hii! Could you pleaaase make a baekjin x fem!reader x seongje, i haven’t seen anything like this and ik you’ll write it goooddd 🥹🫶🏻
three wolves, one flame | geum seong je x union!reader x na baek jin
summary: they run the city’s shadows with cold hands and colder eyes—two boys circling the same girl like orbiting wolves, too stubborn to say they care, too loyal to walk away. in smoke, silence, and bruised affection, they protect what they won't name.
warnings: [slow burn] violence, blood, language, implied emotional trauma, smoking,
author's note: i lowkey fell in love with this one. contemplating if i should turn this into a series or just mini chapters because i have no idea on how to continue this.. so please lmk, anyway! requests ,,
✶ ᶻz .ᐟ , one .. two .. ??
the air inside baek jin’s office always smelled like old paper, cigarette smoke, and something faintly metallic—like blood that never quite left the floor. the room was small but efficient. a modest desk sat tucked against the far wall, cluttered with files and an aging laptop baek jin used for both homework and union logistics. behind him, shelves groaned under the weight of ledgers, envelopes, and binders—some labeled, some not. a coat rack stood near the door, his school uniform jacket hanging neatly as always, untouched and ghost-like.
on the couch, which was barely wide enough for two, she sat cross-legged, a thick folder open on her lap. her fingers were stained with ink and nicotine, flipping pages with practiced speed. her brows were drawn tight in concentration, but her mouth was already forming insults.
“you’re breathing too loud. move.”
beside her, seong je let out a long, lazy exhale, smoke trailing from his lips. “it’s my lungs. want me to stop breathing next?” his thumb scrolled absently on his phone.
“you say that like it’s a bad idea.”
“you like having me around. admit it.”
she snorted. “i’d rather put out this cigarette in my eye.”
baek jin didn’t look up from his desk. this was routine. predictable. he only paused for a second when seong je flicked a crumpled receipt at her face, smirking when it bounced off her forehead.
“touch me again, i will rip your ears off and mail them to your mother,” she said, without even flinching.
“joke’s on you, she’s already deaf.”
that earned him a hard jab to the ribs with the sharp edge of a folder. he groaned theatrically, tipping his head back against the couch and blowing smoke toward the ceiling.
“i swear to god, you're like a feral cat with a calculator,” he muttered.
“and you’re a hemorrhoid with a motorcycle license.”
baek jin turned a page. the yelling had escalated, but it was background noise. normal. expected.
the argument died the same way it always did—abruptly and without resolution.
she slammed the folder shut and stood. the air shifted. joon and gyung, who had been waiting outside the office door like loyal shadows, straightened as she stepped out.
“collection day,” she said simply, already moving.
seong je rolled his shoulders and stood with her, but she didn’t wait. joon and gyung fell in line behind her like trained dogs, their footsteps echoing as the group left the safe walls of the bowling alley and stepped into the dusk.
@ . !
they found them behind a school, deep in the alley that smelled like piss and motor oil. it was a place for things that didn’t want to be seen—perfect for business.
a few boys loitered under the flickering light. low-ranking union lackeys, careless with the rules. she stopped a few feet away, her presence slicing through the tension like a box cutter.
“you’ve got my money?” she asked, voice cool, indifferent.
one of the boys stepped forward. too confident. too dumb. “you don’t get to bark orders at us, bitch.”
seong je was sitting nearby, on a low concrete barrier, smoking. he didn’t move. not yet. he was watching, the way a wolf watches another predator test its luck.
she didn’t blink. “you’re two days late.”
the guy stepped closer, nudging her shoulder. once. twice.
“maybe you wait a little longer,” he said with a smirk. “maybe say please.”
behind her, joon and gyung tensed. she didn’t say anything, just gave a lazy glance to her left.
gyung understood the signal.
the jab to the gut was fast and brutal—air left the guy’s lungs like a popped balloon. he stumbled back, wheezing, while the others flinched. two of them ran.
“go,” she said calmly.
joon darted after them.
only two remained: the one bent over in pain, and another who hadn’t moved yet, watching with wide eyes, deciding if he wanted to be stupid or not.
she crouched beside the first guy, lit another cigarette with a flick of her lighter, and exhaled slowly.
“you work for me,” she said. “you pay, or you bleed. got it?”
the second guy tensed—fight won the war in his brain.
he lunged.
he never reached her.
seong je was a blur of violence—one second on the edge of the scene, the next driving a fist into the boy’s face hard enough to drop him instantly. no words. no warning. just pure, sharp brutality.
he didn’t stop.
fists rained down, calculated and furious. blood splattered against the wall. the sound of bone meeting flesh echoed through the alley.
she stood slowly, arms crossed, cigarette glowing.
“enough,” she said.
seong je didn’t look at her right away. his fists paused mid-motion. then he stood, blood staining his knuckles, breathing hard.
she met his eyes for a moment. something silent passed between them. then she turned and walked away.
“get the cash,” she called over her shoulder.
gyung moved without question.
seong je wiped his hand on his shirt and lit a new cigarette. he glanced once at the boy groaning on the ground and then followed her into the dark.
business, as always, was done.
@ . !
the streets were quieter now. the sun had dipped lower, casting long shadows that swallowed the cracks in the pavement. she walked ahead, cigarette still burning between her fingers, the orange tip flaring with every drag. her steps were calm, composed, like she hadn’t just threatened teenagers and watched one get half-pulped into a brick wall.
behind her, seong je followed. blood still clung to the ridges of his knuckles, crusting dry in the creases, but he didn’t care. he never did. he flicked his own cigarette aside and shoved his hands into his jacket pockets.
they walked in silence for a while, their footsteps echoing softly in rhythm. the kind of quiet that buzzed—static thick with unspoken things.
“you know,” seong je finally said, “you could’ve told gyung to handle it before that dumbass even touched you.”
she didn’t look at him. “he barely touched me.”
“he pushed you.”
“and i didn’t fall. so?”
he scoffed, catching up until they walked shoulder to shoulder. “you’re insane.”
“says the guy who beat someone half to death over a shoulder nudge.”
he grinned. “you like it when i get violent.”
she rolled her eyes. “i like it when you shut the fuck up.”
“but you let me handle it.”
“i let you burn calories.”
seong je laughed under his breath, a short, dry sound. “you’re welcome, by the way.”
“for what?”
“for being your unhinged guard dog.”
“you’re not my anything.”
he didn’t answer right away. instead, he glanced sideways at her—at the bruise just barely starting to form on her collarbone where the guy had pushed her, at the cigarette held steady between her fingers, at the calm, calculated cold in her eyes.
he liked her too much. it was a problem he hadn’t figured out how to fix.
“...you patched me up last week,” he muttered. “don’t pretend like you don’t care.”
“i patched you up so you wouldn’t bleed on baek jin’s couch.”
“sure,” he said. “totally believable.”
she slowed a bit, enough that he noticed but didn’t comment. she glanced over, squinting at him through the dimming light.
“you’re bleeding,” she said flatly.
“you always say that like it’s a surprise.”
she stopped walking. so did he.
“you’re an idiot,” she said, stepping in close. her hand reached for his face, thumb brushing a cut on his cheekbone. it was rough, not tender—like everything she did. “you didn’t have to go that far.”
“he was gonna hit you.”
“i had it handled.”
“yeah,” he muttered, not smiling anymore. “but i don’t like watching people touch you.”
her expression didn’t change. not much. maybe a flicker in her eyes. maybe.
she shoved his face gently to the side with the palm of her hand. “possessive freak.”
he grinned again. “you love it.”
“i tolerate it.”
“that’s practically a love confession coming from you.”
she started walking again. “say one more word and i’ll smoke my cigarette out on your forehead.”
he laughed, trailing behind her.
and behind the sarcasm and bruised knuckles, there was something solid between them—twisted, loud, dysfunctional.
@ . !
by the time they reached the back entrance of the bowling alley, the sky had faded to charcoal grey. the neon sign buzzed above them, flickering like it was trying to decide whether to die or hang on another day. she pushed the door open with her shoulder and stepped inside, the familiar scent of oil, dust, and stale air greeting her like a second home.
seong je followed her, hands still in his pockets, quieter now. at the door to baek jin’s office, he hesitated. she paused, looking back at him.
“i’m heading to the internet café,” he said, voice casual, but his eyes lingered on her a little longer than necessary. “need to blow off some steam.”
she shrugged, already reaching for the doorknob. “go waste your brain cells.”
he smirked. “you love me dumb.”
“don’t flatter yourself.”
she pushed the door open and stepped inside. he didn’t follow.
“patch your hand,” she added over her shoulder. “or don’t. maybe it’ll rot off.”
“aw, worried about me,” he teased.
she gave him the finger without turning around.
he chuckled and walked off, footsteps fading down the hall.
inside, baek jin didn’t look up as she entered. he was at his desk, sleeves rolled up, pencil in hand, methodically underlining something in one of the ledgers. the room felt quieter without seong je in it—thicker, somehow.
she dropped her bag beside the couch and sank into it with a tired exhale. the tension hadn’t left her body yet, but it always faded in here. in this space where time moved slower, where baek jin never asked more than she wanted to give.
“you’re back early,” he said after a moment, eyes still on the paper.
“boys ran faster than usual.”
he nodded once. “anyone give you trouble?”
she pulled another cigarette from her pocket. “one tried. he didn’t try again.”
this time, baek jin did look up. his eyes flicked to her shoulder, narrowing slightly. “you’re bruised.”
“occupational hazard,” she muttered, lighting up.
he stared at her a second longer, then stood. she watched him cross the room in that quiet, deliberate way he moved—like he didn’t waste energy on anything that didn’t matter. he disappeared behind her for a moment. when he came back, he tossed his jacket over her.
she stiffened slightly, cigarette hovering near her lips.
“still cold,” he said simply, sitting back down.
“i’m not cold.”
“you always say that.”
she didn’t take it off.
they sat like that for a while. just the two of them. him scribbling quietly. her smoking in silence, baek jin’s jacket draped over her shoulders like it belonged there.
no yelling. no banter.
just stillness.
the only sound for a long while was the scratch of baek jin’s pencil against paper and the occasional soft crackle of her cigarette.
“you let seong je come with you again,” baek jin said eventually, not looking up.
she snorted. “he follows me around like a leech. what am i supposed to do? spray him with bug repellent?”
“he’s loud,” baek jin replied calmly.
“so are you, when you feel like it.”
“not with fists.”
she gave a half-smirk, flicking ash into the tray on the coffee table. “you jealous?”
“no,” he said plainly. “he’s reckless. you’re not.”
“he only steps in when i let him.” she tilted her head against the back of the couch, eyes drifting toward the ceiling. “you know that.”
baek jin hummed, noncommittal, and went back to his work.
for a while, there was nothing but silence again. not awkward. not empty. just their kind of quiet.
“you still live off convenience store food?” she asked after a minute, squinting at him.
“i eat what’s easy.”
“that’s not eating. that’s survival.”
“i survive just fine.”
“could’ve fooled me,” she muttered, stretching out along the couch. “you’re gonna die from sodium poisoning before you even graduate.”
“and you’ll die from chain-smoking before i do.”
“touché,” she murmured, a tired smile curling at the corner of her mouth.
her voice grew softer, like sleep was already tugging at her edges. “...how do you do it?”
baek jin paused, pencil hovering over the paper. “do what?”
“stay calm all the time. even when shit hits the fan. even when everyone’s losing their heads.” her voice had dropped low. “how do you not break?”
he was quiet for a beat.
then, “because if i break, everything else does.”
she didn’t answer. her breathing was slowing now, cigarette burned out in the ashtray. she was curled on her side, one arm under her head, the other tugging baek jin’s jacket closer around her like she hadn’t meant to.
he glanced up, setting his pencil down soundlessly.
she was already asleep.
he stood, walked over with soft steps, and crouched beside the couch. carefully, he pulled the jacket tighter over her frame and adjusted the pillow under her head. for a second, his hand hovered near her temple, like he wanted to brush the hair away from her face—but didn’t.
baek jin’s face didn’t show much. it never did.
but something flickered in his eyes. something quiet. protective.
then he stood, returned to his desk, and went back to work.
behind him, she slept soundly under his jacket, breathing even and steady.
and outside, the world kept turning. dangerous. unforgiving.
but in here, for a little while longer, it was still.
✶ ᶻz .ᐟ , one .. two .. ??
