#lee junyoung

[littlescorp1o]

the face card is insane

[muntitled]

Boa

Pairings: Geum Seongje x Fem!Reader

Summary: You're just a kid, caught in a gangster’s crosshairs. What happens when you don’t deliver like you should…

Warnings: Language, Dom!Seongje, Gangsterism, Bullied!Reader, Coercion, Bullying, Extortion, Mentions of Rape, Smut +18 (mdni), Dark fic, Dubious consent, Public Sex, Exhibitionism, Desperate Sex, Humiliation, Degradation

A/N: I'm not responsible for the media you consume. I wrote this for me so...

Ever since you've started working for him, you've learned to get extremely acquainted with the floor.

"I'm sorry, Sir…” your voice is brittle as you try to make yourself heard in the suffocating internet cafe, “I'm short on delivery today..."

Hardwood. Tile. Linoleum. It's become all too familiar to you. The floor is all you see in his presence.

You never looked Seongje in the eyes unless he addresses you first. He likes that, you suspect.

It's kept you alive this long so you must be doing something right.

"I got assigned a kid to tutor and..." you clear your throat, not daring to make direct eye contact, choosing instead, to keep your eyes trained on the dirty, cold floor.

The internet cafe is the very last place you'd want to be on a Friday evening. You were caught right in between two challenging essay due dates- one for English and one for AP English. Both hung gravley over your head, threatening to set off your sympathetic nervous system and have you fainting from academic stress. Seeing him was the very last thing you needed.

"That tutoring time fucked with my system and-" despite all your achievements, despite the academic prestige and the boundless knowledge… in Seongje's presence you feel insignificant.

A bug he's letting scurry around for no other reason except his enjoyment. You didn't want to get stomped on. You saw what happened to the other kids under his thumb and it kept you up at night. All that blood. All the merciless sadism.

You aren't dumb enough to hope an exception would be made for you.

"I'm sorry,” you conclude, and for a second, you get no response. He plays his game. His friends remain silent.

That's all until he pushes the bridge of his glasses up further against his nose. A calm, quiet sigh leaves his lips.

“Before you started working for me, do you know what you were?" Seongje doesn't take his eyes off the screen. His fingers run deftly over the keys as he speaks to you without ever really acknowledging you, "You were in an alleyway, about to get raped by Eunjang scum."

"Yes, Seongje, I know-"

"And in return for my kindness, what did I ask of you?"

"FUCK- COVER ME BRO!" Your eye snaps up to the source of the loud and sudden burst of energy. Your frightened and pitiful eyes find a boy seated adjacent to Seongje and his goons. He's bent over his screen, clearly not a part of the group. Clearly far too young.

Your heart sinks when you realize Seongje's eyes are trained on the boy too.

"Ya…” Seongje raises his voice a decimal above the cacophony yet it has you flinching. “Too loud,” he says to the boy, “Didn’t anyone teach you shut up when adults are talking?” he asks monotonously to the boy- a child really- still mourning the loss of his avatar on the screen. He doesn't pay Seongje any mind.

Of course he doesn't. He's a kid.

How could he have known?

He came to an internet cafe to play a game with his friends.

It's the boy's innocence that hurts the most.

He doesn't know that the monsters under his bed are very real.

They walk where he walks.

They don't hide.

They move about freely.

Your heart makes like the titanic and sinks.

"Excuse me for a second." Seongje addresses you politely, finally giving you a fleeting glance before pushing himself out of his gamer chair. You see his entire row of friends (if that's what one could even refer to them as) remain unfazed as Seongje rounds the table to stand directly behind the young boy.

He’s bigger, far bigger as he pushes the rims of his glasses up, staring directly at you

"I know you're smart so you're probably aware that your fuck-up won't be tolerated-” he says to you, despite slithering his arm around the boys neck like a boa as he squeezes. Everyone keeps their eyes trained to their computers. Your fist curls at your side. You want to look away but you can't because you're speaking to Seongje. You wouldn't want to aggravate him further by showing him his mindlessly violence bothers you. So you try not to flinch.

You try not to let the casual violence scare you. How nonchalantly he speaks while an elementary school boy flails in his arms, begging to be released from the headlock making his lips turn blue

“You knew there'd be a punishment,” Seongje is still speaking to you. You hold your breathe in solidarity with the boy choking in his arms, “-for fucking up your delivery-” crimson blossoms onto the little boys face but Seongje keeps his eyes on you, appearing unfazed by the boy flailing like an animal in arms, "And yet you came anyway. That's the kinda work ethic, I like-” he smiles, “I like it alot-"

Eventually, after what feels like forever, he lets go of the boy. You finally breathe as well, watching as the kid slumps forward ingesting the air in horrid gasps.

Seongje bends forward, patting the boy on the back.

"No more interrupting when I speak, yeah?" Whether the boy was new to this particular internet cafe, it was unclear, but you hoped to whatever divine being that he wouldn't dare come back.

"So I'll let it slide-" He turns his attention back to you and you watch, still shaken up as Seongje leaves the little boy to make his way back to his side of the table. When he breezes past you he smells like nothing. Like his eyes, everything about him is empty.

"Thank you, Seongje-"

He nods before adding, "After you get on your knees." The goon sitting nearest to you, all the way at the end of the table, his fingers hover over the keys, and just like before, the room is rid of all air.

"Excuse me?”

He pulls out his chair for you, like some mimic of a perfect gentleman he opens his arm, gesturing you in.

"I want you on your knees, under the desk.” His words hang above you all. It has tears threatening to spill. Bile rising.

“What’s with the face? Its not like I’m asking you to suck my dick,”

"Seongje, I need to get home-"

"If you can't do it yourself I'm more than happy to help."

That has your legs moving into action. In your periphery, it feels as though everyone's watching you. A thing in psychology called the imaginary audience. When you're so self-conscious you concoct this idea of being the center of attention… only this time, it's real. You know they're all watching you. You know no one will do anything about it.

"Under the desk you go," he chuckles before sitting down and pushing his chair back in. You back away, creating intense distance between you. Your back hits dirty wires and your knees press hesitantly down onto the grime just to achieve a more comfortable position. Everything you see is his legs, his friends legs and you're suddenly hit with the overwhelming urge to cry.

You want to scream at him to let you go. He's hijacked you from your endless pile of homework and yet the very thought of standing up for yourself causes a sea of nausea.

So you sit there in the dark, not knowing when this punishment would conclude. When would he let you go home? That sends you into another spiral. You've heard Seongje could game for 24 hours straight. Maybe more if he was in close vicinity to food and a bathroom. You knew this internet cafe would close eventually, that gives you the smallest sliver of hope and so you do your time.

Never once does he acknowledge you- the girl under his desk. Unbeknownst to Seongje, you catch one of his fellow gang members sneak multiple glances at you under the table. They all do. Like they enjoy seeing you under here. As time passes, and you slip further and further away from the stress, you realize that down here, on the floor, under his desk, the world is small. It's quite comforting actually and that wasn't the trauma talking.

You've always liked small spaces.

It definitely beat dealing with whatever he had going on up there half the time.

Slowly, your body begins to shut down. Your energy plummets from all the stress and all the thoughts. This is the first time you've been forced into a spot for too long doing nothing. No essays. No tutoring.

Due to tendencies from your childhood that you should've gotten rid of, you find yourself curling up against his leg. He stiffens and you snap out of the exhaustion long enough to reel back. Especially when you see his hand reach under the table. Your heart hammers in your chest, not a single word spoken as his hand searches for something. You move a bit closer until his hand catches on your hair. You wince as he drags you closer, pushing your head against his leg as you had done.

He leaves you there. You try to regulate your breathing as you feel him adjust in his seat above you.

You shift as well. Not your head. He clearly wants you there. But your legs are uncomfortable. You try to kneel and it's ridiculous because your head never leaves his leg.

No position seems comfortable enough until he stretches his leg out, right in between yours and you're made to straddle it. Above you, his fingers are still hitting the keys and you try to disassociate from the fact that his leg is pushing against your cunt. You try to sneak a peek at the surface, his glasses are trained on the screen. Not knowing whether it's your exhaustion making a reappearance but you could've sworn you hear the words, "good girl," release from him in a low drawl.

Something in his tone has you shifting over his leg. Your cunt warms against his leg and you fight the urge to buck against him. All you had to do was remember who it is that you're currently touching. That conscious reminder has you once again hellbent on doing your time with concrete resolve.

That resolve breaks.

It shatters when he eases his back against the chair, enough to once again slither his hand down towards you.

He curls his fist into your hair and tugs.

He pushes you down and lifts you up and you mindlessly follow his movements until you realize he's coaxed you into riding his leg.

He lets go of your hair, satisfied when your hips move out of their own accord.

You hate how good it feels to quite literally be beneath him. You look up and you whimper oh so quietly when you see that small smile play on his lips while his eye remains on the screen.

He's given you new instructions now and so you don't dare to stop moving your hips against him. Despite the damp spot forming on the seat of your underwear. You're not sure what it is that allows you to lose yourself so easily. Perhaps it's all the expectations that melt away when you're doing something so pitiful. You're breaking for him and he's letting you. You're not in control of anything and there's freedom in that.

“F-Fuck-” you didnt mean for the words to slip. There are still other people here but you also couldn't help the wave of pleasure that pushed up so suddenly. Your clit is moving against the fabric of his pants just right and your eyes threaten to roll to the back of your head.

The second that whimper escapes your mouth, he stiffens again.

You watch as he leans back again, this time his hand isn't reaching out for you. It's to ghost over the bulge forming in his pants. Somehow that spurs you on more.

You grind against him desperately and before he can take his hand away, this time you reach up for him.

You watch him closely. The glare from the screen reflects on his glasses. His jaw, tight.

He controls the game easily with one hand, while you bring the other into your mouth.

You're not sure where this other side of you came from. This vixen who rolls her tongue out and forces his index and ring finger into her warm mouth.

He becomes more and more restless… His breath hitching. Seongje's fingers hit the keys more aggressively, while his right hand forces his fingers further down your throat. His hips buck upwards and you can see the damp spot forming where his cock is straining against his pants. He's about to cum in his pants and you're about to cum on his leg and it's far too much for you.

You know his friends are about. You try to preserve even a sliver of dignity but it all goes out the window.

“Fuck-” he spits out, slamming his fist on the table before abandoning the game. There's a fire in his eyes as he sits back to watch you peer up at him with complete and utter desperation.

“What a fucking slut-” he snarled, cleaely audible enough for not only him but his friends too. It has your mouth snapping open. Your back arches as you try to watch him watching you cum on his leg.

You've never held his attention for this long and it sends you off the edge.

“S-Seongje-” you barely squeak out as your cunt spasms against his leg. You rut uncontrollably, spurred on by the name That fell from your lips as if your body needed a reminder of just who it was making you cum. Your tormentor.

It has you seeing stars.

For all of 11 seconds.

Until it comes crashing down on you. Your pitiful act has you reeling. Mind spinning.

You don't want to look up at him but you have nowhere else to look. Your heart sinks when you see a smile form slowly across his lips… Somehow you knew you'd never be rid of him.

[giogiobb]

Off The Radar

Geum Seong-Je x Reader

tags: vulgar language, sadomasochism, smut, shotgunning, smoke play, choking, overstimulation, dacryphilia, scratching, biting, auralism, cream pie, pet names, mildly toxic relationship.

Takes place after the scene in episode 7 where Seong-Je saves Jung-Tae from the union members.

It has been a few days since you heard from Seong-Je, and honestly, it’s not a big surprise that he is off the radar again. However, he always calls you on the third day at the latest. He left you wondering why it was different this time, and the radio silence from him was starting to become troubling.

You sat at your desk, bouncing your leg up and down, anxiously chewing away on your fingernails. Reaching towards your phone, you hurriedly found his number and tried to reach him again. “The number you dialed is not available…” Voicemail, again.

You stood up and started pacing around your room, wondering what to do and how to find him. You weren’t the biggest fan of Na Baek-Jin, but he was your best option at this point.

You went through your contacts and found his number to call him. “Hello?” an uninterested voice came from the other side. “Hi, Baek-Jin. How are you?” You spoke with hesitation. “What do you want from me? Don’t know where Seong-je is?” He asked with annoyance. “Actually, yeah. Can you tell me where he is?” You asked nervously. “Hmm.” He said after a bit of silence and hung up on you.

A minute later, he texted an address. It’s an address to a warehouse that you had never heard of. You quickly thanked him and sneaked out of the house without alerting your parents. Though they wouldn’t even care if they saw you leave.

You ran your way there as it surprisingly wasn’t too far away, and your fear of not seeing him even tonight grew a pit in your stomach, making you rush. You reached there and took a moment to catch your breath before sliding the door open and walking in.

His head shot towards the sound of your foot shuffling in, almost dropping his newly lit cigarette onto the ground. He looked confused and stood up to walk towards you.

You let out a sigh of relief before lunging yourself at him and hugging him with all the strength you could gather. “I missed you. Were you here all this time?” You asked with a hint of worry. “What are you doing here?” He asked in his raspy voice. You let go of him and looked towards his face. Caressing a fresh scar on his face, you smiled softly until you realised that he hadn’t called you for days, for no fucking reason. Slowly, your expression changed from shocked to anger, and before you knew it, you slapped him across the face.

The cigarette in his mouth went flying to the other side of the room. He slowly turned his head to you with his jaw locked in anger. “What the fuck was that for?” He asked sternly. “You haven’t called me for days, what’s wrong with you? You usually send me a text at least.” You shouted at him with annoyance. However, slapping him and shouting at him was the last thing he needed from anybody, especially not from his girlfriend. His pent-up anger was not going to do either of you any good tonight, and he knew it.

He glared at you before reaching his hand to the back of your head and began dragging you towards the couch by your hair to push you onto it. It took you a second to realise that you had fucked up as he scowled towards you before reaching into his pocket and getting a new cigarette. He lit it and took a long drag of smoke from it before sighing.

He bent down to your eye level before gripping both your cheeks using his hand with bloody knuckles. It felt so harsh to the point that your eyes started to tear up in fear. Seong-Je isn’t a bad boyfriend, but he has his moments which make you fear him, and this was one.

He took a slow drag of the cigarette, eyes locked in with yours, and blew the smoke towards your face. You felt yourself start to cough because of it, but his grip on you became stronger until he spoke. “Though you’re my girlfriend, what gives you the right to slap me, huh? You think you’re so tough, princess.” You began squirming in your seat, uncomfortable, scared, and aroused.

A little secret about you is that you love when Seong-Je is terrifying. You love when he speaks to you sternly in his low voice, because you trust him enough to know that he would never truly hurt you. He noticed your squirming before letting go of your face with a harsh enough push to be thrown onto the couch. 

You moved up towards the couch when you saw him get on the couch to climb towards you while taking a long drag of smoke. You didn’t know what his next move was and it made you curious. He grabbed your throat and bent down to kiss you roughly. Shotgunning smoke into your mouth, teeth clashing and saliva dripping from the sides. It felt as if you both were fighting for dominance but of course, he easily won and pushed his tongue into your mouth exploring it. You felt the smoke taste in the back of your throat and his glasses dug deep into your cheeks which hurt to the point that you reached towards it and pushed it over his head. He pulled away and reached for the glasses to set it down on the table next to you both before resuming with the kiss. Both your hands were now wrapped around his bloody hand that was on your throat to try and remove it. As the minutes went on, you felt the lack of oxygen in your body.

He finally lets go and you gasp trying to take in as much air as you can into your lungs. He looked at you with a smug smirk on his face as you struggled to breathe. You felt his hands reach towards your shirt and unbutton it slowly. You reached towards his zip-up hoodie and began unzipping it as your hands trembled with desperation.

He took his hoodie off and then pulled your shirt from your arms and tossed it to the side before unbuckling your bra and doing the same to it. You suddenly felt shy when you realised how naked you were compared to him. You tugged his shirt that was under the hoodie indicating that he should take it off. “What, should I be as naked as you now?” He asked teasingly. You nodded shyly, all while hiding your breasts under your arms.

He obliged accordingly, because he wanted you as badly as you wanted him. Maybe even more than you did. He grabbed your arms with one hand and pinned them above your head onto the couch before grabbing one of your breasts and squeezing it while licking the other like a hungry animal. You felt yourself become wetter, making you arch your chest towards his face, wanting more. He left little nips and hickeys across your chest and neck before moving to lick your stomach.

He let go of your hands and looked upwards at you before biting the elastic waistband of your shorts to pull it down. Your hand went onto his hand that was still on your chest, and you moved it to your nipple, wanting some more friction to try and relieve how aroused you felt. 

He used his other hand to take off both your panties and shorts fully and placed his cigarette on the table next to you both. Afterwards, he settled his hands on your waist, gripping it tightly as he dipped his face down towards your heat, giving it kitten licks just to tease you. Your hand flew towards his hair to try and push his face towards you more, wanting to reach climax. He began licking you more aggressively, mouth covered in your wetness.

You couldn’t help but start rolling your hips against his face and moaning loudly as he stimulated your clit. His one hand reached downwards and circled your entrance before plunging two fingers into you. He began fucking you with his fingers that reached deep inside you. You felt yourself going lightheaded with all the stimulation that was starting to become too much. You indicated this by trying to push his face away from you.

He looked up when you began trying to push him away from you. He began getting more excited feeling you try to fight the pleasure he gave you. His hand easily took both of your hands and locked them into place like before and began kissing you making you taste yourself all while fucking you with his fingers. He felt himself growing a boner in his pants, which was starting to become bothersome because of how aroused he was. Not even seconds after he began kissing you, the climax washed over you aggressively, making you moan into the kiss.

He slowly let go of your hands and lips to examine your fucked-out face that was filled with bliss as you slowly caught your breath. He removed his fingers from you, making you shiver a bit. He then moved to unbuckle his belt and jeans. He took his belt and brought your hands together to restrain it, before flipping you over onto your stomach. “Ass up, beautiful.” He quietly spoke into your ear before biting it. You felt the pain of the bite, making you quickly obey his words.

He gave his cock a few pumps before burying himself in your wetness. He groaned in satisfaction, because believe it or not, he missed you so much, even though he would never say it to your face. You felt so full and was trying to adjust to his size after weeks of not doing it, as you both had been busy even before he went off the radar.

He began a slow pace before fastening, creating a rough rhythm, making you whine and making him moan. He reached over to the cigarette to take long drags of smoke while fucking you. After all, doing it with you was ecstasy to him because he worshiped your body like no other. While he did love you so much, he also loved to see you cry in pain.

An idea popped into his head as he was fucking you, which caught you by surprise. Your eyes widened as you felt hot circles of burn on your butt. It didn’t take you long to realise that he was putting off the cigarette on your butt. You panicked and began fumbling with his belt on your wrists. “What are you doing?” You asked hurriedly, trying to see. He chuckled and said, “What do you think?”

He then tossed the cigarette to the side before licking his hand to calm down your burn marks. You quietly sobbed as he did it because, one, it hurt and two, it felt good at the same time that you felt embarrassed. He noticed that you were crying and couldn’t help but smile. He reached to your hair and pulled your head up from it and took a good look at your face before licking your tears and peppering your face with kisses. You couldn’t help but whimper as you felt loved, how ironic. He whispered in your ear, “You know I love you, right?” You knew very well, after all, he was always loyal to you no matter how he treated you at times.

He always looked after you when you felt down about anything. Whenever a guy would even look at your way or try to approach you, he would be like a guard dog ready to fight them off. He treasured you a little too much to the point that he was scared of how possessive he felt over you. “Yes my love, I know.” You croaked out weakly but happily.

He flipped you over to admire your face while he fucked you deep. He placed a palm of his hand on your lower stomach while holding your waist so he could feel himself fuck you. This pressure pushed you over the edge making you see stars and made him groan.

After a while of doing so, he got rid of his belt on your wrists so you could reach out to him and hug him as he fucked you to reach his climax, but Seong-Je always puts your sexual needs above his and makes you reach it before him.

He kissed you as he held you close, both of you moaning into each other's mouths as your fingernails scratched his back with aggression. He locked his eyes onto yours before giving a few final thrusts which made you both reach the climax together. You couldn’t help but bite his shoulder to mask your moan as he filled you up with his cum. This made him moan and groan a little too loudly than he would’ve preferred, which you loved.

You let go of his shoulder and peppered a few kisses from his shoulder to his face while caressing it. He pulled out of you and laid beside you while breathing heavily and hugging you close to him.

You felt his heart beat loudly against his chest. At this point, you didn’t even care for an explanation as to why he gave you radio silence for longer than you would’ve liked. He was there, and you were in his arms; it was all you needed to feel all the comfort in the world.

hope you guys enjoyed this. ♡

word count: roughly 2260 words

[oyasumiaikko]

never meant to make you bleed

geum seongje x depressed! reader (one shot) | whc 2 ★

pairing: geum seongje x depressed! fem! reader

wc: 6.8k

genre: angst/comfort, romance, established relationship

warnings: depression, attempted suicide, mentions of sh, mild description of sh scars and blood, smoking, mentions of bullying, canon violence, usage of y/n, intended lowercase

⤷ disclaimer: this story isn’t meant to romanticize the heavy themes it touches on. as someone who’s struggled with depression, self‑harm, and suicidal thoughts, i wrote it with as much care and respect as possible. if you’re dealing with anything similar, please reach out to a crisis line, a friend, a family member, a therapist, or anyone you trust. your life is precious. you are loved. if you feel this story may trigger you, it’s completely okay not to read it. stay safe.

summary: you had always struggled with mental health, and one late-night fight with seongje almost leads to a tragedy, leaving him completely broken. but he stays by your side, loving and devoted, determined to never lose you again.

author’s note: this story is inspired not only by my own struggles but also by suho and sieun (especially that one scene, where seongje appears at the hospital too). hope you’re gonna like it. ♡

seongje loved you — in his own twisted ways, of course — but he did love you.

he just didn’t exactly… get you.

you were beautiful, smart, creative.

but sometimes you were… odd.

you always kept smiling, no matter what. even if he said something mean, even if he cancelled a date last minute, you’d just smile at him and say “that’s okay, i understand, seongje. i still love you.”

but that smile never reached your eyes.

your eyes were always so painfully empty.

not that seongje was ever one to pay attention to details.

he wasn’t the type to talk about feelings either. rarely anyone had ever asked how he was doing — and sure, at first it hurt somewhere deep down, somewhere he’d never admit. but with the life he had, he learned indifference fast.

at first it was simple: why bother asking how some eunjang punk is feeling after seongje beats him to a pulp? that’s his job. he enjoys inflicting pain, so he doesn’t care.

but that philosophy slowly started to bleed into the rest of his life.

so even when he noticed how you bit your lip until it bled.

even when he noticed how you always covered your wrists around him, the reason obvious to anyone who cared enough to look, he just didn’t say anything.

it wasn’t his problem, right?

you were his girlfriend. you loved him. you took care of him.

and he loved you back.

that should have been enough.

right?

…right?

well, one day, it suddenly wasn’t.

you were home, waiting for him. he was late, nothing unusual. but you still stayed up, eyes aching with dark bags underneath.

you had to wait.

your love for him was the only thing you had left.

the door burst open with a loud slam.

your face lit up immediately. you turned off the tv and walked to the hallway to greet your seongje.

“hey… you’re late” you said with a tired, worn-out smile.

“yeah, whatever” he muttered, kicking off his shoes angrily. he smelled like the streets — sweat, cigarettes and frustration.

you reached out to take his jacket and gently said “you should take a shower, dear. you smell like hell…”

you didn’t mean it badly. it was just an observation. any other day, seongje would’ve laughed it off.

but today something had clearly pissed him off.

he had more scratches and bruises than usual — deep, angry ones.

it was strange… someone had fought him hard enough to leave marks like that. someone strong.

so he lashed out.

“god, do you always have to comment on my shit?”

“huh? seongje, sorry, i didn’t—”

“yeah, that’s the thing about you. you never mean anything.” his voice rose as he dragged a hand through his messy hair. “you keep smiling all the damn time but you look miserable. sometimes i feel like i’m the only thing holding you together. do you have any idea how fucking exhausting that is?”

your breath caught.

“whatever. i’m going out.”

he shoved his shoes back on, snatched the jacket from your hands, and slammed the door behind him.

the second the door closed, you trembled.

there was truth in his words.

he was the only thing keeping you together.

you didn’t have family that you could lean on. before dating him, you were bullied relentlessly. you had no friends. years of depression had hollowed you out until you had no interests, no passions — nothing that really belonged to you.

and hearing him say it…

it hurt.

it hurt so much it felt like something inside you finally snapped.

you walked to the bathroom and turned on the bath without thinking — hands moving on their own, eyes blank.

the sound of water filling the tub was… distant. almost muffled, like you were underwater already.

you didn’t add soap. or candles. or anything comforting.

you just stood there in the dark, staring at the rising water like it was something from someone else’s life.

your mind felt strangely light.

too light.

like everything inside you had finally burnt out.

you stepped in still wearing your shirt. the fabric clung to your skin, cold at first, then warmer as the water reached your waist.

you glanced at your razor blade. once. twice. it looked tempting. too tempting.

you sank down slowly, until the water, that was starting to turn red, rose to your shoulders.

you didn’t think.

didn’t cry.

didn’t speak.

for the first time in months, everything was quiet.

too quiet.

and a few moments later you didn’t even realize how your head tilted back against the tub.

or when your breaths slowed.

or when your limbs relaxed, slipping deeper into the water.

the pain stung just for a minute before you started drifting away to sleep.

meanwhile, far across the city, seongje was walking fast, hands shoved deep in his pockets, jaw clenched so tightly it hurt.

he replayed the fight in his head over and over.

your voice.

your smile that didn’t fight back.

the way you just… accepted his anger.

he scoffed at himself, kicking a stone on the sidewalk.

“so stupid,” he muttered “why the hell did i yell like that…”

but the image that bothered him wasn’t your words — it was the way you looked when he grabbed his jacket.

like you were bracing for something worse.

he lit a cigarette. dropped it.

suddenly didn’t want one.

the streets were cold. his mind colder. and then, against his usual nature, he turned around.

he wasn’t even sure why.

he just… needed to see you.

to make sure you weren’t—

he didn’t finish that thought.

when he unlocked the apartment door, the lights were dim.

your slippers were still by the entrance.

the living room was silent.

“y/n?” he called out, almost annoyed, almost tense.

no answer.

he walked further inside, each step heavier, a strange discomfort crawling up his neck.

and then he heard it —

water.

running.

still running.

his stomach dropped.

“y/n?”

he made it to the bathroom in three strides.

the door wasn’t locked.

he pushed it open—

and his breath stopped.

you were in the tub, completely still, head resting against the edge, eyes closed, the water lapping quietly at your chin.

the water around you started to take in the color of crimson red.

for a split second, he didn’t move.

then the world snapped.

“Y/N!”

he lunged forward so fast he slipped on the wet tile, slamming his knee into the floor, but he didn’t even feel it. he grabbed your shoulders, hauling your upper body out of the water, his breath breaking into shards.

“hey— hey, wake up. wake up. y/n, open your eyes.”

nothing.

your head lolled against his arm.

“no. no no no no— don’t do this. don’t fucking do this to me.”

he pressed his fingers to your neck, rough hands shaking uncontrollably.

he held his breath.

there.

a pulse.

weak. faint. but there.

“okay. okay, you’re alive. you’re alive” he whispered, voice cracking so violently it didn’t even sound like him.

but you weren’t waking up.

your blood couldn’t stop flowing from your opened wounds.

your skin was too cold.

your breathing too shallow.

your lashes didn’t flutter, not even when he cupped your face with both hands.

“y/n, please,” he whispered, forehead pressing to yours, water from your hair soaking into him “please… don’t leave.”

he didn’t even notice that his clothes were drenched now, or that the water from the tub was spilling everywhere. all he could feel was terror — raw, primal, unfamiliar — eating him from the inside out.

he was seongje.

the wolf.

the one who laughed in the face of danger.

the one who walked into fights smiling.

but this—

this was something he couldn’t punch.

something he couldn’t kick away.

something he couldn’t laugh at.

he was helpless.

his breath hitched. he reached with one shaking hand towards his phone, nearly dropping you as he fumbled for it. his fingers slipped twice before he finally got a grip, screen smudged with water.

“fuck— shit— stay with me, okay? stay with me” he muttered as he dialed, voice spiraling into panic.

the phone rang.

once.

twice.

“come on…” his voice was barely a whisper now “please…”

the moment the operator picked up, his composure shattered.

“it’s my girlfriend— she’s— she’s not waking up. she’s bleeding out please. she’s breathing, she’s fucking breathing but she’s not waking up—” his voice cracked, raw and desperate, nothing like the seongje anyone knew “please— send someone. please hurry.”

his free arm tightened around you, pulling you to his chest like he could keep your soul inside your body by force alone.

“don’t die on me” he whispered into your hair, voice trembling, breaking, unrecognizable.

“i’m right here. don’t die.”

the ride to the hospital was a blur. sirens, flashing lights, voices barking orders. seongje heard none of it. he was glued to your side, knuckles white where he held your hand, refusing to let go even when the paramedics told him to give them space.

“i’m not fucking moving” he snarled, voice wild, eyes bloodshot.

they didn’t argue.

one look at him and they knew better.

but now—

now he was powerless.

the moment they pushed you through the emergency room doors and blocked his path with a firm “sir, you have to wait outside”

something inside him cracked.

he paced the hallway like a caged animal, hair dripping with leftover bathwater, clothes sticking to him, breathing uneven and too loud in the sterile silence.

minutes felt like hours.

hours felt like torture.

finally, he sank into one of the cold uncomfortable metal chairs in the waiting area, elbows on his knees, hands in his hair. his walls—those unbreakable, violent walls—were collapsing.

“fuck…” he whispered, voice shaking.

he slammed his fist into his knee, hard enough to hurt.

then harder.

as if pain might keep him from thinking.

but he couldn’t stop.

the image of you in the tub.

the water.

the blood.

your stillness.

your pulse—barely there.

he shot up from the chair so suddenly it screeched across the tile, and he kicked it. hard.

the metal rattled, clattered, toppled over.

a nurse looked over, startled “sir— please—”

“don’t” he snapped, breathing ragged, eyes dark and frantic. “don’t tell me to calm down. don’t— don’t fucking talk to me right now.”

he dragged a hand down his face, pacing again, muttering under his breath.

“this is my fault. i knew something was off— i fucking knew it— why didn’t i—” his voice cracked, words dissolving into something hoarse.

“i should’ve said something. i should’ve asked. i should’ve stayed. fuck—” he slammed his palm against the wall, forehead dropping against it as his breath came out in shudders.

he didn’t cry.

seongje didn’t cry.

but something close, something raw and broken, burned in the corner of his eyes.

“you better live, y/n…” his voice was barely audible now, a broken whisper meant only for the empty hallway. “i swear, if you die— i won’t know how to—”

his voice died in his throat.

he pressed his fist against his mouth, trying to breathe, trying not to shatter completely.

for the first time in his life, seongje realized what real fear felt like.

not fear for himself.

but fear of losing you.

the only person who ever loved him without flinching.

the door clicked open.

seongje’s head snapped up so fast his neck almost cracked. the doctor stepped out, mask lowered to his chin, exhaustion heavy on his face.

“are you her… partner?” he asked carefully.

seongje didn’t even blink.

“yeah. what happened? tell me.”

the doctor exhaled slowly.

“we stabilized her condition. she lost a dangerous amount of blood, but… she’s alive.”

seongje’s knees nearly gave out. he grabbed the back of a chair just to stay upright.

“when’s she waking up?” he breathed.

the doctor hesitated.

and seongje’s stomach twisted.

“we don’t know,” the doctor admitted softly “her body is stable, but she hasn’t regained consciousness yet. it could be hours… or longer.”

that word — longer — felt like a blade carving into him.

“you can see her now” the doctor added gently.

seongje didn’t wait.

he practically shoved past him, heart pounding so hard it hurt.

the room was dim, quiet, too white. it felt wrong somehow. like you didn’t belong somewhere so cold.

and then he saw you.

small.

still.

bandaged arms resting on the thin blanket.

skin pale, lips drained of color.

you looked like you were drifting somewhere far away from him.

he stopped in the doorway, breath punched out of his lungs.

then, with hesitant steps, as if you might break from the sound of his footsteps, he approached your bedside.

“y/n…” he whispered.

no answer.

no movement.

just the soft beep of the monitor.

he reached for your hand.

his fingers hovered, terrified to hurt you.

terrified to feel nothing in return.

finally, he touched you.

your hand was slightly warmer now.

alive.

he broke.

“fuck…” he choked out, voice shattering.

the tears came silently at first — one, then another — falling onto your bandaged skin.

geum seongje, the boy who never cried, the boy who laughed through broken bones, the boy who bled for fun, was now shaking.

“you’re an idiot,” he whispered, leaning over your hand, pressing his forehead against it as his shoulders trembled “you can’t— you can’t do shit like this. not to me. not to yourself.”

his voice cracked completely.

“you hear me? i’m not letting you go. i don’t give a damn what anyone says, you’re… you’re mine. you’re mine to hold, mine to protect, mine to—”

his breath hitched, a sob torn straight from the part of him he never showed anyone.

“please wake up.”

he tightened his grip around your hand, as if anchoring you to the world.

“i swear i’ll do better. i swear i’ll try. just… come back to me, okay?”

his tears dripped onto your fingers.

“i can’t lose the only person who ever saw anything good in me.”

the room stayed quiet.

you didn’t move.

but seongje didn’t let go.

not this time.

days passed.

the union buzzed with irritation and confusion — because the wolf was gone.

geum seongje, the one who never skipped, never hid, never backed down, had vanished.

rumors spread fast, faster than fists usually did around him.

“heard he got messed up in a fight.”

“nah, he’s hiding from some daegu guys.”

“i heard… something happened. something bad.”

but nobody knew the truth.

seongje made damn sure of that.

because if anyone found out about you — if anyone realized you were the one thing that could break the great geum seongje — he’d be dead before sunrise.

or worse

…you would.

so he stayed silent.

he ignored every call, every meeting, every fight request.

he didn’t return messages.

even his closest subordinates stopped trying.

he just… disappeared.

but every single day, without a fail, he walked into your hospital room.

sometimes morning.

sometimes deep in the night.

sometimes with blood on his knuckles from a fight he picked out of pure self-hatred.

he always entered quietly.

sat next to your bed.

took your hand like it was the only thing grounding him.

he didn’t talk much. because the more he tried, the more he realized how little he actually knew about you.

one day he stood outside a convenience store for fifteen minutes, staring at the flower display.

pink?

white?

sunflowers?

roses?

what the hell did you like?

he picked roses.

then threw them away before he reached the hospital because he convinced himself you’d hate them.

another day he pulled out his phone, thinking maybe he’d make something for you.

a playlist.

something that said i miss you without him having to choke on the words.

but halfway through scrolling through songs, he froze.

“shit… what does she even listen to…?”

he didn’t know.

he didn’t know a single one of your favorite songs. not one. not your favorite color, either. not the snacks you liked. not what kind of flowers made you smile. not which movies made you laugh until your stomach hurt.

he knew how you kissed. he knew how you held his sleeve when you were nervous. he knew how your smile cracked at the edges like you were trying too hard.

but the rest?

empty.

the guilt hit him like a fist to the gut.

he was your whole world — and he barely knew anything about yours.

so he sat beside your bed, elbows on his knees, one hand gripping his hair, the other holding yours.

“i’m a fucking idiot,” he muttered, voice rough “you gave me everything and i didn’t even bother to learn what flowers you’d want from me.”

his thumb brushed over your knuckles.

“i’m trying,” he whispered “i’m trying so hard. wake up and i’ll… i’ll figure it out. all of it. everything you like. everything you love. i’ll learn it.”

he swallowed hard.

“just… wake up. i’m begging you.”

but the only answer was the soft humming monitor beside your bed.

and every day, the guilt ate him a little more.

until even the wolf of the union wasn’t sure he’d survive it.

that night the hallway was too quiet.

seongje pushed open the door to your hospital room, already halfway through a muttered “hey… i’m here again, idiot… you better—”

and then he froze.

someone was sitting beside your bed.

legs crossed.

hands folded.

expression unreadable.

na baekjin.

his cold eyes drifted from your unconscious face to seongje without a hint of surprise.

for a heartbeat, seongje didn’t breathe.

then—

“what the fuck are you doing here?” the snarl ripped out of him instantly, instinctively, like something feral had sunk its teeth into his spine.

he stormed forward, hands curling into fists.

baekjin didn’t flinch.

didn’t move.

didn’t even look intimidated.

he simply blinked, slow, elegant, bored.

“calm down, seongje,” he said, voice smooth as glass but sharp enough to cut “if i wanted to hurt her, i wouldn’t be sitting.”

“don’t—” seongje hissed, chest heaving “—don’t fucking talk about her.”

baekjin let out a breath. almost a sigh.

“i was curious.” he continued, leaning back in the chair as if he were attending a board meeting and not sitting beside the only person the geum seongje cared about.

“curious what could pull you away from the union.”

his eyes flicked to you again.

“turns out… it was a girl.”

seongje lunged.

got halfway before baekjin’s calm, cold voice stopped him “if you touch me, the union will hear why you disappeared.”

silence.

the kind that vibrated like a wire pulled too tight.

baekjin tilted his head.

not mocking — calculating.

“you’ve caused quite the stir. hiding. ignoring orders. skipping fights. even the lower ranks are whispering.”

his gaze slid over you, lingering on the bandages around your wrists.

“and now i see why.”

“shut up,” seongje spat, voice raw, shaking “don’t fucking look at her.”

baekjin hummed, as if amused by how violently seongje trembled.

“i didn’t touch her,” he said simply “i only wanted to understand what could make the wolf of the union… break.”

seongje’s jaw clenched so hard it cracked.

baekjin stood slowly, movements precise, perfectly controlled.

“you should’ve told me you were protecting something,” baekjin said, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeves “it’s dangerous to keep secrets in our world.”

his eyes flicked to your face one last time.

“i’ll pretend i didn’t see this.”

seongje’s breath hitched.

baekjin stepped past him, pausing at the door.

“but seongje,” he added quietly, not turning back “if anyone else finds out… you won’t be able to handle what comes next.”

then he left.

and the moment the door clicked shut, seongje’s knees nearly buckled.

he rushed to your bedside, grabbing your hand with both of his, lips barely pressed to your fingers.

“i’m not letting anyone touch you,” he whispered, shaking “not baekjin. not the union. not the whole fucking world.”

his voice cracked.

“just wake up. please… before everything breaks.”

after that night, baekjin didn’t visit the hospital again — but he did start texting.

not often.

not directly.

never anything as simple as an order.

no — baekjin’s messages were elegant threats wrapped in polite wording.

“a small matter requires your attention.”

“don’t make me come looking.”

“you know what happens if you refuse.”

seongje read every text with his jaw clenched so tight it hurt.

so he came back.

to the union.

to the fights.

to the dirty work.

but something was wrong.

he didn’t laugh.

he didn’t smirk.

he didn’t enjoy the rush.

he wasn’t the scary and crazy geum seongje from the union anymore.

he was just a boy who wanted to sit beside your hospital bed.

every time blood splattered, all he could think about was your pale hands wrapped in bandages.

all that blood just reminded him more and more of that horrible night.

every time someone hit him, he heard the beeping of your heart monitor.

and then, during one fight — breath ragged, knuckles split, some punk struggling under his grip — his phone buzzed.

unknown number.

he almost ignored it.

he didn’t have room for more bullshit.

but something in his gut twisted, and he pulled it out anyway.

“what?” he snapped, wiping blood from his face.

silence.

then —

“is this… geum seongje?”

a woman’s voice.

steady. professional.

his entire body went still.

“this is the nurse calling from seoul national university hospital.”

the name hit him like a punch.

“yeah. yeah, it’s me — what’s happening?”

the fight behind him dissolved into background noise.

his heart climbed into his throat.

“we found your name and number in the visitor log. it’s about patient y/n y/l/n.”

everything inside him stopped.

“she woke up a few minutes ago. you can come visi—”

he didn’t hear the rest.

he didn’t even breathe.

you woke up?

and he wasn’t there?

he was out here doing union shit, throwing punches, ignoring his own bones cracking, while you opened your eyes alone?

what if you thought he abandoned you?

what if you remembered the way he slammed the door that night and thought he never came back?

his heartbeat roared in his ears.

he didn’t tell anyone.

he didn’t finish the fight.

he didn’t even look back.

seongje ran.

he ran like the pavement was collapsing behind him.

like something monstrous was chasing him.

like his life — what little of it still mattered — was on the line.

he shoved past crowds, almost fell twice, lungs burning, ribs aching, but he didn’t stop.

not until he saw the hospital doors.

not until the cold glass reflected the truth back at him: you were awake.

and there you were.

sitting in a wheelchair by the window, blanket over your lap, bandaged arms resting quietly against the handles.

the soft glow of the sunset warmed your skin, painting you in gold, like the world was trying to apologize for everything it took from you.

you were awake.

breathing.

alive.

seongje froze in the doorway’s shadow, unable to step forward, unable to step back either.

you looked peaceful.

he’d never seen you look peaceful.

not once.

not even before all of this.

for a second — one fragile, impossible second — he didn’t want to ruin it.

you were gazing out at the city, the life you’d missed while you slept, the life he’d taken for granted until you slipped away from it.

his hand hovered over the doorknob.

what was he supposed to say?

how was he supposed to walk in after everything he’d done?

after the way he left you that night?

his chest tightened, breath shaking.

his fingers twitched.

every instinct screamed something different — run, stay, apologize, collapse, laugh, scream.

and then the door clicked under his hand.

the moment the latch gave way, all of seongje’s impulses broke loose.

he didn’t stop.

he didn’t think.

he didn’t breathe.

he just rushed to you.

like he had in the bathroom, like he had in the hallway, like every second spent without you was oxygen he couldn’t survive on.

“y/n…” he whispered, voice raw, ripped open.

you turned your head — slowly, carefully — and your tired eyes met his.

and that was it.

that was all it took.

he was at your side in an instant, dropping to his knees beside the wheelchair, hands trembling as they hovered over yours — afraid to touch, terrified not to.

you blinked at him, confused at first — his sudden entrance, the way he practically fell to your side, the way his breath hitched like he’d run a marathon just to reach you.

you didn’t remember everything.

the night was a smear of pain and water and cold.

but you remembered him.

you remembered loving him.

that was enough for your lips to curve into a soft, tired smile.

he looked like how you always remembered — smell of cigarettes lingering on his clothes, knuckles split and bruised from whoever was unlucky enough to cross his path, jaw sharp with tension.

but his eyes…

his eyes were wrong.

they were red, exhausted, cracked open in a way you’d never seen.

there was no cocky spark, no amused glint, no vicious thrill.

just a boy on the edge of breaking.

his hand still unsurely hovered beside yours, shaking like he didn’t trust himself to touch you yet.

so you reached first.

you slid your fingers into his and gave a small, gentle squeeze.

i’m here, the pressure said, i’m alive.

and that simple touch shattered him all over again.

his breath stuttered, shoulders trembling — and the tears he’d been fighting since the night he found you

finally slipped free.

but this time…

for the first time in months…

he smiled.

a weak, crooked, trembling smile

that looked like it physically hurt him to make.

“i missed you,” he whispered, voice breaking apart “i missed you so fucking much… don’t you ever—” his grip on your hand tightened, desperate, terrified, tender “don’t you ever leave me again.”

after a little pause, when he was just taking in your features, as if he couldn’t believe that this was real, he breathed out again “y/n…” voice cracking open.

the sound of your name on his tongue was already fragile — but when you answered him, when your voice actually filled the room for the first time in months, something inside him collapsed.

your soft, tired, real “seongje?…”

hit him harder than any punch ever had.

he sucked in a sharp breath, shoulders jerking.

god, he missed your voice.

missed it so much it physically hurt.

he forgot how gentle it was.

how warm.

how it always softened the edges of the world he lived in.

“fuck— i… i don’t even know where to start.”

you watched him, your thumb brushing the back of his trembling hand.

“i’m sorry,” he rushed out, words piling over each other “i’m so fucking sorry. for that night. for what I said. for not—”

his breath shuddered.

“for not noticing how bad things were for you. i should’ve been there, i should’ve—”

“seongje…” you whispered again, and there it was again — that voice.

the one that used to call him home.

the one he thought he might never hear again.

it knocked another sob out of him, but he kept spiraling.

“and when you woke up— shit, when they called me, i wasn’t even here. i should’ve been here. with you. i should’ve—”

his voice broke into a wet, angry, helpless sob.

“but ask them. ask the nurses. i came every day. every fucking day. i swear i didn’t leave you alone.” he looked up at you then — eyes bloodshot, cheeks streaked, lips trembling like he was terrified you wouldn’t believe him.

your heart cracked.

so you lifted your hand and slid your palm across his cheek.

his breath hitched like you’d touched a bruise.

“seongje,” you murmured, voice soft and steady.

he froze at the sound of it, like he was afraid it might disappear again.

you leaned a little closer.

“it’s okay,” you whispered “i trust you.”

your thumb brushed under his eye just where his mole was, catching a tear before it fell.

“i love you, seongje.”

it was like those words knocked the air from his lungs.

his fingers tightened around your knees, not in desperation but in something fragile, terrified, grateful all at once. and then he leaned forward — slowly, hesitantly — like he was asking for permission with every breath.

he wrapped his arms around your waist.

his forehead pressed to your lap.

and his whole body shook.

quiet, broken sobs spilled from him, muffled against the fabric.

the infamous wolf of the union — the boy who laughed in fights, who never backed down, who feared nothing — was crying into your blanket.

because you were alive, because you were here, because your voice — god, your voice — still existed for him.

“don’t ever scare me like that again,” he choked, barely audible “i can’t… i can’t lose you. i’m a mess without you.”

after that day — the day seongje would later swear was the happiest day of his entire shitty, chaotic life — everything changed.

the guy, who was known for being ruthless and rough, suddenly got… gentle.

the wolf wasn’t a wolf anymore.

he pushed your wheelchair with both hands, slow and careful, always checking up on you.

“you sure you aren’t cold?”

“too fast?”

“you tired?”

— questions he never asked anyone in his whole life before.

he pointed out birds, clouds, stray cats hiding behind hospital bushes, anything that made your eyes brighten even for a heartbeat.

and when the nurses taught you to try short walks again during your physical rehabilitation, he was right there behind you, hands hovering an inch from your waist, ready to catch you even if you took a single wrong step.

you never saw him this gentle.

you never imagined he could be.

sometimes he’d get quiet while watching you. not sad, just… thoughtful, like he was seeing you for the first time, all the little things he never looked at before.

“hey,” he said one morning as he wheeled you into the local hospital park to watch the sunrise “uh… what flowers do you like?”

you blinked at him. he looked away instantly.

“i’m not askin’ ’cause i forgot. i just— i wanna get you the right shit. so tell me.”

and that was the moment you noticed…

he was trying.

really, truly trying.

learning you from zero

the way he should have before.

it warmed something in your chest that had been cold for years.

he brought your favorite flowers the next day.

one too many, actually — a huge bouquet he pretended wasn’t a big deal, cheeks pink as he shoved it into your hands.

he talked more now, asked more, paid attention.

and with every soft moment, with every gentle gesture, you felt this slow, aching comfort return.

but comfort also came with something else — awareness.

because the closer he leaned in, the more his hands brushed your sleeves as he helped you dress, as he fixed your blanket, as he steadied you on shaky feet

the more you felt it.

the weight of the truth beneath the fabric.

at first, the bandages hid it.

layers of white and tape made everything feel distant, unreal.

you didn’t have to look.

you didn’t have to think.

but the day the nurse unwound the last strip, the day cool air touched the skin that had never fully healed, your stomach dropped.

they looked worse than anything you ever expected.

not just lines.

but reminders.

loud ones.

you stared.

silent.

nausea creeping up your throat.

the nurse spoke gently — something about ointments, something about healing, something about checking in if something felt wrong — but her voice was a blur.

he’s going to see this.

he’s going to think you’re disgusting.

he’s going to remember what you did and wish he never came back.

the thought made your eyes burn.

and suddenly you hated your hands, hated your arms, hated your own skin.

you pulled your sleeves down so fast the nurse flinched.

after she left, you sat there on the hospital bed, shaking.

later that afternoon, seongje slipped into the hospital room like he always did — messy hair from running over, jacket half-zipped, eyes immediately on you.

“hey” he said softly, dropping a bag of snacks on the table.

he was trying to sound casual, he always did now, but there was something careful in his voice.

like he didn’t want to startle you.

you forced a smile.

but his eyes narrowed — just slightly. that new attentiveness he was practicing settling in.

“you okay?” he asked.

you nodded too quickly.

“yeah. just… tired.”

he watched you for a long moment.

longer than he would’ve months ago.

before, he would’ve shrugged and moved on.

now he stepped closer.

“y/n.”

his voice firmer, but still gentle.

“what happened?”

you swallowed hard and tugged your sleeves even lower.

“nothing, seongje. i’m fine.”

that made something flicker in his expression — frustration, but not at you. more like at himself. the old him would’ve rolled his eyes or walked away.

this version didn’t.

he sat beside you, knees brushing yours, leaning forward slightly so he could look you in the eye.

“you think i’m stupid?”

the question was quiet, not biting — just honest.

“your face screams you’re not fine.”

his gaze softened.

“talk to me. i’m trying, okay? i wanna… do things right this time.”

your throat tightened.

you opened your mouth, but nothing came out — just a shaky inhale.

he waited.

really waited.

then you finally whispered “i just… i saw them today” his eyes moved to your covered arms and then back up — slow, cautious, like he didn’t want to assume.

“the scars?” he murmured.

you nodded, shame burning your cheeks.

you expected disgust.

or awkwardness.

or pity.

but instead, his jaw clenched — not in anger at you, but at everything that hurt you.

you looked away quickly.

“they’re ugly,” you whispered “you’ll see them eventually and… i know you won’t want to anymore.”

the moment those words left your lips, you felt him freeze beside you.

a heartbeat later, you felt his hand — warm, hesitant — resting beside yours on the blanket.

not grabbing.

not forcing.

just there.

“y/n,” he said quietly, voice rough with something you’d never heard from him before “don’t say shit like that.”

you blinked, startled.

he exhaled shakily.

“i don’t care what they look like. i care that you’re still here to have them.”

your breath caught.

he looked at your sleeves again — this time not scared or disgusted, but devastated in a way that made your chest ache.

“i’m not leaving,” he said, stronger now “not because of scars. not because of anything.”

and then, softer, almost a whisper “i’m here and i’m not going anywhere.”

his words settled into your chest like warm water, but the fear didn’t vanish.

not fully.

not yet.

you stared at your sleeves for a long moment, fingers curling in the fabric.

your heart thudded against your ribs — too loud, too fast.

“do you…” your voice was barely a sound “do you want to see them?”

seongje froze.

not because he was afraid.

but because he knew what it meant for you to ask.

he swallowed hard “only if you want me to,” he said quietly “i’m not gonna force you.”

you nodded, even though your hands trembled.

slowly, you pushed your sleeves up.

the room felt too bright.

too silent.

you couldn’t breathe as the scars came into view — angry, uneven, reminders of everything you lost and everything you survived.

you didn’t look at him.

you couldn’t.

but you felt the shift in the air when he finally saw.

heard the sharp inhale he tried to hide.

felt the bed dip as he leaned in closer without touching you, like he was afraid his hands might hurt you.

“y/n…” he breathed, voice cracking apart.

not disgusted.

not horrified.

just hurting.

you dared to glance at him.

his eyes weren’t on the scars — they were on your face.

and he looked wrecked.

“these…”

his voice faltered.

he lifted his hand slowly, giving you time to pull away — you didn’t — and then he traced the air above your skin, not touching, just hovering. like he was afraid even the heat of his palm might sting you.

“you went through this alone,” he whispered “and i wasn’t there. i should’ve—”

“seongje,” you whispered, but he shook his head.

“no. let me say this.”

his voice trembled again.

“i’m not angry at you. i’m angry at myself. at the world. at whatever made you feel like this was the only way out.”

he finally touched you — gently, like your skin was silk.

his fingertips brushed the edges of a scar, feather-light, reverent.

not a flinch.

not a moment of hesitation.

just quiet devotion.

“these don’t make you ugly,” he said, voice low, fierce “they make me grateful you’re still here.”

your breath caught in your throat.

your chest tightened painfully.

“seongje…” and then — before your fear could twist into shame again — he leaned forward.

very slowly.

giving you every chance to stop him.

when you didn’t, he pressed his lips to the scars.

soft.

careful.

like he was kissing wounds you carried on your soul, not your skin.

your eyes burned as he lingered there for a moment, his breath warm against your arm.

when he finally looked up at you, his hair fell into his eyes.

he looked vulnerable.

honest.

and utterly yours.

“i still think you’re beautiful,” he whispered, voice steady with truth “every part of you.”

your heart felt too big for your ribs.

your hands shook as you reached for him, and he met you halfway, resting his forehead against yours.

for the first time since you woke up, the fear loosened its hold.

you believed him.

you leaned in before you even realized you were doing it — slow, hesitant, guided by the pull in your chest rather than any thought.

seongje froze for half a second when your lips brushed his.

not because he didn’t want it.

because he did.

so much that it scared him.

and then he kissed you back.

not like before — not the usual wild, hungry, head-against-head, teeth-brushing, breathless chaos he always dragged you into.

this was different.

his lips moved against yours carefully, almost shyly.

slow.

steady.

like he was memorizing you all over again.

his hand came up to cup your cheek, thumb trembling just slightly as he tilted your face to him.

not to control.

not to dominate.

but to hold.

to feel.

his forehead pressed to yours between breaths, lips returning to yours with that same fragile devotion — soft, warm, aching with everything he hadn’t said in the months you slept.

a tiny sound escaped him, something like relief and longing tangled together.

he kissed you like he was thanking the universe.

like he was afraid to break you.

afraid to break the moment.

afraid he might wake up and realize you weren’t here.

your fingers curled into his shirt, pulling him close.

he let you.

leaned into you.

followed your pace, your softness, your need.

when he finally pulled back just an inch, his breath ghosted over your lips.

“god…” he whispered, voice wrecked “i missed you. i missed this. i missed you.”

and then he kissed you again, slow and devoted.

like this was the first kiss he’d ever truly meant.

when the kiss finally eased into stillness, he didn’t let you go — not even for a second.

he pulled you gently into his chest, arms wrapping around you with a kind of certainty he had never shown anyone before. his chin rested on the top of your head, his heartbeat racing like he was afraid you’d disappear if he blinked.

his hands settled at your back, holding you like you were something precious — something he was terrified of losing again.

“i’ve got you” he murmured, barely above a whisper.

you felt him exhale, shaky but sure, as if he was finally letting months of fear drain out of him in one breath.

he pressed one last kiss to your temple — soft, reverent, full of everything he didn’t know how to say “i’ll protect you.” he promised, voice steady now, anchored.

“and i’ll love you for the rest of my life.”

fin.

if you’d like to read more of my work make sure to check out my weak hero masterlist !! ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭

[cyberxarchives]

✨ my baby girls ✨

[unravening]

LEE JUN YOUNG as Geum Seong Je in

Weak Hero Class Two (2025) / Episode One

[hrts4-jay]

✘☙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.

[1liv]

LEE JUN-YOUNG as GEUM SEONG-JE in WEAK HERO CLASS 2 - Episode 8