✘☙Romantic Solitude❧✘
Pairings: Geum Seongje x Reader(Yunji)
cw: 3.1k words
A/N: listen to Call Out My Name by The Weeknd while reading this ;)
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The air in Kanghak High School hangs thick and heavy. Every corner holds a potential ambush, every glance a challenge or a dismissal. You were just like a ghost, a shadow hugging the edges, hoping to remain unseen. Your uniform is neat, your gaze fixed on the worn covers of the book clutched in your hands.
You. A shy, quiet, the kind of 'loser' who is easy to overlook. And that’s exactly how you like it. Your life exists between the pages of novels and the lonely, cavernous rooms of your parents’ mansion. They provide the privilege that affords you a place in this brutal school, Their indifference makes you feel completely alone.
Your routine is a carefully constructed defense: arrive early, jot down notes, find an empty corner in the library or a deserted classroom, read until the bell, attend classes keeping your head down, leave immediately. Avoid eye contact. Avoid crowds. Avoid them.
They are the Union, The leaders of the school’s social and physical environment..
And he is their leader, Geum Seongje.
You’ve seen him, of course. Everyone has. He’s impossible to miss. Broad-shouldered even under the loose uniform jacket, a face that could be handsome if not for the permanent set of his jaw, his smile. And the cold, calculating glint in his eyes. His reputation precedes him like a wave of fear – brutal, efficient, utterly merciless.
Today, your carefully constructed peace shatters.
You’re in the library, nestled in a back corner, lost in a scene where the finally confesses his tormented feelings. The world outside the pages has vanished. That’s your gift, or maybe your curse – total immersion.
The worn pages of your romance novel trembled in your hands. You huddled deeper into the corner of the Kanghak High School library, This place is a peaceful escape from the hectic life at school.
Another stolen moment, another page turned, another fictional love affair devoured. Your heart fluttered as the characters confessed their undying devotion. You, Yunji, the shy, bookish girl who blended into the background like a misplaced comma.
A shadow fell across your book. You flinched, startled, and looked up.
Geum Seongje.
Your breath caught in your throat. You scrambled to close the book, the lurid cover suddenly feeling like an open confession of your most embarrassing secret.
"What are you reading?" His voice was a low rumble, He was undeniably teasing you, his lips curling into a mischievous smirk that danced across his face, revealing a playful glint in his eyes.
You stammered, "N-nothing. Just… studying."
He didn't seem convinced. He reached out, his fingers, calloused and violent, brushing against your hand as he plucked the book from your grasp.
Your heart hammered against your ribs like a trapped bird.
He examined the cover, a slow smile spreading across his lips. The smile didn't reach his eyes. "Romance, huh? You seem like the type." he laughed. This is so embarrassing.
He knew. He knew the kind of stories you lost yourself in, the fantasies that entertained your sleepless nights. Shame burned in your cheeks.
He didn't say anything more, just handed the book back to you. As he turned to leave, he paused, his shoulder blocking the sunlight.
"See you around, Yunji."
The way he said your name, like a secret promise, made your skin crawl. It wasn't a friendly farewell; it was a claim.
The suggestiveness, the sheer audacity of the implied comparison, makes your breath catch. You just stare at him, wide-eyed.
The tension in the air doesn't dissipate immediately; it lingers. You watch his retreating back, the way his shoulders shift under the uniform jacket. Shit, even his back looks good. Only when he’s gone do you dare exhale. Your heart is still racing.
The encounter is brief, maybe two minutes at most, but it lodges itself in your mind. Why did he approach you? Why the questions? How does he know your name?
For the rest of the day, you find yourself constantly scanning the hallways, anticipating another encounter. Every shadow seems to lengthen, taking on his form. You jump at sudden noises. You’re walking down a crowded hallway between classes, your book once again your shield. The usual chaotic energy of the school is intensified here – shouts, laughter, shoving.
Suddenly, the crowd parts like the Red Sea. Seongje is coming towards you, his minions trailing behind him like a dark cloud. He doesn’t shift from his path. He walks straight through, demanding space with his presence.
You freeze. Instinct tells you to step aside, press yourself against the lockers, disappear. But you’re caught in his direct line.
He reaches you. His gaze, cool and possessive, locks onto yours. He doesn't stop or slow down. His shoulder brushes yours as he passes, a deliberate, almost gentle contact in the midst of the hallway's rough and tumble.
It’s just a touch, fleeting and seemingly accidental, but it feels like a brand. His touch lingers on your skin for a moment, electric and unnerving. He doesn't look back. He just keeps walking, leaving you trembling slightly against the lockers, the hallway noise washing over you as you try to regain your composure.
He’s marking you. That’s what it feels like. A quiet, public declaration of interest that you never wanted.
The small interactions don't stop. They become a new, scary pattern in your school life.. He doesn't corner you again in the library, but you catch his eye from across the cafeteria, a long, assessing stare that makes you drop your fork. You would see him lean against the wall near your classroom door, watching you as you leave, his arms crossed, that unreadable expression on his face. He doesn't speak, doesn't approach. He just is there, a constant, looming presence.
It’s psychological warfare. He’s letting you know he sees you. He’s letting you know he's interested. And in the world of Kanghak, the Union leader's interest in a 'loser' like you isn't flattering; it's an intro to trouble.
One afternoon, as you're hurrying towards the school gate, desperate to escape the oppressive atmosphere, a voice calls out your name.
"Yunji."
It's Seongje. He's leaning against his motorcycle, parked near the school gates, a picture of casual menace. His minions are scattered nearby, keeping a respectful distance, their eyes on him, periodically sweeping over the other students hurrying past. Everyone gives him a wide space.
You stop, your heart sinking. There’s no ignoring him here.
He pushes himself off the bike, walking towards you with that predatory stride. "Where are you rushing off to?" He asks with a smirk, a cig between his teeth.
"Home," you say, your voice quiet. You grip your bookbag strap tightly.
He stops a few feet away, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off him. His eyes travel over you, lingering on your face, then moving down your body in a way that makes you acutely aware of your skin beneath your clothes. It's the 'pervert' gaze you’ve heard whispers about, though directed at you now, the intensity of it making you feel exposed and vulnerable.
"Home," he repeats, eyes dropping to the ground, his voice dropping slightly, becoming more intimate, more private, despite the public setting.
"Such a boring place." He steps closer, reaching out. Your instinct is to recoil, but you hold still, frozen by fear and a strange, morbid curiosity.
He doesn't touch you. Instead, his fingers lightly brush your hair, pushing a stray strand behind your ear. The gesture is deceptively gentle, but his eyes are still hard, possessive.
He lets his hand drop, but his fingers linger near your face for a moment too long before falling away.
The message is clear: I see you. I want your attention. I want you out here, where I can reach you.
He takes another step closer, closing the remaining distance. He’s right in front of you now, your personal space completely obliterated. You have to tilt your head back slightly to look at him. His gaze holds yours, intense, demanding.
"You need a ride?" His lips curl into a smirk, and his voice drops to a sultry whisper, laced with a possessiveness that sends a shiver down your spine.
You pause, the invitation hanging in the air like a thick fog. Should I accept this offer? A wave of exhaustion washes over you, making the idea of surrendering to his charm all the more tempting.
He raises a hand again, this time letting his fingers trace the line of your jaw, his touch surprisingly light, almost feather-like, yet sending jolts of pure dread through you. You feel trapped, cornered, even here, on the edge of the school grounds. Yet part of you wants more.
His thumb moves slightly, just barely brushing your lips. You can feel the rough skin, the calluses from countless fights, surprisingly gentle against your soft skin. It's an incredibly intimate gesture, made all the more disturbing by the predatory look in his eyes.
"You're pretty when you blush," he says, his gaze fixed on your face. "Like you're hiding something." His voice drops further, becoming a low, unsettling purr. "I like secrets, Yunji. Especially when I'm the only one who gets to uncover them."
His eyes move down again, lingering on your chest, then back up to your face. The 'pervert' aspect isn't just in his gaze; it's in the way he uses his power, his position, to make you feel vulnerable, to assert his creepy dominance, wrapping his desire in layers of threat and possession.
He leans in closer until his breath brushes your ear. "Don't run away anymore," he whispers, his voice a low growl that sends shivers down your spine. "I don't like it when you try to hide from me."
He straightens up abruptly, the intimacy of the moment snapping. He gives you one last, lingering look, that possessive spark bright in his eyes.
"Will you take the offer or not?" he says, his voice back to that casual tone, but the underlying threat remains.
You remain rooted to the spot, trembling. The scent of him seems to linger in the air. You touch your jaw where he touched you, your lips where his thumb brushed. It feels unreal, a scene ripped from a dark, twisted romance novel, but terrifyingly real.
You cleared your throat. “I-I’ll go with you.” You said with no regrets.
He nods slightly, turning to stride confidently back to his motorcycle. You trail closely behind him, a little girl caught up in the thrill of the moment. The engine roars to life, echoing in the air and sending a thrill down your spine, a powerful reminder of the freedom that awaits on the open road.
He didn't just notice you. He's claimed you. In his own possessive, unsettling way.
You climb onto his motorcycle, the engine purring beneath you as you settle into the plush, leather seat. He carefully places the helmet atop your head, his warm hand gently patting the exterior as if to ensure a secure fit.
“Hold tight.” He says, starting his motorcycle. You wrapped your arms on his waist, heat creeping up in your cheeks.
The wind carries a hint of adventure, brushing through your hair as you secure your arms on his waist, feeling the vibration of the powerful machine ready to roar down the open road.
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The school gates feel less like an exit and more like the entrance to a world you've just been forced into. Your heart hammers with fear, but beneath it, a tiny, unsettling knot of something else begins to form – the terrifying realization of a feeling you didn't want to believe in.
The days that follow solidify this new reality. He doesn’t approach you at the gates again, but his presence is a constant pressure. You learn his schedule without trying. He knows where you’ll be. He doesn’t always look at you, sometimes just passing close by, a silent reminder. Other times, his gaze finds you across a crowded room, intense and unyielding, holding you captive for a moment before you manage to look away, heart pounding.
The small interactions evolve. They move from simple presence and intense gazes to more direct, unsettling gestures within the school walls.
One day, you’re sitting alone during lunch break in a deserted corner of the courtyard, trying to lose yourself in your book. You’ve barely taken a bite of your sandwich when a shadow falls over you.
It’s Seongje. He’s alone again.
He doesn't say anything. He just sits down next to you on the stone bench, his presence immediately shrinking your world. He doesn’t smile. His gaze is fixed on you, unwavering.
You stop eating. Your book lies open in your lap, forgotten. The tension stretches, heavy and awkward.
"Why’d you stop eating, hm?" he says tilting his head, his voice a low command.
When did he become such a caring person?
You hesitate, then slowly pick up your sandwich. You can feel his eyes on you as you take a small bite.
"What are you reading today?" he asks, a different tone this time, less like a demand, more… curious? Or perhaps just checking.
You show him the cover without a word. Another historical romance, and passionate, complex relationships.
He takes the book from you, your hand freezing as his brushes yours. He examines the cover, then flips through the pages idly. He doesn't seem to be reading the words, just scanning, his expression unreadable.
"Same old," he mutters, closing the book. He doesn't give it back immediately. He holds it, turning it over in his
hands. "Always escaping, huh? Don't you ever want to deal with what's in front of you?"
His eyes lift from the book to meet yours, and the intensity is back, sharper now. "Like me." He smiled widely.
Shit.
The bluntness, the sheer confidence that he is something you should be 'dealing with', is staggering. You feel a wave of heat rise to your cheeks.
"I… I just like the stories," you say softly, trying to explain, to distance yourself from the implication.
He leans forward slightly, his voice dropping. "Or maybe you like the idea of someone chasing after you. Someone who won't give up." He taps the book against his palm.
His interpretation is unsettling, twisting your simple love for reading into something about him, about his purpose. It feels invasive, like he’s looking into the private corners of your mind.
He places the book on the bench between you, but his hand stays on it, resting lightly. "This world is shit, Yunji. Those paper heroes won't protect you."
He pauses, letting the implication hang in the air. Then his voice softens, becoming alarmingly tender, a contrast to his usual roughness and the perverted possessiveness you've felt from him. It’s this switch, this unexpected softness layered over the threat, that is a bit disturbing.
"Maybe you need someone real," he murmurs, his eyes holding yours. "Someone who knows how to handle things. Someone who won't let anyone touch what's theirs." He smirks, poking his cheeks while looking at you.
Theirs. He already thinks of you in terms of possession. The neediness surfaces here, not as weakness, but as a demanding, controlling desire to own you completely. He needs to protect, to control, because in his twisted view, you are already something that belongs to him.
He covers your hand on the bench with his, his fingers warm and strong. The rough calluses are there again, a constant reminder of the violence he is capable of. His thumb strokes the back of your hand, a gesture that should be comforting or romantic in your books, but from him, feels utterly predatory and terrifyingly intimate.
"Let me take care of you," he says, his voice low, a promise and a demand intertwined. "Stop reading about it. Let me show you."
His perversion isn't just sexual; it's a form of 'love' or 'care' that is rooted in dominance, possession, and a complete disregard for your independence or feelings. He sees your vulnerability, your shyness, your escape into fantasy, and it seems to trigger a twisted instinct mixed with a potent desire to dominate and corrupt that innocence. He wants to be your reality, to fill the void left by your neglectful parents, but on his own brutal, possessive terms.
You can feel the blood pounding in your wrist under his touch. You want to pull away, to run, but you’re trapped by his gaze, by his hand holding yours captive on the bench.
"I don't… I don't need anyone to take care of me," you manage, your voice trembling slightly. It’s a lie, perhaps, or at least a desperate refusal to admit the need that makes you so vulnerable.
He smiles slightly, a slow, knowing smile that sends a chill down your spine. "Stop lying, Yunji. You know damn well." His thumb continues to stroke your hand, back and forth, a constant, unnerving contact. "I think you need me."
What a cocky asshole!
He doesn't give you time to respond. He squeezes your hand gently, possessively, then releases it. He stands up, leaving your book on the bench, but taking the silence, the peace, with him.
"Finish your lunch," he says, his tone back to normal, as if the intense, intimate interaction never happened. "Don't want you getting weak, babe." He smirks and winked at you.
He walks away, leaving you alone again, trembling, your hand tingling where his touched it. Your sandwich sits forgotten. Your book lies there, its familiar pages now feeling less like an escape and more like the reason you’ve been targeted.
The small interactions have escalated. They are no longer just glances or brief touches. They are direct confrontations, invasions of your personal space and your attempts at peace.
Seongje isn't just a looming presence anymore. He is a direct threat, a disturbing force that has fixed its sights on you, pulling you from the shadows into the harsh, dangerous light of his world. Yet part of you yearned for it.
You are caught in a story you didn't choose, with a protagonist who is brutal, demanding, and sees you not as a person with your own desires, but as an object for his twisted need and possessive protection. The pages of your romance novels offer no guidance for surviving this.
The school bell rings, a jarring sound that pulls you back to the immediate reality, but you know, with a sinking certainty, that the bell doesn't signal the end of this interaction, only a pause before the next.
Seongje's story with you has only just begun.
