SUMMARY: Random messages with the Weak Hero Boys.
PAIRINGS: Yeon Sieun, Ahn Suho, Oh Beomseok, Park Humin, Go Hyuntak, Seo Juntae, Na Baekjin, Geum Seongje.
WARNING: Baku being the dumbest idiot, us ragebaiting Gotak, Gotak falling for the ragebait, Suho is a toddler, nothing makes sense lwk, a bit of suggestive texts here and there,
NOTE: Something random so I can tell I post something (big things coming up I swear🙏). First time making smaus kinda nervous🤞 i might make more in the future if inspired :p also some texts are used twice depending if I thought they could work for multiple characters & some work as two whc boys sending that to each other anyway you'll get it i hope (I'LL MAKE A PART TWO SOON cause there's so much more i made and baku got all the texts here lol) MIGHT BE OOC DONT KILL ME PLS
TAGLIST — @whcfreak, @suhoholic, @10baku, @christinamadsen, @heartshapesandcigarettes, @vamp18e, @ashayein, @stasiamazia
Hey can you make a smut how Seongje will treat his petite gf
⤷ Summary: explores the intense dynamic between Seongje and his petite partner, showcasing his dominant and sadistic nature while highlighting their deep, passionate connection.
⤷ Contains: Explicit sexual content, BDSM elements, rough sex, oral sex, and emotional intensity.
⤷ Pairing: Seongje and his petite partner (referred to as _ in the story).
Seongje and _ found themselves back at his apartment, the air thick with tension and unspoken desires. Seongje's playful demeanor had morphed into something darker, more intense, as he led _ to the bedroom, his hands already gripping her body with a possessive hunger.
As they reached the bed, Seongje roughly pushed _ down, his eyes never leaving hers, burning with a mix of arrogance and lust. He knelt between her legs, his hands roughly trailing up her thighs, hitching her skirt up to reveal more of her soft, pale skin. _'s breath hitched, her body already responding to his demanding touch.
Seongje leaned in, his lips brushing against her inner thigh, leaving a trail of rough, teasing kisses as he made his way upward. _'s hips lifted slightly, inviting him closer, but Seongje pulled back, a cruel smile playing on his lips. "Eager, aren't we?" he taunted, his voice laced with mockery. "Don't worry, I'll give you what you need."
He hooked his fingers into the waistband of her panties and slowly pulled them down, revealing her most intimate place. Seongje took a moment to admire her, his eyes dark with desire and a hint of sadistic pleasure. "You're pathetic, you know that?" he murmured, his voice low and husky. "So desperate for my touch."
_ blushed, her cheeks flushing a deep red, but she didn't look away, her gaze locked with his, defiant despite the insult. Seongje leaned in, his breath hot against her sensitive flesh. He started slowly, his tongue gently exploring, teasing, and tasting, building her up only to pull back, leaving her wanting more.
's back arched off the bed, a soft moan escaping her lips as waves of pleasure washed over her. Seongje's hands gripped her hips, holding her in place as he increased the intensity of his ministrations, his tongue working magic, circling and flicking, driving wild with need.
She tangled her fingers in his hair, her hips bucking against his mouth as he brought her closer and closer to the edge. Seongje could feel her body tensing, her breaths coming in short, sharp gasps. Just as _ was about to climax, Seongje pulled back, a smug smile playing on his lips. "Not yet, you little slut," he teased, his voice laced with arrogance and cruelty. "We're just getting started."
_ whimpered, her body aching with need, but Seongje was already moving, his body covering hers as he positioned himself between her legs. He entered her roughly, inch by inch, feeling her tighten around him. _ cried out, her nails digging into his back as he began to move, his thrusts deep and powerful, his hips slamming against hers.
Seongje leaned down, his lips capturing hers in a bruising kiss as he continued to move inside her, his body demanding and relentless. _ met him thrust for thrust, her body writhing beneath him, her moans filling the room, a mix of pleasure and pain.
Seongje could feel her body tensing again, her inner muscles clamping down on him as she neared her climax. With a final, deep thrust, Seongje sent _ over the edge, her body convulsing as her orgasm hit. The sight of her, the feel of her, sent Seongje over the edge, and he came with a groan, collapsing on top of her, his body sated and satisfied.
They lay there, their bodies slick with sweat, their breaths slowly returning to normal. Seongje kissed _ gently, a soft smile on his lips, his earlier cruelty replaced with a moment of tenderness. "I love you," he murmured, his voice filled with contentment. _ smiled back, her eyes shining with love and satisfaction, despite the rough treatment. "I love you too."
Contains: Romance, canon-typical violence, action, friendship, slight angst i guess, mature content (in later chapters), Seongje acting like an ass(?), etc etc...
The first thing Geum Seongje noticed when he saw Hong Iseul for the very first time was the ribbon.
The soft pink bow, tied neatly at the back of her head, gathering half of her hair together, a few loose strands escaping and brushing against her cheeks as if they refused to be tamed. She looked... delicate.
And even more out of place.
There was warmth in her eyes that didn't belong in a room like this — soft, steady, and stubborn as she stared at the boy sitting across from her, her arms folded across her chest in a way that wasn't defensive, but firm. She looked like she had already decided she wouldn't be moved, no matter what was said to her.
It clashed with everything else around her — the dim lighting, the suffocating tension, Na Baekjin's sharp gaze at — and yet, somehow, she didn't shrink under it. If anything, she softened it without even trying to, like a flame that refused to flicker out no matter how strong the wind blew.
Seongje leaned against the doorway at first, cigarette resting lazily between his lips, with the faint glow at its tip the.
He wasn't supposed to be here — not really. He rarely followed Baekjin's orders unless it was very important or benefited him, and even then, it was more of a suggestion than a rule. So when Baekjin told him to step outside, his body didn't even react.
If anything, he did the opposite.
He pushed himself off the frame and stepped further into the room, uninvited, the scrape of his shoes against the floor cutting through the silence as the smoke curled from his lips, slowly and deliberately seeping into the air.
Iseul blinked, the shift so subtle it could have been missed if he wasn't already watching her so closely. Then her gaze moved, landing on him.
And then their eyes met.
Seongje didn't look away, and neither did she.
His gaze dragged over her face with an ease that bordered on shameless, slow and unhurried, like he had all the time in the world to take her in.
From the intensity in her eyes to the soft slope of her nose, to the faint part of her lips as if she was about to say something but stopped herself at the last moment.
It was neither hurried nor polite.
And she felt it.
It settled under her skin, subtle but undeniable, sending a faint shiver down her spine that she tried to ignore, even as her fingers curled slightly against her arms.
When his eyes finally met hers again, there was something different in them now — sharper, more interested — and the corner of his mouth lifted just enough to form a smirk that didn't quite reach his eyes, but lingered there anyway, already deciding something about her.
"Seongje, I asked you to step out."
Baekjin's voice cut clean through the moment, firm and edged with irritation, snapping the tension just enough to make it shift, but not disappear.
But before Seongje could respond-
"There's no need."
Iseul's voice came in, soft, but steady enough to hold its ground against Baekjin's, threading through the space without raising itself, yet refusing to be overlooked.
She stood up from her chair, the movement smooth and unhurried, like she had already made up her mind long before this moment and was only now choosing to act on it, seeing there was no hesitation in the way she reached for her bag.
"I'm leaving," she stated.
And for some reason, Seongje found himself listening more closely than he should have.
He didn't focus on what she says, rather the steadiness in her tone, the calm that didn't crack even under pressure, the softness that didn't make her weak — it pulled at something he couldn't quite name, something unfamiliar and irritatingly persistent, like a thought that refused to leave once it had settled in.
He shifted slightly, cigarette still resting between his fingers now, forgotten for a second longer than usual as his gaze stayed on her.
"Iseul," Baekjin called, his voice threading through the heavy air like a chain meant to pull her back.
Her movements halted mid-stride, though she made no effort to turn and face him, her back a wall of resolve that spoke louder than any glance over her shoulder ever could, the pink ribbon in her hair catching the dim light like a fragile flag of defiance amid the room's gathering shadows.
"Think about what I said," he pressed, his tone dropping low, laced with the weight of whatever tangled conversation had unfolded before Seongje's intrusion, each word carrying the subtle pressure of expectations she had no intention of shouldering.
She drew in a deep breath, holding it for a suspended moment as if gathering her patience, then let it out slowly — an exhale that carried the suppressed frustration.
"I won't, Baekjin," she said, her voice steady, "I don't care whatever you say, but I'm not joining this stupid Union of yours."
A sigh followed, light as mist but heavy with finality, drifting into the space between them like smoke refusing to dissipate.
"And you know how I am," she added, finally turning just enough to glance at his stiff figure, her eyes meeting his with that same serene intensity. "I stand my ground, no matter what you do and try to change it."
Adjusting the bag on her shoulder with a deliberate shift, she turned fully toward the door and left the suffocating room behind, the click of her steps echoing faintly, while the weight of Seongje's dark and unblinking eyes, laced with newfound interest, followed her every movement, tracing the sway of her hair, the ribbon's gentle bounce, until she vanished from sight, leaving Baekjin with a jaw clenched so tight it carved shadows along his face.
Without a word, Seongje threw a sidelong glance at Baekjin, his smirk curling lazy and sharp.
"That went well," he drawled, the sarcasm dripping thick and deliberate.
Despite the growing storm in his chest, Baekjin drew a measured breath, forcing composure over the irritation that clawed at his edges, he slid open his drawer with a soft scrape, pulling out his maths worksheet and bent his head to it, pen scratching equations into existence as if solving them could unravel the knot she'd left behind.
"Follow her and drop her off at her home," he said without looking up, eyes fixed on the worksheet, his voice clipped and the grip on his pen whitening his knuckles as it bit into the paper, betraying the frustration he tried to shove down.
"Was gonna do that anyway," Seongje chuckled, savoring the way Baekjin unraveled so subtly and unnoticeably to anyone else and knowing — with a thrill that ran through his veins — that the reason for it all was the very girl who unintentionally drew him out the door with a pull he had no desire to resist.
He followed her out of the bowling alley, the heavy door swinging shut behind him with a dull thud that released her into the sharp bite of the night air, crisp and laced with the faint scent of rain on pavement.
"Iseul," he called out loudly, his voice cutting through the quiet street, making her steps falter in confusion as she paused mid-stride, the cold wind tugging gently at the loose strands of her hair.
She turned slowly, brows furrowing with a mix of bewilderment and wariness, her pink ribbon catching the dim glow from a nearby street lamp as the chill brushed against her cheeks.
He stopped right in front of her, close enough that she could catch the faint smoke clinging to his jacket and the warmth radiating from him against the night's edge, his lips curving into a shit-eating grin that held no trace of kindness or humility, only sharpening her suspicion.
"Geum Seongje," he said with a smirk, extending his hand for a shake while drawing in a deep breath of the cold air, as if savoring the moment stretching between them.
She eyed his hand with open suspicion, her grip tightening on her bag strap until her knuckles paled slightly, a battle flickering in her chest before she let out a soft sigh and reached out, her fingers meeting his in a clasp that felt both firm and fleeting.
"I heard. Hong Iseul," she said, introducing herself even though her voice was hesitant, and she found her gaze lingering on his eyes behind his glasses a beat too long, caught in their steady intensity while his hand held hers just a fraction longer than polite, the warmth of his palm seeping through her skin.
"I know," he nodded, that smirk lingering as he let his eyes trace her face once more, slow and unhurried, unable to pull away from the delicate lines of her features or release the connection of their hands.
Even as she couldn't deny the handsome pull of his sharp jaw and easy confidence, Iseul felt wariness coil tightly inside her, an instinctive shield rising because she understood he was affiliated with none other than Na Baekjin, whose world is the one with shadows and dangers.
Finally, Iseul eased her hand from his grip with an awkward smile tugging at her lips, the lingering warmth of his touch fading into the cool night air as she turned and started walking ahead, her steps quickening slightly along the dimly lit sidewalk edged by parked cars and the distant hum of city life.
Seongje fell into step beside her without a pause, his longer strides matching her pace effortlessly, the faint crunch of gravel under his shoes blending with the soft rhythm of her own.
She glanced at him sideways, confusion knitting her brows as the wind toyed with her hair again. "What are you doing?" she asked, her voice carrying a mix of bewilderment and caution, slowing just enough to search his face under the street lights' glow.
"Walking you home," he replied simply, that smirk softening into something almost casual, his hands slipping into his pockets as he kept his gaze ahead, though it flicked back to her with easy amusement.
Iseul stopped for a beat, turning to face him fully, her bag shifting on her shoulder. "You don't have to do that — I can walk by myself," she said, exasperation creeping into her tone, even as she started moving again, hoping he'd take the hint.
He didn't.
"Come on, what kind of gentleman would I be if I let a girl walk alone at night?" he shot back, his voice light but insistent, falling back in beside her with a chuckle that warmed the chill between them. "Streets like these aren't always kind after dark."
She rolled her eyes, her breath visible in the cold air.
Her suspicion flickered back as she shot him a sidelong look, her fingers twisting the strap of her bag as she asked, "Did Baekjin tell you to walk me home?
He met her eyes steadily, the smirk fading into something more genuine, his breath steady despite the cold. "No — I mean, he did, but I'm doing this because I want to. Not for him."
The words hung there between them, simple yet heavy, pulling at the wary thread of curiosity she'd felt earlier, and she could only sigh exasperatedly, shaking her head as they continued on.
When they finally reached her house — a modest two-story place, nothing fancy but cozy and comfortable — she fished her keys from her bag, the metal jingling softly as she stepped toward the gate, already half-turning away.
"Iseul," he suddenly called, his voice pulling her back before she could slip inside, standing a few steps away with his hands tucked deep into his jacket pockets, shoulders relaxed against the night but eyes intent on her.
She turned, brows raised in surprise, the porch light casting a soft halo around her as she waited, heart picking up a notch without knowing why.
"Let's go on a date?" he asked, the words direct and unhurried, hanging in the air like an invitation wrapped in that same confident pull.
"What!?" She exclaimed, her voice pitching up in disbelief, eyes widening as color rushed to her cheeks, the sheer audacity of it hitting her since they'd only just met minutes ago, leaving her shocked.
A Year Later
Iseul collapsed onto the mat with a heavy pant, her chest heaving as sweat clung to her skin and every muscle screamed for mercy. She spread her arms and legs wide like a starfish, too exhausted to even twitch a finger, the cool rubber beneath her being the only thing keeping her from melting into the floor.
"C'mon, Iseul, don't quit on me now," Baku said from beside her, his voice a mix of teasing and encouragement as he sat cross-legged.
He held out a water bottle, the condensation dripping cold onto her arm even though she made no move to take it, her limbs feeling like lead weights sunk deep into the mat.
God, I feel like I'm dying right here, she thought.
The throbbing ache through her legs and arms from two straight hours of this torture — warm-ups that dragged on forever with sneaking in — maybe thirty minutes — of dozing with her eyes half-shut, though that's beside the point because who could blame her when the sun's barely up on a Monday morning?
"Why the heck do I have to do this on a Monday morning of all days?" She groaned, her voice muffled against the mat as she buried her face for a second, refusing to even think about dragging herself up for another round of combat drills with Baku.
That dude treats a full on combat like a warm-up while she has never thrown a real punch in her life and she knew deep down she'd crumble like a dry leaf if a fight ever found her.
"Because you need to learn how to defend yourself, you dumbhead," he shot back, already on his feet and reaching down to grab her arm, his grip firm but gentle as he tugged, trying to haul her up like she was some ragdoll he can just yank into action.
"Not happening, no way," she mumbled, clinging to the mat with her free hand, flashing him one of her best smiles that usually melts people like an ice cream on a hot sidewalk — all wide eyes and sweet tilt of the head — the one that gets her out of chores or extra homework every time.
"I'd rather just let you fight for me, pretty please?"
But nope, it bounced right off him like water on a duck's back.
Baku is completely immune to my charms, I swear to God, she thought.
His face is set in that stubborn line that said he's not budging an inch, which only made her want to burrow deeper into the mat and hide.
"Not happening, Iseul," he said, shaking his head with a sigh, though his eyes softened just a fraction because that's Baku for you, tough on the outside but always checking if she's really okay underneath.
"What if one day there's no one around to save you? Not even me? You can't just wait for a hero every time."
"Then I'll just admit defeat and call it a day," she exclaimed, propping herself up on her elbows now, the dramatic whine in her voice half-real because her body's screaming at ger to stop.
Especially with the clock ticking towards 7:00 a.m. and school looming like a storm cloud. "Or, you know, die a quick death — either way, no more of this!"
"You can't do that, Iseul! If you die, who's gonna let me copy off your paper during exams? Who's gonna sneak me those extra snacks? Who's gonna feed me? I'd starve out here all alone!" He said while dropping to his knees beside her in mock horror, clutching his chest like she stabbed him right through the heart.
"Drama queen," she muttered, shaking her head with a laugh bubbling up, finally pushing herself to her feet.
She stretched out her arm like she was about to help him up, only to give his knee a light kick instead, which was not hard but just enough to make her point.
"Ow, Iseul! You monster — my leg! I'll never walk again!" He groaned loudly and flopped back onto the mat, rolling side to side with his hands over his knee, eyes squeezed shut in exaggerated agony.
"Oh please, I didn't even kick you that hard," she scoffed, flexing her toes because honestly, they stung more than his knee probably does. "You're such a baby sometimes. Get up already."
"Baby? Says the girl who was snoring through warm-ups not even twenty minutes in." He peeked one eye open, grinning through the fake tears.
"I was just meditating! You need to get your ears checked, or maybe an appointment with a psychologist cuz you're hallucinating," she fired back, crossing her arms. "And easy for you to say. You're suspended, remember? No school dragging you down. Some of us actually have to show up looking alive."
Baku finally hauled himself up, brushing off his pants with a dramatic huff, but his smile gave him away, warm and brotherly in a way that made all this morning madness bearable.
"Fine, fine, lazy ass. We're done. But only because I can't survive without your exam cheats, i can't have you dying with exhaustion" he laughed.
She stuck her tongue out again, rolling her eyes, secretly glad for the push, which she'd never admit, because deep down, his worry feels like the kind of care that sticks with you through the ache.
Ahhhh here's the first chapter. I hope it's good though i feel like I ended it lowkey awkwardly?? I'm not sure..Okay, this chapter was previously written in first person pov but then I rewrote it into third person pov, cuz I realised I'm not that good at writing it.
A clear, unmissable line between right and wrong. Between loyalty and betrayal. Between the people you should trust and the ones you should run from.
Hong Iseul used to believe that too.
Back when things were simple, when her world was smaller, softer and held together by familiar voices and promises that felt unbreakable.
But nothing stays untouched forever.
Not in a place where silence makes you a target, or in a world where strength is the only language people understand.
And definitely not when he walks in.
Geum Seongje wasn't the kind of person you noticed once and forgot.
He was the kind that lingered in the corner of your vision, in the pauses between your thoughts, in the way your chest tightened without reason—like your instincts were trying to warn you about something you didn't understand yet.
He looked at people like he already knew how everything would end.
And maybe that's what made it worse—
the way his gaze would settle on her, slow and deliberate, like she was something to figure out, or something to ruin.
Iseul should've walked away.
She should've ignored the way he spoke, the way he smirked, the way he stepped just a little too close.
But some things don't feel dangerous at first.
Instead they feel like curiosity, like tension, or like a pull you can't quite explain.
Until it's too late and you realize the line you believed in was never there to begin with.
This fic follows the story and timeline of the kdrama!
Contains: Romance, canon-typical violence, action, friendship, slight angst i guess, mature content (in later chapters), Seongje acting like an ass(?), etc etc...
This is my first time writing a fic here, hoping ya'll like it!!! I was initially thinking of writing this as a oneshot, but I guess I'll make it as a series.
Note: English is not my first language so feel free to tell me if there are any mistakes.
The morning sun barely peeked through the slats of the blinds, tracing golden lines across your boyfriend’s small bedroom. The air was thick and heavy with the lingering warmth of two bodies that had spent the entire night tangled together.
Park Hu-min… the dark-haired giant with shoulders like a literal wall, known to the world as "Baku", wasnt exactly an early riser, but something in particular was bothering him this morning.
You felt the shift in the mattress before you even opened your eyes. Hu-min pressed himself against your back, his broad, solid chest flush against your shoulder blades. His skin was burning hot, and it didn't take two seconds of shifting your hips to realize he was already rock hard against your backside.
"Sorry..." he mumbled against the nape of your neck.
He began seeking out a more intimate contact, grinding his length against you with focused intent. His hips rocked in a lazy yet urgent rhythm. You felt so small in his shadow, a sensation that always washed over you whenever Hu-min decided there should be absolutely zero space between the two of you.
"Good morning?" you teased, letting out a soft breath of a laugh.
"Sorry, I can't help it..." he started, sounding noticeably desperate. "Its just... I had a dream about you and..."
"It’s okay, babe" you answered, trying to soothe him while explicitly giving in to his touch.
His right hand slid under your arm, pinning you firmly by the chest. He pulled you flush against him, forcing you to slot perfectly into the curve of his body, making your backside press tight against his pelvis as he continued that agonizingly steady friction.
"Hu-min..." you managed to gasp, tilting your head back to find his face.
He buried his nose in the crook of your neck, his hands moving quickly over your skin to strip away your clothes. He didn't want to adjust; he wanted to stay in this "spooning" position he loved so much because it let him feel every single inch of your back against his chest.
He slid inside you in one deep, slow surge that seemed to fill every corner of your being. Hu-min let out a guttural growl, his grip on your waist tightening. His thrusts were powerful, driven by a strength that made the bed frame creak. With every push, you felt the sheer weight of his muscles and his raw need for you.
As the minutes ticked by, Hu-min’s pace took on an overwhelming energy. His movements became faster, more demanding. The wet sound of his hips slapping against your thighs joined the heavy cadence of his breathing.
You could feel his stamina only building with the effort. Far from wearing out, every plunge felt deeper than the last, raising the temperature until sweat made your bodies slick, sliding effortlessly against one another.
His hand on your chest tightened its hold as he lost himself in the frenzy of the moment. The pleasure was a rising tide, and your boyfriend was right at the center of it, pushing you toward the edge with a force that had you seeing stars.
"I can't... I'm not stopping" he gritted out through clenched teeth, his self-control shattering as the climax drew near.
When he finally hit his peak, Hu-min didnt pull away. Just as you’d discussed before, he let go inside you. He drove into you one last time, making your back arch and emptied himself completely, claiming you as his own. His spasms were long and deep… and eventually, he rested his forehead against your shoulder, utterly spent.
"Forgive me" he whispered, though he didn't sound sorry at all as he traced lazy circles over your stomach. "I just... I couldn't stop myself."
He stayed like that for a few minutes, relishing the feeling of being inside you and the synchronized thumping of your hearts. However, the protective Baku didnt stay gone for long. He got up with a sigh and returned shortly after with a warm towel.
With surprisingly delicate movements, he helped clean you up, tending to you with unexpected tenderness. Then he climbed back into bed, wrapped his arms around your body and pulled you back into his chest, ready to steal a few more minutes from the clock before the rest of the world woke up.
Note: English is not my first language so feel free to tell me if there are any mistakes.
The morning sun barely peeked through the slats of the blinds, tracing golden lines across your boyfriend’s small bedroom. The air was thick and heavy with the lingering warmth of two bodies that had spent the entire night tangled together.
Park Hu-min… the dark-haired giant with shoulders like a literal wall, known to the world as "Baku", wasnt exactly an early riser, but something in particular was bothering him this morning.
You felt the shift in the mattress before you even opened your eyes. Hu-min pressed himself against your back, his broad, solid chest flush against your shoulder blades. His skin was burning hot, and it didn't take two seconds of shifting your hips to realize he was already rock hard against your backside.
"Sorry..." he mumbled against the nape of your neck.
He began seeking out a more intimate contact, grinding his length against you with focused intent. His hips rocked in a lazy yet urgent rhythm. You felt so small in his shadow, a sensation that always washed over you whenever Hu-min decided there should be absolutely zero space between the two of you.
"Good morning?" you teased, letting out a soft breath of a laugh.
"Sorry, I can't help it..." he started, sounding noticeably desperate. "Its just... I had a dream about you and..."
"It’s okay, babe" you answered, trying to soothe him while explicitly giving in to his touch.
His right hand slid under your arm, pinning you firmly by the chest. He pulled you flush against him, forcing you to slot perfectly into the curve of his body, making your backside press tight against his pelvis as he continued that agonizingly steady friction.
"Hu-min..." you managed to gasp, tilting your head back to find his face.
He buried his nose in the crook of your neck, his hands moving quickly over your skin to strip away your clothes. He didn't want to adjust; he wanted to stay in this "spooning" position he loved so much because it let him feel every single inch of your back against his chest.
He slid inside you in one deep, slow surge that seemed to fill every corner of your being. Hu-min let out a guttural growl, his grip on your waist tightening. His thrusts were powerful, driven by a strength that made the bed frame creak. With every push, you felt the sheer weight of his muscles and his raw need for you.
As the minutes ticked by, Hu-min’s pace took on an overwhelming energy. His movements became faster, more demanding. The wet sound of his hips slapping against your thighs joined the heavy cadence of his breathing.
You could feel his stamina only building with the effort. Far from wearing out, every plunge felt deeper than the last, raising the temperature until sweat made your bodies slick, sliding effortlessly against one another.
His hand on your chest tightened its hold as he lost himself in the frenzy of the moment. The pleasure was a rising tide, and your boyfriend was right at the center of it, pushing you toward the edge with a force that had you seeing stars.
"I can't... I'm not stopping" he gritted out through clenched teeth, his self-control shattering as the climax drew near.
When he finally hit his peak, Hu-min didnt pull away. Just as you’d discussed before, he let go inside you. He drove into you one last time, making your back arch and emptied himself completely, claiming you as his own. His spasms were long and deep… and eventually, he rested his forehead against your shoulder, utterly spent.
"Forgive me" he whispered, though he didn't sound sorry at all as he traced lazy circles over your stomach. "I just... I couldn't stop myself."
He stayed like that for a few minutes, relishing the feeling of being inside you and the synchronized thumping of your hearts. However, the protective Baku didnt stay gone for long. He got up with a sigh and returned shortly after with a warm towel.
With surprisingly delicate movements, he helped clean you up, tending to you with unexpected tenderness. Then he climbed back into bed, wrapped his arms around your body and pulled you back into his chest, ready to steal a few more minutes from the clock before the rest of the world woke up.
✸synopsis: you arrive at a school where survival depends on staying invisible, carrying a home life you’ve been trained never to name. the moment the most dangerous boy in the building looks at you and knows — love striking fast and uninvited — your quiet strategies begin to fail. as violence, truth, and care collide, you learn that healing means letting yourself be seen by someone who chose you at first sight and never looked away.
✸genre: one-shot, canon adjacent, love at first sight, slow burn asf, strangers-to-lovers, enemies-to-lovers
✸pairing: pi han-ul x reader
✸content warnings: mentions of family abuse, injuries including bruises and broken bones, low-key fear-play from pi han-ul
✸wc: 9.4k
✸an: lower case intended, no use of y/n, fem!reader / god i love pi han-ul
[now playing: ruin my life — boynextdoor]
m.list
─────
the first lesson you learned in this life is how to take up less space.
not in a tragic way; not in a poetic way. just in a practiced way. you stand a little closer to walls than necessary. you walk half a step behind people instead of beside them. you soften your footfalls without thinking about it, like your body decided long ago that being unnoticed is safer.
it’s not that you hate people — you just don’t trust what happens once they start paying attention.
─────
the school gate of yusung technical high school looms in front of you like an open mouth — wide, rusted, hungry.
the paint on the metal bars is chipped and sun-bleached, flaking in ugly curls. someone carved names into it with a key. someone else carved threats. someone else carved a heart with initials that probably don’t belong together anymore.
you can already hear shouting. not excited shouting — the kind that has weight to it. the kind that sounds like fists. metal lockers slam somewhere inside the building. loud laughter follows. not a warm laugh — sharp; the kind that circles like vultures.
this place isn’t just known for being bad. it’s known for being where you end up when nowhere else wants you. dropouts. delinquents. kids on their last warning. kids who stopped caring. kids who never had anyone care in the first place.
and now — you.
your fingers tighten around the strap of your bag. beside you stands your twin brother, kim se-hyeon. same birthday; same black hair; same dark eyes.
that’s where the similarities end. se-hyeon looks like he belongs anywhere he stands. not because he’s loud. not because he’s flashy. but because his presence has weight. he’s tall for your age, broad-shouldered without trying. his posture is relaxed in a way that says he’s aware of everything around him — and confident that he can handle it.
you learned a long time ago that your brother doesn’t look for trouble. trouble looks for him and usually regrets it.
he glances sideways at you. “you okay?”
you nod. it’s automatic. you’ve perfected the convincing nod — small, controlled, no tremble.
“remember,” he says quietly, “the girls’ building is separate. if anything feels off, text me. i’ll come.”
you nod again. you don’t tell him that everything already feels off. that the air itself feels wrong — charged, sour, brittle. that your stomach has been tight since you woke up that morning. that you wish you could become mist and drift away.
se-hyeon reaches out and lightly taps your forehead. the way he’s done since you were kids. “just survive today,” he reminds you. “that’s it.”
survive. you can do that. you always do that.
─────
inside the halls smell like old disinfectant, sweat, and something metallic you don’t want to think about. your homeroom teacher barely looks up when handing you your schedule.
“girls’ class 1-b,” she tells you. “don’t be late. don’t start problems.”
you almost laugh. as if starting problems is something you’ve ever been accused of.
the girls’ wing is quieter than the main building. not calm; just contained. voices stay low. laughter cuts off quickly when teachers pass. groups cluster together like small islands, protective and suspicious.
you take an empty seat near the back. of course you do. the desk has scratches carved into it. someone drew a skull. someone else wrote die in messy block letters. you run your thumb over the edge of the desk and keep your eyes down. the teacher introduces you.
“this is our transfer student. introduce yourself.”
your heart stutters as every head turns. thirty pairs of eyes. some bored, some curious, some openly sizing you up. you stand slowly, your hands clenched into fists at your side.
your voice comes out softer than you intend as you state your name. “i transferred today.”
that’s it. you bow politely, sit, and disappear again. there’s no applause, no welcome. just murmurs that quickly fade as the attention drifts elsewhere. perfect.
─────
by lunch, you have learned several important things.
yusung runs on hierarchy. strength is currency. and everyone is obsessed with an app. you don’t download it. you don’t need to. people talk about it openly.
“lee hyun-woo moved up again.”
“did you see that fight last night? he broke the guy’s arm!”
“check the rankings.”
you’ve also learned that the app was created by pi han-ul. a third-year; the undisputed leader of yusung. not student council president, not a class representative. something worse — owner.
the app ranks students based on their fighting ability, wins, physical stats, and influence. officially, it’s banned. unofficially, everyone uses it. the rankings decide who gets bothered, and who gets left alone. who gets targeted, and who gets protected.
your brother’s name isn’t on it. which means one of two things — he hasn’t been noticed yet, or he’s hiding. neither option lasts forever.
you sit alone at lunch. you always sit alone when your brother isn’t with you.
you eat quietly, your eyes on your food. you don’t notice the shift at first. the way voices dip. the tension rolls through the room like a wave.
you don’t look up. you should have.
─────
pi han-ul notices you the moment you walk through the cafeteria doors.
he wasn’t looking for anything. not really. he was half-listening to one of his underlings bragging about a fight. half-bored. half-irritated. then you pass — no makeup, no bright clothes, a uniform that’s slightly too big, head down. moving like you’re trying not to exist.
something in his chest catches. not a lightning strike, not fireworks. more like a slow, uncomfortable pressure. it was like someone placed a hand around his heart and squeezed.
you don’t look at him. that should make it easier. it doesn’t.
most people stare. girls try to be noticed. guys puff up. you don’t do either. you glide past, tray in hand, shoulders slightly hunched, scanning for the emptiest seat in the room.
han-ul watches you choose a table in the far corner. alone. of course you sit alone. of course you do. his jaw tightens.
“who’s that?” he asks no one in particular.
ma min-hwan squints. “new girl, i think. transfer.”
han-ul doesn’t respond. he’s already standing. already walking. each step feels deliberate. heavy. the cafeteria seems to part for him without effort. people don;t block pi han-ul’s path. they move. they always move.
he stops a few feet from your table. you feel it before you see it. that weight. that awareness. the instinct that something dangerous is nearby. your fingers curl around your chopsticks. you keep your eyes down.
han-ul studies you. your lashes are long; your hands are small. there’s a faint bruise on your wrist. that bothers him more than it should.
“you’re new,” he states the obvious. his voice isn’t loud. it doesn’t need to be. the room feels quieter anyway. you nod. still not looking up. “what’s your name?”
a pause. you consider pretending you don’t hear it. you consider lying. you consider standing up and running. none of these are practical.
you say your name instead. your voice barely carries.
something warm and ugly spreads in his chest. you sound like you’re apologizing for existing. he hates that. not you. the world. whoever taught you to be like this.
“you sit alone on purpose?” he asks, his hands deep in his pockets.
you hesitate, then nod. honest, simple, dangerous. han-ul huffs a quiet laugh. not mocking. not amused. more stunned. no one talks to him like this — no performance, no agenda. just small, quiet truths.
he crouches slightly so he’s closer to eye level. you finally glance up. for half a second. that’s all it takes.
your eyes are dark. not empty, not dull. just tired. like you’ve lived inside yourself for a long time. something inside pi han-ul breaks. he doesn’t know what. he doesn’t know why. he only knows with absolute certainty that you are his. not in a gentle way. not in a healthy way. in a slow, sinking, inevitable way.
“you shouldn’t sit alone here,” he tells you quietly.
you swallow. “i’m okay.”
another honest answer. another mistake. han-ul straightens.
“not anymore,” he warns. he turns and walks away. no explanation. no threat. no promise. but the moment he leaves — you feel it.
eyes on you. whispers starting. the air around your table feels different. he didn’t touch you. he didn’t raise his voice. he didn’t claim you out loud. but everyone understands anyway.
in the boys’ building across campus, se-hyeon feels a strange chill crawl up his spine. like something important has shifted. like a line has been crossed.
neither of you knows it yet. but your life at yusung has already changed. and pi han-ul has already decided that he will protect. he will watch you. he will own every piece of space around you. whether you want him to — or not.
─────
the apartment has always felt like a place people pass through.
not a home. not a refuge. just a stop along the way. a thin-walled, poorly lit checkpoint between one bad day and the next. you don’t remember ever thinking of it as safe. even when you were small. even before you knew words like abuse or neglect or cycle.
you only understood patterns. your father comes home. the door slams. bottles clink. voices rise. someone gets hurt. repeat.
─────
your building squats at the edge of a dying block.
concrete stained dark with years of rain and cigarettes. streetlights that flicker more often than work. the first-floor steps that have been littered with bottle caps since you were born.
you and se-yeon climb down the steps every night in silence, counting steps out of habit. not that it matters. because counting gives your mind something to hold onto. your apartment door sticks. you have to shoulder-check it to get inside.
the smell hits first. alcohol. old takeout. stale air. sometimes sweat. sometimes blood. tonight, it’s alcohol. which is better than some of the alternatives.
your father is passed out on the living room floor, one shoe still on, a bottle tipped over and spilling on the cracked linoleum. his mouth hangs open. he snores like he’s choking.
you step around him. careful. always careful. se-hyeon doesn’t look at him. he never does.
─────
you and your brother share the bedroom.
there was never a discussion about it. there was never an alternative. one small room; two narrow beds pushed against opposite walls. a single desk between them. stacks of old textbooks on se-hyeon’s side. neatly folded clothes on yours.
the bathroom door doesn’t lock. you changed behind that door anyway. you learned to dress fast. you learned to sleep lightly. you learned to listen.
se-hyeon sets his bag down between the desk and his bed.
“homework,” he says quietly. you nod. it’s what he always says. not because he thinks you care, but because routine matters. he sits at the desk. you sit on your bed. the light bulb hums overhead. you both pretend that this is normal.
─────
you don’t remember your mother’s face clearly.
just pieces. long dark hair. the smell of cheap shampoo. hands that were sometimes gentle. sometimes empty. one day she didn’t come back. no note. no goodbye. no explanation.
your father said she was useless. said she was a whore. said she was weak. you don’t know which hurts more. that she left or that she didn’t take you with her.
after she disappeared, something in your father rotted faster. he drank more. he yelled more. he stopped pretending. se-hyeon was still a kid — just minutes older than you — but he started standing between you and him anyway. too small. too skinny. too brave.
he got hit for it. a lot. your father stopped bothering you as much after a while. not because he cared but because you were nothing to him. not worth the effort. in a twisted way, being ignored kept you alive.
─────
se-hyeon is smart.
everyone who bothers to look can see it. he reads fast. remembers everything. understands things on the first try. teachers used to tell him to aim for university. your father laughed in their faces.
“sons follow their fathers,” he said. “he’ll work construction. same as me.”
it didn’t matter that se-hyeon hated construction. didn’t matter that dust made his chest tight. didn’t matter that his hands shook when he’s angry. in this family, dreams are a luxury. luxuries get crushed.
se-hyeon stopped talking about college out loud. but you’ve seen his notebooks. hidden scholarship searches. practice tests. plans written in tiny, careful handwriting. hope disguised as homework.
you never tell him you’ve seen them. some things survive better when they’re secret.
─────
no one ever asks what you want.
not at school; not at home. not anywhere. the assumptions were made for you a long time ago.
you’ll marry young. probably to someone older. probably to someone loud. you’ll move out — disappear. stop being a responsibility. a daughter is something to be handed off. a son is an investment. you learned that without anyone having to explain it.
so you don’t dream. not big ones. big dreams feel dangerous. you dream small. you dream about quiet. about a locking door and knowing that no one else has a key. about sleeping through the night. about not flinching when someone raises their voice.
that’s it. that’s the whole list.
─────
at night, the apartment creaks.
pipes knock. neighbors fight. someone down the hall cries. your father sometimes wakes and stumbles into walls. sometimes he pounds on your door. sometimes he forgets you exist. you never know which version of the night you’re getting.
you sleep on your side, facing se-hyeon’s bed. he sleeps facing yours. not sentimental. strategic. so you can see each other. so if one of you moves suddenly, the other wakes up. an unspoken pact. you don’t remember when it started. you don’t remember a time before it.
everything in your life feels temporary. good moments. calm moments. silence. they never last. so you don’t get attached. not to places. no to people. not to hope.
you move through the world like someone passing through a burning building. head down, breathing shallow, just trying to make it to the next doorway without catching fire.
you don’t know it yet, but someone at yusung has already noticed how carefully you exist. how small you make yourself. how used you are to disappearing. and for the first time in your life — that might be more dangerous than being invisible.
─────
it happens between classes, where supervision thins and sound carries just enough to draw a crowd.
you feel it before you see it — the way people slow, the way phones come out like reflexes. a boy steps into se-hyeon’s path with a smile that isn’t friendly and a voice pitched for witnesses.
“low rank,” he calls your brother, glancing pointedly at his screen. “thought i’d introduce myself.”
se-hyeon stops. he doesn’t square up. he doesn’t bristle. he tilts his head, just slightly, like he’s listening for something beneath the words. you know that look. he’s reading posture, weight, the angle of the shoulders. he’s already memorizing.
you stay where you are — two steps back, half-hidden by the lockers. your heart starts to race anyway. you press your tongue to the roof of your mouth and keep your face empty. you learned early that reactions invite attention.
the boy lunges. it’s quick. messy. a swing meant to end things fast. se-hyeon moves late on purpose — just enough to test range, just enough to feel the follow-through. he blocks wrong once. lets himself get shoved. the crowd murmurs, disappointed and pleased all at once.
you watch every second. you notice how the boy drops his guard after a miss. how he telegraphs the next move with his feet. how he favors one side. se-hyeon notices too — you can tell by the way his eyes sharpen even as he stumbles back.
he goes down on one knee. not hard. not hurt. but enough.
a whistle cuts through the air. someone laughs. a teacher’s voice echoes too late. the boy straightens, chest puffed, already refreshing his phone. the ranking ticks up. satisfaction settles into him like a reward well earned.
se-hyeon gets up without help. he dusts off his sleeve, expression calm, breathing steady. he doesn’t look at the crowd. he looks at the floor where the boy’s feet were planted, then at the angle of the hallway, then — briefly — at you.
it’s not a question. it’s a promise: i learned.
you let your breath out slowly, quietly. your hands stop shaking when you tuck them into your sleeves. around you, people buzz — commentary, speculation, hunger. some are disappointed it ended so fast. some are already scanning for the next low name to climb.
you don’t move.
down the corridor, near a bank of windows that wash the walls in pale light, pi han-ul stands apart from the noise, he doesn’t rush in. he doesn’t lift his phone. he watched the exchange like a problem being solved.
his gaze doesn’t linger on se-hyeon. it shifts — to you.
you don’t cheer. you don’t flinch. you don’t cry or rush forward or shout. you stand still, face blank, eyes empty, like this is something you’ve rehearsed. like violence is the weather and you’ve learned how to wait it out.
something in han-ul’s expression shifts — not much. just enough. most people watch fights to see who wins. he watches to see who understands.
and as the crowd disperses and the hallway breathes again, he files the moment away — a strategic loss, the quiet brother, and the girl who didn’t react like the others.
─────
the fluorescent lights of the corner store buzz like insects.
you stand in the cramped aisle, gripping the basket with both hands, counting the price in your head. every coin counts. every note. the prices have gone up again — groceries, snacks, instant noodles, the “emergency” stash of alcohol your father hides in his cabinet for when his daily dose runs out.
he doesn’t notice that it’s not for him that you do this. that it’s for survival — for keeping him from noticing you too much.
you adjust your grip on the basket, careful not to jostle anything. your fingers brush the plastic packaging of instant noodles, then the small bottles of alcohol. you know the price of each item before you even reach the register. you know exactly how much he’ll complain if he finds out.
the cashier scans everything. the beeping echoes like gunshots in the quiet store. you slide the money across the counter, hands steady. no reaction. you’ve practiced it a thousand times. no flinch, no hesitation, no panic. you can’t afford to.
─────
the moment you step through the apartment door, it’s like crossing into another dimension.
the smell hits first — as always. alcohol, stale smoke, the faint trace of vomit from last night. your father is sprawled across the couch, eyes half-lidded, bottle in hand, drool pooling at the corner of his mouth. he doesn’t even look at you, not at first.
then he glances at the plastic bag in your hands. his face tightens. something small in his eyes — disgust, angery, irriation — flares. you hear the words before they form: “how much?”
“nothing —” you pause, swallow. “just the usual.”
he snatches the bag from you and rips it open. the noodles tumble out. the alcohol rattles against the counter. the price slips from your lips before you realize you’ve said it.
he doesn’t even register your explanation.
“you paid what?” his voice is sudden, explosive. a thunderclap. the kind that rattles the cheap windows and makes your stomach curl.
before you can respond, before you can even react, his hand slams across your face — hard. shock blossoms across your cheek, a white-hot fire. your head snaps back, hair brushing against your shoulder, and you taste copper, sharp and immediate, on your tongue.
your lips splits. a warm, wet sting spreads through your mouth. you touch it instinctively. blood on your fingers. you taste it, swallow it, let it mix with the bild of recognition — this is normal. this is expected.
se-hyeon moves faster than you think he can.
“get away from her,” he says, low and dangerous, voice coiled tight. his hands grab your father’s arms. he’s not yelling. he doesn’t need to. he’s already set himself as a barrier. he’s already made himself the target.
but your father doesn’t stop. never does, never will.
the first punch lands on se-hyeon’s shoulder, the second grazes his jaw. he stumbles back, but only slightly. he’s stead, strong. he’s smart. he’s everything your father isn't, and it’s not enough.
your palms scrape the rough edge of the table as you try to move between them, to pull them apart. pain blossoms on your skin. bruises start forming instantly — hot, jutting, the kind that lingers. your lip burns with every heartbeat. your chest feels too tight.
se-hyeon shouts something, but the room swallows the words. your father swings again, fists unrestrained. there’s no thought, no reason. just habit. anger at life, at money, at the world — and you and se-hyeon are in the way.
you flinch only once. enough to catch the edge of a fist across your shoulder, but not your head. that’s the rule. that’s all you can control. everything else is chaos.
se-hyeon pushes back with everything he has in him, and yet you know the pattern. it never ends well. never. not for him. not for you. not for the room filled with tension, broken furniture, and the heavy smell of alcohol.
eventually, your father tires. or pretends to. or maybe he smily forgets what he was hitting you for. he stumbles back to the couch, muttering under his breath, leaving bruises, blood, and tension in his wake.
se-hyeon drops to his knees beside you, checking your lip, your palms, your arms. you shake your head. there’s nothing to do. you’ve already wiped the blood away, pressed a napkin to your split lip, pressed down the pain and swallowed it down like medicine.
he doesn’t argue. he doesn’t curse. he just stays there, alert. always ready. because this house is a battlefield. and regardless of what happens outside — here, survival is not optional.
you sit in silence, your lip throbbing, your palms stinging. you hear your father snore from the couch. the apartment reeks of alcohol, sweat, and old paper. every sound feels magnified — a dripping faucet, the creak of a door, your own shallow breathing.
and yet, somehow, even in the chaos, the bruises, the pain — you feel alive. you’ve survived it before. you’ll survive again. because everything in your life is dangerous and temporary — and the only thing you can trust is the quiet vigilance you’ve carried since childhood.
you lean against the wall, close to se-hyeon. he doesn’t move away. he never does. and you know, without needing to speak, that you’ll both keep surviving. together, even when it never ends well.
─────
it starts with something small. that’s how it always starts. not a confrontation. not a threat. a look that lasts half a second too long.
you’re at your locker before third period. the hallway smells of cleaning chemicals and old sweat. your split lip throbs faintly. you’d bitten your lip in your sleep. or at least, that’s what you tell yourself.
you hardly remember it now. you just remember the pressure, a sharp sound, your breath catching. memory is unreliable. pain isn’t.
you tilt your head down as you spin the lock. you don’t want anyone to see. you don’t want sympathy. you don’t want curiosity. both turn into danger eventually.
se-hyeon stands beside you, pretending to scroll on his phone. really he’s watching reflections in the locker door. a survival habit you’ve both developed.
footsteps slow behind you — not stopping, not passing. slowing. you feel it before you understand it. that pressure. that gravity. your fingers tighten around the metal dial. you don’t look. you don’t need to. you already know who it is. pi han-ul.
you haven’t spoken to him since your first day, but your body recognizes his presence the way it recognizes fire. warm, bright, and capable of burning everything.
his gaze drops. not to your eyes, not to your face. lower. your mouth. the split lip isn’t dramatic — just a thin line, a hint of blood dried red in the corner. but it doesn’t belong to the school. no swelling knuckles, no accompanying black eye, no context. it’s doesn’t fit any fight he’s seen.
han-ul’s eyes narrow slightly. not in suspicion. in calculation. he doesn’t say anything. doesn’t slow fully, doesn’t stop. he walks past. anyone watching would think that nothing happened.
you exhale only after he’s gone. se-hyeon notices.
“you okay?” he murmurs.
“yeah,” you reply. a lie — automatic. you grab your books, close your locker. you feel wrong. like something delicate inside of you has been touched. not physically. worse. noticed.
across the hallway, han-ul sits on the windowsill, one knee up, phone in hand. ma min-hwan stands in front of him.
min-hwan is lean, sharp-faced. always smiling. the kind of guy who knows everyone and belongs nowhere.
han-ul doesn’t look up when he speaks.
“the girl who walks with se-hyeon.”
min-hwan blinks, feigns ignorance. “lots of girls walk with se-hyeon.”
han-ul finally raises his eyes. min-hwan straightens up immediately.
“the quiet one,” han-ul presses, his tongue keen. “his sister. transfer.”
min-hwan thinks, then nods. “oh, yeah. ghost girl.”
han-ul doesn’t react to the nickname. “find out about her.”
min-hwan grins, teeth sharp. he snorts, “why? you adopting strays now?”
han-ul’s gaze goes flat. min-hwan’s smile fades a notch.
“i’ll look into it,” he replies.
han-ul looks back at his phone. conversation over.
─────
you don’t know any of this.
you don’t know about han-ul’s gaze still lingering on your split lip. you don’t know about min-hwan being told to look into you. you don’t know that a quiet decision has already been made somewhere above your head. you just know that by fourth period, something feels wrong.
not loudly. not obvious. the kind of wrong that slips under your skin and settles there. whispers don’t follow you. they stop when you get close. not dramatically. no one turns and stares. no one points. conversations simply trail off. like someone flipped a switch.
you pass two girls by the stairs. they’re mid-sentence. they see you. their mouths close. one of them looks at the floor. the other pretends to check her phone.
your steps don’t slow. you pretend you didn’t notice. you always pretend. down the hall, you catch ma min-hwan leaning against a locker. he isn’t talking to anyone. he isn’t on his phone. he’s just looking. not fixed. not intense. casual. like he happened to glance up at the exact moment you looked his way.
your eyes meet for half a second. he smiles. not friendly. not cruel. curious. like you’re a puzzle he hasn’t decided whether to solve yet. your stomach knots. you look away first. your pace subtly changes. not running — never running. just drifting.
when you spot se-hyeon at the end of the hall, you angle toward him without thinking. you close the distance. your shoulder almost brushes his arm. you hate how instinctive it is. how fast your body reacts. your shoulders curl inward. your chin dips. your gaze stays on the floor tiles. you make yourself smaller. you already know how. you’ve been practicing your whole life.
by lunch, your head hurts. not from hunger. from holding yourself together too tightly. today, your lunch periods line up. a small mercy. se-hyeon drops into the seat across from you with his tray. rice. soup. something fried.
you set your tray down too. you don’t touch it. he notices immediately. he always does.
“not hungry?” he asks quietly.
you shake your head.
“later.”
the lie slides out easily. you don’t want to pull the mask you’re wearing now down. you don’t want anyone to see your lip. you don’t want to see anyone notice. you don’t want to give people more pieces of you to catalog.
across the cafeteria, pi han-ul sits at his usual table. alone. like the empty seat next to him is permanent. he isn’t looking at you. not obviously. which somehow makes it worse. because you can feel it. not eyes. awareness. like standing in sunlight with your eyes closed.
you don’t see the sun. but you know exactly where it is.
you keep your head down. you pick at your rice with your chopsticks. don’t eat. just move food around so it looks like you might. se-hyeon pretends not to notice.
min-hwan passes behind your table. slow. unrushed. too deliberate to be accidental. something drops near your foot. a soft clatter. a pen. he crouches to pick it up.
your heart jumps so hard it almost hurts. min-hwan looks up at you. close. too close. “hey,” he says, as lightly as he’s capable. “you two live near the old apartments, right?”
the words feel like ice water down your spine. your brain blanks. just for a second. a fatal second. you don’t answer fast enough. se-hyeon stiffens beside you.
“why?” se-hyeon asks instead.
min-hwan straightens slowly, rolling the pen between his fingers.
“thought i recognized her,” he says casually. like he’s talking about seeing someone at a convenience store. like he didn’t just step on a landmine.
you shake your head without looking at him. “wrong people.”
your voice comes out quiet. thin. min-hwan tilts his head. studies you. not your clothes. not your tray. your face. then he smiles again. sharp. all teeth.
“yeah,” he says. “probably.”
he turns and walks away. back toward pi han-ul’s table. you feel cold. not physically cold. a hollow kind of cold. se-hyeon watches min-hwan’s back. doesn’t look at you yet.
“do you know him?” he asks.
“no.”
another lie. because knowing someone implies a relationship. you don’t have relationships. you have proximity. se-hyeon finally looks at you. searches your face. then nods.
“good,” he says. “stay away from him. seems like bad news.”
you nod too. like you have a choice. like staying away is something people like you get to decide. you stare back down at your tray. your appetite is gone. your sense of safety goes with it.
somewhere across the cafeteria, pi han-ul sits in silence. somewhere between his table and yours, ma min-hwan is smiling to himself. and you sit perfectly still. small. quiet. trying to convince the universe you are not worth noticing.
because at yusung — being noticed is never the beginning of anything good.
─────
you don’t intend to go to the roof.
you don’t even know where the roof entrance is. which means the moment ma min-hwan says, “yah, come with me,” you already feel wrong about following him.
but he doesn’t grab you. doesn’t threaten. doesn’t smile like he’s about to hurt you. he just says it casually. like it’s nothing. like you’re not a low-ranked nobody. like you’re not supposed to say no.
you don’t tell anyone where you’re going. you don’t text se-hyeon. you don’t make an excuse. you just follow ma min-hwan down the hallway, heart in your throat, pretending your legs aren’t already tired from fear.
min-hwan doesn’t look back, doesn’t rush you, doesn’t slow down. it’s like he knows you’ll come. the further you walk, the quieter the school gets. lockers disappear. posters peel off the walls. the air changes — colder, staler. you stop in front of a gray metal door.
rooftop access — authorized personnel only
min-hwan pushes it open. the wind spills inside. your stomach drops. you step out.
the rooftop is wide and empty, concrete stretching toward a low wall at the edge. the city looks dull from up here. small. far away.
pi han-ul is already there, leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets. he’s not doing anything, not talking. just waiting. min-hwan nudges your shoulder lightly, then turns back inside. the door slames shut behind you. the sound echoes loudly. you and han-ul are alone.
you don’t know what to do with your hands. you don’t know where to look. so you stare at the ground. han-ul’s eyes find you anyway. not your eyes. your mouth. your split lip.
you feel it before he moves. that subtle shift in the air. a weight settling. he steps closer, not fast, not rushed. one step. then another. your lungs forget how to work. you’re suddenly very aware of the thin black mask that stretches across your face. the lie you’re wearing. the shield.
han-ul lifts a hand. not touching you, not yet. two fingers hook gently under the edge of your mask. he pauses. like he’s giving you time to pull away. like he already knows that you won’t.
your breath stutters. a small, ugly hitch you can’t hide. his eyes flick up for half a second. they catch it. then he pulls. slow. the fabric slides down your face. your mouth is exposed. your split lip meets the cold air. you feel naked, wrong, seen.
han-ul doesn’t react. no widening eyes. no sharp inhale. no curse. which is somehow worse than if he had. he studies the injury like it’s a puzzle. like it belongs to him now.
“how’d that happen?” he asks. his voice is quieter than before. not softer. lower. closer.
“i bit it,” you say. the lie comes out too fast. too thin. your tongue presses against the cut unconsciously. han-ul’s fingers are still holding your mask. he hasn’t let go.
“you bite yourself hard enough to split skin?” he questions you again.
you nod. it’s a pathetic little movement. he tilts his head slightly. a predator assessing weakness. not cruel, not loud. intentional.
“who did it?”
“no one.”
another bad lie; you stare at the ground. your shoes, the cracks in the concrete. anything but him. silence stretches. the wind pushes against your uniform. han-ul exhales slowly.
“you’re bad at lying,” he comments instead. your eyes burn. you keep them on the concrete. if you look at him, you might say something stupid. or honest. or both.
his thumb brushes the edge of the mask’s fabric. not your skin. almost. it feels deliberate.
“you don’t have to tell me,” he says after a moment. then after a beat, he continues, “but don’t insult me.”
your breath comes out shaky. you hate that he noticed. you hate that he cares. you hate that part of you is relieved. he finally lets go of the mask; it hangs useless under your chin. the damage stays visible. so does his attention.
and you realize — he didn’t just see your injury. he claimed awareness of it. which feels like the first step toward something you don’t know how to survive.
his eyes shift to your raw palms. you pull your sleeves back over them hastily.
“if i see another mark on you,” han-ul continues, “you won’t be leaving my space so easily.”
your heart skips. you finally look up. he isn’t angry. he isn’t smiling. he isn’t threatening. he’s certain. like he’s describing gravity. like he’s describing weather.
“i’m not saying this to be nice,” he adds as an afterthought, although he’s not sure whether it’s true. “people who look breakable become problems. and i don’t like problems.”
you nod. it’s all you can do. you’re always nodding.
han-ul turns toward the door, opens it, and steps aside. you’re dismissed. you walk past him on unsteady legs. you don’t thank him. you don’t look back. you don’t run.
in the hallway, you lean against the wall for a second and try to breathe. he didn’t force you to talk. he didn’t even touch you. he didn’t hurt you. you’re grateful. and you hate that you’re grateful. because his warning still keeps replaying in your head.
if i see another mark.
there will be another mark. there always is. you odn’t have an explanation that will ever sound real. not to him. not to anyone.
you walk back toward class — confused, relieved, terrified. carrying a secret that keeps growing heavier. and now — you’re fully carrying pi han-ul’s attention. which might be the most dangerous thing of all.
─────
yusung techincal doesn’t prohibit studying.
there are no written rules. no signs on the walls that say don’t open books. no teacher announcements warning students to stop caring. but everyone knows. trying is embarrassing. wanting more is laughable. studying is a quiet way of declaring yourself weak. and weakness is blood in the water.
so when se-hyeon tells you he’s joining a study group, your first thought isn’t pride. it’s afraid.
“a study group?” you repeat, low.
“yeah,” he replies evenly. “it’s run by yoon ga-min. second year.”
you’ve heard the name. everyone has. the weird one. the one who fights like he isn't concerned about winning. the one who still brings textbooks to a place built for fists.
“why?” you ask.
se-hyeon shrugs, too casual. “i need protection. and leverage. he’s got both.”
you look at him — really look. the faint yellow bruise along his jaw, the way he stands like he’s bracing for impact.
“you already have a target,” you state the obvious. he meets your eyes. there’s determination there.
“better to have a real reason for it.”
you don’t argue. because you don’t have a better option.
the news spreads fast. it always does. by second period, people are whispering. by lunch, someone shoves se-hyeon’s shoulder harshly. by sixth period, a second-year you don’t recognize asks him if he’s trying to become a comedian.
se-hyeon ignores them. which somehow feels louder than fighting back. and loud things get noticed. which means you get noticed.
you feel it in the hallways. eyes lingering. smiles that don’t reach eyes. someone bumps into you and doesn’t apologize. someone else laughs when you flinch. you stay close to se-hyeon. closer than usual.
after school, se-hyeon doesn’t tell you to go home. that alone makes your stomach tighten. “we’re meeting in the west stairwell,” he tells you. “wait with me.”
you nod. you don’t ask questions. you never do.
the stairwell smells like dust and old mop water. paint peeling off the walls, lights flickering. three of the people are already there. one of them you recognize instantly. yoon ga-min.
he looks… normal. that’s the strangest part. messy hair. loose uniform. a backpack that looks too heavy for someone who’s supposed to survive here. he’s talking admittedly to the two girls that stand with him.
hee-won and ji-woo. they’re in your class. ji-woo is tall, sharp-eyed, and has a posture so straight it's like she’s always ready to swing. hee-won is smaller, softer-looking, but her gaze is alert in a way that doesn’t miss much.
the fourth person stands slightly apart. lee jun. you know him too. mostly because he loses fights. a lot.
he bows awkwardly when he sees se-hyeon. “you the new guy?”
“yeah,” se-hyeon replies.
ga-min’s eyes land on you. not in a creepy way. not in a judging way. just curious.
“you’re his sister?” ga-min asks.
you nod. he smiles. it’s bright. too bright for this school.
“you look like you don’t belong here,” he says. you don’t know how to respond to that. hee-won tilts her head at you. her gaze shifts, subtle. your sleeve. your collar. your lip. your split lip. she doesn’t ask.
ji-woo notices too. you can tell by the way her eyes soften. neither of them says anything. which somehow feels heavier than if they had.
“we walk home together,” ga-min explains casually. “safer that way.”
se-hyeon glances at you. a silent question. you nod again. you’re relieved. as they start talking about schedules and locations, hee-won steps closer to you. she reaches into her bag and pulls out a small makeup pouch. holds it up.
“for your lip,” she says. “concealer. and color corrector.”
you stare at it. “i —”
“no pressure,” she adds. “just in case.”
ji-woo slips something into your hand next. a pair of thin black arm sleeves.
“they cover bruises better than hoodies,” she says quietly. you don’t know what to say. no one has ever handed you tools before. advice maybe. pity, sometimes. silence, usually. but this? this feels different.
you nod. it’s become your default response. lee jun watches the exchange.
“uh,” he says. “we’re not like… forcing you to talk about stuff. or anything.”
ga-min scratches the back of his head. “yeah. you don’t have to explain.”
he says it like it’s obvious. like it’s a rule. something in your chest aches. not sharp. not explosive. slow. heavy. something loosening that you didn’t realize was locked.
se-hyeon notices. he doesn’t say anything, but his shoulders drop a fraction.
on the walk home, you’re surrounded. not boxed in, not trapped. just included. for the first time in a long time. it doesn’t make you feel safe. yusung doesn’t allow that. but it makes you feel less alone.
and in a place like this — that’s dangerous. that’s rare. that’s everything.
─────
you don’t get summoned at yusung. not officially.
no one taps you on the shoulder and politely asks you to come with them. they just appear. ma min-hwan is leaning against the wall outside your classroom when the bell rings. like he’s been there the whole period. like he belongs.
your stomach drops. he looks at you. hooks a finger, casual.
“rooftop,” he says. no explanation. no tone. just a direction. you glance back at ji-woo and hee-won. they're packing their bags and haven’t noticed yet. you don’t want them to notice.
so you stand. you follow. again. the walk feels longer this time. your hands are cold. your mouth is dry. you keep thinking about your sleeves. about the concealer that hee-won helped you apply earlier in the bathroom. about whether you missed a spot. about whether han-ul will notice anyway.
the rooftop door is already open. the wind greets you. so does pi han-ul. same place as before. leaning against the wall. like he never moved. min-hwan stays by the door this time. doesn’t leave. doesn’t speak. just watches.
han-ul looks at you. doesn’t say anything — not at first. his gaze moves, slow, deliberate. your hair. your collar. your sleeves. your mouth. you feel stripped. like your uniform isn’t doing its job. like he can see through the fabric. through makeup. through intention.
you hold still. you don’t ask why you’re here. you don’t fill the silence. you’ve learned that silence makes people uncomfortable. han-ul doesn’t seem uncomfortable at all. he finally speaks.
“you been waiting for your brother after school?”
your heart stutters. “yes.”
“every day?”
you nod. there’s a pause.
“you a part of that study group?”
“no.”
the word comes out clean, fast. too fast. han-ul’s eyes narrow a fraction. not angry, not surprised. processing.
“then why do you hang around them?”
you swallow. “i don’t hang around them. i just… wait. for se-hyeon.”
true. and not true. han-ul looks at you like he’s deciding whether to pull on a loose thread. he doesn’t.
“why don’t you go home?”
your throat tightens.
“i like waiting,” you mutter. bad answer. you know it. he knows it. silence stretches again. the wind tugs at your sleeves. han-ul steps closer. not close enough to touch, but enough that you feel his presence in your lungs.
“you don’t like your house,” he notes. it isn’t phrased as a question this time. your fingers curl into your sleeves.
“i didn’t say that,” your voice comes out shaky.
“you didn’t have to.”
you shake your head. small. automatic. he watches you carefully. like he’s mapping where you fold. where you break. where you refuse. min-hwan shifts his weight near the door. even he’s quiet. han-ul exhales slowly.
“you’re not in the study group,” he confirms. you nod.
“you don’t want to go home,” he continues. you don’t respond. “that’s all i needed to know.”
your heart sinks. you don’t know why. he turns away.
“go,” han-ul tells you. min-hwan opens the door wider. you hesitate. just a second. like you’re waiting for something else. another question. another warning. another threat. none comes.
you walk past them. back into the stairwell. your legs feel weak. he didn’t get a confession. he didn’t get proof. he didn’t get details. but you know, deep down. pi han-ul learned something anyway. and that feels worse than if you’d told him everything.
─────
you don’t tell anyone you’re not going to school.
you don’t send a message; you don’t leave a note. you just stop showing up.
monday becomes empty. your desk stays untouched. your chair stays pushed in. your name never gets called, because teachers at yusung don’t learn names — they learn threats. and you’ve always been quiet enough to fade.
at home, time loses shape. day. night. day again.
your arm throbs constantly, but you don’t complain. complaining invites attention. attention invites him. your father’s footsteps decide the temperature of the apartment. heavy translates into danger. unsteady amounts to something far worse.
you learn to breathe without sound. you learn to sleep on your other side so your broken arm doesn’t touch anything. you learn to swallow pain like it’s food. you don’t think about pi han-ul. you try not to. but you remember his voice.
if i see another mark on you…
you picture his eyes on a cast. you picture the question that you won’t be able to dodge. and your chest locks up. so you stay home. not because you’re sick. because you’re terrified.
se-hyeon leaves for school every morning. he stops in the doorway. looks back. “you coming today?”
you face the wall. “later.”
by the second day, you reply, “tomorrow.”
by the third, you respond with silence. he doesn’t push. because pushing would mean forcing you to explain. and he already knows there’s something you’re not telling him.
at yusung, se-hyeon feels wrong all day. your empty seat is loud. people notice.
“she drop out?”
“she scared?”
“figures.”
someone laughs. se-hyeon nearly punches them. he doesn’t. because fighting could get him suspended. suspended means staying home. and staying home means construction work with his father. so he swallows it.
the study group notices. hee-won notices the missing second set of footsteps behind se-hyeon after school. ji-woo notices the way he keeps checking his phone. ga-min notices the way se-hyeon studies harder than usual. none of them ask. but they understand enough.
across campus, pi han-ul notices too. not because he tracks attendance. because patterns break. you waited after school. every day. you stood near the stairwell. quiet. steady. still. and then suddenly — nothing.
three days. no whispers, no accidental glimpses in the hallway. that kind of disappearance doesn’t happen naturally at yusung. han-ul calls min-hwan over.
“find out where the girl is.”
min-hwan doesn’t ask which girl this time. he already knows. he approaches se-hyeon near the lockers. casual posture. easy tone.
“yah. your sister transfer or something?”
se-hyeon stiffens. “no.”
min-hwan tilts his head. “then what? she ghost school now?”
“she’s sick.”
min-hwan studies him. “like… flu sick?”
se-hyeon doesn’t answer. his jaw is locked. min-hwan takes that silence and files it away.
“got it,” he says. he walks back to han-ul.
“she didn’t transfer,” min-hwan reports. “she just hasn’t shown up. her brother said she’s sick.”
han-ul doesn’t react. no expression change. no comment. but something settles behind his eyes. sick doesn’t explain the disappearance. sick doesn’t explain fear. sick doesn’t explain why the girl who avoids home suddenly chose to stay there.
han-ul looks toward the school gates. toward the route you normally take. toward nothing.
you think you’re hiding. you think you’re buying time. you don’t know that your absence has already become loud. you don’t know that pi han-ul doesn't forget patterns.
and you definitely don’t know — that fear, to him, is an invitation.
─────
you don’t come back to school because you’re ready. you come back because staying home has started to feel more dangerous than leaving.
your arm is heavy. not just physically. the cast is thick, white, and unmistakable. a permanent announcement that you never agree to make. the doctor called it a simple fracture. your father didn’t call it anything — just a waste of money.
you pull on your biggest hoodie anyway. one that’s a few sizes too large. the sleeves droop past your fingers. you wedge the cast inside, forcing your arm into an unnatural angle. it hurts. you accept it. pain you choose feels safer than pain you don’t.
se-hyeon sees you in the doorway. he freezes. for a full second he stares, then his eyes drop. then his face changes. “what happened.”
it’s not a question. you keep tying your shoes. “fell.”
he steps closer. grabs your wrist carefully. pushes the sleeve back. the cast is exposed. his breath catches. “you were gone from school for days; you slept on the other side of your bed. you’ve been hiding this, haven’t you?”
“i was sick,” you say instead. your voice doesn’t shake. practice pays off.
“you didn’t fall,” he grits his teeth. you don’t answer him. his hands start to tremble. he mutters, “i should’ve stayed home.”
“you couldn’t,” you shake your head. you don’t say i didn’t want you to see. you don’t say i didn’t want him to aim at you too.
se-hyeon turns away. runs a hand through his hair. anger radiates off him in waves. but there’s nowhere to put it. he can’t hit your father. he can’t report without losing your housing. he can’t drag you somewhere safer.
yusung has taught him one thing very well — power belongs to people with reach. he doesn’t have any. on the walk to school, he positions himself slightly in front of you. like a shield. it doesn’t feel convincing.
at yusung, people notice immediately. a cast is loud. louder than bruises. louder than flinching. you keep your arm pressed to your side. you walk fast. you don’t look around. you don’t want to know who’s staring. you don’t want to know if pi han-ul is staring.
you fail. you feel it — the familiar pressure. like standing too close to a flame. you glance sideways. han-ul is near the stairwell talking to min-hwan. smiling at something the other boy says.
then his eyes move. they land on you. on the stiff sleeve. on the way your arm doesn’t swing when you walk. the smile disappears. instantly.
your stomach drops. you turn — immediately. you change directions, ducking into a different hallway. you pretend you remembered something. your heart is pounding too loudly.
you spend the entire day avoiding landmarks. certain corners, certain staircases, certain routes. you walk the long way between classes. you leave early; you arrive late. you hide in bathrooms. you sit near exits. you don’t breathe until the bell rings.
se-hyeon doesn’t stop thinking about you. he barely hears the teachers. barely writes anything down. every time you wince, he notices. every time you shift your arm, he notices.
hee-won notices too. her jaw tightens when she sees the cast. ji-woo presses a juice box into your good hand. ga-min pretends not to see, which you’re grateful for. you don’t want concern. concern leads to questions. questions lead to lies.
by last period you start to believe you’ve succeeded. you haven’t crossed han-ul’s path. you haven’t heard his voice. you haven’t felt that pressure again. maybe he lost interest. maybe he’s busy.
you turn a corner. and nearly collide with him. you stop so fast you stumble. han-ul doesn’t move. doesn’t step back. his eyes go straight to your arm. you try to hide it. you pull the sleeve further down. it’s pointless.
he looks at your face. then back at the cast. “who did that.”
not loud, not calm. controlled.
“i fell.”
it’s automatic. he steps closer. you smell soap and something sharper underneath it.
“you’re terrible at lying,” he sighs as he repeats himself.
your throat tightens. “i have to go.”
he doesn’t move.
“this is what you were hiding from,” he says instead. you shake your head.
“i didn’t hide.”
he tilts his head slightly. “you disappeared.”
silence.
“you don’t want to go home,” he continues.
silence.
“you don’t want people asking questions,” he adds.
your breath starts to hitch. small. ugly. uncontrollable. han-ul watches it happen.
“you think avoiding me fixes that?” he asks. you don’t answer. he steps aside. just enough. “go.”
not gentle. not cruel. final. you walk past him. your legs feel weak.
se-hyeon is waiting at the end of the hallway. he saw enough — not everything. but enough. his hands are clenched into fists. his eyes are shiny. he doesn’t say anything. because there is nothing he can do. and that might be the worst part.
─────
you’re not supposed to be alone. that’s the rule now.
study group ends. you wait near the west stairwell. se-hyeon comes out. you walk home together. simple. safe.
except today, ga-min keeps them late. some arguments about test questions. some explanations that won’t matter in ten minutes. you tell se-hyeon you’ll wait. he hesitates. “i’ll be quick.”
you nod. you always nod.
so you sit on the cold concrete steps. cast tucked into your hoodie, back against the wall, eyes on the floor. you count footsteps. most past. some linger. none stop. until one pair does. you know who it is before you look.
the air changes. pressure. the familiar sense of being under a shadow. you don’t lift your head. you don’t move. pi han-ul stands a few feet away. not blocking you. not towering. just there. you’re already shaking. you hate yourself for it. he notices anyway.
“hey,” he says — one word, low, careful. not what you expected.
you swallow. “i’m waiting for my brother.”
“i know.”
that alone makes your chest tighten. silence follows. not heavy or sharp. awkward. human. he shifts slightly. then crouches so that he’s not above you. that shouldn’t mean anything. it means everything.
“you disappear for days,” he starts. “you come back broken. you avoid me like i’m going to hit you.”
he pauses. then, “i’m not him.”
your breath stutters. you don’t know who him is. you do.
“i don’t need details,” han-ul continues. “i don’t need names.”
he reaches to the side. pulls a folded chair from where it’s stacked against the wall. sets it a small distance from you. not too close. “sit there if you want.”
you stare at it. like it’s a trap. he places a bottled water next to it, twists the cap loose, slides it towards you. then takes a step back. gives you space. real space.
“i’m not going to touch you,” he says plainly. “i’m not going to force anything out of you.”
your hands are shaking so badly your fingers feel numb. your throat burns. this isn’t what you prepared for. you prepared for anger. threats. interrogation. punishment. not this. not options. not gentleness.
han-ul crouches again. keeps his distance.
“just don’t lie to me anymore,” he says. something inside you cracks — small, quiet, but real. you open your mouth. nothing comes out. you try again.
“i’m… not fine.”
your voice breaks on not. the words feel illegal. dangerous. you clamp your mouth shut — too late. tears spill. you don’t sob. you don’t wail. you shake. your shoulders hitch. your breath comes in unpleasant, uneven pulls.
han-ul freezes. you can tell he didn’t plan for this either. for a second, he looks like he’s deciding something. then he moves. slow. careful. he sits beside you on the step. not touching. not yet.
“you don’t have to say anything else,” he tells you. you shake your head. hard.
“i — i don’t — “
you don’t even know what you're trying to say. that you’re scared? that you’re tired? that home hurts? that you don’t know how to survive differently?
han-ul hesitates. then, awkwardly, he reaches out. not confident. not smooth. he wraps one arm around your shoulders. loose. like he’ll pull away if you ask. your body reacts before your brain. you lean into him. just a little. then more.
your forehead presses into his chest. he stiffens. you feel it. you both freeze. then his arm tightens. just slightly. enough to hold. enough to mean something.
neither of you speaks. the hallway hums. voices echo faintly in the distance. the world keeps moving. you don’t. for the first time in a long time — you’re not alone in your fear. and pi han-ul, the boy everyone fears, is holding you like he doesn’t want you to break.
Pairings: Yeon Sieun, Ahn Suho, Oh Beomsoek, Park Humin (Baku), Go Hyuntak (Gotak), Geum Seongje, Na Baekjin x reader (all fluff)
Author's note: I've started watching Weak Hero and all the boys are so cute, I wanted to try my hand at writing some headcanons for them 💞 let me know if you think I should write more 🌸
Yeon Sieun
- Sieun spends weeks trying to convince himself not to ask you out. That it would just be a distraction, or worse, a detriment to your friendship. It's only when he realises he has absolutely no choice, because of how much of his time he spends with his thoughts wandering aimlessly to you with nothing he can do to stop them, that he decides to make a plan.
- He keeps a mental note of the times of day you seem happiest, wanting to catch you in the best possible mood and help his chances of a positive outcome to his question. You notice him lingering a little more closely than usual, thinking it's just his protective streak shining through, or his unusual way of growing closer with people.
- Eventually he catches you on a Friday afternoon, the sun bright in the sky on the kind of perfect day that just makes everyone smile. Except for Sieun, who looks positively alarmed as he gives you a small wave with one hand, a delicate bunch of flowers clutched in the other. He extends them to you in his signature silence before softly asking if you want to do something together over the weekend, as a date. He's careful to get the word date in there, to make sure there's no room for you to misinterpret his feelings.
- When you smile and nod, he feels like a huge weight has been lifted off his chest, thanking you for your time and hurrying home to plan the most statistically perfect first date possible with a subtle smile twitching across his lips.
Ahn Suho
- You and Suho are so used to spending time together that it makes asking you on a date strangely difficult. You don't bat an eye when he invites you to come eat dinner with him at the end of his shift, or to spend an evening riding on the back of his moped and helping him get less lost as he makes deliveries, so how can he make it clear that what he's asking now is different to all that.
- It's obvious that something's on his mind as he stands in your doorway that night, delivering your favourite food, despite you not placing an order for it. When you ask him what's wrong he starts by brushing it off, making a joke about how nothing's wrong when he's with you.
- When you roll your eyes at his terrible attempt at flirting, you notice he looks so much more serious than usual as he speaks, steadying himself with a deep breath before crossing the invisible boundary of your friendship and reaching his hand out to gently grasp yours.
"The next time we eat together, it's my treat. Because it's a date, okay?"
He's not so much asking your permission, as telling you the way he feels, and waiting to see how you react. Luckily, as soon as you agree all the tension in his body releases as he starts practically vibrating on the spot, pulling you into a hug before he realises he needs to get back to work!
Oh Beomsoek
- Poor sweet Beomsoek would need you to put in most of the work for him to ever feel ready to ask you out. He just can't picture a reality where you'd want him in the same way he wants you, that you'd choose him over any of the guys he's sure you could have if you wanted.
- It's obvious how deep his insecurities run when your friendship with him deepens, the way his eyes light up in pure surprise every time you ask him a question, or acknowledge his existence, his whole face beaming when you make sure he's included in yours and your friends' plans
- It might feel tough given how shy he can be, but you'd need to dial up the flirting to make it clear that you're expecting him to ask you out - make a point of inviting him to sit next to you and then bump your knee against his, ask to hold his hand when you're walking down the steep hill outside your school, and send him lots of texts and selfies when things remind you of him. Eventually, even Beomsoek will realise he's in way too deep not to at least try and take you on a date.
- Definitely feels more confident behind a phone than in person, so would ask you out via a message that he types and re-types a hundred times to try and get the wording perfect, forcing himself to hit send before he chickens out entirely. And when you react with a little heart emoji, he'll spent the next hour smiling at the screen and blushing like all his dreams have come true.
Park Humin (Baku)
- Baku is so sure that you're meant to be together, that he feels like asking you out is just a formality. Instead, he's the type of guy that just starts spending more and more time around, trying to show you how good of a boyfriend he'd be to help influence your decision when the time comes for him to suggest a date.
- You two would be friends anyway, but you'll notice that he starts spending way more time with his arm draped over your shoulder, walking close by your side every second the two of you are together, no matter who else is around. At even the slightest breeze, he's holding out his jacket for you to thread your arms through, and now your phone is getting a near constant stream of his thoughts and memes and anything else he can justify sending you to make sure you're thinking about him as much as he thinks about you. He'll even make a joke about how offended he is that he isn't your lock screen, insisting on taking a bunch of selfies together so you can use one and then send him one to match.
- Eventually after a couple of weeks of this act, long enough that half the school thinks you're already together, he'd casually announce that it's probably time you two made this thing official, and asks if he can take you out this weekend. He's exuding confidence as he speaks, but you can tell from his puppy dog eyes that this man would drop to his knees and beg if it meant you'd say yes.
Go Hyuntak (Gotak)
- Like Sieun, Gotak would start off just desperately wishing his feelings would go away, and being almost annoyed by how much he likes you and how many times a day he finds himself thinking about you and smiling out of nowhere. Matters would only get worse when he tries to ask Baku for advice and now has to deal with his best friend constantly poking him whenever you enter a room, and watching his chest tighten in response.
- If it had been before the injury to his knee, maybe Gotak would have been confident that you'd say yes when he asked you out, but now he's not sure how much he has to offer, or if you'll even think he's someone worth considering. He's not really the type of guy to gradually build up a friendship with you either, noticing you a few times and already trusting his gut that he knows enough about you to feel this way.
- He'd be so direct and straightforward when he asked you out, looking almost grumpy about the situation as he stands in front of you in an uncomfortable position of vulnerability. It would definitely be a surprise considering you've only hung out a couple of times, maybe exchanged a few smiles, but when you agree to go out with him, his cool guy facade would immediately drop and he'd start smiling like a little kid, telling you how much fun this was going to be.
Geum Seongje
- While most of the boys in this group might end up overthinking asking you out, Seongje is an absolute under-thinker. He'd meet you once, like your vibe and then the second you make him laugh he'd make up his mind.
- Definitely the kind of guy who tells you when you're going out with him, rather than asking if you want to. You'd just get a DM from him out of nowhere with a time and a day, telling you to be ready for him to take you out.
- When he shows up at your door, never explaining how he knows where you live, and he sees that you took his text seriously, opening your door looking even prettier than he remembered, it would just boost his confidence more, his fingers threaded through yours before you're even off your porch.
Na Baekjin
- He's calculating and methodical with everything he does, and asking you out is no exception. He'd wait until he's studied you closely enough that he's confident your feelings align with his own, carefully studying your social media to work out the best date options and gifts he could bring to guarantee this goes well for you both.
- It's be almost intimidating as he calls you into his little office at the bowling alley, shutting the door behind you before presenting you with a drink from your favourite café, stating calmly that he'd like to the two of you to visit it together at the weekend as a date.
- His face is completely unreadable as his unblinking gaze waits for your response, just the slightest twinkle of joy in his eye as you nod your head and agree that would be nice. If you're really lucky, on the date itself he might actually smile for you, but when he does it's very worth the wait.
If you enjoying my writing and love a touch of romance, please consider buying my romantic/thriller novel as the best way to support me and my writing: It's only $3 for the e-book or $9 for the paperback! Or if you want to support me another way - why not buy me a coffee or commission something special?
Weak hero boys with a reader who keeps insulting them!!
⤷ Contains: Jokes, constant insults, humor, drama, non-canon hehe.
⤷ Pairing: Seongje Geum x Reader, Baek Jin x Reader, Baku x Reader, Gotak x Reader, Juntae x Reader (individual interactions in the same universe).
⤷ Word count: Approximately 2k words.
. ⤷ Warnings:Mild language, innuendo, explicit dialogue.
Yeon Sieun
In the library after class
The library was completely silent, except for the sound of Sieun meticulously turning the pages. You were sitting across from him, supposedly studying, but you'd been fiddling with an eraser for twenty minutes.
"Hey, you damn android," you whispered, breaking the deathly silence.
Sieun didn't even look up from his physics book.
"I'm talking to you, you fucking deaf-brain," you said a little louder, stretching your leg under the table to give him a light kick in the shin. "Stop burning the midnight oil with that crap. You're already number one, what more do you want? A life? Because you need one, you miserable wretch."
Sieun sighed almost imperceptibly. He closed the book halfway, keeping his index finger between the pages so as not to lose his mark, and looked at you with his fixed, cold eyes.
"What do you want?" he asked in his flat voice.
You threw a small metal thermos you'd brought in your backpack at him. It landed on the table with a thud.
"Stop with that poison. It's ginger tea with honey," you snarled, crossing your arms and glancing at the bookshelves. "I had to put up with your dry coughs the whole damn literature class, and you gave me a headache. Drink it and shut up. If you die of pneumonia, I'll have no one left to copy my calculus homework from, you useless piece of shit."
Sieun looked at the thermos. It was warm. He knew perfectly well that ginger was good for the sore throat he'd had since morning. He also knew you'd gone to the cafeteria just to get hot water to make it for him.
Without a word, he unscrewed the lid. Steam filled the space between you. He took a slow sip and felt immediate relief in his chest.
"It's sweet," Sieun said, looking back at you.
“Of course I wasn’t going to give you rat poison, you idiot!” you replied, your face slightly red, abruptly opening your notebook. “Keep reading your garbage and leave me alone.” Sieun didn’t respond, but he didn’t put his headphones back on. He continued studying while sipping from his thermos, finding a strange comfort in your scolding.
Ahn Suho
Outside his delivery job
It was almost eleven at night. Suho had just parked his motorcycle in front of the fast-food restaurant, stretching his arms with a grimace of pain. His back was aching from the double shift.
“Hey! You lazy bum!” he heard a shrill voice from the corner.
Suho turned and immediately smiled when he saw you walking toward him, dragging your feet and carrying a plastic bag.
“Oh, my favorite curse alarm. What are you doing up so late?” "It's dangerous for a dwarf," Suho mocked, getting out of the vehicle.
"Shut your damn mouth before I punch it in, you idiot!" you yelled, standing in front of him. You slammed the plastic bag against his chest. "Here. I was forced to buy this and I don't like it." Suho opened the bag. Inside was a muscle pain ointment and two ridiculously expensive back heat patches.
"Let me guess… you were 'forced' to buy back pain patches the very day I complained about my back hurting?" Suho raised an eyebrow, grinning from ear to ear.
"I told you to shut up, you moron!" You punched him in the shoulder, careful not to hurt him. "You're always whining like an eighty-year-old man, and I'm fed up with you. You're putting that crap on your back today." I don't want you driving like an idiot tomorrow and crashing into a truck, because I'm not going to your damn funeral to cry for you. I'm too lazy to wear black.
Suho let out a clean laugh, one of those that made his eyes crinkle. He took a step forward and grabbed your neck with his arm, ruffling your hair with his other hand while you struggled and showered him with creative insults.
"You're very sweet in your own way, you know?" Suho said, laughing as you nudged him in the ribs. "Thanks. It really hurt."
"Let go of me, you walking pest, you smell like motorcycle exhaust!" you yelled, even though your grip on his jacket wasn't really to push him away.
Oh Beomseok
At the Convenience Store Beomseok was sitting at the plastic tables outside the store, staring blankly at his phone, his shoulders slumped. He'd just had a terrible fight with his adoptive father and felt like the worst piece of trash in the world. His self-esteem was at rock bottom. A pack of tissues and a can of cold grape soda hit the table, startling him.
"Stop making that damn abandoned dog face, Beomseok, you're depressing me," you said, sitting down noisily in the plastic chair in front of you. "Oh… hi," he said, quickly wiping his eyes, trying to hide the fact that he'd been crying. "Don't wipe anything, I already saw your frog eyes," you blurted out, opening your own drink. "Who the hell made you make that idiotic face? Tell me their name so I can go smash their windows with rocks." Beomseok lowered his head, fidgeting with his fingers. "It's nothing… it's just that… sometimes I feel like I'm useless. Like I'm a burden to Suho and Sieun." You slammed the can down on the table so hard that some of the liquid splashed out. "Are you an idiot or were you born by a Teletubby?" you yelled, making Beomseok jump. "Listen to me, you moron. If you were a burden, Sieun would have already ignored you and Suho would have told you to get lost, because those two don't have time to waste on trash. If they're with you, it's because they care about you, and if you keep calling yourself a burden, you're telling me I have bad taste in friends. Are you calling me stupid, Beomseok?" "No!" “No, not at all, I didn’t mean to…” he stammered, scared but puzzled by the logic of your argument. “Well then, shut up and drink your damn soda!” you ordered, pointing your finger at him. “You’re part of the group, whether you like it or not, you fucking weakling. So suck it up and stop crying in corners like a fool. Open your eyes and realize you’re worth something.” Beomseok looked at the can of grape, his favorite flavor. Then he looked at you, huffing and puffing, staring out at the street with a frown, arms crossed. For the first time all night, Beomseok felt the lump in his throat disappear. A small, genuine smile appeared on his face. No one had ever spoken to him so rudely, but, ironically, the insults coming from your mouth sounded more honest and protective than any kind word he’d ever heard at home.
Juntae
The school library was deserted late in the afternoon. At one of the tables in the back, Juntae was hunched over his textbooks. His shoulders were tense, and his gaze was lost in the pages, unable to concentrate because his hands were still shaking from his run-in with the class bullies in the hallway.
Suddenly, a chair in front of him was scraped with a screech that made him jump in fright, hastily adjusting his glasses.
"Stop making that damn dog-killed-a-car face, Juntae, you're giving me a stomachache," you said bluntly, throwing your backpack onto the wooden table.
"Oh… Hi," Juntae mumbled, immediately lowering his head so you wouldn't notice his slightly watery eyes. "Sorry… I didn't mean to bother you." I'm about to leave if I'm bothering you…
"Are you an idiot or do you work out in the mornings?" you snapped, crossing your arms and staring at him. "Who the hell said you're bothering me? You sit there and don't move. You have to explain what you said about classes; I didn't understand a thing. If you leave, I'll find you and kick your legs, four-eyes."
Juntae blinked, completely taken aback by your aggression, but remained frozen in his chair.
You rudely reached into your backpack and pulled out a carton of apple juice and a chocolate bar. You slammed them down on top of his open notebook.
"Eat that up quickly, you piece of shit," you growled, glancing at the bookshelves. "You look like death warmed over, you're paler than Sieun. I bet those idiots in the back stole your lunch money again, and you haven't eaten a thing. Eat already." I don't want you to faint here and make me carry you, because you weigh a ton and I'm too lazy.
Juntae looked at the chocolate and the juice. His hands, which had been trembling with fear and helplessness, were now trembling with excitement. In a school where everyone either trampled on him or ignored him, you had noticed that he was hungry and scared.
"Thank you…" he whispered, his voice a little shaky, carefully opening the chocolate. "Really… thank you. I promise not to faint."
"Well, you'd better, you lazy bastard!" you replied, reluctantly opening your own book. "Open the juice and shut up. I came here to study, not to listen to your whining."
Juntae felt his cheeks flush bright pink. He adjusted his glasses with a small smile hidden behind his book. Your insults didn't hurt him; On the contrary, they felt like a rough but honest shield that made him feel, for the first time that day, completely safe.
Park Humin
Baku was sprawled on a park bench with his eyes closed, soaking up the afternoon sun after a rough fight. You came along and, without warning, smashed a thick math notebook right into his stomach, knocking the wind out of him.
"Get up, you illiterate brute!" you yelled, crossing your arms in front of him. "The teacher said if you don't hand in this damn paper, you're going to be suspended from the team. And I'm not going to let them suspend you because then I'll have to put up with your fat gorilla wailing every day. Move your damn hands and write!"
Baku sat bolt upright, groaning and scratching his disheveled head as he stared at the numbers in utter terror.
"Oh, come on! You know my brain isn't good for this!" Baku protested, making a huge pout. "I'd rather get beaten up by three Hyongshin guys than solve a damn equation." Besides, the letters move!
"They move because you're stupid, musclehead!" you smacked him on the back of the head. "Shut your mouth and copy what I tell you. If you get even one answer wrong, I swear I'll break your other leg myself so you'll actually have an excuse not to go to school. You're a huge animal, but you have the brain of a walnut, you moron."
Baku let out a loud laugh, settled back on the bench, and clumsily picked up the pencil. He loved it when you forced him to do things he'd never do on his own, even if it took you three hours of pure creative insults to get him to write his name.
Gotak
You were walking down the street at night, sharing a pair of earbuds connected to the same phone. Gotak had just put on a super loud, heavy underground rap song that he loved. Three seconds later, you yanked the cable, roughly ripping the earbud out of his ear.
"Take that damn noisy crap out of your ear, Gotak!" you yelled in his ear. "It sucks. It sounds like a bunch of cans banging together in a garbage truck. You're going to burst my eardrum, you deaf bastard. Your taste in music is enough to make me cry."
"Hey! What the hell is wrong with you?!" Gotak yelled back, turning red with rage and snatching the phone from you.
"It's a great song! You only listen to plastic music for dumb girls! You don't know anything about real rhythm, you crazy lunatic!" "I don't give a damn about your sewer rhythm!" "You replied, giving him a shove with your shoulder that made him stumble.
"Put on something decent before I throw your phone down the drain, you miserable wretch. You're so empty-headed, I bet mosquitoes go in one ear and out the other." Gotak huffed furiously, cursing under his breath, but ended up changing the song to a calmer pop-rock track he knew you liked, just to get you to stop bothering him. "I already changed it, shut your mouth, you damn chatterbox!" Gotak grumbled, roughly but gently putting the earbud back in your ear. "You better, lackey," you replied, walking beside him as you silently shared the rhythm, Gotak still frowning but secretly happy that you were there bothering him.
Seongje
The internet cafe was dark, filled with smoke and the clatter of keyboards. Seongje sat in front of the monitor, his eyes bloodshot, violently moving the mouse while playing a first-person shooter. You were at the computer next to him, losing for the fifth time in a row.
"Move it, you damn retard!" you yelled, slamming your fist on the keyboard. "I told you to watch my damn back, you piece of trash! Are you playing with your eyes closed or what?" Seongje didn't take his eyes off the screen, but a twisted, creepy smile spread across his face. He loved it when you went wild.
"Shut your mouth, shorty. You got killed for being slow," he muttered in his drawling, cold voice. "Stop yelling at me if you don't want me to smash this computer over your head."
"Try it, you lazy psychopath!" "Let's see if you have the guts to do it," you snapped, giving him a sharp punch on the shoulder. After a while, you pulled a squashed sandwich and a can of energy drink out of your backpack and slammed them down next to his keyboard. "Eat that already, you miserable wretch. You've been glued to that screen for like twelve hours without eating. You look like death warmed over. If you collapse here, I'm not carrying your ugly corpse to the hospital; I'm leaving you lying in the hallway, you idiot."
Seongje let out a hoarse laugh that made the other kids at the computers turn around in fright. He grabbed the sandwich with his pale hands and took a huge bite without taking his eyes off the monitor.
"You're crazy," Seongje said, his eyes shining with pure amusement. "But I like this poison. Buy me another can if I win the round again, you grouch." "Go to hell, find your own slave, you parasite!" "—you answered, even though you were already searching your pockets for coins for the next drink. Seongje was fascinated that you were the only person who didn't flinch at his dangerous gaze."
Baek Jin
The atmosphere was thick with tension. Baek Jin sat in the middle of a seedy pool hall, surrounded by shady characters who owed him money. He just watched coldly as his underlings pressured the debtors. Out of nowhere, you burst in, kicking an empty chair and shattering the oppressive atmosphere.
You walked straight up to Jin, snatched the expensive metal lighter from his hand, and sat on the arm of his chair without asking permission.
"Hey, you two-bit thug, give me some money for the machines or get me a cigarette, I'm dying of boredom here," you snapped, nudging him in the shoulder with your elbow. "This place reeks of old people, and your damn lapdogs won't let me play in peace. Do something useful for once in your miserable life instead of sitting there like a damn mannequin."
The debt collectors froze, waiting for Jin to order you to be beaten up for disrupting his business. However, Baek Jin only let out an amused snort. He slowly took the lighter from your hands and pulled a wad of bills from his jacket pocket, throwing it in your face.
"Take this and go spend it before I punch you in the mouth, you noisy bitch," Baek Jin said, his face as serious as ever. "You're scaring away my customers with your crazy screams."
"I don't give a damn about your ugly customers and your filthy money!" you retorted, catching the bills in midair. "But I'll keep it anyway because you owe me for putting up with your ugly face. Don't die today, you miserable wretch, because tomorrow I want you to buy me clothes."
You turned away counting the money, while Jin went back to his business with a small, amused grin on his face. Your disrespect was the only thing that broke his boredom.
Hi, I'm glad you're back. Could you write something with Seogmok? Anything at all. I love his character even though he literally has almost no dialogue in the series lol I'm very fond of the actor If you can write something about him and the girl from the Union, that would be nice, something fluffy, but if it's something separate from that series, that's fine too, as long as it's something cute because of his quiet personality. 🙏
early bird gets the burger and fries.
contains reader being given a shitload of work to do from baek-jin, seong-mok being an amazing coworker & great friend.
content warnings nothing really? it involves union paperwork stuff so technically illegal activities but it's really nothing.
it was still early in the morning when you approached the rundown garage that had fast become a place that started to feel more and more like home with each day that you visited the shabby hangout. most people your age were no doubt still snoring away in their beds, which you could hardly blame them for. it was seven o'clock in the morning on a saturday after all.
but duty called, and you had a pile of three thick folders worth of data to be typed up before the weekend came to an end, courtesy of baek-jin who had so generously let you know about the work that needed to be completed just before you put your phone on charge for the night, via text message. you had half wanted to call the leader and beg him to extend the deadline, not really crazy about only having 48 hours to fly through what needed to be done but you knew logically that your boss would only turn you away with an uninterested dismissal.
the only option you had left was to just get it over and done with.
which is why you had forced yourself out of bed at 6am (or technically 6:20 after snoozing your alarm twice), eager to get it all done and out of the way as quickly as you could so that you could enjoy the rest of your free time before you returned to school on monday. if you were lucky, you'd be wrapped up and ready to return to the comfort of your bed by five o'clock tonight, if you just sat down and got on with it - no distractions, no ten minute breaks that become thirty minute naps, and no dong-ha to distract you with his conspiracy theory rants that actually made you question a few things (though you wouldn't admit that to him).
making your way inside the garage, you absolutely expected the entire building to be scarce of anyone who usually lingered around waiting for their next orders. more often than not, seong-je would be fast asleep somewhere but you knew for a fact he wasn't around from his instagram story, a blurry snap from an hour ago of him still battling it out for first place in some random game you had never heard of, with a stranger he'd been matched up with at the twenty-four hour internet cafe.
it wasn't the first time he'd forced himself into staying up all night, being too stubborn to back down when he felt the person he was playing against was being 'too cocky'. you just had to leave him to it, the only one who could pull him away from the screen when he got like this was baek-jin.
you had approached the old, leather couch and dropped your bag down onto it with a huff, relieved to rid yourself of the heavy weight from your shoulder, with the intention of paying a quick visit to the tiny kitchen space to prepare yourself a drink and some snacks that could help you get through the start of what was to be a long day sat infront of your laptop screen.
what was meant to be a quick and uneventful trip, quickly changed into something much more dramatic when you collided with a hard chest, you and the other guilty party turning the corner at the same time, both unbeknownst of the other heading in the opposite direction.
you gasped, your hand flying to your chest as if your heart was due to combust behind your ribs, which you were adamant was possible with how fast and frantic it was beating at the unexpected scare. you looked up, silently praying you weren't about to come face-to-face with some stealthy enemy of the union who had managed to break into the garage looking for a fight of some kind, there was absolutely no way you could take on a well built guy who had it out for your group of boys.
thankfully, the heavens were on your side for once.
you let out a sigh of relief once you had realised who it actually was that stood a few inches away from you, seong-mok hadn't even flinched at the near collision which didn't surprise you at all really, you were sure it would take an atomic bomb to make this boy show an ounce of shock.
"jesus seong-mok, what the hell could you be doing in the kitchen that creates no noise?"
his response was a raise of his arm, showing you the carton of orange juice he must've been getting from the refrigerator whilst you were just making your way inside. you hummed, fair enough.
"how come you're here so early?" was your next question, one that you asked whilst you made your way into the kitchen, eager to get your hands on something that could quell the rumbling of your stomach before it made you moody.
"i woke up at five, couldn't fall back asleep." he explained, following behind at a respectful distance. "i'm only going to get called down here later anyway, thought i'd just get a headstart."
"smart thinking." your lip quirked up at his reasoning, knowing he was absolutely right. baek-jin would probably need his assistance with something at some point during the day, you just hoped for his sake it wasn't anything like what you had to deal with. "where's your partner in crime? i thought you guys were permanently joined at the hip."
he clicked his tongue at that, a sound that made you smile knowing you had annoyed him with your comment, though you both knew it was all playful.
"why does everyone act like we spend every minute of our lives together? we're not even with eachother that often."
you sent him a look at that, knowing what he had just said couldn't be further from the truth. everytime you saw seong-mok, dong-ha was somewhere not far behind, and vice versa. you could count on one hand how many times you'd seen them on their own, this being one of them.
you finally settled on a bag of crisps and an energy drink to take to your designated work space, not a breakfast full of vitamins and all that beneficial stuff but it's not as if you were provided with the ingredients to chef up a breakfast worthy of a few michelin stars, so this would have to do. satisfied with the selection made, you turned on your heel and made your way back into the open space, heading straight for the couch.
once sat, you opened your energy drink and took a generous gulp, the condensation from the can made the drink feel slippery in your grasp so you made extra effort to grip it, not wanting the sticky liquid to end up all over you clothes.
seong-mok dropped down on the couch beside you, making sure there was still a little space between you, his demeanour around you had eased remarkably since you first started working with him. in the early days, he probably would have sat in baek-jin's office, out of sight, if you were the only two around. not because he didn't like you - though you were convinced that was the reason at one point - but because he wasn't very sociable around people he first met. it took a while for the introvert to warm up to you, enough for him to be able to remain in the same vicinity as you when you were together without feeling uncomfortable or unsure of how to communicate with you.
now, after having to be together so often, your friendship had practically been forced to develop, into something you would go as far as to call good friends. you were at that stage where if you saw a funny tiktok, or a tweet about something you had both spoken about previously, you wouldn't be shy about sending it to seong-mok and he would reply with his own input, even if it was just a thumbs up emoji.
after you were satisfied with the amount of caffeine now making its way around your body, you placed the can down at a reasonable distance. close enough for you to be able to reach it, but far enough for you to not accidentally knock it over if you moved without thinking. your eyes wandered over to the folders that had been left on the table, exactly where baek-jin had told you he had left them for you to retrieve, and a groan emitted from the pout you couldn't fight.
you had known you were in for a long day the moment the message from baek-jin showed at the top of your phone screen last night, but seeing it physically, in person, made it real. it wasn't something you could shove under your bed and forget about, like the chemistry homework you ignored in favour of suffering through a detention instead of giving yourself a headache over silly questions about compounds and atoms.
"i don't think i'm baek-jin's favourite anymore." you whined, leaning over the table to retrieve the first bulky folder, unfortunately it wouldn't disappear just because you wanted it to.
seong-mok watched with a tinge of amusement in his eyes, seeing you all whiny always served to entertain him when nothing else did, and he knew he was in for a whole day of hearing you grumble about how much you hated it here. he eyed the folder that you had now opened, before his eyes drifted to the remaining others that looked just as full to the brim, he was definitely thankful his given tasks were more of the physically violent kind.
"what do you have to do with it all?" he asked, still not completely up to date with all that you did within the illegal organisation.
"just type it all up really." you explained, opening up your laptop and hitting the power on button. "baek-jin likes everything to be very organised, i have to put the right information into the right document and make adjustments to any old stuff that's in there that's not true anymore, you know?"
you cocked your head to seong-mok, who just stared back at you like you had spoken in a foreign language. the clear confusion on his face made you laugh.
you picked up the folder and pointed to one of the things that had been messily sprawled down by someone who was either in a rush, or half distracted when they wrote it down.
"look at this for example." you glanced at the boy to make sure he was indeed looking at what you were pointing at before you continued. "it say's that gil-sung transferred ₩400,000 over to our bank account the other day, so i have to type that up in the money paid section in the document. and then after that i'll have to erase his ₩800,000 debt and make sure it's recorded that he's paid half, and still owes the other half of it."
you let the explanation linger for a moment, allowing seong-mok's brain to catch up with all that you'd said.
"ah. i get what you mean now."
"see, it's really not that hard! it's just a pain to do because there's so much of it."
he hummed at that, nodding in understanding at your current predicament.
"if you want, i could help you out? i don't know how useful i could actually be for you but, it gives me something to do until i'm needed elsewhere."
you thought about it for a moment, you were not about to turn down his offer that would help you get your job done quicker, you were just unsure of what he could actually do to help, with you only having one laptop and everything. then, an idea hit you.
"you could go through the other folders for me, try putting all the same stuff together so i don't have to keep going back and forth when i'm typing it up. put all the pages about money together, all the pages that have information about the bikes that are waiting to be sold on, together, does that make sense?"
his response was simple, a single nod as he gathered the next folder in the pile without complaint and you felt a wave of relief overpower the harsh bouts of irritation that had been lingering around you since you forced yourself out of bed this morning.
"you're paying for my dinner for this. i'll have a burger and some fries, five o'clock."
you raised a brow, your gaze returning to seong-mok whose attention remained on the first few pages in the folder, as if he hadn't said anything at all. you made a noise, half a scoff, half a laugh at his blunt demand.
"let's see how far you get before you give up first."
what followed after that was a good two hours of concentration, some small talk here and there whenever one of you got too fed up with constant work, and a warm realisation that the morning spent together had brought the two of you even closer together.
not sure if you’re open to requests (couldn’t find anything on your page about it, sorry if i missed it!), but are you able to write something about geum seongje x secretary reader. lowk like the idea of him being controlling in a freak way e.g., what we do/wear (freakazoid alert!). basically dom/sub
fyi love the way you write!!
hi anon! i am open to requests! unfortunately i couldn't think of a full coherent storyline for this but in return i WILL give you a bunch of headcanons i have for this scenario. not sure if you've seen the movie the secretary but that's what this prompt reminded me of
content warnings: boss x secretary relationship so power imbalance and multiple hr violations, dom/sub, high protocol/lots of rules, total power exchange, spanking
thinking about a reader who desperately needs a job and is in a tight spot. you see a flyer for a secretary position, it looks a little sketchy but a scam can't hurt you if you have nothing to lose.
boss!seongje who is immediately off putting. he is really particular about things, so the first week is full of constant rules and reprimands. like, can he really feel the difference between three spoonfuls of coffee creamer vs two, or is he just fucking with you?
slowly but surely it starts to morph into something more personal. there's no set dress code, but he constantly gives your outfits disapproving stares. one day he full on tells you to stop dressing like a slut to the office.
you're beyond pissed because all of your skirts are knee length and your blouses are always buttoned up. but fine. you'll bite. so you start covering up even more, wearing slacks and a blazer on top of your blouse. it only makes him stare more, but this time there's something in his gaze that makes you squirm
boss!seongje who ends up cornering you in his office, accusing you of distracting him on purpose so he gets nothing done. you're confused, because you haven't done anything in particular to seduce him
he thinks you're playing coy, so he bends you over his knee and spanks you to get his point across. his heavy hand leaves you in tears, so he just rolls his eyes and lets you cry into his shoulder as he gets back to work
he starts adding in absurd rules just so he gets an excuse to punish you. no restroom breaks over 3 minutes. only black or white shirts. only dress flats. lunch must be eaten at 12:30pm on the dot. when you get good at following his rules, he starts implementing maintenance spankings just to make sure that you stay well trained
he rarely praises you, but you can tell he's becoming more fond of you based on how he lets you cling to him longer after each spanking. he even lets you suck his fingers if you're crying particularly hard!!
his absolute favorite thing is to control what you wear. his excuse is that he won't have you embarrassing him in front of clients. what started out as minor uniform rules is now him picking out your exact outfit in the morning, right down to what pair of bra and underwear you're wearing (and yes, he does check)
Genre: lovers to exes to ???
Pairing: geum seongje x reader
Word Count: 2978
In Which: your secret relationship unravels and becomes forbidden, but neither of you can resist, not if you're each other's solace.
The heavy atmosphere of the warehouse coated the inside of Seongje’s body with a faint layer of unease at Baekjin’s sudden request to meet him here. Whether it was the invisible stains of crimson suffering, or the whispers of the cries let out by union victims in this very building, Seongje knew a possible combative fate awaited him.
“Are you seeing my sister?” Baekjin asked from across the table, his face completely devoid of any emotion.
Baekjin's cold voice washed over Seongje, his sudden words causing a slight stumble as Seongje took a long drag from his cigarette, holding the smoke in his chest as the tension heightened.
“Since you're asking, you must know something,” Seongje responded, exhaling and watching the smoke dissolve into the uneasy air.
“Break it off,” Baekjin plainly stated. “Otherwise, I'll make sure you really can't see her.”
Seongje scoffed. “Is that why you brought me here? To take matters into your own hands if I say no?”
“I’ll send her to study abroad in a country so far you won't be able to reach her.” Baekjin looked up at Seongje, whose tongue was pressed against the inside of his lip: a habit Baekjin knew Seongje took on when he was being challenged.
“She can make her own decisions, you know?” Seongje flicked the cigarette away, far too irritated and distracted to continue paying attention to his habit.
“I have a one way ticket on hold, Seongje. She has everything here: family, friends, university.” He paused to make eye contact with Seongje, making sure he would get the memo. “Are you so selfish that you’ll choose your own wants and take away the life she loves?”
Fury pumped through Seongje’s veins, crawling onto the surface of his body and making his skin burn with resentment. Seongje knew how it looked, especially to Baekjin, who had only ever known Seongje as far as his ability to be the backbone of an organized crime ring.
But still, Baekjin didn’t show an ounce of willingness to understand that a version of Seongje existed outside of that. One that was soft, loving, and affectionate; one that had taken a special person to bring out.
You.
“Now you’re getting it,” Baekjin said, seeing the gears turn in Seongje’s head as the threat sank into his mind, “I expect you to end things tonight.”
And suddenly, all of the words died in Seongje’s mouth, immediately replaced by the metallic taste of despair. He wanted to refuse, to explain what you meant to him, but his words had never been enough to capture how much he adored you. So to offer even a fraction of that truth to Baekjin, someone who was only your other half, would simply not do his feelings justice.
And unfortunately for him, within that adoration existed the fact that he would not be the one to take your world away. Without giving himself enough time to second-guess his action, he took out his phone, tapped your name, and texted the forbidden words.
gsj: we’re over, please don't reach out
He turned his phone towards Baekjin, clenching his jaw as the tension in Baekjin’s shoulders lowered in satisfaction. And with that, he stood up from the couch, eyes laser focused on the exit to the stuffy building. The itch in his fist intertwined with the strings of insults to Baekjin in his head, but the devastation seemed to inevitably paralyze his being.
Finally, he left without saying anything, the words clogged behind the lump of melancholy in his throat that he saw no point in coughing out. Now being only left with union work, he’d let his hands do the sole talking. There was no longer any need to find his verbal voice going forward, not if you ceased to exist in that time frame.
⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ୨୧ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹
The night you’d received that text would forever live in your mind. the circumstances, the environment, your reaction, everything down to the scent of the sweet dessert sprawled on the table in front of you. You’d been in the middle of a celebratory dinner with your friends when the screen of your phone glowed with a new notification.
Seongje’s text read directly over your lock screen, which featured a selfie you’d taken with him on your first official date. Your unknowing smile as you looked at him with heart eyes through the phone camera. His nose was scrunched after you’d left a red kiss mark on his cheek, an affectionate act he pretended to dislike, insistent on maintaining his cynical character around you at first.
But you’d always seen through him, knowing he loved the endearment deep down. So just shortly after the picture, you'd read past his tough persona and given him what he secretly wished for, a matching one on his other cheek.
The happiness of the memory had clouded your judgement, convincing you the text was nothing more than a sick joke. It was strange; you didn’t cry, you didn’t scream, and your heart certainly didn't drop as far down as it usually did with the mere thought of losing Seongje.
Perhaps Dongha had taken his phone and decided to mess with you, or he’d lost a bet and had a dare to face. You simply decided to put the phone away, returning to the conversation at hand.
But hours went by, soon turning into weeks with no signs of damage control from Seongje. Not even a text explaining that it hadn’t been him, or that he was sorry for such a twisted prank.
That's when the reality of the situation truly settled upon you. The sting of his cruelty drove you insane, so inexplicable when you considered the stability of your relationship just hours before the text. There wasn’t an argument or disagreement that was clear enough to blame, so you had resorted to the next best thing: yourself.
The pure hatred towards yourself for feeling like you’d ruined everything had led you down a self-destructive path. You had spent various nights on end at bars, clubs, and anywhere that served a medicine for your soul: the liquid poison that numbed you to relief, preventing you from feeling the grief that actively tore your heart in half.
Whether it was a cocktail whose sweet taste, reminiscent of his tender kisses, lingered on your lips, or the straight vodka that filled your body with the same bitterness that his absence had left, all you craved everyday was that same dizzy, mindless feeling.
And tonight was no different. The cloudy, intoxicated feeling consumed your body under the neon lights. With your sane friends having no reason to visit the club so often, you’d gone alone today. You decided there was no need for company anyway, as all you’d need was to get your quick fix and catch a cab home.
it was true, to an extent– at least until your night faced an abrupt interruption, courtesy of the man sitting at a nearby booth, hands intertwined at the table with the woman across from him. Your eyes fixed on him, analyzing his familiar features through your extremely impaired vision.
The half rimmed glasses, middle-parted hair, and a chain hung loosely from his neck all struck a pit of dread in your stomach. You stood up quickly, almost losing your balance in the process, but taking your phone out nonetheless to click the contact that had been untouched for weeks.
Seongje, on the other hand, had been fast asleep when you called. The sudden ringtone ripped him from his slumber, with the freshly awoken disorientation multiplying when he saw the 3:00am sky outside his window, knowing the sound couldn’t be his alarm.
He reached over to his nightstand, picking up his phone to be immediately jolted awake. Not from the brightness, but from the outline of a red heart in the contact name: the one he wouldn’t need his glasses to read. The adrenaline from your sudden call overrode any attempt to weigh out the consequences of answering, causing the twitch in his finger to fire as he accepted the call.
You heard the line connect as you stared at the man, whose hands failed to come into contact with his phone at all. The relief was only short-lived as you proceeded to hear Seongje’s breathing on the other end, reminding you of the situation you were now in.
Meanwhile, his heart thumped in his throat. The desperate question of why you’d called threatened to push outward into the silence, fighting against his rational decision to remain quiet until you spoke– which he soon discovered you wouldn’t.
The silence that filled the call became louder than the chatty club, a painful volume that made your legs grow a mind of their own, finding the nearest exit. The lonely night air, combined with the lack of Seongje’s voice only intensified the feeling of his absence, allowing a shamefully loud sob to finally escape from your lips.
The sound of your cry was enough for him to break, no longer caring about logic, or even considering how things would end if Baekjin found out he’d been in contact with you.
“Y/n? what happened?” his stern, concerned voice filled your ears.
“I don’t– fuck, i don’t know” your words slurred as you struggled to form a coherent sentence under your woozy state. But even if you’d been sober, you still wouldn’t know how to begin explaining that you’d called to confirm he wasn’t with another woman. After all, you had no right to care– you weren’t together, and he’d been firm on you not reaching out.
“Are you drunk? Where are you?” he sat up, fully alert by this point as he threw on his jacket quicker than he’d gotten out of bed. His concern for your safety was now bigger than his ability to take his sweet time.
“Im at–” a choked cry interrupted you, making you unable to speak as your emotions came over you uncontrollably, your body so weak that it dropped to sit on the curb outside of the club.
“Fuck, just share your location. please,” he said, immediately fetching his keys and slipping on his shoes, heading over to warm up his car.
You whimpered in response, non-verbally letting him know you’d do just that. But with a blurry vision and shaky hands, all you could do was hope that you’d clicked the right buttons.
“i’ll be there soon, don’t move.”
Given the proximity of your location to his house, and the urgency to get to you, he’d arrived shortly after he ended the call. He stopped his car as soon as he saw you, head buried in your arms and knees on the cold, concrete sidewalk.
“Hey,” he exited his car, rushing over to you and crouching to meet you at face level. “Hey, Hey,” he anxiously shook your shoulders, waiting for you to raise your head.
But when you finally did, his heart broke into an uncountable amount of pieces. Your face was flushed, cheeks puffy, and eyes red from the tears you’d shed. “I'm sorry.” you sobbed, apologizing without knowing exactly for what.
“It's fine, y/n. just– c’mon get up.” He wrapped his arms under yours, lifting your numb body from the floor. He removed his jacket, placing it over your exposed shoulders before aiding you to the passenger seat, soon getting into his own.
“Is anyone at home right now?” he asked, wondering if there’d be anyone to take care of you, worrying you might end up choking on your own vomit from how much you seemed to have drunk tonight.
You leaned against the car window, swallowing your tears thickly. “No, and I don't want to go home” your admission came out small. The feeling of his arms around you and the cologne from his jacket inevitably invaded your mind. It made you crave more of his presence, even if it meant only stepping foot into his home for a mere minute.
He sighed, knowing he didn’t want to leave you either, not after finally seeing you outside of his imagination. He lightly jabbed his palm into the steering wheel in frustration at the dilemma before speaking up. “Does Baekjin have your location?”
“No, I turn it off when I go out,” you mumbled, growing too tired to speak.
He hummed in response, turning to confirm your seatbelt was on before heading back towards the direction he came from, with you dozing off next to him.
⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ୨୧ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹
Entering his apartment again felt nostalgic, the kind of nostalgia that nauseated you because the feelings once associated with it, were no longer accessible. He removed his shoes, briefly unwrapping his arm from around you to kneel and remove yours as well. Standing back up, he gently supported your weight as he guided you to the familiar bedroom, sitting you on the mattress.
“Wait here,” he said, disappearing into the bathroom before coming back with the micellar water and cotton pads he’d bought for when you slept over. “Look up.” He soaked the pads with the liquid, raising your chin and stabilizing your face with one hand as he began to wipe with the other.
You stared at his focused expression, analyzing the feelings that accompanied his features. His eyes were bleak and filled with hurt, lacking the lively glimmer he’d once stared at you with. Strangely, it didn’t feel recent, the depth easily traced this ache to something well before tonight.
He discarded the dirty cotton, reaching into his dresser for a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. He kneeled to slide the sweatpants on, pulling them up your legs. “Stand,” he ordered again, bringing the large pants to your waist and fastening them around your much smaller body. He removed his glasses, helping you out of his jacket and your dress before quickly slipping his shirt over your head.
“I didn’t see anything,” he mumbled, neatly putting away your clothes. “I'll be on the couch if you need anything. Get some rest,” he said before beginning to walk away into the living room.
Your chest burned, the sting traveling upwards to cloud the entirety of your mind. The tender care he’d shown you just moments ago proved he still cared, yet he didn’t hesitate to threaten you with his absence again, something you struggled to understand.
“Why did you stop loving me?” you impulsively whispered, the weight of the question making it land loudly in Seongje’s ears, crashing down on his stomach.
He sighed at the incorrect, yet unaddressable question. He couldn’t risk the consequences with Baekjin, knowing you’d go on confront your brother if you found out about the reason behind the breakup.
He sighed, slowly turning to look at you sitting on the bed. He stared at the face he loved so much in despair, feeling the guilt gnaw at him as your bottom lip jutted out, just like it did when you were on the brink of tears.
He walked towards you, cupping your face with his hands before leaning down to place a long, soft, and loving kiss on your forehead. “I never stopped,” he said, pulling away.
“Then why’d you end it?” you questioned, watching his face struggle to conceal his inner conflict.
“That’s not a conversation for tonight.” He dropped his hands from your face, “Goodnight.”
“Wait.” The desperation to keep him close overwhelmed you, “Stay?” You looked up at his troubled, indecisive face. “Please”
“Y/n, I can’t.” He dropped his head, knowing he wouldn’t be able to go back to the forced distance if he gave in.
“Just hold me, only tonight. I promise we can be strangers again after,” you pleaded, settling for a couple of hours before accepting your lonely fate again.
Hearing you beg for the bare minimum, combined with the sheer unfairness of it all, was enough for the same fury from the night at the warehouse to return. Not at you, but at Baekjin: at your brother for taking away the only person he couldn’t dream of living without. But more importantly, he was furious at himself.
He cursed himself for not having fought harder to keep you. He blamed himself for letting the anger take away his voice instead of raising it, and for giving in so easily to Baekjin’s orders. Not only had he lost you as a result, but he’d also caused you grave, unnecessary pain, one he was finally witnessing tonight. The least he could do in this moment was provide the comfort you craved.
He looked up for a mere second before giving in, unable to ignore how you pleaded for the affection he had never thought twice about giving. You watched as he walked over, climbing onto the space in the bed next to you. You quickly closed the gap, wasting no time to burrow yourself in his arms.
He subconsciously tightened his grip in return, finally taking in the warmth that he’d spent so many nights longing for. He pressed you closer to him, wanting you to leave a permanent imprint of yourself on his body as he prepared for the dreaded goodbye that awaited him in a few hours.
His soft heartbeat rattled against your cheek, beginning to lull you to sleep like it always had. And in just a few minutes, he felt your body loosen up in his grip, falling into a deep slumber.
He brought his fingers to your hair, carefully lacing them between your soft locs. “I promise i’ll figure something out soon,” he whispered to your sleeping self, pulling away to scan your face.
The slight furrow in your brow made his breath hitch, aching at the way you felt troubled even in your sleep. His hand retracted from your hair, bringing it down to soothe the worried lines on your face with a gentleness he’d only ever use on you.
“I really never stopped loving you,” he repeated, hoping the words would put your subconscious at ease before finally closing his eyes, knowing that you were waiting for him in his dreams.
A/N: lowk not proofread.. I gave up half way. anywaysss enjoy one of the many scenarios from my severely sleep deprived and angst loving brain (that I actually managed to somewhat complete, endings always beat my ass lol)
side note, no seongje fics of mine will be using canon age, assume all are set to univerity age.
summary: you’ve been running empty for days, just the hollow motions of existing. when seongje finds you at a convenience store at 3 AM, barely recognizable without your usual armor of makeup and carefully maintained appearance, he doesn’t ask if you’re okay. he already knows you’re not.
content: fluff, hurt/comfort, mentions of depression/lack of energy/lack of appetite/dissociation, seongje helps you shower, nonsexual nudity, seongje typical smoking, cuddling, hwangmo shows up for like one paragraph, reader is mentioned to typically wear makeup
based off this request. role reversal version here.
⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔
The fluorescent lights hum overhead with that specific frequency that makes your skull ache if you pay attention to it. You have not been paying attention to much lately. The past few days have passed in a blur of disconnected moments that your brain stopped trying to organize into linear time.
Your hand hovers over the shelf of instant noodles. Shin Ramen sits in its red package. The package in front of you blurs slightly. You blink. It stays blurred.
The question of when you last ate surfaces without urgency. Yesterday feels like a possibility. The day before seems equally likely. There was toast at some point.
You put the noodles in your basket without remembering the decision to reach for them. They join the other items you have collected. Energy drinks you will not open sit next to bandaids for cuts you do not have. A bag of cheap sugar cookies that taste like cardboard rounds out the selection. The basket weighs almost nothing in your hand. Everything weighs almost nothing these days.
The glass door of the refrigerated section reflects someone you don't quite recognize. Your hair is pulled back in a knot that was never meant to last four days. No makeup covers the greyish tint your skin has taken under these lights. You're wearing one of Seongje's hoodies. The sleeves hang too long and there is a stain on the cuff that might be coffee. The fabric smells like him and cigarette smoke.
He’s never seen you like this.
The thought arrives with unusual clarity, cutting through the static that has replaced most of your thoughts. In the eight months you have been together, he has never seen you barefaced. The version of yourself he knows is maintained and deliberate.
The version currently buying random shit at three in the morning looks like she has been underwater for a week.
You move toward the register on autopilot, body carrying you there without conscious input. The cashier is some college student doing overnight shifts. He glances at your basket and then at your face. Something flickers in his expression that looks like concern.
"You okay?" he asks.
The question takes too long to process. You blink at him and form the word in your mouth before speaking. "Fine."
He does not look convinced but he's not paid enough to push. The scanner beeps as he runs your items across it. Each beep sounds too loud in your skull. Everything is too loud or too quiet lately.
His voice carries from the next aisle over.
Seongje says something you do not catch. Then laughter follows. Hwangmo is probably with him. The sound makes your stomach drop in a way that almost registers as emotion. That makes it the strongest thing you have felt in seventy-two hours.
Your hand tightens on the basket handle. The cashier continues scanning. The energy drinks beep. The cookies beep. Your brain screams at your body to move faster but everything moves through honey.
"That'll be-"
You shove money at him before he finishes, not bothering to wait for change. The plastic bag crinkles as you grab it and turn toward the door. If you can just get outside before he rounds the corner then maybe he won’t see that the girl in his hoodie with greasy hair is supposed to be his girlfriend.
"Yo, isn't that your girl?" Hwangmo's voice carries that specific amusement that means he is about to say something stupid. Every muscle in your body locks. Your back is to them but you can feel the weight of attention shifting in your direction.
"Where?" Seongje sounds closer than you expected.
"Right there. Chick at the register."
You keep walking. The automatic doors are right there. Five more steps separate you from escape.
"Wait."
Four steps remain.
"You guys have the wrong person." Your voice comes out flat and empty. The doors slide open. You are almost through when footsteps sound behind you.
"Turn around."
The words are not a request.
You stop in the doorway. Night air hits your face with sharp cold. The plastic bag cuts into your palm. Behind you Hwangmo is probably grinning. The fluorescent lights are bright enough to see through your closed eyelids.
"I said turn around."
You do.
His eyes land on you and something in his expression shifts. His gaze moves over your face and catalogs the absence of makeup. The circles under your eyes look dark enough to be bruises.
Hwangmo says something. You don’t hear it. Seongje isn’t looking at him.
"When did you eat last?" The question comes out quiet and matter-of-fact. He could be asking what time it is.
You open your mouth and then close it. The answer requires accessing information you do not have. "Today."
"Bullshit." He steps closer. Cigarette smoke clings to his jacket. "When?”
"I don't know."
"You don't know." He moves close enough that you have to tilt your head back to maintain eye contact. "You don't know when you ate."
"I've been busy."
His eyes drop to the plastic bag in your hand. Energy drinks and cookies, things that are not food in any real sense, look back at him. When he looks at your face again, something cold and controlled has settled into his expression.
"How long has it been since you slept?"
"I sleep."
"How long?”
Your brain tries to count backwards. It gets lost somewhere around yesterday afternoon. The timeline refuses to organize itself. "I don't know. A few hours here and there."
He reaches out and touches your face. His thumb presses gently under your eye where the skin is darkest. You flinch from the shock of being touched after days in a body that stopped feeling like yours. "You look like shit."
"Thanks." The word has no bite to it. It just falls out of your mouth and lands between you.
Hwangmo still stands nearby. Seongje does not glance at him. His attention stays fixed on you with that careful intensity that makes you feel pinned in place.
"You're coming with me."
"I have to go home."
"No, you don't."
"I have-"
"Whatever you have can wait." His hand drops from your face to your wrist. The grip is firm but not painful. "You're coming with me."
You should argue. You should pull away and insist you are fine. You should go back to your apartment and continue the very productive spiral you have been in. The thought of doing any of that requires energy you stopped having days ago.
"Okay," you hear yourself say.
His expression doesn’t change but something in his posture relaxes slightly. He takes the plastic bag from your hand and turns to Hwangmo.
"Go home."
"But-"
"Go. Home."
Hwangmo must see something in his face that makes arguing a bad idea. He shrugs and wanders toward the back of the store. Seongje's hand is still around your wrist. The warmth and solidity of it registers as the first real thing you have felt in days.
"Can you walk or do I need to carry you?"
The question should be humiliating. Instead it just sounds like an assessment of your current functionality.
"I can walk."
"Then walk."
He doesn’t let go of your wrist. He pulls you gently toward the door and out into night air so cold it almost feels like sensation returning to your skin. You follow because the alternative is standing in a convenience store trying to remember what functional human behavior looks like.
His apartment is six blocks away. You have walked this route before as the version of yourself that wore lipstick and laughed at his dark jokes. That version seems very far away now, unreachable.
"You've been avoiding me," he says after the first block.
You stay quiet.
"Three days. No texts. Calls going to voicemail." His voice stays even without accusation. "I thought you were pissed about something."
"Not pissed."
"Then what?"
You don’t have an answer that makes sense. How do you explain the emptiness? How do you describe going through the motions of being alive without any of the actual living parts working? You have been wearing his hoodie for four days straight because it was the only thing that felt like it belonged to something real.
"I don't know," you say finally.
He makes a sound that might be acknowledgment. He does not push for more. He just keeps walking with your wrist held loosely in his hand, like he’s afraid you will disappear if he lets go.
Maybe you would.
His apartment looks the same as it always does. A couch sits against one wall while a low table holds an ashtray and his phone charger. There are no decorations or photos. The functional space could belong to anyone.
A hand on your shoulder guides you to the couch. The pressure feels gentle but firm enough that your body follows without question. You sink into the cushions and watch him move toward the small kitchen area.
"Stay there," he says.
The couch has become the most comfortable place you have sat in days. Your body settles into it like it might never get up again. Going anywhere was not part of your plans anyway.
Water hits metal too loudly in the quiet apartment as he fills a pot from the sink. The pot goes onto the stove and he turns the burner on. Blue flames lick up the sides. A cabinet opens and he pulls out two packets of instant ramen. The cheap kind costs less than a dollar and tastes like salt and MSG.
His movements are efficient and practiced as you watch with detached interest. This is clearly not the first time he has made food at three in the morning. The water begins to boil. Torn packets release noodles into the pot. Seasoning follows. Steam rises and fills the small space with the smell of artificial beef flavor.
A bowl appears in front of you on the low table three minutes later. Noodles sit in their broth and release heat into the air. Chopsticks rest across the top of the bowl.
"Eat," he says.
Your stomach turns at the thought of eating in a way that has nothing to do with nausea. Food has become an abstract concept over the past few days. Your body stopped asking for it.
"I'm not hungry."
"I don't care. Eat anyway."
The chopsticks feel heavy in your hand as you pick them up because arguing seems harder. Some noodles lift from the bowl and broth drips back down. Steam hits your face. The chopsticks lower without any food reaching your mouth.
"What's the problem?" he asks.
"I'm just not hungry right now."
"You haven't eaten in days. You're hungry."
"I don't feel hungry."
A long moment passes while he stares at you. Processing this information seems to lead him toward finding it unacceptable. His jaw tightens slightly. Frustration rather than anger shows in the gesture. "Why?”
The chopsticks go back across the bowl as you set them down. Noodles sink back into the broth. Your brain searches for an explanation that will make sense.
"I usually shower before I eat dinner," you say. "So I'm not hungry right now."
The logic sounds reasonable in your head. Out loud it sounds less convincing. His expression suggests you have just said something in a language he does not speak.
"You're not hungry because you haven't showered," he repeats slowly.
"I always shower before dinner. It's just a thing."
He stands up from where he has been leaning against the arm of the couch. The new information gets processed. Some conclusion forms that you cannot see.
"Okay," he says. "Then go shower."
"I don't have any clean clothes here."
"I have clothes. Go shower."
Standing up and walking to the bathroom seems like the logical next step. Your body refuses to respond to these commands. The couch cushions might as well have grown roots into your spine.
Ten seconds pass before he reaches down and takes your hand. Steady pressure pulls you up until you are standing. Your legs remember how to hold your weight but only barely.
"Come on," he says.
His hand stays wrapped around yours as he walks toward the bathroom. Following requires less energy than resisting. Water turns on as he reaches into the shower. Steam begins to fill the space.
Temperature adjustment happens while you stand in the doorway and watch. The sound of water hitting tile almost drowns out the ringing in your ears that has been there for days.
Turning back to you, he reaches for the hem of his hoodie that you are wearing. You take a step backward and create distance. His hands stop.
"What are you doing?" you ask, suddenly shy.
"Helping you shower."
"I can shower by myself."
"Can you?"
"Yes."
That same careful assessment from earlier returns to his expression. Showering alone probably exceeds your current capabilities. Standing without swaying takes most of your energy. Coordinating the complex series of actions required to wash your hair feels impossible.
"I'm coming in with you," he says.
"What? No. I can do it myself."
"You've been wearing the same clothes for four days. You can't remember the last time you ate. You look like you're about to pass out. I'm not letting you get in the shower alone."
"That's weird."
"I don't care."
A staring contest begins. Steam continues filling the bathroom. Exhaustion has soaked so deep into your bones that arguing feels like climbing a mountain.
"I've never showered with someone before," you say finally.
"There's a first time for everything."
"This is weird."
"You already said that."
"Because it is."
"Are you getting undressed or am I doing it for you?"
Your gaze drops to the hoodie and sweatpants you cannot remember putting on. His hands move to the hem of the hoodie.
The fabric catches on your hair tie and pulls it loose. Greasy strands fall around your shoulders. The hoodie drops to the floor. Sweatpants follow. Underwear joins the pile. Once you’re completely naked, you feel no embarrassment or self-consciousness like you thought you would. His shirt comes off next, followed by his jeans. Looking at your body does not seem to interest him particularly. Nothing sexual lives in this moment.
You step into the stall first. Hot water hits your skin and the sensation shocks your system. Heat seeps into your muscles and reminds them that relaxation used to be possible.
He steps in behind you. The shower stall allows maybe six inches of space between your back and his chest. Water hits both of you. Standing under the spray lets you watch it run down the drain.
"Tilt your head back," he says.
Compliance comes easily. Water hits your hair and soaks through to your scalp. His hands follow and work through the tangled mess with unexpected gentleness. A bottle opens somewhere behind you. Then his fingers return with shampoo that smells like mint.
Slow circular motions scrub your scalp. The pressure feels good without hurting. Your eyes close. Water runs down your face. Days of grease and grime get worked through by his fingers. Rinsing removes the shampoo and the bottle opens again. The conditioner works through the ends of your hair where tangles are worst.
"You smell like cigarettes," you say. Your voice sounds strange in the small space.
"I was smoking earlier."
"You're always smoking."
"Yeah."
The conditioner rinses clean. His hands on your shoulders turn you around until you face him. Water runs between your bodies. Wet hair pushes back from his forehead. A washcloth hangs from a hook and he reaches for it. Body wash pours onto the fabric. He begins washing your arms with the same methodical attention he gave your hair.
"This is really weird," you say.
"You already said that twice."
"I'm saying it again."
Your shoulders receive attention next. Then your back and stomach. The washcloth scrubs away layers of sweat and stale air that have been clinging to your skin. Standing still and letting him work seems like the only option. Your brain has stopped trying to process what is happening. Making sense of anything no longer seems possible so passive observation takes over.
Legs get washed. Then feet. Every part of you receives the same careful attention. When he finishes, the washcloth gets handed to you.
"Your turn," he says.
The washcloth gets handed to you and you take it with hands that barely remember how to grip properly. Body wash pours onto the fabric in an amount that is probably too much. Your hands move to his chest and start scrubbing with all the coordination of someone who has forgotten how arms work.
The washcloth slides across his skin in uneven strokes that miss spots and repeat the same areas. You go over his left shoulder three times while barely touching his right. Your movements lack any kind of rhythm or purpose. This is not helping him get clean and both of you know it.
He stands completely still anyway and lets you work with clumsy hands and unfocused attention. No corrections come from him. He doesn’t guide your wrists to the areas you are missing. Your hand drags the washcloth down his arm and then back up. The water has started to run cool but he does not rush you or take over. He waits.
Eventually your hands slow and then stop moving entirely. The washcloth hangs limply in your grip while you stare at his chest like you have lost track of what you are supposed to be doing.
"Done?" he asks quietly.
The question takes a moment to process before you can answer. "Yeah."
The washcloth drops from your hand and hits the shower floor with a wet slap. He reaches past you and turns the water off in one smooth motion. Sudden silence fills the small space and makes every other sound seem amplified.
"Feel better?" he asks.
"A little," you say.
"Good. Now you can eat." He steps out of the shower first and grabs a towel from the rack. The fabric wraps around his waist with practiced efficiency. Another towel gets pulled down and held open in both hands. You step out on unsteady feet and he wraps the fabric around you immediately. His hands tuck it in above your chest with quick movements. The towel feels rough and clean against your skin while holding more warmth than you expected.
He leaves you standing there wrapped in his towel. Movement sounds from the other room as drawers open and close. He comes back with a t-shirt that will be too big on you and sweatpants with a drawstring waist.
"Get dressed," he says. "Then we're eating."
The clothes get pulled on with movements that feel disconnected from your brain. The t-shirt hangs off your shoulders and reaches mid-thigh. Sweatpants bunch around your ankles even with the drawstring pulled tight. You shuffle back to the couch where the bowl of ramen still sits on the low table. Steam no longer rises from it. The broth has probably gone lukewarm.
Sitting down takes more effort than it should. Your body folds onto the cushions and you reach for the chopsticks. They still feel heavy. Everything feels heavy.
Seongje settles into the spot next to you with his own bowl. Noodles disappear into his mouth at a steady pace. A small amount lifts to your lips and you chew slowly. The taste registers as salt and something vaguely meat-flavored. Swallowing requires conscious effort.
Another bite follows. Then another. Each one takes time to get from bowl to mouth to stomach. Your jaw moves like it has forgotten the mechanics of chewing. The noodles are soft enough that this does not matter much.
He finishes his bowl in the time it takes you to eat maybe a quarter of yours. The empty dish gets set on the table with a quiet click. Settling back against the couch cushions, he reaches into his pocket. A cigarette pack emerges. The familiar sound of the flame catching fills the quiet.
Smoke curls up toward the ceiling as he takes a drag. The smell of tobacco mixes with the lingering scent of artificial beef broth.
Your hand reaches out without thinking about it. The gesture asks for what your mouth does not bother saying.
He looks at your outstretched hand and then at your face. The cigarette stays between his fingers.
"No," he says.
"Why not?" Your hand stays extended in the space between you.
"Because I said no."
"You're literally smoking right next to me." The smoke still hanging in the air gets a vague gesture from you.
"That's different."
Your hand drops back to your lap with more force than necessary. The chopsticks pick up more noodles but your movements have lost what little coordination they had. "How is that different?"
"You breathing in my secondhand smoke and you smoking directly are not the same thing." He takes another drag and this time turns his head to blow it away from you.
"The distinction seems pretty arbitrary."
"It's not arbitrary."
Another bite goes into your mouth while you stare at the remaining noodles in your bowl. "You smoke around me all the time. What difference does it make if I'm the one holding it?"
"The difference is you're already self-destructive enough without adding nicotine to the list." His voice stays matter-of-fact while the cigarette dangles from his fingers. "This is the last thing you need."
"That's hypocritical." The words come out without heat.
"I don't care."
"You're sitting here smoking while telling me I can't smoke." Another bite lifts to your mouth and the chopsticks shake slightly in your grip.
"Yeah." He takes another drag and blows the smoke away from your face. "I am."
The energy required to argue about this does not exist in your body. Your brain tries to form a rebuttal and gives up halfway through. Whatever. The fight is not worth having. Going back to eating your noodles in mechanical silence seems easier.
Silence settles between you like a physical presence. His cigarette burns down slowly and leaves a trail of ash that he taps into the ashtray. Eating at your glacial pace continues. The bowl is maybe half empty now. Progress exists even if it feels minimal.
He reaches over and taps ash into the ashtray on the table. The movement is practiced and automatic. Smoke continues to curl upward while you continue to chew with your eyes half-closed from exhaustion.
"When did it start?" he says after a while.
The question is vague enough that clarification seems necessary. "When did what start?"
"This." He gestures vaguely at you with the hand holding the cigarette. Smoke trails from the lit end. "The not eating and sleeping. All of it."
Your chopsticks pause halfway to your mouth and hover there while you think, trying to pinpoint when things started going wrong feels impossible. There was no clear beginning, just a gradual slide from functional to whatever this current state is.
"I don't know," you say finally. "A week ago maybe. Could be longer."
"What happened?" He stubs out the cigarette in the ashtray and immediately reaches for another one.
"Nothing happened."
"Something always happens." The lighter flicks and catches. New smoke joins the old.
"Not this time. I just got tired."
"Of what?"
"Everything." The word comes out flat and empty as you set the chopsticks down across your bowl. "All of it, the constant effort of being a person."
He does not respond right away. His eyes stay on you with that careful attention he gives to things he is trying to understand. The weight of his gaze feels heavy enough to press you further into the cushions.
"You should have called me," he says finally.
"I didn't know what to say." Your hands fold in your lap while your thumbs press against each other.
"You don't need to say anything. You just needed to call."
"I'm done," you say, not sure if you were referring to the noodles, or to the weight of everything on your shoulders.
"You barely ate half." He looks at the bowl and then back at your face.
"It's more than I've eaten in three days."
"Fine. That's enough for now."
Standing up requires pushing yourself off the couch with both hands. Your legs remember how to support your weight but protest the effort with a slight tremor. The bowl gets picked up as you turn toward the kitchen area.
"I'll wash this and then head out," you say.
"Why would you head out?" The question comes immediately.
"Because I should go home." Your feet are unsteady as you take a step towards the kitchen.
"Why?"
The question stops you mid-step. Going home means going back to your apartment, the unwashed dishes and the pile of laundry. It means going back to the space where the spiral started.
"I just should," you say without turning around.
"That's not a reason." His voice comes from behind you on the couch.
"I can't just stay here." The bowl trembles slightly in your grip.
"Why not?" The leather creaks as he shifts on the couch.
"Because I have things to do." Your knuckles are white where they grip the bowl.
"What things?" His voice stays level but something in it suggests he already knows you are lying. "What do you have to do at four in the morning?"
"I don't want to be a burden," you say. The words come out barely above a whisper.
"You're not." The couch creaks again and footsteps sound behind you.
"I'm literally falling apart in your apartment. That seems like a burden."
"I don't care. You're staying here."
"You can't just decide that,” You argue as you finally turn around to face him.
"I just did." He stands now and looks at you with that immovable expression.
"That's not how this works." Your voice lacks conviction.
"You can barely stand up without swaying. You're not going anywhere."
“I don’t have my stuff,” you say weakly.
“You don’t need stuff. You need sleep.”
“I can sleep at home.”
“No you can’t.” The certainty in his voice allows no room for argument. “You’ll go back to your place and stare at the ceiling for six hours and then come back here looking worse than you do now.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes I do.”
He is probably right. Going home means another day of going through motions without any actual living happening.
Your mouth opens to protest again but nothing comes out. The exhaustion has finally won. Fighting takes energy you stopped having days ago.
“Fine,” you say. “I’ll take the couch.”
“Get in the bed or I’m carrying you there.” The bowl gets taken from your hands before you can respond. Water runs in the kitchen as he rinses it. Dishes clink together.
He comes back and finds you still standing in the same spot. His hand wraps around your wrist.
“Come on,” he says, leading you to the bedroom.
You climb onto his bed without waiting for further instruction. The mattress gives under your weight.Muscles you did not know were tense begin to release. The pillow smells like him.
He moves around the room for a moment. A drawer opens and closes. The lamp on the nightstand gets turned on and casts warm light across the space. Then the overhead light goes off and the room becomes softer.
"Move over," he says.
You shift toward the wall and your body protests the movement. The mattress dips significantly as he climbs in next to you. His weight settles and changes the entire landscape of the bed. The blanket gets pulled up higher over both of you. An arm drapes over your waist with familiar weight. Warmth radiates from his body into yours and seeps through the borrowed t-shirt you are wearing.
“If you kick me I’m going to the couch,” you mumble into the pillow.
“I’m not going to kick you.”
"You say that now." Your words slur slightly with exhaustion.
“Go to sleep.”
“Thank you,” you say quietly. The words barely make it past your lips. “For not letting me leave.”
His arm tightens around your waist slightly. “You’re not going anywhere. Not anymore.”
Sleep pulls at the edges of your consciousness. For the first time in days it feels possible rather than theoretical. Your body starts to let go.
“Don’t disappear again,” he says against your hair. His breath is warm on the back of your neck.
You manage a sound that might be agreement. Your brain has stopped forming coherent words. His warmth and the weight of his arm and the smell of cigarette smoke all blend together into something that feels almost like peace.
The static that has been filling your head for days finally quiets to nothing. Sleep takes you under like water closing over your head, but this time it feels like relief instead of drowning.
Hi! I just read your story Golden cage with Han Sugang x reader 😍 I was wondering if you could make another part with them? Where she gets pregnant and gives birth and how they are as a family? 🥹
Han Su-gang | Golden cage pt. 2
Summary: After a week of distance, your obsessive husband Su-gang's jealousy is unleashed until you both discover the reason for your rejection.
Note: English is not my first language so feel free to tell me if there are any mistakes.
Part 1
The mansion the Han family had gifted you as a wedding present no longer felt like foreign and hostile territory. As the months bled into one another, you had learned how to inhabit it… how to walk across its polished marble floors without the constant fear of tripping and how to recognize the distinct sound of your husband's footsteps long before he even crossed the threshold.
You had adapted to your golden cage, convincing yourself that Han Su-gang’s suffocating attention wasn't a prison, but the only safe haven you had ever known in your entire life.
Your daily routine was meticulously calculated, designed under the strict supervision of a man who left absolutely nothing to chance. Su-gang was no longer the high school bully who sowed terror throughout the corridors… now, he wore tailored suits, Italian silk ties and practiced as a brilliant attorney at his mother's prestigious law firm. Yet, his dangerous and possessive core remained entirely intact, merely camouflaged beneath a facade of sophistication and professional success.
Every morning began exactly the same way. You would wake up pinned against his chest, one of his heavy arms wrapped firmly around your waist, anchoring you to his body as if he feared you might simply vanish into thin air during the night. Su-gang was an intensely physical man, he couldn't fathom the idea of being in the same room as you without establishing some form of contact. While you ate breakfast, his free hand would inevitably find your thigh beneath the table, offering subtle caresses that made you blush and served as a silent reminder of who owned every single inch of your skin.
"What time do you finish classes today, babe?" he would ask, his voice gravelly with sleep, a tone that still sent a faint shiver down the back of your neck, as he packed the documents into his leather briefcase.
"At four" you would reply, keeping your eyes glued to your coffee cup. "I have to hand in a constitutional law essay."
"Perfect. The chauffeur will be waiting for you in the campus parking lot at three-fifty sharp. Not a minute early, not a minute late" he would decree, leaning in for a parting kiss. His lips would press hard against yours, his tongue forcing its way inside for a few bruising seconds… a daily reminder of his magnetism before he left for court.
Su-gang had no issue with you going to university or meeting up with female classmates to study at the campus café, but your freedom on campus was nothing more than a well-constructed illusion. The driver who transported you wasn't just a security guard… he was one of Su-gang’s most trusted men, tasked with reporting your every move. You were strictly forbidden from walking home or accepting impromptu rides from male classmates.
Your social life outside of your marriage existed, but everything unfolded under your husband's watchful eye.
However, where his true colors bled through most explicitly was during social outings. As the heir to Seoul's most prominent law firm, Su-gang was regularly required to attend charity galas, business cocktail mixers and high-profile client dinners. At these events, he always brought you along, putting on an impeccable display as a doting couple.
You dressed in the most expensive and elegant gowns, though always taking care that the necklines weren't too revealing. On those nights, the facade of the perfect and protective husband remained flawless to the rest of the world, but you could feel the icy current of tension radiating from his body the moment any man stepped too close to you.
You remembered last week’s dinner vividly. A young associate from the firm had approached the two of you to offer his congratulations on your recent wedding anniversary. His tone had been perfectly polite, but he made the mistake of letting his gaze linger on you a second too long. In the blink of an eye, Su-gang’s hand clamped down on the small of your back, gripping your hips with a force that made you catch your breath. His fingers dug into the fabric of your dress, physically claiming you in front of the interloper.
"My wife appreciates your kind words" Su-gang had said, flashing a flawless smile, though his dark eyes dripped with an implicit promise of professional ruin if the man didn't back off immediately. "Isn't that right, babe?"
You could only offer a tight nod, your heart hammering wildly against your ribs from the sheer panic, feeling the crushing weight of his possessiveness squeezing your chest. The moment the associate scurried away, stammering an apology, Su-gang leaned in close to your ear.
"Don't you ever look at another man like that again, babe. It makes me sick to my stomach watching those idiots stare at you. You only have eyes for me. Am I making myself clear?" he hissed roughly.
And you had accepted that control, because your twisted mind found a warped sense of comfort in his obsession. Su-gang loved you in a sick way, but it was love nonetheless. You were the center of his universe, the only person for whom he seemed capable of feeling genuine emotion and you had convinced yourself that you were willing to pay the price of your freedom if it meant never having to face the cold indifference of the outside world again.
Yet, the perfect stability you had built began to fracture in the most unexpected way possible.
It all started on a rainy Tuesday in mid-autumn. You had woken up with a strange heaviness in your limbs, an unusual fatigue that you chalked up to the stress of university midterms. But it wasn't just exhaustion. When Su-gang rolled over in bed to pull you into his usual morning embrace, a sudden wave of irritation flared down your spine. His massive arm, which typically made you feel safe, suddenly felt like a suffocating chain.
"Su-gang… please, get off me. You’re too heavy" you said, shoving his hand away with a blunt harshness you had never shown before.
Su-gang went completely still. His eyes snapped open in the dim bedroom light, locking onto your profile with a mix of shock and utter confusion. For months, your response to his morning touches had been a soft smile or a timid hum… you had never rejected him so overtly.
"What did you just say?" His voice cut deeper and rougher than usual, stripping away the coddling tone he reserved for your private intimacy.
"I said get off. Its hot and you're making too much noise" you grumbled, turning your back to him and pulling the navy-blue duvet over your ears.
You had no idea what was happening to you. Your own behavior baffled you, but the visceral irritability gnawing at you was too real to suppress.
That was only the beginning of a miserable week for both of you. On Wednesday, Su-gang arrived home from the firm, desperate to see you… just like every other day. The second he stepped through the main foyer, he strode straight toward you, intending to trap your lips in one of his demanding kisses. But the scent of his cologne… an expensive fragrance you usually loved, hit your nose like a physical blow.
Your stomach instantly turned, a violent dry heave forcing you to push against his chest with everything you had.
"What is that smell?! You smell disgusting!" you cried out, clapping a hand over your mouth as you stumbled three steps back, your eyes watering from the sudden wave of nausea.
Su-gang reeled back slightly from the shove, but what truly unraveled him was the look of genuine revulsion painted across your face. His features hardened instantly, twisting into the dark scowl he usually saved for his adversaries in the courtroom. His monumental ego had just taken a lethal hit.
"I smell disgusting?" he repeated, his eyes narrowing as he stalked forward, closing the distance between you. "It’s the same fucking cologne I’ve worn since the day we got married. What the hell is wrong with you this week? You dodge me in bed, you won't let me touch you and now you're telling me I disgust you."
"I don't know what's wrong with me, I just can't stand being around you right now!" you screamed back. Tears began streaming down your cheeks for no apparent reason, you felt entirely unhinged. "Please, just go take a shower or sleep in the guest room, I don't care!"
Su-gang stared daggers at you for one long minute, his jaw clenched so tightly you could see the muscle ticking beneath his skin. Without another word, he spun on his heel, violently snatched his suit jacket and stormed out of the house, letting the heavy front door slam so hard the entire property rattled.
You were left completely alone in the middle of the opulent living room, sobbing uncontrollably into the leather sofa, hating yourself for treating him that way, yet simultaneously feeling an immense sense of relief now that the suffocating weight of his presence had finally vanished.
Over the next few days, things only grew worse.
To a man like Han Su-gang, your sudden rejection felt like an outright declaration of psychological warfare. His twisted and insecure mind, fed by a perpetual terror that you would one day realize the kind of monster you had married and stop loving him, immediately jumped to the darkest and most paranoid conclusions.
At the firm, Su-gang became a living nightmare for the secretaries and junior associates. He was utterly unapproachable, barking aggressive, harsh responses to any questions and completely unable to focus on the case files his mother left on his desk.
He spent his days checking his phone every two minutes, waiting for a text from you that never came or calling your chauffeur to verify that you were actually at the university and not meeting up with someone else behind his back.
"Is she alone? Are you certain she didn't speak to anyone on campus?" Su-gang interrogated the driver over the phone, staring out at the sweeping city skyline from his top-floor office window.
"Yes, Mr. Han. The mistress went straight to her civil law lecture and left accompanied only by a female classmate. She is already back at the mansion now" the driver's fearful voice replied from the other end of the line.
Su-gang hung up without a word, slamming the phone onto his wooden desk. He ran a hand through his hair, visibly frayed. The insecurity was eating him alive. Why were you shutting him out? Why weren't you seeking his warmth at night anymore?
His mind began to spin the worst possible theory: Jin-hyeong.
He thought of the high school loser… the boy you had secretly loved for years while Su-gang watched you from the shadows, consumed by jealousy and a burning desire to destroy you both. He thought that maybe you had found out about something he did, that maybe you had run into him somewhere in the city or that you had simply snapped out of the illusion of your marriage and remembered that Su-gang was nothing more than the man you had been forced to marry.
"I only married you to keep you" he repeated to himself, echoing his own words from their wedding night. "I spun a thousand plans just to make you look at me... You bruised my ego and the only way to ensure you belonged to me forever was to make you my wife."
The thought that you might be regretting giving your life to him, that his darkest sides had finally pushed you away for good, drove him completely mad. He couldn't handle being invisible to you again. He had spent his entire youth wishing you would look at him instead of that idiot Jin-hyeong. Now that he had you in his grasp, now that he had made you his wife and pulled breathless groans from you against the sheets of his bed, he wasn't about to let you strip away what he considered rightfully his.
With a tight jaw and eyes injected with a vicious resolve, Su-gang grabbed his car keys. The sun was just beginning to dip below the city horizon, but it was time to go home and demand answers. He didn't care if you were scared, he didn't care if you cried… tonight, he was going to force you to look him in the eye and remind you that no matter what crazy thoughts were running through your pretty little head, you were his for the rest of your life.
(...)
The roar of his car engine announced his arrival long before the mansion's front door even opened. You were sitting on the bed you shared with your husband, knees pulled tightly against your chest, with your civil code book spread open across the sheets… though you hadn't managed to process a single line in the last two hours. A headache throbbed behind your temples and a persistent tightness in your chest served as a constant reminder that your body was stuck in a state of perpetual alarm.
You heard the echo of his footsteps on the stairs. They weren't the slow strides he usually returned with from the firm… this time, Han Su-gang’s pace was heavy, charged with an energy that instantly made the air in the room grow thick. Your heart began to hammer against your ribs from a mix of sheer panic and adrenaline. You knew that a whole week of cold shoulders, rejections and snapping at him had finally pushed the man who had moved heaven and earth to marry you to his absolute limit.
The door swung open and Su-gang came to a halt in the threshold, his suit jacket slung carelessly over one arm and his silk tie already loosened around his neck. His hair looked slightly unkempt, a clear sign he’d been running his fingers through it in frustration all the way home. But what truly made your stomach drop was his gaze. His dark eyes were locked onto you, completely stripped of the warmth or the coddling tone he usually offered whenever he walked through that door. He looked exactly like the cold and violent man you had known back in high school.
He dropped his jacket onto an armchair with an indifference that made your skin crawl, and walked slowly toward the bed.
"We need to talk" he decreed, his gravelly voice sounding so harsh it felt like it scraped against the very walls of the room.
"Su-gang, please… my head hurts" you tried to excuse yourself, casting your eyes down toward the pages of the book in a futile attempt to ignore him. "We can do this tomorrow…"
"No, tomorrow my ass" he cut you off, his sheer authority making you flinch slightly on the mattress.
He walked right up to the edge of the bed and leaned in, planting one knee on the mattress to close the distance. His large hand clamped around your chin with an unyielding grip, forcing your head up so you had to look him dead in the eye.
"I’ve spent a week putting up with you dodging me in bed" he pressed on. "I've spent a week taking you pushing me away like I'm some kind of freak, screaming that my cologne makes you sick and looking at me like you’d rather be anywhere else in the world than by my side. I am officially out of patience, sweetheart."
Feeling the heavy warmth of his hand on your jaw, your eyes welled with tears almost instantly. You hated this weakness of yours… hated how your body's knee-jerk reaction to the slightest confrontation was to cry, but the toxic mix of exhaustion and the inexplicable emotional instability that had ruled you for days made it impossible to keep your composure.
"Nothing is wrong with me!" you yelled back, trying to wrench your face from his grip, but he only subtly tightened the pressure. "I told you I feel sick, that I'm tired! Why do you have to make a drama out of everything?"
Su-gang let out a dry bark of laughter, a twisted sound that held zero amusement. He leaned in so close you could feel his warm breath against your lips and, even though your stomach threatened to turn again from his proximity, the sheer intensity of his gaze kept you frozen in place.
"I'm making a drama?" he murmured, his dark eyes vividly reminding you why everyone in high school used to fear him. "I was crystal clear with you the night we got married. I gave you time, I was patient, I bought you every single thing you wanted and I took care of you like no one else in your miserable life ever has. And you pay me back by shoving my chest and screaming at me to sleep in another room? I'm not an idiot, babe. I’ve learned to read your every fucking reaction. I know exactly when you're hesitating and that look you're giving me right now is not exhaustion."
"Then what do you think it is?" you asked, your voice cracking as you felt the very abyss you had been running from open wide beneath your feet.
Su-gang suddenly let go of your chin, only to pin both of your wrists against the mattress with a single hand, completely immobilizing you. His face was twisted by a profound insecurity… a paranoia that was actively eating away at his ego and his sanity.
"It's because of him, isn't it?" He hurled the accusation like a venom he’d been choking on for days.
You froze, staring up at him blankly.
"What? What are you talking about?"
"Jin-hyeong!" he growled, and the name of your teenage crush echoed through the room like a curse. "You thought you were invisible to the world, but I know you cried over him when you found out he was getting married. I know perfectly well you were forced to marry me and that you were terrified of me, but I thought… I thought after all these months you’d finally realized that loser never looked at you the way I do. What happened? Did you run into him at campus? Did you find out something, and now you regret being stuck in this house with me?"
Su-gang’s theory was so absurdly warped that for a second, you were completely speechless. Your brain short-circuited at the sheer scale of his paranoia, he truly believed your physical rejection was because you were still pinning after a ghost from your past. He thought his golden cage was fracturing because you craved freedom or another man's touch.
"You're crazy!" you screamed, thrashing against the sheets in a desperate bid to free your wrists. "You're completely insane, Su-gang! I haven't seen Jin-hyeong in months, I don't even think about him! I married you, I'm here with you every single night! How can you be so fucking insecure?!"
"Because it cost me too much to have you!" he roared, completely losing his composure. "I had to pull strings, I had to rig a fucking marriage that wasn't even in my plans just to make sure you were mine and no one else's! Do you think I'm going to let you leave me now? That I'm going to let you think about someone else while you're in my bed?!"
"There is no one else!" you let out, gasping for air as tears blurred your vision. "I just can't stand you right now! I hate how you touch me, I hate your cologne, I hate everything… Why can't you just understand that I feel sick?!"
Your words seemed to strike a direct blow to Su-gang’s pride. His eyes darkened even further, gleaming with a wild spark. He opened his mouth to spit back something hurtful, to remind you exactly who ruled this relationship, but the words never made it past his throat.
Before he could speak, a violent wave of heat surged up your chest, straight to your throat. Your stomach constricted so suddenly and painfully that a sharp whimper escaped you. The adrenaline from the screaming match instantly collided with an unbearable wave of nausea that you couldn't suppress.
Using a burst of strength you didn't even know you possessed, you yanked your hands free. Su-gang instinctively loosened his grip and you scrambled out of bed, sending your law book crashing to the floor as you bolted barefoot toward the master bathroom. You slammed the door open and dropped to your knees in front of the toilet, gripping the porcelain rim just in time as your body convulsed in a painful heave.
Su-gang sat frozen on the mattress, his hands still suspended in mid-air where he had been pinning you just a second ago. Hearing the sound of your retching and the echo of your distress echoing from the bathroom was like having a bucket of ice water dumped directly onto his face. All the rage, the delusional jealousy and the paranoia over Jin-hyeong vanished in a heartbeat, replaced by an entirely different kind of alarm.
He lunged off the bed, hurried into the bathroom and came to a halt right beside you. Seeing you look so incredibly small on the floor, trembling uncontrollably with your tangled hair plastered to your face by a cold sweat, something in his brain clicked into place.
Su-gang was a controlling man, yes, but he was also hyper-analytical. His legal mind began to replay the events of the past two weeks at a dizzying speed as he knelt down behind you.
"Babe…" he murmured and, this time, his voice carried no trace of hostility… he sounded genuinely worried.
He positioned himself at your back, sweeping his massive arms around your frame to hold you up. With one hand, he gently gathered all of your hair, pulling it away from your face so you could breathe easier, while his other hand rubbed slow, steady circles into your back, trying to soothe your body's spasms.
You threw up a couple more times, your throat burning, feeling like you didn't even have the strength left to hold your head up. When the episode finally subsided, you slumped completely against Su-gang’s chest. Exhausted, you closed your eyes, desperately trying to catch your breath.
"Shh, it's okay, it's over… just breathe, babe" he whispered in your ear, using his thumb to gently wipe a stray tear from your cheek.
Yet, despite the softness of his touch, you felt his entire frame go completely rigid behind you. Su-gang was staring blankly at a fixed spot on the bathroom wall. The puzzle pieces had finally fallen into place inside his head.
Your unusual fatigue over the last few days. The way you woke up with morning sickness that you had chalked up to bad eating habits. The absolute revulsion to strong odors, including the very cologne you had spent months smelling without a single complaint. Your mental instability and the sudden, unprovoked crying spells. And, above all, a detail you hadn't even noticed yourself because you were so hyper-focused on university: your missed period.
Su-gang reached his hand out toward the vanity cabinet, grabbing a glass of water for you. He helped you rinse your mouth and then scooped you up into his arms as if you weighed absolutely nothing, lifting you off the cold bathroom tile. He laid you down carefully on the bed, immediately tucking you in beneath the navy-blue duvet.
He stood beside the bed, staring down at you with a strange look on his face. He was no longer angry, nor hurt, nor paranoid. His dark eyes now burned with a completely different intensity… a big arrogance beginning to curve the corner of his lips. Any thought of Jin-hyeong was buried under a million tons of dirt, he felt like an absolute fool for ever doubting your love for him.
"Stay here. Don't move" he ordered firmly, though his tone was practically a caress.
He snatched his car keys off the nightstand and strode out of the room without another word of explanation. You were left entirely alone in the vastness of the bed, dazed and confused, rubbing your temples, completely unable to fathom your husband's sudden shift in attitude.
(...)
Barely twenty minutes passed before you heard his footsteps returning. The bedroom door swung open and Su-gang walked in, holding a small plastic bag from a twenty-four-hour pharmacy. He strode straight toward you and, without a single word, emptied the contents onto the bed.
Three different boxes of pregnancy tests tumbled onto the duvet.
You froze, staring at the packaging with wide eyes. Your heart gave such a violent lurch that it left a hollow ache in your stomach. You looked up at Su-gang, searching his face for any sign that this was a joke, but he only returned a dark gaze, heavy with absolute satisfaction.
"Go to the bathroom and take them. All of them" he ordered, crossing his arms as he stood over the bed.
Your hands were trembling so hard you could barely pick up the boxes. You got out of bed in a total daze, barely processing the gravity of what was happening. You walked into the bathroom under his watchful eye and shut the door. The next ten minutes were a nerve-wracking torture of anxiety… you read the instructions over and over, unable to focus, while the heavy silence of the mansion seemed to crush you.
When the waiting time for all three tests was up, you looked down at the results on the vanity. Two pink lines on the first, a plus sign on the second and the word "Pregnant" glowing on the digital screen of the third.
A sharp gasp escaped your lips. You buried your face in your hands, breaking eye contact with the tests as your head spun. You weren't crazy, you didn't hate your husband… your body was simply responding to the hormonal shifts that come with creating a new life.
Before you could even fully process the news, the bathroom door swung open. Su-gang couldn't handle the wait. His eyes swept the room until they locked onto the three devices on the counter. He strode over, picked them up with his long fingers and read the results one by one.
A heavy silence flooded the room. You expected him to say something, to react harshly or for his usual coldness to take over. But when Su-gang looked up at you, what you saw on his face stole your breath away.
A slow and intensely proud smirk curved his lips. His dark eyes flared with absolute triumph… a victory confirming he had just secured the ultimate bond to chain you to his life forever. All of his paranoia shattered instantly, replaced by a massive wave of arrogance at the realization that your body was changing because of him, that you were completely filled with him.
He dropped the tests onto the marble and took a step forward, capturing your waist in his large hands, pinning your back flush against his chest in front of the large bathroom mirror. He leaned down to your ear, brushing his lips against your skin as he let out a low chuckle that made your skin crawl.
"I told you on our first night, babe…" he whispered, his hands sliding down slowly to cradle your still-flat stomach. "You're mine… and now you're going to give me my heirs. You have no fucking idea how I'm going to make you pay for every single cold shoulder you gave me this week."
The possessiveness of his words hung heavily in the damp bathroom air, blending with the sound of your ragged breathing. Your eyes went wide in the mirror, watching his massive hands spread across your stomach, pressing down with a firmness that brooked no argument. Feeling the heat of his bare chest pressed against your back sent a shiver straight down your spine.
The paranoia that had turned him into a monster thirsty for answers had vanished, leaving in its place a man swollen with unbridled pride… a predator who had just confirmed that his prey could never escape his territory.
Before you could say a word or process the impact of the three tests, Su-gang forced you to turn around in his arms. He grabbed you by your lower waist and hoisted you up effortlessly, forcing you to wrap your legs around his hips as he carried you out of the bathroom. Your hands flew to his shoulders, clinging to his skin out of pure instinct as he carried you back into the bedroom.
He deposited you in the center of the bed with a calmness that contrasted sharply with the storm from a few minutes ago. The civil code book you had been trying to read lay forgotten on the floor as Su-gang settled between your legs, pinning you against the navy-blue duvet. His dark eyes devoured your every feature, tracing the tear stains on your cheeks and lingering on your parted lips. That arrogant, lazy smirk was still plastered across his face.
"Look at you… you're shaking again, babe" he murmured, his husky voice dropping an octave. "What are you scared of now? We already figured out you aren't missing some high school idiot, you're just carrying my child."
"Su-gang… this is…" The words caught in your throat.
The revelation of your condition was still hitting your mind, filling you with a mix of confusion, relief and a deep fear of the future that awaited you as a family. Were you truly ready to be parents?
"This is exactly what I promised you on our wedding night" he interrupted, taking his time as he caught the hem of your blouse and slowly slid it up. His fingers grazed your skin, sparking an electric current that forced your back to arch slightly. "I told you I desired you and that I wanted you to be the mother of my children. I didn't think you'd fulfill my whim so soon, but I'm not complaining at all."
With one fluid motion, he yanked the fabric upward, leaving your chest completely exposed to his hungry gaze. You shrunk your shoulders out of shyness, trying to cross your arms over your breasts, but Su-gang caught your wrists and pinned them to the mattress, just as he had during their argument. This time, however, the air didn't bleed anger… it dripped with a carnal urgency that stole your breath away.
"Don't cover yourself, my love. You don't have to hide from me" he whispered, leaning down to lick the curve of your neck with agonizing slowness. "You put me through hell at the firm this week. You drove me crazy, made me doubt myself and had my secretary shaking in fear because of my fucking mood swings. I thought you were regretting being my wife… Christ, I almost did something reckless because of you. So now you're going to stay still and let me take what I'm owed for every single rejection."
The dirty talk he always used when you had sex made you swallow hard, but your body responded instantly in a way you couldn't control. A slick heat began to drench your intimacy beneath your panties and your smothered whimpers filled the quiet space of the mansion. You felt like a doll in his hands, trapped in his magnetism, losing yourself in that dark gaze that assured you that, no matter what happened, he would take care of you.
However, as Su-gang’s lips traveled down your collarbone toward your breasts, a physical ache snapped you back to reality. Due to the hormonal changes of the first month of pregnancy, your breasts were noticeably swollen, accompanied by a throbbing pain that had been bothering you all day. When his hand clamped over one of your breasts through the fabric of your bra, a whimper of pain escaped your lips.
"Ah… Su-gang, wait… please" you gasped, shaking your head from side to side against the pillow.
He stopped instantly, pulling back to look down at you with knitted brows. His eyes narrowed, hardening into that sullen expression he wore whenever he felt you putting up a wall between the two of you.
"What is it now?" he asked roughly, though he didn't let go of your wrists. "Don't tell me you're still nauseous..."
You bit your lower lip, trying to fight through the embarrassment of making such an intimate request, but the ache was too intense to ignore. You vaguely recalled reading a health article that mentioned breast sensitivity as the earliest symptom of pregnancy, and that doctors recommended gentle stimulation and massage to help shape the nipples for future breastfeeding. You swallowed hard before forcing the words out.
"It's not the nausea… it's just that they hurt" you confessed in a small voice, your cheeks burning with a violent blush. "They hurt a lot, they're so sensitive because of… because of the pregnancy. Su-gang… please, unfasten my bra and touch them. Kiss them gently, the pressure of the clothes hurts. The doctors say it helps… i-it helps shape them for later."
Su-gang stared down at you for a couple of seconds, processing your words. The request ignited a spark of almost religious adoration in his dark eyes. To a pervert like him, it was the most fucking exciting thing in the world: knowing your body was already changing because of him, that your curves were prepping themselves to feed the child growing inside your womb. His mind reeled in that medical fact with brutal satisfaction.
He released your wrists and slid his hands behind your back to undo the clasp of your bra. As the garment fell away, your breasts were laid bare, looking slightly fuller with your areolas darkened. Su-gang let out a husky sigh, licking his lips as his eyes traced the fullness of your skin.
"So they hurt because of me…" he murmured, settling himself deeper between your legs, erasing any remaining space between your bodies. "Let me help you with that then, babe. If the doctors say I need to prep you for my child, I'm going to do it perfectly. I'm not letting anyone else touch this body."
He brought his large hands to your breasts, but this time, he banished any roughness from his movements. His long fingers caressed your skin with an unexpected gentleness that made your heart skip a beat. He began to massage the base of your breasts in slow, firm circles, relieving the tension built up from the swelling.
The direct contact made you shiver. Due to the hypersensitivity in the area, every single touch of his hands felt amplified a thousand times over, melting the dull ache into a wave of electric pleasure that made your hips arch off the mattress.
"Su-gang… mmm…" A sharp moan slipped from your lips and you had to bite your lip to keep from screaming his name in the quiet mansion.
"Moan louder, my love. I want to hear how my baby makes you so fucking sensitive" he ordered as his fingers slid toward your swollen nipples.
He pinched them gently between his thumb and forefinger, rolling them in a soft massage that shattered all your defenses.
You threw your head back, closing your eyes so you wouldn't lose yourself in the abyss of sensations overwhelming you. In that moment, Su-gang leaned down and caught one of your nipples in his mouth. His wet tongue began to lick the hypersensitive skin, suckling with a ravenous hunger that drained every bit of your strength. He moved from one breast to the other, smirking with that dark devotion… the very same devotion that made you feel like the absolute center of his universe.
Your hands acted on their own, burying themselves in his messy hair… but this time, not to push him away, but to press him harder against your chest, letting him continue his delicious torture. You felt completely manageable, like a doll he could mold to his whim and your submission drove him completely over the edge.
Su-gang kept kissing and caressing your breasts until he decided he had kept you waiting long enough. He stripped away the rest of your clothes with deft speed, leaving you completely exposed beneath him on the tangled sheets. Su-gang discarded his own clothes in seconds and you made the mistake of looking down, catching sight of his fully hard cock, glistening with a slick layer of moisture that made you swallow hard.
He positioned himself between your legs, pinning them wide apart with his firm hands. He rested his forehead against yours, forcing you to hold that deep gaze that used to intimidate you so much in high school, but was now your only anchor.
"Look only at me" he commanded roughly, licking his lips. "I don't want you thinking about anything else. Not university, not your exams, not any other bullshit. From today on, you only think about me and the baby. Is that clear?"
You nodded dumbly, unable to articulate words as you felt the tip of his length pressing against your wet entrance. Su-gang let out a husky gasp and began to slide inside you with a careful, deliberate motion. Your walls stretched open to take him, yielding to his thick girth as you clamped around him so tightly it made him grunt instantly.
"Fuck… you're so goddamn hot inside" he choked out, bracing his hands on either side of your head to hold his weight. He closed his eyes for a second, trying not to lose his grip on his control. "You're going to drive me crazy, babe. You're going to make me lose my mind."
He began to move in a measured and steady rhythm, instinctively careful not to thrust too violently against your womb, but burying himself deep inside you, claiming every inch of your intimacy as his absolute property. Your legs locked around his waist automatically and your moans became a constant echo of your total surrender through the room. You no longer cared about staying quiet, you no longer cared about the shame… you just wanted to feel him deeper and deeper inside you.
He brought one of his hands down to your clitoris, pressing with his thumb just as his hips crashed against yours, producing a wet and slapping sound that echoed through the quiet mansion. The combination of his deep thrusts, his friction against your clit and the hypersensitivity of your breasts rubbing against his bare chest triggered a sudden explosion of electricity in your core that shot straight through your nervous system.
A high-pitched cry tore from your throat as your body shattered into a violent orgasm, your walls pulsing and squeezing around his cock with a force that completely broke your husband's defenses. Su-gang let out a rough, guttural roar, burying himself inside you one last time before his own length shuddered within you, releasing his seed deep inside your core to seal the bond that would tie you together forever.
(...)
The darkness of the early morning fully ruled the mansion when you finally regained some awareness. Your headache and nausea had temporarily vanished, replaced by a warm and heavy exhaustion that kept you glued to the mattress.
Su-gang was holding you by the waist from behind, his massive frame acting as a protective barrier against the rest of the world. His breathing was slow and steady against the nape of your neck, showing he had fallen fast asleep after taking you so intensely.
You moved one of your hands slowly, resting it over your husband's fingers which were still splayed across your flat stomach. You smiled in the dimness of the bedroom, experiencing an immense sense of relief that you couldn't quite explain. The hormonal storm of the past week had been resolved in the best way possible. Even though you knew Su-gang’s possessiveness and control over your university schedule and outings would multiply a thousand times over starting tomorrow, your mind found a twisted comfort in that reality.
You snuggled closer against his chest, closing your eyes to let sleep wash over you, entirely certain that you were locked inside a golden cage you would never want to escape.
(...)
Two years can change a lot of things, but the imposing Han Law Firm building remained the ultimate symbol of power in Seoul. You walked down the hallway of the executive floor with a confident stride, the echo of your footsteps on the polished floor no longer triggered the insecurity of your early years as Han Su-gang’s wife.
In your arms, securely balanced against your hip, you carried Ha-joon, your two-year-old son. The little boy had inherited his father’s deep and dark eyes, but the softness of your features made the entire law firm staff melt whenever they saw him pass by. He wore a tiny, custom-tailored suit his grandmother had commissioned for him, looking like a miniature version of your husband.
Before heading to his office, you turned down the hallway toward the presidential wing. The founder's secretary smiled at you instantly, throwing open the double wooden doors without you even needing to announce yourself.
"Look who decided to bless my office today!" The authoritative voice of Senior Partner Mrs. Han shifted completely into a sweet, doting tone the second you crossed the threshold.
The feared lead attorney… the woman who made judges tremble, tossed aside a stack of case files and stood up from her desk immediately. She walked toward you with open arms, completely abandoning the rigid composure she maintained in front of her clients. She doted on her grandson to the point of madness, but her relationship with you was just as close… she considered you her son's salvation, the only woman capable of taming Su-gang’s wild temper.
"Hi, mom" you said with a genuine smile.
You handed the little boy over, and he immediately stretched his tiny hands toward her, babbling a sweet "grandma."
"You look beautiful, darling. I'm so glad you came to break up our routine. That son of mine keeps you cooped up in the mansion entirely too much" Mrs. Han commented, settling Ha-joon onto her lap while reaching for a toy she always kept in her drawer. "Tell me, how are the graduation preparations coming along?"
You sat down in one of the leather armchairs, ready to enjoy a quiet chat. Your life as the wife of the most possessive man in the city hadn't been easy, but Su-gang had kept his promise to love and protect you. He had allowed you to finish your degree, and now that Ha-joon was running around the house, the mansion no longer felt like a prison, but like a true home.
Meanwhile, a floor below, Su-gang was reviewing a high-profile divorce file when his personal phone vibrated on his desk. It was a text message from the chauffeur who drove you everywhere.
“Sir, your wife and the baby entered the firm's building ten minutes ago. They took the private elevator up.”
Su-gang’s jaw clenched instantly… not out of anger, but from a spark of desire and raw need that flared in his chest every single time you were near. He picked up his desk phone and hit the intercom button immediately.
"Choi, is anyone waiting for me in reception before the four o'clock meeting?" he questioned his secretary, his gravelly voice making the employees shiver.
"No, Mr. Han. The client called to let us know they'll be fifteen minutes late" the boy replied from the other end of the line.
Su-gang checked his watch… it was only two in the afternoon, but he decided not to wait any longer. He dropped his pen, buttoned his suit jacket and walked out of his office with absolute purpose.
"Choi… you can take the next two hours off" he told his secretary as he stepped into the reception area of his floor. He didn't want anyone anywhere near his office.
He knew exactly where you had gone first. His mother loved you like her own daughter and always tried to "steal" your time whenever you set foot in the firm.
To avoid waiting for the elevator, he took the stairs down the single flight.
The door to the president's office swung open without warning. Su-gang paused in the threshold, his imposing frame filling the space, his dark gaze scanning the massive office until it locked onto you. Seeing you sitting there, looking radiant and at peace, his eyes softened just a fraction, taking on that spoiled, melting tone that only you ever witnessed.
"I knew you'd be here" he stated, walking straight toward you while giving a brief wave to his son, who flashed him a tiny smile from the desk.
"Su-gang, we just got here" you complained softly, feeling the heat of his long fingers as he trapped your hand in an iron grip, pulling you to your feet.
He completely ignored your protest. He looked at Mrs. Han with a lazy smirk and an impeccable, if rushed, courtesy.
"Mom, excuse the intrusion, but I'm stealing her for a few minutes. I want to introduce her to some important clients" he lied smoothly, wielding that effortless authority he used so masterfully in the courtroom.
Mrs. Han let out an elegant laugh, shaking her head as she adjusted Ha-joon in her arms.
"You are incorrigible, Su-gang" she sighed. "Go on, get out of here. I'll watch my grandson, but don't be too long… we're supposed to have coffee together."
Su-gang didn't answer her. He guided you out of the office, pulling gently on your hand, ignoring the curious looks from the secretaries in the hallway. His stride was fast, heavy with that possessive energy that always sent your heart racing a mile a minute. The moment you crossed the threshold into his private office, he shut the heavy wooden door behind you and turned the lock.
He didn't even give you time to complain. He pinned you gently against the smooth surface of the door, capturing your waist in his massive hands and forcing you to look up at him. His face was twisted with sheer need, as if it had been months since he last held you in his arms, when in reality you had eaten breakfast together that very morning, just like always.
"I've missed you all goddamn day, babe" he whispered against your ear, his husky voice grazing your skin before trapping your lips in an unforgiving kiss.
He forced his tongue inside roughly, claiming your mouth with a ravenous hunger. Your hands slid up to his shoulders, clinging to the expensive fabric of his suit jacket as you lost yourself in his devotion. His fingers dug deep into your hips, pressing you flush against his body, reminding you, once again, who held absolute ownership over every single inch of your skin.
"You know… I've always had a fantasy about fucking you in my office" he let out.
The heat of his erection began to press hard against your stomach through your clothes, making it vividly clear that his mother would have to wait for that coffee, and that your submission in this office was about to be claimed all over again.
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