeen and already felt like someone who knew how to stand in the storm. They met by accident—Y/N dropped her notebook and a page fluttered to his feet. A sunflower, unfinished. He picked it up like it was something sacred. “You drew this?” “Yeah,” she said, bracing for a joke. But he just smiled. “It’s beautiful. You’re not like anyone else, huh?” It wasn’t a question. It was a fact. And for the first time, that didn’t feel like something to apologize for. They started talking more. In the music room. After class. Through text messages that got longer at night. He would strum soft melodies and ask her what colors they reminded her of. She’d tell him moss green, dusty pink, midnight blue Thats where it began

🎱 Title: “Criminal Heart” [inspired by criminal by taemin] He was the worst kind of mistake. And she kept making it.Y/N knew Han from a distance before she ever spoke to him. He was chaos wrapped in laughter, danger hidden behind dimples. People warned her — not directly, but with the way they glanced at him when he entered a room. Like he was a fire they couldn’t help watching, even as it burned too close. She met him during a songwriting camp. They were paired together on accident. Or maybe fate just wanted to play a cruel joke. “Don’t fall in love with me,” Han had said on the first day, tone light, but something in his eyes sharp. “I wasn’t planning to,” she replied. But it happened anyway. Late nights in the studio turned into secret glances. Touches that lingered. Lyrics they wrote together started sounding less like fiction, more like confessions. He was unpredictable — sweet one second, distant the next. He pushed her away, then pulled her closer like he couldn’t breathe without her. She should’ve run. Everyone told her so. But when he touched her, it felt like sin wrapped in silk. Like being wanted by someone who could destroy you — and letting them. “You make me worse,” he whispered once, after kissing her like he was starving. “And I don’t even care.” She stared at him in the dark, her pulse still racing. “Then ruin me. Just don’t leave.” And he did ruin her. Every fight, every secret meeting, every time he disappeared and came back with apologies laced in kisses — it all chipped away at who she was before him. But the truth was… she didn’t want to be saved. Because with Han, even pain felt like love. Even destruction felt like Home.

Title: “Seeing You Peform.” Y/N didn’t expect much from the duet. Another late-night rehearsal. Another tightly controlled schedule from the company. But when she walked into the studio and saw him — Bang Chan — leaning against the mirror with his hoodie half-on and his eyes half-lit with something unreadable, everything shifted. He didn’t look surprised to see her. Like he already knew. You’re late,” he said casually, pushing off the mirror. His voice was calm, but his eyes were anything but. “Five minutes,” she replied, walking past him like she hadn’t already noticed how he was watching her. It started like a normal rehearsal. Professional. Focused. Except it wasn’t. The choreography was meant to be intimate — it had to feel like desire, like obsession, like a need that left no room to breathe. But what scared her wasn’t the dance. It was how natural it felt with him. When he touched her, it was never too much. But it was never just enough, either. Fingers at her waist, breath brushing her neck. Every step they took together blurred the line between stage and something else. “You feel that too, don’t you?” he asked one night after rehearsal, sweat glistening on his skin, voice low and rough. She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. The studio became a confessional. He started staying late, and so did she. Talking turned into silence. Silence turned into stares that lasted too long. Until one night, the music cut off — and he didn’t move away. He pressed his forehead to hers, and for a moment, everything stilled. “This isn’t just a performance anymore,” he whispered. “I know,” she breathed. From that night on, it changed. Behind closed doors, it was fire. No rules. No labels. Just touches that bruised and kisses that felt like surrender. He wanted all of her — the parts she kept hidden, the parts she didn’t even know how to give. And she gave them. Willingly. But even in the quiet, there was danger.

Title:"Mind Games" [Inspired by “Mind Games" Sik-kick] Y/N should’ve known Minho was trouble the first time she saw him. He wasn’t loud or obvious. He didn’t need to be. He sat in the bar, always dressed in black, nursing a drink like he was waiting for a reason to leave — or a reason to stay. They met through friends. Barely. Just a glance and a nod. But she kept noticing him. Watching her. Not in a desperate way — in a way that made her wonder what he already knew about her. They never said much, but every conversation felt like a dare. "You don’t trust people easily, do you?" he asked once, voice smooth and low, like he already knew the answer. She stared at him. “And you do?” He smiled without humor. “I like watching people lie to themselves.” It was a strange connection — all tension and timing. He was unreadable. She hated that. She was guarded. He loved that. They pushed and pulled like it was instinct. They never officially started anything, but they kept ending up in the same places. Close. Closer. Not touching, but burning. Minho had a way of saying things without speaking. A glance that said follow me. A breath that said don’t look away. And Y/N never did. They played this game for weeks — testing limits, crossing lines in dim rooms and on rooftops at 2 AM. He was chaos in disguise, and she was starting to enjoy being undone. “I don’t know what you want from me,” she whispered one night, his face inches from hers. Minho tilted his head. “I don’t want anything you’re not already giving.” And that was the problem — she was giving. Little pieces. Glances. Secrets. Weaknesses. And he collected them like trophies, without ever offering anything back. Until he did.

Title:“Against My Better Judgment” (Inspired by “Advice” by TAEMIN) Y/N had always seen Hyunjin as the embodiment of everything she despised — too perfect, too polished, too aware of his own charm. He walked through the art school halls like he owned every inch of the floor, his sketchbook clutched like a crown. There was something about his silence that screamed superiority, and the way he critiqued her work with words dipped in honey and poison made her blood boil. “You rely too much on safe lines,” he told her once during a group critique, voice cool and expression unreadable. “You’re too careful. Art should be reckless.” She bit back the urge to snap. Instead, she stared him down. “And you mistake chaos for genius.” The room had gone quiet. That was the first real moment between them — the spark beneath the ice. They were always circling, clawing at each other’s pride, like magnets in reverse. Every interaction felt like a chess match — one calculated move after another, hidden insults wrapped in velvet. So when their professor paired them for a joint installation project, Y/N felt the world tilt. Hyunjin didn’t flinch. Of course he didn’t. “Don’t drag me down,” he said as they left the room. “You should be more worried about keeping up,” she shot back. The studio became a battleground. Paint splattered on walls, music playing low in the background — always strange, offbeat, haunting, like something from Hyunjin’s mind. They barely spoke unless it was to argue about color palettes, concept angles, or message interpretation. But the silences started to change

Title: "Roses" [Inspired by Roses by Jaehyun] Y/N had always been careful with her heart. Growing up around people who loved conditionally made her cautious, quiet, and good at pretending. But all of that unraveled the moment Hyunjin walked into the antique bookstore where she worked soaking wet, bleeding from his knuckles, and asking for a book he never intended to read. She should’ve turned him away. His presence felt dangerous in the way a calm ocean hides a riptide. But something in his eyes a loneliness so loud it felt like screaming kept her frozen. He came back the next day, and the next. Never buying anything. Sometimes talking, sometimes not. But he always looked at her like she was the only person who didn’t flinch when he entered a room. He told her his name one rainy Thursday, after they sat in silence for nearly an hour “Hyunjin.” She looked up from her book, surprised. “Y/N.” He nodded once, like he’d been waiting to hear it. The next morning, she found a rose on the counter. Deep red. No card, no explanation. He didn’t show up that day, or the one after. When he returned, his jaw was bruised and his eyes darker than usual. “What happened to you?” she asked quietly. He just shook his head. “Don’t ask. Not tonight.” She didn’t. But the next evening, she found him sitting outside the back door, cigarette between his fingers, a rose in his lap. “I ruin everything I touch,” he said without looking at her. “Then don’t touch me,” she whispered. “Just stay.” And he did. Hyunjin became a shadow in her world. Soft, quiet, but always present. She never asked for his secrets, but they came out in pieces anyway whispers about a broken home a mistake with a price a loyalty that almost cost him his life One night, she looked at him as he left a rose beside her coffee cup. Pink when he missed her. White when he felt peace. Red when he couldn't find the words for how much he loved her. One morning, she found a black rose there love was with roses.

Title: "Taste Of Your Necter" [inspired by Necter By jay park] Setting: A neon-lit rooftop bar in Seoul, summertime. Jay had it all—swagger in his step, velvet in his voice, and a gaze that could melt glaciers. But he wasn’t looking for anything serious. Not until Y/N walked in She wasn’t trying to be noticed. That’s what made it impossible not to notice her. She moved like poetry soft, graceful, untouchable. Dressed in muted tones but radiating light, she took a seat at the end of the rooftop bar, sipping a lychee martini like she had all the time in the world. Jay was used to being the center of attention. But for once, he wanted to be the one looking in from the sidelines. That night, something shifted. She smiled—not at him, not for anyone. Just smiled. And Jay’s heart did something stupid. He approached. “Do you believe in temptation?” he asked, half-joking, fully aware of how cliché it sounded. Y/N tilted her head, curious. “Only if it tastes sweet enough.” From that moment, the world blurred. Every night they met on that rooftop. Conversations melted into whispers, and whispers turned into touches. She’d laugh at his pick-up lines; he’d write secret lyrics about the curve of her smile. “You taste like nectar,” he murmured once, his lips brushing against hers beneath the stars. “Addictive. Dangerous.” She leaned in closer. “Then take a sip. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Days turned into weeks. Their love was golden hour embodied—honey-drenched and too beautiful to last forever. Jay was falling harder than he meant to. She was the calm in his chaos, the muse he never knew he needed. But Y/N? She was more complex than he’d imagined. Guarded. Scarred. She’d been someone’s fantasy beforeand it almost broke her. “Promise me,” she whispered one night, her fingers tracing the outline of his tattoo. “Promise me you won’t leave when it stops being perfect.” “I won’t,” Jay said, without hesitation. “Even nectar spoils eventually.

Title: "Fix Me Like You Want To" Y/N didn’t like to talk about her father. She had learned early that silence was safer than remembering. Safer than explaining. Safer than crying. Her past came with sharp edges, and she wore her indifference like armor. Enter Bang Chan—the kind of guy who looked like he’d never been hurt, but talked like he’d been broken too many times. They met at a late-night party in a stranger’s apartment, the kind where the music drowned out real thoughts and everyone smiled too wide. She was sitting on the balcony, a cigarette she wouldn’t light between her fingers, when he walked out. “You look like you want to be anywhere but here,” he said. She gave him a sideways glance. “That obvious?” He shrugged and sat beside her, too close for comfort and just far enough for safety. They talked for hours. Chan was warm in a way Y/N didn’t trust. He asked questions gently and didn’t flinch when she didn’t answer. He never pressed, never pitied. And maybe that’s why she kept showing up. To the record store where he worked. To the cheap diner where he wrote lyrics in the margins of his napkins. To the rooftop where they’d sit in silence and watch the world go dim. He never asked her to open up—but she did. Slowly. Like unwrapping a wound. “You don’t have to fix me,” she told him once, eyes glossy from a long night. “I’m not trying to,” he said. “But I’ll hold the pieces if you want me to." Y/N would flinch at certain songs, certain touches, certain looks. And Chan noticed. Noticed the way she froze when someone raised their voice, even if it wasn’t angry. Noticed the way she laughed when she wanted to cry. “You ever been loved right?” he asked her one night, when the moon was high and the city was asleep. She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. So he kissed her—slow, careful, like she was made of glass and still worth every cut.

Title: "Your Name My Violence" [inspired by "Not for sale" by ENHYPEN] Everyone at Blackridge High knew Seungmin. Leather jacket. Cold eyes. Fist fights behind the gym. He never smiled unless it was after knocking someone flat on the pavement. He wasn’t a player he didn’t care enough to charm anyone. He was a storm walking the halls. The kind of boy teachers warned you about and school when she caught a group of guys cornering a younger student. Everyone else looked away. Y/N didn’t She stepped in too brave for her own good And just before things got ugly a hand reached in. Fast. Brutal. Precise. Seungmin. Blood on his knuckles, but his voice was calm. “Touch her again and I’ll bury your teeth in the dirt.” That was the first time he looked at her really looked at her. And for the first time, Y/N saw something behind the fury restraint After that, he started showing up In shadowsQuietly He’d lean by the school gate until she finished her club meetings. He never walked beside her. Just behind. Just close enough People started talking. “Why’s Seungmin always around her?” “She’s the good girl. He’ll ruin her” Maybe he would But Y/N wasn’t scared She started walking toward him instead of past him. Offered him a smile He didn’t return it not at First but his eyes softened Just barely Then one night under the broken lights of the old rooftop garden he finally spoke “u shouldn’t be near me” “Why not?” “Because I don’t get better” he said “I dont change I break things” She took a step closer brushing her fingers against the ring he always wore “Maybe I don’t want better Maybe I want real” His control snapped not violently, but desperately He kissed her and since then he has been next to her like her shadow.

"Moonlight After You" [ Inspired by "the day that i died" by woonsung Moon..WE MISS YOU] Y/N had always loved the stars. Maybe it was because they reminded her of him — Moonbin. The boy with the galaxy in his eyes, the laugh like wind chimes, and a heart so full of light it warmed every dark corner of her world. They met under ordinary circumstances. A shared coffee order at a little book café, a brief conversation about the constellations painted on the ceiling, and a smile that lingered long after they parted ways. He found her again days later, sitting alone in the same corner of the shop, sketching a moon in her journal. He took it as fate. She took it as curiosity. From that day on, they were inseparable. Moonbin had a way of making silence feel safe. Of holding her hand like he’d known her soul for lifetimes. They'd stargaze from rooftops, make up stories about the constellations, and whisper promises the stars could hear. Y/N would laugh when he said the moon watched over her because it was named after him. He always said, “Even if I’m not here one day, you’ll never be alone. Just look up.” Then came the accident. A car crash. A moment. One heartbeat, then none. The world grayed. Y/N couldn't breathe without pain. The café felt hollow. Her rooftop, barren. Her heart, shattered. But grief, strange as it is, carries echoes. Because Moonbin never really left. At first, it was dreams. Vivid, soft ones where he’d brush hair from her face and whisper, “I miss you, too.” Then little signs: her favorite song playing when she walked into a quiet room, pages in her journal turned to poems she swore she didn’t write, the faint scent of his cologne at sunrise. The moon seemed brighter on nights when she cried. And every time she whispered to the sky, the stars seemed to listen. Y/N started talking to him. Aloud. In her mind. While walking, writing, lying beneath their moon. Her friends said she was healing. But she knew it wasent healing it was him..

"Where the Monster Sleeps" [Inspired by "Control" by halsey] No one went into Han’s bedroom. Not his guards. Not his men. Not even his most trusted second-in-command. It was off-limits—untouchable. Until Y/N. She was new. A maid hired to clean the estate’s east wing. Quiet. Careful. The kind of girl who moved like she didn’t want to be noticed. But Han noticed her. The first time she entered his room, it was by mistake. She froze in the doorway—caught in the eyes of the most feared man in the city. He sat on the edge of his bed, shirt unbuttoned, cigarette burning low. Exhausted. Hollow. Dangerous. He didn’t yell. He didn’t threaten. He just said, “Stay.” Confused, she stayed. That night, he didn’t sleep. But he watched her from the bed as if her presence alone quieted something inside him. The next night, he asked again. And the next. Until one night, without a word, he pulled her into bed beside him. No lust. No force. Just his arm around her waist and his face buried in her hair. And for the first time in years, Han fell asleep. From then on, she became his ritual. His secret. His only peace. He didn’t speak much. Just held her. Slept. Breathed. But when someone left a threat on her pillow—a warning to stay away from “the monster”—Han snapped. He burned their names off the map. When she begged him to stop, he looked her dead in the eye.“If something happens to you, I don’t sleep. I don’t breathe. I burn everything.” She should have been afraid. instead, she laid back down beside him that night, tucked herself into the space he’d carved for her. Because even monsters need someone to keep the darkness away. And she had become that someone. The only place the monster could sleep.

Title:"Red Veins and Gold Blood" [inspired by hero by starfall] In a nation run by kings and whispered betrayals, Prince Bang Chan is the golden illusion. To the public: charming, graceful, loyal to the throne. In reality: calculating, burdened, and brutal when he has to be. He’s not the perfect prince he’s the necessary one. And then Y/N crashes into his life — quite literally — during a black ops sting on a royal arms shipment. She doesn’t wear armor. She is armor. The kind of woman who slices throats and vanishes. No allegiances. No name on record. Just a tattoo across her spine that marks her as a former Shadow Fang — a mercenary syndicate the Crown spent years trying to destroy. She should’ve killed him. He should’ve had her executed. Instead, they stare each other down in a warehouse full of fire and smoke, bloodied and breathless. “Tell your guards to stand down,” she says, unblinking. “Or I swear I’ll paint this concrete with your blood.” Chan lowers his weapon. “Try it.” She doesn’t. Neither does he. Something shifts. From that moment, their paths twist like blades. They meet again. Then again. And every time, it’s tension. Fury. Heat. She mocks his polished suits. He calls her a feral animal. She saves his life in an alley. He stitches her wounds with hands still trembling from killing someone to protect her. They fight side by side. Then they fight each other. Then they kiss like it’s war. “This means nothing,” she snaps one night. “Then why do you keep coming back?” he growls Neither of them have answers. Just bruises and aching hearts and the kind of magnetic pull that makes kings walk into fire. But the kingdom is breaking — the Crown is under siege from inside — and Y/N’s past is about to explode into the spotlight. Turns out, she was once supposed to kill the Prince. She turned on the syndicate instead. Now they both have targets on their backs. but cant do it