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[asciendo]

Beneath the Falling Blossoms

💌 Pairing: Wonwoo x f!Reader 📖 Genre: Historical Romance | Angst | Slow Burn | Hurt/Comfort | Political Intrigue | Marriage of Convenience 🖋️ Word Count: 9,470 📍 Setting: Joseon-inspired world | Royal court & family estate

Summary: You were married to Wonwoo by duty — the rising warlord, cold and unreadable, whose life was ruled by loyalty and power. You were meant to be his wife, bear his children, and exist in the quiet shadow of his world. For years, you lived beside him, strangers beneath one roof, bound by obligation and silence.

But when your enemies rise and your family is threatened, the walls between you begin to crack. In the midst of political danger, betrayal, and war, you and Wonwoo must navigate a fragile, unfamiliar path — one where love is no longer impossible, if both are brave enough to reach for it.

🚨 Warnings: Violence, political conflict, mentions of death, emotional angst, smut / explicit sexual content (18+)

You started your morning as usual, waking up to the sun casting soft gold across your face, the quiet of your home greeting you in your husband’s absence. You reached over instinctively, only to feel the cold empty space beside you. Separate rooms had simply become the most comfortable option over time.

The house was still except for the faint rustling of the trees outside. You wrapped your jeogori around your waist, stepping softly into the kitchen. The familiar routine of preparing breakfast grounded you as you began slicing the fresh radish and heating the morning porridge.

Before long, you heard the soft patter of footsteps behind you.

Your eldest son, Jeon Seongmin, entered, already dressed for the day, his small frame weighed slightly by the sword strapped at his side. His features — sharp brows, wide dark eyes, the subtle downward turn of his lips — were an exact mirror of his father, Jeon Wonwoo, the leader of the Hwaryeong Guard, the elite warriors sworn to protect the royal family.

“Eomma, is abba at the training area already?” Seongmin asked, standing tall despite his young age.

You turned, offering him a soft smile. “Yes, he was there this morning.”

At your reply, Seongmin’s shoulders slumped ever so slightly, a small sigh escaping his lips.

“What’s wrong, my love?” You reached out, gently cupping his cheek. His skin was still warm from sleep, soft beneath your hand.

“I should have been up with him,” he mumbled, brows furrowing.

You let out a quiet sigh, brushing a stray strand of hair away from his face. “Seongmin, you are still a child. There is no rush to carry a sword as heavy as your father's.”

“But I want to be like him.” His voice cracked just slightly, betraying the burden he carried inside, the silent pressure of being the son of Joseon’s most feared and respected warrior.

Your gaze softened. “You will become strong in your own time. But strength is not only found on the battlefield, Seongmin.”

Outside, the faint sound of swords clashing echoed faintly from the training grounds, a daily rhythm that marked the life you had married into.

You glanced toward the open courtyard, where your husband was likely already leading the morning drills, distant, dutiful, and always a step away from your quiet domestic world.

You watched him quietly as he scarfed down his breakfast, barely chewing, eager to run off. You worried for Seongmin — too young, still attending his studies at the Confucian academy, yet already being molded into a man far too soon. The men around him — your husband included — treated him like an adult, like a soldier in training rather than the boy he still was.

He finished his meal and stood, bowing respectfully. “I will head to Father now.”

You nodded, though your heart weighed heavy. “Be careful, my son.”

As he left, you trailed behind silently, stepping out into the courtyard where the morning mist still clung low to the ground. From the covered walkway, you watched as Seongmin crossed the training grounds, the rhythmic clashing of swords ringing in the air.

At the center stood your husband — Jeon Wonwoo — his figure tall and composed, back turned as he gave instructions to the gathered men. His long black hair was tied neatly, his warrior’s uniform spotless despite the hours of training already behind him. As always, he exuded a quiet, intimidating command that drew respect without effort.

Seongmin approached and bowed low. “Father.”

Wonwoo finally turned, his sharp eyes immediately landing on the boy’s sword at his side. “You’re late.”

“I apologize,” Seongmin said, voice steady though you noticed the faintest tremor.

Without another word, Wonwoo gestured toward the center of the ring. “Draw your sword.”

The other men instinctively stepped back to give them space. The air grew tense as Seongmin pulled his blade free. Though smaller than a full warrior’s sword, it gleamed all the same under the morning sun.

Wonwoo faced him, drawing his own wooden practice sword — though even that seemed heavier than what Seongmin could manage.

“Begin.”

Seongmin lunged first, as he was taught — fast, but still lacking the precision his father demanded. Wonwoo parried easily, his movements fluid and controlled.

“Too wide,” Wonwoo corrected sharply, stepping aside and tapping Seongmin’s shoulder with the wooden blade. “Your opening was exposed. Again.”

Seongmin reset, attacking once more. Again, Wonwoo blocked him, this time striking his wrist lightly. “Wrist is too loose. You’ll lose your grip.”

The third time, Wonwoo struck harder, making Seongmin stumble slightly. The boy bit his lip, determination flickering behind his young eyes.

“Balance!” Wonwoo barked. “If you cannot stand firmly, you will not survive. Again!”

Your hands tightened around the fabric of your jeogori as you watched. He was being hard on him today — too hard, you thought — but Wonwoo’s face remained unreadable, as always. His way of love was discipline.

Seongmin exhaled and charged once more, sweat already forming along his brow. He was trying, so desperately trying, to meet his father’s expectations.

Wonwoo blocked again, but this time gave a small nod. “Better.”

Only a mother’s eye could see how Seongmin’s shoulders eased at that single word of approval.

Seongmin entered just as you were spooning another bite of porridge into your youngest’s mouth. The boy bowed respectfully as he walked in, still flushed from the morning drills.

“You’re just in time,” you said softly. “Eat a little before school.”

But he shook his head, voice still a little breathless. “I’ll get ready, Eomma.”

You gave him a brief nod. “Go. Get ready for school.”

He bowed again and disappeared into the next room to change.

Wonwoo entered a moment later, closing the door quietly behind him. His presence always filled the room — tall, composed, silent as a shadow. He made his way to where you sat on the floor, cross-legged beside the two younger boys.

Joonho, your second, was already halfway through his porridge, his cheeks puffed like a little squirrel. Sungbae, your baby, was babbling happily, clapping his hands with each spoonful you fed him.

Wonwoo sat beside Joonho, resting a hand gently on his head. Joonho beamed up at his father. “Appa, when can I have a sword like hyung?”

Wonwoo’s lips twitched faintly, the smallest hint of a smile. “When you’re ready. For now, eat.”

Joonho pouted but obediently scooped another spoonful into his mouth.

You glanced sideways at your husband, the warmth of the domestic scene quickly giving way to the weight pressing on your chest. You had been holding your tongue all morning, but now, seeing Seongmin so tense and your younger sons still untouched by such burdens, you couldn’t stay silent.

“Wonwoo-ya,” you said quietly but firmly, keeping your voice low so the boys wouldn’t hear. “He is still a child.”

Wonwoo did not look at you, instead watching Sungbae babble and reach for his sleeve. “He is my son.”

“That does not mean you need to strip him of his childhood.”

At this, Wonwoo finally turned his gaze to you. Calm, dark, unwavering. “You think I wish this for him?” he said, voice steady. “I would rather see him running barefoot in the yard with Joonho and Sungbae.”

“Then let him.”

“I cannot,” Wonwoo said flatly. “Not when Lord Baek Joonhyuk grows stronger every year.”

At the mention of the enemy’s name, your chest tightened. Baek Joonhyuk — head of the rival clan, growing more bold and ambitious with each passing season, his men encroaching further into the capital’s influence, his spies rumored to be in every corner of the court.

“If war comes to Joseon,” Wonwoo continued, his voice like a blade sliding from its sheath, “they will not spare him because he is young. As my eldest son, he must be ready.”

You clenched your jaw, your fingers tightening around Sungbae’s tiny spoon. The air between you felt heavy — not with anger, but with grief for the unspoken truths both of you carried.

Wonwoo reached out then, his calloused hand briefly resting over yours. “I am not blind to your worry, my wife. But I will not fail him by allowing him to be unprepared.”

Your heart ached. For him. For Seongmin. For the life you had built under constant shadow.

Outside, Seongmin returned, now dressed and ready for school. His youthful face lit up at the sight of his father, hiding any exhaustion from the morning’s harsh training.

“I’m ready, Eomma.”

You forced a soft smile. “Go on, my love.”

He bowed again and left, his footsteps fading down the wooden hallway.

Wonwoo released your hand, rising wordlessly as duty called him once more.

Wonwoo left shortly after, his long silhouette disappearing past the courtyard gates as he headed toward the palace council chambers. The heavy air of state affairs always followed him — politics, war, strategy — things you had long been kept apart from.

You remained behind, your two younger boys now playing quietly on the wooden floor while you tidied the breakfast bowls. The house was peaceful once more, but your mind, as always, wandered.

It was in moments like these, when the house grew quiet and the weight of duty momentarily loosened, that your thoughts drifted — to a different time, a different life.

Before you were Lady Jeon. Before you were mother to three sons. Before you were the wife of Jeon Wonwoo, leader of the Hwaryeong Guard.

You had once been simply yourself — free, untethered, the daughter of a minor noble family whose name held little weight in the courts. Back then, you ran barefoot across the hills behind your family’s estate, chasing dragonflies and laughing with your maidservants.

And of course, there was Choi Seongcheol.

Your first love.

You could still remember the first time you met him, when you were barely old enough to understand what love even was. He was the son of your father’s old friend — clever, kind, and always finding ways to make you smile. The summers you spent together had felt endless back then, his warm laughter echoing in your ears as you both sat under the persimmon trees, talking about nothing and everything.

Of course, it was never meant to last. Even as your hearts grew closer, you both knew.

Betrothals in your world were not made by hearts but by duty. And so when word came that you were to marry Jeon Wonwoo — a rising officer in the palace guard, personally chosen by the Royal Court — everything between you and Seongcheol quietly came to an end. There were no dramatic partings, no secret promises. Only quiet understanding.

It had been years now. You didn’t miss him exactly. You had long accepted your place beside Wonwoo, learned to care for him in your own way, even if love had grown in slow, complicated turns.

But sometimes, like now, your mind still lingered on that time.

Not out of longing. Not out of regret. But simply because it was once a part of you.

“Eomma!” Joonho’s bright voice pulled you from your thoughts. “Look what Sungbae did!”

You looked down to see Sungbae grinning proudly, having stacked his wooden toy blocks into a small, wobbly tower.

You smiled, bending down to kiss the top of Sungbae’s head. “Very clever, my little one.”

The past may linger, but your life now was here — with your sons, with your duty, with the man you married.

And outside these walls, unknown to you, the world was slowly beginning to shift.

The moon hung high by the time Wonwoo returned. You had already bathed the boys and tucked them into bed. The house was quiet, save for the faint chirping of crickets outside.

Dinner was laid out on the low table. Steamed rice, stewed vegetables, grilled fish — simple, warm, and waiting for him.

Wonwoo sat down wordlessly, his movements deliberate and composed as always. You poured him tea, and the two of you began to eat, the quiet between you growing heavier with each passing moment.

You stared at your bowl for a long while before finally speaking, your voice cutting softly through the silence.

“I would like to have a say in how my son is raised.”

Wonwoo’s chopsticks paused mid-air. He didn’t look at you at first, but you saw his jaw tense. “I don’t think I’ve ever stopped you.”

You let out a quiet, frustrated sigh. “Then hear me now, Wonwoo. Let him be a child.”

At last, his eyes met yours — dark, unreadable, as always. “Being who he is — my son, the eldest of this house — puts a target on his back, whether we wish it or not. I want him prepared.”

“He’s a child!” you repeated, voice rising despite yourself. “He shouldn’t carry the weight of your enemies. He shouldn’t be waking before dawn to train until his hands bruise. His shoulders are too small to bear the burdens you place on him.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Wonwoo’s voice remained calm, but there was steel beneath it. “Every day, I pray that he will never need to wield a blade. But hope is not enough, not in this world.”

“He studies, he trains, he barely plays. You are turning him into you,” you whispered, the words trembling as they left your mouth.

Wonwoo sat back slightly, his gaze hardening. “If I am what keeps him alive, then so be it.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, feeling the sharp sting of helplessness crawl up your throat.

“This life you lead — your duty, your enemies — you chose this, Wonwoo. He did not.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The air between you was thick with unspoken grief — two people standing on opposite sides of the same fear.

Wonwoo lowered his gaze briefly before speaking again, his voice quiet. “I would give my life before I let harm come to him. But I cannot protect him forever.”

You stared at him, your chest tightening. The man before you — your husband — was both your greatest safety and your deepest ache.

And though you sat only a few handspans apart, you had never felt further from him.

Your marriage with Wonwoo had always been a complicated one.

From the very beginning, the moment you first laid eyes on him, it was as though he was already the warlord he would become — serious, unfazed, his gaze steady and unreadable. There was no hesitation in him, no uncertainty. Every word, every action was deliberate, calculated.

You were barely seventeen when the betrothal was announced — a political match arranged between your modest noble house and the rising young commander of the Hwaryeong Guard. You still remembered the day you first met him properly, seated across from him in your family’s receiving hall.

He bowed respectfully, but his face remained impassive. “I will do my duty, and I will protect you,” he had said.

At the time, you thought those words were enough.

And in many ways, they were.

He fulfilled every duty a husband should. You bore him three sons — Seongmin, Joonho, and little Sungbae — and he was a father to them, strict but present. He provided a stable home, ensured your safety, and secured your family's standing at court.

Yet for all he gave, there was always a distance — an invisible wall that neither of you could ever quite climb.

You remembered countless evenings like tonight: silent dinners where only the soft clinking of porcelain filled the space between you. Nights where you lay in your bed alone, staring at the wooden ceiling while he remained in his chambers or returned late from the palace.

On rare occasions, you would sit together in the courtyard when the cherry blossoms fell, and for a brief moment, you allowed yourself to pretend — pretend that he might reach for your hand, that he might share a thought, a worry, a piece of himself. But he never did. He simply sat, quiet as the falling petals.

You learned to fill the silence yourself.

You hosted the other noble wives with grace, attended the palace banquets on his arm, and managed the affairs of the household. You raised your sons with care, teaching them kindness where your husband taught them strength.

In time, you stopped expecting more.

This is what it is, you often told yourself. This is the marriage I have.

He protected you. You gave him sons. And for a long while, you convinced yourself that was enough.

But sometimes, in moments like tonight — when the house was dark, and your boys lay sleeping, and he sat across from you like a stranger — that quiet ache returned. The ache of something that was never quite yours to begin with.

A man who belonged first to his sword. To his duty. And only after that — to you.

The next day, everything changed.

The sun had barely risen when it began — Baek Joonhyuk had launched his long-awaited attack.

Wonwoo was gone, summoned to the palace in the early hours with his men. Seongmin was at the academy, safely away for now. That left only you and your two youngest sons in the house.

You were in the kitchen preparing the morning meal when you first heard it — distant shouting, hurried footsteps outside, the metallic clang of swords clashing in the streets. The noise grew louder, nearer.

And then—

A loud crash. The front door was broken open.

Sungbae and Joonho screamed from the inner room. Your heart dropped. You rushed towards them, flinging open the door — and froze.

Three armed men stood inside, dressed in black, faces partially covered. Your two boys were huddled in the corner, crying, their tiny bodies shaking.

The tallest of the intruders stepped forward, sword drawn, eyes narrowing at you.

“Where is your eldest son?” he demanded. His voice was sharp, heavy with threat.

You stood in front of your boys, shielding them with your body. Your pulse pounded in your ears, but you forced yourself to remain steady.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said coldly.

Another man laughed. “The son of Jeon Wonwoo. Bring him to us, and we might spare you.”

The third one sneered, voice dripping with mockery. “Or perhaps we’ll take the little ones instead. He’ll show himself then.”

At those words, something in you snapped.

Slowly, you raised your hands as if surrendering — but your fingers gripped the fabric of your skirt. In one swift motion, you pulled it up, revealing the small sword strapped to your thigh — the blade you had kept hidden for years, for emergencies like this.

The men laughed, seeing your weapon.

“A woman? With a blade?” the first one mocked. “Put that away before you hurt yourself, my lady,” another added with a cruel grin.

But you did not hesitate.

Their smirks froze in place as you moved — quick, fluid, without warning.

The first man stepped forward, but you lunged with precision, slicing clean across his neck before he could even lift his weapon. He dropped instantly, gurgling as blood poured onto the wooden floor.

The other two men cursed, drawing their swords, but they were too slow.

Their mistake was underestimating you.

Your body moved instinctively, as if guided by old muscle memory — training burned into you long ago.

—“Hold it higher.” —“No hesitation. You strike or you die.” —“Again.”

You could still hear Seongcheol’s voice — calm, patient — as he trained you in secret behind your family estate, years before you ever knew Wonwoo. Back when you were still just a curious girl, begging him to teach you how to fight, how to defend yourself in a world ruled by men and power.

—“One day, you may need this. You cannot always wait for others to protect you.”

The second man swung his blade toward you, but you ducked under his arm, driving your sword straight into his gut. His eyes widened with shock before he collapsed.

The last man hesitated — fear finally flashing across his face — but by then you were already upon him. A single clean strike across his chest, and he fell backward, gasping before going still.

Silence.

The blood pooled at your feet, mixing with the tears of your two terrified sons.

You dropped the sword and quickly turned to them, pulling them into your arms.

“It’s over,” you whispered, though your voice trembled. “Eomma’s here. You’re safe.”

But in your heart, you knew this was only the beginning.

The alarm bells rang out across the city.

Wonwoo froze for only a moment inside the palace council chamber — the sound slicing through the air like a blade. Then, without waiting for explanation, he ran.

He didn’t stop to hear the reports from the guards, nor did he wait for his men. His only thought was of you — of his sons — of his home.

The streets blurred around him as his boots pounded the ground. The sounds of panic filled the air — screams, steel clashing, orders being shouted. But none of it mattered.

When he reached the gates of your home, the door was broken open.

And then—

Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw inside.

The bodies of three men lay crumpled on the floor, blood spreading beneath them like black stains upon the wood. Their faces were twisted in shock — as though they never even saw death coming.

And there, in the middle of it all — you.

Your clothes stained with blood, your hands still trembling as you clutched your two crying boys tightly to your chest. Your eyes flickered up the moment he appeared.

Wonwoo’s breath caught.

He dropped to his knees in front of you, his hands immediately reaching for yours. His grip was firm but frantic as he looked you over, scanning every inch of your body, searching for wounds. His hands moved from your wrists to your arms, your face, your neck.

"괜찮아?" he asked, voice low but shaken.

You swallowed the tightness in your throat and nodded. “I’m fine.”

But he was still stunned. He couldn’t seem to look away from the dead men — nor from the blade still lying near your feet.

You had killed them. All of them.

The woman he had always kept carefully protected… had protected herself. Protected their children.

His mind reeled, but there was no time.

“Seongmin,” you suddenly gasped, your eyes going wide.

You rose quickly to your feet, gently placing Joonho and Sungbae in his arms. “He’s at the academy— I have to—”

Without another word, you bolted out the door, running barefoot into the street, your only thought the safety of your eldest.

Wonwoo stood there for a moment, frozen — the weight of what had just happened crashing down on him — before he held the two crying boys closer to his chest, his own pulse still racing.

He had always thought he alone carried the burden of protection. But you— You had carried far more than he ever realized.

Nothing could have prepared you for what you saw.

There, lying on the stone courtyard of the academy, was Seongmin — his small frame covered in dirt and blood, his breathing labored.

Your heart stopped. You ran to him, falling to your knees, tears already blurring your vision as you pulled him into your arms.

“Seongmin… Seongmin—” your voice cracked, your hands running desperately over him, searching for wounds.

“I’m here, Eomma,” he whispered weakly, his small hands clutching at your sleeve.

He was alive. Bloodied. Bruised. But alive.

“I-I saved my classmates...” he breathed, his voice thin, trembling. “I killed… I killed all those men.”

You froze for a moment, and then turned your head.

Behind him, stretched across the academy courtyard, lay a line of bodies — intruders dressed in black, the same men who attacked your home. All dead.

The sword still rested loosely in Seongmin’s hand, his grip weak but steady.

Tears streamed freely down your cheeks as you cradled his face. “You are so strong, my child. So strong.”

Heavy footsteps echoed behind you.

You turned, and there was Wonwoo — eyes wide, breathless, face pale as he took in the scene before him.

He froze for a split second, as if his mind could not comprehend what he was seeing. His son — his small, young son — surrounded by the corpses of armed men.

Then, without hesitation, he rushed forward and fell to his knees beside you.

“Seongmin—” his voice broke as he gripped his son’s arm carefully, afraid to cause more pain.

“Abba…” Seongmin’s lips quivered as he looked up at his father. “I did it… I protected them… Are you proud of me?”

For a moment, silence.

And then, for the first time in your entire marriage, you saw it—

Tears gathered in Wonwoo’s dark eyes. His face, always composed, always guarded, finally cracked under the weight of what he was seeing.

He nodded slowly, voice rough. “I am… I am so proud of you.”

His hand moved gently to Seongmin’s cheek, thumb brushing away the blood and dirt like he was afraid his son might shatter beneath his touch.

He had never spoken these words before, but tonight they broke free from him.

Nurses arrived quickly, gently prying Seongmin from your hold, laying him on a stretcher with careful hands.

“He’ll be all right,” one of them assured you softly. “He needs a healer. His wounds aren’t deep, but he’s exhausted.”

You nodded numbly, tears still falling as you stood back. Wonwoo remained beside you, his hand finding yours — gripping it tightly, like an anchor.

The nurses advised you both to return home and rest while the healers worked.

But you both knew neither of you would truly rest tonight.

When you returned home, the air was heavy with silence.

The maids had already put Joonho and Sungbae to bed. The house, which had seen blood and violence just hours before, now stood quiet — too quiet.

You stood in the middle of the main hall, your heart pounding, and turned sharply toward your husband as he closed the door behind him.

“Our—our son almost died!” your voice broke as it echoed off the walls.

Wonwoo stood still, his face calm as always, his hands loosely at his sides. That calmness — that cursed calmness — only fueled your anger.

“How can you be so calm after everything that happened tonight? After seeing him like that?!” you demanded, your voice rising.

Wonwoo exhaled through his nose, stepping forward, but his expression remained maddeningly composed.

“He survived. He was strong.”

“That’s all you have to say?” your voice cracked. “All these years, you’ve always been like this. Calm. Distant. Even tonight, even now—"

You clenched your fists, your body trembling. "Why don’t you care?!"

At that, you finally saw it — his shoulders tensed, rising sharply as his head lifted and his eyes locked onto yours.

“You think I don’t care?!” his voice, sharp for the first time, filled the space between you.

His chest heaved as he stepped closer. “The reason I train him the way I do — the reason I’ve always trained him — is because I know people are after him. Because of who I am.”

His voice cracked under the weight of what he was finally saying.

“Of course I want him to live as a child. To not carry any of this. But that life isn’t possible — not for him. Not for any of them. Not with my enemies watching.”

The pain radiating from him was palpable, guilt rolling off him like waves.

“Don’t you think I feel awful knowing that it’s my fault he can’t grow up normally? That every threat aimed at me extends to him? To you? That every choice I’ve made forced him into this life?”

You stared at him, your anger momentarily tangled with your own hurt. You had never heard him speak like this before.

And yet, your frustration rose again, burning in your throat.

“You don’t understand how it’s been for me,” you whispered harshly. “I’ve stood beside you all these years, trying—praying—for more. For anything. I’ve done my duty. I’ve raised our children. I’ve watched you return late every night, sleep in separate rooms, sit across from me in silence. I’ve waited for you to see me—just see me—not as your duty, but as your wife.”

Your voice broke again. “I just wanted more from you.”

Wonwoo’s expression shifted—his eyes turned unbearably sad, like a dam breaking behind them.

“You think I didn’t want that?” he said quietly.

You blinked, confused. “Then why—”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, voice thick.

“I know you never wanted this marriage. I know you would’ve chosen a different life. I know you were in love with someone else… or still are.”

Your eyes widened, the breath catching in your throat.

“I never wanted to force you into this. I thought… I thought you wouldn’t want me to…” he trailed off, the words unfinished, hanging heavily between you.

For the first time, you stared at him as though seeing him clearly — not the warlord, not the cold, distant husband — but the man beneath all the armor.

He held your gaze for one agonizing moment longer, his jaw tightening — then quietly turned away.

Without another word, he retreated into his chamber, leaving you alone with your thoughts, your heart pounding painfully in your chest.

The silence that followed was heavier than any argument.

The next morning, you visited Seongmin at the healer’s quarters.

The sunlight streamed gently through the paper windows, casting a soft glow over the room. Seongmin was sitting upright on the small bedding mat, his face already regaining its usual brightness. The healers had done well — his wounds had been cleaned and bandaged, his strength slowly returning.

When he saw you, his face lit up. “Eomma!”

You rushed forward and gently cupped his face, your thumb brushing against his cheek. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” he smiled. “The healer says I can come home soon.”

Before you could respond, you heard the quiet footsteps behind you. Wonwoo entered, his tall frame casting a shadow as he stepped inside.

Seongmin’s eyes brightened even more at the sight of his father.

“Abba!” he beamed.

Wonwoo gave a small smile — faint, but genuine — and moved to sit beside him. For a moment, he simply looked at his son, the weight of the past few days still lingering in his gaze.

Then, softly, he spoke. “Son… I’m sorry.”

Seongmin blinked in surprise. “Why, Father?”

Wonwoo swallowed, his voice steady but heavy. “I’m sorry you had to be strong for all of us. That you had to raise your sword before you were ready. That you were forced to carry burdens no child should.”

Seongmin opened his mouth, but Wonwoo continued.

“You should have had more time. Time to run freely, to make mistakes, to simply be a boy. That should have been my duty — to protect that for you. But I couldn’t. Not in the world we live in. Not with the enemies who would see us fall because of who I am.”

His voice softened even further, thick with quiet guilt. “You were brave that night. Braver than most grown men I have commanded. But you should not have had to be.”

Seongmin stared at him, his young face thoughtful, trying to grasp the depth of his father’s words. “But… I wanted to protect you too, Father. I wanted to make you proud.”

Wonwoo’s hand reached out, resting gently on his son’s shoulder. “And you have, my son. More than you know.”

You stood beside them, silently watching — and for the first time, something inside you softened.

For years you thought you knew this man — cold, distant, driven solely by duty. You thought his calm meant indifference, that his silence was emptiness. But standing there now, hearing the rawness in his voice, you realized how little you truly knew him.

There was love in him — fierce, consuming, silent love. A love that carried its own unbearable guilt.

And perhaps… you had both been strangers to each other all this time.

Your chest tightened as you watched father and son sit together — both strong, both scarred by the same world, but bound now by something deeper than duty.

After you tucked the children into bed and made sure the house was quiet, you stepped outside.

The air was cool, the night sky clear above you. And there, sitting just beyond the porch, was Wonwoo.

He sat alone beneath the dim glow of the lanterns, his hands resting on his knees, eyes distant as if lost in thoughts too heavy to carry inside. For a brief moment, you simply watched him — the man who had been beside you for years, yet always seemed so far away.

Then, quietly, you stepped forward and sat down beside him, your knees nearly touching.

For a while, neither of you spoke. Only the soft sounds of crickets and the faint breeze filled the space between you. And then, your voice broke through the stillness.

“I didn’t want this.”

Wonwoo turned his head slightly, his gaze dropping as though the weight of those words struck deep. But before he could respond, you continued — voice softer, steadier.

“But… I don’t regret the life we built together.”

His head slowly lifted, his eyes searching your face with disbelief, as if he hadn’t allowed himself to imagine you would ever say such a thing.

“I just…” your voice trembled. “I just wanted you to see me. I know how selfish that sounds, but I only ever wanted to feel like I was there for you — not just as your wife by duty, but as your partner. As someone you trusted.”

Wonwoo exhaled quietly, his throat moving as he swallowed the guilt building in him. “I didn’t think you wanted me to.”

He paused, the words seeming difficult for him to admit aloud. “I didn’t want you to feel like a prize that had been handed to me — a life you never chose. So I thought… if I kept my distance, it would make it easier for you. Easier for both of us.”

Tears pricked your eyes at his quiet confession.

“I never hated you,” you whispered. “I never resented you for any of it.”

Your voice broke as you added, “I just wanted to get to know you. To share the weight of everything you’ve carried alone for so long.”

Wonwoo’s gaze dropped again, his hands clenching slightly on his knees. His voice came low and pained, almost like a confession he’d buried for years.

“You gave up so much for me,” he whispered, eyes distant. “I didn’t want you to give up more. I thought if I asked for nothing, it would hurt you less.”

You looked at him, your heart aching.

“I’ve never seen you like that before,” you said softly. “The way you were with Seongmin today. The way you finally let him see your heart.”

He gave a small, broken smile, lowering his head again. “I thought I had to be strong for everyone. If I let myself feel too much… I was afraid everything would collapse.”

You reached out then, your hand finding his, your fingers gently curling around his. The gesture was simple, but for the two of you — it was everything.

“And you are strong,” you whispered. “Stronger than anyone. But you don’t have to carry it alone anymore.”

For a moment, he just stared at your joined hands, his thumb brushing gently across your knuckles like he wasn’t sure he deserved the comfort.

And then, with a quiet, trembling breath, you asked the question that had lingered between you for so many years:

“Do you… do you want to try again?”

Wonwoo lifted his head, his eyes meeting yours fully — vulnerable, open, like you had never seen before.

“If you’ll let me.”

You nodded, your voice barely a whisper, but filled with every unspoken feeling you had carried. “I will.”

And for the first time, you both sat there — not as strangers forced together by circumstance, but as two people finally reaching for each other.

The next few days were… a little awkward.

Wonwoo tried — you could see that. When he wasn’t dealing with the mess Baek Joonhyuk and his men had left behind, he was home. More than he had ever been before.

And when he was home, he was trying.

You watched him silently as he fumbled through things he had likely never done in his life — attempting to help the maids fold the laundry, offering to cook, even attempting to prepare Sungbae’s food.

Today, he stood in the kitchen, holding a wooden spoon like it was a sword he didn’t know how to wield, staring at the bubbling pot of porridge with growing confusion.

You stood nearby, arms crossed, biting back a smile as Sungbae watched from his chair, babbling happily at his struggling father.

Wonwoo stirred the porridge awkwardly, pausing now and then to glance at a small note the cook had left him with clear instructions. Still, somehow, the consistency was all wrong.

You couldn’t help it — a quiet laugh slipped out.

Wonwoo turned at the sound, his usual composure unraveling slightly as he looked at you helplessly, cheeks faintly flushed.

“I… I don’t understand how it’s supposed to look like that,” he admitted, staring back at the gloopy mess.

You finally stepped forward, gently taking the spoon from his hand. “Here. Like this.”

He stepped aside quickly, almost awkwardly, as though unsure of how close he should stand.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, watching you fix the porridge with practiced ease.

You smiled softly. “Don’t be. You’re trying.”

He stared at you for a long moment, something unspoken behind his eyes. And in that moment, he swore he would do whatever it took to see you smile like that more often.

Slowly, your days began to fill with small conversations, soft exchanges that had never existed between you before. He spoke more, you opened up more, and the house that once echoed with silence began to hum with something warmer.

One evening, as you sat across from each other at the dinner table, sharing a simple meal, Wonwoo suddenly spoke.

“My father was like me,” he began, voice low. “Or perhaps I became like him.”

You looked up at him, listening.

“He was strict. Hard. There was no room for mistakes in his house. No softness.” His jaw tightened slightly. “I was taught that to lead, you must first learn how to suffer in silence. That emotions were weaknesses best kept locked away.”

You lowered your chopsticks, your heart softening further.

“I was not like that,” you admitted with a small, reminiscent smile. “I was always getting into trouble. Running barefoot outside when I wasn’t supposed to, climbing trees in my hanbok, sneaking sweets before meals. My mother despaired of me.”

Wonwoo smiled faintly, amused. “I find it hard to imagine you like that.”

“Everyone does.”

For a moment, a quiet peace settled between you both. But then, his tone shifted slightly — gentler, but heavier.

“I meant to ask you something…”

You glanced up at him curiously. “Yes?”

He paused, carefully choosing his words. “How did you learn to fight like that?”

The question caught you for a moment. You lowered your gaze, your fingers lightly brushing the edge of your cup.

“Seongcheol.”

You saw it instantly — how the name affected him. His eyes flickered, his jaw tightening ever so slightly, though his voice remained even.

“I see.” He paused again, then finally asked what had clearly lingered in his mind. “Did you love him?”

You lifted your eyes to meet his. The question hung in the air like a fragile thread.

“I did,” you answered softly.

He nodded, gaze dropping briefly to the table as though bracing himself.

“But not anymore,” you continued.

At that, his head shot up, surprised.

“I was young. It felt like love, and maybe it was, but… thinking about it now, I’m thankful for the time we had, but I’ve grown since then. I’ve grown up.”

Wonwoo exhaled slowly, relief quietly blooming across his face. He nodded again, though this time, his gaze was softer — less guarded.

You smiled faintly at him. “We both have.”

For the first time in years, it felt like the distance between you was not so impossible anymore.

That night, after dinner, you quietly sent the servants away early. The house was quiet except for the faint sound of the wind rustling outside.

The children had already fallen asleep — peaceful, safe.

You moved about the house, blowing out the lanterns one by one, leaving only the warm glow of a single lamp burning in the sitting room. As you turned, you saw Wonwoo still sitting there, his hands resting on his knees, lost in thought.

He had remained behind even after the meal, lingering in your shared space like he didn’t want to retreat into his own chambers — as he always had for so many years.

You paused. Normally, this was where the evening would end — both of you quietly parting ways into your separate rooms, into your separate silences.

But not tonight.

Tonight, something felt different.

You approached slowly and sat across from him on the small mat, your knees almost brushing his. The lamp’s soft glow made the shadows of his face appear gentler somehow — less hardened by years of duty and distance.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The quiet between you was no longer heavy, but waiting — like something fragile was taking shape.

Wonwoo finally broke the silence, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s strange.”

You tilted your head. “What is?”

He glanced up, searching your face. “How unfamiliar this feels.”

You smiled softly, understanding what he meant. “We’ve lived together for years, yet sometimes I feel like I’m only just now meeting you.”

His lips curved into a faint, almost shy smile — one you rarely, if ever, had seen from him.

“I regret not allowing myself to know you sooner,” he admitted. “I was… afraid.”

The honesty in his voice made your chest tighten.

You reached out gently, your fingertips brushing against the back of his hand. He flinched slightly at first, as though the touch startled him, but then his hand turned slowly, allowing your fingers to weave into his.

His breath trembled at the contact.

“You don’t have to be afraid anymore,” you whispered.

Wonwoo stared at your joined hands for a moment, his throat tightening as though holding back words long buried.

“I never wanted you to feel like you were trapped with me,” he whispered. “But now, I realize… I trapped myself too.”

Your heart swelled at his quiet confession. You gave his hand a small squeeze.

“We’ve both been trapped, Wonwoo-ya,” you whispered, voice shaking just slightly, “but we’re not anymore.”

He looked up at you then, his gaze warm and open — for the first time, not as a warlord, not as a husband by duty — but simply as a man who wanted to be close.

Slowly, hesitantly, he leaned forward — giving you every chance to pull away — but you didn’t.

And when your lips finally met, it was soft, careful, and full of years’ worth of unsaid words.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested gently against yours, both of you breathing quietly, your hands still tightly linked between you.

In that moment, you both understood: this was the beginning. Not of what had been forced upon you — but of something finally real.

The next morning, you woke alone in your bed, as you always had.

But this time, when you stirred, you saw him — Wonwoo — sitting on the edge of the bed, watching you quietly.

Startled, you sat up. “What are you doing?”

Without answering your question, he simply stood and offered you his hand. “Come with me.”

You blinked. “What do you mean?”

“Just do it.” His voice was soft, but there was a slight smile playing at his lips.

Still confused but curious, you quickly dressed and left the children with the maids. Soon, you found yourself standing outside as Wonwoo prepared his horse.

He mounted first, then turned and extended his hand to you. Without hesitation, you reached up, and he helped you onto the saddle behind him. As your arms instinctively wrapped around his waist, you felt him tense for a moment at the unfamiliar contact, but he didn’t pull away.

You couldn’t help but feel your heart flutter slightly, the warmth of him under your touch making your chest tighten.

He rode through the dense forest, guiding the horse effortlessly, until the trees parted to reveal a quiet, hidden lake — its clear waters sparkling beneath the morning sun.

He dismounted, then turned to help you down, his hand lingering a moment longer than necessary.

“This is where I go when I need time to think,” he said softly, glancing out over the water.

You looked around, stunned by the beauty and peace of it. “It’s beautiful.”

You both sat on the grass, side by side, and for a while simply watched the rippling lake.

The conversation between you flowed easily — unlike anything you had ever shared before.

He told you stories of his youth:

“My father trained me from the time I could walk. The sword was always in my hand before I even understood what it meant.”

You smiled, listening. “I would’ve hated that.”

He chuckled faintly. “I think you would have driven my father mad.”

“Most likely. I drove my own parents mad already.” You grinned. “I used to sneak out of the estate to climb trees, catch fireflies, and even steal sweets from the market.”

Wonwoo turned to you, genuinely amused. “You? A thief?”

“Just once or twice,” you said, pretending to look innocent.

He laughed, and the sound of it was warm, lighter than you had ever heard before.

Then suddenly, before you could say anything else, he stood and walked directly into the water.

Your eyes widened. “YA! What are you doing?!”

He kept walking, the water slowly rising up to his waist. “Come on. It feels great.”

You stared at him like he was someone entirely different. This couldn’t be the same stoic, serious Wonwoo you had married.

“No. I’m going to get wet.”

He rolled his eyes, smirking playfully. “Come on. Show me who you were before we met — the troublemaker you keep talking about.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms. “You’re impossible.”

“Exactly.” He grinned. “Now stop being scared and come here.”

With a sigh — and honestly, more amusement than annoyance — you kicked off your shoes and carefully stepped into the cool water, walking toward him.

As soon as you got close enough, his hands suddenly reached out and pulled you in.

“YA!” you yelped, splashing as you stumbled into his chest.

He laughed — a full, unguarded laugh — and you couldn’t help but laugh with him.

Soon, you were both splashing each other, chasing, playing like children. You never imagined something like this was possible with him — this side of him you never knew existed.

He chased you back toward the shore, both of you out of breath, soaked, and laughing uncontrollably.

But as you stumbled, he reached out and caught you — pulling you down with him into the soft grass.

You landed with a gentle thud, his body hovering over yours, both of you breathing heavily, hearts racing from more than just the play.

The moment shifted instantly — the laughter fading as his eyes locked onto yours, then slowly dropped to your lips.

“Y/N…” he whispered, his voice hoarse.

“Yeah?” you whispered back, breathless.

Without waiting another moment, he crashed his lips onto yours.

The kiss was deep, desperate, full of all the years of longing and distance that had built between you. His hand cupped your jaw, the other sliding behind your waist, pulling you closer as if afraid to let you go.

Your hands gripped his shoulders tightly, kissing him back with equal need, both of you losing yourselves in a connection that had waited far too long to finally surface.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting against one another.

Neither of you spoke — there was nothing to say. The kiss had said it all.

As the sun began to set, you rode home together, the silence between you now filled with something new — something tender, and real.

That night, back at the house, you both returned to your separate rooms as you always had.

Wonwoo stood by your door for a moment, eyes lingering. “Good night,” he said softly.

“Good night,” you replied.

But as you lay down in your bed, staring at the ceiling, you couldn’t stop thinking of him — his hands, his lips, the way he had smiled.

And on the other side of the house, Wonwoo lay awake too, unable to stop thinking of you.

You lay in your bed, staring up at the ceiling, your heart beating so fast it almost hurt.

The air in the room felt too heavy, too still — your thoughts consumed not by fear or duty, but by him.

By Wonwoo. By the way his lips felt on yours that afternoon. By the way he had held you — not as a husband by obligation, but as a man who wanted you.

You didn’t know what possessed you, but your body moved on its own. Quietly, you slipped out of your sheets, pulling on your thin robe, your bare feet padding softly across the wooden floors of the dark house.

When you reached his door, you paused only briefly — your hand trembling on the handle. But before your mind could catch up to your heart, you slid the door open.

Wonwoo was awake.

He sat upright on his bedding, his eyes immediately finding yours, surprised, almost concerned.

“Y/N,” he whispered, his voice low, rough. “Is everything all right?”

You didn’t answer.

Instead, your fingers reached up to untie the sash at your waist, letting your robe fall silently to the ground.

Wonwoo’s breath hitched, his eyes widening as his gaze roamed over your bare form, his throat visibly tightening.

You stepped forward and lowered yourself onto his lap, your knees on either side of him. He sat frozen beneath you, as if afraid to move, his breath shallow.

“Are you sure?” he whispered, voice shaking.

You cupped his jaw gently, guiding his face closer. “I’ve never been more sure.”

That was all it took for the wall between you to finally shatter completely.

His hands — large, warm, and trembling — gripped your waist, pulling you closer as his lips crashed into yours. The kiss was deeper than the one by the lake — urgent, hungry, filled with every year of distance that had finally broken.

Your fingers tangled into his hair as his mouth moved along your jaw, down your neck, pressing desperate, open-mouthed kisses onto your skin. You gasped softly when his teeth grazed your collarbone, sending a shiver through your entire body.

“Wonwoo…” you whispered, breathless.

He groaned softly, his hands sliding up the curve of your back, then down again, gripping your hips as if he couldn’t bear to let you go. His control — always so rigid, so tightly held — was completely gone now, replaced with raw need.

He shifted, lowering you slowly onto the bedding, hovering above you. His dark eyes roamed over every inch of you, his expression reverent, almost disbelieving that you were here beneath him.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his voice barely audible, as though speaking too loudly would break the moment.

His lips returned to yours, slow and deep, as his hand slid lower, fingers brushing along your thighs, your skin heating beneath his touch.

You gasped softly when his fingers finally found your center, his touch gentle yet purposeful as he carefully prepared you, his breath heavy against your ear.

“Tell me if I hurt you,” he whispered, his voice laced with concern even in his growing desperation.

“You won’t,” you breathed, your voice shaking with anticipation. “I want this. I want you.”

With one last deep breath, he guided himself inside you, moving slowly, carefully, allowing your body to adjust.

You both gasped in unison at the sensation — at the overwhelming feeling of finally, truly becoming one after so many years of separation.

He stilled for a moment, his forehead pressed to yours, breathing heavily as if grounding himself in you.

“Y/N…” he whispered again, his voice filled with something close to awe.

“Move, Wonwoo,” you whispered back, your voice trembling. “Please.”

And with that, he began to move — slow at first, deep and deliberate, as his lips found yours again, swallowing your soft gasps.

The room filled with the soft sounds of your breathless moans and his quiet groans as his pace gradually built, each movement more desperate, more consuming than the last.

Your hands gripped his back, your nails lightly digging into his skin as pleasure rolled over you in waves.

Wonwoo's name escaped your lips again and again, your voice breaking as he brought you higher, his own breathing growing ragged, his pace faltering slightly as he neared his edge.

Finally, with one last desperate thrust, you both tumbled over the edge together — his body shuddering above you, his soft groan buried into your neck as you clung to each other, lost in the overwhelming release.

For a long while, neither of you spoke — only the sounds of your shared breath filled the room.

Then, softly, his weight shifted as he gently rolled to your side, but his arms never left you, pulling you into his chest, his heartbeat pounding against your ear.

He pressed a soft kiss into your hair and you knew your life was about to change for the better. 

The next day, Seongmin was finally strong enough to leave the healing center.

As you approached, you saw him standing by the gates, waiting eagerly. The moment his eyes caught sight of you and Wonwoo, his face lit up in pure joy.

He broke into a run, his small legs carrying him as fast as they could. Wonwoo stepped forward, catching him mid-run and lifting him up into his arms like he was still the little boy he should have always been allowed to be.

Seongmin giggled, clinging tightly to his father’s neck. Wonwoo chuckled softly, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of his head as the boy buried himself in his embrace.

You stood there, watching them, a soft smile curving on your lips. Your chest swelled with something you hadn’t felt in a long time — peace. A quiet kind of happiness that made you silently thank the heavens.

Wonwoo glanced at you, his eyes warm, his gaze lingering longer than it ever had before.

The months that followed were tender and careful, like learning how to live all over again. You were rebuilding your family — not just surviving, but living.

Wonwoo stayed home more often now, helping with the boys, laughing with them, listening to you. He was still awkward sometimes — uncertain with his own emotions — but he was trying, every single day.

And you could feel it: the distance that had once felt so permanent was now gone.

One evening, as the lanterns flickered softly around your bedroom, you lay beside him in your now shared bed. His arm was draped over your waist, his breath steady against your hair.

But tonight, your heart raced differently.

You glanced up at him, nervous, and he immediately noticed the shift. His hand gently brushed your cheek as his dark eyes searched yours.

“What is it?” he asked softly.

You hesitated, your voice almost caught in your throat. But you reached for his hand, guiding it carefully down to your stomach.

Wonwoo froze, his hand resting flat over your belly. His breath hitched as realization dawned on him.

“진짜…?” he whispered, barely able to believe what he was feeling beneath his hand.

You nodded, smiling through the tears building in your eyes. “Yes.”

He stared at you, entirely overcome. His lips parted, his voice catching as if searching for words that had never been spoken between you before.

And then, softly, with a tremble in his voice — he said it.

“I love you.”

The first time. The words you had both carried for years, never daring to speak.

Your breath shuddered, tears falling freely now as you smiled up at him, your voice breaking as you answered:

“I love you too.”

Wonwoo exhaled, his head lowering to press his forehead against yours. His arms tightened around you, holding you as though he would never let go again.

And in that moment, under the warm glow of the lanterns, you both finally belonged to each other — fully, completely, and with no more words left unspoken.

[asciendo]

The Ghost of Us

💌 Pairing: Kim Mingyu x f!Reader 📖 Genre: Second Chance | Angst | Slow Burn | Romance | Hurt/Comfort | Emotional Reunion 🚨 Warnings: Emotional baggage, breakup, unresolved feelings, longing

✨ Summary: You were never supposed to see him again. That was the deal — you’d leave quietly, he’d move on, and you'd both pretend it hadn’t meant that much.

But ten years later, you’re back in the same city, walking the same streets, and he’s still there — older, successful, and holding someone else’s hand.

You weren’t supposed to come back. He wasn’t supposed to still care.

But the more you try to stay away, the harder it gets to forget the way he once held you — and the way he still looks at you like you’re the one who got away.

And maybe… you were.

It was another groggy morning at Dongho High, and you were struggling to keep your eyes open as the teacher’s monotone voice droned on from the front of the classroom. Your notebook lay open in front of you, half-filled with rushed scribbles from your all-nighter. You had stayed up until 2 a.m. cramming for the math test, but by the time you walked into class that morning, your brain felt like a fried circuit board.

Your eyelids began to droop, and your head bobbed slightly forward—until the sharp sound of the bell jolted you upright.

"Yah, did you fall asleep again?" Seo-yeon leaned over from the seat next to you, grinning as she packed up her things.

You let out a long yawn. “I stayed up so late reviewing integrals. I think I actually started dreaming about them.”

“And? How’d the test go?” she teased, nudging your arm.

“Not good,” you groaned, rubbing your temple.

Seo-yeon scoffed, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “Yeah, right. You’re literally one of the top scorers in our year. I bet you still got an A.”

You both laughed as you made your way down the crowded staircase toward the main corridor. The hallway buzzed with chatter, and you noticed a small crowd forming near the entrance. Students craned their necks and whispered, eyes following something—or someone—moving through the sea of uniforms.

Before you could register what was happening, something whizzed past your peripheral vision.

Your eyes flew open just in time to see a skateboard barreling toward you—and the tall boy riding it.

He yanked the board sideways with a sharp scrape, stopping just inches away from colliding with you.

"Yah!" you exclaimed, instinctively stepping back. "Watch where you're going!"

The boy jumped off his board, holding up his hands in apology. “I—sorry. I didn’t see you.”

You took a breath, steadying your heart from the near-accident. That’s when he really looked at you—and when everything else around him seemed to stop.

You had long, dark hair pulled back into a clean ponytail, strands framing your face just enough to soften your sharp eyes. Your skin glowed faintly from the morning chill, rosy cheeks accentuating your features. Your lips—full and tinged a natural cherry red—parted slightly in disbelief.

And for a moment, Mingyu forgot how to speak.

“I’m Kim Mingyu,” he said, sticking out his hand a little awkwardly.

You eyed him warily, then shook it.

“Ah,” you nodded, a knowing look on your face. “So you're the one all the girls have been whispering about.”

He flashed a boyish, lopsided grin. “Yeah, that’s me.”

You raised a brow. “Can’t really see what all the fuss is about.”

Mingyu chuckled, a little caught off guard by your bluntness. “Maybe I could show you.”

You blinked. Did he just—?

You took a step back. “Bye,” you said flatly, brushing past him before he could say anything else.

Mingyu stood there, watching you disappear down the hall. For a second, he forgot all about the board beneath his feet or the commotion around him.

He’d never seen anyone like you before—someone with those sharp, curious eyes and cherry-bitten lips, who looked him straight in the face and didn’t flinch. Someone who made his stomach flip, and not because he almost hit you.

He was still standing there when two arms looped around his shoulders from behind.

“Yah, who was that?” Mingyu asked, eyes wide with intrigue.

“Y/N from Class 4,” Xu Minghao chimed in before Dokyeom could answer. “She’s one of the best students in our year. Everyone knows her.”

“Except you, apparently,” Seokmin added, smacking Mingyu lightly on the back of the head.

Mingyu barely reacted, his eyes still fixed in the direction you’d walked off to.

“Well,” he said with a crooked smile, “now I do.”

And just like that, getting to know you became his new mission.

The next day, you walked into class and immediately noticed something strange—an extra seat had been set up beside yours. You blinked at it, puzzled. No one new was transferring into your class… at least, that’s what you thought.

Ms. Park entered a moment later, adjusting her glasses and clearing her throat as she addressed the room.

“We have a student who requested to transfer into our class. He was… very insistent about it. I’m not quite sure why,” she said, eyeing the class with curiosity. “Come in.”

And that’s when Kim Mingyu walked through the door.

The reaction was instant. Girls gasped and exchanged excited whispers. A few straightened up in their seats, fluffing their hair or adjusting their collars like they were prepping for a meet-cute moment.

Your heart dropped a little when you saw where he was headed. Straight toward the empty seat next to you.

He plopped into the chair like it had always been his. "Hi," he said, turning toward you with that same charming grin.

You blinked. “Hi,” you mumbled back, giving a small, awkward wave before facing the front again.

Throughout the lesson, you could feel him sneaking glances your way. At first, you tried to ignore it, chalking it up to boredom—but by the time the bell rang, you were practically burning under his gaze.

"Y/N," he said, stopping you before you could stand.

You looked at him, arms halfway through putting your things away.

“I just… wanted to say sorry again. About almost hitting you with my skateboard. I should’ve been more careful.”

You hesitated—then smiled, just a little. “It’s fine.”

And for some reason, that small smile felt like a firework going off in his chest.

He leaned a bit closer. “I know this is weird, and I barely know you but… I need your help.”

You gave him a wary look. “With what?”

“Studying,” he said.

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“I’m not doing well,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “Like, barely-passing levels of not well. And I know you’re one of the top students here. If I don’t pass this semester, I can’t play.”

“Play what?”

“Baseball,” he said, a little sheepish. “I’m on the varsity team. But if I don’t bring my grades up, I’m benched.”

You raised a brow. “The school has a tutoring center, you know. Maybe try there.”

You slung your bag over your shoulder and started walking, but he followed after you.

“Hey, please. I can’t sit through another teacher after class—”

“Didn’t you say you wanted to study?” you shot back, giving him a look.

“I mean, yeah, but…” He trailed off, clearly floundering. “I was hoping you could help. Just like, after school, before training. An hour or so.”

You stopped in your tracks and turned to face him. “Look, I don’t know why you suddenly want me to tutor you, but I’m sure you’ll find someone else. Good luck, okay?”

Without waiting for his reply, you walked off.

Back in your seat, you leaned toward Seo-yeon and muttered, “What’s up with him?”

Seo-yeon looked at you, wide-eyed. “Did he just ask you to tutor him?”

From the back of the class, Dokyeom stifled a laugh. “Bro… you just got rejected.”

Mingyu slumped in his chair, lips pressed together in defeat.

Over the next few days, he didn’t bring it up again. He still sat beside you—still glanced your way sometimes—but he didn’t ask for help. Didn’t say a word about tutoring.

Until one morning, when Ms. Park returned the math tests.

Your name was called first. As expected, you were one of the top scorers again. You felt a few eyes on you, but you kept your head down.

When Mingyu got his paper, you couldn’t help but glance sideways.

His jaw clenched subtly. It wasn’t failing… but it wasn’t good either. He stared at the paper for a moment, then slowly packed it away and headed for the door, shoulders lower than usual.

You stared after him. And for some reason, your conscience tugged.

Before you knew it, your feet were moving.

“Ya, Kim Mingyu!” you called out down the hallway.

He turned, surprised.

You stopped in front of him, crossing your arms. “Two times a week. An hour and a half. That’s it.”

He blinked. “What?”

“I’ll help you. But only until your grades improve. After that, you’re on your own.”

A slow smile bloomed across his face—one so bright it made your stomach flip against your will. “Really? Y/N, I—”

He stepped forward, arms half-outstretched like he might hug you, and you immediately held a hand up.

“Don’t even think about it,” you warned.

He laughed, pulling back. “Okay, okay. Tomorrow after class?”

You nodded, already turning to leave. “Don’t be late.”

He stood there, beaming as he watched you walk off.

Behind him,  Minghao and Dokyeom echanged looks.

“Ya, Kim Mingyu,” Minghao said, nudging him, “I’ve never seen you like this.”

Mingyu tried to hide his grin, cheeks flushed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

But deep down, he knew exactly what was happening.

And it was only just beginning.

You stepped into the school library for your first study session with Kim Mingyu, expecting to wait a few minutes—maybe even having to drag him out of practice or hunt him down in the hallways. But to your surprise, there he was already, sitting at one of the corner tables, flipping through his nearly empty notebook.

He looked up the moment you entered.

“Hey, you’re early,” you said, arching a brow as you slid into the seat beside him.

“You said not to be late,” he replied with a proud grin, eyes crinkling as he beamed at you. “So here I am.”

You scoffed. “Didn’t think you’d actually listen.”

“Guess I’m full of surprises.”

You didn’t answer that, instead pulling out your own notes and flipping to the marked pages. “Let’s just start. We’re reviewing your exam—specifically the parts you got wrong.”

He groaned. “That’s like… the whole thing.”

“Exactly,” you said dryly, handing him a printout of your mock exercises.

You began going over the basics of the unit, walking him through the problems. He seemed to follow—barely—until you reached one question.

“So when you add pi here, you have to consider—”

“Wait. Hold on. What’s pi?”

You turned to look at him, eyes wide. “You don’t know what pi is?”

He gave you a hopeful smile. “...Apple pie?”

You blinked. Then smacked his arm lightly with your pen. “Ya!”

“Ow! I’m just trying to lighten the mood!” he said, laughing.

“You're going to fail if you keep making stupid jokes.”

“But you smiled,” he pointed out smugly.

You rolled your eyes. “Barely.”

“Still counts. I’m tracking points now.”

“Good, because that’s the only thing you will be tracking correctly in math at this rate.”

He gasped. “Are you saying I’m hopeless?”

“I’m saying you’re one corny joke away from academic doom.”

“Then I’ll hold the jokes. For now,” he grinned, and something about the way he looked at you—bright, boyish, and genuinely trying—made your lips twitch upward again.

The session went by quicker than you expected. Somewhere between exponential functions and Mingyu asking if “calculators count as cheating,” time slipped away.

Eventually, you closed your notebook. “That’s all for today.”

Mingyu stretched, letting out a breath. “I feel like my brain ran a marathon.”

“It kind of did,” you said, standing up and slinging your bag over your shoulder.

He walked beside you toward the school gate. The late afternoon sun was already turning orange, casting soft shadows on the pavement.

“Hey,” he said as you stepped outside, “are you heading home now?”

“Yeah,” you nodded.

He slowed down a little, matching your pace. “I have practice after this, so… I’ll see you in class tomorrow.”

You glanced at him and nodded. “Okay.”

That smile crept up his face again—effortless, heart-stopping.

“That damn smile,” he muttered under his breath, but you heard it.

You looked away, lips twitching.

“Thanks again,” he said softly, a little more serious this time. “I mean it.”

You gave a small wave and started walking off. “Don’t be late next time.”

He watched you go, hands in his pockets, still smiling like a fool.

Later that evening, you made your way home, tossed your bag on your desk, and collapsed face-first onto your bed. The day had been long, and you were barely hanging on to consciousness—until your phone buzzed.

You picked it up lazily and squinted at the screen.

Kim Mingyu *Text me when you’re home :) *

You frowned slightly. Since when did he care?

Still, your thumbs moved before you could think twice.

Home.

You dropped the phone beside you, staring at the ceiling with a furrowed brow.

Kim Mingyu was confusing.

And you had a feeling he was only going to get more confusing from here on out.

The next day, you were barely holding yourself together.

This was what happened when you got too caught up in a book—you lost all track of time. One chapter became three. Then five. And suddenly, it was 2:00 a.m., and you were still wide-eyed and flipping pages while the rest of the world slept.

Now, you sat at your desk, yawning into your sleeve, eyelids heavy as the room buzzed with the quiet rustle of early morning chatter.

“Long night?” a familiar voice asked.

You turned your head to find Mingyu already watching you, his chin rested lazily on his hand. There was something annoyingly amused about his expression—like he found your half-asleep state way too cute for his own good.

You gave a half-nod. “Mm.”

“What did you do?” he asked gently, like he didn’t want to wake you further.

“Huh?”

He chuckled, voice low. “What kept you up?”

“I was reading…”

But before you could finish, the classroom door slid open with a click, and Ms. Park walked in with her usual brisk stride.

“Settle down. Math books out.”

Your eyes widened. A quiet curse slipped under your breath as you reached into your bag—and felt nothing.

Your math book was still on your desk at home.

A groan echoed behind you. You didn’t even need to look to know it was Dokyeom.

Ms. Park scanned the room with her hawk-like gaze. “No book, no seat. You know the rule. Out to the hallway.”

You sighed, grabbed your bag, and trudged out the door with a muttered “Yes, ma’am.” The hallway was quiet and cool, and you leaned against the wall with a huff, already annoyed at yourself.

Behind you, the classroom settled again.

Until it didn’t.

A chair scraped abruptly.

You turned slightly, confused.

Then you heard it—Mingyu’s voice, clear and respectful:

“죄송합니다.” Joesonghamnida. I’m sorry.

You blinked.

Your eyes followed the sound as Kim Mingyu strode to the front of the room… and dropped his math book on Dokyeom’s desk.

Gasps rippled across the classroom. Even Ms. Park looked stunned.

“Mingyu—” she started, but he was already heading for the door.

He stepped outside like it was the most natural thing in the world, hands tucked in his pockets, as if he didn’t just voluntarily get himself kicked out of class.

You stared at him, dumbfounded.

“What are you doing?” you asked when he finally reached your spot in the hallway.

He leaned against the wall next to you, far too calm. “Didn’t have my book.”

You gave him a long look. “Yes, you did. I saw it on your table.”

He tilted his head, expression playful. “Must’ve been seeing things.”

“You gave it to Dokyeom.”

“Maybe.”

You stared at him in disbelief. “Why?”

Mingyu shrugged. “What’s in the hallway is more important to me.”

Your breath caught for a second before you looked away, hoping he didn’t see the way your ears turned red.

“I thought you were trying to pass,” you muttered.

“I am,” he grinned. “But how can I if my tutor’s out here instead of in class?”

You rolled your eyes, but the corners of your mouth tugged upward despite yourself.

“You’re unbelievable.”

He bumped your shoulder lightly with his. “You say that a lot.”

You stayed like that for a while—side by side in the quiet hallway, exchanging small talk and teasing remarks. He asked about your book, you gave a very filtered synopsis, and he listened like it was more interesting than anything he’d heard all week.

Eventually, the bell rang and the door slid open. Seo-yeon came out and spotted you immediately.

“There you are! Let’s go before we’re late for the next class.”

She tugged on your sleeve.

“See you tomorrow!” Mingyu called out as you were pulled away.

You looked back and gave him a wave—just a small one.

He waved back, grinning like he’d just won something.

Inside the classroom, Dokyeom stared at the math book on his desk, then out at the hallway.

“Bro really gave up his seat for a girl,” he muttered under his breath, equal parts bewildered and impressed.

Over the next few weeks, tutoring Kim Mingyu had become… surprisingly easy.

What started as awkward sessions full of forced small talk and missed calculations had turned into something more relaxed, even fun. He still didn’t know how to properly use parentheses or stop calling pi “the snack that betrayed him,” but you had to admit—he was trying. And somewhere along the way, you had stopped seeing him as just that loud, cocky guy on a skateboard.

You were starting to see him as Kim Mingyu—the boy who made space for you.

One afternoon, you arrived at your usual study spot in the library and paused. There, laid out neatly on the table, were two bags of chips, a bottle of iced tea, and a small pack of cookies.

You raised a brow. “What’s this?”

Mingyu glanced up from his notes and smiled like he hadn’t just casually turned your study table into a convenience store checkout.

“You always stare at the vending machine after class,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I figured… you might be hungry.”

You blinked. “You noticed that?”

He shrugged. “You kind of glare at it like it owes you money.”

You let out a soft laugh, then sat down, hiding your flustered expression behind a quiet, “Thanks.”

He just grinned, cheeks dusted with pink.

That afternoon, he didn’t have training, and for some reason, he insisted on walking you home. At first, you said he didn’t have to—but he was already grabbing his bag and saying, “Too late. I’m coming.”

The walk was a little awkward at first. The air was still warm from the late afternoon sun, and the two of you walked in step, your bags occasionally bumping. But as always, Mingyu filled the silence with jokes, stories about his teammates, and random thoughts that made no sense—but made you laugh anyway.

Eventually, you reached your front gate.

You turned toward him. “Thanks for walking me. I’ll head in.”

But just as you reached for the latch, he called out, “Wait.”

You turned back, eyes curious.

He stood there with his hands shoved into his jacket pockets, suddenly fidgeting.

“So... the season starts tomorrow,” he said, voice a little quieter now. “It’s our first game.”

You blinked, surprised by the sudden shift in tone.

“I know baseball’s probably not your thing,” he added quickly, looking down at his shoes. “But... just in case… you wanted to come. I mean—you don’t have to. Just—thought I’d ask.”

You didn’t know what to say. And maybe it showed on your face—because Mingyu gave a tight, awkward smile and looked away.

“It’s fine. I get it,” he said quickly. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll see you Monday.”

And before you could even open your mouth to answer, he turned and started walking down the street, his hands still stuffed in his pockets.

You stood there for a moment, frozen under the dim porch light, watching him go.

You didn’t know why it caught you off guard.

But somehow... it did.

The sun was starting to dip behind the bleachers, casting a warm golden haze over the field as Dongho High prepared for their first baseball game of the season. The stands buzzed with students, teachers, and parents—all waiting, cheering, shouting.

Kim Mingyu adjusted his cap, walked onto the pitch, and exhaled slowly.

This part always got him. The nerves. The weight of expectation. The buzz of adrenaline just beneath his skin.

He bounced lightly on his feet, shaking his legs out of habit. He just needed to get the first batter out—that was always his goal. One clean pitch, one clean strike, and everything would settle into place.

As he stepped into position, gripping the ball, something—someone—made him glance toward the stands.

He froze.

There, in the middle of the crowd, was you.

You weren’t wearing school colors or shouting like the others. But you were there. You were smiling.

And when you caught him looking, you lifted your hand in a small wave.

Mingyu’s breath hitched. His lips curled instinctively into a grin—wide and boyish and so full of surprise that even his teammates noticed from the dugout.

He turned back to the batter.

Strike one.

Strike two.

Strike three.

Just like that, the game began on a high—and Dongho High never looked back.

They won, thanks in no small part to Mingyu’s pitching.

And as the crowd began to disperse, you found yourself waiting by the gate of the field, arms crossed casually, eyes scanning for one person.

It didn’t take long.

Mingyu spotted you instantly and jogged toward you, his hair slightly damp, cheeks flushed from the game. His smile hadn’t left his face since he saw you in the stands.

“You came,” he said, breathless.

You smiled. “Well… you invited me, didn’t you?”

He blinked, still catching his breath. “Yeah, but… you came.”

The way he said it—like he couldn’t believe it—made your heart do something weird in your chest.

Before you could respond, two familiar voices cut in.

“Yah, do you see this guy right now?” Dokyeom clapped Mingyu on the back. “We’ve never seen him smile this—”

Mingyu immediately smacked him across the head.

“OW! Ya!” Dokyeom yelped, rubbing his head.

Beside him, Minghao chuckled. “DK, leave them be,” he said coolly, giving you a polite nod. “See you guys.”

They disappeared back toward the team, leaving the two of you alone again.

You adjusted your bag. “I should get going.”

“I’ll walk you,” he said immediately.

You stared at him. “Don’t you have to stay with your team or something?”

He shrugged, already falling into step beside you. “I’ll see them on Monday.”

You rolled your eyes, but didn’t stop him.

The walk home was quiet for a moment, comfortable. Then, of course, Mingyu had to ruin it—in typical Mingyu fashion.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said seriously, “if I ever get really rich, I’m going to buy a pet capybara. Name it ‘Chairman.’ Teach it to sit at the dinner table like a person.”

You blinked at him, caught somewhere between horror and laughter. “What?”

“I saw a video. They’re very chill. I feel like we’d vibe.”

You smacked his arm. “Ya! You’re seriously not normal, are you?”

He winced dramatically. “Ow! I come off a win and you assault me?”

“You deserve it.”

He grinned.

Soon, you arrived at your house. You turned to thank him, but he beat you to it.

Just as you reached for the gate, he gently grabbed your wrist—not tightly, but enough to make you pause.

“Hey…” he said, his voice suddenly softer. “Thank you for coming today. It… meant a lot to me.”

You looked at him, a little surprised by the sincerity in his voice.

Then you smiled.

“Goodnight, Kim Mingyu.”

And before he could say anything else, you slipped inside, leaving him standing at your gate—grinning like a complete idiot.

The next week, math class was as ordinary as ever—until Mrs. Park called on Kim Mingyu to solve the equation on the board.

A collective hush fell over the room.

Mingyu sighed dramatically as he stood, stretching his arms like he was preparing for a triathlon. As he walked past your desk, he looked at you, his eyes wide with mock despair.

You gave him a look and motioned for him to go with a flick of your wrist. Come on.

He nodded solemnly, then stepped up to the front. You noticed a few girls watching him intently as he passed—whispers already starting to build.

To everyone's surprise, including Mrs. Park’s, Mingyu answered correctly.

There was a pause.

Then: “Oooohhhh!”

The class erupted in playful shock. Even you raised your eyebrows, impressed.

“Wah, Mingyu! You’ve really improved,” Mrs. Park said, flipping through her notes. “Kim Mingyu is living proof that nothing is impossible.”

That earned a round of chuckles.

Then she added, teasing, “Tell you what. If you get one more problem right this week and win your game on Saturday, I’ll grant you a wish—cut one class, or even get a grade bumped up.”

Cheers filled the room. Dokyeom let out an exaggerated whoop from the back.

But Mingyu didn’t respond right away. Instead, he tilted his head, eyes narrowing in thought.

“No,” he said suddenly. “There’s someone else I want to cut a deal with.”

The class went quiet.

“Who?” Mrs. Park asked, confused.

He turned his head—and looked straight at you.

“Y/N.”

Your stomach dropped.

The class exploded.

“DAEBAK,” you heard DK yell behind you, and you could already feel a dozen pairs of eyes swinging toward your desk.

“Ya, Y/N,” Mingyu said, voice loud and clear. “If I get one more question right, and win on Saturday… go out with me.”

Screams.

Literal screams.

The girls gawked, half in envy, half in disbelief. Some of them started muttering instantly—jealous, confused, calculating. The guys just howled and slapped Mingyu on the back as he returned to his seat like nothing happened.

Your mouth opened. “W-What?” was all you could manage.

Mingyu smiled like he hadn’t just turned your world upside down.

He answered the next question flawlessly.

“One down. One more to go,” he said, taking his seat again, smug.

Mrs. Park blinked at him, then looked at you. “Well… I’ll leave that deal between the two of you,” she said, laughing awkwardly, remembering all too well the hallway incident from before.

When the bell rang, chaos broke loose.

You barely had time to pack your things before your desk was swarmed—girls crowding around, not out of excitement for you, but to dig for information.

“Are you really going to go out with him?”

“You have to say yes.”

“I mean, you tutor him, right? Did you like him this whole time?!”

You didn’t answer.

You just slipped out quietly while they were distracted and made your way out of the classroom.

Footsteps followed close behind.

You didn’t need to turn to know who it was.

“Ya! I knew you weren’t normal,” you snapped over your shoulder. “But this? 찐자!”

Mingyu laughed behind you. “Too much?”

“Wah, are you sure you didn’t get hit in the head at training?”

“No,” he replied simply.

You stopped, turning to face him. “Then why would you say that in front of everyone?! Even the teacher?!”

He shrugged, following you again. “Because I meant it.”

You huffed. “And you just thought blurting it out to the entire class would be romantic?”

“I thought it was cool,” he said. 

“Ya, now everyone is going to be talking about it” you muttered.

He stepped closer. “But I’m serious.”

You faltered for a moment. “Mingyu…”

“What do you have to lose?” he asked, tone quieter now, eyes more focused.

You stared at him.

And for a moment, you couldn’t think of anything.

“I’ll think about it,” you said finally, turning to walk away.

But of course, Mingyu followed.

“Ya,” you snapped, “are you seriously following me all the way to the ladies’ room?!”

He froze mid-step. “Ah… no.” His eyes widened like he just remembered boundaries existed.

You shook your head and walked off, leaving him standing there—still smiling like he’d already won.

They won.

The crowd roared, students screaming and jumping in the bleachers, waving homemade banners and throwing confetti that someone definitely wasn’t supposed to bring to school.

And through all the noise, you sat frozen in your seat—unsure how to feel.

Mingyu had done it.

He’d pitched the last inning like his life depended on it, and now Dongho High was celebrating their second straight win of the season. The entire class had come to watch, filling nearly half the stands in a rowdy, chaotic mess. They were still cheering when Mingyu turned around on the field, scanning the crowd.

And then his eyes locked with yours.

You panicked.

You quickly stood, slipping out of your row, trying to make your way to the exit before someone said something—or he did.

But you didn’t even make it past the bleachers.

“Y/N!” his voice cut through the air.

You turned, startled.

There he was, running toward you, his cap in hand, hair slightly damp with sweat, still catching his breath. He stopped a few feet away, chest rising and falling, his eyes never leaving yours.

He didn’t say anything else.

He didn’t have to.

He was waiting.

You looked at him—at the boy who gave up his seat in class for you, who walked you home, who remembered your favorite snacks, who asked you out in front of everyone like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You didn’t smile. But you didn’t look away either.

You stepped forward just enough for only him to hear.

“Pick me up at 7.”

Then you turned and walked off—heart pounding, ears burning—leaving Mingyu standing there in stunned silence, a slow, unbelievable grin spreading across his face.

He was early.

Of course he was.

You peeked through the window and saw him already waiting at your front gate, hands in his pockets, rocking on his heels like he couldn’t stand still. Your heart thumped a little harder.

You took a deep breath and opened the door.

He looked up immediately, and his face lit up like someone had just handed him the championship trophy.

“There you are,” he grinned. “You look…”

“Don’t,” you warned playfully, crossing your arms. “If you say something cheesy I’m canceling this date.”

“I was going to say ‘you look like a walking distraction,’ but I guess I’ll save that for next time,” he teased.

You rolled your eyes, trying to hide your smile. “So… where are we going?”

He shrugged. “You’ll see.”

You ended up at a small restaurant tucked between two hardware stores just off the main road—a quiet spot with warm lighting, handwritten menus, and a cozy charm that felt out of place in such a busy part of town.

You stared at it, a little surprised. “How did you even find this place?”

“I get hungry a lot,” he said matter-of-factly. “I eat everywhere.”

You laughed as he opened the door for you.

The two of you sat by the window, sharing a plate of tteokbokki and bowls of warm soup. Mingyu, unsurprisingly, ordered enough food for three people.

Midway through dinner, he leaned forward dramatically. “So… scale of 1 to 10, how impressed are you by my excellent restaurant taste?”

“You get a 7,” you said with a straight face.

“Only a 7?”

“I’m docking 3 points for ordering two bowls of rice after saying you weren’t that hungry.”

“Ya, that’s strategy,” he said, pointing his spoon at you. “I paced myself.”

“You inhaled the side dishes.”

“I was testing them for poison,” he deadpanned.

You shook your head, laughing harder than you expected to. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet… you said yes to me.”

You glanced at him, and he wasn’t smiling now—just looking at you with that open, earnest gaze that always caught you off guard.

You looked away, cheeks warm. “Yeah, well… I have bad judgment.”

He smiled again, gently. “Don’t take it back now.”

Later that night, on the walk home, the wind started to bite at your hands. You rubbed them together and blew into your palms, trying to keep the chill at bay.

Then, without a word, Mingyu reached out and gently took your arm, tucking your hand into the crook of his elbow and covering it with his own.

You looked up at him, surprised.

“Cold,” he said simply. “Don’t argue.”

You didn’t.

When you reached your house, you lingered at the gate for a moment.

He rocked slightly on his heels again, just like he had when he arrived.

“Did you have a good night?” he asked softly.

You nodded, smiling. “Yeah. I did.”

There was a pause. Then he leaned forward—hesitating just slightly—and pressed a kiss to your cheek.

It was quick. Gentle. But it sent a rush of warmth through you that had nothing to do with your hands.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, eyes bright.

You stepped inside, hand still tingling, smile still tugging at your lips.

That was the night everything changed.

That was the beginning.

After that night, things fell into place—easily, naturally, as if they were always meant to.

You and Kim Mingyu started dating, and he was… something else.

He walked you to school every morning, usually appearing outside your gate with a grin and something small in his hand—your favorite drink, a breakfast bun, a dandelion he picked off the sidewalk claiming it was “romantic.” He’d drop you off at the gates, jog to his homeroom, and still make it in before the bell.

After school, he’d find you by the gates again, even when he only had ten minutes before training. Sometimes, he’d run back to the field late—hair wind-swept, out of breath, but smiling like it was worth it.

He was attentive in ways that didn’t ask to be noticed.

When your pen ran out in class, he somehow had an extra one—even in subjects he wasn’t in. When you mentioned being tired, he brought a pack of vitamin drinks the next day. When you told him you hated eating alone, he made sure you never had to.

You also grew close to Minghao and Dokyeom—who had quickly adopted you into their chaotic trio. Minghao teased you both mercilessly but always looked out for you like an older brother. Dokyeom was the loudest third wheel in existence, but he made you laugh when you needed it most.

You studied with Mingyu on slow afternoons in the library (though “studied” was generous—he mostly doodled on your notes and asked questions like Do you think birds ever get jealous of airplanes?).

There were movie nights, street food dates, late-night phone calls, and one unforgettable rainy walk where he insisted you both could share one umbrella, only to have you both soaked by the time you got home.

Everything was light. Warm. Happy. For a year, you lived in complete bliss with Kim Mingyu. 

Until it wasn’t.

One night, your parents sat you down at the dinner table.

Your father had gotten a job offer. A good one. In another country.

You were leaving in a few days.

The moment they said the words, your heart dropped like glass.

Everything blurred.

The house became quiet. Your food went cold. You barely heard the rest of what they said.

You didn’t go to school the next day.

Or the one after.

You stayed in bed, hugging your knees, phone untouched. You couldn’t bring yourself to face Mingyu—to say goodbye before you even had the chance to understand how it was all being taken away.

But he noticed your absence immediately.

By the end of the second day, he was pacing.

And that evening, there was a knock at your front door.

You froze.

Then you heard your mom’s voice. “Y/N… it’s Mingyu.”

Your chest tightened.

You stood slowly, heart hammering, and opened the door.

There he was.

Slightly disheveled. Still wearing his school uniform, bag slung lazily over his shoulder. His hair a little messy. His eyes searching.

“Hey,” he said softly. “Where’ve you been?”

You opened your mouth.

But no words came out.

He looked at you for only a second, and he knew something was wrong.

The light in your eyes—the one that used to shine even when you were annoyed with him, even when you pretended not to care—wasn’t there.

And that scared him.

He stepped forward instinctively, but you turned and shut the door behind you before he could say anything.

“Let’s go for a walk,” you murmured.

Mingyu nodded, silent.

You walked side by side under the streetlights, your pace slower than usual, your hands shoved deep into your jacket pockets. The air between you was too quiet—too still.

You both stopped near the corner convenience store, where the neon lights buzzed faintly and the streets were quiet.

“I’m moving,” you said, the words barely above a whisper.

He turned to you, blinking like he didn’t quite hear it right.

“What?”

“My dad got a job. We’re moving abroad. In a few days.”

There was a pause.

“Oh…” was all he said.

You waited, heart pounding.

Then he gave a small, nervous smile. “Okay. I mean—it’s fine. I’ll just have to visit you. I’ll start saving up. I could—”

“Gyu,” you said, and his eyes snapped to yours.

“I’m not coming back.”

The silence that followed was louder than anything you’d ever heard.

But Mingyu just kept talking, voice rising in stubborn determination.

“I know that, but we’ll just figure it out. We’ll text. Call. I’ll learn how to use stupid time zones. I’ll—”

“No,” you said sharply.

His words caught in his throat.

“What do you mean, no?”

“I mean… I don’t want to do that,” you said, your voice cracking slightly. “I don’t want some half-life version of us. Late-night calls. Missed messages. Waiting for something that doesn’t feel real anymore.”

He stepped back like you’d slapped him.

“Are you serious right now?”

You looked away. “It’s just going to make it harder.”

“It’s already hard!” he snapped, and you flinched.

He rarely raised his voice. Not like that.

“You’re seriously just going to walk away from this? From me? Just because it’s not going to be convenient?”

“It’s not about convenience,” you said, your voice shaking. “It’s about not dragging something out that’s going to hurt us both.”

“So what? You’d rather end it now and pretend none of it mattered?”

“Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?”

“Don’t make it sound like I don’t care—like I’m choosing to leave you.”

“You are,” he said, quieter now, his eyes burning.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “No. Life is choosing for me.”

He stared at you for a long time, jaw tight, hands clenched at his sides.

“Okay,” he said finally, voice low. “If this is really what you want.”

You looked at him, at the boy who brought you snacks when you forgot to eat, who remembered which books you liked, who made you laugh when you wanted to cry.

“It’s not,” you whispered.

But you didn’t take it back.

You just stood there, both of you still, with the entire world shifting beneath your feet.

And then Mingyu took a slow step back.

“Good night, Y/N,” he said softly.

And he walked away before either of you could fall apart.

You ran up to your room the moment you got home, barely managing to shut the door before your legs gave out beneath you.

And then you wept.

You buried your face in your arms, your pillow, your blanket—anything that could muffle the sound of your heartbreak.

Because you had hurt him.

You saw it in his eyes the moment you said no. Like something inside him had cracked.

But you knew you had to.

You didn’t want him waiting. Didn’t want him counting down days, missing milestones, sitting through quiet weekends hoping your name would light up his screen. You didn’t want him shrinking his world for a relationship that could only exist through screens and static and midnight silence.

You didn’t want him stuck in a memory of you.

You wanted him to live his life.

To smile the way he always did.

To win more games.

To fall in love again, if he had to.

Even if it meant without you.

So you cried—not because you didn’t love him, but because you did.

Enough to let him go.

10 years later… 

You didn’t think you’d ever come back.

Not really.

Not after all the time that passed. Not after the life you had built somewhere else.

But here you were—back on familiar ground, standing in the arrivals terminal of the same airport you left a decade ago. Ten years. It felt like both a lifetime and a blink.

You were almost thirty now. So far from the teenage girl who once cried into her pillow, heartbroken but resolved. You had changed—grown into yourself, made mistakes, built a career, loved and lost and learned. Still, something about being home again made you feel seventeen all over.

You pulled your luggage along slowly, scanning the crowd. And then you saw her.

Seo-yeon.

She stood just beyond the railing, arms crossed, waving at you with a dramatically unimpressed look on her face—like you were a criminal returning from exile.

You burst out laughing and walked toward her. And before you could even say a word, she launched herself at you.

“Ya!” she cried, wrapping her arms around you tightly. “Don’t ever leave again!”

You hugged her back, eyes stinging. “I won’t.”

She pulled away just enough to squint at you. “You promise?”

“Promise,” you said with a soft smile.

She sniffled once, then rolled her eyes, already grabbing one of your bags. “You better not. I aged ten years without you, and I blame you for half of it.”

“You look the same,” you teased. “Minus the dramatic entrance.”

“Oh, please. I was subtle. You should’ve seen what I had planned.”

You both laughed as you made your way out of the airport, the rhythm between you clicking into place like nothing had changed.

As the car pulled into your old neighborhood, your heart thudded.

Your parents still kept the house. That familiar white gate. The same balcony where you used to watch the rain fall during monsoon season. The same porch you once stood on when Mingyu kissed your cheek for the first time.

It hadn’t changed.

But you had.

And something told you this was just the beginning—again.

You stepped into your old home and let out a soft sigh.

It was all exactly as you remembered. The slightly uneven floorboard by the hallway entrance, the creak of the staircase banister, the faint scent of jasmine from your mother’s diffuser. Time had passed—but this place had stayed the same, like it had been waiting for you.

You set your bags down and looked around the living room. Same curtains, same sofa set. Same framed photos of a much younger you on the wall.

After a while, you and Seo-yeon decided to head to the mall. You said it was to pick up some new furniture for the guest room, but you both knew you just needed to get out of the house.

While browsing throw pillows and debating if the lamps were “cozy” or “ugly,” Seo-yeon casually asked, “What are you doing tonight?”

You scoffed. “Nothing, of course. I just got here.”

“Come out with us,” she said, too casually.

You narrowed your eyes. “Us?”

“Yeah, me… Dokyeom, Minghao…”

“You still hang out with them?” you asked, surprised.

Seo-yeon laughed, tossing a cushion into the cart. “Yeah. Never really stopped, actually. Group chats, game nights, the occasional karaoke disaster.”

You smiled despite yourself. “That’s nice.”

“Well,” she continued, “since you don’t start at the gallery until next week, you don’t have an excuse. So you’re coming.”

You hesitated for a moment, flipping through a catalog half-heartedly. “What are they up to now, anyway?”

She perked up. “Minghao’s a big-time artist now—super conceptual, sells his work internationally. Dokyeom’s in theater—musicals, mostly. He’s surprisingly good, too. People cry when he sings.”

You laughed. “I believe it. He always had that dramatic flair.”

Then she paused, glancing at you carefully.

“Mingyu will be there.”

Your fingers froze on the edge of the page.

“Oh,” you said softly.

And just like that, your mind flickered to the last time you saw him. Standing outside your house. Silent. Shattered. Walking away.

“Will that be… all right?” Seo-yeon asked gently.

You inhaled slowly, then gave a small nod. “Of course. Come on—it’s been ten years.”

She let out a quiet breath. “Just making sure. His girlfriend will be there too, by the way.”

You nodded again, doing your best to keep your face neutral. “That’s good. I’m happy for him.”

“You’ve probably seen his face around—he’s huge now. Local baseball legend. He’s even on the side of the department store downtown.”

You had seen the posters.

Smiling, confident, every bit the star you always knew he could be.

You were happy for him.

Truly.

Still, something inside you tightened at the thought of standing in front of him again.

Seo-yeon slung her bag over her shoulder. “Anyway. I’m heading home to rest before tonight. You should too—no use seeing everyone with jet lag and dark circles.”

You nodded slowly. “Yeah. Okay.”

She gave you a meaningful glance before walking off. “You’ll be fine.”

You watched her go, then turned your gaze out the glass window at the dusky horizon.

You tried to prepare yourself.

Tried to believe that it wouldn’t shake you.

That seeing Kim Mingyu again wouldn’t feel like a fault line quietly cracking open beneath your feet.

You made your way to the bar Seo-yeon had texted, your nerves coiled tight in your chest.

It had been so long since you’d seen everyone. You didn’t know how they’d react. You didn’t even know how you would react. But as anxious as you were, it was comforting to know you still had people—people who had stayed, who had waited, even when you hadn’t asked them to.

You stepped inside.

Warm lights. Music humming through the air. Laughter bouncing from booth to booth.

And then—

“Y/N?!”

Dokyeom, mid-sip of his drink, froze with his glass still hovering by his lips. His voice boomed over the music, and suddenly every head at the table turned toward the door.

“YA! WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL US YOU WERE COMING?!” he yelled, scrambling out of his seat as Minghao stood up in one swift motion and practically ran to you.

Minghao pulled you into a hug without hesitation.

“I thought you were a mirage,” he muttered, grinning. “You look exactly the same.”

“Better, actually,” Dokyeom said, appearing beside him and engulfing you in another hug. “Like—glow up levels of unfair.”

You laughed, breathlessly caught between them both as the three of you caused a minor scene at the entrance. The warmth, the familiarity—it hit you harder than you expected.

And then, the room quieted.

Or maybe it just did in your head.

Because you felt it.

His eyes.

You glanced past Minghao’s shoulder.

And there he was.

Kim Mingyu.

Seated casually, a drink in hand, half-turned in his seat. The din of the group still buzzing around him—Bo-ra laughing beside him, her hand gently squeezing his—but his eyes weren’t moving.

He was staring straight at you.

Mingyu had been in good spirits all evening. It had been a long day at a shoot, and this hangout with the usual crew was exactly what he needed. He was relaxed, loose-shouldered, joking with Dokyeom just moments earlier.

But then Dokyeom stopped mid-sentence. And Mingyu turned his head toward the entrance.

And the world tilted.

There you were.

Y/N.

He blinked once, then again, because for a split second, he truly thought he was hallucinating.

But no.

It was you.

Older, yes—but unmistakably you. Your dark hair still tied in that simple ponytail. Your features softer now, more mature, but your eyes… your eyes were exactly the same. Sharp, vibrant. The kind that still saw everything.

You looked stunning.

Exactly like the girl he almost ran over with his skateboard.

Exactly like the girl who once told him goodbye with tears in her eyes and no chance to stay.

It took him a moment to compose himself, his grip tightening slightly on his glass.

Beside him, Bo-ra noticed the shift.

“Who’s that?” she asked, following his gaze.

Before he could answer, Seo-yeon did—seated just a few chairs away, sipping her cocktail.

“Y/N,” she said casually.

Bo-ra blinked. “That Y/N?”

The lightness in her voice vanished. Her posture stiffened, hand slowly slipping away from Mingyu’s.

He didn’t notice.

He was still staring at you.

And you…

You were doing your best not to fall apart.

Because even after ten years…

He still looked at you like you were the only person in the room.

You made your way to the table, heart thudding louder with every step.

The conversation quieted slightly as your presence settled over the group. You stopped in front of Mingyu.

“Hi,” you said simply, meeting his eyes for the first time in a decade.

He gave a short nod. “Hey.”

It was brief. Clipped. And somehow loaded with everything that couldn’t be said.

You slid into the seat across from them, trying not to look like your hands were shaking. That’s when your eyes landed on the woman beside him.

She was poised, pretty—shoulders relaxed, hand resting on the back of Mingyu’s chair. You noticed that he hadn’t introduced her.

So you did it yourself.

“Hi,” you said, offering a polite smile. “I’m Y/N.”

The woman gave a tight smile back. “Bo-ra.”

There was a pause. You could feel the awkwardness inching across the table like fog.

“Oh—sorry,” Mingyu said suddenly, sitting up straighter. “I didn’t know you were… coming here tonight. That you were back.”

The way he said it sounded almost defensive. Like your presence was an unexpected variable in a life he had carefully compartmentalized.

“It’s fine,” you replied quickly, brushing it off.

Conversation gradually picked up again—Seo-yeon filling in the silence, Dokyeom practically bouncing in his seat.

“So how long are you here for?” Minghao asked, leaning forward with interest.

“I’m actually… back for good—”

“YA!” Dokyeom cheered before you could finish, practically leaping from his chair. “No way!”

You laughed, startled. “You’re too loud!”

“You’re gonna get us kicked out,” Seo-yeon muttered, whacking his shoulder.

“For real?!” Minghao asked, eyes wide.

“Yeah. I got a job at Whitestone Gallery. I start next week.”

Minghao blinked. “진짜? (Jinjja?)”

You nodded. “진짜.”

“Ya, I’m planning to have a show there in the next few months!” he said, sitting up excitedly.

“Wait, really?” you said, eyes lighting up.

“We’re gonna be working together again,” he grinned. “Just like in high school.”

You laughed, feeling the tension in your shoulders ease. “I hope you’re less bossy now.”

“Never,” he said proudly, and the table burst into laughter.

Mingyu froze—you were back for good. His stomach twisted, unsure if it was relief or the beginning of something unraveling.

The night went on—warm, loud, nostalgic. But still, you felt that current running beneath the table. Bo-ra hadn’t said much. And Mingyu… he barely looked at you.

Eventually, everyone stood to leave. Outside the bar, the cool night air felt like a reset.

You went around, saying your goodbyes.

Dokyeom pulled you into a dramatic hug. “I’m not letting you leave again.”

You patted his back. “You’ll see me every week.”

He sniffled dramatically. “Not enough.”

You made your way to where Bo-ra and Mingyu were waiting near the curb. You gave Bo-ra a polite smile.

“Bye. It was nice meeting you,” you said.

She returned the gesture—just barely. “You too.”

Then you turned to Mingyu.

“It was nice seeing you again,” you said, tone even.

His gaze flickered toward yours. “I-it was.”

You lingered for a second longer than you meant to.

Then, just as you turned to walk away, he blurted, “Are you far from here? I can drop you before Bo-ra.”

You stopped in your tracks.

So did Bo-ra. Her head snapped toward him with a glare that said everything she didn’t need to say out loud.

You met Mingyu’s eyes.

“I’m ten minutes away. Still at the old house.”

There was the faintest shift in his expression.

Like hearing that made something inside him ache.

“Ah. All right,” he said quietly. “Get home safe.”

You nodded, then turned, your steps slow and careful as you walked away.

Behind you, Bo-ra folded her arms.

The ride home was tense. Bo-ra said nothing for the first minute—just stared out the window, knuckles tight around her phone.

Then it started.

“You offered to drive her? Are you serious?”

Mingyu didn’t answer right away.

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” he said eventually.

“You didn’t introduce me to her. You stared at her the whole night. And then you asked to drive her home.”

“I didn’t know she was coming.”

“But you still asked.”

Silence.

“You know what? Don’t say anything,” Bo-ra muttered. “You don’t even realize what you’re doing.”

And truthfully, he didn’t.

Because even now, with her sitting beside him—her hand once again inches away from his—his mind was still back at the bar. Watching you walk away. Remembering the sound of your laugh. The shape of your smile. The way you looked at him like he was a stranger.

Later that night, he collapsed onto his bed, eyes squeezed shut, jaw tight with frustration.

He had built a whole life without you.

But all it took was one moment—for everything to shift.

“Fuck,” he whispered into the dark, the weight of it crashing down like a wave.

He didn’t know what to do with the part of him that never stopped loving you.

Over the next few days, you found yourself slowly re-familiarizing yourself with the city you used to call home.

It was the same—but different.

The streets still curved the way you remembered, the breeze still carried that faint scent of roasted sweet potatoes from the street stalls. But some of your favorite spots were gone—shuttered bakeries, boarded-up cafes. And in their place were new boutiques, sleek coffee chains, and places that didn’t quite belong to your memory.

Still, as you turned the corner of a quiet street, something familiar tugged at your heart.

The old bookstore.

You smiled instinctively.

It was still there—tucked between a pharmacy and a tea shop, its sign a little faded, the windows stacked with paperbacks and old wooden crates.

You pushed the door open, and the small bell above chimed gently.

The air smelled like aged paper and warmth.

Behind the counter, a woman looked up from her magazine, her glasses slipping down her nose. She blinked at you, squinting slightly—then her face lit up with recognition.

“Ms. Y/L/N,” she said, her voice kind and familiar. “It’s been a while.”

You smiled, walking toward her. “You remember me?”

“Of course I do,” Mrs. Kim said, adjusting her glasses. “You used to sit in that corner after school with a different book every week. You’re still as beautiful as ever.”

You laughed softly, a little shy. “Thank you.”

“Are you visiting?”

You shook your head. “No… I’m back for good.”

Her eyebrows lifted in pleasant surprise. “Oh my. That’s lovely to hear. Let me know if you need anything—you know where everything is.” She paused, then chuckled. “That boy still comes in every so often, you know.”

You tilted your head. “What boy?”

Before she could answer, the bell above the door chimed again.

You turned.

And there he was.

Kim Mingyu, standing in the entrance—hair tousled, hoodie slightly damp from the drizzle outside, a look of quiet shock settling across his face the moment he saw you.

“That boy,” Mrs. Kim said, smiling knowingly.

You stood still, book half-open in your hands, heart thudding too loudly in the quiet little store.

Because of all the places. Of all the moments.

It had to be here.

He froze the moment he saw you, eyes wide, as if time had folded in on itself.

You were standing under the warm lights of the bookstore, fingers brushing over spines like you used to. Like no time had passed at all.

“Hi,” you said first, voice light, cautious.

Mingyu blinked. “Hey,” he replied, lifting his hand in a small wave, like he didn’t trust his voice yet.

You tilted your head. “What brings you here?”

“Uh…” he rubbed the back of his neck. “I like to browse. From time to time.”

“I see,” you said, a quiet smile tugging at your lips. Then you turned toward the shelves, stepping back into that familiar rhythm of browsing. But you didn’t miss the sound of footsteps quickening behind you.

“Looking for anything in particular?” he asked, trailing a few paces behind.

You shook your head. “No. Just browsing.”

He scoffed, amused. “You? Just browsing?”

You turned slightly to look at him. “What?”

He hesitated—then laughed softly, caught off guard by the way your eyes met his. Still bright. Still piercing. Still you.

“Browsing for you is like… five hours,” he said, a teasing glint in his eyes.

You let out a laugh—quiet, reluctant—and then, for a beat, the two of you just stood there. Both caught in the memory of all the afternoons you used to spend here. Him sitting on the armrest of a worn chair, watching you flip through books like you were solving some unspoken mystery. Always pretending he wasn’t interested, even though he never left your side.

The silence settled, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was… familiar.

He followed you through the aisles again, this time without words—just the soft sounds of pages turning, the occasional comment on a strange cover or a title that made you both grin.

Eventually, you made your way to the counter, purchased a book, and stepped out into the fading light. He followed.

“Since when did you like reading?” you asked, glancing at him sideways.

He shrugged, casually. “Been a while. Bo-ra likes to read too.”

That was a lie.

Bo-ra didn’t read. Not that kind of fiction, not these quiet bookstores.

But he couldn’t tell you the truth—that coming here, walking the aisles where you used to lose yourself, was the closest thing he had to a time machine.

“That’s nice,” you replied, noncommittal. “What does she like to read?”

He paused for half a second too long. “Hmmm. Romance?”

You gave him a look. “Why does that sound more like a question than a statement?”

He scratched his head, laughing. “Romance. She reads romance.”

You raised a brow. “Sure she does.”

He didn’t argue. Just smiled awkwardly and walked beside you.

“You don’t have to walk me, you know,” you said.

“I know,” he replied.

And that was that.

The rest of the walk home passed in near silence, broken only by the occasional passing car and the wind rustling the trees.

When you reached your house, you paused at the gate.

“Well,” you said quietly, “thanks for walking me.”

He didn’t reply right away.

Then—“Are you really back for good?”

You turned to face him, eyes steady. “Yup.”

One word. But it landed like a stone in his chest.

You smiled faintly and made your way inside, the door clicking shut behind you.

And Mingyu was left there—standing on the same pavement where you once said goodbye.

Only this time, you were staying.

And he didn’t know what that meant.

Not yet.

The next few weeks, you found yourself seeing Mingyu more often than you expected.

Not deliberately.

It was just how things happened—group dinners, casual get-togethers, late-night coffee runs that turned into impromptu hangouts. You were all part of the same circle again, and naturally, he was there.

So was Bo-ra.

You hated to admit it, but it did something to you. The way she looped her arm through his. The way she laughed a little too loudly at his jokes, touched his shoulder a little too possessively. You told yourself it didn’t matter. You kept your distance. You smiled, laughed, made conversation.

But sometimes—when you caught him looking just a moment too long—you wondered if you were fooling anyone.

Dokyeom had just been cast in the lead of a new play, and he was thrilled. “We’re going out,” he declared in the group chat, followed by five glitter emojis and a suspicious selfie in costume.

Seo-yeon immediately agreed.

Minghao said he’d only come if someone promised to stop Dokyeom from singing his own lines.

And Mingyu?

He needed a drink.

Badly.

Bo-ra, however, wasn’t thrilled.

“You’re going out again? With them?” “Yes. It’s for DK.” “She’s going to be there, right?” Mingyu sighed. “Probably.” “You could say no.” “I could. But I’m not going to.”

The argument stretched longer than it should have. She accused him of avoiding her. Of being different when you were around. He denied it. But he didn’t push back too hard.

That night, Bo-ra was at a friend’s bachelorette party. It gave him space. And more than that—it gave him quiet.

When Mingyu arrived at the bar, the place was already buzzing.

He spotted the group near the back—Dokyeom waving dramatically, Seo-yeon rolling her eyes, and you—

You were laughing.

Head tilted slightly, eyes crinkled at the corners, one hand covering your mouth. You sat beside Seo-yeon, completely at ease, hair loosely tied back, cheeks still pink from whatever story had just been told.

He felt it immediately.

That familiar tug.

In his chest. In his stomach. In places he had tried for years to numb.

He walked over, slid into the seat across from you. Gave everyone a nod, took a sip from the beer Minghao slid toward him.

He didn’t say much at first. Didn’t look at you directly.

But he heard you. Your laugh. Your voice. Your rhythm.

And for the first time in weeks, he felt a little drunk before even finishing his first drink.

As the night wore on, the drinks kept coming.

Laughter got louder, movement got looser, and somehow the five of you stumbled your way from a cozy bar into a pulsing club. You hadn’t been in a place like this in years. The bass thumped through your body, and colored lights flickered like memories—half-familiar, half-fleeting.

You were drunk. You all were.

Dokyeom was dangerously close to climbing onto a table, belting out the chorus to a song only he knew. Minghao, in his signature grumpy-drunken state, hovered nearby with narrowed eyes, muttering insults between sips of his drink that only made Dokyeom perform harder.

Seo-yeon had long vanished into the crowd, dancing with someone who looked suspiciously like a backup dancer from a music video.

You were swaying—warm, hazy, weightless. The music buzzed in your ears, and your balance slipped for a moment.

You stumbled backward—

And right into a pair of steady hands.

You stumble slightly, and Mingyu’s arms catch you without hesitation.

“Ya, be careful,” he says, steadying you by the waist, his voice barely audible over the pulsing bass.

You turn toward him, laughing breathlessly. “I’m fine.”

He doesn’t let go.

“No, you’re not,” he says with a grin, but there’s a softness in his eyes. Like he’s watching something fragile.

Your arms hover loosely between you both, not quite pushing him away. Not quite pulling him closer either.

He doesn’t move.

Neither do you.

You let the music fill the space between your words, filling the seconds you don’t know how to name.

“Were you surprised?” you ask, lifting your gaze to his. “When you saw me again?”

Mingyu lets out a soft scoff, shaking his head. “You’re really asking me that?”

You shrug. “Maybe I just want to hear it.”

He studies you for a moment before speaking again, voice quieter now. “I didn’t believe it at first. I thought… maybe it was just one of those weird dreams. The kind where you wake up and nothing makes sense.”

You smile faintly. “You dream about me?”

He hesitates, eyes flickering to your mouth and back. “Sometimes.”

You look down, heart picking up pace.

“I never thought I’d see you here again,” he admits. “Not like this. Not with you looking like… this.”

“Like what?” you ask, brow raised.

“Like you belong,” he says simply. “Like no time has passed, even though it has.”

Your smile fades slightly.

“It has,” you whisper. “A lot of it.”

He nods. “I know.”

You hesitate. “It’s weird, being around you again. Seeing you with—everything. With her.”

His expression shifts. “Bo-ra.”

You nod.

He swallows, like your saying her name makes something heavier in him. “She’s… great. You’d like her.”

“Would I?”

Mingyu gives a soft, self-conscious chuckle. “Maybe not.”

The honesty hangs in the air between you.

“You two seem serious,” you say, watching him.

He hesitates again. “We are. We’ve been together a while.”

“But?”

He looks at you then—really looks at you. “But… then you came back.”

You don’t speak. You feel his hands still at your waist. Feel the way his fingers twitch slightly, like he knows he should let go but can’t bring himself to.

“Why’d you come back, Y/N?” he asks.

You tilt your head, searching his face. “I told you. My job. The gallery.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

You sigh, slowly. “I didn’t come back for you, Mingyu. But I didn’t not think about you either.”

That does something to him. His grip tightens—just slightly. His shoulders pull in. His eyes lower.

“I still think about you,” he says quietly, like a confession. “More than I should.”

You don’t answer right away.

So he keeps going.

“I think about the way you used to look at me,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “Like I could do anything. Like I was someone worth waiting for.”

You don’t realize your eyes are glassy until you blink. “You were.”

His voice breaks a little. “Then why didn’t you?”

You pause. “Because I didn’t want to ruin what we had with what we couldn’t have.”

You don’t know who moved first—but suddenly his forehead is nearly resting against yours. You can feel his breath, taste the tension in the air.

“I… still want you,” he says. “Even if I shouldn’t.”

Your eyes close.

And in that moment, everything blurs—past and present, who you were and who you are, the goodbye you never healed from and the almost-kiss that’s now trembling between you.

He starts to lean in.

So do you.

But just before your lips can meet, a single word slips out of you like a breath you’ve been holding too long.

“No.”

He freezes—mere inches from you.

You pull back slowly, the gravity of the moment crashing around you like thunder.

“We can’t,” you whisper, and your voice is shaking now. “You have a girlfriend, Mingyu.”

It takes a second. Maybe longer. But the change in him is instant.

Like the heat between you was suddenly doused in ice water.

He straightens, jaw tightening. He looks like he’s remembering where he is, who he is—who he’s supposed to be.

“…Right,” he says, barely audible.

You take a step back. “You forgot.”

He doesn’t deny it.

Instead, his expression hardens into something unreadable. “No,” he says softly. “I didn’t forget.”

You stare at him. Waiting.

“But I wanted to,” he admits. “Just for a second. Just long enough to let myself pretend.”

Your chest tightens painfully. “Pretend that I never left?”

“Pretend that you didn’t ruin me when you did.”

That hits harder than you expect.

You blink, but the tears are already threatening to spill.

“Mingyu…”

He shakes his head and exhales through his nose, like he’s mad at himself for even saying it.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters. “I shouldn’t have said that. I just—” He cuts himself off, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.”

You look down, swallowing the lump in your throat. “You should go.”

“I know,” he says, but doesn’t move.

Then quietly, “You make it really hard to be good.”

That undoes you.

Because for all the years apart—for all the time and silence and separate lives—this moment felt like a thread still pulled tight between you.

Fraying now.

Snapping.

You nod, once. “Then stop trying to be good. Just go.”

That’s the last thing you say.

You turn, walking away—each step heavier than the last, like your body is trying to anchor you to the ground before you make the mistake of turning back.

He watches you disappear into the crowd, swallowed by the noise and flashing lights.

Against every voice in his head telling him not to, Mingyu follows you.

You hear his footsteps behind you and snap, “Mingyu, stop following me.”

“You’re drunk,” he says, quickening his pace to match yours. “I’m not letting you walk home alone.”

You don’t stop walking. “I can take care of myself.”

He exhales sharply. “Just let me make sure you get home safe.”

“Leave me alone.” Your voice shakes, but you keep going. Determined. Furious. Hurt. He follows anyway.

When you finally reach your house, you spin around so fast he nearly runs into you.“YA!” you yell, voice rising with all the emotion you’ve tried to suppress. He stops. Startled. The porch light hits your face—and that’s when he sees it.

Your eyes are glassy. Glossed over with tears you’re trying so hard to hold in.You’re breaking in front of him, and he hates that it’s his fault.

He steps forward, instinctively reaching for you.

“No,” you say sharply. “Stay right there.”

His hands drop to his sides. He sighs, trying to keep his voice steady.

“You have someone,” you say, louder now. “You’re not single. You have a girlfriend. I won’t be that girl.”

“I know,” he says. “I know I do. But fuck, Y/N—I thought I was over you, I really did. I thought I’d buried all of this. But seeing you again…”

He runs a hand through his hair, voice rising with frustration.

“It’s like no time has passed at all. And I hate it. I hate how easy it still is to want you. To need you.”

Your jaw clenches.

“Exactly. You have a girlfriend,” you snap. “Which means we—this? It’s nothing. It doesn’t exist.”

Your words hit him like a punch to the chest.

He recoils, visibly stung. “And whose fault is that, huh?”

You flinch. “You left,” he says, his voice thick. “You walked away.”

“I didn’t want to,” you whisper.

“But you did,” he says, stepping forward now. “You did, Y/N. You chose to leave. And you didn’t just leave me—you gave up on us. You didn’t even try.”

“I didn’t want to hold you back,” you say, trying to steady your voice through the ache in your throat. “I didn’t want you saving every cent to visit me while your life was passing you by. I didn’t want you tied to a version of me that wasn’t coming back. I thought…”

“What?” he interrupts, voice breaking. “That I couldn’t make that choice myself? That I couldn’t fight for you?”

“I didn’t want you waiting for someone who might never come home,” you whisper, the tears finally slipping down. “I didn’t want to be the reason you stopped living.”

“That was my decision to make,” he snaps, chest heaving. “Not yours.”

You break.The tears fall freely now, and his face twists with helpless pain. He hates this. Hates seeing you cry. Hates that it’s because of him. Again.

“I just wanted you to be happy,” you choke out.

“And I was!” he yells. “I was happy—with you! Even when it was hard, even when it hurt. You were the only thing that felt worth it.”

You shake your head, backing toward your door. “It’s too late.”

“No. Don’t say that.”

You look at him through teary eyes. “I think we shouldn’t see each other for a while… Gyu.”

That name. His name. The one only you called him. It slices through him like a blade. You turn to open the door, but he speaks one last time—quiet, bitter.

“Fine. Give up on us again.” You freeze, your hand on the doorknob.

But you don’t turn around.You step inside and shut the door behind you, leaving him on the porch with nothing but the sound of his own breathing and the hollow echo of what almost was.

Again.And just like that, he was back where he started.Alone.

Mingyu knew what he had to do.It wasn’t fair. Not to Bo-ra. Not to himself. Not to you.

He hadn’t slept. Barely ate. Your voice echoed in his head on a loop. “We shouldn’t see each other for a while… Gyu.” It played like a cruel lullaby he couldn’t shake.

Bo-ra showed up at his place with coffee and her usual gentle tone. She noticed he was quiet. Distant. But she tried to smile through it.

Until he looked her in the eyes and said, “We need to talk.”Her expression dropped immediately. “No,” she said flatly. “Don’t say it.”

“I have to,” Mingyu replied. “You deserve honesty.” She stared at him, her voice shaking. “Is it her?” He didn’t answer right away. And that was her answer.

“I knew it,” Bo-ra said, backing away like the truth physically hurt. “I knew it the second she showed up. I saw the way you looked at her.”

“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” he said, his voice raw. “I tried. I really tried with us.”

She laughed bitterly. “Don’t act like I was just a placeholder.”

“You weren’t,” he said immediately. “You’re—amazing. I just… I think part of me was never fully there. And you don’t deserve that.”

Bo-ra blinked hard, jaw clenched. “Do you even know what you want, Mingyu?”

“No,” he admitted. “But I know I can’t lie to you anymore.”

She left without another word. And he sat there, in the silence she left behind, feeling like he’d let down someone good. Again.

The days bled into each other, muted and dull.

You didn’t block him, but you didn’t reach out either.

The group knew. Of course they did. They split hangouts like divorced parents. One night with him, one night with you. Minghao tried to act casual. Seo-yeon was colder than usual. Dokyeom made excuses, always shifting the subject.

And through it all, Mingyu just… floated.

If I can't be close to you, I'll settle for the ghost of you.

That line looped in his head like a prayer. A punishment.

He started showing up at places you used to go to. The old bookstore. The park bench by the coffee shop. The corner of the art gallery street he once passed just to feel close.

Sometimes he caught a glimpse of you from afar—walking into the gallery, talking to Seo-yeon on a street corner. You looked okay. You were smiling.

And that wrecked him more than if you’d been crying. Because you were healing.And he wasn’t.

He played it cool in front of everyone else—smiled when he had to, joked when prompted, but the moment he was alone, he felt hollow. You were everywhere and nowhere all at once.

It was the kind of grief no one understood.

Because how do you explain mourning someone who's still alive? Still breathing? Still walking around in the same city—but out of reach?

At night, he’d lay in bed, replaying your last words to him over and over. “You have someone. I won’t be that girl.”

You weren’t. You were always more. And now you were gone. Again.

It wasn’t until the opening night of Dokyeom’s play that you saw him again.

You’d managed to avoid him for weeks. Life had a way of keeping you busy, and you let it. Gallery openings, project deadlines, endless errands—anything to keep you from accidentally running into him.

But tonight, you couldn’t avoid it.

The entire group was there. Minghao saved you a seat beside him, but your eyes flickered toward the end of the row—where Mingyu sat, one seat between him and Seo-yeon, jaw tense, eyes flickering toward you the moment you entered.

You gave him a polite, distant smile. A nod. “Hi.”He nodded back. “Hey.”

That was it. The performance was brilliant—Dokyeom, larger than life on stage, owning the spotlight. The crowd laughed, cried, applauded. But you barely remembered any of it.

Because you could feel him.

His presence was like gravity. Your skin buzzed with it. Every laugh he let out. Every shift in his seat. Every glance you refused to return.

After the show, everyone gathered outside, buzzing with praise.

“We’re going out!” Dokyeom declared, flushed with pride. “First round’s on me!”

Everyone cheered. Except you. “I think I’ll sit this one out,” you said with a soft smile. “I’m tired.”

Mingyu, who had been lingering a few feet away, turned to look at you instantly.

“You’re leaving?” he asked, eyes searching yours.

You nodded. “It was a great show. Tell DK I’m proud of him.”

And then you left.

He stood still, hands in his jacket pockets, shoulders tight.

As the group moved toward the nearby bar, he trailed behind them—quiet, distracted. The noise around him blurred.

He couldn’t stop thinking about the way your eyes looked when you said goodbye. Like they were holding back something unsaid.

He couldn’t stop wondering if you were really okay. If your tiredness was just exhaustion—or something deeper.

Ten minutes into drinks, he couldn’t sit still anymore.

He stood abruptly, barely touching his beer.

“Mingyu?” Seo-yeon asked, brows furrowed. “Where are you—”

“I have to go,” he said, already moving.

Seo-yeon stood, trying to follow. “YA! I know where you’re going!”

But Minghao pulled her gently back down. “Let him,” he said calmly.

The streets were quiet, and Mingyu’s footsteps echoed against the pavement.

He didn’t even remember grabbing his coat. Didn’t care that he left his phone behind. All he knew was that he couldn’t sit at that table for one more minute pretending he was okay with watching you walk away. Again.

He found himself in front of your house before he even realized where his feet were taking him.

The porch light was off, but there was a faint glow from the living room window. He climbed the steps, hesitated once—and then knocked.

For a long moment, nothing happened. Then the door creaked open. And there you were.

Your eyes were red and puffy, cheeks flushed like you’d been crying.vMingyu’s heart sank.

“Why are you—” you started, your voice catching in your throat.vBut he didn’t let you finish.

“Why did you come back?”vYou blinked. “What?”

“Why did you come back?” he repeated, firmer this time, eyes locked on yours. “To Seoul. To this neighborhood. To that bookstore. To me.”

You opened your mouth, but the words wouldn’t come. His eyes searched your face—your silence telling him everything before you even answered.

“I… I’m sorry,” you finally whispered. “I didn’t mean to come back and make everything harder.”

“You didn’t answer the question.”

You looked down, clutching the sleeves of your sweater. “I missed it. This place. The people. You. But I wasn’t planning to stay. Not at first.”

His expression flickered.

“Then why did you?” he asked, voice quieter now.

You swallowed hard. “Because I couldn’t leave again. Not after seeing you. Not after remembering what it felt like to be here.”

A long silence settled between you.

Then Mingyu stepped forward. “Do you have any idea what it was like?” he said, his voice low and tight. “To go from seeing you every day to... nothing? No calls. No visits. Just silence.”

“I wanted to reach out—”

“Then why didn’t you?!”

You flinched.

“I would’ve waited,” he said, voice rising. “I was waiting. You left and I kept hoping—every day—that I’d hear from you. That you’d change your mind. That you’d just come back.”

“I didn’t think I deserved to.”

Mingyu’s face crumpled. “What?”

“I thought I ruined everything,” you whispered. “I thought I was the one who gave up. So I stayed gone. Even when I wanted to come home.”

He stared at you, stunned. “You think you ruined it?”

“I broke your heart,” you said. “I know I did. And I hated myself for it. Every time I saw something that reminded me of you… I felt sick.”

He was quiet for a beat. Then:

“I hated you for a while.”

The words struck you like a slap—but he kept going.

“I hated you for leaving. For not fighting for us. For not letting me fight for you.”

Tears filled your eyes again.

“But I hated myself more,” he added. “Because no matter how much time passed, no matter who I was with, no one ever felt like you.”

You were crying openly now. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I know.” He stepped forward again, voice shaking now. “That’s the worst part.”

You looked up at him, tears streaking your face. “I wanted to come back sooner. I was just so scared.”

“Of what?”

“Of you not loving me anymore.”

“I never stopped,” he said. “Even when I wanted to.” And then—he reached for you.

This time, when he kissed you, it wasn’t impulsive. It was slow, trembling, built from every unsaid word, every night spent apart, every ache that never really went away.When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, both of you breathless.

“Promise me you won’t leave again,” he whispered.“I promise,” you said, voice barely audible.And for the first time in years, something finally felt whole again.

[asciendo]

What we Become Part 2

💌 Pairing: Geum Seong-je x f!Reader 📖 Genre: Action | Angst | Romance | Slow Burn | Hurt/Comfort | Gang AU | Found Family 📍 Setting: Seoul | High school & underground gang world 🚨 Warnings: Violence, blood/injury, bullying, drug use, implied sexual content (18+), trauma, toxic loyalty, strong language

Click here for Part 1

✨ Summary: You weren’t supposed to get involved. But when people start getting hurt — when your brother comes home bleeding, when the wrong boy starts looking at you like you matter — staying on the sidelines becomes impossible.

He wasn’t meant to care. You weren’t supposed to let him in.

Now, you're both tangled in something bigger than either of you can control.

And the more you try to protect the ones you love, the harder it gets to tell who's pulling you in — and who's holding you back.

His mind was a storm — spinning, restless — and for the first time in a long while, he wasn’t sure what his next move would be.

You were just about to crawl into bed, your eyes heavy, when a sudden, frantic banging echoed through the apartment.

Your heart jumped.

You rushed to the door, flinging it open — and froze.

Gotak stood there, panting, his face pale and tight with worry, carrying a bloodied, battered Jun-tae on his back. Behind him, Baku and Si-eun followed close, their expressions grim.

“WHAT HAPPENED?!” you cried, voice shaking as you instinctively cleared off the dining table, shoving books and papers aside so they could lay Jun-tae down.

You sprinted to the bathroom, yanking the first aid kit from the cabinet, your fingers trembling as you dug through the bandages and disinfectant.

“He was taken by the Union after school,” Gotak said tightly, carefully lowering Jun-tae onto the table. “He was waiting for us, but they got to him first.”

“You found him like this?” you asked in a panic, gently wiping the blood from Jun-tae’s face, your heart pounding in your chest as you started dressing his wounds.

“No… actually…” Baku started, exchanging a glance with Gotak.

“Where did you find him?” Si-eun asked quietly, stepping closer, his voice unusually soft.

Gotak hesitated — then finally spoke. “Seong-je.”

You froze, your hands pausing mid-motion.

“What?” you breathed, staring at him.

“He was on Seong-je’s back when we ran into them,” Gotak explained. “He must’ve… saved him.”

“We’re confused too,” Baku added quickly, scratching the back of his head.

Just then, Jun-tae stirred, his eyes fluttering open with a soft groan.

“Ya, are you all right?” you rushed to his side, helping him sit up carefully. “What happened?”

“They… they took me after school,” Jun-tae mumbled, his voice raspy. “Started beating me up. Then… Seong-je showed up. He asked why. They told him Baek-jin said someone needed to focus.”

He let out a shaky breath. “And then… Seong-je beat them all up. And… carried me out.”

The room fell silent.

“Who needed to focus?” Si-eun asked softly, his brows drawing together.

“Seong-je,” Baku murmured, his eyes darkening with realization.

You all stared at him.

“Baek-jin’s losing control over Seong-je,” Baku continued, voice gaining a faint edge of excitement. “This… this was a test of his loyalty.”

“But… why Jun-tae?” Si-eun asked.

Slowly, Baku turned his eyes to you. “Y/N.”

You swallowed hard as everyone’s gaze shifted toward you.

“Ya… he really does like you,” Gotak muttered, shaking his head slightly.

You shook your head quickly, heart pounding. “No… no, that’s—”

“Why else would he betray Baek-jin?” Baku pressed, his eyes wide. “Ya, this is serious — Baek-jin just lost his right-hand man.”

“Ya, don’t get excited!” Gotak scolded, smacking Baku on the arm. “They just hurt Jun-tae!”

“It’s all right…” Jun-tae croaked softly, drawing all your eyes back to him. A faint, determined smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “This is good…”

You blinked at him in shock.

“The more people Baek-jin loses — especially those he trusted — the better it is for us,” Jun-tae murmured, his voice gaining strength.

Baku and Gotak exchanged stunned glances, while Si-eun remained silent, watching carefully.

“Seong-je can’t be fully trusted yet,” Gotak cautioned, his voice firm. “But without him, the Union takes a huge blow.”

You let out a slow, shaky breath, sinking down onto the chair beside the table.

Why…

Why did you suddenly feel so confused?

Why did your heart twist at the thought of Geum Seong-je?

You pressed your fingers lightly to your temple, closing your eyes.

One afternoon, as you left school, the air sharp and cool, you caught sight of a familiar figure slouched casually near the pojangmacha.

Your steps faltered.

“Miss me?” Seong-je smirked, pushing off the wall as he sauntered toward you.

You didn’t answer, simply brushing past him to place your order.

To your quiet surprise, before you could pull out your wallet, he reached over and slapped a few bills on the counter.

You shot him a quick look — but said nothing.

You just sat down on the nearby bench, pulling your tray close and beginning to eat, eyes focused on your food.

“Told you,” Seong-je drawled, sliding lazily into the seat across from you, “I can buy you all the tteokbokki you want.”

You kept your gaze low, focused on your food.

But finally, you murmured, “Thank you.”

Your voice was soft, softer than you’d ever used with him, and when you looked up, your eyes held no sharpness, no glare — just quiet sincerity.

Something in Seong-je’s chest gave a faint, unfamiliar pang.

The animosity you’d always thrown at him… was gone.

“For?” he teased, slipping effortlessly back into his usual cocky tone, trying to mask the stir of emotion in his chest.

“For saving Jun-tae,” you said simply, your eyes not leaving his.

He let out a short chuckle, shifting slightly in his seat.

“Why did you do it?” you asked quietly.

Seong-je tensed ever so slightly. His jaw twitched.

“Because I felt like it,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant.

“That’s not an answer,” you shot back, turning your attention back to your food.

“I just felt like it, seriously,” he repeated, a little too quickly, a little too defensive.

You scoffed softly. “I’m just trying to have a conversation with you and it’s going nowhere.”

You stood up abruptly, brushing crumbs off your hands, and turned to leave.

He let out a frustrated groan behind you.

“Maybe I’m tired,” he muttered.

You paused, half-turning. “Of what?”

“All of it,” Seong-je said, voice lower now, less guarded. “It’s not fun for me anymore.”

You rolled your eyes. “That’s it? It’s not fun?”

He sighed deeply, running a hand through his messy hair. His fingers tightened slightly, tugging at the strands.

“씨발 (ssibal)… what do you want to hear from me, ah?” he asked, his voice rougher now, a thread of genuine frustration woven through.

You turned fully to face him, your expression calm. “The truth.”

He fell silent.

For a moment, he just stood there, shoulders tense, eyes flicking away.

You sighed softly, shaking your head. “Fine… just… thank you. Again.”

Without waiting for his reply, you turned and walked away, your heart twisting in your chest, your mind a swirl of confusion.

Behind you, Seong-je stayed frozen in place, staring after you, his fists slowly clenching in his pockets, his thoughts tangled and restless.

Seong-je was making his way home, shoulders slightly hunched, hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets, cigarette dangling loosely from his lips. His mind was buzzing — not from the cold, not from the nicotine, but from the tangled mess of thoughts he’d been pushing away for days.

But as he turned the corner onto his street, he slowed.

A familiar figure leaned casually against the wall outside his apartment.

“Ya, why are you here?” Seong-je muttered, eyebrow twitching as he stopped a few steps away.

Baku pushed off the wall, his usual grin absent, his face set in a grim line.

“Baek-jin went after my father,” Baku said flatly. “He’s crossing the line.”

Seong-je gave a dry, humorless chuckle as he pulled out a lighter and sparked his cigarette. “Tch. What did you expect? You should just make up with him, then this whole thing would end. It’s fucking exhausting, you know.”

Baku stepped closer, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Then help me.”

Seong-je’s gaze flicked up sharply.

“I know you, Seong-je,” Baku said quietly. “I know you’re tired of it too. I know you’re tired of being on his leash.”

Seong-je barked a small, bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Ya… just because I saved Jun-tae doesn’t mean we’re fucking friends now.” He turned, trying to shove past Baku.

But Baku’s voice stopped him cold.

“You know him,” Baku said steadily. “Maybe better than anyone right now. Getting Jun-tae didn’t work — but who’s he going to go for next, huh? You know Baek-jin. He doesn’t forget. He doesn��t let go.”

Seong-je’s steps faltered. His cigarette hung between his fingers, smoke curling faintly in the cold air as his jaw tightened.

Baku watched him for a long second, then gave a quiet sigh.

“Just think about it, okay?” he said softly. Then, without waiting for a reply, he turned and walked away.

Seong-je stood alone on the empty street, the chill sinking deeper into his skin as realization began to settle heavy in his chest.

Baek-jin wouldn’t just stop. He wouldn’t just punish Seong-je directly.

He’d come after the one thing that could pull Seong-je off balance.

You.

Seong-je closed his eyes tightly, cursing under his breath. His fists clenched at his sides, heart hammering as the truth slammed into him with brutal clarity.

Baek-jin was coming.

And this time, he knew exactly where to strike.

You were walking home from school, the cool breeze brushing against your face, the usual rhythm of your steps carrying you along familiar streets.

But as you turned the corner near your neighborhood, you felt it — a shift.

A group of boys stood up ahead, blocking the path.

You slowed, heart beginning to race.

You tried to step to the side, but one moved to block you. You turned the other way — another stepped in your path.

“Ya, what the—”

Before you could finish, something rough yanked over your head — a bag.

Panic surged through you as you kicked and struggled, your fists beating against arms you couldn’t see, your muffled screams trapped inside the fabric.

No use.

You were hauled away.

When the bag was finally yanked off, you blinked rapidly, your breath shaky, trying to adjust to the sudden light.

Your eyes darted around, heart pounding wildly.

You were inside a motorcycle shop — grimy walls, grease-stained floors, old parts stacked in the corners.

And right in front of you, standing calmly, smirking — was Baek-jin.

“Ya! What the fuck are you doing?!” you shouted, your voice raw with panic and fury.

Suddenly, a sharp slap cracked across your face.

You gasped, your head snapping to the side as the sting bloomed across your cheek.

Slowly, you turned your eyes upward, blinking through the sudden rush of tears.

Dong-ha loomed over you, sneering. “Ya, you don’t talk to Baek-jin like that, you bitch,” he spat, his voice dripping with contempt. You felt the warm trail of blood trickle from your lip.

Your hands clenched into trembling fists.

“Why am I here?” you hissed through gritted teeth.

Baek-jin gave a slow, lazy smile, eyes glinting coldly.

“To teach Seong-je a lesson.”

His hands trembled as he clutched his phone, sweat gathering at his temple.

Baku and Gotak were out of town, off in Daegu for a basketball tournament. Si-eun was gone too, away with his mom.

And you — you were missing.

Si-an’s voice crackled urgently over the line, her panic palpable. “I’ve been trying to call her! People said they saw her being taken by a group of boys — I’m going to the police—”

“No!” Jun-tae’s voice shot out, his heart hammering. “The Union has ties there — they’ll block it. Let me handle it.”

“Jun-tae, what are you—”

“I promise — I’ll handle it.”

He hung up, his breath shaky as his mind raced.

There was only one person he could go to now.

Jun-tae ran — his breath ragged, his chest tightening, his feet pounding the pavement as panic clawed at his throat.

He didn’t know where to go.

He didn’t know who to go to.

But maybe… deep down, he did.

Seong-je was just leaving school, bored as hell, his headphones draped around his neck, hands in his pockets, mind already wandering somewhere far away.

Until he saw Jun-tae.

The kid stood at the school gates, shoulders hunched, eyes wide and wet, breathless.

Seong-je frowned, pulling out his earphones as he approached slowly, curious.

“Ya, what are you doing here?” Seong-je asked, glancing around. “Where’s Baku?”

Jun-tae lifted his face, and the sheer panic etched across it hit Seong-je like a punch.

“T-they… they took her,” Jun-tae stammered, voice cracking.

Seong-je’s stomach tightened. “Who?”

Jun-tae’s lip trembled. “Noona. The Union… they took my noona.”

And just like that, Seong-je froze.

His breath caught, his pulse quickened, his fists curled tightly in his pockets.

Jun-tae’s voice wavered. “Please… save her—”

But before he could finish, Seong-je was already moving.

Without another word, without hesitation, his feet slammed against the ground as he sprinted down the street — heart pounding, blood rushing in his ears.

He knew where you were.

And he knew Baek-jin was waiting.

Because Baek-jin knew he would come.

When Seong-je burst into the motorcycle shop, the air was thick with anticipation.

The Union boys stood in a wide circle, their faces smug, their arms crossed, some cracking their knuckles as they turned to watch him swagger in.

In the center, Baek-jin waited — flanked by Dong-ho and Seong-mok — standing cool and composed, his smirk sharp and cruel.

And there you were.

Tied up, kneeling between them, your face bloodied, a fresh cut at your lip, your eyes wide as they flicked up — locking onto Seong-je.

“Ya! 개새끼야!” Seong-je roared, his voice echoing through the grimy space, fists clenched so tight his knuckles went white.

Your heart leapt at the sound, eyes watering as you gasped his name under your breath.

“Seong-je-ya,” Baek-jin called smoothly, stepping forward with a lazy smile. “We’ve been waiting.”

“Let her go,” Seong-je growled, his voice low and dangerous, “or I swear, I’ll kill you.”

Baek-jin’s smile widened, cold amusement flickering in his eyes. “If you’d just listened… if you’d just followed… none of this would’ve happened.”

Seong-je’s jaw tightened, his breathing heavy.

“I’m warning you,” he snarled, his voice rising. “If you don’t let her go by the count of three, I’m going to fucking kill all of you.”

The boys around the circle chuckled, exchanging amused glances.

“One…” Seong-je’s eyes darkened, his muscles coiling.

“Two…”

“Three.”

And then — like a strike of lightning — he moved.

Chaos erupted as Seong-je charged forward, fists flying, feet slamming into ribs, elbows cracking across jaws. He was a storm, tearing through the nearest men without hesitation, dropping bodies left and right.

A boy lunged — Seong-je ducked, slammed his fist into his gut, then grabbed another by the collar, throwing him into the wall. Two more rushed him; Seong-je spun and knocked them down in a blur of sharp, brutal hits.

Baek-jin stood calmly at the center, watching with a faint smirk as Dong-ho and Seong-mok stepped forward.

Seong-je let out a low, cold laugh, rolling his shoulders as they approached. “개자식들, come on,” 

Dong-ho lunged — Seong-je met him head-on, fists colliding, bodies slamming together. Seong-je moved like a beast unleashed, landing blows that sent Dong-ho staggering, slamming a knee into Seong-mok’s side, throwing punch after punch.

But then, just as another boy fell, Seong-je paused, his chest heaving.

His eyes swept the room — and his voice turned deadly quiet.

“Which one of you fuckers…” his gaze sharpened, blazing with fury, “…did that to her face?”

The room fell silent.

No one answered.

Seong-je stormed over, grabbing one of the downed men, twisting his arm back hard. “Tell me who!”

“D-Dong-ho-hyung…” the boy stammered, voice shaking with fear.

Slowly, Seong-je turned, his eyes locking onto Dong-ho like a predator locking onto prey.

And then — he snapped.

Seong-je charged, tackling Dong-ho to the ground, fists raining down, punch after punch after punch, his breath ragged, his face twisted with pure rage.

“Geum Seong-je!”

Baek-jin’s sharp voice cut through the chaos.

Seong-je froze, breath hitching.

He looked up — and his stomach dropped.

Baek-jin stood just a few feet away, his arm coiled tightly around your neck, lifting you slightly off the ground. You struggled, gasping, your fingers clawing at his grip, your face red and panicked.

“Let him go…” Baek-jin said coolly, his smirk widening, “…or I hurt her worse.”

Seong-je’s fists trembled in the air — then slowly, reluctantly, he let Dong-ho fall from his grasp, backing away with clenched teeth.

Baek-jin gave a soft laugh — and without another word, he shoved you roughly to the floor.

You hit the ground with a choked cry, your body curling in on itself.

Baek-jin turned, hands casually in his pockets, Dong-ho and Seong-mok trailing behind him, battered but still smirking.

“Ya,” Baek-jin called over his shoulder, voice dripping with venom. “You’re dead, you know that, right?”

Then they were gone, the door slamming shut behind them.

The second they left, Seong-je rushed to your side, dropping to his knees.

“Ya, are you okay?” he murmured, his voice shaking just slightly.

You winced as his fingers gently brushed the side of your face, tracing the bruise blooming across your cheek.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered softly, his voice low and raw.

For a long moment, you just stared at each other — the chaos fading around you, leaving only the sound of your shaky breaths and the faint thud of his heart pounding in his chest.

“I’ll take you to the hospital,” Seong-je said firmly, his hand hovering near your arm.

You shook your head quickly, wincing slightly. “No… they’ll call my parents.”

“Then to yours—”

“I don’t want Jun-tae to see me like this,” you whispered, lowering your gaze.

Seong-je frowned. “He already knows. He was the one who told me.”

“I don’t care,” you murmured stubbornly, eyes glistening, voice tight.

He let out a deep sigh, running a hand through his hair. “Come with me.”

He held out his hand.

You stared at it for a long moment — hesitating, your breath trembling. But then, slowly, you placed your hand in his.

His fingers curled gently around yours, and without another word, he led you through the night.

When you arrived, you blinked in surprise. His place was… small. Tidy, but quiet. You stood awkwardly at the entrance of his room, glancing around.

“Ya, I’m not going to pull anything,” he said quickly, hands raised in mock surrender, the faintest smirk playing at his lips. “I promise.”

Your eyes narrowed slightly. “Where are your parents?”

He paused, glancing over his shoulder.

“They’re barely here,” he muttered. “My mom passed. My dad works overseas.”

Your breath caught softly. “I’m sorry,” you said quietly, your voice gentle.

He shrugged it off, grabbing a small plastic box from the shelf — a worn, half-used medicine kit — and sitting down across from you.

You stayed frozen in place until his hands reached forward, gently cradling your face.

He tilted your chin up carefully, his fingers cool but light as they traced near the cut on your cheek, his brows furrowed as he inspected every mark.

“I’m gonna kill those motherfuckers,” he muttered under his breath, eyes darkening, his jaw clenching tight.

You winced as his thumb accidentally brushed over the edge of the cut.

“Ya, did they hurt you anywhere else?” he asked softly, his eyes flicking briefly down your arms, scanning carefully for bruises.

“No,” you murmured, shaking your head.

He let out a quiet sigh of relief, his shoulders relaxing just a little.

Opening the medicine kit, he grabbed a small bottle of ointment and gently dabbed some onto a piece of cotton.

“It might sting a little,” he warned softly, his voice a notch quieter, more careful.

You nodded faintly, watching him as he leaned in, his brows furrowed in focus, his usual cocky smirk gone, replaced by a kind of quiet determination.

For a moment, you just sat there, staring at him, a strange warmth flickering in your chest.

How is this… the same person everyone’s afraid of?

As he worked — slow, precise, careful not to hurt you more than necessary — you felt your heart squeeze tight, your head swirling with confusion, fear, and something you couldn’t yet name.

“Thank you,” you murmured softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Seong-je paused, his hands still for a moment as he stared at you.

A flicker of something pained crossed his face.

“It’s my fault,” he muttered under his breath. “I swayed… I hesitated. I should’ve just…”

“No,” you cut in gently but firmly, lifting your eyes to meet his. “You shouldn’t have to answer to him anymore.”

He blinked, taken aback by the quiet strength in your voice, his gaze locking on yours.

Then, ever so slowly, a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

“You’re driving me crazy, you know that, right?” he murmured, his voice dropping lower, rougher, something playful but aching threaded underneath.

You let out a shaky breath, your chest tightening.

“You don’t even know me,” you whispered, shaking your head faintly.

His smirk deepened slightly, but his eyes softened.

“Will you let me?” he asked quietly.

You froze.

Your heart thudded hard in your chest as the weight of his words hung in the air between you.

After a long moment, you whispered, “I still don’t trust you.”

For the first time, you saw his expression falter, his face slipping just a little — the cocky confidence dimming, a flicker of something vulnerable shining through.

“I don’t blame you,” he murmured, looking down, almost sheepish.

You hesitated, feeling the words catch on your tongue.

“But…” you breathed softly, “…I don’t hate you anymore.”

His head shot up, surprise flashing in his eyes.

Slowly — almost shyly — a smile stretched across his face, something more genuine, less sharp, curling at his lips.

“I can take that,” he murmured with a small chuckle.

And for a long, quiet moment, you both just sat there, staring at each other in the stillness — two people caught somewhere between chaos and something new, not quite sure what would come next.

The room fell into a hush, the dim light casting long, gentle shadows across the small space.

You sat there quietly, hands resting on your lap, feeling the faint sting of the ointment still cooling on your skin. Across from you, Seong-je stayed frozen — elbows on his knees, body leaned slightly forward, his sharp, watchful eyes now strangely soft.

Neither of you spoke.

Neither of you needed to.

There was something suspended in the air — fragile, unfamiliar, but undeniable.

You shifted slightly on the edge of the bed, eyes dropping to the floor. “You’re really not what I expected…” you murmured quietly, more to yourself than to him.

Seong-je let out a soft laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re not what I expected either.”

You lifted your gaze, meeting his eyes again.

For once, there was no teasing grin, no smug smirk — just a quiet, unguarded look.

He ran his fingers roughly through his hair, exhaling slowly. “You should rest.”

You hesitated. “I should go home soon…”

“I’ll walk you.”

“I don’t want Jun-tae to see me like this,” you said again, your voice small. “He’ll just worry.”

Seong-je tilted his head slightly, studying you, his lips quirking upward in a faint, almost bittersweet smile. “You’re too good at worrying about everyone else.”

You sat there, your knees almost brushing, your breaths mingling faintly in the quiet.

For a moment, you allowed yourself to just… look at him.

This boy who everyone feared. This boy who’d hurt people, destroyed things, followed the most dangerous man you knew. And yet here he was, sitting across from you, patching up your wounds, looking at you like you were the one thing in the world pulling him back from the edge.

Your heart twisted strangely in your chest.

You reached up, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Thank you… really.”

His eyes flicked up, catching yours again.

For a heartbeat, it felt like the whole room held its breath.

“…Yeah,” he murmured softly. “Anytime.”

Neither of you moved — just quietly watching, quietly wondering, quietly unsure what this meant, or what might come next.

The next day, the boys huddled together in the corner booth of a small restaurant, their heads low, their voices tense. Plates of barely touched food sat between them as they tried to figure out their next move.

“Ya, we don’t know anything,” Gotak muttered, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “We need someone on the inside — someone who actually knows what Baek-jin’s planning.”

“Hyo-man?” Jun-tae offered hesitantly. “He’s been trying to get in deeper, hasn’t he?”

Gotak snorted. “Yeah, trying. He won’t know shit.”

Baku let out a long sigh, tapping his chopsticks restlessly on the table. Si-eun sat quietly at the end, arms crossed, eyes sharp but pensive.

Just then, the soft jingle of the restaurant’s bell echoed across the room.

They all turned, their shoulders tensing, eyes narrowing.

Footsteps approached — slow, deliberate.

And then Seong-je appeared, stepping up to their table, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

Without a word, he dropped a thick stack of papers onto the center of the table.

The boys froze.

“This,” Seong-je said smoothly, “is a list of every motorcycle they stole last year. And a list of every active Union member.”

The table went dead silent.

“Why…” Si-eun finally spoke, his voice calm but wary, “…are you giving this to us?”

Seong-je’s jaw tightened slightly. His gaze flicked briefly to Jun-tae, then softened just a fraction. “They hurt Y/N,” he said simply, his voice rough. “They’re dead to me.”

The boys exchanged stunned glances.

For a long beat, no one spoke — until Baku suddenly grinned and shoved a chair out with his foot, motioning for Seong-je to sit.

“Ya, am I one of the good guys now?” Seong-je teased lightly, flashing his usual cocky grin as he slid into the seat.

The others didn’t smile.

“We still don’t trust you,” Gotak said flatly, eyes narrowing.

“But we need your help,” Jun-tae added softly, glancing between them.

Slowly, the tension cracked just a little as the group leaned in closer, their heads lowering again, the papers spread out before them.

And just like that, the planning began — a strange, uneasy alliance forged between old enemies and unlikely allies, bound together by revenge, loyalty, and the hope of finally breaking the Union’s grip.

The next day, you came home expecting to find the usual four boys — Jun-tae, Baku, Gotak, and Si-eun — gathered in your living room, sprawled out over notebooks, snacks, and half-baked plans.

But the moment you stepped through the door, you froze.

There was a fifth.

Seong-je.

He sat casually among them, legs stretched out, his usual smirk tugging at his lips as if he owned the place.

“What’s he doing here?” you asked sharply, eyebrows arching.

Seong-je just gave you a lazy wave.

“Noona, he’s helping us,” Jun-tae said quickly.

“Really?” you narrowed your eyes, turning to Gotak for confirmation.

“Yup,” Gotak muttered with a resigned sigh. “He gave us the names of all the Union members and a list of the stolen bikes.”

“…Okay then.” You raised your hands in surrender, making your way toward the kitchen.

Behind you, the boys huddled closer, deep in strategy mode — until you heard a chair scrape back.

“Give me a second,” Seong-je muttered to them, and you caught the sound of his footsteps following you.

“Ya! If you’re just going to flirt, then get lost!” Gotak called out, earning a loud chuckle from Baku.

You spun around as Seong-je appeared behind you, a grin on his face.

“See? Look how close we’ve gotten,” he teased, leaning slightly closer. “We’ve been in each other’s houses.”

Your eyes widened. “미쳤어(micheosseo)?! Keep your voice down!” you hissed, panicked, glancing toward the living room. “They don’t know I was at your place!”

“Why?” he smirked, inching closer, voice low and teasing.

You let out an exasperated breath, turning away. “Won’t you be nicer to me now? I’m on the good side.”

You glanced back at him. “Are you?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Look,” you warned, narrowing your eyes, “if you pull anything, I swear—”

“I won’t,” he cut in, his voice turning quieter, more serious. “They hurt you.”

You softened slightly, letting out a quiet sigh. “Then apologize.”

“What?!” His eyes widened in dramatic disbelief, voice shooting up — loud enough that you smacked his arm to shush him.

“Apologize,” you repeated firmly.

“To who?”

“Gotak.”

“Waah, Gotak again?!” he groaned, rolling his eyes.

At the sound of his name, Gotak half-turned, raising a brow, and you hissed, “Shh!”

“And Si-eun,” you added. “You hurt them.”

“They hurt me too!” Seong-je shot back indignantly. “I had to get a fucking tetanus shot because of Si-eun!”

“I don’t care.”

“찐자 (jinja)?!” he sputtered, throwing his hands up.

You gave him a deadpan stare and nodded.

“씨발 (ssibal),” he cursed under his breath, dragging his feet as you pushed him back toward the table.

“Ya—”

“Nicely,” you warned, giving him a look.

Seong-je let out a long, dramatic sigh.

“Gotak, Si-eun… I’m sorry,” he muttered quickly, glancing back at you as if asking, Happy?

You raised an eyebrow.

He groaned again. “Ahh, Si-eun, I’m sorry for hurting you.”

Si-eun gave a small, calm nod.

“And I’m sorry for stabbing your foot—”

“Ya! I had to get a fucking tetanus shot—”

Before he could spiral, you shot him a glare.

“It’s alright,” Si-eun said with a faint smile, cutting him off.

Seong-je exhaled and turned reluctantly to Gotak.

“Gotak… I’m sorry for beating you up. And… for last year. With your knee. It was fucked up of me to do.”

This time, his voice was quieter, more serious — and Gotak’s face softened just a little.

“It’s alright,” Gotak murmured.

Then, to your surprise, Seong-je turned to Jun-tae.

“Jun-tae… I’m sorry.”

“Even if I didn’t physically hurt you… I’m sorry.”

Jun-tae’s eyes widened slightly, his head dipping in a small nod.

“Ya, this is too soft for me,” Seong-je suddenly groaned, shaking his head and waving you off. “Can we just continue already?”

You couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips.

“Hey! What about me?!” Baku suddenly piped up, pointing at himself. “Ya, what did I ever do to you, fucker?!”

“You just called me a fucker right now!” Baku shot back.

“I never beat you up, you asshole!”

“Ya!” you yelled sharply, cutting through the back-and-forth.

The room froze for half a second — then, unexpectedly, Gotak and Jun-tae burst into quiet laughter.

Si-eun shook his head, a rare smile tugging at his lips. “Let’s get back to planning, please.”

For the first time in a long while, the room felt just a little lighter.

Two days later, you were out to dinner with your friends, laughing over something Si-an had just said, a lightness in your chest you hadn’t felt in a while.

Your phone buzzed.

“Hello?” you answered, still chuckling softly, one hand covering your mouth as you tried not to interrupt the conversation at the table.

But the voice on the other end was serious — too serious.

“Y/N.”

You froze, your smile slipping.

“Baku?” you said cautiously, straightening in your seat. “What is it?”

Your heart began to pound as his tone registered in your ears.

“Is it Jun-tae?” you asked quickly, your stomach twisting, already grabbing your bag as you half-stood, instinct pulling you toward the door.

“No…” Baku said quietly. “It’s Seong-je.”

You stopped dead in your tracks.

“What?” you breathed.

“He was hit by a motorcycle,” Baku explained grimly.

Your chest squeezed tight. “What?!”

You left the table entirely, stepping out of the restaurant onto the sidewalk, the noise of the street blurring around you.

“Yeah,” Baku continued, his voice low, steady. “One of Baek-jin’s boys. They knew they couldn’t take him in a fight… so they ran him down.”

Your hand flew to your mouth, your fingers trembling. “Is he… is he alright?” you whispered.

“He’s okay,” Baku reassured you softly. “Didn’t want to go to the hospital. Says it’s just cuts, no broken bones or anything.”

You let out a shaky sigh, running a hand through your hair.

“Where is he?” you asked quietly.

“At home,” Baku said. “Resting.” He paused for a beat, letting the word linger.

You weren’t sure if he was hinting. No — you were sure. He wanted you to check on him.

“Thank you,” you murmured softly, voice tight, before hanging up.

You stood there on the sidewalk for a long second, exhaling hard, pressing your phone to your chest.

You already knew where you were heading next.

You knocked on his door, hearing muffled cursing from inside — the sound of something being knocked over, followed by an irritated groan.

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms.

A moment later, the door swung open.

There he was.

Hair disheveled, glasses off, a faint sheen of sweat on his skin. His bare torso was covered in hastily wrapped bandages, angry red cuts peeking out between the white gauze.

Your breath hitched.

“Why are you here?” Seong-je muttered, his voice rougher than usual.

“Are you okay?” you asked softly, your eyes sweeping over him, heart tightening at the sight.

He gave a low, breathy chuckle, shaking his head slightly before stepping aside to let you in.

Inside his room, the air was quiet, almost still. His first aid kit was spread open on his desk, bloodied tissues, ointment bottles, and gauze scattered messily across the surface.

He’d managed to cover most of the wounds on his own, but a few raw cuts still lined his torso, some on his cheek and jaw, faint but ugly.

“Let me,” you said quietly.

He paused, blinking in surprise, then slowly sat down on the edge of his bed, exhaling a long, tired breath.

You sat beside him carefully, pulling the first aid kit onto your lap.

As you dabbed at a cut on his side, he winced slightly, the muscles under your fingers tensing. Your hands trembled just a little.

“Ya,” he murmured with a teasing grin, “you’re worried about me, huh?”

You narrowed your eyes, pressing the cotton against his skin a little harder.

“Ow—shit! Okay, okay,” he chuckled, raising his hands in surrender. “Look, we’re even now. I patched you up, now you patch me up.”

Despite the words, there was something softer, something quieter in his voice.

“Hey…” he murmured suddenly, his hand reaching up, brushing gently against your cheek.

You froze, eyes wide, pulse jumping.

His fingers lingered, just slightly. His dark eyes searched yours carefully, almost as if realizing — maybe for the first time — just how much you cared.

“I’m alright,” he said softly, his voice low, slow, more serious now.

For a long second, neither of you moved.

Then you quickly ducked your head, clearing your throat, and went back to tending his wounds, your face warm as he watched you closely, something heavy sinking in his chest.

“Who told you?” he asked quietly.

“Baku.”

Realization flickered across Seong-je’s face.

Baek-jin had done this to him — his so-called friend, his so-called boss. And yet it was the Eunjang boys — Baku, Gotak, Jun-tae — who had carried him here. And you who had come to check on him.

His fists clenched slightly on his knees.

“What?” you asked softly, noticing his silence.

“It’s nothing,” he muttered, shaking his head.

You finished wrapping the last cut, carefully setting the supplies aside, packing away the first aid kit.

You rose to leave — but before you could take a step, his hand shot out, wrapping gently around your wrist.

You turned, startled — only to find yourself pulled closer, his face just inches from yours.

“Thanks,” he murmured quietly, his voice low, his eyes locked onto yours.

For a moment, the air shifted — the space between you narrowing, the unspoken weight of something pressing in, pulling taut.

His gaze flicked briefly to your lips, just once.

Your breath hitched softly, your heart hammering in your chest.

“I… I should go,” you whispered, breaking the moment, pulling back gently.

He let you go, watching you carefully, his jaw tightening slightly, his chest still.

You slipped out the door, the cool night air hitting your skin — but even as you walked away, you felt the ghost of his touch lingering on your wrist.

And behind you, Seong-je sat quietly, alone in the dim light, heart pounding with a new kind of ache he hadn’t expected.

The next few days, you found yourself seeing Seong-je more often.

He didn’t stop waiting for you after school — lingering near the gates, leaning casually against the fence, smirk tugging at his lips the moment you appeared. This time, though, you let him walk with you. You even let him sit beside you at the pojangmacha stand, where he kept wordlessly buying you tteokbokki every time.

Little by little, you began to get to know him more. You still kept a cautious distance — you didn’t trust easily — but the wall between you was starting to crack, just a little.

At home, he was showing up more often too.

He’d slip into your living room like he belonged there, dropping onto the couch beside the boys, arms stretched over the backrest, legs spread out like a lazy cat. Surprisingly, the atmosphere between him and the others had slowly become less tense — Baku, Gotak, Si-eun, even Jun-tae — all gradually warming to his presence.

One night, they were gathered again, scattered across the living room, papers and notebooks spread out as they planned. You were half-watching them from the kitchen, half-focused on a cup of tea in your hands.

“Seong-je, are there any Union members who don’t know you left?” Jun-tae asked carefully.

“Nah,” Seong-je replied with a shrug. “Pretty sure they all know by now I’m out.”

“Is there a way you can check if Baek-jin hasn’t changed the account details yet?” Si-eun asked, his brow furrowed.

“Yeah, I can swing by the bank tomorrow,” Seong-je said, running a hand through his messy hair, thinking aloud about how to access the Union’s dirty money trail.

“Ya, or you could just pretend to apologize to Baek-jin, get back on his good side, and spy for us,” Gotak teased.

Seong-je let out a loud scoff. “No way.”

“I think it’s a good idea,” Baku chimed in, grinning as the others quickly piled on.

“YA! Why do I have to do that, huh?! Why would I beg forgiveness from that fucker?!” Seong-je whined dramatically, stomping his foot like a sulky kid.

From the kitchen, you couldn’t help the soft giggle that slipped past your lips.

Seong-je immediately turned to look at you, his eyes glinting. “Ah, so I’m making you laugh now?” he teased, flashing a crooked grin.

You narrowed your eyes, shaking your head, but the warmth in your chest betrayed you.

“You know,” Baku said with a playful sigh, gesturing between you two, “I don’t know if I’m ever gonna get used to that.”

“Y/N, why couldn’t you like me, huh?” Baku added dramatically, puffing out his chest. “I’m much better than him.”

That was enough to make Seong-je shoot upright on the couch. “씨발 (ssibal), I’m gonna gouge your eyes out!” he barked, making a lunge, but Gotak grabbed his arm, groaning. “YA, cut it out!”

You smirked from across the room. “Who says I like Seong-je?” you teased lightly, pretending to refocus on the tea in your hand.

Seong-je froze mid-reach, his head whipping toward you, a teasing glint flickering in his eyes.

“Ya, Y/N…” he began, but you just laughed, standing and heading toward your room.

Later that night, after the planning wound down, you sat on your desk, surrounded by open textbooks, your pen tapping absently on the page. You heard a gentle knock on your door.

“Come in,” you called, expecting Jun-tae.

But it wasn’t Jun-tae.

It was Seong-je.

He leaned casually against the doorframe, a lopsided grin on his lips.

“Do you really not like me?” he asked, a teasing lilt in his voice.

You didn’t look up from your textbook, smirking faintly. “I said I didn’t hate you.”

You heard his soft footsteps cross the room — and then suddenly, he was there, leaning down over you, one hand on either side of your chair, caging you in.

Your breath hitched, pulse quickening as you froze, eyes wide.

“You sure about that?” he murmured, his voice low, lips brushing teasingly close to your ear.

You shivered slightly, heart hammering in your chest — and then, just as suddenly, he pulled back, laughing softly to himself as he walked away, leaving you speechless, your face burning, your fingers gripping your pen tight.

Outside your door, Seong-je smirked to himself.

Inside, you sat frozen, wondering just how much longer you could keep pretending you weren’t affected.

The next few days were a blur of planning.

Seong-je had managed to get proof of the Union’s bank accounts — but it hadn’t been enough. Baek-jin had already moved faster, changing all the passwords and tightening his grip.

Even so, Seong-je stayed close, walking you home from school every day without fail, his watchful eyes scanning every corner, every alley, as if daring the Union to try anything again.

But then, one day, he wasn’t there.

You felt it the moment you stepped outside the school gates — the strange, hollow absence, the tightening in your chest.

You walked home quickly, your mind churning, trying to brush it off. Maybe he got held up. Maybe he’s meeting with Baku.

But when you pushed open your front door, your heart dropped.

There they were — Si-eun, Jun-tae, and Gotak — sitting together on the living room floor, shoulders tense, faces tight with worry. Papers were scattered between them, untouched.

Your bag slid off your shoulder.

“What happened?” you asked urgently, stepping closer.

Jun-tae let out a heavy sigh, rubbing his hands over his face. “Baku and Seong-je… they’re back with the Union.”

Your chest squeezed painfully. “What?!”

Gotak leaned forward, frowning deeply. “The Union’s been after Baku’s dad — his family almost lost their business. And Seong-je…” he trailed off, shaking his head. “There has to be something they have on him. I don’t think he’d just go back to Baek-jin for no reason.”

You exhaled sharply, sinking into the nearest chair, your mind racing.

“So… what are you doing now?” you asked, your voice tight.

Si-eun looked up, his calm, sharp eyes glinting with determination.

“We have to get them back,” he said simply.

Jun-tae and Gotak both nodded, their faces set with quiet resolve.

You pressed your lips together, heart pounding.

For a long, heavy moment, the room sat in tense silence — each of you knowing that what came next could change everything.

The heavy clang of the bowling alley door echoed as Baku stepped inside, shoulders squared, eyes sharp.

The Union boys turned lazily toward him, laughter bubbling up as they exchanged smirks.

Look at him. The once-proud Baku, now among them, dancing to Baek-jin’s tune, trapped under the weight of family threats and impossible choices.

Baku clenched his fists slightly, ignoring their looks as he made his way toward the back.

Then the office door creaked open.

Out stepped Seong-je.

Cigarette already between his fingers, his dark eyes glinting under the hazy light, his face carefully blank.

“Ya, what the hell are you doing here?!” Baku hissed, striding toward him, disbelief flickering across his face.

Seong-je smirked faintly, exhaling a slow stream of smoke. “Could ask you the same, Baku.”

Without another word, Baku jerked his head, motioning toward the side exit.

Outside, in the dim, chilly alley, Baku exhaled roughly.

“Baek-jin cornered me,” he muttered bitterly. “He went after my dad — threatened the shop, threatened everything. I didn’t have a choice.”

Seong-je gave a dry, hollow chuckle, flicking ash to the ground.

“He’s got something on me too,” he murmured darkly, his smirk slipping, his voice turning grim.

Baku frowned. “What? What could he possibly—”

Seong-je inhaled deeply, jaw clenching.

“He paid off staff at Y/N’s school.”

Baku froze, his eyes widening slightly.

“Baek-jin told me,” Seong-je continued quietly, “if I don’t fall in line… if I don’t act like his loyal dog again…” His fists tightened at his sides. “…he can hurt her. Anytime. Inside her own school. And no one would stop it.”

Baku swore under his breath, pacing a step back.

“For a second,” he muttered, shaking his head, “I thought you’d flipped on us for real…”

Seong-je let out a humorless laugh, tilting his head back. “Good. Wouldn’t want you too comfortable around me.”

Baku gave a small, uneasy chuckle, eyes still shadowed with worry. “You scared me, man.”

“Good,” Seong-je repeated softly, but his voice lacked its usual bite.

“So… what’s Baek-jin making you do?” Baku asked cautiously.

“Wants me to rough up some guys,” Seong-je said with a shrug, like it didn’t matter, though his jaw tightened just slightly.

“And you’re okay with that?” Baku asked quietly, searching his friend’s face.

Seong-je exhaled slowly, eyes flicking away. “If it keeps them off Y/N… I’ll do it.”

Without another word, he stubbed out his cigarette, turned on his heel, and disappeared back inside, leaving Baku standing in the alley, heart pounding with the terrible realization.

Baek-jin wasn’t just controlling Seong-je through loyalty.

He was controlling him through you.

You didn’t know what you were doing — not really.

Your feet carried you here without permission, heart pounding hard as you stood before Seong-je’s door.

You weren’t sure if he was even home.

But still, you raised your fist and knocked — once, twice.

You heard shuffling behind the door, then the sound of the lock clicking.

When it swung open, there he stood.

Hair tousled, hoodie slung haphazardly over his shoulders, cigarette loose between his fingers. For a flicker of a second, his eyes widened — almost surprised, almost uncertain — before his usual smirk slid smoothly back into place.

“What?” he said flatly, voice cool, eyes sharp.

You took a breath, steadying yourself. “Are you… really back with the Union?”

“Yup,” he answered without hesitation, lighting his cigarette with a casual flick.

“Why?” you asked quietly, your voice tight. “Why, Seong-je?”

He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head, eyes gleaming with mockery. “Damn, I must be a good actor, huh? Fooled you pretty well, didn’t I?”

Your stomach twisted. “What are you talking about?” you whispered. “I thought you were… I thought…”

He leaned lazily against the doorframe, exhaling a curl of smoke. “Did you actually think,” he murmured, eyes narrowing, “that I was some kind of hero now? 씨발 (ssibal), are you really that naive?”

You stepped back slightly, blinking hard. “Why are you doing this?”

“Why?” he echoed with a grin. “Because it’s who I am. You thought one or two good deeds suddenly changed me? Please.”

You clenched your fists, fighting the sting at the back of your eyes. “I hate you,” you whispered, voice trembling.

For a split second — just a flash — his face fell.

Something raw, something cracked, flickered in his eyes.

But then the smirk snapped back into place.

“Like I fucking care,” he sneered. “Go cry to the Eunjang boys, huh? Wish them luck — they’re gonna need it.”

“Why are you pushing me away?” you burst out, your voice rising despite yourself. “I know you, Seong-je — I know you’re not doing this because you want to.”

He let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “You don’t know shit about me, Y/N.”

“I do!” you shot back, chest tightening. “I know you’re scared — but you’re not scared for yourself. You’re scared for—”

“Stop,” he cut in harshly, his voice suddenly sharper, rougher.

You froze, breath hitching.

“Just go,” he said, quieter now, eyes flicking away, jaw clenching. “Before you make it worse.”

“Worse?” you echoed, heart pounding. “What could be worse than—”

“Please,” he muttered through gritted teeth, turning slightly, one hand scrubbing through his hair. “Just leave.”

You stared at him, chest tight, heart aching, eyes burning.

“…I hate you,” you whispered one last time, and this time, it was meant to hurt.

But as you turned and stormed down the hall, you missed the way his shoulders sagged, the way his head dropped, the way his fist clenched so tight it trembled.

Inside, after the door slammed shut, Seong-je let out a ragged breath, pacing back and forth, running his hands through his hair.

“Shit,” he whispered under his breath, heart pounding painfully in his chest.

If they saw her here… if Baek-jin knows she came…

He squeezed his eyes shut, cursing softly to himself.

He had to figure out what to do — before Baek-jin made the next move.

ou were stupid.

So, so stupid.

You gripped your bag tighter as you stormed down the street, blinking hard against the burning in your eyes.

How could you have let yourself believe — even for a second — that he was changing? That he was different with you?

You were beginning to—

No.

You didn’t even want to finish the thought.

You just wanted him out of your head. Out of your heart. Out of your life.

You clenched your fists at your sides, your steps quickening as you tried to walk it off, to shake off the painful twist in your chest.

But no matter how fast you walked, no matter how many times you told yourself you were done — his voice, his smirk, the flashes of vulnerability he let slip — they clung to you like a shadow you couldn’t outrun.

You hated him. You hated that you didn’t hate him enough.

And you hated yourself most of all for caring.

Days passed, each one dragging heavier than the last.

You could feel the weight hanging over the boys — the hollow spaces where Baku and Seong-je used to sit, the sharp drop in laughter, the tense silences during planning sessions.

But you refused — flatly refused — to even mention Seong-je’s name.

Not when Jun-tae glanced at you nervously. Not when Gotak sighed under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck. Not even when Si-eun gave you those long, knowing looks, as if waiting for you to break the silence first.

You wouldn’t. You couldn’t.

One night, Jun-tae came to you quietly, pulling you aside.

“Noona… me and Gotak — we’re going to wait by the motorcycle shop tonight.”

You frowned sharply. “What? Why?!”

“We’re going to try to raid the office. See if we can get evidence — something we can use against Baek-jin.”

“Are you insane?! You can’t—”

“We have to try,” Jun-tae cut in softly, his eyes wide, scared but determined.

Hours later, everything fell apart.

They were caught.

You sat at home pacing, heart hammering, until the door burst open — and there they were: Jun-tae and Gotak, bruised, battered… but alive.

And behind them — Baku.

You froze in shock as Baku stepped forward, his expression tired, his shoulders slumped with exhaustion and shame.

“Baku…” you breathed, eyes wide. “You’re—”

“I’m back,” he muttered quietly, glancing away.

Jun-tae sat down heavily on the couch, wincing in pain, while Gotak rubbed his arm where a fresh bruise bloomed.

You turned back to Baku, searching his face. “Where’s…?”

You stopped yourself.

You refused to finish that sentence.

Baku looked at you carefully, guilt flickering across his face.

“…He’s still there,” Baku admitted softly. “Seong-je… didn’t come back with me.”

Your heart twisted sharply.

You swallowed hard, turning quickly, wiping at your eyes before anyone could see.

As if things weren’t bad enough, a few days later, you got the call.

Si-eun had been in an accident.

The news hit all of you like a punch to the chest.

You visited him almost every day, sitting quietly at his bedside, holding his hand, your heart aching as you watched your careful, calculating friend lying still, bandaged and pale.

And yet, even in that hospital room, you felt it — a prickling at the back of your neck, a flicker of instinct you couldn’t shake.

One evening, as you stepped out of Si-eun’s room, you were sure you caught a glimpse of him.

Seong-je.

Standing just at the end of the hallway, hovering in the shadows, his eyes flicking quickly away the moment you turned.

You stood frozen, breath caught in your throat.

But when you looked again — he was gone.

You shook your head hard, pressing your hands to your face. “I’m imagining things,” you whispered to yourself. “I have to be.”

But deep down… you weren’t sure if that was the truth.

Jun-tae staggered backward, blood dripping from his nose, his arms shielding his face as another kick slammed into his ribs.

The Union boys circled him like wolves — furious, cruel.

“You little shit,” one of them spat. “Thought you’d be smart and show that document to the police?”

The original evidence was gone — burned hours ago — but Jun-tae still had a photo. He refused to delete it.

So they kept hitting him.

Over and over.

He was barely upright now, gasping, one eye swelling shut — until he heard it.

Footsteps.

Descending the stairs with lazy, measured weight.

A figure emerged through the smoke and shadows.

Seong-je.

His hoodie was half-zipped, hair a mess, cigarette tucked between his fingers. He looked like he’d just been woken up — and he was not happy about it.

“Ya, what the fuck are you doing?” he grumbled, voice low and gravelly. “I’m trying to fucking sleep.”

The Union boys turned, startled.

“Roughing up this rat,” one of them said. “He tried to give a document to the cops — something that could screw us over.”

Seong-je’s eyes swept over the scene, finally landing on Jun-tae — bruised, bleeding, barely holding himself up.

“So?” he asked coldly, taking a drag from his cigarette.

The Union boys blinked in confusion.

“What do you mean, so?”

“I mean so what?” Seong-je said again, his tone flat. “What are you scared of? A high school kid with a phone?”

“Seong-je-ya…” Jun-tae whispered, barely audible, his voice raw.

“Ya, shut up—” one of the boys growled, raising a foot to stomp him again—

But before the kick could land—

“씨발 (ssibal) , let him talk,” Seong-je snapped, eyes flashing.

The room stilled.

Jun-tae coughed, trying to sit up. “It’s… it’s okay now,” he muttered. “The staff… at her school… they’re gone. Fired.”

Seong-je’s head snapped toward him.

“What?”

Jun-tae winced. “Si-eun… he had the files. They were dirty. The ones Baek-jin paid. They’re gone now.”

Seong-je stared, cigarette paused halfway to his lips.

“You don’t… have to stay anymore,” Jun-tae continued, his voice trembling. “You can go. She’s safe.”

For a long moment, Seong-je didn’t move.

Then one of the Union boys scoffed. “Let’s just shut this little bastard up for good—”

But before he could blink, Seong-je was already moving.

CRACK.

His fist connected with the boy’s jaw, sending him sprawling to the ground.

Another came at him with a pipe — Seong-je ducked, drove his elbow into his ribs, then slammed his head into the wall.

Two more rushed in — Seong-je spun, caught one by the shirt, dragged him down, and slammed his knee into his face. The last tried to run, but Seong-je grabbed the back of his hoodie and dragged him to the floor.

One by one, he made them kneel, breathing hard, eyes blazing, cigarette somehow still tucked in the corner of his mouth.

Jun-tae sat slumped on the couch now, watching through one swollen eye.

The gates burst open — and Gotak and Baku came rushing in.

“Jun-tae!” Gotak yelled, eyes widening at the sight.

And then they froze — seeing Seong-je standing calmly, towering over four bruised Union boys kneeling like children caught misbehaving, lighting another cigarette like it was nothing.

“Seong-je-ya…” Baku said breathlessly, almost laughing. “I fucking knew you’d pull through.”

Seong-je gave him a slow, crooked grin. “Took you long enough.”

“Y/N in the clear?” he asked, voice low.

“Yeah,” Gotak nodded, still panting. “Apparently Si-eun kept backup files — got every staff member linked to Baek-jin fired. School’s clean now.”

Seong-je let out a breath, his jaw unclenching.

“And Si-eun?” he asked after a pause.

“…Still not awake,” Baku said grimly, the weight settling over them again.

Seong-je gave a quiet nod, cigarette glowing faintly in the dark.

“Ya, we should get him out of here.” Seong-je says and Gotak puts Jun-tae on his back. 

You waited outside, pacing anxiously by the gates, ignoring every warning the boys had given you.

You refused to stay home, no matter what they said.

Your heart leapt when you saw them finally appear — Gotak carrying Jun-tae on his back, Baku trailing behind, all three bruised and exhausted.

You rushed forward.

“Jun-tae!” you cried, hurrying to help as Gotak carefully lowered your brother onto a bench.

“Are you okay?” you asked breathlessly, cupping Jun-tae’s face, scanning him for injuries.

“Yes, noona… I’m fine,” Jun-tae murmured weakly, managing a small smile despite his swollen lip.

You exhaled hard, brushing his hair back, shoulders sagging in relief.

But then, behind them —

“Ya, why the fuck did you bring her here?!”

Your head snapped up at the sound of his voice.

Seong-je stormed out from the shadows, eyes blazing, hands clenched tight at his sides.

“They could see her! Are you out of your mind?!”

Your heart twisted, but before you could stop yourself, your anger surged.

“You have no right to tell me what to do!” you shot back, spinning on him.

He froze, eyes wide for a second — taken aback by the sharpness in your voice.

“I didn’t come here for you, Seong-je!” you continued, your voice shaking. “I came here because my brother was out there!”

For a beat, no one spoke.

Then Baku stepped forward quietly. “He was protecting you, you know.”

You turned sharply. “…What?”

“Baek-jin had people in your school,” Baku explained, voice soft but firm. “Said if Seong-je didn’t go back, they’d hurt you.”

Your breath caught. You stared at Seong-je, heart pounding. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Seong-je lowered his gaze slightly, the usual smug grin absent from his face.

“…Because,” Jun-tae said softly, “…he knew you’d try to help. And if Baek-jin saw you near him, it’d only make it worse.”

Your chest tightened, your fists unclenching as you really looked at Seong-je.

He just stood there — tense, tired, his eyes flicking up for the briefest moment to meet yours, something raw and unspoken flickering behind them.

“Si-eun got the files,” Baku added. “Got those staff members fired. You’re safe now.”

You let out a shaky breath, glancing once more at Jun-tae, then back at Seong-je, the ache in your chest sharp and heavy.

The boys began moving, planning their next steps, shoulders squared with quiet determination.

You followed — and so did Seong-je, his presence heavy just a few steps behind.

Neither of you spoke, but the tension hung thick between you, every step laced with things you couldn’t say yet, but couldn’t ignore either.

The moment Jun-tae’s phone rang, you all went still.

He pressed the phone to his ear, his face pale with anxiety — until suddenly, his eyes widened.

“He’s awake.”

Your breath caught.

Without wasting a second, you all rushed to the hospital — weaving through the hallways, feet pounding against the tile, hearts racing in your chests.

When you reached Si-eun’s room, you flung open the door, almost stumbling inside.

There he was.

Si-eun lay there, pale and bandaged, but his eyes — sharp, alert, alive — slowly blinked open as he turned his head toward all of you.

A faint, tired smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You all look… like shit,” he rasped.

Jun-tae let out a shaky laugh, hurrying to his side. “Si-eun we were so worried…”

Gotak thumped him lightly on the shoulder, eyes glinting with unshed tears. “Ya, don’t ever do that again, you bastard.”

Baku grinned, folding his arms. “He’s alive and already talking shit — yep, definitely our Si-eun.”

Si-eun chuckled softly, wincing slightly at the pain in his ribs. “Baku… you’re back?”

Baku nodded, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Yeah. I’m back. About time, right?”

For a moment, the room filled with quiet laughter and soft sighs of relief — until an unexpected voice spoke up.

“Thank you.”

Everyone turned.

Seong-je stood near the doorway, arms crossed, his voice quieter than usual, his head slightly lowered.

“For keeping her safe,” he added, his eyes flicking briefly toward Si-eun.

Si-eun gave a faint, knowing smile and dipped his head slightly in acknowledgment.

You felt your chest tighten, your eyes instinctively shifting toward Seong-je — but he didn’t look at you.

Not even once.

His eyes stayed on Si-eun, his jaw tight, his expression unreadable.

And then, without another word, he turned sharply on his heel and slipped out of the hospital room, the door closing quietly behind him.

You stood frozen, staring after him, your heart pounding for reasons you didn’t fully understand — or maybe didn’t want to understand.

“Noona…?” Jun-tae’s voice tugged you back gently, his worried eyes flicking between you and the door.

You shook your head quickly, forcing a small smile as you turned back toward the others, but your mind was already racing, your chest still aching with the weight of everything left unsaid.

You told the boys you were going. None of them asked where. They just nodded — solemnly, knowingly. Because by now, they all knew exactly where you were headed.

You hated how familiar the walk had become. How your feet knew the path like muscle memory. How your heart still jumped — stupidly — every time you climbed those stairs.

You stood in front of his door, fists clenched, breathing hard. You knocked.

There was a shuffle from inside — a drawer closing, footsteps — and then the door creaked open.

Seong-je stood there. No smirk. No teasing glint in his eye.

Just him.

Tired. Guarded. Waiting.

“You should’ve told me,” you said flatly, stepping past him into the apartment.

The air inside was tense — like it always had been between you two. But this time, it was heavier.

“What the hell did you want me to do, huh?!” he snapped, following after you. “Let Baek-jin hurt you?”

“So instead, you let me hate you?”

“I never told you to!” he barked, frustration finally breaking through. “You decided that on your own. You looked me in the face and walked away.”

You turned around, eyes sharp. “I asked you. I came here and asked you what was going on — and you told me I was fucking stupid.”

Seong-je’s voice cracked as it rose. “Did you think I wanted to? You think I wanted to be the reason your eyes were full of tears?”

His chest heaved. And then, softer: “If I told you the truth… and you got hurt… I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.”

He collapsed onto the couch, head in his hands, voice quieter now.

“I thought… if I made you hate me, it would be easier. Safer.”

 “Fine. I was scared. I was scared that if I let you in — and this was all just a game for you — then it would fucking break me. So it was easier to be the asshole.”You hesitated, and suddenly it all came out.  He looked up, eyes glassy but wide.

You swallowed hard, your voice barely a whisper. “Thank you… for protecting me. And for saving Jun-tae.”

You turned to leave.

But before you could take another step, his hand shot out — firm, trembling — and grabbed your wrist.

“Do you…” He licked his lips. “Do you care about me?”

You turned, meeting his eyes. “Why else would I be here?”

His shoulders dropped just slightly — like your words hit him somewhere deep. He let out a short, broken laugh. “So stubborn…” he muttered.

His fingers brushed up your arm — slow, deliberate.

You felt your breath catch.

“I should—” you started, but the words were stolen from your lips.

Because suddenly, Seong-je’s mouth was on yours.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t careful.

It was everything he was — reckless, messy, rough around the edges. But real.

He kissed like he’d been holding it in for too long. Like he hated himself for wanting it. Like he couldn’t stop himself even if he tried.

He pulled away just slightly, his eyes wide, almost panicked.

“Y/N… I’m sorry—”

But you didn’t let him finish.

You grabbed him by the collar and kissed him back.

And this time, it was you who didn’t hold back.

Your fingers fisted in the front of his shirt as you pulled him down, kissing him hard — tasting the frustration, the anger, the heartache that had been simmering between you for too long.

Seong-je groaned softly against your mouth, his hands flying up to your waist, gripping you tight, as if afraid you might pull away. His lips moved feverishly over yours, rough and messy, biting at your lower lip, tongue sliding hungrily past your teeth when you gasped.

“Fuck…” he hissed softly as he pulled you closer, his forehead pressing to yours, breath shaky. “You’re driving me insane.”

“Good,” you whispered back, shoving his jacket off his shoulders, your own breath catching as your hands ran up under his shirt, feeling the tense heat of his skin.

He stumbled back slightly as you pushed forward, bumping into the couch. With a growl, Seong-je flipped the motion, grabbing you by the thighs, lifting you like you weighed nothing, taking you to his room and dropping you onto the bed.

Before you could even catch your breath, he was on top of you, pinning you down, his mouth crashing to yours again — all teeth and tongue and raw need.

His hands slipped under your shirt, pushing it up with impatient fingers, his palms rough as they skimmed over your bare stomach, up to your chest. His mouth trailed after, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, down your throat, nipping at the sensitive skin there.

You arched up, a soft gasp escaping your lips as his hands cupped your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples through the thin fabric of your bra, drawing a shaky moan from you.

“Seong-je…” you whimpered, hips shifting under him, pressing closer, needing more.

He cursed under his breath, sitting up just enough to yank your shirt over your head, tossing it blindly aside before ducking back down, kissing a path over your collarbone, across the swell of your breasts. His hands worked quickly, tugging at your bra strap, unclasping it, baring you to his heated gaze.

“God, you’re…” he breathed, eyes flicking up to meet yours for one trembling second before he dove back in, his mouth closing around one nipple, sucking gently, teasing it with his tongue as his fingers rolled the other between his fingers.

You let out a sharp gasp, your hands flying to his hair, tangling in the dark strands as you arched beneath him, the sensation shooting straight through you.

His hands trailed lower, fumbling at the waistband of your jeans, undoing them with a rough yank, sliding them down your legs along with your underwear in one swift motion. His eyes flicked down, pupils blown wide, and he let out a shuddering breath.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, voice tight, almost angry at himself for admitting it.

You reached up, grabbing at the hem of his shirt, pulling it up and over his head, your hands running eagerly down his chest, over the hard lines of his stomach, the faint scars and bruises from old fights. He hissed softly when your nails scraped lightly over his skin, his hips grinding down against you, making you both gasp.

When he finally pushed his pants down, freeing himself, you felt your breath hitch — the sheer need of it crashing down on you all at once.

“Seong-je…” you whispered, your voice shaking.

His forehead pressed to yours again, his eyes dark, wild, almost scared. “Tell me to stop,” he murmured, his voice rough and raw. “Tell me now, or I won’t be able to.”

You shook your head, wrapping your arms around him, pulling him closer. “I don’t want you to stop.”

That was all it took.

With a soft, broken groan, he slid inside you — slow, deep, filling you completely. You gasped, clinging to him, your nails digging into his back as you felt him shudder above you, his breath ragged, cursing softly into your skin.

“God, Y/N…” he moaned, his hips rolling slowly, drawing a sharp whimper from your lips.

He moved at first with shaky control, his pace steady but deep, his forehead pressed to yours, his mouth brushing over your jaw, your neck, your shoulder. But as your soft gasps and moans filled the room, his restraint started to crack.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he muttered, his voice breaking as his hips began to snap harder, faster, driving into you with a rhythm that left you gasping, your body arching to meet him.

Your fingers clutched at his shoulders, your legs wrapping tight around his waist, pulling him closer, needing him deeper, harder.

“Seong-je—” you whimpered, your voice high, needy.

He growled softly, burying his face against your neck as he fucked you harder, rougher, the sound of skin on skin echoing in the room, the air thick with heat and breathless moans.

Your climax hit you hard, sharp and sudden, your body tensing, your cry muffled by his shoulder as you clung to him, shaking. He let out a strangled groan, hips jerking erratically as he chased his own release, his breath shuddering against your skin as he came, spilling inside you with a rough, broken moan.

For a long moment, neither of you moved — just tangled limbs, shaky breaths, the weight of everything you hadn’t said pressing down between you.

Slowly, Seong-je lowered himself, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your temple, your cheek, your jaw — a quiet, wordless apology in every touch.

You reached up, fingers threading gently through his hair, pulling him closer until you could rest your forehead against his.

Neither of you spoke. You didn’t need to.

Because for tonight — just for tonight — you weren’t enemies, or broken promises, or missed chances.

You were just here. Together.

Finally.

The next morning, as soft morning light seeped through the windows, your eyes fluttered open.

It took you a moment to register where you were. This wasn’t your room. The sheets weren’t yours. The air smelled like smoke and laundry detergent.

And then it hit you —

You were in Seong-je’s apartment.

You shifted slightly, your body aching from sleep, and that’s when you felt it — an arm wrapped around your waist.

You turned your head slowly.

There he was.

Geum Seong-je.

Asleep beside you, his features soft, absent of the usual cocky grin or sharp glare. Just him, breathing slow, the morning light casting a faint gold over his face.

You began to move, gently trying to sit up — but his arm tightened around you, pulling you back into him.

“Sneaking off?” he murmured, his voice rough with sleep.

You sighed, settling back. “No.”

“You all right?” he asked again, quieter now, eyes blinking open.

You didn’t respond right away. You just stared at him — at the boy who once made you so angry, now holding you like you were something he was afraid to let go of.

His usual edge was gone. No sarcasm. No front.

Just concern.

“I’m all right,” you whispered. He studied your face for a moment longer. “Do you feel bad about last night?” You shook your head.

“Then what’s wrong?” he asked, lifting one hand to brush your cheek gently, the touch far softer than anyone would expect from someone like him.

“It’s just…” you hesitated. “What does it mean?”

His brow furrowed slightly. “What does what mean?”

“This. Us. I don’t want to assume—”

Before you could finish, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your lips — slow, certain, quiet.When he pulled back, his voice was low and clear.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said. “I only want you.” Your heart fluttered painfully, and before you could even speak, he pulled you closer, tucking your head under his chin.

“I know you don’t fully trust me yet. I get that,” he continued, his voice softer now, steady. “But I promise, I won’t pull anything. No mind games. No disappearing act.” You nodded slowly, burying your face into his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

He held you for a few long seconds in silence — and then his voice broke again, firmer this time. “But if anything — or anyone — threatens you again, even your friends…” He paused. “I don’t give a fuck. I’m putting you first.”And you didn’t know what scared you more: how dangerous he could be…  Or how much it meant to be chosen like that.

The next few days felt… strange. Not in a bad way. Just new. Tentative. Quietly complicated. You and Seong-je were figuring it out — whatever this was. There were no labels. No big declarations.  Just small shifts. Lingering glances. Brushing hands. He still walked you home. Still stood too close. Still smirked when you rolled your eyes.

But there was something gentler now. Something more intentional. What surprised you the most was how observant he was. Like when Baku devoured half the takeout on the table one night at your place and Seong-je, without missing a beat, scolded him:

“Ya, leave some for her, you vacuum.” You blinked, a little stunned. 

But the calm didn’t last. It never really did with your group.

Baku was the first to break it.

He slammed his palm on the table one night while you were all gathered. “That’s it. I’ve had enough. I’m challenging Baek-jin to a fight.” Silence settled.

Everyone knew what that meant — how big, how dangerous it could be. “The real challenge,” Si-eun said after a beat, “will be getting Eunjang to back us.”

Later that night, the plan began to form. “I got the bank account proof,” Seong-je said, dropping a folded folder on the table. “Transactions, names. All of it.”

“Then we give it to Hyo-man,” Si-eun said, eyeing the documents. “Let him leak it. If money is what binds the Union together, then maybe it’s what can pull it apart.”Seong-je scoffed lightly. “You really trust that clown to do it right?”

“He’ll do it,” Baku said. “That idiot’s been dying to prove himself ever since Baek-jin ignored him.”

Gotak leaned forward. “Even if we expose the accounts, not all the Union guys will leave Baek-jin. Some of them want to believe the power is still with him.”

“But if it weakens their numbers,” Si-eun added, “even just a little — it’s worth it.”

You sat quietly, absorbing every word, your gaze occasionally drifting toward Seong-je. He was serious now. Focused. But you could feel him watching you from the corner of his eye — like he was always checking, just to make sure you were okay.

The next day, the boys made their move. Gotak and Jun-tae stood in the middle of the school courtyard as the bell rang, voices steady, eyes sharp.

“We’re tired of being pushed around,” Gotak shouted. “By people who think they can use fear to stay on top.” Jun-tae stepped forward, voice clear. “Baek-jin doesn’t own this school. He doesn’t own us. And if Eunjang’s tired of being harassed, then it’s time to fight back.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd.  Some boys shifted, curious. Others nodded, eyes sparking with the familiar flicker of defiance.The seed had been planted.

You sat on your bed, legs tucked beneath you, the low murmur of the boys’ planning fading through the walls.Their voices were steady, serious — battle was close.  Eventually, you heard the door close and the sound of shoes shuffling as they left.

Moments later, Jun-tae’s door creaked shut.

And then yours opened. Without knocking, Seong-je strolled in, already tossing his hoodie onto your chair as he flopped lazily onto your bed, arms behind his head.

“I guess the war’s coming soon,” he said, voice low, almost amused. You turned from your desk, frowning. “Ya, why are you taking it so lightly?”

He scoffed. “’Cause when it’s done, it’s done. No more hiding. No more Union bullshit. Just peace. And quiet. Maybe.”

“You really want out?” you asked after a pause.He sat up slightly, brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve always looked like you enjoyed it,” you said softly. “The chaos. The fights. Like the madness gave you something to do. When it’s gone… won’t you miss it?”

He sighed, leaning his weight back on his palms. “You’re already all the fun I need,” he said with a sly wink, then patted the space beside him. You rolled your eyes. “Jun-tae’s right there.”

“We’ll be quiet,” he teased, flashing a grin that made your stomach tighten. But your question still hung between you.

“What happens,” you asked quietly, “when the fun stops?”He went quiet for a moment, watching you.Then he leaned forward, brushing the hair from your face.  “I’ll make my own fun,” he said, voice quieter now. “And I have you.”

You raised a brow. “Who says you have me, huh?”

He scoffed, crawling forward until he was kneeling in front of you, his fingers trailing slowly along your leg.“You’re still here, aren’t you?”Your breath hitched. His hand skimmed higher, slow, teasing. His voice dropped to a whisper.

“Are you mine?” he asked, eyes locked on yours.

You stayed quiet, lips parting slightly as he leaned closer, his fingertips curling under the hem of your skirt.“Are you?” he murmured again, breath ghosting against your neck.

You swallowed. “I’m yours.”A slow, victorious smile curved on his lips.  “Thought so,” he whispered.

Without another word, he wrapped his arms around your waist and lifted you gently, carrying you across the room with ease.And for a moment, even with war waiting just outside the walls, the world shrank down to the space between your heart and his.

You paced the living room, heart racing, hands trembling no matter how many times you tried to steady them.The boys had insisted you stay behind.

“You being there’ll only make things worse,” Gotak had said.  “Seong-je would lose his mind,” Jun-tae added quietly.You didn’t argue.  You knew they were right.

If Seong-je caught even a glimpse of you near the battlefield, he’d forget the plan entirely — and you couldn’t afford for anyone to get hurt because of you.

So you stayed. Alone.

The fight was brutal. The tension years in the making. The moment Eunjang stepped into the abandoned yard, fists clenched, eyes hard, the Union boys began to scatter like smoke.

And at the center of it all — Seong-je.

The Union fighters avoided him like fire. “Fucking cowards,” he muttered under his breath, yanking one of them forward by the collar and slamming him to the ground.

Every blow he dealt was precise — no wasted movement, no unnecessary force. Just the cold calculation of someone who knew exactly how to end a fight.The air in the abandoned yard was thick with dust and blood.  Baku stood across from Baek-jin — alone — fists raised, chest heaving. His face was already bruised, his stance uneven, but he didn’t back down.

Baek-jin tilted his head, his signature smirk spreading slowly. “You really think you can take me alone?”

“I don’t need to beat you,” Baku spat. “I just need to knock that crown off your head.”

Baek-jin didn’t wait. He lunged.The first punch landed heavy — Baku’s lip split immediately. He staggered, barely dodging the second blow, but caught Baek-jin in the ribs with a hard right.

For a second, it looked like a standstill. Then Baek-jin swept his leg and Baku hit the ground with a grunt, wind knocked from his lungs.Baek-jin straddled him, one knee pressing into his chest, fists slamming into his face. Until Baku stopped fighting.

Blood trickled from his nose.  His fingers twitched, but he didn’t lift his arms.Baek-jin’s voice was low and dangerous. “This is what happens when you forget your place.”

And then—

A sharp CRACK echoed through the yard. Baek-jin’s head jerked to the side as a baton collided with his jaw. He stumbled back, dazed — and standing behind him was Si-eun. His expression was stone-cold, eyes blazing with control and rage.

“You talk too much,” Si-eun said, twirling the baton once in his hand.

Baek-jin lunged, but Si-eun sidestepped smoothly, jabbing his baton into Baek-jin’s side. A second strike — clean across the back of his legs — sent him crashing to the ground.

Baku coughed, rolling onto his side, blood dripping from his mouth. Si-eun didn’t speak. He just stood over Baek-jin, breathing heavy but composed, as the rest of the boys arrived.The Union watched from a distance — none of them moved.Seong-je stepped forward last, glancing at Baek-jin’s broken form.

Baek-jin groaned, pushing himself up onto one elbow. “Ya, didn’t think I’d see you here…” he muttered, his pride barely holding together. Seong-je crouched beside him, lighting a cigarette with a lazy flick.“Well,” he said, eyes flat, “I finally found something I care about more than the chaos.”He stood again, exhaled a slow trail of smoke, and walked away — not looking back.

The Union was finished.

And Baek-jin knew it. 

Back at the house, you were still pacing.  The clock ticked too loud. Your hands were cold. You kept glancing at the door like it might open just from will alone. And then —It did.

Jun-tae entered first, bruised but upright. Gotak followed, limping slightly. Si-eun leaned on the wall for support. Baku had a cut over his brow but was smiling.

And behind them —Seong-je. Barely a scratch. Your heart finally unclenched.“It’s done,” Jun-tae said gently. “The Union’s finished.”

You let out a long, shaky breath. Relief flooded through your chest so fast it almost made you dizzy. And even before you could say anything, Seong-je stepped forward —His hand found yours, pulling you into him, forehead resting against yours.

“See?” he whispered. “Told you I’d come back.” 

“Ya, why does he get the girl?” Baku whined, dramatically pointing at Seong-je as the group sat scattered around your living room, bandaged and bruised, but alive. Seong-je didn’t even respond with words. He lunged.

Baku let out a startled yelp just as Gotak wrapped both arms around Seong-je’s waist from behind, holding him back like it was routine at this point.

“Seon-je-ya calm down!” Gotak groaned, trying not to laugh.

You just rolled your eyes from the couch. “You deserved that, Baku.”

Jun-tae, from the kitchen, muttered, “You really did.”

The group dissolved into tired, sore laughter — the kind that only came after surviving something heavy.For the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself breathe.

You lay in Seong-je’s bed, curled on his chest, his arm wrapped around you as his fingers absentmindedly threaded through your hair.

It was one of those rare moments when the city felt still, like the chaos had finally been paused, if only for a little while. “It’s done,” you whispered, your voice barely above the hum of the air outside. He nodded against your forehead. “Yeah.”

But then, after a pause, his voice turned a little heavier. “There’s always gonna be the next wave of the Union.”You frowned, lifting your head slightly. “What do you mean?”

“They’ll find someone to replace Baek-jin,” he said flatly. “There’s always another guy who wants to wear the crown.” You sighed and let your head fall back onto his chest, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “It’s never-ending, huh…”

“Yeah,” he said after a moment. “But I want no part in it.” You glanced up at him. “You better not.”

He chuckled softly, leaning down to kiss the top of your head.

“I know,” he murmured. “I won’t lose you.” You didn’t say anything after that. You didn’t need to.

You just lay there in the quiet, in the safety of each other’s presence — knowing the world could spin out again at any moment, but for now…

You had this. You had him. And he had no plans of letting go.

Epilogue

Su-ho finally woke up.

The news came in the early hours of the morning, and despite everything the boys had been through, they wasted no time. Baku, Gotak, Jun-tae, and Si-eun all made their way to the hospital that day, and when they returned — they didn’t come back alone.

“Hey,” Jun-tae called out through the house, peeking into the hallway. “Is it cool if Su-ho hangs here for a bit?”

You were already stepping out of your room before he finished the sentence, still tying your hair up, a mug of half-drunk tea in hand.

“Of course,” you said with a soft smile.

Then you saw him. Su-ho. Tall, dressed in a fresh black hoodie, baseball cap slung low over his forehead, bandage still peeking from under his collar — but already wearing his signature smirk.

“Well, well,” he said, straightening up as he took your hand, fingers brushing yours a little too smoothly. “I’m Su-ho. Basically Si-eun’s personal mentor-slash-life coach-slash-occasional backup.”

You raised a brow. “That’s… a lot of slashes.”

“Multifaceted,” he replied with a wink. “And you are?”

“Y/N.”

You took his hand briefly — but he didn’t let go right away. If anything, he held on a second too long.Which is exactly when another voice broke the air.

“Ya, why the fuck are you holding my girlfriend’s hand?” You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

Seong-je stood by the hallway entrance, arms crossed, jaw clenched, looking about two seconds away from launching across the room. You sighed — amused, not annoyed — and walked over to him, brushing your hand lightly across his arm before leaning in to kiss his cheek.

“Relax,” you teased. “Stop being so dramatic.” Seong-je didn’t move. “Didn’t like how he looked at you.”

Su-ho held both hands up with a small, disarming grin. “Alright, alright — I’m innocent. Fresh out of the hospital. Don’t wanna end up back there.”

“Ya, Seong-je, calm down,” Gotak groaned. “Don’t make this a whole thing.”

Seong-je narrowed his eyes, but muttered something under his breath and let it go — though his hand found yours a second later and didn't let go the rest of the evening.

The weeks that followed felt lighter. Not perfect — nothing ever really was — but quieter, steadier.

The boys were always around, drifting in and out of Jun-tae’s like it was headquarters. There were always leftover drinks on the table, someone passed out on the couch, and way too many empty ramen bowls.

As for you — most nights, you ended up at Seong-je’s.

He wasn’t the neatest, or the most predictable, but he’d wait up for you even when you were late. You’d find him half-asleep on the couch with the TV still on, waiting just so you didn’t have to walk in alone.

And despite his rough edges, he’d always pull you close without a word, tuck your cold hands into his hoodie, and pretend he wasn’t worried when you got home late.

Some nights, you’d share silence, his hand lazily stroking your back while you scrolled on your phone. Other nights, he’d sit beside you at the edge of his bed, playing with your fingers absentmindedly, like he needed to be touching you to believe this was all real.

You caught him staring once.“What?” you asked, suspicious.

He just shrugged, his voice softer than usual. “Just… checking you’re still here.”

You were at Seong-je’s apartment, curled up beside him on the couch. His fingers lazily traced the seam of your sleeve while your cheek rested against his chest. The TV played something soft and forgettable in the background.

It had been weeks since the fight.Weeks since bruises began to fade and the tension had finally loosened its grip.You were almost starting to believe it was over.

Then —

A knock. You sat up a little, glancing toward the door. Seong-je didn’t move.

“It’s probably Jun-tae,” you murmured.He just let out a hum of agreement.

You stood and opened the door.

And there he was — Jun-tae, standing stiff in the hallway, his hoodie soaked from the drizzle outside, face pale, almost blank.

You immediately stepped back. “What happened?”

He didn’t say anything right away. He looked at Seong-je. Then back at you. Then lowered his eyes to the floor.

“I just got a call from Si-eun,” he said, voice low. “Baek-jin’s dead.”

You didn’t understand it at first. “What?”

“They found his body. This morning. Si-eun just confirmed it.” A pause. “Stab wounds. Internal retaliation. Union’s eating itself alive.”

Silence.

No one spoke.

You turned back to Seong-je.

Just that far-off look in his eyes.

You watched him for a long moment. He wasn’t breathing evenly. His jaw was clenched, eyes stuck on the wall — like if he blinked, it would all come crashing in.

“Are you okay?” you whispered.

Nothing. Jun-tae finally stepped forward. “I thought you should know.” Then he turned, walked out without waiting for a response, the door clicking softly behind him.

The silence after was louder than anything you’d ever heard.

You sat down next to Seong-je. His hands were shaking. Barely, but enough for you to notice.

“He’s really gone,” he murmured. You nodded slowly. “Yeah.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands tangled in his hair.

“I thought I’d feel something,” he said — hollow. “Relief. Anger. I don’t know. But I don’t.”

You said nothing.

“I hated him… but I think part of me… part of me still wanted him to be alive.” His voice broke slightly. “Just so I’d have something to fight against.”

You reached out slowly, placing your hand on his back.

“You’re allowed to feel messed up about it.”

He turned to you, eyes tired, voice barely above a whisper. “What if I don’t know how to live without it? Without the chaos? Without… all of it?” You slid closer, pulling his hand into yours.

“Then we figure it out. Slowly. One day at a time.”

He looked at you, really looked at you, eyes glassy but steady. “Don’t leave,” he said.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered.

And in that small, dim apartment, with the rain tapping softly against the windows, he finally let himself fall apart — Not in anger, not in violence — Just quietly.And you stayed.

[asciendo]

What We Become Part 1

💌 Pairing: Geum Seong-je x f!Reader 📖 Genre: Action | Angst | Romance | Slow Burn | Hurt/Comfort | Gang AU | Found Family 📍 Setting: Seoul | High school & underground gang world 🚨 Warnings: Violence, blood/injury, bullying, drug use, implied sexual content (18+), trauma, toxic loyalty, strong language

Click here for Part 2

✨ Summary: You weren’t supposed to get involved. But when people start getting hurt — when your brother comes home bleeding, when the wrong boy starts looking at you like you matter — staying on the sidelines becomes impossible.

He wasn’t meant to care. You weren’t supposed to let him in.

Now, you're both tangled in something bigger than either of you can control.

And the more you try to protect the ones you love, the harder it gets to tell who's pulling you in — and who's holding you back.

Caught in the middle of the brewing conflict between Eunjang and the Union, Na Baek-jin had requested a meeting with the Eunjang boys. As expected, Gotak was wary, his guard up, while Baku figured it was worth hearing out what the Union actually wanted.

And so here they were, gathered at a café, seated across from Na Baek-jin and Geum Seong-je. Jun-tae sat nervously between Baku and Gotak, his knee bouncing under the table, while Si-eun kept to the corner, eyes locked onto their opponents.

“Look at the way this fucker’s staring at us, huh?” Seong-je chuckled, leaning back lazily in his chair.

At a nearby table, Hyo-man and his crew hovered, still trying to win favor with Baek-jin — shamelessly kissing up, desperate to stay on his good side.

The meeting began quietly, tension crackling under the surface as Baku leaned forward, folding his arms on the table. His voice carried a teasing lilt as he opened, “Ya, why’re you so desperate to drag Eunjang into the Union? Don’t you have anything better to do than hound us, huh?”

Across the table, Na Baek-jin gave a low scoff, the corner of his mouth curling into a faint smirk. His fingers drummed lazily against his cup as he replied, calm and cool, “More schools, more power. Simple as that.”

Gotak shifted beside Baku, eyes narrowing. Jun-tae swallowed hard, feeling the pressure rise in the small café, while Si-eun remained silent, gaze sharp and unmoving.

Before the meeting could continue, the soft chime of the café’s doorbell rang, drawing everyone’s attention. Three girls stepped inside, clad in the navy and white uniforms of Jungang High — sharp collars, pleated skirts, and school crests gleaming under the light.

“Jun-tae?” you called out, your voice soft but clear.

He looked up instantly — and so did everyone else.

You stood just a few steps inside, framed by the doorway. Raven-black hair fell in waves past your shoulders, your skin fair and luminous under the café’s warm lights. Your lips were a delicate cherry pink, and there was something about the way you held yourself — graceful, almost too pristine for a place like this — that made the entire table take notice.

The boys didn’t hide their reactions. Baku let out a low whistle under his breath, nudging Gotak with his elbow. Gotak crossed his arms but said nothing, his eyes narrowing in assessment. Even Si-eun glanced up from his usual spot in the corner, the slightest crease of curiosity forming on his brow.

Across the table, Seong-je leaned back in his chair, a slow grin spreading across his face

Jun-tae blinked, his mouth falling open slightly in shock. “N-Noona…?”

“Noona?!” Baku and Gotak exclaimed in unison, their eyes wide.

“You have an older sister?” Baku blurted, leaning forward with a grin.

“Yeah… well, we’re in the same year. I… skipped two grades,” Jun-tae added shyly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Of course you did,” Gotak muttered with a nervous laugh, shaking his head.

“Ya, why didn’t you tell us you had such a beautiful sister?” Baku teased, his tone light and playful, completely brushing past the tension that still hung heavy in the air.

You gave him a look — half wary, half annoyed — but your focus quickly returned to Jun-tae. You couldn’t help but notice the rough-looking boys around him, all watching the exchange with a mix of curiosity and amusement.

Why was he with them? What was going on?

“Jun-tae, come, I’ll get you a drink,” you said gently, already moving toward the cashier, casting a cautious glance at the others.

“I’m fine, noona. Really,” he murmured, voice soft.

“Ya, I said come here,” you called more firmly, giving him that familiar look only an older sibling could.

Jun-tae let out a small sigh, shoulders slumping as he pushed himself up and shuffled over to stand beside you.

Lowering your voice, you leaned in and whispered, “What are you doing here? Who are those guys?”

“They’re my friends,” Jun-tae murmured.

“All of them?!” you asked, eyebrows shooting up in disbelief. He gave a small, hesitant nod.

You stared at him, clearly unconvinced.

“We’re going, all right?” you said firmly, already reaching for his arm.

“Noona, I can’t,” he whispered quickly, pulling back just a little.

“Why not? Are they not letting you leave or something?” you pressed, your voice low but urgent, glancing warily toward the boys at the table.

“No, it’s not that… we’re just… hanging out,” Jun-tae mumbled, his eyes darting away.

“It doesn’t look like it…” Si-an, one of your friends, muttered under her breath, arms crossed as she eyed the rough crowd across the room.

“Jun-tae, you’re coming with me, all right?” you said firmly, gripping his arm. But Jun-tae shook his head again, eyes flicking nervously to the table.

You looked around — and instantly felt the weight of every stare in the room.

Except Baku, who sat slouched with his signature loose, crooked grin, as if the whole situation amused him. Across from him, Geum Seong-je, the guy with sharp glasses and a wolfish smile, leaned back slightly, eyes glinting with quiet amusement as he watched you.

Your jaw tightened. “Ya, I’m taking my brother with me, if that’s all right,” you said sharply, voice tight with frustration.

Si-an and So-hee stepped in beside you, moving closer to Jun-tae as if ready to shield him.

But before you could pull him away, another voice cut in smoothly.

“We’re not done talking,” Hyo-man said, standing slowly. He was tall and lanky, with a smug expression that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Seriously, can I take my brother with me?!” you snapped, voice rising now, your eyes locking onto the man seated beside Geum Seong-je — a pale-faced guy with sharp, cutting eyes that practically screamed danger. Something about him instantly set your nerves on edge. He hadn’t said much, but you could tell: he was the one to watch.

Without even glancing up, he spoke calmly, voice low and steady. “Go.”

Jun-tae opened his mouth, as if to protest — but Si-eun cut in quietly from the corner. “Go. It’s all right.”

Jun-tae hesitated, casting a conflicted glance back at his friends. His lips moved soundlessly as he mouthed a soft sorry to Si-eun.

As you made your way toward the café door, you were abruptly cut off — Hyo-man stepped right in front of you, blocking the exit.

“Ya, we’re not done here,” he said, a smug grin curling on his lips.

You immediately noticed the shift in the room. Baku and Gotak tensed in their seats, ready to jump in if things escalated. Si-eun sat back but watched carefully, sharp eyes locked on the unfolding scene.

But what struck you most was Jun-tae’s reaction — the way his body stiffened the moment Hyo-man stood up, his shoulders curling slightly inward, like a dog bracing for a blow.

Your fists clenched. “Are you the one hurting my brother?” you demanded, voice low and dangerous.

Hyo-man glanced back lazily at his crew, feigning innocence with a mocking tilt of his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Noona, let it go,” Jun-tae whispered, pulling lightly at your sleeve.

But you weren’t backing down. “It’s you, isn’t it,” you pressed, feeling the anger rise in your chest.

“We’re friends, right?” Hyo-man grinned, eyes flicking teasingly toward Jun-tae.

Gotak’s fists curled, jaw tight, ready to step in — but before anyone else could react, you moved.

Without thinking, you yanked your umbrella out of your bag and crack — smacked Hyo-man hard across the face.

He stumbled back, stunned, hand flying to his cheek. His crew froze, eyes wide in disbelief.

Across the room, Baku let out a sharp laugh, clearly entertained, while Gotak gaped in surprise. Si-eun leaned forward slightly, watching you with a piercing intensity. Baek-jin narrowed his eyes, calculating, while Seong-je grinned wide, eyes alight with interest as he watched you.

“Ya, YOU BITCH!” Hyo-man roared, lunging at you — but you were faster. With a swift motion, you drove your knee hard into his crotch, and he crumpled forward with a gasp.

You grabbed his face roughly, pulling him in close. “If I ever see my brother come home with bruises again, I swear I’ll kill you,” you hissed through gritted teeth.

Without another word, you grabbed Jun-tae’s arm and stormed out of the café, your friends hurrying after you.

“Bye!” Baku called out cheerfully behind you, laughing at the chaos you’d left behind.

As the café door swung shut behind you, the room stayed unusually still for a moment.

Then —

“Tsk.”

Geum Seong-je clicked his tongue softly, a grin creeping across his face as he leaned back in his chair, arms folding leisurely across his chest. His sharp eyes glinted with clear amusement, but more than that — with interest.

Beside him, Baek-jin gave the faintest smirk, while Baku let out a low whistle, still chuckling from the spectacle. Gotak exhaled deeply, shaking his head, and Si-eun’s unreadable gaze flicked briefly to Seong-je before returning to the table.

And on the ground, Hyo-man groaned in pain, clutching his stomach, the embarrassment only just beginning to sink in.

At home, you pushed open the door and stepped inside, pausing only to make sure Jun-tae was right behind you. He trailed in quietly, head lowered, his school bag slung loosely over one shoulder.

Your parents, as usual, were nowhere to be seen — gone on one of their endless work trips, barely ever home. The big townhouse was eerily silent, its wide rooms and polished floors feeling colder than usual tonight.

You kicked off your shoes and spun around, fixing Jun-tae with a sharp look. “Sit.”

Without argument, he dropped onto the couch, shoulders hunched slightly, hands fidgeting in his lap. You crossed your arms in front of him, heart still pounding from the confrontation at the café.

“Now,” you said firmly, “tell me exactly what’s going on.”

Jun-tae hesitated, biting his lip before finally glancing up at you.

“It’s… the Union,” he started quietly. “They’re a gang that’s been trying to control all the schools. They want to pull Eunjang under them, but Baku, Si-eun, and Gotak — they’re not backing down.”

You frowned. “So why were you there, Jun-tae? Why are you involved?”

He drew in a shaky breath, eyes darting away before whispering, “Because they’re my friends.”

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard.

“Baku, Si-eun, Gotak… they always protect me,” Jun-tae went on, his voice small but steady. “I didn’t used to have anyone. I was always hiding, always running away. But they… they make me feel like I can stand up, like I’m not just some coward.”

Your chest tightened slightly, anger and worry tangling together inside you.

“You don’t have to fight, Jun-tae,” you said softly but firmly. “You know that, right?”

He met your eyes, something stubborn and determined flickering in his. “I know. But I want to stop being afraid.”

“I know I can’t… physically,” Jun-tae murmured, his voice small. “But I want to help.”

You let out a slow breath, eyes narrowing. “If I see you with bruises again—”

“I know, noona, I know,” he cut in gently, giving you a tired sigh before retreating to his room.

You stood there a moment longer, arms crossed, staring at his closed door. A pang of guilt tugged at your chest. You regretted not being there more — not realizing how much he was going through.

The next day at Eunjang, the boys gathered in their usual spot for lunch, rough laughter echoing around the table.

“Jun-tae-ya!” Baku called, grinning ear to ear. “Your sister… I’m in love!” He dramatically clutched his chest, pretending to be struck by Cupid’s arrow.

“Baku, please,” Jun-tae groaned, cringing as Gotak burst out laughing beside him.

“Why didn’t you tell us you had a sister?” Gotak asked, shaking his head with a grin.

“You never asked,” Jun-tae muttered, poking at his lunch with a resigned sigh.

“She’s our age, right? What does she like? Is she single?” Baku rattled off excitedly, making Jun-tae’s head spin.

“Yes, I’m three years younger, but I skipped grades… I thought you guys knew,” Jun-tae grumbled. “And I don’t know the answers to the other questions, okay? She’s my sister—”

“Ya, Jun-tae, wouldn’t I make a great brother-in-law?” Baku teased, wiggling his eyebrows.

Smack! Gotak whacked him on the head. “Ya! You’re making him uncomfortable,” Gotak scolded, though he was laughing too.

Si-eun, calm as always, raised an eyebrow. “Was she always like that?”

“Like what?” Jun-tae asked cautiously.

“Hot. Beautiful—” Baku began, only to get smacked again by Gotak.

“I meant protective,” Si-eun clarified, shaking his head slightly, not sure how else to describe you.

“Yeah,” Jun-tae nodded quietly. “It’s just me and her right now… our parents have been gone a lot, so I guess you could say she is.”

Just then, the mood shifted as Hyo-man and his crew swaggered into the room.

“Ya, Hyo-man! How’re you feeling today?” Baku called out with a teasing grin, eyes glinting with mischief.

Hyo-man just shrugged, jaw tight, as his eyes flicked sharply toward their table — but for once, he kept his mouth shut.

Back at the Union’s bowling alley — their makeshift headquarters — the lights buzzed softly overhead, casting a pale glow across the scuffed floors and battered furniture.

Baek-jin sat at his usual spot, hunched over his desk, calmly flipping through a worn ledger as he tallied numbers — the latest profits from their stolen motorcycles. His sharp eyes stayed focused, the tip of his pen tapping softly against the paper as he worked.

On the worn leather couch nearby, Geum Seong-je sprawled out lazily, one leg slung over the armrest, a cigarette dangling from his lips as he flicked away at his phone, half-absorbed in a game.

“Well, that was interesting,” Seong-je drawled suddenly, breaking the silence.

Baek-jin didn’t look up. “What was?”

“Yesterday. The little one’s sister,” Seong-je said, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. His mind drifted easily back to the scene — the moment you’d walked into the café, the way you’d smacked Hyo-man across the face with your umbrella, the fire in your eyes. Intriguing, indeed.

Baek-jin’s pen paused. “You think she’ll be a problem?”

“Nah…” Seong-je exhaled a thin stream of smoke, smirking. “I can tail her if you want.” He sat up slightly, a flicker of excitement crossing his face as he glanced toward Baek-jin.

Baek-jin finally lifted his gaze, cool and unreadable. “Don’t do anything rash.”

“Ya, I’m just offering to help,” Seong-je said with a lazy grin, leaning forward as he stubbed out his cigarette.

Baek-jin stood, brushing past him with a faint smirk. “Careful, Seong-je. Don’t get distracted.”

As Baek-jin disappeared into the next room, Seong-je sat there alone, fingers idly drumming on his knee.

His game was forgotten, the faint glow of the screen casting light on his sharp features — and all he could think about was you.

You made your way to a different café after school, deliberately avoiding the one where you’d had yesterday’s run-in with the Union. You weren’t about to walk back into that nest of trouble.

The small corner café smelled like cinnamon and fresh coffee, and you let yourself relax just a little as you placed your order at the counter.

But just as you reached into your bag to pay, a hand slapped a wad of bills onto the counter.

You startled, whipping your head around — only to come face-to-face with him.

The guy from yesterday.

Geum Seong-je.

He stood casually beside you, tall and lean, his dark hair slightly tousled, sharp glasses perched on his nose, and an infuriatingly smug smile tugging at his lips. His whole presence oozed a kind of lazy confidence, like someone who was always three steps ahead just for the fun of it.

Before you could shove the money back onto the counter, the cashier took it with a polite smile.

“You’re welcome,” Seong-je drawled smoothly, his tone light and teasing.

You narrowed your eyes. “What do you want?” you snapped, crossing your arms.

“No thank you?” he teased, tilting his head slightly.

You brushed past him with a huff, but he easily fell into step beside you.

“Fuck off,” you muttered under your breath, shooting him a glare.

Instead of deterring him, it only seemed to amuse him more. “That doesn’t sound like a thank you,” he said with a smirk, watching you with sharp, playful eyes.

You rolled your eyes. “What do you want?” you asked again, irritation rising in your voice.

“Just wanted to meet the girl who embarrassed that loser Hyo-man yesterday,” Seong-je said lazily, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“Why?” you shot back. “Isn’t he one of your little assholes?”

He chuckled under his breath. “No, we don’t keep fuckers like him around.”

Your coffee order arrived, and you snatched it from the counter, hoping to shake him off.

“Still no thank you, Y/N?” Seong-je teased, grin widening.

You froze. “Ya — how the hell do you know my name?!”

“Asked around,” he replied smoothly, as if it were the easiest thing in the world.

With an annoyed grunt, you bumped his shoulder roughly and started walking past him.

“I’m Seong-je,” he called after you, voice lilting with amusement as you stormed off.

You spun briefly. “Why are you following me?”

He gave you a slow, sly smile. “You interest me.”

Rolling your eyes, you raised your middle finger sharply before turning on your heel.

Behind you, Seong-je let out a soft laugh, eyes glinting as he watched you walk away.

Even when you disappeared down the street, his smirk lingered.

Yeah… you were definitely someone he wanted to figure out.

You made your way home, shoulders tense as you replayed the strange encounter in your head. When you opened the front door, voices drifted from the living room.

Stepping inside, you blinked in surprise.

Jun-tae was there — with his friends.

“Ah! Y/N!” Baku shot up from the couch, a huge grin plastered on his face as he waved enthusiastically.

You stared at him, brow raised. “Seriously… you’re embarrassing yourself,” Gotak muttered, shaking his head at Baku’s antics.

“Hi, noona,” Jun-tae called nervously. “Uh, these are… my friends.” He quickly introduced them one by one.

You offered a polite nod, giving a quiet hi before slipping past them toward the kitchen. With the open floor plan, you could still see and hear them from where you stood, rifling through the fridge.

“By the way,” you called casually over your shoulder, “I bumped into that weird guy today.”

“Who?” Si-eun asked, voice calm but alert.

“Seong-je,” you said simply, glancing back.

Instantly, the room tensed.

“Where? And why?” Jun-tae asked, eyes going wide, his voice edged with worry.

“At a café,” you replied, turning to face them. You told them briefly about what had happened — the money at the counter, the teasing, the way he said you ‘interested’ him.

“Y/N, you should stay away from him,” Gotak warned firmly, his usual laid-back tone sharpening.

“Yeah,” Jun-tae nodded quickly, fidgeting with his hands. “He’s Baek-jin’s right-hand man… but not even Baek-jin can fully control him.”

You frowned. “So what’s his deal then?”

“Basically,” Baku chimed in, leaning forward on his knees, “Baek-jin points, and Seong-je destroys. He’s the kind of guy who doesn’t give a fuck — he just wants to start chaos.”

There was a pause.

“We were friends once,” Baku added quietly. “Back when I was still close with Baek-jin…” His voice trailed off.

“Long story,” Jun-tae muttered quickly, shooting you an awkward glance.

“Did he say anything else?” Si-eun asked, watching you carefully.

“He just said he was… interested in me because of what I did to Hyo-man,” you said slowly, crossing your arms.

Baku’s expression darkened slightly. “Y/N, be careful. Once Seong-je gets interested in something — or someone — he doesn’t stop.”

“Yeah,” Gotak agreed, his voice firm. “Let us know if he bothers you again.”

You gave a small, nervous nod, glancing between them before quietly retreating to your room.

As you closed the door behind you, you let out a slow breath.

It was the weekend, and the club was packed — lights flashing, music thumping through the floor. You were already tipsy, swaying slightly as you clung to your friend Si-an, laughing as she celebrated her birthday.

“Hey, I’m gonna go get a drink,” you slurred slightly, waving her off as you headed toward the bar.

But you froze in your tracks the moment you spotted the VIP section.

A table full of guys lounged there — Na Baek-jin at the center, effortlessly commanding the space. And next to him, half-sprawled in his seat with that familiar lazy grin, was Geum Seong-je.

The moment his eyes landed on you, something flickered across his face — his grin froze, eyes widening just slightly as his whole demeanor sharpened.

You narrowed your eyes, rolled them hard, and spun on your heel, heading straight for the dance floor. Hell no. You weren’t going anywhere near that table.

Laughing with your friends, you tried to shake off the tension, letting yourself get swept up by the music. But after a few minutes, you felt it — a presence behind you.

“Hi,” came a low voice right near your ear.

You tensed. “Leave me alone,” you snapped, not even turning around.

“How?” Seong-je chuckled, his breath brushing close against your neck. “You look too damn good dancing here. I couldn’t resist.”

“Get away from me,” you said sharply, twisting to glare at him.

He laughed softly, his smirk infuriating. “What? You’re gonna hit me too?”

Your jaw clenched. “What the hell do you even want from me?”

He shrugged lazily. “You’re interesting.”

That set you off. “The fact that you think I’d give you the time of day after what you did to my brother—”

“Ya, I never laid a hand on your brother,” Seong-je interrupted smoothly, eyes narrowing just slightly.

“You still played a part,” you shot back. “I know everything — how you had your boys chase him—” You couldn’t help the image flashing in your mind, of Jun-tae cornered and terrified in that underpass, fists flying.

“I was after Gotak,” Seong-je said coolly, but you were already shaking your head.

“I don’t care. You still hurt him.”

With that, you shoved him hard in the chest, feeling your own anger spike. Then you turned sharply and stormed toward the club exit, needing air — needing out.

Outside, the night air was cold against your skin, making you hug your arms tightly. As you fumbled to pull out your phone, a stranger suddenly appeared.

“Hey, you cold?” the man asked, too smoothly, stepping in close as he tried to slide an arm around your shoulders.

“No,” you said firmly, stepping away.

But he followed. “C’mon, I’m just trying to be nice—”

“I said no.”

Annoyance flashed across his face — then his hand shot out, grabbing your wrist roughly.

“Let go of me!” you barked, struggling — but before you could yank away, the man was suddenly slammed down to the pavement.

You blinked in shock as Seong-je appeared out of nowhere, landing a brutal punch to the man’s face before shoving him back down with a swift kick.

“Don’t touch what’s mine,” Seong-je muttered, each word punctuated by another heavy kick.

Finally, he straightened, brushing a hand through his messy hair as he turned to you, that maddeningly teasing smile back on his lips — but underneath it, his eyes were sharp, alert.

“You okay?” he asked, voice half-lazy, half-serious.

You scowled. “I’m fine,” you muttered.

“Let me take you home,” he offered smoothly, stepping closer.

“As if,” you shot back, rolling your eyes as you quickly flagged down a taxi.

Seong-je watched, lips curling faintly in amusement as you slid into the cab and slammed the door.

He shoved his hands into his pockets, tilting his head slightly as he watched the taxi pull away.

Yeah… you just kept getting more interesting.

Back inside the club, the bass thumped through the floor, lights flickering across the crowded room.

At the VIP table, Baek-jin sat back in his seat, his sharp eyes flicking casually toward the dance floor — toward the spot where, just moments ago, you and Seong-je had been.

But now you were gone. And so was Seong-je.

Baek-jin exhaled quietly, a faint sigh slipping past his lips as he swirled the drink in his hand. He leaned back slightly, gaze thoughtful, eyes narrowing faintly.

He knew how Seong-je got when something — or someone — distracted him.

The real question now was whether he’d have to pull his right-hand man back in line… or let him chase the chaos a little longer.

For now, Baek-jin just watched, calculating.

The next day after school, your stomach rumbled loudly. You decided to stop by a small pojangmacha near your school — the little street tent with steaming pots of tteokbokki, odeng, and hot broth. The comforting smell wafted through the cold air as you eagerly dug into your food, hoping to satisfy your hunger before heading home.

But just as you were finishing, a shadow loomed in front of you.

You looked up — and instantly groaned.

Seong-je.

He stood there in his usual casual slouch, hands in his pockets, sharp glasses catching the afternoon light, that signature lazy grin curling on his lips.

“Ya! What now!” you huffed, rolling your eyes as you quickly stuffed the last bite of food into your mouth, grabbing your bag and pushing up to leave.

But, of course, he fell right into step beside you.

“I’m just checking if you were okay after last night,” he drawled, voice light and teasing.

“미쳤어(micheosseo)?! Are you insane? Why do you keep following me?!” you snapped, turning to stomp your foot in frustration.

Only… the second you did, you realized how childish it looked, and you froze, awkwardly lowering your foot.

Seong-je’s grin widened. “Cute.”

You let out an exasperated groan, dragging your hands down your face. “Ya!” you scolded, glaring up at him.

He just laughed softly, eyes glinting with amusement.

“You think this is funny, don’t you?” you muttered, trying to walk faster — but no matter how many steps you took, he stayed right beside you.

“You’re fun,” he said smoothly, his voice dipping lower. “I like it.”

“Well, I don’t,” you shot back. “Why can’t you go bother someone else?”

But just as you spun your head to glare at him again, you weren’t watching where you were walking — your foot caught on the edge of a raised stone, and you stumbled forward.

Before you could hit the ground, you felt strong hands wrap firmly around your waist, pulling you upright.

For a moment, everything paused.

You were keenly aware of his hands still resting there, the faint pull of his body against yours, the warmth of his breath as he leaned in just slightly.

“Careful,” Seong-je murmured softly, his voice suddenly right at your ear.

Your breath hitched — just for a second — before you shoved his hands away, heart pounding.

Without another word, you turned on your heel and marched off down the street, refusing to look back.

Behind you, Seong-je watched with a slow, satisfied grin tugging at his mouth.

Yeah. You were definitely fun.

Jun-tae walked quietly along the sidewalk, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the cracked pavement. His school bag sagged on his shoulder, and his feet dragged slightly.

Baku, Gotak, and Si-eun had somehow landed themselves in detention after messing with Hyo-man’s crew, which left Jun-tae on his own today. And he hated it.

As he neared the underpass, a sharp chill ran down his spine.

A figure stepped out of the shadows.

“Well, well, look who we’ve got here,” Hyo-man sneered, his thin frame cocked confidently, hands buried in his pockets. His crew — three other guys — lingered a few paces behind, smirking, arms crossed.

Jun-tae froze, heart thudding. Slowly, he began stepping back, his breath catching.

“You think your sister can humiliate me like that and you all just walk away?” Hyo-man hissed, stalking forward.

Jun-tae’s back hit the cold wall of the underpass. His throat tightened.

“Can’t do anything without your boys, huh, little shit?” Hyo-man raised his fist, eyes gleaming with vicious delight.

Jun-tae clenched his eyes shut.

But before the punch could land, Hyo-man was yanked backward by the collar, stumbling.

“Ya! What the—?!”

Seong-je stood behind him, calm, relaxed — one hand gripping Hyo-man’s collar like it was nothing. His sharp eyes glittered with cold amusement, his expression halfway between lazy and lethal.

“I’m sure you’ve got better things to do than rough up someone half your size, fucker,” Seong-je murmured, his tone casual but edged with menace.

Without warning, he shoved Hyo-man hard, sending him staggering, and landed a brutal kick to his side that knocked him to the ground.

The three guys behind Hyo-man instinctively started to step forward — but as soon as Seong-je’s gaze flicked their way, they froze, eyes wide.

Then, slowly, they began backing away in silence, their smirks gone, fear etched across their faces. No one wanted to cross Geum Seong-je.

“His bitch of a sister—” Hyo-man snarled from the ground, but before the words even fully left his mouth, Seong-je’s fist smashed across his face, cutting him off and knocking him flat.

“Ya,” Seong-je muttered coldly, crouching slightly as he grabbed a fistful of Hyo-man’s shirt. “Keep Y/N’s name out of your mouth.”

Hyo-man, now pale and trembling, nodded frantically.

Seong-je finally let go, straightening with a smooth stretch. His sharp gaze flicked to Jun-tae, who was still frozen against the wall, wide-eyed, clutching his bag like a lifeline.

“Go,” Seong-je said simply, voice calm.

Jun-tae didn’t wait for a second invitation — he bolted, his footsteps echoing down the street as he ran, heart pounding, half in terror and half in complete confusion.

Behind him, Seong-je stood quietly, hands slipping into his pockets. He watched Jun-tae disappear around the corner, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

Then, slowly, he turned back to the crumpled figure on the ground, casting Hyo-man one last icy look.

Seong-je didn’t quite understand why he’d stepped in.

Normally, he would’ve ignored it — minded his own business, let the chaos unfold, maybe even watched with mild amusement. But something had pulled him in, something had made him drag Hyo-man off Jun-tae before things went too far.

And now, as he stood there in the quiet aftermath, Seong-je found himself wondering: why?

Why had he helped your brother?

It nagged at him, stirring a faint curiosity he wasn’t used to feeling — and it unsettled him just enough to make him smirk to himself, wondering if he was starting to slip.

The boys gathered again at Jun-tae’s house that evening, sprawled across the living room, snacks scattered on the table between them. Jun-tae, looking a little rattled, recounted what had happened under the underpass.

“Wait a minute… Geum Seong-je helped you?” Gotak said, blinking in disbelief.

Jun-tae nodded.

“The Geum Seong-je we know?” Gotak repeated, frowning.

“Ya, how many Geum Seong-je’s do we know, huh?” Baku teased, grinning as he elbowed him.

Gotak shot him a glare.

“When Hyo-man mentioned my sister, Seong-je told him to keep her name out of his mouth,” Jun-tae added quietly, still trying to process it himself.

“Waaah, he’s really got it bad for her, eh?” Baku snickered, throwing Jun-tae a sly grin. “Honestly, can’t blame him.”

Jun-tae cringed. “Baku, please.”

But Si-eun, sitting calmly in the corner, spoke up. “Maybe this is something we can use.”

The room fell quiet as they all turned to look at him.

“If he’s distracted…” Si-eun continued, “Baek-jin’s probably angry. Maybe he’s slowly losing control over Seong-je.”

“No one’s ever really been able to control Seong-je,” Gotak muttered thoughtfully, scratching his head. “But yeah — it is good for us that his mind’s elsewhere.”

“Hey, guys, I don’t want my sister dragged into this,” Jun-tae said firmly, crossing his arms.

“I agree,” Gotak nodded. “I say we watch over her, make sure he doesn’t pull anything — but it doesn’t change the fact that it’s an advantage for us if Baek-jin’s right hand is distracted.”

Just then, the front door opened, and you stepped in, waving casually. “Hey.”

The boys chorused their greetings as you set down your bag and plopped onto the couch next to Baku, who immediately grinned at you — only for Gotak to smack him lightly on the head.

“Noona, have you seen Seong-je recently?” Jun-tae asked cautiously.

“Yeah,” you said with a sigh, stretching out. “That weirdo showed up again yesterday.”

“Did he do anything strange?” Si-eun asked, eyes narrowing slightly.

“He is strange,” you muttered with a small laugh. “But no, he just says he’s ‘checking in.’ That’s all, really.”

“Let us know if he gets… violent or anything,” Gotak said seriously.

You paused for half a second, remembering the club — how he’d stepped in to protect you, how his fists had flown — but you kept it to yourself. “Yeah. So far, he’s just… hovering.”

The boys exchanged glances.

“Why?” you asked, frowning.

Jun-tae let out a breath and explained what had happened with Hyo-man, how Seong-je had stepped in to defend him.

Si-eun leaned forward slightly. “It’s good that he’s distracted by you. It gives us a better shot at figuring out how to bring down the Union.”

“Ya,” you scoffed, holding up your hands. “I’m not going to be part of whatever you’re planning.”

“For sure, Y/N,” Si-eun said calmly. “We’re just saying — him being distracted is… helpful.”

You groaned. “Why does he even keep bothering me anyway?”

“Well, Y/N, you’re beautiful, you’re smart—” Baku started brightly, but before he could finish, smack! Gotak hit him on the head again.

You chuckled softly, shaking your head as you stood and made your way to your room.

Once inside, you sat on the edge of your bed, letting out a slow breath as you stared down at your school books.

What exactly does Geum Seong-je want from me? you wondered, heart giving a faint, uneasy flutter.

Baek-jin sat quietly in his usual spot at the bowling alley, fingers drumming lightly against the table as he stared ahead, his mind turning.

He knew.

He knew that Seong-je was distracted.

He had noticed the shift — subtle at first, but undeniable. The way Seong-je disappeared for stretches of time, slipping off without explanation. The way his attention drifted when Baek-jin was giving orders, eyes unfocused, mind clearly somewhere else.

Baek-jin wasn’t a fool. He knew exactly where his right-hand man was going.

To her.

Whether Seong-je actually spoke to you or just loitered nearby, Baek-jin didn’t care. The fact was that Seong-je was drawn to you, his focus shifting from their usual business to you — and that was a problem.

A dangerous one.

Because your brother, Jun-tae, wasn’t just some random school kid. He was Baku’s crew — Eunjang.

And Baek-jin knew that if Seong-je’s attention was tangled up with you, it meant his loyalties were fraying, just a little.

A slow smile crept across Baek-jin’s lips, cold and calculated.

If he wanted to pull Seong-je back under his control, if he wanted to remind him where his place was — he’d need to hit where it hurt.

And to get to Seong-je…

He’d have to get to you.

And to get to you…

He’d have to start with Jun-tae.

Baek-jin leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly, his eyes glinting under the dim lights of the alley.

Piece by piece, he began to lay out the plan in his mind, knowing exactly which threads to pull — and which ones to cut — to bring everything crashing down.

At school, you glanced down at your phone, feeling it buzz faintly in your pocket. A message from Jun-tae popped up.

Jun-tae: Gotak will walk you home today.

You rolled your eyes, quickly typing back.

You: He doesn’t have to. I’m fine.

But as soon as you stepped out the school gates, there he was — Gotak, leaning casually against the wall, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets, grinning as he lifted a hand to wave.“You don’t have to, you know,” you said as you approached, crossing your arms.

“I know,” Gotak replied easily, falling into step beside you. “But Jun-tae’s been worried about you. Can’t really say no when the kid asks, right?”

You let out a small sigh. “I don’t think Seong-je would actually do anything.” Gotak snorted softly. “Yeah, I don’t think so either.”

You raised an eyebrow, curious. “Why not?”

He glanced at you, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “I can tell Seong-je’s getting tired of the whole Union thing.” “What makes you say that?” you asked, frowning.

Gotak shrugged slightly. “When it all becomes about money, more work, less… fun — Seong-je gets bored. He’s the kind of guy who enjoys chaos, sure — likes to pick fights, enjoys the thrill. But once it turns into serious business, once the fun’s gone? He loses interest.”

You both continued walking, the afternoon sun dipping lower, casting long shadows on the pavement.

But suddenly, a figure stepped into your path.

Seong-je.

He stood there casually, hands in his pockets, sharp eyes flicking between you and Gotak, that signature smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Gotak immediately shifted, stepping slightly in front of you, his shoulders tense.

“Ya, Gotak,” Seong-je drawled lazily. “Didn’t know you transferred to an all-girls’ school.”

Gotak’s jaw tightened. “Then why are you here?” he shot back.

Seong-je shrugged, smile widening just a bit. “Looking for something fun.” His eyes slid past Gotak, locking directly on you.

“She doesn’t want you here,” Gotak said firmly, voice low and protective. “So just go, all right?”

Seong-je clicked his tongue, tilting his head slightly. “Tsk. How’s your knee, Tak? Doing fine these days?”

Gotak’s expression flickered — his usual easygoing face tightening, his eyes darkening just a bit. You immediately noticed the change, a flash of realization hitting you.

You turned to Seong-je, your own gaze sharpening, a mix of anger and disappointment swelling in your chest. He was the one who hurt Gotak. The story Jun-tae told you about the other day. 

“Ya,” you muttered under your breath, grabbing Gotak’s arm. “Let’s just go.”

You tugged him past Seong-je, your hand curled around Gotak’s elbow, determined not to look back.

But behind you, Seong-je’s smirk faltered ever so slightly, his gaze narrowing as a flicker of something darker crossed his face. His hands slowly curled into fists in his pockets, a faint edge of anger tightening in his chest at the sight of you — touching Gotak.

Anger simmered in Seong-je’s chest, hotter and sharper than he wanted to admit.

He slammed the door behind him, crashing onto his bed with a heavy exhale, one arm flung over his eyes as a strained laugh slipped from his mouth.

What the hell is wrong with me?

No matter how hard he tried, the image refused to leave his mind — you, reaching out and grabbing Gotak’s arm, walking away with him like you didn’t even see Seong-je standing there. Like he didn’t matter.

His fists clenched at the memory.

Why did it bother him so much?

Why did his chest tighten the second your eyes flashed with anger at him, sharp and disappointed, after he taunted Gotak? Why did his stomach twist with the sudden, irrational urge to erase that look from your face — to make you see him differently, to make you look at him the way he wanted?

“미친 짓이야” He let out another low laugh, running a hand through his messy hair as he stared up at the ceiling.

He didn’t know what the hell was happening, didn’t know why you were suddenly under his skin like this, burrowing into places he usually kept locked up tight.

All he knew was that something inside him was shifting — something he couldn’t fully explain or control.

And for the first time in a long while, Seong-je wasn’t sure whether to push it away… or chase it.

You stood at the familiar pojangmacha stall after school, hungrily watching the bubbling pot of tteokbokki. You’d told Jun-tae you didn’t need Gotak walking you home today — you were perfectly capable of handling yourself.

You grabbed your tray and dug in, savoring the spicy, sweet chewiness — until you felt it.

That presence.

You froze mid-bite, sensing someone behind you. Slowly, you turned.

And of course.

“Ya!” you huffed, glaring up at Geum Seong-je. “Why do you keep interrupting my food!?”

You stomped your foot in frustration, cheeks puffing slightly in irritation.

Seong-je let out a low, amused laugh, his usual lazy grin spreading across his face. “Cute.”

That single word made you huff again as you grabbed your tray and stormed off — only for him to fall into step beside you, hands tucked casually into his pockets.

“I’ve been looking forward to this all day,” you grumbled, pouting slightly, “and you ruin it!”

“Very cute,” he murmured again, his eyes glinting with amusement.

You shot him a sharp glare. “I can buy you all the tteokbokki you want,” he added smoothly, “don’t even think about it.”

You spun on your heel to face him, eyes blazing. “And why would I let you, huh?! You’re the one who hurt Gotak last year, weren’t you?”

His smirk faltered just slightly as he scoffed, “Waah, you care about Gotak now?”

You saw it — the faint flicker of something dark behind his eyes, a note of irritation threading through his voice.

“He’s my friend. And Jun-tae’s best friend. Of course I care,” you shot back, crossing your arms.

“씨발 (ssibal) …” Seong-je muttered under his breath, his grin twisting slightly. “What do you even see in that jerk, huh?”

That was it — your patience snapped.

“You think you’re so tough, going around hurting everyone, but that just makes you a coward!” you snapped, stepping closer. “Why do you always follow Baek-jin around, huh? Doesn’t it get tiring, chasing after someone else’s orders?”

For once, Seong-je went still. His mouth opened slightly, but no words came out.

“And don’t you dare twist this back on Gotak,” you pressed, voice shaking slightly now. “This has nothing to do with him. This is about you and Baek-jin — you hurting people, breaking them down. For what? Does that make you feel strong? Does that make you a big man?!”

Your chest heaved, anger bubbling up in your throat.

“All the money in the world won’t make you decent, Geum Seong-je.”

“Ya…” Seong-je muttered, his voice suddenly lower. “I don’t care about the money—”

“I know you just want to have fun,” you cut in, glaring. “Well, if your idea of fun is hurting people — especially my friends — then you’re an idiot to think I’d want anything to do with you, 미친놈.”

You gave him one last burning look, spun on your heel, and stormed off down the street, leaving Seong-je standing there.

For once, Geum Seong-je — the untouchable, untamable, reckless Seong-je — was left speechless, his hands still buried in his pockets, watching you disappear, feeling the heat of your words lingering in the air long after you were gone.

And for the first time in a long while, his heart gave a sharp, unfamiliar twist.

Why do I even care what she thinks?

The question gnawed at Seong-je’s mind as he made his way down the dimly lit streets, hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets, a cigarette burning low between his fingers. His feet carried him automatically toward the motorcycle shop — the place where the Union stashed their stolen bikes, their dirty money, their tougher business.

But for once, his thoughts weren’t on work, or Baek-jin, or the usual shit that came with Union life.

They were on you.

Your angry eyes, your sharp words echoing in his head, cutting deeper than he expected.

He was so lost in his own head that he barely registered he’d arrived. But the second he stepped through the back gate, something felt wrong.

A crowd had gathered — Union boys clustered in a circle, their voices low, laughing cruelly.

“What’s this?” Seong-je called out, his brow furrowing as he pushed through the group.

The moment the boys parted, his stomach clenched.

Jun-tae.

Your brother was crouched on the ground, face bloodied, arms wrapped weakly around his head.

“Baek-jin asked us to rough him up a little,” one of the boys explained casually, kicking at the dirt near Jun-tae’s shoes.

“Why?” Seong-je asked, confused. Why would Baek-jin care about the weakest kid in Baku’s crew?

The guy shrugged. “He said someone needed to focus, hyung-nim. That’s all he said.”

And just like that, it clicked.

This wasn’t about Jun-tae.

This was a message — for him.

A test.

Baek-jin had seen the cracks forming, had noticed Seong-je drifting, distracted, slipping further away from his leash. And this… this was his way of yanking it tight.

Seong-je stood there, jaw tight, as the boys began closing back in on Jun-tae.

“Please… no…” Jun-tae whimpered, his voice thin and shaky.

Seong-je’s fists clenched.

Your voice echoed in his head again — the disgust, the disappointment. “Hurting people doesn’t make you strong.”

He hated it.

He hated that he could feel the weight of your words.

“씨발 (ssibal) (ssibal) (ssibal) (ssibal)…” he hissed under his breath.

And then, without warning, he moved.

He spun and cracked his elbow across the nearest boy’s face, sending him sprawling to the ground. Another lunged, but Seong-je pivoted fast, slamming his fist into the guy’s ribs, then his knee into his gut.

The others scrambled, cursing in confusion — “Hyung-nim?!” — but it was too late.

He was already tearing through them, fists flying, sharp and brutal. One tried to grab him from behind, but Seong-je grabbed the guy by the collar and slammed him into the side of a rusted motorcycle. Another went down with a quick, snapping kick to the leg.

By the time they were all on the ground, groaning and cursing in pain, Seong-je stood over them, chest heaving, eyes dark.

He knelt next to Jun-tae, brushing a hand through his messy hair.

“Ya,” he murmured. “Can you stand?”

Jun-tae groaned weakly, his body slumping.

With a resigned sigh, Seong-je crouched lower and pulled Jun-tae onto his back. He shifted the weight with a grunt, then turned and started walking.

The sound of pounding footsteps snapped his attention up.

Baku and Gotak sprinted into view, panting hard, eyes wide as they skidded to a stop.

“Ya! He needs to get patched up,” Seong-je called out, his voice rough.

Gotak instantly moved, wordlessly taking Jun-tae onto his own back, steadying him with a worried frown.

Baku lingered, eyes flicking between Seong-je and the downed Union boys.

“I didn’t think I’d say this…” Baku muttered, shaking his head. “But… thank you.”

Seong-je gave a small shrug, looking off to the side.

Baku hesitated. “I think I know why you did this. And for what it’s worth — when we were friends… I always knew you were more than Baek-jin’s dog.”

Seong-je let out a long breath, his face twisting slightly as he turned away.

“I’ll see you — maybe,” Baku added, before jogging after Gotak and Jun-tae, leaving Seong-je alone in the dark.

“씨발 (ssibal) …” Seong-je cursed softly to himself, raking a hand through his hair as he shoved his hands back into his pockets and began the long walk home.

[asciendo]

The Weight of Crown and Heart

Summary: Seungcheol is a prince — bound by duty, raised for power, but burdened by questions he was never meant to ask. You are the daughter of a tribe fighting to survive, fierce and unyielding, with a spirit that refuses to bow.

When your worlds collide, drawn together by fate and circumstance, loyalty and love stand on opposite sides of the line. But some connections are impossible to silence — no matter the cost.

💌 Pairing: Seungcheol x f!Reader 📖 Genre: Historical Fantasy | Romance | Angst | Slow Burn | Hurt/Comfort | Political Drama 🖋️ Word Count: 15,727 📍 Setting: Fantasy empire-inspired world | Tribal villages & imperial palace

🚨 Warnings: Execution threats, political manipulation, war themes, imprisonment, smut / explicit sexual content (18+)

You had to find your father. No matter how many times they told you to let it go — that it was too dangerous, that you’d only be signing your own death sentence — you couldn’t. You wouldn’t.

Your village had been holding its breath for months, caught in the tightening grip of the Empire. Rumors spread fast across the outskirts: the Emperor was making plans to clear out the borderlands, to claim the outer provinces for the expansion of his reign. Entire tribes were being displaced — some erased entirely.

Your father had refused to bow. He had always fought for the people, for your home, standing at the front lines of quiet resistance. And then, one day, on what should have been a routine mission, he vanished. No word. Nobody. Only silence.

But you knew. Deep down, you knew. The Emperor had taken him.

Your younger sister had overheard an imperial battalion scouting nearby lands, their movements cloaked as routine patrols, though everyone knew they were the sharp edge of the Empire’s plans to push further. The soldiers traveled in and out of the capital under the cover of supply runs, their carts heavy with rations and weapons.

So you made your choice.

If the Empire had your father, then the city was where you needed to be. And if getting there meant hiding beneath the canvas of one of their supply wagons, smuggling yourself straight into the lion’s den — so be it.

No one was going to stop you.

You slipped away under the cover of darkness, your heart pounding louder than your footsteps on the dirt road. Dressed in oversized clothes stolen from the village boys, you wrapped a worn scarf tightly around your face, hiding every feature that might betray who — or what — you were. With your hair tucked beneath a cap and your frame swallowed by baggy sleeves, you hoped the disguise would be enough to pass for a scrawny servant boy.

The soldiers’ camp wasn’t hard to find. The flicker of their bonfire glowed like a beacon against the night, their laughter and the clatter of tin cups echoing through the trees. You crouched low, skirting the edges of the clearing, slipping silently behind the canvas of their tents.

There — near the far end of the camp — stood one of their carts, piled with sacks of grain and barrels of supplies. You watched carefully, waiting. The soldiers were still gathered by the fire, drinking, loud and distracted. They wouldn’t be hungry again anytime soon.

Now or never.

You crept toward the cart, heart hammering, limbs tense, and slipped into the back, wedging yourself behind a barrel of dried goods. The wooden planks beneath you were cold and rough, but you didn’t dare move. You stayed there, curled tight, barely breathing as the night dragged on, willing yourself invisible.

Sleep came in brief, fitful moments — always half awake, always listening.

Seungcheol awoke to the soft rustling of wind in the trees, the distant chirp of birds greeting the sun. Their seventh day out in the field. Seven days scouting the lands his father — the Emperor — had marked for expansion. Lands that didn’t belong to the Empire. Not yet.

Oddly enough, he preferred these mornings over the suffocating marble walls of the palace. Out here, the air was clear. No titles, no politics. Just duty.

Stretching the stiffness from his shoulders, he stepped outside his tent, already spotting a few of his men gathered around the supply cart, whispering.

“What’s going on?” he called out, his tone casual but commanding.

At once, the soldiers straightened, saluting him. One of the younger men cleared his throat nervously. “Sir. Uh… we thought we heard something last night. Coming from the cart.”

“Probably just a rat, Jinho,” another soldier snorted, elbowing him. “Or maybe it was the ghost of all the deer you keep missing with your arrows.”

A round of laughter followed, but Jinho’s face stayed pale. “No, I swear! I heard something.”

Their general, a gruff older man named Baekhyun, rolled his eyes. “I’ll check, if it’ll shut you all up.” He marched over to the cart, muttering under his breath about scared children.

A moment passed. Then another.

“There’s nothing here,” Baekhyun called out lazily — but just as he turned to leave, he paused. His brow furrowed. “Wait a minute…”

A sharp crash sounded from the cart, barrels tipping over, food scattering. The soldiers jumped to attention, weapons half-drawn as Baekhyun stumbled back, startled. And then — from behind the barrels — a figure burst out.

Baggy clothes. A scarf wrapped tight around the face. Small frame, fast on their feet.

“Stop!” one of the soldiers yelled, but the figure sprinted toward the trees.

Not fast enough.

Seungcheol moved like lightning. His hand shot out, grabbing the fleeing figure by the arm and yanking them backward. They struggled wildly, throwing punches and twisting against his grip, but he held firm.

“Stay back,” Seungcheol ordered his men with a sharp gesture when they started to rush in. “I’ll handle this.”

The scuffle was brief. The stranger fought harder than he’d expected, but Seungcheol was trained for worse. He pinned them easily, forcing the figure down onto the dirt, his weight pressing them into the ground.

“Now let’s see who you are.” he muttered.

The stranger thrashed beneath him, refusing to give in. But Seungcheol was stronger. With one hand, he ripped away the scarf and tugged at the loose-fitting clothes to uncover the face beneath.

And then he froze.

Wide, defiant brown eyes glared up at him, shining even through the grime and fear. Strands of raven-black hair fell loose from the cap, fanning out across the ground like silk. Her skin, pale as porcelain, was streaked with dirt, but it only seemed to make her beauty more striking.

A girl.

Not just a girl — beautiful. Proud. Unbroken.

For a moment, Seungcheol forgot to breathe.

She stared back at him, chest heaving, lips pressed into a thin line of stubborn silence. Even now, pinned beneath him, her eyes didn’t waver.

Seungcheol loosened his grip, stunned, and slowly rose to his feet, his gaze never leaving her face.

His men stepped back, exchanging confused glances, unsure of what to make of the figure struggling beneath their commander’s grip. Baekhyun jumped down from the cart, his brows knitted together, eyeing you curiously.

Seungcheol kept his stance firm, gaze sharp. “Who are you?” he asked, voice low but steady.

You slowly pushed yourself up from the ground, brushing the dirt off your borrowed clothes. Your hands trembled, but your eyes never wavered as you stared straight at him. “Just a beggar looking for food,” you answered coolly, chin lifted.

There was a flicker of doubt across his face, and from behind him, one of the soldiers — Jinho — spoke up, voice tight with suspicion. “She could be a spy.”

“I’m no one,” you shot back, your glare hard enough to make even Seungcheol hesitate for a moment, startled by the fire behind your words.

“I doubt that,” Seungcheol muttered, narrowing his eyes.

You sneered. “For someone with a crown on their head, you’re not very bright.”

The men bristled at your insult, some already reaching for the ropes at their belts, ready to bind you and drag you off. The tension thickened, their boots shifting in the dirt as they moved to surround you.

But then Baekhyun raised a hand, halting them. “Wait.”

His eyes narrowed as he stepped closer, circling around you like a vulture sizing up its prey. His gaze dropped to the necklace half-hidden beneath your tunic — a small, carved amulet resting against your chest. Before you could react, his rough hand shot out, grabbing the cord and yanking the amulet free.

“Hey—!” You lunged forward, trying to snatch it back, but Baekhyun held it just out of reach, turning the piece over in his fingers.

“She’s from the Kagan tribe,” he said darkly, eyes gleaming with recognition.

The camp fell silent. Several of the soldiers stiffened at the name.

Baekhyun’s grin widened as he studied the carving. “Daughter of the chief, no less.”

“The tribe leader?” one of the soldiers echoed, frowning. “The one my uncle’s brigade captured last season?”

At those words, your fury broke loose. You surged forward, eyes blazing, shouting, “GIVE HIM BACK!”

Baekhyun barely flinched as he shoved you down again, forcing you to the dirt with a hand on your shoulder. “So that’s what this is,” he mused, voice thick with mock sympathy. “You were trying to sneak your way into the capital to find him.”

You struggled against his grip, breath coming hard and fast. But the weight of his hand and the truth of his words pinned you down just as much as his strength. Now you knew for certain — they had your father.

The soldiers began murmuring again, debating what to do with you, some already moving to restrain you.

Seungcheol raised a hand to silence them. His gaze remained locked on you, thoughtful, the earlier anger in his eyes dimmed by something closer to curiosity. “Bring her with us.”

One of the men blinked. “Sir?”

“She’s the chief’s daughter,” Seungcheol said calmly. “If the Empire’s holding her father, she might be useful. Either as leverage… or for information.”

Baekhyun didn’t wait for further instructions. Roughly, he grabbed your wrists and bound them tightly in front of you as you fought back, twisting against the rope. “Get your hands off me!” you snapped, but your struggles only made the knot tighter.

They dragged you toward the cart where prisoners were kept, shoving you inside with little care. You stumbled, falling hard onto the wooden floor, your knees scraping against the rough planks. Slowly, you pushed yourself back up, refusing to let them see you crumble.

As the cart began to roll forward, you looked out through the small gaps between the wooden slats — and there he was.

Seungcheol stood at a distance, arms crossed over his chest. His expression wasn’t the smug victory you expected. Instead, his eyes followed you, thoughtful, uncertain… with the faintest flicker of worry softening the sharpness of his gaze.

You didn’t know how many days had passed.

The journey blurred together — the rocking of the cart, the ache in your bound wrists, the endless stretch of road beneath the wheels. They gave you food, enough to keep you standing, and water to keep you from passing out. But beyond that, they got nothing from you.

Not a word. Not a name.

Silence was the only weapon you had left.

Eventually, the cart jolted to a stop. Commands were barked, tents were raised, and a small camp began to take shape. Evening had fallen by the time they settled, the sun dipping low against the horizon, casting the land in soft gold and purple hues.

You sat alone at the edge of the camp, your hands still bound, staring out at the distant line where the hills met the sky. Planning. Watching. Waiting. Wondering how much longer you could hold out — and how the hell you were going to get out of this.

The sound of footsteps crunching against the dirt pulled you from your thoughts.

You didn’t turn right away. You didn’t need to. You already knew who it was.

Seungcheol.

Slow, deliberate steps. No armor clinking, no heavy boots — just the quiet approach of someone who knew exactly how much presence they carried.

“I thought you’d be smarter than this,” he said casually, stopping a few feet away. “Sneaking into a soldier’s cart in the middle of the night? That’s not bravery. That’s desperation.”

You gave him nothing but silence, your gaze fixed on the horizon.

“Still refusing to speak?” he added, his voice dipping lower as he crouched down, trying to catch your eyes. “I’m impressed. Most would’ve begged by now.”

You turned your head slowly, meeting his gaze, eyes sharp as steel. “I’m not most,” you answered, your voice hoarse but steady.

A small, amused smile tugged at the corner of his lips, though his eyes remained cautious. He studied you for a moment, tilting his head, as if trying to puzzle out what kind of creature they had trapped.

“You’re loyal,” he said, leaning his elbows on his knees. “I’ll give you that. But loyalty can be dangerous if it makes you foolish.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You know what’s dangerous? Men who think they’re doing the world a favor by stealing fathers from their children.”

For the first time, his expression flickered — a brief shadow crossing his features.

“You’re wasting your time,” you continued, voice colder now. “Whatever you’re trying to get from me, you won’t.”

Seungcheol straightened, standing tall above you again. The smile was gone, replaced by something harder to read. “I’m not here to interrogate you.”

“Then why are you here?” you snapped.

There was a pause. His gaze softened, almost like he hadn’t expected the question — or the fire behind it.

“Because I wanted to see the girl bold enough to insult me to my face,” he said simply. 

You glared up at him, defiant, but your chest rose and fell a little faster, betraying the way your body tensed beneath his stare.

He looked at you for a long moment, then quietly added, “Rest while you can. You’re going to need it.”

And with that, Seungcheol turned and walked away, leaving you sitting in the glow of the dying sun — your mind racing, your heart burning hotter than ever.

The next morning, the air around the camp buzzed with activity. Maps were unrolled over makeshift tables, soldiers standing around discussing the day’s plan — marking the lands they would claim, the borders they would push.

Seungcheol stood at the center, arms crossed, listening intently as Baekhyun traced his finger along the map’s edges. “The rivers here cut off most of the valley,” Baekhyun explained. “The remaining tribes scattered along this area should be easy enough to drive out.”

“They’re stubborn, though,” another soldier chimed in. “Won’t leave without a fight.”

“They’re nothing more than animals clinging to dirt,” Baekhyun snorted. “They’ll fall in line or they’ll fall beneath a sword. Either way—”

You scoffed, loud enough to cut through the conversation like a blade.

The men’s heads snapped toward you, narrowing their eyes. You sat against the post where they’d tied you earlier, arms crossed loosely over your bound wrists, watching them like they were the fools at the end of a joke.

“Well, well,” Baekhyun sneered, stepping forward with a crooked smile. “Do we finally get to hear the princess speak?”

They had been calling you that for days now — princess — a mocking title because you refused to beg, refused to cower, refused to speak a word to any of them.

You lifted your chin, staring at them calmly. “It’s just funny,” you said, voice sharp and clear, “how little you actually know about the war you’re fighting.”

The soldiers exchanged glances, some scoffing, others rolling their eyes. Seungcheol’s gaze, however, stayed on you, unreadable.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, brow raised.

You leaned forward, your glare steady, voice laced with disgust. “You sit here drawing lines across a map, calling it expansion — talking about the tribes like they’re nothing but savages standing in your way. But what you’re really doing is burning homes. Tearing families apart. You’re not fighting beasts. You’re slaughtering innocent people. You’re killing children.”

The murmur of the men rose instantly, their hands clenching at their sides, faces twisting with irritation.

“Watch your tongue,” one of them snapped.

But you didn’t flinch. “Tell me — where was the last tribe you passed on your way here? You say they’re given a chance to ‘join’ your empire, but there’s no one left standing to surrender.”

Seungcheol’s jaw tightened. “You’ve got it all wrong. The Empire doesn’t murder civilians. We give them the choice to assimilate — to live under the Emperor’s rule. We only expand where we’re allowed to.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “Do you honestly believe that?” you shot back, eyes narrowing. “Look around you. The land behind you is empty. No villages. No people. No one left to choose. Only graves where homes used to be.”

The camp fell silent, your words hanging heavy between the two of you.

You pushed yourself up as much as the ropes would allow, your voice cracking with fury now. “My father wasn’t raising an army of rebels — he was gathering the other chiefs, trying to defend our people. Trying to protect us from monsters like you.”

Before you could speak another word, one of the younger soldiers snapped. His hand whipped across your face, striking your cheek hard enough to send your head snapping to the side.

“Watch your filthy mouth when you speak of the Emperor!” the soldier barked.

You tasted blood in your mouth but didn’t look away. Slowly, you turned your head back toward him, eyes burning with hate.

“Enough!” Seungcheol’s voice cracked through the air like thunder.

The soldier froze, stiffening as Seungcheol stalked toward him, anger radiating off his frame.

“Who gave you the order to lay a hand on her?” Seungcheol growled.

“S-sir, she insulted—”

“I heard her.” Seungcheol’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “But she’s still my prisoner — not yours to punish.”

The soldier lowered his gaze, swallowing hard, nodding quickly. “Yes, Commander.”

Seungcheol turned back to you, his expression unreadable again — a strange mix of frustration and something else beneath it. His eyes lingered for a moment on the red mark blooming across your cheek, your lip bloodied but your glare still fierce, unbroken.

Without another word, he turned on his heel and barked at the others, “Get back to work. The perimeter won’t plan itself.”

But even as the men scattered, their voices hushed and tense, you could feel Seungcheol’s gaze lingering on you — longer than it should have. His expression was hard to read, but in his eyes was the slightest crack, the faintest doubt. As if, for the first time, he wasn’t entirely sure which side he was truly on.

The camp grew quiet as the sky faded into deep blue, the crackle of the fire the only sound filling the silence. You sat alone, back against the wooden frame of the prisoner’s cart, your arms sore from the bindings, the sting on your cheek a dull throb.

Night fell heavier, and though exhaustion weighed on your limbs, sleep was slow to come. Your mind spun with thoughts of your father, of your people, of the lies that these men told themselves to sleep at night.

Just as your eyes began to flutter shut, you heard the soft crunch of footsteps approaching. You sat up, instantly alert.

It was him.

Seungcheol stood there, half-shadowed by the moonlight, arms at his sides, watching you for a moment before he spoke.

“I came to apologize,” he said quietly. “For what my soldier did to you. I didn’t give him the right to lay a hand on a woman.”

You scoffed, the bitterness rising in your throat. “So noble of you,” you replied, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “Truly. A hero.”

Seungcheol’s jaw clenched, but his tone stayed calm. “No matter what you think of us… we’re not those kinds of men.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning your head back against the cart. “Right. Murderers with manners. What a comfort.”

His lips pressed into a thin line, eyes narrowing slightly. “But your lies have to stop.”

Your gaze snapped back to him. “Lies?” you echoed, incredulous.

“You speak as if you know the Empire,” he said, stepping closer. “But you have no idea what you’re talking about—”

“No,” you cut him off sharply, sitting forward, your voice growing louder, angrier. “You’re the one who has no idea. Are you really so blind? Or do you just choose not to see it?”

The firelight flickered across his face, highlighting the tension in his jaw as he held your gaze.

“Where have you ever seen these tribes ‘assimilated’ so peacefully into your empire?” you challenged. “Tell me, where?”

Seungcheol straightened, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’ve seen it myself. Tribes brought to the capital. Their leaders shaking my father’s hand. Swearing loyalty to the Emperor. Living safely under the Empire’s protection.”

You gave a humorless laugh, shaking your head. “Is that what they told you? You really believe that?”

His eyes narrowed. “I saw it with my own eyes.”

“You saw beggars in the city,” you snapped. “Men dressed up and paid to play the part of chiefs. Puppets wearing feathers and beads like costumes — paraded around for show.”

He laughed now, sharp and disbelieving. “You sound delusional.”

He turned, about to walk away, but your voice stopped him cold.

“Have you ever seen one of them with this?”

Seungcheol turned back just as you lifted your bound wrists, tugging the sleeve down past your bruised skin. There, inked into the inside of your wrist, was the mark — a small, intricate symbol, the tattoo of your tribe. A sign that could never be faked, given to every child at birth.

“We’re marked as infants,” you said, your voice steady but laced with quiet pride. “Every tribe bears its own symbol. Every single one.”

Seungcheol’s gaze dropped to the tattoo. His mind flashed back — the hands of the so-called “tribesmen” he had met in the city, clean, bare of any marks.

No tattoos.

His face froze, but you caught the flicker of uncertainty behind his eyes. He quickly straightened, forcing nonchalance, but his silence betrayed him.

“You haven’t seen one, have you?” you pressed, leaning forward, your eyes locking onto his.

Still, he said nothing.

Instead, after a long pause, his next words came softer — unexpected. “What’s your name?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift.

“I realized,” he continued, tilting his head slightly, “we’ve come this far… and I still don’t know your name.”

You hesitated, lips pressed tight, weighing whether to give him even that small piece of yourself.

He watched you for a moment longer, then gave a small sigh and turned to leave.

“…Y/N.”

You spoke quietly, but it was enough to stop him mid-step.

Seungcheol paused, back still to you. A slow smile crept onto his face — faint, but real. Without turning around, he gave a slight nod, then continued walking back into the darkness of the camp.

And for the first time since they’d captured you, you felt the balance between captor and prisoner begin to shift — even if neither of you understood yet which way it would fall.

The next location wasn’t far, so the men decided to march rather than ride. From the moment you set foot on the new site, unease prickled down your spine like a warning.

This place was wrong.

As the brigade began to unpack and make camp, your eyes scanned the clearing, reading the land like the back of your hand. Seungcheol noticed. His gaze followed you as you quietly studied the edges of the trees and the looming shadow of a rocky cliff nearby.

Later, they let you out from the prisoner’s cart — still bound but given the courtesy of washing your face at the stream. You crouched at the water’s edge, splashing the cool water onto your skin, the unease still weighing heavy on your chest.

You felt him before you heard him. “What is it?” Seungcheol asked, standing a few feet behind you, arms crossed.

You wiped your face, sighing as you stood. “This is a bad place to stop.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

You pointed toward the side of the cliff where a wide, dark hole yawned open at the base of the rock. “That’s a wolf’s den,” you said simply. “They’re not here right now… but they will be. And when they come home, we’ll all be nothing but meat on their teeth.”

The soldiers behind you laughed, some exchanging smug glances.

“Then we’ll kill them,” one of them scoffed, resting a hand on his blade.

You turned, glaring sharply. “Of course. You’ll take their home too? Not surprised.”

Baekhyun let out a sharp laugh. “All this fuss over some animals. You’re wasting our time, girl.”

But then, a low, guttural growl rumbled through the clearing.

From the shadows of the trees emerged a large wolf, its silver-gray coat bristling as it padded toward the camp, golden eyes fixed sharply on the intruders. The men scrambled, grabbing weapons, stepping into their attack positions.

Your heart clenched.

No. You wouldn’t let them take another home. Not tonight.

Before they could act, you stepped forward, slowly, carefully, eyes locked on the wolf. The soldiers shouted warnings, raising their swords higher, but then—

“Hold,” Seungcheol commanded, raising his hand to stop them, his eyes watching you intently.

You kept walking, calm, steady. The wolf’s teeth bared, its growl deepening, but you didn’t flinch.

Instead, you knelt before it.

Your bound hands reached out, slow and gentle, until your palm rested against the wolf’s head. You leaned your forehead down, pressing it lightly against the animal’s, your lips murmuring soft words only the creature could hear.

Baekhyun’s jaw tightened as he watched. “The Kagan people,” he muttered, “are known for their bond with the wild. Their priests say the earth and beasts speak to them.”

The men stayed frozen, tense, as the wolf gave a final snarl toward the group… then turned, padding silently back into the den, disappearing into the dark.

You stood, looking back at them, eyes hard. “You think you own the land beneath your feet… that the rivers and forests are here for you to take. But the trees are alive, the rivers remember, and the beasts have voices you refuse to hear.”

The men fell silent. Not one dared speak.

You continued, your voice calm but cutting: “You call this place yours, but you don’t even know its name. You hunt without gratitude, destroy without reason. And still, you call us the savages.”

The fire crackled softly. No one laughed this time.

Not even Seungcheol.

You turned away, stepping back toward the cart where they kept you prisoner, climbing in without a fight. Lying down, you closed your eyes, letting the quiet of the land settle around you.

But across the camp, Seungcheol stood frozen, watching you with something far from mockery — something closer to wonder. He had never met anyone like you. And for the first time, curiosity gnawed at him more than duty.

That night, when the moon hung high and pale, the door of your cart creaked open.

You stirred, blinking against the dark.

“What is it with you and waking me up?” you muttered.

Seungcheol’s soft chuckle broke the silence. “Come. Walk with me.”

You frowned, uncertain. “What?”

“Walk with me,” he repeated, stepping back, waiting.

Slowly, you sat up, hesitating. When you reached the edge of the cart, he leaned forward — and you flinched instinctively, expecting the harsh grip of rope. But instead, his hands moved gently, undoing the binds around your wrists.

You stared at him, confused. He gave no explanation. He simply turned and walked toward the treeline, expecting you to follow.

Reluctantly, you did.

As your steps caught up to him beneath the canopy of the forest, you narrowed your eyes. “Why?” you asked. “Why walk with me?”

Seungcheol gave a shrug, his hands loose at his sides. “Maybe I just want to understand the girl who tames wolves.”

You huffed softly but kept walking beside him.

After a few moments, his voice lowered. “How did you do that? With the wolf.”

You glanced at him, weighing whether to answer. “It’s something my people are born into. We’re taught to respect the spirits of the land — the animals, the trees, the water. We listen, and they listen back.”

Seungcheol slowed, eyes thoughtful, then turned toward you, curiosity burning behind them. “So tell me,” he said quietly, “what else don’t I know?”

This time, it was you who fell silent, staring at him in the soft glow of the moonlight. The light kissed his features, outlining the strong line of his jaw, softening the sharpness in his eyes.

There was something different about him here, away from the eyes of his men. Less prince. More… human.

“Tell me,” he urged again, his voice softer now.

You met his gaze, your voice lowering into something like a chant, like a lesson: “You think the earth belongs to you — all the lands, the rivers, the skies. But every rock, every tree, every creature has a spirit, a life, a name. They are not yours to take.”

His brow furrowed, the words sinking into him deeper than he cared to admit.

“You may build your cities and call it power,” you continued, stepping closer, your eyes never leaving his, “but you will never truly understand this land unless you open your eyes…and your heart.”

The air between you stilled. Only the rustling of the leaves and the distant call of night birds filled the space where neither of you spoke.

Seungcheol’s lips parted, as if to say something — but no words came.

You turned away first, stepping back toward the edge of the camp.

And behind you, Seungcheol remained frozen, feeling for the first time as if the ground beneath his feet didn’t quite belong to him after all.

The next morning, the camp was slow to rise, the men still wary after the events of the previous day. But Seungcheol’s mind had been racing long before the sun came up.

By midday, he called Baekhyun into one of the larger tents, the map from yesterday still spread across the table between them. Baekhyun entered, standing at ease, though he caught the tension in Seungcheol’s posture immediately.

“You wanted to speak with me, my prince?” Baekhyun asked.

Seungcheol nodded, leaning against the edge of the table, arms crossed. His gaze was distant, jaw tight.

“I spoke with the girl last night.”

Baekhyun’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he waited.

“She showed me something,” Seungcheol continued, voice low. “A tattoo — here.” He gestured to the inside of his wrist. “She said every child in her tribe is marked as an infant. That every tribe has their own symbol.”

Baekhyun gave a skeptical grunt. “And you believe her?”

Seungcheol’s brows knit together. “I’ve… always questioned certain things. The way the land stays empty long after we’ve moved through it. How the people we claim have ‘joined’ us so willingly… yet their faces never quite match the stories.”

His voice trailed off, eyes fixed on the folds of the map, but it was clear his thoughts were miles away.

Baekhyun watched him carefully. “How do you know she’s telling the truth? How do you know this isn’t just another game — a way to twist your sympathy?”

Seungcheol’s eyes stayed on the map, his fingers tightening into a fist against the wood.

“I don’t,” he admitted quietly. “But… something about what she said, the way she said it… it felt different. I keep remembering the hands of those men we shook at the ceremonies. No marks. No tattoos.”

Baekhyun folded his arms, leaning against one of the tent’s support beams. His expression hardened.

“I just don’t want your mind clouded by your… interest in her.”

Seungcheol’s head snapped up, eyes narrowing. “Interest? I’m not—”

“My prince,” Baekhyun cut him off gently, raising one brow. “I’ve known you since you were a boy. I’ve fought beside you, watched you grow. I’ve never seen you this… engaged with anyone. Especially not your betrothed.”

Seungcheol let out a dry, bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Ah, yes. The delicate flower from the Jinhwa Empire. Met her twice. Both times, she couldn’t stop complaining about the heat, the dust, the ‘barbaric conditions’ of my father’s lands.”

He leaned back against the table, waving a hand dismissively. “I’ll keep refusing, as I always do.”

Baekhyun chuckled. “And I can’t imagine your father taking that well.”

Seungcheol’s smile faded, replaced by a thoughtful frown. His eyes dropped back to the map, his fingers tracing the borderlines absentmindedly.

“But tell me, Baekhyun,” he said slowly, “have you ever questioned it? What we’re doing?”

The question hung between them, heavier than the air inside the tent.

Baekhyun exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Lately… yes.”

That admission alone seemed to surprise even Baekhyun as he said it out loud.

“I’ve noticed strange things back in the capital,” Baekhyun continued, voice quieter now. “A line of tribesmen brought into the square for a ceremony — but they couldn’t even speak their native tongue when asked. Merchants in the market selling goods they claimed were ‘from the conquered lands’… but I overheard one of them admitting the pieces were crafted right there in the city.”

Seungcheol’s jaw clenched, the muscle ticking beneath his skin.

“There’s also the patrol reports,” Baekhyun added, his tone grim. “Whole villages marked as ‘vacant,’ no resistance. But the scouts who return look pale — shaken. And they never speak of what they’ve seen.”

Seungcheol’s hand pressed harder into the table, the wood groaning beneath his grip.

“I told myself I was imagining things,” Baekhyun admitted. “That I was seeing it out of context. But if what you’re saying is true… if this tattoo is real…”

His voice trailed off, but the implication was clear.

Seungcheol straightened, letting out a slow, heavy breath. He pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes closing briefly as the weight of doubt settled heavier on his shoulders.

“We continue on,” he said after a pause. “We follow the Emperor’s orders… but we keep our eyes open. If there’s truth to what she’s saying, we’ll find it.”

Baekhyun gave a small nod, though the unease between them remained.

The path to the next site was supposed to be a straight route — but the way was blocked.

A rock formation, collapsed and jagged, sealed off the narrow pass they had been following. The brigade halted, men dismounting, debating their options.

“We’ll have to take the Serpent’s Pass,” one of the soldiers muttered grimly.

Baekhyun’s head turned sharply. “That’s forbidden. No one’s cleared that trail. The Emperor’s brigades haven’t passed through yet — no one knows if it’s safe.”

“We don’t have a choice,” another replied. “If we’re to finish mapping the perimeter, we need to cut through. Otherwise, we lose days.”

Reluctantly, they agreed. Supplies were packed tighter, and the caravan shifted course. The men grumbled, unease hanging thick in the air as they pressed on toward the unknown.

You remained inside the prisoner’s cart, the rough wood digging into your back with every jolt of the wheels. Another day passed. Then another. The trees grew denser, the air heavier as they crossed deeper into the wilderness.

“It should be just beyond this ridge,” Baekhyun called ahead as they crested a hill.

But then he fell silent.

Seungcheol, riding beside him, squinted into the distance — and his breath caught.

Below them, where there should have been a bustling village, was ruin.

Smoke still curled from the blackened remains of homes, the charred skeletons of huts collapsing into ash. Scattered across the ground were bodies — men, women, children — lifeless and left where they had fallen.

The brigade froze.

No one spoke. No one moved.

Your head snapped up at the change in tone. You pushed yourself closer to the cart’s edge, trying to see past the wooden slats.

“What is it?” you asked sharply. The guard next to you kept his eyes ahead, ignoring you.

“Let me out,” you hissed.

When there was no response, your voice rose, anger trembling beneath the surface. “Let. Me. Out.”

Baekhyun, still staring down at the horror below, gave a stiff nod. The guard reluctantly undid the latch and let you step down.

Your boots hit the dirt, and your breath caught as the full scene came into view.

It was the Molrek Tribe. You hadn’t known them personally, but your father spoke of them often — their leader had been one of his closest allies.

You walked slowly through the wreckage, eyes wide, heart breaking with every step.

Then, near the remains of what once might have been a home, your gaze dropped to the ground.

A small, charred toy lay half-buried in the ash — a handmade doll, its fabric scorched, one button eye missing.

A tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it.

Behind you, Seungcheol stood frozen, his stoic mask shattered. His eyes moved from your shaking form to the toy in your hands, and then to the bodies scattered across the village. His fists clenched so tightly at his sides that his knuckles turned white.

Every doubt he’d carried, every uneasy question that had plagued him — answered.

The truth was in front of him now. His father was a murderer. And they had been the Emperor’s willing instruments.

Baekhyun stood nearby, shaking his head slowly as if refusing to believe what his eyes were showing him. The rest of the men remained still, faces pale, exchanging uncertain glances, each of them struggling to make sense of the nightmare laid before them.

For the next hour, they wandered through the village. Some searched quietly for survivors they would never find. Others sat down on the ground, heads in their hands, weighed down by the crushing guilt of complicity.

Finally, as the sun dipped low, casting long shadows over the wreckage, Seungcheol stepped forward, breaking the silence.

His voice was hoarse at first, but steady. “I was blind,” he began, his eyes scanning the faces of his men, landing briefly on you before looking away. “I believed what we were told — that we were bringing peace. That we were bringing order.”

He paused, swallowing hard, his jaw clenched.

“But this…” His voice cracked. “This is not order. This is not peace. This is murder.”

The men shifted uncomfortably, heads bowed. Some nodded slowly.

“I was a fool not to see it sooner,” Seungcheol continued, voice growing stronger. “But I see it now. And now that we know the truth, we have a choice to make. We cannot stand here, knowing this… and do nothing.”

There was a murmur among the soldiers. One of them spoke, hesitating. “But… how? How can we stop it? This is the Emperor’s will.”

Baekhyun stepped forward, his face grim. “Then we stand against it. One way or another, we find a way to stop this. To stop him.”

Another soldier’s voice cut through the crowd. “But… he’s your father, my prince. Could you really raise your hand against him?”

Seungcheol’s gaze hardened, his shoulders squared. “I can no longer look past my father’s sins just because they are his. Right is right. Wrong is wrong. Even if the blood in my veins is the same as his — I will not be a part of this slaughter.”

The men were silent, but slowly, heads began to nod. Not all, but enough.

There, in the ruins of the Molrek Tribe, something changed in them. The first crack in their loyalty to the crown.

Seungcheol’s eyes drifted back to you. You stood still, watching, your arms bound, your face stained with tears and ash, but your posture unbowed.

Without breaking eye contact, he walked toward you — slowly, deliberately, the weight of every step heavy with purpose.

In front of all his men, he stopped before you.

He reached out, his fingers brushing the rope at your wrists.

And in one clean motion, he untied your binds.

The rope fell away, your arms free for the first time since they captured you.

You stared at him, breath caught in your throat. His eyes stayed on yours, softer now — but filled with something deeper. Guilt. Resolve. And respect.

The men watched, stunned, saying nothing.

Seungcheol’s voice dropped to a low murmur, meant only for you. “I’m sorry.”

And for the first time, the prince who had chained you, called you prisoner, now looked at you as an equal.

You were no longer locked inside the prisoner’s cart.

Now, you rode alongside the men — still at a distance, but no longer as their captive. They remained wary, exchanging unsure glances when they thought you weren’t looking, but the disgust that once filled their eyes had faded. Wariness, uncertainty… but also respect.

When the brigade set up camp a few miles away from the ruined village, Seungcheol gave the order to have a tent prepared for you. Your own space. A gesture of dignity. One you hadn’t expected.

You accepted it quietly. Grateful, but not comfortable.

You ate your meal quickly, away from the others, and retreated to the tent as soon as you could. The baggy clothes they had given you still hung awkwardly on your frame — freshly washed, but they felt heavy, like they belonged to someone else. You longed for your own garments, for the small familiarity of something that felt like you.

But right now, nothing did.

The images of the Molrek village clung to you like smoke. The blackened homes, the bodies scattered like discarded objects, the small toy in your hands. You hadn’t known the tribe personally, but they were people your father once called allies.

You couldn’t sit still. Couldn’t sleep. So you slipped out quietly, climbing to the edge of a nearby cliff — a tiny rise just outside of camp, where the ground dropped into a dark valley below. You sat down on the ledge, arms wrapped loosely around your knees, staring up at the moon. High. Untouched. Distant.

It felt cruel how the sky remained so calm while the earth burned.

“You were right.”

The voice behind you was soft, careful.

You didn’t turn. You didn’t have to.

Seungcheol approached and sat down beside you, leaving space between your bodies but close enough that you could feel the weight of his presence.

“It’s not like I wanted to be,” you answered quietly, eyes still on the stars.

He let out a long breath, resting his elbows on his knees. His shoulders sagged, the heavy armor of command stripped away.

“I’ve been asking myself all day,” he said. “How I didn’t see it. How I didn’t know.”

His voice cracked, just a little.

“I believed what they told me. That the tribes were given a choice. That they came willingly, that they were grateful.” His hands clenched loosely together. “I was so sure of it.”

You turned your head toward him, eyes narrowed, voice calm but cutting. “You never wondered why the lands stayed so empty after each ‘peaceful negotiation?’ Why the so-called tribesmen paraded into the capital never spoke their own tongue? Never wore the marks of their people?”

His jaw tightened. “I told myself there were reasons. I convinced myself they had changed. Adapted.” He swallowed hard. “I was a fool.”

You looked back up at the sky. “People see what they want to see. What they’re told to see.”

He leaned back slightly, staring at the dirt beneath his boots. “I can’t erase what’s been done,” he said quietly. “But I can stop what’s coming.”

There was no doubt in his voice now.

“I’m going to stop it,” Seungcheol repeated, firmer. “But I can’t do it alone.” He turned to face you fully, eyes steady, searching yours. “I need your help.”

You studied him carefully, your expression unreadable. “And how exactly do you expect me to help you?”

“You know these lands better than we ever will,” he said. “You know the tribes. The leaders. Where they are, how they move, who might still survive. They’ll never listen to me — but they might listen to you.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line. “Your men won’t follow me,” you said. “Even now. I’m still the enemy to them.”

But Seungcheol shook his head, his gaze unwavering. “They will. Once they see who you are… what you are. They will.”

You frowned. “And what exactly do you think I am?”

His eyes softened as he answered. “Someone they can’t ignore. A leader. A voice that speaks for the people we silenced.”

You blinked, your chest tightening at the sincerity in his voice.

“I’ll help,” you said quietly after a long pause. “But not for you.”

“I know,” he replied.

“For my people.”

Seungcheol nodded once, accepting your terms.

“And one day,” you added, voice lower, eyes narrowing, “you’ll have to face your father. You’ll have to decide how far you’re willing to go.”

His jaw clenched again, but he didn’t look away. “I know.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. It hung between you like a fragile understanding — the first thread of trust, spun out beneath the watchful eyes of the stars.

The next few days passed with the weight of purpose hanging over the camp.

After long nights of discussion, they had finally settled on a plan.

Baekhyun and Seungcheol agreed that the only way to stop the Emperor’s campaign was to expose the truth — not just to the people, but to the other provinces still loyal to the crown. They would gather evidence of the burned villages, the murdered tribes, and the so-called “assimilated” leaders who were, in truth, prisoners. And at the heart of their mission was one crucial step: infiltrate the capital and free your father — along with the other chiefs the Empire had taken.

It would be dangerous. Treasonous. But it was the only way.

As the plan took shape, so did the slow, tentative bond between you and the men of the brigade.

You began to assimilate into their ranks, their guarded glances softening as they watched the way you worked beside them. The way you carried yourself, strong but fair. There was no sudden trust, no easy forgiveness — but respect began to grow.

You shared long conversations with Baekhyun by the fire, debating strategy, exchanging stories about the land and the people they’d both known. Jinho, the youngest among the soldiers, warmed up to you quickly. His youthful curiosity and earnestness made him easier to trust, and soon he was asking you about the customs of your tribe, your language, your games.

One afternoon, you found yourself teaching Jinho one of the games from your childhood — a test of reflex and focus, your hands hovering close, tapping and dodging as each of you tried to catch the other off guard. The game required brief touches, laughter spilling between you every time Jinho missed his chance.

“Again,” Jinho grinned, determined, squaring his stance.

You laughed, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, ready to begin — but as you glanced up, your smile faltered.

Seungcheol was standing a few paces away, arms crossed, staring directly at the two of you. His jaw tight, eyes narrowed, expression unreadable — but unmistakably displeased.

You blinked, unsure why that look made your stomach twist, and shrugged it off.

Later, as you and Jinho hauled a barrel of supplies toward the cooking area, chatting easily, you didn’t notice the figure stepping into your path until it was too late.

Seungcheol.

He stood in front of you, blocking the way, eyes pinned on Jinho.

“My prince,” Jinho stammered quickly, lowering the barrel and bowing his head.

“I’ll take that,” Seungcheol said, extending his arms toward the barrel.

“Oh, it’s all right, my prince, I can—”

Seungcheol’s face hardened, eyes darkening just enough to silence the younger soldier. Without another word, Jinho handed the barrel over, bowing again before stepping back.

Seungcheol turned on his heel and began walking beside you toward the supplies, carrying the weight with ease.

You arched a brow, half-smiling. “You suddenly feel the urge to do heavy lifting now?”

“What?” he replied, almost too quickly. “I always help.”

You scoffed, folding your arms. “Do you, though?”

He said nothing, but the faintest flicker of a smirk betrayed him.

From across the camp, Baekhyun watched the exchange, shaking his head slightly with an amused grin. He knew his prince too well.

That night, as you often did, you found yourself sitting beneath the stars, legs pulled close to your chest, eyes fixed on the moon. It had become your quiet place — the one spot where the noise of the world, the burden of your mission, couldn’t reach you.

But you weren’t alone for long.

Footsteps approached softly through the grass, and without looking, you already knew.

Seungcheol settled down beside you, his arms resting on his knees, gaze lifted to the sky.

“I’m sure you’re excited to finally head back,” you said, breaking the silence.

Seungcheol let out a soft scoff. “Not really.”

You glanced at him, surprised. “No? I figured you’d have a Lady waiting for you at the gates. Silk dress, pinned hair, perfect smile…”

You caught the way his jaw tensed at your teasing, the flicker of something unreadable in his expression.

“Oh,” you leaned in slightly, eyebrow raised. “Going through a rough patch?”

Seungcheol exhaled, shaking his head. “It’s not that.”

His voice was quieter now, thoughtful.

“I’m betrothed,” he admitted after a pause. “To a princess from the Jinhwa Empire. A match my father arranged.”

“Ah,” you said softly, leaning back again. “So I was right. There is someone.”

Seungcheol’s lips curled into a faint smile, but there was no humor in it.

“She’s… fine. Beautiful, poised. Says all the right things.” He shook his head. “But she looks at my people like they’re beneath her. She looks at the land like it’s something she’s owed.” His gaze hardened, focused on the horizon. “I’m not interested.”

You raised a brow, voice light. “So… there’s someone else you want, then.”

Seungcheol’s eyes flicked to you, sharper now. “Why is that so funny?”

Your smile faltered, feeling the tension rise between you. His gaze didn’t waver. There was a weight to the way he looked at you — something unspoken lingering between the words.

You swallowed, the air between you suddenly heavier.

“I should go,” you whispered, breaking eye contact as you stood, turning quickly back toward your tent.

Behind you, Seungcheol didn’t move, watching your retreat, the words he hadn’t said still hanging between you like smoke.

The next day, the brigade passed through a small town on the edge of the province — a rare pocket of life untouched by the Empire’s destruction.

It wasn’t much: a scattering of homes, a marketplace, a square where music played and people gathered for the night’s festivities. But after weeks of tension and heavy planning, Baekhyun and Seungcheol agreed the men deserved one evening to breathe, to feel like themselves again before the real fight began.

“We let them enjoy the night,” Baekhyun said. “It might be the last chance they get for a while.”

The soldiers quickly changed into civilian clothes — simpler tunics, loose trousers, belts, and sashes. They laughed more easily, their shoulders no longer so stiff with caution.

But you… you stood out.

Still wrapped in the same baggy clothes you had stolen from your neighbor back home — sleeves too long, fabric shapeless, hanging off your frame like rags. You caught the side glances from the townspeople as they began to gather. Suspicion. Discomfort.

“You can’t wear that,” Baekhyun said, stepping up beside you with a half-smile. “No one here’s going to trust you looking like you’re about to rob their livestock.”

You gave him a dry look but said nothing.

“Here,” he added, pressing a few coins into your hand. “There’s a tailor’s shop down the street. Go on — get yourself out of those rags. You deserve to look like yourself again.”

You hesitated but nodded, excusing yourself as the men headed toward the square.

The tailor’s shop was small, tucked between two merchant stalls, but inside were rows of garments — robes, tunics, sashes, each stitched with the colors and patterns of different tribes across the lands.

Your fingers brushed across the fabrics, pausing here and there — until your hand landed on one that made your heart ache with quiet recognition.

Then your hand paused on one particular set.

A deep blue cropped top, sleeveless but high at the neckline, fitted close to the body with silver embroidery lining the edges like river waves. Paired with it was a matching skirt that sat comfortably at your hips, flowing down to just below the knees with slits at the sides for ease of movement, layered softly with a lightweight sheer fabric over the base. A dark sash wrapped securely around the waist, tying everything together. The clothes were practical but graceful — built for motion, for freedom, for you.

It felt like home.

You slipped it on and let your long hair fall loose down your back, finally freed from the scarf and cap where it had been hidden for so long. The weight of it felt unfamiliar at first, but it framed your face, softening the hardness the past weeks had carved into your features.

The music was louder now, drums beating rhythm into the square, strings and flutes weaving in between. The men had gathered near a stage where performers danced, villagers clapping and singing along.

As you approached, the soldiers noticed first. One of them let out a low whistle.

“Would you look at that,” Jinho grinned, nudging the man beside him. “She finally doesn’t look like a little boy.”

The group laughed, but their smiles were kind, not cruel. You smiled faintly, rolling your eyes.

But then your gaze caught on Seungcheol.

He stood near the edge of the group, arms crossed, his eyes locked on you �� and he wasn’t laughing.

He couldn’t.

Beautiful. That was the only word that came to his mind.

You had always been striking — fierce, proud, unbreakable — but this was different. Your posture, the way your hair framed your face, the ease with which you moved, as though the clothes had unlocked something in you. You looked radiant. Confident. Free.

Baekhyun, standing beside him, leaned in and gave him a pointed nudge, breaking his stare.

“Careful, my prince,” he smirked. “You’re going to make a scene.”

Seungcheol blinked, tearing his gaze away, forcing a breath out through his nose.

The music swelled, drums speeding up as the villagers began to dance, spinning in circles, hands clapping, feet stomping to the beat. Some of the soldiers joined in, laughing as they stumbled through unfamiliar steps.

You felt the rhythm pull at you — the way the music used to back home at celebrations. For a moment, you let yourself forget the weight of your mission. The pain. The loss. And you stepped into the dance.

The soldiers cheered you on as you moved gracefully into the circle, your feet light, hands flowing with ease, the patterns of your tribe’s dances still in your body like muscle memory. You spun, dipping and swaying, and they watched, amazed. Elegant. Untouchable.

But Seungcheol couldn’t look away.

Every step, every turn — he only saw you.

You laughed, enjoying the freedom of the moment, turning as the music carried you — and then suddenly, there he was.

Seungcheol stood before you, closer than you expected, his eyes softer now, gaze steady.

He raised his hand toward you.

For a moment, you hesitated, your eyes flicking between his outstretched hand and his face.

But then, slowly, you placed your hand in his.

The men around you cheered, but their voices blurred into the background as the two of you began to move. At first awkwardly, unsure — but soon, the music guided your steps. You matched his rhythm, spinning beneath his hand as he led, his movements gentle but confident.

You found yourself smiling, laughing even, as he stumbled once and recovered with a grin.

“Not bad, for a prince,” you teased softly.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m full of surprises.”

The music shifted, slowing into something softer. The circle of dancers thinned, and still, Seungcheol didn’t let go.

Instead, his hand slid to your waist, pulling you closer.

Your breath caught.

The air between you felt too thick, too charged. His other hand held yours lightly, but his fingers tightened just enough to keep you near.

You could feel his breath against your cheek as he leaned in, his gaze dropping to your lips.

Your heart raced. The distance between you shrank until it was almost nothing.

But just before his lips could meet yours, reality snapped you back.

You pulled away, stepping back sharply, your hand slipping from his.

“I have to go,” you whispered, avoiding his eyes.

Without waiting for a response, you turned and walked quickly toward the edge of the square, heading back toward camp — your heart pounding loud enough to drown out the music behind you.

Seungcheol stood frozen in the square, eyes fixed on the direction where you had disappeared into the night. His chest rose and fell heavily, the weight of almost pressing down on him like a stone. He ran a hand through his hair, cursing under his breath.

But he couldn’t leave it like that.

His feet moved before his mind could catch up, carrying him through the quiet streets, past the flicker of lanterns and the distant hum of music. And there you were.

Exactly where he knew you’d be.

Sitting alone on the small rise just outside the camp, legs pulled close to your chest, head tilted toward the sky. The moonlight painted your face in soft silver, your eyes lost somewhere among the stars.

Seungcheol approached slowly, carefully, and sat down beside you — close, but not too close. He waited, saying nothing.

You didn’t look at him.

“What do you want from me, Seungcheol?” you asked softly, your eyes still on the sky.

He let out a sigh, his hands resting between his knees. “I think it’s pretty obvious.”

You shook your head, your voice steadier than you felt. “We can’t.”

His gaze snapped to you. “Why not?”

You turned to him now, eyes sharp, pained. “How could this ever work? You’re the prince of the Empire. I’m the daughter of the very people your father wants wiped from the earth. Our bloodlines are at war.”

“I’m not my father,” he said quickly, leaning forward. “I’m not him.”

“But you carry his name,” you bit back. “You carry the crown. And no matter what you feel right now, you’ll always be his son.”

Seungcheol shook his head, frustrated. “I don’t care about the crown. I don’t care about anything I ever knew anymore.” He reached out, grabbing your hand, his grip firm but gentle. “All of it — my title, my place at court, the lies they fed me since I was a boy — I’d throw it all away if it meant standing with you.”

You stared at him, your breath catching in your throat, but still you hesitated. “And what happens when this is over? When the fighting starts? When you’re forced to choose between your people and mine?”

Seungcheol’s jaw clenched. His thumb brushed lightly against the back of your hand.

“I don’t have all the answers,” he admitted. “I don’t know how this ends. I don’t know what will come of any of this.”

He leaned in closer now, voice low, rough with emotion. “I’m not sure of anything in this life — not my father, not the Empire, not even the beliefs I was raised on. I know I have so much more to learn. So much more to understand.”

He swallowed hard, his eyes locked on yours.

“But despite not being sure of anything else in this world… the only thing I am sure of — is you.”

You froze.

His words hit you like an arrow to the chest, tearing down every wall you had built between the two of you.

“I mean it,” he whispered.

And before you could respond, he leaned in and crushed his lips against yours.

The kiss was hard, desperate, filled with every word left unsaid between you. His hand tangled into your hair, pulling you closer, and for a moment, you forgot the war, the blood, the fire between your people — there was only the heat of his mouth, the taste of his breath mixing with yours.

When he finally pulled away, you were both breathless, your foreheads pressed together, eyes closed.

“Come with me,” he murmured.

The walk back to your tent was wordless, your fingers laced tightly with his. Every step felt heavier with anticipation, every glance stolen between you like you were crossing some forbidden line.

Inside, the tent was dim, lit only by the faint glow of the moon seeping through the fabric walls.

He closed the flap behind you, his eyes never leaving yours.

There was no more hesitation.

Seungcheol’s hands found your waist first, pulling you flush against him as he kissed you again — slower this time, deeper, his lips moving with purpose. You let your hands slide up his chest, fingers curling into the collar of his shirt, pulling him down to you.

You felt his breath hitch when your hands slipped beneath the fabric, fingers grazing the hard muscle of his stomach. His hands roamed up your back, tracing the curve of your spine as he guided you gently down onto the bedroll, never breaking the kiss.

When he pulled away just enough to look at you, his eyes were dark, filled with want.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered, voice rough.

You shook your head. “Don’t.”

That was all he needed.

He leaned down, his lips tracing along your jaw, down the curve of your neck, leaving soft, burning kisses in his wake. His hands moved to untie the sash at your waist, slipping the fabric loose with care. You arched into his touch, gasping softly as his hands explored the newly exposed skin at your waist, your ribs, the underside of your breast.

Your fingers trembled as you pushed his shirt up and over his head, and for the first time, you saw him like this — bare, vulnerable, eyes soft but hungry as they searched your face for permission.

When your lips found his again, he groaned softly against your mouth, pressing his body fully against yours. The warmth of his skin on yours sent a shiver down your spine, and your hands slid down his back, feeling the tension in his muscles as he held himself steady above you.

“Tell me what you want,” he whispered against your ear.

“You,” you breathed, tilting your hips up toward him.

His lips trailed down your chest, leaving a path of heat across your skin, his hands working to ease your top away, baring you completely beneath him. His mouth closed gently around your nipple, sucking softly, teasing with his tongue, while his hand caressed the other — drawing soft, needy sounds from your lips.

Seungcheol kissed lower, down your stomach, until his hands gripped the waistband of your skirt, sliding it down slowly, inch by inch, his lips brushing over the sensitive skin of your hips and thighs as he went.

You were breathless, eyes half-lidded as you watched him move, watched the hunger in his gaze as he drank in every inch of you.

When he settled between your thighs, his eyes met yours again, searching.

“Let me taste you,” he murmured.

You nodded, your body already trembling.

Seungcheol lowered his mouth to you, his tongue gliding softly at first, then deeper, more insistent as he found the spot that made your hips jerk beneath him. His hands pinned your thighs gently but firmly, holding you in place as he worked you open with his mouth, slow and thorough, pulling soft gasps and moans from your lips as your fingers tangled tightly into his hair.

“Seungcheol—” you gasped, your voice breaking as the pleasure built inside you like a rising tide.

He didn’t stop until you were shaking, your release crashing over you, his tongue softening as he helped you ride it out, humming softly against your skin.

When he finally rose again, his lips glistened, his eyes dark with desire.

You pulled him back down, your mouth finding his hungrily, tasting yourself on his lips.

His trousers were already loose, and you reached down between your bodies, freeing him from them. He hissed softly as your hand wrapped around him, stroking slowly, teasing, watching the way his eyes fluttered shut for a moment beneath your touch.

“I need you,” you whispered.

Seungcheol’s forehead pressed to yours, his breath ragged as he lined himself up, his hand on your hip. “I’ll go slow,” he promised.

You nodded.

When he pushed into you, your eyes squeezed shut, your body stretching to take him, the slow, steady slide of him filling you inch by inch until he was fully seated inside you.

He stayed still for a moment, kissing your cheek, your jaw, your lips softly.

“Are you all right?” he whispered.

“Yes,” you breathed. “Move.”

And he did — slow, gentle thrusts at first, rocking his hips against yours, drawing soft moans from both of you as your bodies found their rhythm together. Your hands clutched at his back, his shoulders, pulling him closer, needing him closer.

His lips never left your skin — kissing your neck, your shoulder, your collarbone as he moved within you, his pace building as your breaths grew faster.

“Say my name,” he murmured, his voice rough against your ear.

“Seungcheol…” you gasped, your hips rising to meet his every thrust.

When your second climax hit, you cried out softly, your body arching against his as the wave of pleasure rolled through you. He followed soon after, burying himself deep, groaning your name as he came, his body shuddering with the force of it.

After, he collapsed beside you, pulling you into his arms, his lips pressing softly against your temple as your breathing slowed.

For the first time in what felt like forever, there was no war. No crown. No chains.

Just the two of you. And the fragile hope of something real.

Seungcheol’s breath was still uneven, his heartbeat loud against your back as he wrapped his arms securely around you, pulling you close, your bare skin pressed to his. The heat between your bodies was slow to fade, but neither of you moved.

For the first time in weeks — maybe in his entire life — he felt still.

He rested his chin lightly on your shoulder, his fingers tracing lazy circles along the curve of your waist. Your breathing had begun to steady, your body soft and warm against his, and as he pressed a soft kiss to the nape of your neck, Seungcheol closed his eyes.

What are we doing?

The thought echoed somewhere in the back of his mind, but for once, he didn’t fight it. He let himself hold you tighter, his palm splayed over your stomach, grounding himself in the simple truth of your body beneath his touch.

You were here. Real. Alive.

Not a symbol. Not an enemy. Just you.

He pressed his lips gently to your shoulder again, eyes fluttering shut.

I was raised for war, but no one ever told me how easy it would be to find peace like this.

Your soft sigh pulled him from his thoughts as you shifted, settling deeper into the curve of his chest, your hand resting lightly over his.

In the quiet of the tent, with the faint chirping of crickets outside and the distant crackle of the dying campfire, Seungcheol let himself wonder, just for a moment, what it might feel like if this was all there was. No war. No crown. No betrayal waiting at the gates. Just this.

Just you.

“I meant it,” he whispered softly, unsure if you were awake enough to hear him. “You’re the only thing I’m sure of.”

The soft, early light of dawn crept through the seams of the tent, casting gentle beams across your tangled limbs. The coolness of the morning air kissed your bare shoulders, and you stirred faintly, blinking against the pale gold glow.

Seungcheol was already awake.

He lay on his side, propped up on one elbow, watching you quietly, eyes softer than you’d ever seen them. One hand brushed a loose strand of hair from your face, his thumb lingering against your cheek.

When your eyes finally met his, he offered the faintest smile.

“Morning,” he murmured, his voice low and husky from sleep.

You shifted slightly beneath the thin blanket draped across your hips, suddenly aware of how exposed you were beneath it. But when his hand reached for yours, threading his fingers gently between yours, you relaxed.

Neither of you spoke for a moment.

Then, quietly, you broke the silence. “We shouldn’t have—”

Seungcheol’s expression shifted, his brow furrowing, but before you could finish, he leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

“I’m not sorry,” he said simply.

Your lips parted slightly, caught off guard by how certain he sounded.

He sat up, running a hand through his tousled hair, the blanket slipping lower on his waist. “I know things are complicated,” he added, glancing down at you. “I know there’s so much we haven’t figured out. But I’m not going to regret this. Not even for a second.”

You sat up slowly, wrapping the blanket tighter around yourself as you held his gaze.

“You’re still the prince,” you said softly. “Your father’s son.”

Seungcheol’s eyes darkened, but he nodded. “I know.” His fingers reached out, brushing along your bare shoulder. “But last night wasn’t about my father. Or the Empire. It was just… us.”

You swallowed, your heart hammering in your chest, unsure of how to answer the tenderness in his voice.

Then, as if sensing the weight between you, Seungcheol smiled faintly, leaning in to kiss your shoulder. “You’re allowed to want this,” he whispered. “Even if it scares you.”

The flap of the tent rustled faintly with the morning breeze, the faint sounds of the camp waking up drifting in.

Seungcheol stood, pulling on his shirt and adjusting his trousers, but his eyes never left yours. Before stepping out, he paused at the entrance, looking back at you, his gaze soft.

“Rest a little longer,” he said gently. “I’ll bring you something to eat.”

And with that, he slipped outside, leaving you alone in the quiet warmth of the morning — heart racing, mind spinning, the imprint of his touch still burning on your skin.

By the time you dressed and stepped out of your tent, the camp was already stirring with the sounds of morning — the clatter of pots, soft chatter between the men, the occasional bark of orders as the brigade prepared to move on.

You spotted Seungcheol near the supply carts, speaking quietly with Baekhyun. His back was to you, one hand resting on his hip, the other gesturing toward the map spread out before them.

For a moment, you considered slipping away unnoticed, keeping distance between the two of you — unsure of what last night meant outside the safe walls of your tent.

But then Seungcheol turned.

His eyes found you immediately, as if drawn by some invisible thread. And for a second — just a second — the look he gave you was soft, unguarded, the prince stripped away, leaving only the man who had held you like you were something precious.

You felt it in your chest, the way your breath caught, your body remembering the weight of him against you, the heat of his mouth on your skin.

But as quickly as it came, he shifted back into command — posture straight, eyes steady, nodding once before turning back to his discussion.

You swallowed hard and forced yourself to move toward the others.

The tension between you only grew as the day went on.

Seungcheol kept his distance — not enough to seem deliberate, but enough that you felt it. His gaze would flick to you when he thought you weren’t looking, and every time your eyes met, the air felt too heavy between you, thick with all the things left unsaid.

During briefings, his voice stayed calm, collected — but his eyes always softened when they met yours. When you spoke, explaining the paths you knew through the provinces, he listened more intently than anyone, his jaw tight, fingers tapping absently against his thigh like he needed to keep himself from reaching for you.

And you felt it too — the weight of knowing, the memory of last night pressing into the space between you both.

You tried to focus on the mission, on the plans, but every time he stood too close, your skin prickled with awareness.

The others began to notice.

Baekhyun was the first to catch on.

You saw it in the way his eyes followed the subtle glances between you and Seungcheol. The faint smirk that played at the corner of his mouth whenever Seungcheol’s gaze lingered on you too long. The way Baekhyun’s eyebrow arched, knowingly, whenever he caught you shifting uncomfortably under the prince’s attention.

At one point, as you were helping Jinho secure the straps on one of the carts, Baekhyun passed by, leaning down just enough to murmur so only you could hear:

“Careful. The prince looks like he’s one heartbeat away from losing all his self-control.”

Your eyes snapped to him, narrowing, but he only winked and walked off.

By evening, the tension had thickened unbearably.

The men gathered for dinner, scattered near the fire, conversation easy between them. You sat beside Baekhyun and Jinho, listening halfheartedly as they joked about the clumsy dance steps from the night before.

But your eyes betrayed you, drifting again to where Seungcheol stood near the edge of the group, arms crossed, watching you.

When your gaze met his, he didn’t look away this time.

There was heat in his eyes. Want. But there was restraint too — barely held back, burning just beneath the surface.

You turned away quickly, your throat dry, pressing your lips together as if that could quiet the way your heart raced.

Baekhyun, sitting beside you, gave a soft chuckle, leaning in. “You two keep looking at each other like that,” he said quietly, “and the whole camp’s going to know.”

You shot him a glare. “They don’t already?”

Baekhyun shrugged with a grin. “Some of the boys are a little slow, but they’re not that slow.”

Jinho, oblivious, kept talking about his terrible footwork, while Baekhyun leaned back, arms behind his head, eyes still flicking between you and Seungcheol with barely hidden amusement.

But you felt it — the air between you and the prince like the pull of a tide, inevitable, inescapable.

It was only a matter of time before the waves would crash again.

Night fell over the camp, quiet settling in as the fires burned low and the soldiers began to drift off to sleep one by one. The soft crackle of embers outside your tent was the only sound as you lay on your side, staring at the flap of the entrance, your thoughts spinning.

You could still feel the weight of Seungcheol’s gaze from across the fire earlier — the way his eyes never quite left you, the heat in them impossible to ignore. Your heart hadn’t stopped racing since.

You told yourself to sleep. You needed to keep your head clear. But the ache of last night’s memory clung to you like the scent of smoke on your skin.

Then, just as your eyes began to drift closed, the tent flap shifted.

You shot up instantly, your body tensing.

Seungcheol stepped inside — slow, sure, his eyes locked on you in the dim light.

“Are you insane?” you whispered sharply, pulling your blanket tighter around yourself, glancing toward the entrance like someone might have seen him.

His expression didn’t waver. He stood tall, hands loose at his sides, gaze steady.

“They’re going to know,” you hissed. “If someone sees you—”

“I don’t care,” he cut you off softly, his voice low but firm. He took another step closer. “Let them know.”

You swallowed, your breath catching. “You should care,” you shot back, but your voice trembled. “You’re the prince. Your men—”

“My men,” he repeated, interrupting again, “already follow me because they believe in me. And if they’re going to keep following me, they’ll have to trust my choices.” His eyes softened slightly, but there was still that fierce determination beneath his words. “Including this. Including you.”

You stared at him, your fingers clutching the edge of the blanket tighter. “This could ruin everything.”

Seungcheol crouched down beside you then, leaning closer, lowering his voice even more. “I don’t care about the rules anymore. Not when it comes to you.”

Your chest tightened, your mind screaming at you to push him away, but your body already leaning toward him.

“You make me reckless,” he murmured, eyes searching yours. “But I’ve never felt so sure about anything.”

You shook your head faintly, your voice softer now. “Seungcheol, I can’t be the reason you lose your men… your crown…”

“I told you,” he said, reaching up to gently brush your hair away from your face, “I’m not sure I even want the crown anymore.”

Your heart pounded as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your lips.

“I don’t care if they know,” he repeated. “I don’t care if they see.”

His hand cupped your cheek, thumb tracing the edge of your jaw, and the weight of his gaze pinned you in place.

“What I care about is you.”

You closed your eyes for half a second, willing yourself to be stronger, to resist the pull of him — but when his lips brushed softly against yours, your resolve shattered.

You kissed him back, your hands finding his shoulders, gripping tight as he pulled you closer. His body pressed against yours, the heat between you building again, undeniable.

But even as the kiss deepened, even as your fingers slid beneath the edge of his shirt, your mind raced with the danger of it all. The risk.

You pulled back just enough to whisper, breathless against his lips: “What if they hear us?”

Seungcheol smiled faintly, his forehead pressing to yours. “Then they’ll finally know what they’ve been guessing all along.”

And before you could protest again, he kissed you harder — hungry, certain, as if he were willing to burn down the world for just one more moment like this with you.

The next few days passed in a strange, quiet shift of balance.

Seungcheol didn’t hide the way his eyes found you now. He didn’t hesitate to stand beside you during briefings, didn’t pull away if his hand brushed against yours when you passed him a map or when your arms grazed during morning preparations.

If anything, he seemed even more at ease — less guarded, more himself.

It was subtle, but noticeable.

You, on the other hand, couldn’t shake the nervous flutter in your chest whenever you caught the glances from the other men. You kept your head down, busying yourself with tasks, always hyperaware of the space between you and Seungcheol, wondering if it was obvious.

It was.

But to your surprise… the men didn’t seem nearly as bothered as you’d feared.

If anything, they looked like they’d been waiting for it.

One afternoon, as you helped Jinho secure supplies onto one of the wagons, you felt his eyes on you — the grin already on his face before you could even meet his gaze.

“So…” he began, dragging out the word, “you and the prince, huh?”

You froze, halfway through tying the rope, your eyes widening slightly as you shot him a glare. “Jinho—”

“What? Everyone knows,” he laughed, waving his hand. “We’ve all known for a while.”

You blushed, turning back to the rope, pulling it tighter than necessary. “I… we didn’t exactly mean for—”

Jinho raised a hand, cutting you off with a smile. “It’s fine. Really. None of us are upset about it.” He leaned against the wagon casually, arms crossed. “Honestly? We’re happy for you.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the softness in his tone.

“I mean,” Jinho added with a sheepish smile, “I think we all knew he wasn’t going to marry that princess from Jinhwa. The way he looks at you? Yeah… we saw this coming.”

Your shoulders sagged slightly, some of the tension releasing from your chest as you gave a small smile. “Thank you, Jinho.”

He grinned, nudging your arm playfully. “Just don’t let Baekhyun catch you sneaking into his tent or he’ll never let you hear the end of it.”

You shook your head, laughing despite yourself.

That night, after the camp had quieted and the fires burned low, you sat inside your tent, staring at the small crack of moonlight peeking through the flap. You were still replaying Jinho’s words, unsure whether to feel relieved or even more exposed.

Then the flap rustled softly.

You didn’t need to look up.

Seungcheol slipped inside, ducking his head slightly beneath the entrance, his lips already curling into that smug, knowing smile.

“See?” he said softly as he knelt down beside you. “I told you.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, crossing your arms loosely over your chest. “Told me what?”

“That they wouldn’t care.” His eyes softened, gaze steady on yours. “That they’d be happy for you.”

You let out a soft exhale, shaking your head as you leaned back on your hands. “I hate when you’re right.”

Seungcheol chuckled, leaning closer, his hand finding your knee as he brushed his thumb gently along your skin. “Get used to it.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you.

“And,” he added, voice quieter now as his fingers traced small circles against your knee, “for the record… they’re not just happy for you.” He leaned in, lips hovering close to your ear. “They’re happy for me, too.”

Your breath caught again — the warmth of him, the way his words melted so easily into your skin.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered.

You turned your head, your lips brushing softly against his, the space between you closing once more.

And as his hand slid up to your cheek, pulling you into another kiss, you felt the last of the worry begin to ease away — replaced by the quiet certainty of what was slowly, but surely, becoming yours.

The days that followed moved quickly, the weight of what was coming pressing down on the entire brigade.

The plan was simple, but dangerous.

Sneak into the capital under the cover of darkness. Free your father and the other captured tribal leaders. Reveal the truth of the Empire’s brutality to the people — expose the slaughtered villages, the lies of “peaceful assimilation.”

Baekhyun and Seungcheol went over the maps again and again, marking the weak points in the city’s defenses. They found the prison beneath the city walls where your father was being held — along with the other chiefs.

There would be no second chance.

The night of the mission, you dressed in dark clothes, your blade strapped at your hip, your heart pounding so hard you were afraid the guards might hear it.

You moved through the streets like shadows, slipping past the patrols, hearts in your throats.

When the gates of the prison creaked open under Jinho’s careful hands, you led the way through the corridors, the torches casting long shadows on the damp stone walls.

You found him deep in the cells — weak, bruised, but alive. His hair had grown longer, streaks of gray at his temples, but the fire in his eyes was not gone.

“Father…” Your voice cracked as you whispered it.

His head snapped up, disoriented at first, but then his eyes widened as they met yours.

“Y/N?” His voice trembled.

You dropped your sword, rushing toward him, falling to your knees as your hands grabbed the bars, fingers shaking.

“Y/N, is it— Is it really—” He couldn’t finish. Tears streamed down your face as you nodded, your hands reaching through the bars to cup his weathered face.

“We’re getting you out,” you whispered. “I swear it.”

Seungcheol was already at the lock, breaking it open as your father’s arms wrapped around you tightly for the first time in what felt like a lifetime.

“My brave girl,” he choked, burying his face into your shoulder as you wept into his chest.

Baekhyun and the men worked fast, freeing the other leaders. Word was spreading outside the prison. People began gathering, murmurs growing louder as the evidence of the Empire’s deception spread through the streets.

But the victory was short-lived.

As you stepped out into the square with your father and the freed chiefs, the sound of armored boots echoed through the streets.

The Emperor stood waiting, flanked by his soldiers, their blades drawn, torches blazing behind them. His expression was cold, but his eyes burned with fury.

“You dare,” he spat, glaring at the group, then at Seungcheol. “You dare betray me for this?”

The soldiers surrounded you, weapons raised.

“Seize the chiefs,” the Emperor ordered, his voice booming.

The guards surged forward, grabbing your father, forcing him to his knees. His face stayed proud, unyielding.

“Execute the leader,” the Emperor barked.

“No!” You screamed, throwing yourself between your father and the executioner’s sword, your arms spread wide, your body shielding him.

“Stand down, girl,” the Emperor growled.

Seungcheol’s voice cracked through the air, desperate, furious: “No!”

The Emperor’s gaze snapped toward him, eyes narrowing. “You—” His lip curled. “You love her.”

The words hung in the air like a blade between you.

Seungcheol’s chest rose and fell hard, his fists clenched. His eyes didn’t leave yours.

The Emperor’s face twisted with disgust, his voice laced with disbelief. “My own son… defiled by some tribal girl.” His voice hardened. “Then let her die beside him. Execute both of them.”

“Wait!” Seungcheol shouted, stepping forward. His voice rang out across the square, sharp and desperate. “I’ll marry her.”

The crowd froze. Even the soldiers hesitated.

The Emperor’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

“I’ll marry the princess of Jinhwa,” Seungcheol said louder, his voice steady despite the ache behind it. “You want the alliance. You want to save face after this mess. Let them all go — her father, the chiefs, the tribes. The expansion is already ruined, but this marriage will strengthen your ties to Jinhwa.”

The square fell into a stunned silence.

Your heart shattered.

You could barely breathe, your eyes locked on his, your lips parted as the weight of his words hit you like a blade to the chest.

The Emperor stayed quiet for a long moment, eyes calculating. Then, finally, he nodded once.

“Fine. They may go.” His voice was calm again. Cruel. Triumphant. “But the deal stands.”

The soldiers lowered their swords. Baekhyun immediately started moving the chiefs away, motioning for the men to fall back.

But you didn’t move.

You pushed against the hands trying to guide you away, your voice cracking as you screamed, “No—! Let me go! Seungcheol—!”

Baekhyun grabbed your arm, holding you back tightly as you struggled against him, your tears blinding you.

“Seungcheol!” you cried out again, fighting to reach him, your body twisting against the grip of the men pulling you away.

He stood frozen where he was, eyes on you — full of love, full of sorrow, but not moving.

Baekhyun’s arms tightened around you, his face grim as he whispered harshly into your ear: “I’m sorry. He told me — whatever happens, get you out of here. Don’t let him see you die here.”

Your body was still fighting, thrashing against Baekhyun’s grip, but your strength was failing beneath the weight of heartbreak.

“Seungcheol!” you sobbed one last time, your voice raw, breaking.

He didn’t move. But as you were dragged further away, your eyes caught the moment his knees buckled beneath him, his body collapsing to the ground, his head bowed, his hands clenched into the dirt.

And as Baekhyun pulled you out of the square, away from the flames, away from him — you felt the last piece of your heart crumble.

Five Years Later…

The seasons had passed, and though the scars of war still marked the land, life had found a way to bloom again.

Your village stood strong, nestled between the hills where the rivers ran clear. Built by the hands of your tribe, your father, and the men who had once followed Seungcheol into battle — men who chose peace, who chose you.

There was still fighting to be done. Other tribes remained scattered, some still hunted, others in hiding. But here, in this place, you had carved out a home. A refuge. A small piece of freedom.

You spent the morning working at the back of your home, weaving baskets, your hands steady though your mind wandered — always thinking of the next step, the next fight, the people who still needed saving.

Then, faint at first, you heard it.

Cheers. Voices rising with excitement. The sound of feet running, men calling out to each other.

You stood, wiping your hands on your skirt, frowning. Curious.

You stepped out into the path, your brow knit, and saw the gathering — the men surrounding someone near the village entrance. Their voices were loud, joyful, filled with something like disbelief.

Baekhyun was there, and you caught the sight of him embracing someone tightly, his face breaking into a rare, wide smile.

Then Baekhyun turned — and the others slowly stepped aside.

Your heart stopped.

There he was.

Seungcheol.

Older now. His hair a bit longer, tied loosely at the back. Broader somehow, heavier at the shoulders. But his face — his eyes — those were the same. Still burning with that quiet, steady fire you had fallen in love with.

You dropped the basket in your hands, the contents spilling to the ground.

You couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

So he did.

Seungcheol crossed the space between you in long strides, never breaking eye contact, and when he reached you, his arms wrapped around you so tightly you thought you might break from the pressure of it. But you didn’t let go either. Your fingers clutched at the fabric of his clothes, holding him close, the weight of five long years crashing into your chest all at once.

The men gave you space, drifting away, leaving you both in the quiet.

He followed you into your house, the door closing softly behind you. And for a moment, the only sound was the rush of your breath and the faint tremble of his hands still holding yours.

“I wanted to write,” he began, voice rough. “God, I wanted to write to you a thousand times. But I was afraid — afraid they would find the letters, intercept them, trace them back to you.”

You swallowed, nodding faintly, your eyes never leaving his.

“The day of my wedding,” Seungcheol continued, his voice breaking slightly, “it was the worst day of my life.”

You squeezed his hand tighter.

“They never touched me, Y/N. I couldn’t. I couldn’t be with her. I never even looked at her the way I looked at you.” He let out a shaking breath. “When she got pregnant, I knew. It wasn’t mine. It couldn’t be.”

Your eyes widened, but you stayed silent, letting him speak.

“The child was not mine. The marriage was dissolved. She was sent back to Jinhwa. My father was furious… but he needed the alliance too much to start another war.” He shook his head, frustration flashing across his face. “I had to wait. Wait until his focus was elsewhere, until he left on a long campaign, months away from the capital.”

His eyes softened, locking onto yours again.

“And now… now I’m here.”

Your lips parted, the flood of words waiting at the back of your throat — but before you could say anything, a soft voice broke the silence.

“Mama!”

You froze.

Seungcheol’s head turned, eyes wide with confusion.

A little boy, no older than five, came running into the house, his small arms wrapping tightly around your waist as he buried his face against you.

Seungcheol’s gaze dropped, stunned silent — and when the boy turned to face him, Seungcheol’s breath caught in his chest.

The child’s eyes, his nose, the shape of his face… there was no mistaking it.

The boy was his.

Tears welled in your eyes as you dropped to your knees, holding your son close, your voice trembling.

“I wanted to write to you, too,” you whispered. “But I couldn’t risk it. Not with him. Not when I didn’t know what your father might do if he found out.”

Seungcheol’s lips trembled, his eyes fixed on the boy, blinking rapidly as he tried to hold back the tears already threatening to fall.

“How…?” His voice cracked. “How could you have gone through this alone?”

“I wasn’t alone,” you said softly, brushing your fingers through your son’s hair. “All your men have cared for him. Baekhyun… he’s watched over him like he was his own blood.”

Seungcheol’s eyes darted back to you, overwhelmed, barely able to process the flood of emotion twisting through him.

“Does he…?” His voice lowered into a whisper, almost afraid to ask. “Does he know me?”

You gave a gentle smile through your tears.

“Jeonghan,” you called softly, lifting your son’s chin, “who is your father?”

The little boy beamed, his eyes bright. “His name is Seungcheol! And he is a brave and just man!”

Seungcheol’s lips parted, the tears finally breaking free and spilling down his cheeks.

You smiled gently through your own tears, your voice thick as you said: “Jeonghan… that’s him.”

The boy turned, his eyes wide with curiosity as he stepped closer. Slowly, without hesitation, he reached up and placed his small hand against Seungcheol’s cheek.

“Dada,” Jeonghan said softly, smiling. “You’re finally home.”

Seungcheol’s face crumpled. A soft, broken sob escaped him as he dropped to his knees, gathering the boy into his arms, clutching him tightly, holding him as if afraid he might disappear.

Jeonghan’s arms wrapped around his neck, giggling happily, unaware of the depth of the moment — but you saw the way Seungcheol’s shoulders shook with every breath, the way he held your son like a man trying to hold onto hope for the first time in years.

Through the tears, Seungcheol looked up at you — eyes shining, full of love, full of grief, full of the years lost between you.

But there was no anger in them. Only relief. Only love.

Only home.

[asciendo]

In the Shadow of the Court

Summary: In a palace ruled by tradition and silence, a former noblewoman is chosen to become a court lady—never expecting to catch the eye of the Emperor’s most trusted messenger, Wonwoo. What begins as stolen glances and guarded words soon spirals into a love both forbidden and fragile. But peace is never promised in the palace. As secrets fester and enemies lurk beyond the gates, love is tested through grief, betrayal, and the cruel hands of fate. When blood is spilled and a child is lost, she must learn to rise from the wreckage—not just as a consort, but as a force to be reckoned with. And when the plum blossoms bloom again, she’ll no longer be a shadow in someone else’s story—she will be the woman who survived it all.

💌 Pairing: Wonwoo x f!Reader 📖 Genre: Historical | Romance | Angst | Slow Burn | Hurt/Comfort | Political Drama | Tragedy to Healing 🖋️ Word Count: 13,536 📍 Setting: Korean Empire-inspired palace court

🚨 Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, Themes and description of miscarriage, Smut / explicit sexual content (18+)

It was your duty, they said—what you were born for. From the moment you could hold a brush or pour tea without spilling, your life had been shaped by quiet rituals and sharper expectations. Now, as your handmaidens layered robe upon robe over your frame, the weight of your future settled heavily onto your shoulders.

Silks rustled around you, dyed in the soft tones of early spring—muted jade and ivory, hand-embroidered with cranes and plum blossoms. Your hair, freshly washed and perfumed, was wound tightly into an elegant coil, fixed in place by a single silver hairpin that gleamed under the lamplight. You barely recognized the girl in the mirror, her face painted pale and composed, her lips tinted a delicate rose.

Your fingers curled around the silk skirts, trying to ground yourself as the final adornments were placed. Everything about you had been softened, refined—like porcelain polished to perfection. But underneath it all, your heart was beating too fast, your breath catching every few seconds in your throat. You swallowed hard, forcing stillness into your limbs.

Today, you were to be taken to the palace. A place of poetry, power, and shadows.

A concubine to the Emperor.

The word alone made your stomach twist. Your family had said it was an honor, that girls were raised their entire lives dreaming of being chosen. But you hadn’t dreamed of this. You hadn’t asked for it. And now, with every rustle of fabric, the dread inside you thickened like smoke.

Outside, bells rang softly in the distance—somewhere in the city, a procession passing. The scent of wood smoke and sandalwood curled through the air. A quiet knock at the door pulled you back into your body.

“It’s time,” came a voice from beyond the screen.

Your maidens exchanged quick glances before stepping aside. You moved toward the door, your silk shoes whispering against the floorboards.

The hall outside your chambers stretched longer than it ever had before. At the end, your parents stood waiting—father in his dark official robes, mother in a ceremonial hanbok that shimmered under the lanterns. Their expressions were unreadable. Your mother’s hands were folded neatly in front of her; your father’s gaze, as always, rested somewhere above your head.

You walked slowly toward them, each step measured, rehearsed. When you reached the space before them, you lowered yourself into a bow, knees pressing into the polished wood. Your head bowed low, hands trembling slightly in your lap.

“Appa. Eomma,” you said, the words barely above a whisper. “I go as I must.”

Neither spoke. The silence wrapped around you like another layer of silk.

You remained bowed for a few more heartbeats, then rose with careful grace. Your legs felt unsteady. Your hands, still shaking, disappeared into your sleeves.

Outside, the palanquin awaited beneath a veil of gray sky.

You stepped into it without looking back.

Not at the house where you grew up. Not at the parents who watched you go without a word.

Only forward—toward the palace.

When you arrived at the palace, the grandeur of it swallowed you whole. The stone walls towered like mountains, the curved rooftops painted in deep green and adorned with carved beasts watching from above. Courtiers moved like shadows beneath the archways, all dressed in formal robes, faces unreadable. The air smelled of ink, pine, and chrysanthemum.

Waiting at the gates was a woman cloaked in rich navy silk, her presence commanding yet graceful. She bowed only slightly before approaching you.

“I am Lady Seo,” she said, her voice clipped and formal. “You will answer to me while you find your place here.”

She turned swiftly, expecting you to follow.

Inside, the halls were lined with latticed windows and long stretches of silence. Servants lowered their heads as you passed, and you could feel their eyes on your back once you were beyond them. Lady Seo moved briskly, her words sparse, but her gaze was sharp. She spoke to a few passing attendants in a low voice before stopping in a quiet receiving hall.

“You will wait here,” she said. “I must attend to a matter.”

She left without another word.

You stood alone.

The quiet in the room buzzed in your ears. Your hands were clasped tightly in front of you, knuckles white beneath your sleeves. You had heard things about the Emperor—whispers behind silken fans and paper walls. That he was ruthless. Easily angered. That his strength on the battlefield had carved his legacy in blood. Women who had entered the court often did not speak of him, and when they did, it was in murmurs.

You had never feared anyone more.

But what terrified you most was not the man himself—it was that he would look at you and see nothing. That your life, your voice, your will, would simply disappear inside this place.

You didn’t realize how long Lady Seo had been gone until the shoji screen slid open once more.

“The Emperor is not to be seen this evening,” she said flatly. “But His Highness, the Emperor’s younger brother, has requested to greet you on behalf of the Royal Household.”

Your heart lurched.

You had heard of him. Prince Wonwoo. Younger by a few years, but already known in court for his composure, his intelligence, his sense of fairness. You had only seen him once or twice from a distance—at a banquet, a funeral, a seasonal rite. He had looked calm then, with unreadable eyes and a quiet presence that somehow commanded attention without demanding it.

Now you were to meet him.

Lady Seo led you through a covered walkway, the wind stirring faintly at the hems of your robe. You passed a garden pond, its surface reflecting the soft glow of hanging lanterns. The air had a chill to it, the last breath of late autumn.

And then, you stepped into the main courtyard.

There he was.

Standing beneath the ancient ginkgo tree, its golden leaves falling slowly around him, Prince Wonwoo looked almost ethereal. Dressed in dark robes with a jade belt at his waist, he turned at the sound of your steps.

Your eyes met.

The world seemed to still.

He did not look away.

Neither did you.

You had expected indifference. A formal nod. But instead, there was something curious in his gaze—measured, thoughtful, as if he were trying to read you without a word spoken. His features were fine, but it wasn’t beauty that startled you—it was his quietness. A silence that did not feel empty, but observant. Alive.

Lady Seo bowed and stepped aside, her presence retreating behind you.

You lowered your head, just enough to show respect, though your heart thundered in your chest.

When you looked up again, he was still watching you.

That was the last you saw of him for several days.

Prince Wonwoo disappeared into the labyrinth of court life, and you were left to settle into your quarters in the women’s wing of the palace. The Emperor had not requested you—thankfully—and each day passed with a quiet tension, the other girls watching your every move with unreadable expressions.

It was only days later, when word spread that a festival performance would be held in the inner court, that things shifted.

Lady Seo, ever observant, had seen you dance once—just once, when the other concubines had been resting and you had been alone in the courtyard, your body moving instinctively to the melody played by a court musician. She had said nothing at the time. Only watched. And now, she had named you the center of the dance.

The announcement sent a ripple through the women’s quarters. Whispers echoed like wind against the walls. Eyes turned colder.

You loved dancing. It was the one thing that made you feel like yourself—light, unburdened, free. But never had you danced before an audience. Never for the court. Never for him.

When the festival night arrived, lanterns bathed the courtyards in soft gold. Incense smoke curled through the air, and silk banners rustled in the breeze. You were dressed in soft amber robes, your sleeves wide and trailing, your hair adorned with golden pins that shimmered with each step.

Your heart pounded as you stepped into the open courtyard where the royal court was gathered. The Emperor sat at the highest pavilion, shadowed and regal, surrounded by ministers, generals, and other court women. Beside him, just a step lower, sat Prince Wonwoo, his face unreadable under the glow of paper lanterns.

The music began.

Your body moved on instinct, each step an echo of old rhythms taught since childhood. You let the silk flow like water, your hands carving shapes in the air, your breath syncing with every motion. The other girls moved around you like petals in a windstorm, but it was you who held the center.

You didn’t dare look directly at the Emperor. But you felt the weight of his gaze—sharp, curious, captivated.

Then, as you spun slowly, your eyes found his.

Wonwoo.

He wasn’t looking at your form or your movement. He was watching your expression. Your restraint. Your fear. Your bravery.

And for a second, you forgot about the Emperor, the court, the danger. It was just him. And you.

The final note rang out.

You dropped into a bow, your chest heaving with controlled breath, head lowered.

When you glanced up, the Emperor was already whispering to Lady Seo, his expression unreadable—but his gaze on you.

That night, in the hush of your quarters, Lady Seo entered with that same steady look in her eyes.

“His Majesty,” she said calmly, “has requested your company this evening.”

A chill swept through you.

Around you, the other girls pretended not to listen, but the silence was loud. The ones who had danced with you turned away sharply. One of them let her brush fall to the floor.

Lady Seo helped you dress in a soft robe of wine-red silk, your hair left looser, your face painted more delicately than before. You could barely control the tremble in your hands.

Lady Seo placed her hand gently on your shoulder. “Once the first time is over, it gets easier,” she said.

You nodded faintly, trying to swallow the dread.

But before you could take a step out, you were grabbed—roughly, suddenly—by three of the other concubines.

Their eyes burned with fury. One of them hissed through her teeth, “He hasn’t called me in five months. And now you walk in here, all delicate and noble, and suddenly you’re his favorite?”

Another girl shoved you against the wall. “You don’t deserve this,” she spat. “He should’ve chosen one of us.”

You struggled, your voice caught in your throat. Then, one of them reached into her sleeve and pulled out a small, curved knife—barely visible under the silk.

“Once your face is ruined, he won’t want you anymore,” she whispered. “You’ll be cast out like the rest of us.”

Your heart thudded wildly.

Servants shouted, rushing in, trying to stop them. One of them cried, “You can’t touch her—she’s noble-born! You’ll be punished—!”

A slap cracked through the air as one of the girls struck the servant down.

The blade was lifted, the girl’s hand trembling—but before it could fall, another hand seized her wrist.

“Enough.”

The voice was calm, but cold. Commanding.

Wonwoo.

He stood there, a few paces away, arm outstretched, gripping the girl’s wrist tightly. His eyes were no longer gentle. They were steel.

The girls froze. The blade dropped to the floor with a dull clang.

“Don’t you know she was chosen by the Emperor?” Wonwoo said, his voice low and dangerous. “If anything happens to her, it will be on you. All of you.”

The three women fell to their knees immediately, heads bowed in panic, voices trembling with apologies.

Lady Seo appeared moments later, her steps swift and sharp. Wonwoo looked at you briefly, then gently helped you up, steadying you before stepping back, disappearing as silently as he had come.

Lady Seo said nothing—only looked at the trembling girls on the ground with cold fury.

That same night, the Emperor was told.

His fury was immediate and brutal.

“They dared to lay a hand on what is mine?” he said, his voice echoing across the hall. “Then let them see what happens when you destroy what belongs to the throne.”

The three women were cast out before the moon reached its peak—stripped of their titles, their jewelry, and their dignity. Thrown onto the streets outside the palace walls before dawn.

You sat quietly in your quarters, breath shallow, limbs still shaky.

Lady Seo returned not long after.

“His Majesty has postponed his request,” she said softly. “You may rest for now.”

Relief washed over you like water. You nodded, bowing your head in gratitude, still too stunned to speak.

And just before the door closed, you caught sight of a familiar figure walking down the distant corridor.

Wonwoo.

He did not look at you.

But something inside you tightened anyway.

A thread, quietly pulling. A connection neither of you had asked for—but one you couldn’t deny.

The next few days passed in muted stillness.

You weren’t summoned by the Emperor again—much to the other girls’ confusion and, perhaps, relief. The servants whispered that he had left for military inspections at the western border, and for now, the palace was breathing easier. You took that time to explore the small corners of the inner court you were permitted in. The gardens, the moon terrace, the koi pond under the curved bridge—each became part of your quiet, careful routine.

But always, you passed the same path.

Always, you stopped at the wooden doors of the Royal Library.

You never entered—of course not. That was forbidden. But you would stand by the paper windows for a moment longer than necessary, peering through the delicate screens, letting your eyes trace the shelves upon shelves of scrolls and bound books, wondering what stories lived within them.

What knowledge. What freedom.

You didn’t know that someone was watching you too.

Prince Wonwoo, on his way through the corridors each morning, began to notice the same figure at the window. You always paused. Always peered in. And always walked away before anyone could stop you.

He found himself wondering: what was she looking for?

And then, one afternoon, Lady Seo entered your quarters, her arms folded and her expression unreadable.

“Come,” she said, as she had many times before.

But instead of guiding you toward the practice halls or the concubines’ chambers, she took you in another direction.

You knew this hallway. You had walked past it many times.

And when she stopped in front of the doors to the library, your steps faltered.

You turned to her, blinking. “Why am I here?”

Lady Seo hesitated for the briefest moment. There was a flicker of a smile at the corner of her lips—but it didn’t reach her eyes. “You’ve been requested.”

“By who?”

A familiar voice answered.

“Me.”

You turned. Wonwoo stood just past the doorway, half-shadowed by the shelves behind him, hands clasped loosely behind his back. His expression was calm, but there was something in his eyes—warm, steady, curious.

Lady Seo bowed slightly and quietly took her leave.

You lowered yourself quickly into a bow. “My prince.”

He tilted his head. “Why do you always look in here?”

You kept your gaze low. “I don’t know what you mean.”

He smiled faintly. “I see you. Every morning. You stand outside and look in. Is it because you like to read?”

You hesitated, then nodded once.

“Then read,” he said simply. “Whatever you like.”

You blinked. “Pardon?”

“I’m not in the habit of repeating myself,” he said lightly. “But if you insist.”

You blushed, unsure if he was serious. “I didn’t mean—I just… Why would you offer me this?”

He gave a soft laugh. “You’re quite bold, aren’t you? Most would have accepted the offer by now.”

You bit your lip, embarrassed. He tilted his head again, eyes narrowing playfully.

“Do you want me to take it back?”

You shook your head quickly. “No, Your Highness.”

He smiled. “Good.”

You stepped hesitantly toward the shelves, running your fingers across the spines until one caught your eye. A book of poetry, old but worn gently. You held it close, then turned to him, bowing your head.

“Thank you. For the other night, as well.”

He nodded. “You don’t need to thank me for that.”

He left you then, and you opened the book in silence, surrounded by the scent of aged paper and the warmth of something unspoken.

After that, every day, Lady Seo would pull you from your quarters and lead you toward the library. Sometimes Wonwoo would be there already, quietly reading. Other times, you would find a small stack of books already laid out on the desk. With handwritten notes in the margins.

He began to ask your thoughts—on poems, on old folktales, even on philosophies taught to princes. You began to speak more, hesitantly at first, then with more ease. His presence became something steady in a world that shifted like sand.

But Lady Seo saw everything.

She saw the way your fingers lingered on the books he touched. The way your eyes softened when he entered the room. And worse, the way he looked at you—not with the sharp distance of royalty, but with familiarity. With interest.

And she knew this path was dangerous.

Because you were not his to want. And he was not yours to love.

One afternoon, as the breeze danced through the garden, you were walking alone—your sleeves brushing against flowering hedges—when a voice called to you.

“Concubine.”

You turned immediately and bowed.

Lady Hae. The Emperor’s favored companion. Draped in silk the color of deep plum, her hair adorned with butterfly pins and obsidian beads. Her smile was beautiful, but never warm.

“Walk with me,” she said. It wasn’t a request.

You fell into step beside her. Her perfume smelled of black tea and smoke.

“So,” she said lightly, “you’ve caught the Emperor’s eye.”

You froze mid-step, heart thudding.

She laughed. “Don’t worry. That’s not why I’m here.”

“I am here for the Emperor. I will serve him,” you said quickly.

“Ah.” She smirked. “How noble. But a little bird told me a certain concubine has been spending time in the library… with the prince.”

Your breath caught.

She smiled wider. “Don’t worry, child. I’m not going to tell. I’m not cruel. I’m… strategic.”

You looked at her, confused.

“You see, I don’t care about the prince. But I do care about the Emperor’s attention. And lately, he’s been looking at you.” She stepped in front of you, eyes sharp. “I want that gaze back where it belongs.”

“I—I don’t know what you mean,” you said quietly.

Lady Hae leaned in. “I may not be noble, but I know attraction when I see it. And I’m telling you this now… in case you try to overstep.”

Your lips parted, unsure of what to say. A cold knot formed in your stomach.

She stepped back, smoothing her sleeves. “This is a palace, my dear. Every kindness comes at a cost. Every misstep is watched.”

Then she smiled again, almost sweetly.

“I’m just letting you know. For your own good.”

And with that, she turned and walked away, her silk robes whispering behind her.

You stood frozen in the garden path, your hands trembling beneath your sleeves.

And somewhere deep inside, you realized: You had stepped into something much more dangerous than you imagined.

After your encounter with Lady Hae, you began to move differently.

Cautiously. Quietly.

You stopped visiting the library altogether. Instead, you remained tucked inside your quarters, claiming fatigue, feigning headaches. You told Lady Seo your dreams had been restless, your appetite poor. She raised a brow but said nothing, only prescribed herbal teas and rest.

The truth sat like a stone in your chest.

You didn’t want to see him.

Not because you didn’t want to—because you did, terribly—but because now you were afraid of what others saw in your eyes. What he might see in yours.

Until one morning, as you were crossing the southern corridor on your way to the concubines’ daily inspection, a voice called out behind you.

“Wait.”

You turned and saw him.

Prince Wonwoo, walking with purpose. His dark robes swept softly behind him, his expression unreadable at first—then shifting to concern the moment your eyes met.

“Are you all right?” he asked, his voice low.

You bowed quickly. “Yes, Your Highness,” you murmured, your hands tight around the hem of your sleeve.

You stepped to pass him, but he moved to block your way gently, his hand lifting just enough to halt you.

“Tell me,” he said, softer now. “Please.”

You couldn’t look at him. The words clung to your throat. You managed a quiet, “It’s nothing,” and began to turn—

That’s when the alarm bells rang.

A shrill clang of bronze echoed across the palace grounds. Once. Twice. Three times.

Your body froze.

Around the corner, a scream. Then pounding feet. Shouts.

And then—they appeared.

Figures dressed in black, masked and armed, pouring through the palace like a wave of shadows. They moved without hesitation, cutting down any guard in their path.

You gasped, stepping back as one of them locked eyes with you and charged.

Wonwoo was faster.

He unsheathed his blade in a flash, stepping in front of you, striking down the rebel before they could even lift their sword.

“Stay behind me,” he ordered.

You clutched your skirts, stumbling after him as he led you through the halls. The marble floors echoed with the sounds of battle—clashing steel, panicked cries, and the sickening thud of falling bodies.

After turning a sharp corner, he flung open a narrow door tucked into the side of a hallway.

“In here.”

Before you could protest, he pushed you inside—a small storage room barely large enough to stand in. Scrolls and ceremonial robes lined the walls. The air was still and dust-heavy.

He entered with you, closing the door behind him.

Your bodies were pressed together, breath mingling, the closeness making your pulse race. You could feel the tension in his shoulders, the warmth of his chest brushing yours. He wasn’t looking at you—his jaw was clenched, listening for any movement outside.

“I need to find the Emperor,” he whispered, his voice hushed but urgent.

You reached out without thinking, touching his sleeve.

“Be careful,” you said.

His eyes met yours—only for a second.

Then he nodded once, turned, and was gone.

The battle was already in full swing when Wonwoo reached the Emperor’s inner chamber. The doors had been breached. Blood painted the floor. Two of the royal guards lay unconscious. The Emperor stood at the center of the chaos, fighting off three men at once.

He was holding his ground—but barely.

Wonwoo joined without hesitation. His blade met flesh with practiced ease. Together, the brothers fought back-to-back until the last rebel fell to the floor, breath ragged and broken.

Reinforcements arrived minutes later.

The palace was cleared. The wounded were tended to. The dead were counted.

The rebels had come from the outskirts—radicals who had long opposed the crown. They’d waited for the Emperor’s military to move west, leaving the palace vulnerable. They had slipped in through a bribed gatekeeper.

And still—they had failed.

That evening, the Emperor summoned his ministers, his generals, and his brother.

He sat upon his throne with blood still under his fingernails.

“Fear,” he said, voice low but thunderous, “must be remembered. We will make an example of them. Their homes will be razed. Their names struck from every record. No one will dare raise a blade against the throne again.”

Then he turned to Wonwoo.

“You saved my life today.”

Wonwoo bowed.

“It was my honor.”

“You have proven your loyalty,” the Emperor continued. “And now, I owe you a reward. Name it.”

A week passed.

You thought the storm had quieted.

Until, once again, you were summoned to perform.

The same robes. The same courtyard. The same jealous eyes cast your way as the dancers whispered behind their fans. Why is she always in the center? What did she do to deserve it?

You danced because you had to.

But your body moved stiffly. Your arms, graceful as they were, carried weight you couldn’t shake. You knew what the summons meant this time. The Emperor would not postpone again.

And sure enough, after the final bow, a eunuch approached.

“His Majesty wishes your company tonight.”

The others watched as you were escorted away.

This time, you were dressed in deep scarlet, your hair adorned with golden pins shaped like dragons. Your lips painted darker than before. Your steps were silent, but your heart beat like a drum.

You bowed as you entered the Emperor’s chambers.

He rose slowly from his seat, his robes flowing like shadow. “You,” he said, voice soft but full of possession. “You’ve haunted my thoughts.”

You tried to breathe steadily. “I am honored, Your Majesty.”

But before he could take another step—

The doors burst open.

Wonwoo.

His robes were dusted from travel. His expression unreadable.

“What is the meaning of this?” the Emperor growled.

“I’ve come to claim what you promised,” Wonwoo said.

The court servants froze in place.

“You dare interrupt my chambers?” the Emperor snapped. “Do you forget your place?”

“You told me I could ask for anything,” Wonwoo replied. “And I choose her.”

The silence cracked like glass.

“She belongs to the court!” the Emperor barked. “She is mine.”

“She is not a possession,” Wonwoo said, his voice calm but edged with steel.

“She’s a concubine!” the Emperor roared.

“She’s the one I want.”

The room shook with tension.

Then, from the shadows, Lady Hae stepped forward, a fan lazily swaying in her hand.

“He could have asked for an army,” she said coolly. “A province. Ten thousand in gold. But he asked for a girl.”

The Emperor’s eyes narrowed.

Lady Hae continued.

 “She’s of noble blood. Her family holds power in the south. You’ve already been attacked once. You’ll need their loyalty.”

The Emperor’s expression hardened. But slowly, he exhaled. “Fine.”

You barely breathed.

Wonwoo turned to Lady Seo. “Move her to my wing.”

Lady Seo grabbed your arm the moment they dismissed you. In your chambers, she slammed the door behind you.

“What have you done?!”

“Nothing!” you cried, trembling. “Absolutely nothing!”

She stared at you. “That’s not true. I saw it. I felt it. You’ve gone too far.”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“You’re in a more dangerous position now. You’re not just a concubine—you’re a political target.”

A knock interrupted her. The door slid open.

Wonwoo stood there.

Lady Seo immediately bowed.

“Your Highness.”

He nodded. “Lady Y/N will be fine. I promise.”

He met Lady Seo’s gaze. “Thank you for taking care of her. Please continue to do so.”

Lady Seo bowed once more and quietly stepped out.

And when the door closed, you were alone with him.

Safe—but not safe. Wanted, but not yet his.

And everything had changed.

You were led quietly to Prince Wonwoo’s wing of the palace—an area you had never dared venture before. It was quiet, more shaded than the rest of the court, surrounded by ginkgo trees and flowering shrubs that danced lightly in the breeze. The air felt different here, as though it wasn’t weighed down by the same tension that haunted the Emperor’s quarters.

Your new chamber was far larger than your previous one. The floors were dark polished wood, the walls lined with scrolls and subtle art, and silk curtains floated softly around the low bed and latticed windows. A small tray of sweets had been placed on a table. A folded robe of deep jade green waited by the screen.

You stepped in, awe curling through your chest. It was… beautiful.

And then—footsteps.

You turned sharply.

Wonwoo.

He stood in the doorway, his silhouette framed by the warm lantern light in the hallway. His expression was unreadable at first, then softened when he saw you.

“I hope it’s to your liking,” he said.

You bowed, unsure of how to respond. Gratitude sat in your chest, but confusion too—heavy and strange.

“May I be bold?” you asked, voice quiet.

He raised an eyebrow slightly but nodded.

You took in a breath. “Why me?”

He didn’t speak for a moment. His posture stiffened—just barely—but enough that you noticed.

“I am thankful,” you continued. “But… why me?”

He let out a breath and stepped further into the room, his hand trailing along the edge of a scroll hanging on the wall.

“I don’t know, honestly,” he murmured. “There’s just… something. From the first time I saw you looking into the library. Something about the way you stood. Quiet but present.”

You watched his face carefully. He wasn’t teasing. He wasn’t playing a game. He seemed almost embarrassed by his own honesty.

“I feel like I need to protect you,” he said softly. “And I… want to. I don’t mean to overstep. I know what this place is, what it demands of you. Of me.”

You took a step closer.

His words hung between you like mist—uncertain but sincere.

You hesitated, then spoke before you lost your nerve.

“I… want to thank you. For everything. For making my days here bearable. For noticing I was there when no one else did.”

You swallowed, the words raw in your throat.

“With you around, I wasn’t that scared anymore.”

You saw it then—the subtle shift in his expression. The way his gaze flicked downward, how his shoulders relaxed, and then tensed again when he looked at you.

A slow flush crept up his neck to his cheeks, barely noticeable except in the soft lamplight.

He looked away quickly. “I should let you rest,” he said, clearing his throat.

You nodded. “Good night, my prince.”

He didn’t answer right away. Then, quietly: “Good night.”

He left without another word.

As soon as he reached his chambers, Wonwoo closed the door behind him, leaning back against the wall as though the weight of the night had finally caught up to him.

He sat down heavily at the edge of his bed, resting his elbows on his knees, head in his hands.

What am I doing?

It had all been impulsive. Reckless, even. But when the Emperor had said anything, you were the only thing that came to mind. Not land. Not glory. Not influence.

Just you.

The girl with a soft voice who paused outside libraries. The girl who bowed so formally but smiled with hesitation, whose eyes lit up when talking about stories. The girl who looked at him not like a prince, but like a person.

He knew the danger. He knew what people would say.

But he also knew what he felt.

And for once, in a life ruled by duty and calculation, he had chosen for himself.

The next morning, you were awakened by the gentle rustling of silk and the low hum of voices outside your door. When the screens slid open, three attendants entered—new ones, dressed in finer robes than those you were used to seeing. They bowed deeply before stepping inside with trays of cosmetics, jewelry, and intricately folded garments.

Without a word, they began preparing you.

You sat quietly as they brushed out your hair, perfumed your wrists, and dressed you in the finest robes you had ever worn—a soft plum and silver hanbok embroidered with phoenixes, a color combination typically reserved for high-ranking women of the court. A delicate norigae hung from your waistband, the ornament glinting softly in the morning sun.

You were used to being treated with politeness. But this… this was reverence. Shock curled in your chest, heavy and unexpected.

When the attendants finished and bowed again, Lady Seo stepped into the room.

She bowed low before you.

And you blinked.

“…Lady Seo?” you asked, confused, rising slowly from the vanity. “What’s happening?”

She waited until the servants exited, then straightened and walked toward you.

“You are now the Imperial Prince’s Consort,” she said evenly.

The words made your heart stop.

“You hold an official position in the court now. It means you will be expected to attend court ceremonies, represent the royal family in private gatherings, and manage your own residence. You will also be included in any matters that concern the Prince’s household, and, should the need arise, be called to assist in ceremonial rites.”

You stared at her, stunned. “I…”

“You must carry yourself with grace,” she continued. “Your words will carry weight now. But so will your mistakes. Be careful who you trust.”

Her voice softened, but her eyes remained steady. “You’re no longer just a concubine among many. You’re his chosen consort. That makes you powerful.”

Then her expression darkened ever so slightly.

“But it also makes you a bigger target.”

You understood what she meant before she even said it.

“The attack before, from the others…?” she said, her voice low. “That was out of spite. This will be worse. Jealousy, resentment, ambition—they thrive in this place. You will have more protection now, yes. But there will always be eyes on you. Waiting for the smallest misstep.”

You swallowed, trying to keep your hands from trembling.

Lady Seo studied you for a long moment. Then, her voice softened once more. “I know this wasn’t entirely your doing. I’ve seen how he looks at you.”

You met her eyes.

“You… are lucky,” she said finally. “Not every woman in the palace escapes her fate. Most of us remain in gilded cages, waiting to be noticed, used, forgotten. But you—” she reached out and touched your cheek gently, “—you’ve been given a chance to live freely. Don’t take it for granted.”

You nodded, eyes stinging. “I won’t.”

Over the next several days, your life shifted completely.

You were assigned a new maid, new guards, a steward to assist with correspondence. Lessons were arranged for you on court etiquette, but much of it you already knew—your noble upbringing had prepared you well. Still, the court’s formality was different now that you weren’t a passive figure, but an active participant.

You listened. You studied. You watched.

Wonwoo checked in when he could, often quietly slipping into your quarters in the late afternoon. He never stayed long—just enough to ask, “Are you managing well?” or “Do you need anything?”

You always offered a small smile in return. “I’m fine.”

Sometimes, that was enough. Sometimes, he lingered a little longer.

You didn’t speak much of what had changed between you, but it lingered—unsaid but felt. The weight of his gaze. The warmth of his presence. The sense of being seen, protected, and still free.

Then, one morning, he came earlier than usual.

You rose as soon as he entered, smoothing your robes.

He didn’t smile like he normally did. His expression was calm, but you sensed the shift immediately.

“I’ve been ordered to travel to the eastern provinces,” he said. “As a royal messenger.”

Your heart sank.

“I’ll be gone for around two weeks,” he added, “but I’ll be back.”

You nodded slowly, keeping your voice even. “I understand.”

He stepped closer, his hands behind his back.

“I’ve instructed Lady Seo to watch over you. If anything happens—anything at all—you tell her. Or send word to me.”

You bowed. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

He didn’t move at first.

Then he stepped forward—and wrapped his arms around you gently.

The embrace was light, uncertain, and yet utterly sincere.

You froze.

Your breath caught in your throat. Your hands, unsure, hovered before slowly resting against his chest.

You felt the beat of his heart. Steady, quiet.

And then he pulled away, eyes lowered.

“Be well,” he said softly.

And just like that, he was gone.

You stood in the quiet of your room, your heart still fluttering, your body still remembering the warmth of him.

You were the Imperial Prince’s Consort now.

But more than that—you were his choice.

And that was what frightened you the most.

It was a quiet morning when you found yourself walking through the eastern gardens—your favorite, tucked behind a stone wall with winding paths and small white blossoms. The morning light filtered through the trees in golden strands, the scent of magnolia thick in the air.

You were lost in thought when you turned a corner and bumped into someone.

Your breath caught.

Lady Hae.

Draped in deep green silk with her usual sharp grace, she smiled—not warmly, but not cruelly either. Just… knowingly.

“Good one, my child,” she said, her eyes scanning your robes. “You won over the Prince’s heart after all.”

You bowed immediately, murmuring, “Lady Hae.”

She motioned for you to walk with her, and though your chest tightened, you obeyed.

As you moved along the pebbled path, her voice remained light, almost casual. “They think we are just for pleasure,” she said. “Decorations. Toys. Dolls in silk.” She stopped to pluck a petal from a branch. “But we are the ones who know everything. The Emperor’s moods. His secrets. His fears. The way he shifts in his seat when he’s angry. Who else knows these things?”

You looked at her carefully. “That’s… true.”

She smiled. “Women of the court hold power in ways the men can never admit. We shape what they decide. We whisper in their ears and plant thoughts they believe to be their own.”

“But… I don’t want to control him,” you said softly.

Lady Hae laughed. Not cruelly, but with the amused tone of someone watching a child insist fire cannot burn.

“You are still so naive,” she said. “But it’s not about wanting to. It’s about surviving. One day, you must learn to play the game. Or you will drown in it.”

She stopped walking and looked at you, her eyes unusually serious.

“You may be his consort now. But status is only ever as solid as the next scandal.”

With that, she turned and walked away, her robes sweeping the petals beneath her feet, leaving you standing there—alone, heart heavy, mind racing.

The next morning, Lady Seo arrived with an unexpected announcement.

“You’re coming with me,” she said. “To the village market.”

You blinked. “Why?”

She smiled slightly. “You’ve been cloistered in silk long enough. It’s time you remember what lies beyond these walls.”

Dressed in soft travel robes and a light veil to shield your identity, you were escorted with a small retinue of guards and Lady Seo herself, who walked ahead, sharp-eyed and calm as ever.

The market was loud, alive with color and scent—fishmongers yelling prices, silks fluttering in the breeze, the smell of grilled sweet rice cakes in the air. For a while, you allowed yourself to enjoy it.

Until you saw her.

Across the street, crouched behind a cart of roasted corn, in ragged clothing and a bruised face, was a woman you would never forget.

Miran.

One of the three who had attacked you that night in the concubines' wing.

Her eyes met yours.

And widened. In recognition. Then in rage.

“You—!” she shouted, staggering to her feet.

Before she could take another step, your guards rushed forward, forming a line between you.

“Why is she—” Miran spat. “Why is she wearing those robes?!”

Your heart pounded, but you stood frozen.

Lady Seo stepped forward slowly, her face cold as stone. Without hesitation, she raised her hand and struck Miran hard across the cheek.

You gasped. The sound cracked through the street like a whip.

Miran stumbled back, holding her face, eyes wide in disbelief.

“She is the Consort of the Imperial Prince,” Lady Seo said, her voice calm but thunderous. “And you—who was stripped of title and thrown from the palace—will not raise a hand or a voice to her. Ever again.”

Miran’s mouth parted. For the first time, you saw not rage—but shame. And fear.

She backed away, silent.

Lady Seo didn’t say another word. She turned on her heel, took your hand, and led you back to the carriage.

Back in the palace, she pulled you into your quarters and shut the door behind her.

She didn’t speak for a long moment, her eyes searching yours.

“I told you,” she said finally, “that this would only grow worse.”

You nodded, heart still racing.

“That,” she said, motioning toward the direction of the market, “was a small incident. There will be more. Whispers. Schemes. You will not always have me or the prince nearby to protect you.”

You lowered your eyes.

“You are no longer just some pretty girl in the palace,” she continued. “You are someone people will want to tear down. And you must be able to stand up for yourself. You cannot allow others to speak against you as if you are nothing. Do you understand me?”

“I do,” you said softly, voice trembling.

She stepped closer, gripping your shoulders gently.

“I know this isn’t the life you imagined. But it’s yours now. If you want to survive here… you must be strong enough to take your place in it.”

You nodded again.

And slowly, something hardened in your chest—not anger, not arrogance. Just clarity.

You would not be the same girl who had once stood trembling before Lady Hae.

You were more than that now.

You were Consort to the Imperial Prince.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the palace, you awaited Prince Wonwoo's return. The events of the day lingered in your mind—the unsettling encounter at the market and the ever-present undercurrents of palace intrigue. When the door to your chamber opened, and Wonwoo entered, his expression was a mix of concern and determination.​

"I heard," he began, his voice steady but laced with worry.​

You offered a reassuring smile, hoping to ease his unease. "It wasn't anything, truly. Just a small disturbance."​

He sighed, stepping closer. "I don't want anyone treating you that way."​

You nodded, appreciating his protective nature.​

After a moment's pause, he continued, "We will have visitors from the neighboring kingdom of Goryeo arriving tomorrow. There will be a formal reception, and your presence is expected."​

The weight of his words settled upon you, understanding the significance of such diplomatic engagements.​

The following day, the grand hall was adorned with opulent decorations befitting the arrival of esteemed guests. You stood alongside Wonwoo, the Emperor, the Empress, and Lady Hae, awaiting the delegation from Goryeo.​

As the doors opened, a procession entered, led by a man slightly older than yourself. His strong features and piercing gaze commanded attention. He bowed respectfully before the Emperor, but as he rose, his eyes locked onto yours, lingering a moment too long.​

You felt a shiver run down your spine and instinctively stiffened. Noticing your discomfort, Wonwoo subtly moved closer, his presence a silent shield.​

The man was introduced as Lord Jang Hyun, a prominent noble from Goryeo. After the formalities, he was escorted to a private chamber for discussions with the Emperor regarding trade agreements and military alliances.​

In the secluded confines of the royal chamber, Lord Jang Hyun presented his terms.​

"Your Majesty," he began smoothly, "an alliance between our kingdoms would be mutually beneficial. I am prepared to open our borders for trade and lend military support."​

The Emperor nodded, considering the proposition. "And what do you seek in return?"​

A sly smile played on Jang Hyun's lips. "Your brother's consort."​

The Emperor's expression darkened. "She is Prince Wonwoo's consort."​

Jang Hyun chuckled softly. "Precisely. Such a union would solidify our alliance, intertwining our bloodlines and ensuring loyalty."​

After a contemplative silence, the Emperor acquiesced. "Very well."​

That evening, a grand banquet was held in honor of the Goryeo delegation. The hall buzzed with conversation and the clinking of goblets. As you navigated through the crowd, a firm hand gently grasped your arm.​

Turning, you found yourself face-to-face with Lord Jang Hyun.​

"You look exquisite tonight," he remarked, his eyes unabashedly roaming.​

You offered a polite nod. "Thank you, my lord."​

He leaned in slightly. "I hope we can become... better acquainted during my stay."​

Before you could respond, Wonwoo appeared at your side, his gaze icy. "Excuse me, Lord Jang Hyun, but I will be taking my consort now."​

Jang Hyun's smile didn't waver. "For now," he murmured as Wonwoo led you away.​

Later that night, Wonwoo was summoned to the Emperor's chamber.​

"You agreed to what?" Wonwoo's voice echoed with disbelief and fury.​

The Emperor's gaze was steely. "Know your place, boy! This alliance is crucial for our kingdom's future."​

"You promised me anything," Wonwoo retorted, his hands clenched into fists.​

The Emperor's expression softened momentarily. "Sacrifices must be made for the greater good."​

Wonwoo's jaw tightened. "Not this sacrifice."​

Without awaiting a response, he turned on his heel and stormed out.​

Breathing heavily, his mind racing, Wonwoo made a decision. He roused the nearest court official and then hurried to your chambers.​

Entering without announcement, he found you in your night attire, the moonlight casting a soft glow upon you.​

You approached him, concern etched on your face. "What is wrong?"​

He took a steadying breath. "Do you trust me?"​

You nodded. 

In the stillness of the night, you were adorned in simple yet elegant wedding robes. Lady Seo stood beside you as you prepared for the clandestine ceremony.​

As you stood in the dimly lit chamber, the weight of the moment pressing upon you. Lady Seo's gentle hands adjusted the folds of your simple yet elegant wedding robes, her touch both comforting and reassuring. The fabric, though unadorned, carried a profound significance, symbolizing the solemnity and urgency of the union about to take place.​

"The prince must care for you dearly," Lady Seo murmured, her voice tinged with both admiration and concern. "He's risking everything for this."​

You swallowed hard, the gravity of the situation settling deep within your chest. "I told him not to—"​

Lady Seo gently interrupted, her eyes meeting yours with a steadfast gaze. "Do not refuse his devotion. You must survive; let him do this. Women here rarely get a chance to be respected, to have a voice. This is not just for you, but for all of us."​

Her words resonated, igniting a spark of resolve within you. With a nod, you acknowledged the path laid before you.​

The clandestine ceremony took place under the shroud of night, within the secluded confines of the palace chapel. The flickering glow of candlelight cast elongated shadows across the stone walls, bearing silent witness to the union unfolding.​

Prince Wonwoo stood before you, his expression a mixture of determination and tenderness. Clad in ceremonial attire befitting the solemnity of the occasion, he reached out, his fingers gently brushing against yours.​

"Do you trust me?" he asked softly, his eyes searching yours.​

"Yes," you replied, your voice shaking but you were sure. 

The officiant, an elderly court official roused from slumber for this urgent matter, began the rites. Though the ceremony was hastily arranged, each step was performed with reverence, adhering to the sacred traditions passed down through generations.​

As the vows were exchanged, a profound sense of unity enveloped you. Despite the circumstances, or perhaps because of them, the bond forged in that moment felt unbreakable.​

Upon completion of the ceremony, Wonwoo gently lifted your veil, his eyes reflecting a depth of emotion that words could not convey. He leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead—a silent promise of protection, love, and unwavering commitment.​

Lady Seo, standing discreetly to the side, watched with a mixture of relief and hope. 

​The grand hall of the palace was thick with tension as Prince Wonwoo stood before the emperor, his posture unwavering despite the storm that brewed in his brother's eyes. The emperor's voice thundered, echoing off the ornate walls.​

"You did what?!" the emperor bellowed, rising from his throne.​

Wonwoo met his gaze calmly. "We are married. It is done.

The emperor's face flushed with fury. "She was mine to marry," he growled, pacing the length of the room. "I am your emperor, and you have defied me!"​

Wonwoo's voice remained steady. "Dissolving the marriage now would be seen as a sign of weakness, Your Majesty. The court would question your resolve.

The emperor scoffed, the weight of political implications settling upon him. "We needed that alliance," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "And you have jeopardized it."​

Wonwoo took a measured step forward. "Then perhaps an alternative, Your Majesty. Offer Lord Jang Hyun's sister in marriage to our cousin, Baekhyuk. By bringing her into our court, we maintain leverage and ensure the alliance remains under your watchful eye."​

The emperor paused, considering the proposal. After a moment, he nodded. "Ensure it is done. Fail, and both of you will face exile."​

"Understood," Wonwoo replied, bowing deeply.​

The emperor's gaze hardened. "There will be a formal ceremony to legitimize your marriage. I will not have scandal taint this palace."​

"As you command," Wonwoo affirmed before taking his leave.​

Determined to secure the emperor's favor, Wonwoo sought an audience with Lord Jang Hyun, who was residing within the palace grounds. He found the lord and his sister seated in a serene courtyard, sharing tea amidst the blooming chrysanthemums.​

As Wonwoo approached, they rose, offering respectful bows.​

"Prince Wonwoo," Lord Jang Hyun greeted, a hint of curiosity in his eyes.​

Wonwoo inclined his head. "Lord Jang Hyun, Lady Soo Min," he acknowledged. "I come with matters of importance."​

"Please, speak," Jang Hyun invited, gesturing to a nearby seat.​

Declining the offer, Wonwoo stood firm. "The arrangement concerning my consort will not proceed."​

Jang Hyun's brow arched. "Have you consulted the emperor on this matter?"​

"I have," Wonwoo confirmed. "Dissolving our marriage would project weakness, a notion neither of us desires."​

"Marriage?" Jang Hyun echoed, surprise flickering across his face.​

"Yes," Wonwoo affirmed. "We are united."​

Jang Hyun's lips curled into a smirk. "Then our agreement is nullified."​

Anticipating this response, Wonwoo pressed on. "Not necessarily. An alternative exists—one that benefits both parties."​

Intrigued, Jang Hyun leaned slightly forward. "Continue."

"Consider the union of your sister, Lady Soo Min, with our cousin, Baekhyuk," Wonwoo proposed. "This alliance would bind our families, ensuring mutual prosperity and security."​

Jang Hyun's expression darkened. "You suggest I offer my sister as a mere pawn?

"Not as a pawn," Wonwoo countered, his tone respectful yet firm. "But as a bridge between our houses. Such a union would grant your family esteemed status within our court and the emperor's favor."​

Soo Min placed a gentle hand on her brother's arm. "Brother, perhaps this path holds merit," she murmured.​

Jang Hyun's gaze softened as he regarded his sister. After a prolonged silence, he exhaled deeply. "Very well. I will consider this proposal."​

"I trust you will find it advantageous," Wonwoo replied, offering a slight bow before departing.​

The palace buzzed with anticipation as preparations for the imperial wedding commenced. The ceremony, steeped in tradition, was to be a grand affair, symbolizing not only the union of two souls but also the strengthening of political alliances.​

On the appointed day, the royal courtyard transformed into a vision of opulence. Silken banners in hues of crimson and gold fluttered in the gentle breeze, while intricate floral arrangements adorned the pathways. Dignitaries and esteemed guests from neighboring kingdoms gathered, their vibrant attire adding to the kaleidoscope of colors.​

As the ceremony commenced, Prince Wonwoo stood beneath a lavishly decorated canopy, his royal robes immaculate. The deep blue of his attire, embroidered with golden dragons, symbolized his noble lineage and the weight of his responsibilities.​

A hush fell over the assembly as you appeared at the entrance of the courtyard. Adorned in a resplendent hwarot—a traditional bridal robe reserved for royalty—the rich red fabric was intricately embroidered with motifs of phoenixes and lotus flowers.

As you walked slowly toward Prince Wonwoo, your heart raced. Despite the multitude of eyes upon you, your gaze remained fixed solely on him, each step bringing you closer to a future intertwined with his.​

Upon reaching him, Wonwoo gently took your hand, his touch warm and reassuring. Though already married in a private ceremony, this public affirmation solidified your union, enveloping you in a mixture of anticipation and serenity.​

The wedding ceremony proceeded with solemnity and grace. You and Wonwoo bowed deeply to each other, symbolizing mutual respect and commitment. The ceremonial table before you held various offerings, each item imbued with wishes for prosperity, harmony, and numerous descendants. As part of the rites, you shared a ceremonial drink from a gourd dipper, signifying the unity of two souls and the blending of your lives.​

Throughout the ceremony, traditional music played softly in the background, the melodies enhancing the profoundness of the moment. The air was filled with the subtle fragrance of incense, heightening the spiritual ambiance of the occasion.​

As the final rites concluded, you realized that this was now your life—a lady of the court, bound by duty and honor, yet united with a partner who had defied convention to be with you. The path ahead was uncharted, but with Wonwoo by your side, you felt a burgeoning strength to face whatever challenges lay ahead.​

The ceremony culminated in a grand feast, where guests celebrated your union with joyous hearts. Traditional dishes were served, each meticulously prepared to convey blessings and good fortune. Laughter and congratulatory toasts filled the hall, marking the beginning of your shared journey.

The scent of sandalwood lingered in your chambers, heavy and unfamiliar. You sat stiffly at the edge of the bed, robes loosened but your hair still pinned up from the ceremony. You hadn’t expected to feel this awkward. Married, yes—but to someone you still didn’t quite know.

Wonwoo stood by the doorway, not quite inside, not quite leaving. He looked at you once, then glanced away, rubbing the back of his neck like he was weighing a thousand thoughts.

“I wasn’t sure… if I should stay,” he said, eyes trained on the floor tiles.

You blinked. “Oh. Right.”

A silence stretched. He shifted his weight. You nodded slowly, then quickly stood, brushing invisible dust from your sleeves.

“You can… do what you want. I mean, it’s fine. Whatever makes you comfortable.”

He looked at you, unsure. “And you? Are you comfortable?”

You hesitated. “I don’t know. Are you?”

A pause. Then, unexpectedly, a soft laugh escaped him—quiet and breathy, like he couldn’t help it. “This is… strange.”

“Yes,” you admitted, cheeks warm. “It is.”

He took a step inside. “But not… bad. Just strange.”

You looked at him, surprised by the honesty, and found yourself smiling, barely.

“Do you want tea?” you asked.

He nodded. “Yes, please.”

You weren’t sure when the awkwardness faded—only that by the time you handed him a cup and your fingers brushed, he didn’t flinch, and you didn’t pull away.

You learned how to walk in the rhythm of court life beside him—not quite equals, not quite apart. The women whispered when you passed. They bowed because they had to, not because they meant it.

One morning, Lady Hwa, an older court matron, approached you by the koi pond as you arranged offerings for a seasonal rite. “Such beauty,” she said, examining the arrangement. “A shame it must be accompanied by such… imbalance in the court.”

You glanced up. “Imbalance?”

She smiled with the sweetness of poisoned honey. “We all know how deeply His Majesty favors Master Wonwoo. Your sudden marriage—so unorthodox—only confirms what many already suspect.”

You kept your gaze even. “Is loyalty not to be rewarded in this court?”

“Perhaps. But power rarely comes without a cost.” She turned, leaving you with your incense and the stinging clarity of her message: you were not welcome here.

You didn’t tell Wonwoo about the encounter.

Instead, you swallowed it, like all the other small indignities—the looks, the backhanded compliments, the advisors who paused too long before acknowledging your presence. You learned when to speak, when to stay silent. But it wore on you.

Some evenings, he would find you sitting quietly in the library wing, sorting through old poetry scrolls. “Still awake?” he would ask gently.

“Still trying,” you’d reply, half-smiling.

And slowly, things softened.

He began to linger after dinners, staying close while you worked through court documents. His hand would sometimes brush against yours while reaching for the inkstone. He started calling you by your name more often, not just my lady. When he sat beside you at court, his knee would press against yours under the table—not intentional, but not avoided either.

One evening, as you walked together in the palace gardens, he said softly, “I think about you. Even when I’m far.”

You stopped walking. “Far? You’re always here.”

He hesitated. “I was summoned. A diplomatic envoy to the northern province. I leave at dawn.”

You felt your heart drop, though you nodded calmly. “For how long?”

“Three days. Four, at most.”

You tried to smile. “Then come back safely.”

He looked at you, something unreadable in his eyes. “I will. I always will.”

But he didn’t return in four days.

Or five.

On the sixth day, you waited outside the main hall as the sun fell behind the mountain ridge. You asked the guards. You asked the court officials. No word.

By the eighth day, whispers started. The northern roads were dangerous. Bandits. Uprisings. Weather. But no messenger had been sent.

You sat alone in your chambers that night, dinner untouched. Your hands trembled as you poured tea you didn’t drink. Why hadn’t he sent word? Had he been hurt? Or worse—had he forgotten you?

You hated how much it hurt to care.

You weren’t sleeping—not really. Your eyes had closed out of exhaustion, not peace. Every night since the fourth day had been filled with half-formed nightmares, shadows under the door you hoped were footsteps, voices in the corridor that never said his name.

You’d paced the halls. Asked the guards. Even wrote a letter that was never sent. Eight days. No word. No messenger. Not even a whisper from the road.

So when the door creaked open, you jolted upright, breath catching in your throat.

And there he was.

Dust clung to his robes. His hair was windswept, his expression unreadable as he stepped inside like nothing had happened.

And something in you snapped.

You stood too quickly, crossing the room in four steps—and shoved him. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to say how dare you.

He stumbled back, eyes wide with shock. “Y/N—?”

“Where have you been?” you cried, voice breaking as you stared at him, your chest heaving. “You said four days, Wonwoo. Four. Not nine. Not silence. Not nothing.”

He opened his mouth, but you cut him off, your voice rising louder than it ever had with him.

“You said you’d be back, and then—nothing. I thought—I didn’t know if you were—” Your voice cracked, and you looked away quickly, trying to stop the tears from coming. “I didn’t know if you were even alive.”

He froze, the weight of your words finally sinking in.

“Y/N…”

“I waited every night,” you said, quieter now but no less raw. “I tried not to—tried to pretend I didn’t care. But I counted the days. I watched the gates. I convinced myself you’d walk through them any minute. And then it was the fifth day. Then the sixth. Then seven.” You laughed bitterly. “And still, nothing. Not a single word. Not even a message to say you were safe.”

He looked stunned. Guilt, horror, something close to pain flickered across his face.

“I didn’t think you’d—” “What? Care?” you snapped. “You married me, Wonwoo. You made a vow. And I may not know what this is between us, or how to name it yet, but I do know that you don’t disappear without telling me you’re alive.”

He stepped forward then, slowly, like approaching something fragile. “I was rerouted. There was unrest in one of the towns—we were stuck longer than expected. I didn’t know how long I’d be gone, and I didn’t want to send a letter until I could say for sure when I’d return.”

You stared at him, jaw clenched. “So instead, you let me sit here thinking you might be dead.”

“I didn’t want to worry you with rumors,” he said, softly. “But I see now… I worried you more by saying nothing.”

You turned away, wiping your face with your sleeve, furious that your hands were shaking.

“I needed to know you were safe,” you whispered. “That’s all. Just a message. A sign.”

Wonwoo was quiet for a moment. Then he said, more gently than you expected, “You really thought something happened to me?”

You looked at him, your voice catching in your throat. “Yes. And I hated it—hated how much it hurt.”

He took another step forward. “I didn’t know… I mattered to you like that.”

You gave a hollow laugh. “Then you’re more clueless than I thought.”

Another beat of silence. Then—hesitantly—he reached for your hand. His touch was careful, unsure, like he didn’t know if he had the right.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I should’ve known better. I should’ve written. I thought about you every day, Y/N. I swear.”

Before you knew what you were doing, you kissed him. Wonwoo stepped back in shock, but then quickly grabbed your waist and kissed you harder. 

Your back met the mattress before you even realized he’d lifted you into his arms. His touch was reverent—like you were something fragile, or sacred. He undressed you with the same quiet awe, pausing to kiss every inch of skin he revealed, as if reacquainting himself with the fact that you were real, that he had come back to something he hadn’t yet lost.

“Are you sure?” he asked against your skin, his breath warm at your collarbone.

You nodded, threading your fingers through his hair. 

Clothes fell to the floor, forgotten. The space between you closed entirely.

He took his time with you—slow, deliberate—learning every reaction, every sigh, every breath you caught in your throat. His hands held you like you might disappear again if he let go, and you clung to him just the same.

And when he finally moved inside you, it wasn’t with urgency but something far deeper—something that said I came back for you.

Your name fell from his lips like a vow, whispered again and again between kisses, and when you came apart beneath him, he held you through it, forehead pressed to yours, his own release trembling through him like an unraveling.

After, he stayed tangled in you—arms tight around your waist, your head on his chest, your legs still brushing. The silence now was different. Full. Heavy with peace.

You closed your eyes.

“I thought I lost you,” you whispered again.

He kissed the top of your head. “You won’t. Not again.”

This time, you let yourself believe it.

The days turned golden with the coming of early spring. The harsh whispers in the court still hadn’t faded, but you had learned to navigate them. You moved through the palace with quieter grace now, dignity honed not from noble birth but from survival.

Wonwoo had become a more constant presence by your side. Though rarely overly affectionate in public, his gaze often lingered on you longer than it should, and in private, his fingertips would brush your stomach—a silent promise only the two of you understood.

Because soon, there would be three of you.

You hadn’t told anyone else yet. Not even Lady Seo.

It had only been a few weeks since you felt the shift in your body: the nausea in the mornings, the strange fluttering behind your ribs, the way your pulse quickened not just from worry but from the secret growing quietly inside you.

One evening, you whispered it to him, voice barely audible in the hush of your shared chambers.

“I think I’m pregnant.”

Wonwoo froze for a moment, then reached for you like he wasn’t sure he deserved to. “Are you sure?”

You nodded. “I haven’t bled in weeks. And I feel… different.”

His hands gently framed your face. “We’ll protect it. I’ll protect both of you.”

You believed him.

Lady Seo was the first person you told outside of him. She listened quietly, her eyes soft but shadowed.

“There will be more whispers,” she warned. “This child will not be just yours and his—it will be a symbol. Of his defiance. Of your place.”

You placed a hand over your belly instinctively. “Then we’ll raise it in truth. Not fear.”

Lady Seo gave a faint smile. “You speak like a queen already.”

It had been Lady Seo’s idea to walk beyond the palace walls.

“Just the outer gardens,” she said gently, seeing the fatigue behind your eyes. “The air might do you good.”

And it did. For a little while.

Spring had softened the air. Plum blossoms hung low from the branches above, petals falling like whispers. You felt lighter than you had in days—your hand occasionally brushing your stomach, the quiet joy you hadn’t dared speak aloud beginning to take root.

Lady Seo walked beside you, ever watchful, her fan half-raised. “You should tell the Emperor soon. Before others begin to guess.”

You glanced at her. “And when they do?”

“Then we let them guess. We let them wonder who you’ll become.”

You smiled faintly. “You always say things that make me nervous.”

Lady Seo opened her mouth to reply—but her head snapped toward the grove just ahead.

You followed her gaze.

Something wasn’t right.

The two guards who were meant to accompany you—gone.

Your hand stilled on your belly. “Lady Seo—?”

She was already in motion, placing herself slightly in front of you.

And then—they came.

Figures burst from the trees. Four women—dressed in servant robes but moving like trained wolves. Their veils slipped from their faces mid-charge. You recognized two immediately. The concubines who had been exiled. Miran among them, eyes wild with fury, mouth twisting into a sneer.

“There you are,” she spat. “Parading like a queen, as if you weren’t just a pretty little accident.”

Lady Seo stepped forward, voice sharp. “You’ve lost your mind.”

“You lost your place the moment you let her in,” one of the others growled.

You backed up instinctively, heart pounding, hand pressed to your belly. “We’re unarmed,” you said. “There’s no honor in this.”

“There was no honor in being cast aside for you,” Miran snapped. “We gave the Emperor years. You gave him what? A few months—and now they whisper about a child? You don’t deserve any of this.”

Lady Seo drew a small blade from her sleeve. “If you touch her, I’ll make sure you don’t see the next moonrise.”

But they weren’t listening. Rage, sharpened by shame, had made them reckless.

You turned to run—but one of them caught the edge of your robe, pulling hard. You stumbled, falling back against the hard ground, breath knocked from your lungs.

Then—pain. Sudden. Deep. Blooming low in your abdomen like something tearing open.

You gasped, your vision going white.

“Lady Seo—”

Lady Seo screamed your name, parrying a blade, blood streaking across her arm. The sounds of fighting echoed around you, but it felt far away, like you were sinking underwater.

And then came the warm, unmistakable wetness between your legs.

You looked down and saw red.

You woke to the scent of herbs and linen. Dull pain radiated through your body. The sunlight outside was fading.

Lady Seo sat beside you, bandaged, her expression unreadable.

You tried to speak. She placed a hand on yours.

“You’re safe,” she said.

You shook your head. “The baby?”

She didn’t answer.

Your throat closed. You turned your face away, silent tears slipping down.

Wonwoo arrived at midnight, blood still dried on his sleeves. He burst into your chambers like the air had been strangled from him.

“Y/N,” he said, falling to his knees beside you.

You said nothing. Just looked at him.

“I should’ve—” he choked, gripping your hand. “I wasn’t there. If I had—”

You interrupted him with a whisper. “They tore it away from me.”

His eyes filled with helpless fury.

“You swore we would be safe,” you said, voice cracking. “You promised.”

“I know. I’m so sorry. I’ll find them. I’ll—”

“They were found,” Lady Seo said from the shadows. “They didn’t get far.”

You turned to her slowly. “Alive?”

“For now.”

You stared blankly ahead.

Then, with frightening calm, you whispered, “I want them brought before me at dawn.”

The sky was a dull gray, the clouds thick like mourning cloth. No birds dared sing.

The four women knelt in the center of the stone courtyard, chained, beaten, blood dried on their faces. Miran’s defiance had dimmed, but not died. The others—trembling, crying—looked smaller than they ever had in court.

Soldiers lined the perimeter, unmoving. Court officials stood in tense silence, eyes flickering between the kneeling prisoners and the woman slowly approaching the execution platform.

You.

You walked steadily, wrapped in imperial crimson, a cloak embroidered with phoenix feathers trailing behind you. The wind caught the hem as you passed, like fire lapping at your feet.

Wonwoo stood to the side, but close enough to see everything.

Close enough to see how different you looked.

How far you had come from the girl he’d once found arranging scrolls in the old library.

And how far he had led you.

When you reached the top step, the courtyard held its breath.

Lady Seo stood beside you, composed but unreadable.

Wonwoo watched you with something else—concern laced with guilt. The lines around his mouth were tight. His hands behind his back were curled into fists.

You said nothing at first.

The women begged. They cried. One collapsed onto the stone, screaming your name.

Miran raised her chin, blood trickling from a cracked lip. “You think this makes you strong? It just makes you heartless.”

You met her gaze with a stillness that was more terrifying than fury.

“No,” you said. “It makes me finished.”

The girl who had once hesitated, once second-guessed herself, was gone. The grief had hollowed her—and filled her with steel.

Wonwoo felt it like a blade against his chest.

He wanted to stop it. To call your name. To pull you away from this edge before you became someone the palace had shaped, not someone you chose to be.

But he didn’t.

Because he knew this was your right.

He had not been there when you bled.

He had not seen the flash of blades, or the look in your eyes when you realized what was lost.

And now, this was what stood in the ruin’s place: you. Unbending. Unflinching. Crownless, but more commanding than a queen.

You turned to the guards.

“Execute them. Let the court know what treason costs.”

Wonwoo inhaled sharply—but didn’t speak.

The screams came quick. One scream cut off mid-breath. Another never came at all—just silence and the thud of bodies against stone.

When it was over, the blood pooled beneath their necks, warm and dark.

You did not look away

The corridors were hushed. Wonwoo followed you, quietly, until you stopped by a window overlooking the empty gardens.

He didn’t speak right away.

Finally, he said, “That wasn’t mercy. That was a message.”

You didn’t turn around. “Yes. And it was heard.”

He swallowed. “I never wanted this for you.”

You faced him then, gaze calm but hollowed.

“Then you should’ve left me in the library.”

His breath caught.

“You promised to protect me, Wonwoo,” you continued. “And when they came for me—when I lost everything—I had to protect myself.”

He stepped closer, voice rough. “I know. I know. I just—when I saw you standing there, giving that order… I didn’t recognize you.”

You looked up at him, blinking slowly. “Neither did I.”

He reached out, touched your wrist lightly.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I should’ve been there. I let this court shape you. I let me shape you.”

You stared at his hand, then at his face.

“I let it, too,” you said. “Because if I don’t survive this place, what else do I become?”

He didn’t answer.

Because deep down, he knew—this was survival.

And he had helped teach you how.

The execution changed everything.

The court stopped whispering. They bowed deeper. Moved quicker. But not out of respect—out of fear.

And the space between you and Wonwoo widened, slowly at first. He no longer lingered after court meetings. You no longer waited for him at dinner. You passed each other like familiar ghosts—always near, never touching.

There were no fights. No cold words.

Just silence.

You spent more time with Lady Seo, overseeing court routines, reviewing reforms in the servants’ quarters, strengthening your household’s control.

Wonwoo buried himself in state affairs, delegations, and military briefings. You heard his name often—but never from his mouth.

When you did speak, it was brief. Measured. Almost professional.

And it hurt. Quietly, constantly.

You couldn’t sleep. The walls of your chamber felt too wide, too quiet.

You stepped outside, robes wrapped tightly around your frame, and found the old pavilion near the inner gardens. The one where you used to meet Wonwoo in secret.

The same place he found you again now.

Wonwoo’s voice was the first to break it.

“So this is it?” he said, barely above a whisper. “You won’t even look at me anymore?”

You turned, arms crossed over your chest. “I look at you, Wonwoo. I see you. Every day. And every time I do… it hurts.”

His brow furrowed. “Why?”

“Because when I needed you most, you weren’t there.”

He inhaled sharply, but didn’t deny it. “I know.”

“I screamed for you. I thought I was dying. I thought our child was dying—and you weren’t there.”

“I know,” he said again, louder, voice cracking. “And I hate myself for it.”

He stepped closer, slowly. “But do you know what I can’t forget?”

You stayed quiet.

“The look on your face when I walked into your chamber. That silence. You looked at me like I was already too late. Like you’d stopped waiting.”

You flinched, just slightly. “You were.”

A silence passed, heavier than before.

Then you said, voice quieter now: “I wanted to hate you. And for a while, I did.”

He swallowed hard.

“But I know it wasn’t your fault.”

He blinked, like he wasn’t sure he heard you right.

“I blamed you because it was easier,” you said. “Because if it wasn’t you, then the only person left to blame was fate. And I couldn’t scream at fate.”

Your voice wavered.

“I know you would’ve come if you could. I know you would’ve died to protect us. I know that.”

His eyes filled with something raw—relief, regret, love.

“I should’ve written,” he whispered. “I should’ve run back on foot if I had to.”

You looked up at him, something soft cracking in your chest. “We both lost something we didn’t know how to protect.”

He stepped forward then, took your face in his hands. “You didn’t deserve that pain.”

“Neither did you,” you murmured.

“I wanted to be the one thing in your life that never failed you,” he said. “And I failed anyway.”

Your breath caught. “You’re still here.”

“So are you,” he said, voice barely audible.

There were no more words when he touched you.

Only hands learning softness again. Only mouths relearning how to kiss without urgency or apology.

You pulled each other in slowly, reverently—like lovers reunited across lifetimes.

And when he entered you, it wasn’t fast or desperate—it was homecoming. His hands trembled where they held you. Yours tangled in his hair, holding him close like the memory of losing him still lived in your bones.

You gasped his name, fingers tightening around his back.

And he whispered it then.

“I love you.”

You froze for a heartbeat—then slowly opened your eyes.

He looked down at you like it had always been true.

“I love you,” he said again, voice low and aching. “Even before I knew what it meant. Even when I was too much of a coward to say it.”

Your chest tightened.

And you whispered it back, breath shaky against his lips. “I love you too.”

His pace faltered, the words breaking something open between you.

When you both came undone, it was not with cries—but with tears, quiet and clinging, held close and shaking.

And after, when he gathered you in his arms and pressed soft kisses to your temple, your neck, your shoulder—he didn’t let go.

Not this time.

The wind smelled like jasmine again.

But this time, it carried no dread. Only sunlight, warm against your skin, and the laughter of the women in the courtyard as they prepared lanterns for the first festival of spring.

You walked among them slowly, Lady Seo by your side, your hand resting over your gently swelling stomach.

You were with child again.

This time, everything was different.

Wonwoo never left your side. Not for court meetings, not for patrols, not even for midnight summons from the capital. His presence was constant—reassuring, fierce, a silent vow that no harm would come near you again.

When ministers raised their brows, he silenced them with a single glance.

When whispers began in the wings of the court, he made a declaration before the Emperor himself:

“The safety of my wife and child is not a matter of protocol. It is a matter of kingdom law. Any who dare conspire, in thought or action, will face judgment not just from me, but from every sword that bears our crest.”

No one questioned him after that.

You never asked him to say it. You didn’t need to. But when he did—you cried in the quiet of your chamber, your hands in his, your head on his shoulder. You felt protected. But more than that, you felt seen.

And this time… you allowed yourself to hope.

Your son was born in the early hours of a rainy morning, beneath the rhythm of soft thunder and candlelight. You held him to your chest as he let out his first cry—loud, stubborn, whole.

Wonwoo wept openly beside you.

You kissed your son’s forehead, whispering his name into the curve of his tiny ear. A name drawn from both your families, from loss and legacy, woven into something new.

Lady Seo placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, her voice trembling as she whispered, “You did it.”

Everything changed—but this time, it changed in your favor.

Your place in the palace was no longer questioned.

The child in your arms made you untouchable. And the man by your side made you unforgettable.

You were no longer the noble girl who stepped into the palace wondering where she belonged. You were the mother of a future leader. A force beside a blade. A woman who had survived every attempt to tear her down—and now stood taller than ever.

They did not fear you now. They respected you.

You sat beneath the old plum tree in the private gardens, your son nestled in your arms, dozing with his tiny fist curled into your sleeve.

Wonwoo lay beside you on the grass, head resting against your thigh, eyes half closed.

The sky was beginning to blush with twilight, lanterns being lit one by one around the garden wall.

“He has your mouth,” Wonwoo said softly.

You smiled. “And your stubbornness. He cried before he even opened his eyes.”

Wonwoo laughed, eyes crinkling. “A fighter already.”

You looked down at him, fingers brushing through his hair. “I never thought we’d make it here.”

He turned his face into your hand. “Neither did I. But we did.”

“And are you happy?” you asked, voice quiet.

He sat up, leaned over, and kissed your son’s brow—then yours.

“I’ve been happy since the moment you forgave me.”

You reached for his hand, threading your fingers through his.

The three of you stayed like that as the night wrapped around the palace in gold and lantern light—no longer haunted by what was lost, but lit by what was found.

You had survived heartbreak, betrayal, and blood.

You had loved, lost, and loved again.

And now, under the quiet sky with your family beside you—you were finally, fully, at peace.

This was the life you had fought for.

And it was yours.

[asciendo]

Unfinished Business

Pairing: Mingyu x Reader

Genre: Angst

Summary: Avoiding Kim Mingyu should’ve been easy—he was the campus heartbreaker, never staying in one place for too long. But when a reckless kiss turns into something more, you find yourself caught in a game neither of you meant to play. You try to move on, convinced he already has, but Mingyu can’t seem to let you go. As jealousy, misunderstandings, and undeniable tension pull you back together, the question remains: is this just another fleeting moment for him, or something real?

The first time Kim Mingyu saw you, he decided you were a prude.

Little miss perfect with your hair up in your high ponytail as your cheerleading skirt swayed with your hips, such a tease he thought, but he knew deep down that you were the type to play by the rules. The type who blushed at crude jokes but never missed a beat in putting someone in their place with a sharp tongue. The type who kept everyone at arm’s length, flashing that picture-perfect smile while keeping your true thoughts locked away.

You weren’t sure what exactly gave him that impression—maybe it was the way you rolled your eyes whenever he flirted, or how you refused to engage in his little games. Or maybe it was because you never entertained the same kind of attention that other girls in your university did. But here you are standing next to Kim Mingyu as you wait in line for your morning coffee at the campus’ cafe. 

Kim Mingyu was the notorious playboy in your school, always with a new girl on his arm and sneaking off with someone new at every party, and for some reason, everyone fought to be that girl. Not you though, you couldn’t care less how he rode to school in his motorcycle, making all the girls swoon with his leather jacket, how his smirk could make anyone weak in the knees, or how his sleeves were always rolled up just enough to show off his annoyingly toned arms. 

Because no matter how hard you tried to ignore him, Kim Mingyu had a way of making his presence known. Whether it was the way his eyes would linger on you a little too long in the hallway, or how he always seemed to find an excuse to tease you in class—like he was daring you to react.

“You know, they say if you frown too much it gives you wrinkles.” He says behind you. 

“Like I care.” You scoff. 

“Of course you do, princess.”  his voice dripped with that infuriating cockiness that made your blood boil. “Can’t have those pretty little worry lines ruining your perfect face, now can we?”

You rolled your eyes, clutching your books a little tighter as you turned to glare at him. “Why don’t you go bother someone who actually likes the attention?” 

“And you’re telling me you don’t?” he smirks as you finally reach the counter and give your order. “What makes you think I have even a shred of interest in you?” you shot back, pulling out your wallet as you avoided his gaze.

Mingyu chuckled, stepping closer, his voice lowering just enough to send an irritating shiver down your spine. “Because, sweetheart, if you really didn’t care, you wouldn’t always have something to say to me.”

You scoffed, handing your cash to the cashier with more force than necessary. “Or maybe I just find you unbearably annoying.”

He placed a hand over his chest in mock offense. “Ouch. You wound me.” Then, as if proving his point, he leaned against the counter beside you, watching you with that lazy grin. “But if I’m so annoying, why haven’t you walked away yet?”

Your jaw tightened, but before you could answer, your order was called. Grabbing the cup with more focus than necessary, you turned on your heel. “Because I was in line first, genius.”

As you walked away, you could still hear his chuckle following you, his voice laced with amusement as he called after you, “See you around, princess.”

And despite yourself, you hated how you already knew he’d find another excuse to bother you again.

Mingyu could get any girl he wanted, except you. And that bothered him, more than he cared to admit.

It wasn’t just that you ignored his flirting or rolled your eyes at his cocky remarks—it was the way you looked at him, like he was nothing special. Like he was just another guy in the crowd, not the Kim Mingyu everyone else practically tripped over themselves for.

And maybe at first, it was just a challenge. A test to see how long it would take to break down those walls of yours, to get you to blush, to get you to look at him the way other girls did, but now he was more determined, he wanted to push your buttons, to see how much you could take before you snapped—before that perfectly composed exterior of yours cracked and revealed something real underneath.

It was the start of the semester which meant the huge party thrown to welcome some of the freshmen. You honestly weren’t up for it but Jennie and Sana dragged you out that night. 

“Were you just gonna read in your dorm, really?” Jennie said as she led you to the bar and got you a shot. “I had a long week, my social battery is dead!” You sigh as you take the shot from Jennie. 

“After a few shots you’ll be resurrected.” Sana winked and you giggled as you took another one. 

The night was surprisingly fun as you danced with Jennie and Sana, until you  found yourself sitting in a circle on the floor, clutching a bottle of beer for a game of truth or dare. 

Sana got dared to ask someone she found cute on a date and she ended up asking a senior, Kim Jin young which made you all squeal as you knew she had the biggest crush on him. Jennie ended up sitting on Kim Taehyung’s lap after he dared to pull a girl he wanted to kiss to sit on him. Then it was your turn. 

“Truth or dare, Y/N?” Kwon Soonyung asked as the group waited for your answer. Just pick Truth you thought and get over it. 

“T–” 

“She’ll pick truth for sure, why are you even asking?” You looked up, meeting Mingyu’s smug gaze. He was leaning back on his palms, watching you with that lazy, amused smirk that made your blood boil.

You could already hear the teasing in his voice, already see the challenge in his expression. You knew what he thought of you—that you’d take the safe route, pick ‘truth,’ and answer something boring and predictable.

But you were tired of being predictable.

“Dare,” you said, lifting your chin.

Mingyu’s eyebrows shot up. The room erupted in hoots and laughter, but you kept your eyes on him, refusing to back down.

He tilted his head, considering. And then he grinned.

“I dare you to make out with me.”

The laughter in the room turned into shocked gasps. Someone whistled. Your friend nudged you, eyes wide with excitement.

You froze.

“What?!” you asked in shock, as your two friends stared at you in bewilderment. 

“You heard me, I dare you to make out with me” he says again, looking at you, challenging. 

Mingyu was watching you closely now, waiting for you to back down, to scoff and refuse. But you couldn’t. Not when this was your one chance to prove that you weren’t some untouchable, goody-two-shoes girl who was afraid to let loose.

You swallowed hard, set your beer down, and pushed yourself up onto your knees. The room held its breath as you crawled over to him, your heart hammering against your ribs.

Mingyu’s smirk faltered for the first time.

You stopped in front of him, meeting his eyes, giving him one last chance to take it back. He didn’t.

So you kissed him.

It wasn’t soft or hesitant—it was firm, deliberate. You could feel the shock in the way his body tensed, but then he reacted, his hand reaching out to grip your waist, pulling you closer. His lips moved against yours with a hunger that startled you, his fingers pressing into your skin like he needed to hold on.

You barely heard the cheers around you, barely registered the way the world blurred. All you knew was the way he tasted—like beer and something unmistakably him—and the way heat curled in your stomach at the way he kissed you back.

And then it was over.

You pulled away first, breathless, your face impossibly warm. Mingyu’s eyes were dark as they searched yours, his grip on your waist lingering before he let go.

You rolled your eyes, but your heart was still racing as you sat back down, avoiding his gaze for the rest of the game

“Y/N! I can’t believe you did that!” Sana skipped next to you as Jennie tugged on your arm. “He’s just been such an ass, I just want him to shut up already!” You  yell as you make your way to your dorm. 

“How was it though?” Jennie teased and you shoved her playfully, “This is why I like staying home!” You say and your friends laugh on the way back  home. 

The problem was, Mingyu couldn’t stop thinking about it.

It started as a passing thought—just a replay of the way your lips felt against his, the way you had surprised him. But then it became something else. Something that lingered. Something that followed him when he least expected it.

Like when he saw you at lunch the next day, laughing at something your friend said, your lips curling in that same way he had felt against his own.

Or when he caught the scent of your perfume as you passed by him in the hallway, completely ignoring him, a soft, lingering trace of warmth that made his chest tighten.

Or when he found himself staring at your mouth in the middle of class, remembering how it had felt pressed against his, how you had tasted, how you had made his entire world tilt on its axis for one impossible moment.

He was losing his mind.

He made his way to the football field, a place he rarely—if ever—visited. School spirit wasn’t exactly his thing. He didn’t waste his time watching games, didn’t care about pep rallies, and definitely didn’t sit around watching cheer practice like some lovesick idiot.

And yet, here he was.

He told himself it was just to clear his head, just to get some fresh air. But deep down, he knew that was bullshit. He was here for one reason and one reason only—you.

There you were, in the middle of the field, effortlessly commanding attention without even trying. Your movements were sharp, practiced, but all he could focus on was the way your lips parted as you caught your breath, the way your skirt swayed with every jump, the way you looked so damn unbothered—like you hadn’t kissed him and turned his entire world upside down.

He leaned back against the bleachers, arms crossed, jaw tight.

You were acting like nothing had changed. Like you hadn’t stolen the breath from his lungs that night.

And that? That was pissing him off more than he cared to admit.

He waited until your practice ended, lingering near the field with a patience he didn’t usually have. The second you stepped out of the locker room, he was already moving.

He stayed a few paces behind, watching as you turned the corner toward the dorms, completely unaware of his presence—until his hand closed around your wrist.

Before you could react, he had you pressed against the wall, his grip firm but careful, his body just close enough to make your breath hitch.

‘What do you want, Mingyu?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I want to know why you kissed me like that.”

You blinked. “Because I was dared to.”

His jaw clenched. “That’s it?”

“That’s it,” you said, but there was something in your voice, something hesitant, something uncertain.

Mingyu narrowed his eyes, studying you like he could see right through the lie. His fingers flexed around your wrist before he let go, but he didn’t step back.

“You’re a terrible liar,” he muttered.

You scoffed, tilting your chin up. “And you’re delusional if you think that kiss meant anything.”

His lips curled into a smirk, but there was no amusement in his eyes—just something darker, something unreadable. “Funny,” he murmured. “Because I remember you pulling me closer. I remember the way you sighed against my mouth. I remember you wanting it just as much as I did.”

“It was a dare, Mingyu. Nothing more.”

You said it with conviction, but even you could hear the slight waver in your voice.

Mingyu caught it, too. His smirk deepened, but his eyes remained locked on yours, sharp and knowing. “Right,” he drawled, stepping just a fraction closer. “So if I kissed you again right now, it wouldn’t mean anything?”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“Go ahead,” you challenged, hoping he wouldn’t call your bluff.

For a second, you thought he might. His gaze flickered to your lips, his fingers twitching at his sides. The air between you was thick, charged, and suddenly, you were hyper-aware of just how close he was, of how his cologne mixed with the faint scent of him.

But then, just as quickly as the tension built, he took a step back.

His smirk returned, lazy and infuriating. “Not yet,” he murmured. “I think I’d rather wait until you beg me for it.”

Your mouth parted in shock, but before you could fire back, he was already walking away, hands in his pockets, like this was all some sort of game.

And the worst part? You weren’t sure who was winning anymore.

You hated yourself for letting him get to you. Kim Mingyu—the guy who had hooked up with practically everyone on campus—was the one stuck in your head.

You needed someone to knock some sense into you.

You were not one of his random girls. You were not going to be just another trophy under his belt.

So you did the only thing you could think of—you ignored him.

You refused to meet his gaze in the hallways, pretended not to hear his usual teasing remarks in class, and when he showed up at cheer practice again, lounging on the bleachers like he suddenly cared about school spirit, you acted as if he wasn’t even there.

But Mingyu wasn’t stupid.

He noticed the way you started talking to Yu-Jun more, laughing a little louder at his jokes, touching his arm just enough to make it obvious.

And it was working—Mingyu was pissed.

You saw it in the way his jaw clenched whenever he caught you with Yu-Jun, in the way his easy smirk faltered whenever you leaned in a little too close. But he didn’t say anything. Not yet.

Until the night of the party.

The music was loud, the house packed, and you were doing just fine—until you felt it.

A presence behind you, solid and familiar.

“Mingyu,” you muttered, not bothering to turn around.

He didn’t say anything at first, just leaned down so his lips were right next to your ear.

“What do you think you’re doing?” His voice was low, dangerous.

You turned to face him, feigning innocence. “Having fun.”

His eyes flickered to where Yu-Jun was, just a few feet away, completely oblivious to the storm brewing in Mingyu’s expression.

“That's what we’re calling it?” He let out a humorless laugh, running a hand through his hair. “You think I don’t see what you’re doing?”

You raised a brow. “And what exactly am I doing?”

He stepped closer, and suddenly, it felt like the entire room had shrunk.

“You’re trying to make me jealous.”

You tilted your head. “Is it working?”

His jaw ticked, his hands flexing at his sides.

“Careful, princess,” he murmured, voice dropping lower. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

You smirked. “I can handle it.”

Mingyu exhaled sharply, eyes dark as he looked down at you. “Yeah?” He took another step forward, backing you against the wall, just like before. Only this time, there was no teasing glint in his eyes—only something raw, something possessive.

“Then let’s see how long you last.”

You swallowed, pulse racing as Mingyu’s presence closed in around you. The music thumped through the house, people danced and laughed around you, but all you could focus on was him—his scent, the heat radiating off his skin, the way his gaze locked onto yours like he was daring you to look away first.

You refused to back down.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, tilting your chin up, feigning indifference even though your heart was hammering against your ribs.

Mingyu’s smirk was slow, predatory. “Oh, I think you do.”

His hand lifted, brushing the bare skin of your arm, barely there, but enough to send a shiver down your spine. “You think Yu-Jun’s gonna get under my skin? That watching you laugh at his jokes is gonna make me forget the way you kissed me?”

Your breath caught.

Mingyu leaned in, voice low. “Newsflash, sweetheart. I don’t forget that easily.”

Before you could respond, a voice interrupted.

“There you are! I was looking for you.”

Yu-Jun.

You blinked, snapping out of whatever daze Mingyu had trapped you in. Yu-Jun stood a few feet away, drink in hand, completely oblivious to the tension crackling between you and Mingyu.

You saw the way Mingyu’s jaw clenched, the way his hands curled into fists like he was seconds away from losing his temper.

Yu-Jun glanced between the two of you, sensing something but not quite understanding. “Everything okay?”

You forced a smile, pushing off the wall and brushing past Mingyu like he hadn’t just sent your entire world tilting. “Yeah. Just talking.”

Mingyu let out a quiet scoff, watching as Yu-Jun slung an arm over your shoulders, leading you away.

He was seething.

The idea of someone else’s hands on you, someone else making you laugh, someone else being the reason you smiled—it drove him insane.

Fine.

You wanted to play this game?

Let’s see how you liked it when he played back.

You were in the library, writing your paper that you couldn’t seem to get done, when suddenly, someone slid into the seat next to you—Mingyu.

You sighed, not even bothering to look up. “What do you want now?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he leaned in slightly, resting his chin on his hand as he peered over at your laptop screen. “You’ve been staring at that same paragraph for the last ten minutes.”

You huffed, sitting back. “Maybe because someone keeps distracting me.”

Mingyu grinned. “Oh? I wasn’t even saying anything yet.”

“You don’t have to.” You gave him a pointed look, but he just stretched out, acting as if he belonged there.

And, annoyingly, he kept showing up.

At first, it was random—Mingyu popping up when you least expected him. Sitting next to you at lunch even though his usual crowd was across the cafeteria, showing up at cheer practice under the excuse that “it’s a free country,” stealing the chair beside you in class when there were clearly other empty seats.

Then, it became… routine.

He’d meet you at the library, claiming he “needed to study” (which was a lie because he barely did). He’d walk with you after practice, pretending it was just coincidence. He started texting you—little things, dumb jokes, memes, random thoughts in the middle of the night that made you laugh even when you didn’t want to.

And somewhere along the way, it stopped feeling like a game.

He wasn’t just teasing you to get under your skin anymore. He was remembering things—your favorite coffee order, how you liked to read before bed, how you always tied your hair up when you were stressed.

Mingyu was falling for you.

And it terrified him.

So, he did the only thing he knew how to do when things got too real—he ran.

Or, more accurately, he pushed you away.

It happened at a party.

You weren’t even supposed to be there, but Jennie had convinced you to come. You’d been avoiding Mingyu for the past few days, unsure what to make of the shift between you, and you figured a party was the best place to clear your head.

Until you saw him.

Mingyu, standing in the middle of the crowded room, a drink in hand, laughing as some girl draped herself over him. He wasn’t pushing her away. If anything, he was leaning into it.

Your stomach twisted.

You weren’t supposed to care.

You weren’t supposed to feel like someone had just punched you in the chest.

But there he was.

Mingyu, standing in the middle of the party, a drink in hand, his stupid, easy smile plastered on his face as some girl draped herself over him. She laughed at something he said, running her fingers down his arm, and he didn’t stop her. He leaned into it. Let her touch him. Let her whisper in his ear.

Like it was nothing.

Like you were nothing.

And maybe you were.

Maybe you had been fooling yourself this whole time, thinking that the lingering looks, the late-night texts, the way he always seemed to find you first in a crowded room—meant something. Meant anything.

But this was Kim Mingyu.

Kim Mingyu, who didn’t belong to anyone. Kim Mingyu, who didn’t care. Kim Mingyu, who was doing exactly what he’d always done—treating people like they were temporary, replaceable.

You clenched your fists, hating how much it hurt, hating that some pathetic part of you had thought, for even a second, that you were different. That he saw you differently.

But you weren’t.

And maybe this was the wake-up call you needed.

So you turned around, forcing yourself to walk away, forcing yourself not to care.

Because if he could act like it meant nothing—then so could you.

He knew it was a mistake the second he saw you.

You were still in the party, still surrounded by people, but this time, you weren’t stiff and guarded like you usually were. No, this time, you were tipsy—your head thrown back in laughter, your fingers clutching onto a half-finished drink, your eyes glassy as you swayed slightly to the music.

And he hated it.

Hated that you looked so carefree when his head was a mess. Hated that some guy—Yu-Jun, of all people—was way too close, whispering things in your ear that made you giggle. Hated that despite bringing another girl to the party, he barely remembered her name.

She had her hand on his chest, fingers tracing patterns over his shirt, but he wasn’t paying attention. He was too busy watching you.

Too busy feeling something he shouldn’t be feeling.

He had to remind himself why he did this—why he pulled away before things got too real. It wasn’t supposed to be serious. He wasn’t supposed to get attached. And yet, the more he watched you laugh, drink, stumble just a little, the more his stomach twisted in a way that had nothing to do with alcohol.

You were too drunk.

And that meant someone had to take care of you.

And somehow, for some goddamn reason, Mingyu knew that someone had to be him.

But before he could make his way over to you, he saw you grab your coat and mumble something to Yu-Jun before heading outside.

Mingyu wasn’t the only one who followed.

The cold air hit your face as you stumbled out onto the street. You weren’t that drunk—you still knew exactly where you were, still knew how to get home. You just needed a second to breathe.

But apparently, Yu-Jun had other plans.

“Hey, I’ll take you home,” he offered, stepping closer.

You shook your head. “I’m fine.”

“Come on, don’t be stubborn,” he said, reaching for your arm.

You yanked it back. “I said I’m fine!”

Before you could register what was happening, a loud crack split the air, and suddenly, Yu-Jun was stumbling backward, clutching his face.

Your eyes widened.

Mingyu stood in front of you, chest rising and falling, his fist still clenched.

Yu-Jun groaned, holding his jaw. “What the fuck, man?”

Mingyu didn’t even look at him. His dark, furious eyes were locked on you.

“Let’s go,” he said, voice low, controlled.

You hesitated, still reeling from what just happened. “Mingyu—”

“Now.”

Before you could say another word, Mingyu grabbed your wrist and yanked you forward.

“Let’s go,” he said, voice low and firm.

You resisted, trying to dig your heels into the pavement. “Mingyu, I’m fine. Let me go.”

But he wasn’t listening.

One moment, you were standing on the sidewalk, and the next, you were being lifted off the ground.

“Mingyu!” you shrieked, kicking your legs as he threw you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing. “Put me down!”

“Not a chance,” he muttered, gripping your thighs to keep you from squirming.

Your fists pounded against his back, but he didn’t even flinch. “You’re being ridiculous! I can walk on my own!”

He scoffed. “Yeah? You were about to let that idiot take you home.”

“I wasn’t—ugh—let me go!”

“Nope.”

You groaned, wiggling in his grip, but it was useless. Mingyu was built like a damn tank, and if he was set on dragging you home, there was no way you were getting out of it.

You could hear Yu-Jun cursing behind you, but Mingyu didn’t spare him a glance. He just kept walking, ignoring your protests, ignoring everything—except getting you the hell away from there.

And maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was something else entirely, but for some reason, being carried by Kim Mingyu, held like you were something he needed to protect, didn’t feel as bad as it should have.

As soon as Mingyu put you down in front of your dorm, you shoved him—hard.

“What the hell was that?” you snapped, your voice sharp despite the slight unsteadiness in your stance.

Mingyu barely moved from your push, just ran a hand through his hair, frustration clear on his face. “I was grabbing you before he could.”

You scoffed. “What, so you think that makes it okay? You don’t get to decide who I go home with, Mingyu!”

His jaw clenched. “He was all over you.”

“Nothing was happening!” you yelled, throwing your hands up. “And even if it was, you have no right to say who I can or can’t hang out with!”

Mingyu’s eyes darkened. “I had every right when you were drunk and barely standing straight.”

“I was fine!” you shot back. “And even if I wasn’t, I didn’t need you to play the hero.”

Mingyu let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Right. Of course. You’d rather let him take you home instead.”

You exhaled sharply, rage simmering just under your skin. “Why do you even care, Mingyu? You spent the whole night with her.”

Mingyu stiffened, but you weren’t done.

“You think I didn’t see you?” You let out a humorless chuckle. “With your hands all over her? Whispering in her ear like you were just so into her?” You tilted your head mockingly. “So, tell me, Mingyu. Was she just as fun as the last one?”

“She’s nothing,” he said immediately.

God. That pissed you off even more.

“Oh, of course she’s nothing,” you sneered, crossing your arms. “Because that’s what they all are, right? Just girls to use when you need to distract yourself?”

Mingyu’s face hardened. “It’s not like that.”

“No?” You scoffed. “Then what is it like? Please, enlighten me.”

He was silent.

You nodded, exhaling sharply. “You know what? You don’t have to explain anything to me either, because we’re nothing at all.”

And that—that—hit him harder than you expected.

You saw it in the way his expression shifted, how his lips parted slightly, how for just a second, the ever-so-cocky Kim Mingyu looked like you had just knocked the air out of his lungs.

But you didn’t let yourself care.

You turned on your heel, grabbing your key from your pocket, ignoring the way your hands shook as you unlocked your door. You refused to let him see how much this affected you.

You refused to let him win.

And as you stepped inside, slamming the door behind you, you didn’t see Mingyu standing there, unmoving, hands clenched into fists, staring at the door like he wanted nothing more than to break it down and demand you take it back.

Because nothing had never felt like such a lie.

Avoiding Mingyu should’ve been easy. He wasn’t exactly the type to chase after someone, and if he did, it was never for long.

But somehow, he lingered.

You started taking different routes to class, skipping lunch in the cafeteria, and ignoring his presence at parties altogether. You refused to acknowledge the way your chest ached when you caught glimpses of him—leaning against his motorcycle, laughing with his friends, whispering something into a girl’s ear.

You told yourself you were fine. That you were over it. That you had nothing to get over in the first place.

But the thing was, Mingyu wasn’t fine.

He didn’t know why he cared so much.

Because for the first time in his life, someone wasn’t falling all over themselves to be with him. Someone was actually walking away.

And it was you.

You, who had somehow gotten under his skin without even trying. You, who used to snap at him in the hallway, roll your eyes at his teasing, shove his shoulder when he got too close.

Now? You didn’t even look at him.

And it pissed him off.

Not because his ego was bruised—no, this was different. He missed you.

And that scared the hell out of him.

So, he did the only thing he could do—he watched.

From a distance, making sure you were okay. Making sure Yu-Jun or any other guy wasn’t getting too close. Making sure you were still you.

But the most frustrating part?

You seemed perfectly fine without him.

The final straw came on a Friday night, at a party he had no intention of attending—until he heard you were going.

And there you were, sitting on the arm of some guy’s couch, laughing at something he said, looking completely unbothered.

Mingyu didn’t think. He just moved.

Next thing he knew, he was pulling you aside, gripping your wrist just tight enough to make you stop but not enough to hurt.

“What the hell, Mingyu?” you snapped, trying to yank yourself free.

He didn’t let go. “Can we talk?”

“No.”

“Too bad,” he muttered, dragging you outside onto the empty balcony.

You crossed your arms, glaring at him. “What do you want?”

Mingyu ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “I don’t know,” he admitted, which surprised even him. “I just—fuck, I don’t know how to do this.”

“Do what?” you shot back, frustration evident in your voice. “Mingyu, you don’t get to do this. You don’t get to pull me away from people, you don’t get to act like you care when you were the one who—”

“I do care,” he said, cutting you off.

You froze.

Mingyu let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? I care about you.”

You stared at him, completely caught off guard. “Then why did you—”

“Because I got scared,” he admitted, looking at you like he was barely holding himself together. “Because I don’t do this, I don’t—fuck, I’ve never had to try before. But you—” He let out a shaky breath, his eyes burning into yours. “You’re not like anyone else.”

You swallowed hard, but he wasn’t done.

“You drive me crazy,” he continued, voice raw with frustration. “Not just because you didn’t fall at my feet, not just because you called me out on my bullshit, but because you actually see me. You challenge me. You make me want to be better. And it scares the hell out of me.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

He stepped closer, his voice lower now. “You’re stubborn as hell. You overthink everything. You get this little crease between your eyebrows when you’re concentrating, and you don’t even realize how cute it is.” His lips twitched, but there was something genuine in his expression. “You fight for what you believe in. You never let anyone tell you what to do. And you—you make me feel like I actually matter.”

Silence.

You didn’t know what to say.

Because this was Mingyu—Kim Mingyu—the guy who never got attached, never stayed with one girl, never cared about anyone other than himself.

“I tried to push you away. I thought if I did, maybe I could stop thinking about you all the damn time.”

You stared at him, unsure if you wanted to scream or laugh. “And how did that work out for you?”

His lips twitched, but there was no humor in it. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

You swallowed, looking away. “Mingyu—”

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” he admitted, stepping closer. “I’ve never done this before, not like this. I’m not used to feeling this way, and it scares the hell out of me.”

You bit your lip, fighting against the whirlwind of emotions inside you. “You hurt me.”

Mingyu’s expression softened, his hand lifting slightly before he let it drop. “I know.” His voice was quiet, sincere. “And I hate myself for it.”

For the first time, you saw it—real regret in his eyes.

And maybe that was what undid you.

Because despite everything, despite all the reasons you had to push him away… you still wanted him.

Still felt something for him.

So when he whispered, “Tell me I don’t have a chance, and I’ll walk away.”

You couldn’t say it.

You couldn’t lie.

And he saw it.

Mingyu inhaled sharply, then—before you could second-guess yourself—he closed the distance between you, cupping your face in his hands as his lips crashed against yours.

And this time, you didn’t stop him.

[asciendo]

Resurgence of the Falling Chapter 5

Summary: Eren Jaeger is resurrected centuries after the Rumbling, only to find the world still in turmoil, with Eldians oppressed and Marleyans in control. The Jaegerists ask for his help in protecting their people, but there’s a catch: Eren must be bethrothed and father an heir with the power to end the cycle of Titans once and for all.

content: eren jaeger x female reader

Warning: smut, violence, swearing

Tag list: @vlsquuu  @faerie-soirxx @amanda08319 @bl3333h

Chapters: Chapter 1/Chapter 2/Chapter 3/Chapter 4

was a wound he couldn’t heal, a reminder of everything he had destroyed in his pursuit of freedom. And now, standing in the aftermath of yet another broken connection, he wondered if freedom was worth the cost of all the people he had loved and lost.

Yet, as he stood there, something deeper stirred in him. He thought of Y/N—not just her resemblance to Mikasa but the fire in her eyes, the way she challenged him, the way she didn’t shy away from the truth even when it hurt. Yes, it had been her resemblance that drew him initially, but deep down, he knew it was something else. There was a strength in her, a light that he hadn’t seen in years.

And now, the fact that she could see his memories—that she could bear the weight of them—only proved what he had been too afraid to admit. Y/N wasn’t just someone who reminded him of his past. She was someone who had the power to shape his future.

[asciendo]

Resurgence of the Falling Chapter 4

Summary: Eren Jaeger is resurrected centuries after the Rumbling, only to find the world still in turmoil, with Eldians oppressed and Marleyans in control. The Jaegerists ask for his help in protecting their people, but there’s a catch: Eren must be bethrothed and father an heir with the power to end the cycle of Titans once and for all.

content: eren jaeger x female reader

Warning: smut, violence, swearing

Tag list: @vlsquuu  @faerie-soirxx @amanda08319

Chapters: Chapter 1/Chapter 2/Chapter 3/Chapter 5

Over the next few days, Y/N saw more of Eren. He continued to join her for meals, exchanging a few words here and there. There were times he would join her in the library, silently reading his own book. Y/N began to wonder what his intentions were with her. She knew what the ultimate result was, but she wondered why he was suddenly making an effort.

One quiet afternoon in the library, Y/N noticed Eren enter and take a seat across from her. He opened a book without saying a word. She looked up from her own reading, unable to hold back her curiosity any longer.

"Why are you here?" she asked, her voice soft but direct.

Eren looked up, a flicker of surprise in his eyes before his usual calm expression returned. "I like the quiet," he replied simply.

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "You could find quiet anywhere. Why here?"

He hesitated, his fingers tracing the edge of the book. "Maybe I wanted some company," he said after a moment.

Her heart skipped a beat at the admission, but she pushed forward. "Why me? Of all people, why did you pick me?"

Eren froze, his gaze locking with hers. For a moment, it seemed like he might answer, but then he closed his book abruptly and stood. "Some things don’t have simple answers," he said, his voice low. Without another word, he walked out, leaving Y/N alone and more confused than ever.

After that, Eren stopped joining her for meals. Y/N noticed his absence and couldn’t shake the feeling that he was avoiding her. She decided to drop the matter, unwilling to push him further.

One night, Y/N was jolted awake by the sound of alarm bells echoing through the mansion—the signal for an intruder. Heart pounding, she quickly got out of bed and made her way toward the nearest exit. As she turned a corner, she was suddenly grabbed and slammed against the wall.

A man loomed over her, his grip tight on her arm. "Who are you?!" he demanded, his voice sharp. Y/N remained silent, her mind racing. From somewhere nearby, she heard a familiar voice shout, "Find Eren Jaeger’s betrothed!"

The man’s eyes widened in shock. "E-Eren Jaeger… is trying to continue his line," he muttered, realization dawning. Y/N’s blood ran cold as she realized the intruder was a Marleyan.

Summoning her courage, she kicked the man’s shin with all her strength. He grunted in pain and staggered back, but before she could escape, he grabbed her again and shoved her to the ground. As he loomed over her, ready to strike, he was suddenly yanked back by the collar and thrown across the room.

Y/N looked up to see Eren standing over her, his expression furious. Without a word, Lucian and his men arrived, seizing the Marleyan and dragging him away. Eren crouched next to her, his eyes scanning her for injuries.

"Are you all right?" he asked, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

Y/N nodded slowly, still shaken. Eren stood and barked an order for everyone to leave them alone. He helped her to her feet and led her to the kitchen. To her surprise, he lifted her onto the table. She stared at him, wide-eyed, as he retrieved an ice pack and gently pressed it against the side of her head.

She winced slightly, and he murmured, "Sorry." When he was done, he stepped back, his expression unreadable. Without another word, he left her sitting there, confused and alone.

The next day, during the council meeting, Eren’s fury was palpable. "How did the intruder get in?" he demanded, his voice echoing through the room.

Lucian stepped forward. "He’s due for questioning today, but this incident means we need to accelerate our plans."

The council members turned to Eren, waiting for his decision. He sighed heavily. "Before anything, I want to know how he got in. He almost hurt Y/N," he said, his tone resolute. Without waiting for a response, he left the meeting and headed home.

When he arrived, he saw Y/N sitting quietly in the garden, the sunlight casting a gentle glow around her. Watching her from a distance, Eren clenched his fists and made a silent vow. He wouldn’t let anyone hurt her again.

[asciendo]

Through Your Eyes

Pairing: Wonwoo x Reader

Genre: Angst, Modern Fantasy

Summary:  A world where some people possess a rare ability called "Eye Resonance," which allows them to see fragments of another person’s memories, emotions, or future whenever they make eye contact. The catch? These fragments often come with profound emotional weight that can alter both their lives.

Warning: slight mention of violence

Y/N tried, but nothing was translating onto the canvas. No matter how long she stared, the blank surface stared back, mocking her. The usual flow of creativity—the images and colors that always came so effortlessly—had dried up completely. Her paintbrush sat untouched on the easel, a silent reminder of her frustration. Days had passed like this: her sitting cross-legged in front of an empty canvas, waiting for inspiration that never came.

With a heavy sigh, she placed her brush down and lay on the wooden floor, her arms stretched out in surrender. Staring up at the ceiling, she let her mind wander. A weight she couldn’t describe had settled over her lately, a sense of being stuck. It wasn’t just her art—her whole life felt like it had come to a standstill. It was as though she were suspended in time, moving neither forward nor back. And the emptiness? It was worse than being overwhelmed. It was hollow.

She was pulled from her thoughts by the sudden, wet sensation of something warm on her face. Opening her eyes, she found her black Labrador, Nala, enthusiastically licking her cheek, her tail wagging furiously.

“Alright, alright,” Y/N laughed weakly, sitting up and patting Nala on the head. “You wanna go for a walk?” At the sound of the word, Nala barked and spun in a small circle, her excitement infectious.

Y/N slipped on a jacket and grabbed Nala’s leash. Today, she decided, they’d try a new route. Her usual path through the busy city streets didn’t feel right; she craved something quieter, something different.

She turned down a small side street she’d never noticed before, dimly lit but inviting. Nala sniffed eagerly at every corner, pulling her forward as they wandered. It was then that Y/N spotted it: a small, vintage-looking bookshop with warm light spilling from its windows. Its name, etched elegantly above the door, seemed to beckon her inside.

“Let’s check it out, girl,” Y/N murmured to Nala, tying her leash to a post outside.

The shop’s interior was just as charming as its façade. The faint scent of old paper and ink filled the air, and shelves overflowed with books, some clearly decades old. Y/N’s eyes lit up as she browsed, running her fingers along worn spines. It was the kind of place where time felt like it slowed down. She gathered a few books—an eclectic mix of novels and art history tomes—and made her way to the cashier.

As she approached the counter, her gaze landed on the man standing behind it. He was tall, with dark, slightly messy hair that framed his face and glasses perched on his nose. His oversized sweater enveloped him, giving him an air of effortless comfort. He was busy wrapping a customer’s books with meticulous care.

Y/N placed her books down, and when he finally looked up at her, their eyes met.

The world tilted.

It hit her like a wave—a flood of images, emotions, and fragments of memories that weren’t her own. Joy so bright it was almost blinding, moments of quiet contentment, and then crushing sadness: loss, heartbreak, grief. Y/N felt her breath hitch, and before she knew it, a single tear rolled down her cheek. Across the counter, she saw him freeze, his hand trembling as he dropped the bag he was holding.

A tear mirrored hers, slipping silently down his face.

She blinked, snapping back to the present, her chest heaving as she took in his face once more. He stared at her, his expression a mix of shock and something she couldn’t quite name.

“I—” he began, his voice low, but Y/N couldn’t handle it. Grabbing Nala’s leash, she bolted from the shop without another word.

Back at her flat, Y/N paced the living room, her thoughts racing. Her hands trembled as tears began to fall again, unbidden. She sank onto the couch, clutching a cushion to her chest as flashes of his memories filled her mind once more. They were so vivid it was as though she had lived them herself: his joy, his heartbreak, his loneliness.

She knew what this meant.

“Eye Resonance,” she whispered to herself, the words barely audible. It was rare, almost unheard of, but not impossible. When two people looked into each other’s eyes and could see fragments of each other’s lives, it was said to tether them together in ways no one fully understood.

Her chest tightened. What did this mean for them? Who was he? Why him?

For the next few days, Y/N couldn’t stop thinking about him. His face appeared unbidden in her mind as she cooked, walked Nala, or even attempted to paint again. The memories she’d glimpsed haunted her, and her curiosity only grew stronger. It wasn’t just the connection—it was the feeling she’d seen in his eyes.

Loneliness.

She didn’t understand it, this strange mix of fear and longing that tugged at her every time she thought of him. It didn’t make sense, yet it was undeniable. Each step she took with Nala that day felt heavier as she deliberately avoided the path to the bookshop, unsure if she was ready to face him again.

Lost in thought, she nearly missed her surroundings until a moment of stillness brought her back. She looked up—and froze.

There he was.

Wonwoo stood a few paces away, his arms empty but surrounded by scattered grocery bags on the ground. His expression mirrored her own: startled, wide-eyed, caught off guard. For a brief moment, neither moved.

Her instinct screamed at her to turn around, walk away before the confusion and unspoken connection became too overwhelming. But just as she took a step back, his voice cut through the silence.

“Wait!”

She stopped. Hesitated. Slowly, she turned back to him.

Wonwoo had spent days trying to make sense of the encounter. The way her gaze had felt like it reached into a part of him he hadn’t known existed. He had replayed the moment over and over, wondering who she was, why her face lingered in his thoughts long after she had disappeared. And now, here she was, standing in front of him again, as unexpected as the first time.

“I…” he started, but the words caught in his throat. His mind raced, but nothing felt right to say. Instead, he closed his eyes, took a steadying breath, and started again.

“My name is Wonwoo.”

The simplicity of his introduction seemed to break the invisible barrier between them. Her shoulders softened, her features relaxing ever so slightly.

“I’m Y/N,” she said, her voice quiet but steady.

For a moment, they stood there, unsure of what came next. Nala, growing impatient, gave a soft huff, shifting on her paws.

Wonwoo took the initiative, his voice betraying a nervous edge. “I… I don’t know if this is too sudden, but… would you like to get a cup of coffee with me?”

The seconds that passed felt eternal. Wonwoo could feel his heart pounding, every beat a reminder of just how much he wanted to bridge the gap between them.

“Sure,” Y/N finally said, her lips curling into a small, hesitant smile.

Relief washed over him, and he nodded quickly, gesturing toward a small café nearby. They walked in silence, the tension between them lightening with every step.

Inside, they found a quiet table at the back, and Nala settled at Y/N’s feet, her tail thumping softly against the floor.

“What’s her name?” Wonwoo asked, his voice warm and curious.

“Nala,” Y/N replied, glancing down at her companion.

Wonwoo smiled. “She suits you. Loyal, protective.”

Y/N laughed softly, the sound easing the weight in the air. “She’s more stubborn than anything, but I’ll take it.”

The coffee shop felt like a bubble, suspended in time and space, shielding them from the world outside. But despite the warmth of the room, a strange chill lingered in the air between them, unspoken and unresolved. Y/N tightened her grip on her cup, the steam rising and curling in lazy patterns that mirrored the chaos in her thoughts.

Across from her, Wonwoo sat still, his fingers tracing the rim of his mug. He looked at her like he was trying to memorize every detail, like he was afraid that if he blinked, she might disappear.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” Y/N said suddenly, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. Her voice was quiet but tinged with something sharper—fear, maybe, or doubt.

Wonwoo’s brow furrowed, and he leaned forward, his gaze searching hers. “What do you mean?”

“This… whatever this is,” she said, gesturing vaguely between them. “It’s too much. I don’t even understand it. You don’t understand it. And yet, it feels like…” Her voice cracked, and she dropped her eyes to the table. “It feels like I’m supposed to be responsible for you now, for what I saw.”

His expression softened, but there was a shadow in his eyes. “You’re not responsible for me, Y/N.”

“But I feel it,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I saw pieces of your life—things that aren’t mine to carry, but they’re there anyway. Your pain, your loneliness… it’s like it’s stitched into me now. And I hate it because I don’t even know how to help you. I don’t even know if I can help you.”

Wonwoo’s jaw tightened, and he looked away, his hands clenching around his cup. “You think I don’t feel the same?” he asked, his voice low and rough. “I saw you too, Y/N. Your memories. Your hurt. And it’s killing me that I don’t know how to fix it.”

She blinked, caught off guard by the rawness in his voice. He let out a shaky breath, pushing his glasses up his nose as if to steady himself.

“I didn’t ask for this either,” he continued. “And yeah, it’s overwhelming. It’s terrifying. But if the universe—or whatever—thought I needed to see you, to feel you, then I’m not going to run away from that.”

His words hung in the air, heavy with emotion, but Y/N shook her head, her hands trembling around her mug. “What if this breaks us?” she asked, her voice barely audible.

Wonwoo looked at her then, his gaze unwavering despite the storm brewing in his chest. “What if it doesn’t?”

She wanted to believe him, but the doubt clawed at her, unrelenting. “What if we’re only drawn to each other because of this resonance? What if it’s not real?”

“It feels real,” he said, his voice firm despite the vulnerability etched into his face. “And maybe that’s enough. Maybe we’re enough.”

Her heart twisted at his words, the sincerity in them cutting through her fear. But the weight of it all still pressed down on her, heavy and suffocating.

“I don’t know,” she said finally, her voice cracking.

Wonwoo reached across the table then, his hand hesitating before brushing against hers. It wasn’t a grand gesture, but it was enough to steady her, to remind her she wasn’t alone in this.

“I don’t know either,” he admitted, his voice softer now. “But I want to try. Even if it’s messy. Even if it’s hard.”

Y/N looked at him, the anguish in his eyes mirroring her own. Slowly, she nodded, her fingers curling around his.

“Okay,” she whispered, the word trembling but resolute.

It wasn’t a promise, and it wasn’t a solution. But in that moment, it was all they had.

After that day in the coffee shop, things didn’t fall into place as seamlessly as either of them might have hoped. Y/N and Wonwoo saw each other a few times—brief encounters that felt both too much and not enough. Each meeting was charged with the same strange electricity that had sparked between them the first time their eyes met, but it didn’t make navigating their connection any easier.

It was late one evening when they crossed paths again, this time by accident. Y/N was walking Nala through the park, the crisp air biting at her cheeks, when she saw him sitting on a bench beneath the glow of a streetlamp. He looked lost in thought, his figure hunched against the cold, his hands clasped tightly in his lap.

She hesitated, her instinct telling her to turn back, to avoid the spiral of emotions that always followed him. But then his head lifted, and their eyes locked.

The resurgence hit them like a wave, an undeniable force that pulled them under.

Y/N staggered, clutching Nala’s leash for support as images flashed before her eyes:

A boy sitting alone at the edge of a playground, watching other children laugh and play while his own laughter stayed locked inside. The sting of rejection, the isolation that became his constant companion. A quiet room filled with books, where he hid from a world that never seemed to understand him. And then a loss so deep it threatened to consume him—a figure, blurred but unmistakably dear, slipping away into darkness, leaving him hollow.

Wonwoo gasped, his breath hitching as Y/N’s memories poured into him in return:

A young girl with paint-streaked hands, proudly holding up a vibrant canvas to show parents who were too distracted to notice. A deep yearning for approval that went unanswered, the sting of dismissal carved into her. Years later, standing in a gallery full of strangers, her work admired but her soul unseen. The ache of pouring herself into her art and still feeling invisible.

They both fell silent as the wave receded, leaving them breathless and raw.

Y/N dropped onto the bench beside him, her knees weak. “Why… why does it have to be like this?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Wonwoo didn’t answer right away. He stared down at his trembling hands, his thoughts scattered like leaves in the wind. “I don’t know,” he admitted finally, his voice hoarse. “But I hate that you’ve felt that way. That you’ve carried so much on your own.”

She looked at him, her chest tightening at the pain in his expression. “You’re carrying just as much,” she said softly.

He turned to her then, his eyes glassy but resolute. “But we don’t have to anymore, do we?”

Her breath caught, her instinct to retreat warring with the pull she felt toward him. “Wonwoo… what if we can’t handle this? What if seeing all of this—feeling all of this—breaks us both?”

His gaze didn’t waver. “What if it doesn’t? What if it’s what saves us?”

Tears welled in her eyes, the weight of their connection both unbearable and undeniable. “I don’t know how to let someone carry it with me,” she admitted, her voice cracking.

“You don’t have to,” he said. “Just let me be here. That’s all I’m asking.”

The vulnerability in his words struck her, cutting through her fear. Slowly, she nodded, her trembling hand reaching for his.

As their fingers intertwined, the world seemed to shift again. It wasn’t as overwhelming as before, but it was still there—faint echoes of each other’s lives passing between them, not as sharp but just as poignant.

They sat there for a long time, the night growing colder around them. Neither spoke, but the silence wasn’t empty. It was full of understanding, of shared pain and tentative hope.

For the first time, they both felt a flicker of something new—a possibility. Not of erasing the scars they carried, but of finding a way to live with them, together.

The next few days were an intricate dance of vulnerability and discovery for Y/N and Wonwoo. They carved out time for each other amidst their busy schedules, meeting in parks, bookstores, and quiet cafes. Some days were bright, filled with laughter and shared stories. Wonwoo’s dry humor often caught her off guard, making her laugh until her ribs hurt, and Y/N’s playful teasing brought warmth to his usually reserved demeanor.

But not every day was easy.

There were moments when a memory would surface unexpectedly, dragging one of them into the depths of their past pain. Wonwoo’s voice would falter mid-conversation, his gaze distant as he remembered the loneliness that had shaped him. On those days, Y/N would reach for his hand, her quiet presence grounding him. And when Y/N’s insecurities bubbled to the surface, the weight of feeling unseen and unloved pressing down on her, Wonwoo would sit with her in silence, letting her know without words that she was anything but invisible to him.

Each time they faced the shadows of their pasts together, they emerged stronger, their connection deepening with every shared moment.

Then came the night that changed everything.

Y/N had just left one of her friend’s gallery openings, the event running later than she had anticipated. The streets were quieter than she liked, the sound of her heels echoing against the pavement. She wrapped her coat tighter around herself as a chill ran down her spine, though it wasn’t just from the cold.

It was the feeling of being watched.

She glanced over her shoulder and spotted a figure trailing her. Her heart quickened. She quickened her pace, turning corners in an attempt to lose him, but the man stayed close. Panic surged through her as she realized he wasn’t going to back off.

She rounded another corner, only to find herself at a dead end. The streetlights here were dim, casting long, menacing shadows. The man approached slowly, his intent clear in the predatory gleam of his eyes. Y/N’s breath hitched as she backed up against the wall, her hands trembling.

“Please,” she whispered, her voice shaking.

But he didn’t stop.

The man grabbed her arms, pinning her against the cold brick wall. Tears streamed down her face as she struggled futilely against his grip.

Across the city, Wonwoo was locking up the bookstore, frustrated at the slow evening. The owner had insisted on staying open late, but the shop had been empty for hours. As he reached for his bag, a sharp, unexplainable pang shot through his chest, knocking the air from his lungs. He stumbled, clutching his heart, his mind spiraling in panic.

“Y/N.”

The name came unbidden to his lips, and he knew. Something was wrong.

Without hesitation, he bolted from the store, following the pull in his chest that guided him like a beacon. He didn’t stop to think, didn’t question the logic of it. All that mattered was finding her.

Y/N squeezed her eyes shut, a silent plea on her lips. This was it. She couldn’t break free. Her tears fell faster, and just as she braced herself for the worst, the man was suddenly ripped away from her.

Her eyes flew open, and she saw Wonwoo, his face a mask of fury as he slammed the man to the ground. The air filled with the sound of his fists colliding with the attacker, the rage in his movements palpable.

“Wonwoo!” Y/N’s voice cracked, bringing him back to the present. Police sirens wailed in the distance, and as the officers descended on the scene, Wonwoo stepped back, his chest heaving.

Y/N slumped to the ground, her knees giving out as sobs wracked her body. Wonwoo was at her side in an instant, kneeling in front of her and cupping her face with trembling hands.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, his voice thick with worry, his eyes scanning her from head to toe.

She shook her head, tears still streaming. “H-how did you know?”

Wonwoo exhaled shakily, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “I don’t know,” he admitted softly. “I just… felt it. Like a pull. Like you were calling out to me.”

The weight of his words settled over her, and in that moment, she understood. Their connection went deeper than she had ever realized. It wasn’t just coincidence or chance—it was something unexplainable, something fated.

Wonwoo’s gaze held hers, and in his eyes, she saw everything: fear, relief, and an overwhelming need to protect her. Slowly, he leaned closer, his movements hesitant as if giving her the chance to pull away.

But she didn’t.

Y/N closed the distance, their lips meeting in a kiss that was soft and tentative, yet filled with all the emotions they couldn’t put into words. It was a moment of clarity for both of them—a realization that their lives, as messy and imperfect as they were, were meant to intertwine.

Y/N’s breath hitched as their foreheads touched, the world around them fading into nothingness. She didn’t say anything—she didn’t have to. The unspoken understanding between them hung in the air, tangible and electric. Her eyes, still glossy with tears, held his, searching, speaking the words her lips couldn’t.

Wonwoo’s gaze softened, the tension in his shoulders melting away as he read her like an open book. The way her eyes lingered on his, the way they reflected gratitude, relief, and something deeper—it was enough.

He smiled faintly, his thumb brushing a tear from her cheek. “You don’t have to say it,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Your eyes tell me everything I need to know.”

Y/N’s heart clenched at his words, the honesty in them undoing her. She felt the weight of her fears and doubts lift, leaving only the certainty of him. Slowly, she leaned into his touch, her hand finding his, their fingers interlocking.

And for the first time, there was no need for words—just the quiet, undeniable truth that they had always been meant to find each other.

[asciendo]

Resurgence of the Founding Chapter 3

Summary: Eren Jaeger is resurrected centuries after the Rumbling, only to find the world still in turmoil, with Eldians oppressed and Marleyans in control. The Jaegerists ask for his help in protecting their people, but there’s a catch: Eren must be bethrothed and father an heir with the power to end the cycle of Titans once and for all.

content: eren jaeger x female reader

Warning: smut, violence, swearing

Tag list: @vlsquuu  @faerie-soirxx

Chapters: Chapter 1/Chapter 2/Chapter 4 / Chapter 5

Y/N entered her house shakily after Eren chose her. She didn’t know what to do or feel. Everything seemed surreal, as though all the air had been sucked out of her body. Her hands trembled as she shut the door behind her, leaning against it in an attempt to process what had just happened. The sound of hurried footsteps snapped her out of her daze. Her parents entered the room with proud eyes that starkly contrasted her tear-filled ones.

Her mother enveloped her in a hug—a rare and unfamiliar gesture. Whispering softly, her mom said, “You did well.” Y/N, however, couldn’t respond. She stared past her mother with a blank expression, the weight of her new reality pressing down on her like a vice. Her father stood nearby, his chest puffed with pride, while her younger brother peeked out from behind him, concern evident on his small face. He seemed like the only one who noticed her trembling hands and uneven breathing.

Suddenly, the door swung open, and Lucian stepped inside. His demeanor was firm yet sympathetic. “Y/N, it’s time to go,” he said. Her eyes widened.

“Go? What about my things?” she asked hesitantly, her voice wavering.

“They will be sent to you,” Lucian replied curtly.

Everything was happening too fast. She hadn’t even had time to gather herself, let alone ask what was going to happen next. Before she knew it, she was being ushered out of the house. The town’s people lined the streets, their gazes filled with awe and reverence that made her feel uneasy, as though she were some kind of savior. Some whispered, others pointed, their words blending into a chaotic buzz she couldn’t tune out. She kept her head low the entire time, unable to meet their eyes. The weight of their expectations pressed down on her, suffocating and relentless.

When she finally reached the mansion, her breath hitched. The grand structure loomed before her, its towering spires and intricate stonework a testament to power and wealth. It felt cold and unwelcoming, despite its beauty. As Lucian led her inside, the echo of their footsteps on the marble floors only heightened her anxiety. He gave her a sideways glance and said, “I know this isn’t what you wanted. Believe me, I’m as surprised as you are that he chose you. Not that you aren’t a good choice, but… there were others far more willing. This must mean something.”

Y/N nodded silently, her mind racing with unanswered questions. Before she could respond, she heard footsteps approaching. Her heart leapt into her throat as Eren appeared at the end of the hall, his expression unreadable. He stopped a few feet away, his intense gaze flickering briefly over her before looking past her entirely.

“Her room is that way,” he said flatly before walking away, his boots clicking against the polished floor. Y/N froze, the coldness in his tone sending a shiver down her spine. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Her eyes followed him as he disappeared down the corridor. Why did he choose her? The question lingered as Lucian gently guided her to her room.

The door creaked open, and Y/N’s eyes widened. The room was massive, with a large bed at its center, draped in rich fabrics that shimmered in the light. Elegant dressers lined the walls, a vanity table stood in the corner, and enormous windows let in the soft glow of the setting sun. She wandered around in awe, running her fingers over the polished surfaces. It felt more like a palace chamber than a bedroom.

Lucian, standing by the door, said, “Again, thank you for doing this. I know it’s not enough, but… we are grateful.” His voice carried a weight of sincerity, though it did little to ease the turmoil in her chest. With that, he left, closing the door softly behind him.

Y/N walked to the window and looked out at the sprawling garden below. It was breathtaking, with its perfectly manicured hedges, vibrant flowers, and a fountain that glimmered in the fading light. It should have been calming, but the serenity only made her feel more out of place. Her gaze stopped at a lone figure sitting on a bench, head in his hands. Eren. Her body tensed despite the distance between them. There was something about him that made her uneasy, yet she couldn’t look away. As though sensing her, he lifted his head and locked eyes with her. She froze, her breath hitching. For a moment, neither of them moved. Then, he stood and walked back inside the mansion, leaving her staring after him, her thoughts a jumbled mess.

The council convened days later, pressuring Eren with their demands for an heir. Their voices clamored in unison: the future depended on it. Eren’s jaw clenched as he listened, his patience thinning with every word.

“Time is running out,” one of them said. “If we’re to secure our strength, the child must—”

Eren slammed his fist onto the table, silencing them. “I don’t need reminders,” he growled. “I know what’s at stake. But this isn’t something you can rush.”

The meeting ended with tension thick in the air. As Eren walked away, his thoughts spiraled. The plan had always been clear, but the morality of it—what it demanded of him, of her—gnawed at his resolve.

That night, he found Y/N in the dining room. Her stiff posture and the cautious way she ate spoke volumes. She avoided his gaze, but her movements weren’t as timid as before. She was opening up, bit by bit, and for reasons he couldn’t explain, it brought him a strange sense of relief.

“What do you like to do?” he asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

She looked up at him, startled. “Read,” she replied softly.

Without another word, he stood and motioned for her to follow him. Confused but curious, she obeyed. He led her through the mansion’s winding halls until they stopped in front of large double doors. When he opened them, her breath caught.

Inside was a massive library, its shelves stretching from floor to ceiling, filled with books of every kind. Her eyes widened as she stepped inside, the scent of aged paper and leather overwhelming her senses.

“You can take anything you like,” Eren said, his voice quieter than usual.

For the first time, Y/N saw something flicker in his expression—something softer. She didn’t know what to say, so she nodded. As she explored the shelves, Eren watched her from the doorway. He didn’t linger long, but the image of her surrounded by books stayed with him.

[asciendo]

Resurgence of the Founding Chapter 2

Summary: Eren Jaeger is resurrected centuries after the Rumbling, only to find the world still in turmoil, with Eldians oppressed and Marleyans in control. The Jaegerists ask for his help in protecting their people, but there’s a catch: Eren must be bethrothed and father an heir with the power to end the cycle of Titans once and for all.

content: eren jaeger x female reader

Warning: smut, violence, swearing

Tag list: @vlsquuu 

Chapters: Chapter 1/Chapter 3/ Chapter 4/ Chapter 5

Y/N watched from her window as the entire town gathered in awe of Eren Jaeger’s arrival. Their faces were lit with hope, desperation, and a kind of reverence that sent chills down her spine. From her vantage point, she could see the crowd parting as he walked through, his tall frame tense and his sharp eyes scanning his surroundings like a predator assessing its territory.

Of course, she wanted her people's suffering to end. She had heard the stories of his past, the devastation, the sacrifices, and the victories that had defined him. But as much as she respected what he represented, the reality of his return left a bitter taste in her mouth. She didn’t want to be part of this.

Her fingers curled against the windowsill as she thought about the position she’d been forced into. Being the daughter of high-ranking Eldians came with privileges, yes, but now, it felt like a curse. Her parents, ever loyal to the cause, had been ecstatic when her name was put forward as one of the potential brides.

“You could be the mother of the savior’s heir,” her mother had gushed, eyes bright with pride.

Y/N had protested, argued until her voice was hoarse, but it had fallen on deaf ears. “This is bigger than you,” her father had said, his tone leaving no room for debate. “Eren Jaeger’s return is a gift, a chance to end this suffering for good. If he chooses you, it will be an honor.”

Honor. She wanted to laugh at the word. What honor was there in being reduced to a pawn, a vessel for someone else’s plan?

Now, as she watched Eren stride into the mansion—his mansion, as Lucian had announced to the people earlier—she felt a knot of dread tighten in her stomach. Her parents had already made it clear that they expected her to be on her best behavior when the time came to meet him. To smile, to charm, to accept her role without complaint.

But deep down, Y/N hoped—prayed—that he wouldn’t choose her.

Let him pick someone else, she thought desperately, her heart pounding as the weight of the situation pressed down on her. Someone who wants this. Anyone but me.

Her gaze lingered on Eren as the doors closed behind him. He looked angry, burdened, as though he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. And maybe he did.

She turned away from the window, her hands trembling. Tonight, she would be called to join the other candidates for an introduction. Her parents had already laid out the dress she was to wear, a modest yet elegant gown meant to highlight her standing.

She stared at it now, hanging on the edge of her wardrobe, and felt a wave of bitterness rise in her throat. She didn’t want this. She didn’t want him. And yet, she had no choice.

Taking a shaky breath, she whispered to herself, “Please… don’t choose me.”

The grand hall was suffocating, filled with the hum of low murmurs and the sharp clink of glasses. Chandeliers hung overhead, their golden light casting long, dramatic shadows across the polished marble floors. Y/N stood at the far end of the line of women, each dressed to perfection, their postures impeccable.

The others whispered among themselves, some sneaking glances at Eren, who stood at the center of the room, engaged in conversation with a council member. His broad shoulders were stiff, his jaw set, as though the mere act of standing there was an endurance test.

Y/N let out a small sigh, her eyes darting toward her parents. They were seated among the dignitaries, their expressions carefully neutral, but their eyes spoke volumes. Her mother gestured subtly with her hand, her meaning clear: Smile. Look your best.

Y/N’s jaw tightened. She wouldn’t.

She felt a twinge of defiance, a tiny ember of rebellion in a situation where she otherwise had no control. If they wanted her to put on a show, they would be disappointed. She straightened her posture but kept her expression neutral, bordering on indifferent.

The woman beside her—a petite blonde with a dazzling smile—leaned in and whispered, “You’re not even going to try?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow but didn’t respond.

The blonde smirked, her voice barely audible over the murmur of the room. “Suit yourself. Less competition for the rest of us.” She adjusted the lace trim on her gown, turning her attention back to Eren with a practiced flutter of her lashes.

Y/N turned her gaze to him as well, though without the same eagerness. He looked tired, detached, as if the grandeur and the attention meant nothing to him. For a moment, their eyes met, and Y/N felt a jolt, like a sudden gust of cold air. His gaze was piercing, assessing, but it flickered away just as quickly.

The room quieted as the council member cleared his throat and gestured for the women to step forward. One by one, they introduced themselves, curtseying and offering rehearsed words of admiration for Eren and the cause. The line moved forward, each woman more polished and practiced than the last.

When it was Y/N’s turn, she stepped forward with deliberate calm, her hands clasped loosely in front of her. Her parents’ eyes bore into her from across the room, willing her to dazzle.

But she didn’t bow, didn’t offer any rehearsed speech. Instead, she met Eren’s gaze directly, her voice steady.

“Y/N,” she said simply.

For a heartbeat, the room seemed to hold its breath. Her lack of pretense stood in stark contrast to the others, and she could feel the weight of her parents’ disappointment like a lead cloak.

Eren’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes lingered on her for a moment longer than they had with the others. He tilted his head slightly, as if intrigued, before giving the faintest nod.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice low and unyielding.

She stepped back into line, her heart pounding. She couldn’t tell if she had just ruined her chances or secured them. All she knew was that, for now, she had survived the moment.

As Eren entered the grand hall, the weight of expectation pressed heavily on his shoulders. The grandeur of the scene—the glittering chandeliers, the hushed yet excited crowd, and the line of women before him—only deepened his disdain for the moment.

Lucian guided him to a chair at the center of the hall. He sat stiffly, his jaw clenched as he surveyed the eager faces before him. He didn’t want this. He never did. But what was another sacrifice for the Eldians?

The women stood in a pristine line, each meticulously dressed, their faces painted with nervous smiles and practiced charm. Eren’s eyes skimmed over them, each one blending into the next. None of them mattered to him.

Until he saw her.

She stood near the end of the line, quieter than the rest, her demeanor more subdued. Her jet-black hair framed her face, and her almond-shaped eyes gazed forward, though they didn’t sparkle with the same desperation as the others’. She wasn’t trying to impress him; in fact, she seemed to want nothing more than to be elsewhere.

Eren’s heart stilled for a moment.

She reminded him of Mikasa.

The resemblance wasn’t exact, but it was enough to stir something deep inside him—a familiar ache that he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in years. Her presence brought Mikasa’s memory flooding back: her quiet strength, her steadfastness, her loyalty. He knew it wasn’t her. It couldn’t be. Mikasa was gone, and yet, standing before him, this woman felt like a fragment of her had returned.

When she stepped forward and spoke her name, “Y/N,” her voice broke through his thoughts. He blinked, grounding himself in the present, though his chest felt heavy.

The other women followed, reciting their names and prepared lines. Eren barely listened. His focus kept drifting back to her—the only one who seemed untouched by the frenzy around her. She wasn’t here to vie for him, and that only intrigued him more.

When the last name had been spoken, Lucian stepped forward, addressing the room. “Ladies, you stand here today not only for the honor of being chosen but for the future of Eldians. Whoever Eren Jaeger selects as his betrothed will share in the burden of ensuring our people’s salvation.”

Excited whispers filled the hall, anticipation radiating from the women. All except Y/N. Her expression darkened slightly, a flicker of unease passing over her features.

Eren remained motionless.

Lucian glanced at him, signaling that it was time, but Eren didn’t immediately rise. Instead, he leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, exhaling deeply. His mind was already made up.

Pushing himself to his feet, Eren stepped forward, his boots echoing sharply in the silent hall. He didn’t spare a glance at the others, his eyes fixed solely on Y/N.

Her own eyes widened, surprise evident in her face as he stopped in front of her.

“I’ll take Y/N as my betrothed,” Eren declared, his voice calm yet unwavering.

The room erupted in gasps and murmurs, the women exchanging stunned looks. Lucian’s eyebrows briefly lifted, but he quickly regained composure, nodding approvingly.

Y/N, however, stood frozen, her lips parting slightly as if to protest, though no words came.

Eren didn’t look away from her. He didn’t know why he’d chosen her—whether it was her resemblance to Mikasa, her quiet presence, or something else entirely. But at that moment, it didn’t matter. She was the one, and nothing would change that.

[asciendo]

We Can't Be Friends

Pairing: Mingyu x Reader

Genre: Angst

Summary: inspired by Ariana Grande's "We Can't Be Friends" Music video where you have your memories of Mingyu erased.

The café buzzed with quiet conversation and the hum of an espresso machine, a backdrop to your usual routine. You were halfway through your book, the faint aroma of roasted coffee beans mingling with the crisp pages, when a shadow loomed over your table.

“Remember.”

The voice was thick with desperation.

You looked up, startled, to find a man standing in front of you. His eyes, warm and brown but clouded with emotion, bore into yours as though searching for something only he could see. He knelt before you, gently cupping your face with trembling hands.

You flinched but didn’t pull away, caught between confusion and the odd, inexplicable comfort of his touch. “Remember what?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Please,” he begged, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks. His gaze was so intense it felt like he was trying to imprint himself into your memory by sheer will. “Please remember me.”

Your heart quickened, but your mind was blank. “I… I don’t know you.”

His face crumpled, and he let out a soft, broken sound that made your chest ache. His hands dropped from your face, but he didn’t look away. “Why did you do it? Why did you—” His words were strangled, his head bowing as tears spilled freely.

“M-Mingyu…” you stammered, his name leaving your lips unbidden, like muscle memory. The sound of it felt familiar, yet foreign.

His head snapped up, hope flashing in his eyes. “You do know me!” he cried.

You recoiled, the moment feeling suddenly too close, too raw. “I don’t,” you said firmly, though your voice wavered. “I—I’m sorry, but I don’t know you.”

The words hung between you like a fragile thread, and for a moment, it looked like it might snap entirely. Then he broke the silence.

“Can we talk?” he asked, his voice shaking but earnest. “Please, just… outside, on that bench.” He gestured to the lamp-lit seat just beyond the café window. “I know how this looks, but I’m not—I swear, I’m not dangerous. I just need a moment. Please.”

Your instincts screamed at you to refuse. Stranger danger, the countless episodes of crime shows you’d consumed over the years—it all pointed to leaving, now. But there was something in the way he looked at you, a vulnerability so raw it made your stomach churn. Against all reason, you nodded.

Relief washed over his face as you gathered your things. He led the way outside, stopping at the bench under the soft glow of a streetlamp.

The two of you sat in tense silence until you finally broke it. “So… do I know you?”

His head turned toward you, and you noticed the way his jaw tightened, the slight tremble of his hands. “Yes,” he said, barely audible. “We know each other.”

You frowned, trying to recall where you might have seen him. His tall frame and scruffy black hair weren’t exactly forgettable. “From where?”

He hesitated, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. “You… you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.” Your voice was steadier now, but your heart was racing.

He took a shaky breath, his eyes glistening with tears. “My name is Mingyu,” he said finally, as though the words carried the weight of the world.

You repeated it under your breath, testing the name, searching for any spark of recognition. Nothing came.

“I’m sorry,” you said, shaking your head. “I really don’t—”

Then he said it. The nickname only your parents called you. The sound of it froze you in place, and your breath hitched.

“H-how do you know that?” you demanded, scooting back on the bench. Your pulse roared in your ears.

Mingyu’s face was a picture of heartbreak. “Because you told me,” he said simply, his voice trembling. “You told me everything.”

You stood abruptly, panic taking over. “No one knows that. No one. You—you need to stay away from me.”

“Wait!” He rose too, hands outstretched in surrender. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you, I just—I wanted you to see that we know each other. That we—”

“I don’t remember you,” you interrupted, your voice sharp and pained. “I’m sorry, but I don’t.”

You turned and walked away, leaving him behind under the glow of the streetlamp, his broken sobs trailing after you.

Mingyu stumbled into the shared dorm late that night, his face blotchy and tear-streaked. The familiar warmth of the living room, filled with the faint scent of takeout and the quiet murmur of a TV show, barely registered. Wonwoo was seated on the couch, glasses slipping down his nose as he looked up from his book.

“Gyu, what happened?” Wonwoo’s voice was calm but laced with concern as Mingyu dropped into the chair across from him.

Mingyu buried his face in his hands, shoulders shaking. “She doesn’t remember me,” he choked out. “She really doesn’t.”

Wonwoo put his book aside and leaned forward. “What do you mean? Did you talk to her?”

Mingyu nodded, his voice breaking. “I saw her at the café. I tried… I begged her to remember, but she didn’t. She looked at me like I was a stranger.” He sniffled and wiped his face, but the tears kept falling. “Why did she do this, Wonwoo? Why did she—erase me?”

Wonwoo’s expression softened. “You two went through a lot, Mingyu. You knew it was heavy on both of you.”

Mingyu shook his head violently. “She broke up with me, I get that. But I didn’t think it was so bad she’d erase everything about us.” His voice cracked as the memory surfaced. “She said after we broke up, she couldn’t see me anymore—it hurt too much. But I didn’t think…” He trailed off, his hands gripping his knees. “I need her to remember, Wonwoo. I need her back.”

Wonwoo hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “Maybe you should go to the clinic where she had it done. See if there’s anything left behind.”

Mingyu looked up, desperate hope flashing in his eyes. “Do you think they’ll let me?”

“Maybe not,” Wonwoo admitted, “but I have some leverage.”

The next day, Mingyu and Wonwoo stood in the sterile, white reception area of the memory clinic. The nurse at the front desk eyed them warily as Mingyu pleaded his case.

“I just need to see what she left behind,” Mingyu said, his voice raw.

“I’m sorry, sir. That information is private,” the nurse replied firmly.

Wonwoo stepped forward, his tone cool and authoritative. “I’m the son of Governor Jeon,” he said, sliding his ID onto the counter. “I’m asking nicely. Please grant us access.”

The nurse hesitated before sighing and motioning for them to follow.

In a small room, they were handed a box of belongings: a stack of photographs, small trinkets, and a worn notebook. Mingyu’s hands trembled as he picked up the notebook, recognizing it instantly.

“It’s her journal,” he whispered, staring at the cover.

“You’ve come this far,” Wonwoo said gently. “You should read it.”

Mingyu hesitated before flipping it open. Each page was filled with her thoughts—her love for him, her pain, the arguments that drained her.

“I feel like I have to beg for his love. I don’t want to fight anymore. I just want it to end.”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. He dropped to the floor, clutching the journal, his sobs filling the room. “I hurt her so much,” he whispered. “I knew things were bad, but I didn’t know she felt this way.”

Wonwoo sighed, picking up the journal as a piece of folded paper slipped out. He opened it and froze. “Mingyu…”

“What?”

Wonwoo handed him the note. In her familiar handwriting, it read: “I’ll wait for your love.”

Mingyu’s breath hitched. “She’s waiting for me?” he whispered, hope flickering in his eyes. Then his face fell. “But why did she want to forget me?”

Wonwoo shrugged. “Maybe waiting for you was too hard. Maybe it broke her, Gyu. And… you didn’t exactly wait for her either.”

“I dated other people to try to forget her!” Mingyu snapped.

“Imagine what that was like for her,” Wonwoo said softly.

Mingyu sighed, defeated, but suddenly stood. “I need to find her. I need to make her remember.”

Wonwoo grabbed his arm. “Gyu, don’t push it. If she remembers, it’ll bring everything back—including the pain.”

Over the next few days, Mingyu tried everything to trigger your memory. He “accidentally” bumped into you at the café, called you by your nickname, even lingered outside places you used to frequent together.

One day, as you passed the bookstore where you first met, it hit you. The flashback was vivid: Mingyu clumsily knocking over a stack of books, his embarrassed grin as you helped him pick them up. You froze in place, overwhelmed as the memories flooded back—every laugh, every kiss, every fight, every tear.

You began to cry, the weight of it all too much to bear. Without thinking, you turned and ran, searching for him.

You found him walking toward your apartment, his face lighting up when he saw you. “You remember,” he whispered.

“Stop,” you said, your voice trembling. “Don’t come any closer.”

Mingyu froze, his heart sinking. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice cracking. “I know I hurt you. I just want to fix this.”

“You hurt me,” you said, tears streaming down your face. “I used to think you were someone who’d never hurt me.”

“I know, baby. I know,” Mingyu sobbed. “Do you still love me?”

You hesitated. “I can’t.”

“Please,” he begged. “You erased me because you couldn’t let me go. Then don’t let me go now.”

Your sobs grew louder as he stepped closer. “I waited for you,” you whispered.

“I know,” Mingyu said, his voice breaking. “And I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you. I love you. Please, just give me one more chance.”

You looked up at him, your heart warring with itself. Mingyu held his breath, all his hope pinned on your answer.

You stared at Mingyu, your mind and heart a chaotic storm. “I don’t know if I can,” you admitted.

“I’ll wait,” Mingyu said softly. “Even if it takes the rest of my life.”

You didn’t respond, turning and walking away. But this time, you didn’t erase him—you carried the memory with you. Whether you’d return to him someday, only time would tell.

[asciendo]

Resurgence of the Founding

Summary: Eren Jaeger is resurrected centuries after the Rumbling, only to find the world still in turmoil, with Eldians oppressed and Marleyans in control. The Jaegerists ask for his help in protecting their people, but there’s a catch: Eren must be bethrothed and father an heir with the power to end the cycle of Titans once and for all.

content: eren jaeger x female reader

Warning: smut, violence, swearing

Chapters: Chapter 2/Chapter 3/Chapter 4/ Chapter 5

Eren Jaeger suddenly felt warm. He felt heat on his skin, the sweat on his brow. After so long of nothing, of ice cold nothingness, he felt the warmth of his breathing across his chest. 

It’s been centuries after he passed, after the end of the rumbling that caused mass destruction. After his death, he felt nothing. Absolutely nothing but he remembered everything. Paradis, the titans, his friends…her. Everything. He wondered what happened after he died and what kind of lives his friends lived after. If the path he carved in blood and destruction led to something better, or had it only left them adrift, lost like he was now? These questions burned brighter than the newfound warmth, tethering him to the weight of his past, even as the world moved on without him.

The stinging sensation of bright light pierced through his closed eyelids, forcing them to flutter open in protest. For a moment, everything was a hazy blur—shapes and shadows shifting around him like a dream half-remembered. He blinked rapidly, his vision struggling to adjust, and slowly, the indistinct murmurs around him sharpened into words. Voices—unfamiliar and fragmented—filled his ears, each one tinged with curiosity and urgency.

His head throbbed as awareness seeped in, and his gaze focused. The blurry figures took form: people in sleek attire, some pointing at glowing devices in their hands, others exchanging quick glances. They surrounded him, a mix of caution and excitement etched across their faces. He squinted, finally taking in the world beyond them.

Towering buildings stretched high into the sky, their façades shimmering as if made entirely of transparent, reinforced glass. Light danced along their surfaces, reflecting the brilliance of a city alive and gleaming. 

“He’s awake.” he heard one of the voices announce and the crowd around him began to stir. He blinked once more, trying to make sense of his surroundings as he slowly stood up. 

“Eren Jaeger?” A tall man in a long coat stepped forward. Eren continued to look around at the people surrounding him, no one looked familiar to him at all. 

“Eren Jaeger, is that you?” the man asked again and Eren just stared at him in confusion. “We did it.” another voice whispered next to the man. 

“We-we brought you back. We really did…” The man whispered and Eren froze. 

“Brought me back from where?!” Eren yelled and everyone stiled. 

“Back to life.” The man said, proud. Eren’s head started spinning and he scanned the crowd. They all stared at him in awe. 

“Who are you?! WHY DID YOU BRING ME BACK?!” Eren marched forward and the crowd stepped back in fear. 

“Lucian…start talking.” A small woman next to the tall man, who Eren now knows is called Lucian whispers. 

“W-we’re Jaegerists. Centuries after the rumbling, we still believe in Eldian liberation. Y-you see..it’s happening again. Our people…are suffering…because of those fucking Marleyans. My ancestor predicted it would happen again, even after your great sacrifice and it has…We–I brought you back because…we need you to fight with us.” Lucian finishes and Eren’s eyes widen. 

It’s happening again, what he tried so hard to stop, is happening again. He took a step back and looked at his hands. How much more blood would he have to spill again? 

Eren’s heart raced as the weight of their words hit him. His body felt heavy, his thoughts a turbulent mess. The familiar ache of guilt, regret, and loss surged within him. Mikasa, Armin, Historia—everyone—gone. The world he fought for, the bloodshed he caused, and the people he failed… he had lived with that pain for so long. And now, to be thrown back into a world that had moved on without him, to face the same fight, the same battle, was too much. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t go back.

“I don’t care,” he muttered, his voice low and cold, a familiar detachment creeping in. “I’m done. I don’t owe you anything.” His gaze swept over the Jaegerists, their desperate faces pleading with him. “You should send me back… to where I belong.”

Lucian stepped forward, his eyes pleading, his voice earnest. “Please, Eren, listen to us. You don’t understand. Our people are still suffering. The Marleyans have created new titans, they’ve kidnapped our families, they’ve turned them into monsters. And we, we need you. You’re the only one who can stop this. Only you can wield the Founding Titan’s power, only you can undo this nightmare. It’s all been prophesied. You have to help us.”

A woman from the crowd, her voice trembling, added, “My brother, my father—they’re Titans now. We can’t save them… but you can. You can bring them back. You can make it all stop.”

Eren’s eyes narrowed as their words sank in. His fists clenched at his sides, his breath coming in short bursts. Why? he thought. Why would they drag me back into this mess? I’ve already fought, I’ve already lost everything.

Yet, despite himself, something inside him stirred. The thought of his people, the thought of his family members turned into Titans, brought a cold fire into his chest. I couldn’t save them before… could I do it now?

His mind flashed back to the memories of his time on Paradis, the battles, the faces of those who fought alongside him. Mikasa, Armin, Levi... all gone. Would they have wanted me to fight again? He clenched his eyes shut, trying to push the thoughts away.

"You don't get it," he growled, voice breaking. "I tried. I tried to stop the cycle, to stop this endless suffering. I couldn’t even save my own friends. And you want me to go through it again? To stain my hands with more blood? For what? So you can carry on the same fight that took everything from me?"

Lucian’s expression softened, as if he understood the weight of Eren’s words. But his determination didn’t waver. “We know the cost, Eren. But we’ve seen the truth. We know that only you can end this. The Founding Titan’s power—it’s in you. You can stop the suffering, you can bring peace. You don’t have to do this alone, but you have to do it.”

Eren’s heart thundered in his chest as he looked at the faces surrounding him—desperate, pleading. But his mind was clouded with the suffocating weight of his past actions. He had brought ruin to so many, caused so much pain. How could he live with himself if he brought that same destruction once again?

A bitter laugh escaped him, as the image of his friends' faces flashed before him. “I don’t deserve their sacrifice. I don’t deserve any of it.”

"But you are their sacrifice," Lucian replied softly, the words like a dagger to his heart. "And it’s not just about you anymore. It’s about all of us. We need you, Eren. We can end this. You can end it."

Eren stared at him for a long moment, his thoughts tangled. He didn’t know if he could ever forgive himself for what he had done. But could he stand by and let more people suffer? Could he truly remain indifferent when he was the only one with the power to stop it?

The weight of their desperation, the lives of those still trapped in this never-ending cycle of war, pressed down on him. His hands trembled. Could he still be the person who made a difference?

Finally, with a resigned sigh, Eren lowered his gaze. “Fine,” he said quietly. “But don’t expect me to save you. Don’t expect me to be a hero. I’m doing this for them… and for the world we lost. Not for you.”

The crowd smiled and cheered which made Eren even angrier, they were basically celebrating bloodshed. 

“Come with me, I’ll explain everything.” Lucian said, and led Eren to a mansion  on the side of the road. Eren looked around and despite how different his surroundings looked, he felt a sense of familiarity. 

“Is this–” 

“Wall Maria. It still stands.” Lucian said. 

“What is this place?” Eren whispered. 

“This is Eldra Nova. What Paradis is now, where the Marleyans are keeping those who are descended from the Eldians. Much like before.” 

They entered the mansion and was greeted by high ceilings and gothic architecture. “This was built a few years after the Rumbling, thankfully it was not destroyed and we were able to see a piece of the old Paradis.” 

The house did look familiar to Eren in terms of architecture and he felt pang in his chest. 

Lucian led him to a farther room, which Eren could deduce was the dining room and sat, Eren sat in front of him. 

Lucian took a deep breath, his eyes heavy with the weight of the truth he was about to reveal. He lowered his voice, as if afraid the walls themselves might hear, and Eren leaned forward, his pulse quickening with a mix of anger and curiosity.

“The Marleyans... they’ve been toying with artifacts from Ymir. Old relics, things they never fully understood,” Lucian began, his gaze darkening. “After the Rumbling, we thought it was over, that the Titans were finally gone for good. But they didn’t stop. They found pieces of her, things from before the Founding Titan was lost. They thought they could control it, that they could use it to make weapons. They’ve been experimenting on Eldian artifacts for years—trying to awaken something new, something powerful.”

Eren clenched his fists, feeling the anger rising in his chest. “And now they’ve unleashed the mindless Titans again? You mean to tell me they’ve brought this hell back upon us?”

Lucian nodded grimly. “Yes. They’ve triggered a resurgence. But the worst part is, they still haven’t fully awakened the other Nine Titans. The mindless Titans—they’re nothing but shells. But the power of the Founding Titan, the power of the other Nine... it hasn’t manifested fully yet, and the Marleyans know it. They’ve used the Eldians—those who were turned into Titans—as weapons, blaming them for the destruction they themselves caused. They call us the cause of all this suffering, but they’re the ones who manipulated everything.”

Eren’s voice cracked as he stood abruptly, his fists trembling at his sides. “They caused this! They did this, and now they’re using our people as weapons? How dare they! We fought to stop this, to end the curse, and now this—this horror is back again because of them.”

Lucian’s expression was resolute. “I know, Eren. I know. And it’s because of that we need you. We can’t let them keep using the Eldians this way. They’re using our own people as pawns in their war while blaming us for the destruction they’re causing. But... there’s more. They’ve been developing new weapons from our resources—working with whatever remnants of Ymir’s power they can find.”

Eren felt his heart sink, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. “What do you want me to do? If what you’re saying is true… what needs to be done? Do you want me to do what I did before? Just… slaughter them all?”

Lucian hesitated, then shook his head. “To an extent, yes. But there’s something more. One thing we need that we didn’t have before: an heir.”

Eren’s brow furrowed in confusion. “An heir? Why?”

Lucian’s voice softened, almost as if he was trying to make Eren understand something he himself hadn’t fully accepted. “The offspring of the Founding Titan, combined with the blood of an Eldian… they’re the key to reversing the curse. The child born of that union will have the power of a new Titan—a Titan with the power to undo the transformations of those who have already been turned. The power to heal them.”

Eren froze. “You want me to… what? Create a child?” His voice was raw with disbelief. “I’m not doing that, Lucian. Never. I’ve seen what it costs. I’ve seen what happens when Titans are used like that, when bloodlines are manipulated to create monsters.”

Lucian’s eyes softened with regret. “I know, Eren. I know it’s a hard ask. But... you have to understand. This is our last chance. The Marleyans have locked us here, using our people as weapons. They’re creating new weapons from our resources. We’re being trapped in a cycle we can’t break without that child. You’re the only one who can stop this, and you’re the only one who can bring that child into the world. It’s the only way to end this.”

Eren slammed his hands on the table, his anger flaring like a wildfire. “How do you know this? How do you know all of this? How do you know about this... child?”

Lucian sighed, his shoulders sagging under the weight of the truth. “Because my family—my bloodline—they’ve known about Ymir’s legacy for generations. We’ve kept the records, the old writings. My grandfather was a scholar who spent his life researching Ymir’s power, tracing her bloodline, studying the Titans and the curse. He knew the truth. He knew that the Founding Titan’s blood could give birth to something new—something that could reverse the curse. I’ve seen his journals. This has been passed down in my family for centuries.”

Eren sighed heavily, slumping back into his chair as a weight settled on his chest. How could he even fathom being with anyone other than Mikasa? Despite everything that had happened, it was still her. He could still see her clearly in his mind—her almond-shaped eyes, the raven-black strands of hair that framed her face, her fair complexion, and the familiar red scarf she always wore around her neck. The memories of her, so vivid and constant, felt like an ache he could never escape.

“I know this is a lot to ask, but—”

“I’ll do it,” Eren interrupted, his voice sharp. Lucian paused, surprised by the quick response, but relief flooded his face almost immediately.

“Thank you, Eren… I knew bringing you back was the right choice. I’ll make sure everything is in place for you.”

Eren stood up, his fists clenched at his sides, feeling the weight of his decision settle on him. “You better. I didn’t come back to play their game.”

Lucian nodded solemnly, then hesitated before speaking again. “There’s one more thing. We’ve already… chosen women for you. You can take your pick.”

Eren’s stomach churned at the thought. His eyes darkened as he looked at Lucian. “Chosen women? You want me to pick like they’re objects?”

Lucian winced at the harshness of Eren’s tone but held his ground. “I know it’s not ideal, but we have to do this. It’s necessary for what’s coming. You’ll need an heir, Eren. And we’re trying to make this process as… manageable as possible.”

Eren’s fists tightened, his jaw set. The idea of choosing someone like that, reducing them to nothing more than a vessel, repulsed him. But he knew, deep down, that he had no choice. His resolve was all that kept him from shattering. He took a slow breath, forcing himself to swallow the bitter lump in his throat.

Lucian noticed the strain in his expression and nodded. “This is your home, by the way,” he said, gesturing to the mansion around them. “Get some rest. I’ll leave you to your thoughts for now.”

Eren nodded without saying anything, and Lucian bowed, then quietly exited the room. Eren was left alone in the silence, his mind racing with the enormity of what he had agreed to.

I know it's a bit long but just wanted to give a good introduction to the story, will be introducing y/n in the next chapter. :) Please let me know if you want to be on the tag list

[asciendo]

Can You See My Heart Part 2

Hello! Tried writing a part two for my Can You See My Heart story! 

Let me know if you guys think there should be following chapters. 

You’re the leader of the Rebels who were exiled from the Fire Nation after your people started a rebellion against the Fire Lord.

On a mission to steal from Mei’s carriage on her way to the palace, what happens when you clash with the Fire Prince himself, Prince Zuko?

When Zuko finally showed himself to the guards, he felt a sense of sadness knowing he would be leaving Y/N. 

 “Where were you?” General Kai asked. General Kai was the general Zuko was closest to.

 “I…” He looked around and his gaze wandered to the spot he left you. His eyes softened which caught the general’s attention.

 “Zuko what’s wrong?” he asked and Zuko immediately shook his head.

 “Ahh, Nothing. Just a little dazed, that’s all.” Zuko smiled sheepishly but General Kai had a feeling Zuko was hiding something.

 “So, where were you, Fire Prince?” one of the guards asked and the rest waited for him to answer.

 “My horse ran after I lost the rebel I was chasing. I speared him off his horse but he ran…there was an abandoned house nearby and I stared there. I found a lake around here later on so I’ve been coming here for  water.”

 General Kai nodded and signalled for them to leave.

 As they were leaving, he looked back once more and hoped to see your shadow but sighed when he didn’t see anything.

 General Kai noticed Zuko acting strange but decided to keep it to himself.

 When they arrived at the palace, they were greeted by the other members of the Palace Guards, Azula, his father and Mei.

 “So, you’re alive.” Azula rolled her eyes and Zuko scoffed at her. Fire Lord Ozai just barely glanced at him turned back to his quarters, e

 He couldn’t help but think about everything he’s learned about the corruption and cruelty of this family but he tried his best to keep his composure.

 When Azula and Ozai left, Mei stepped forward to greet him. Zuko swallowed at the sight of her walking towards him.

 He was against their arranged marriage in the first place but decided to go along with it as his duty and he wanted to please his father. 

 Now, he had another reason to be against it. He couldn't look at Mei without thinking about how she was one of the reasons stopping him from being with you.

 “I’m happy to see you safe, Zuko.” She said,

 It took a while for Zuko to respond. He stared at her for a moment and bowed quickly and made his way quickly to his quarters, leaving Mei stunned and General Kai and the rest of the guards looking at each other  in confusion.

 The next few days, Zuko was acting differently. He was flopping at training and would avoid dinners when Mei and her family were present.

 The guards also noticed that every night, Zuko would disappear and come back past midnight.

 The guards were worried and let General Kai know about his actions.

 “Why does It seem like the Fire Prince wasn’t telling the truth about what happened to him while he was missing?” One of his men grimaced. 

 “He’s been disappearing every night as well. I asked him where he was going, he just told me he wanted to look at the moon.” another soldier said as he cleaned his sword.

 “The moon?” General Kai asked and the soldier nodded. General Kai remembered how Zuko kept glancing at the moon as they rode back to the palace and began to think.

 “Do you know where he goes?” his men asked and another one nodded nodded.

 “He just sits on the balcony outside our quarters for hours.”

   ***

 Ever since he returned, Zuko wondered what you were doing. Were you all right? Were your people all right?

 He wondered if you would look at the moon and think of him like he did every night you were apart. The idea that you were both looking at the same moon, gave Zuko comfort knowing you weren’t so far away.

 Suddenly, he felt someone next to him and there was General kAI sitting next to him and looking at the moon as well.

 “General…”

 “What’s gotten you fascinated about the moon lately?” the Generl and Zuko just stared at him.

 General Kai what the person Zuko felt like he could tell anything to other than Iroh. He never liked to share when he felt bad about something, but General Kai always felt like home to him.

 “N-nothing. I just like the quiet here.” Zuko looked down and started fiddle with his hands.

 “You know you can tell me anything right?” the General asked.

  “You don’t have to tell me what happened to you when you were gone…but…are you all right?” Zuko didn’t respond. He just kept looking at his hands and started to remember everything he learned and he saw your face smiling at him.

 “No…” Zuko shook his head.

 “Zuko…what’s wrong?”

 “I always knew my father was...difficult...i mean my scar..but…” Zuko began to tell him what he discovered and the General nodded solemnly. 

“Did you know?” 

“Yes...it was something...me and your uncle were never happy about...that’s when he started to think of the Fire Lord differently as well.” The general looked far away and Zuko noticed the guilt on his face. 

 “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable--” 

“Don’t. At that time, i told myself it was for the Fire Nation but.,It made me realize…that…I’m not doing the right thing…” General Kai nodded in agreement.

 “I don’t know what to do…” Zuko breathed heavily and General Kai placed an arm on his shoulder.

 “Me too…but…let’s not act on it until we know what to do…” General Kai said and Zuko wasn’t sure about what he meant by that

 They sat in silence for a moment until General Kai started speaking again.

 “That doesn’t explain why you keep looking at the moon, though.” Zuko froze but refused to meet General Kai’s eye.

 “I noticed it before. When we were on the way to the palace…you kept looking up.” he looked at Zuko for an answer and all he could do was smile.

 “You’re smiling?” General Kai chuckled and Zuko did as well till the realization hit him that there was a chance he wouldn’t see you again and he looked down again.

 “There’s this girl…’Zuko began and the General’s eyes widened.

 “What?!” General Kai leaned closer to Zuko and he laughed.

 “Her name is Y/N. She’s the leader of the rebellion.” General Kai’s face dropped at what the Fire Prince  just said.

 “She’s….the leader of the rebellion?!” he yelled in disbelief and Zuko nodded.

 Zuko told the general everything and he listened intently. He told him about his time with you, how looking at the moon makes him feel closer to you. When he was done General Kai smiled, he was happy for Zuko. He always thought the Fire prince was too reserved, too invested in pleasing his father and trying to prove to himself he was worthy.

 “Is that why you’ve been ignoring Mei?” Zuko closed his eyes at the mention of her. Realizing he would have to marry her to fulfill his duty.

 “You know I never wanted this…but now…”Zuko looked at the general like a lost child which surprised him because Zuko was always so determined and sure of his actions.

 “She’s…I know it’s wrong but…all I want is to be with her. It’s selfish and I know as the Fire Prince, my duty comes first but….I love her.” He stated and smiled to himself at finally letting it out that he loved her.

 “Zuko…you have every right to feel that way. You never wanted that marriage, your place in your family is complicated. But…once we know what to do, we’ll figure this out all right?” General Kai reassured him and stepped off the balcony.

 “Are you coming?” He asked Zuko who was still staring at the moon.

 “You can go ahead, I want to stay here a bit longer.” General Kai nodded and left Zuko gazing longingly at the moon.

[asciendo]

Can You See My Heart?

Here is another Zuko fic inspired by Hotel Del Luna!I’m still deciding if I want to make this one a series or keep it as is, if you want more or think it’s better off as a drabble. Let me know :) You’re the leader of the Rebels who were exiled from the Fire Nation after your people started a rebellion against the Fire Lord. 

On a mission to steal from Mei’s carriage on her way to the palace, what happens when you clash with the Fire Prince himself, Prince Zuko? 

You watched as your people rode down the hill towards the carriage carrying  Mei, one of the daughters of a rich politician in the Fire Nation.

 She was traveling from the province back to the palace and you decided it was the best opportunity to steal food and supplies while they were on the road.

 She was being escorted by the Palace Guards and the Fire Prince, Zuko. 

 You were part of the rebellion, a small group of people from the Fire Nation who were against the Royal Family.  Your people were once part of the Fire Nation but after years of mistreatment, your people left.

 You devised a plan to steal supplies from them, but you had to get past seven of the Royal Guards.

  Your people rode down as the their soldiers prepared to defend the carriage carrying Mei. You stared down at the carriage with hatred in your eyes. They were the reason why your parents were dead. Your father was the leader of your people and sacrificed himself when they were caught stealing food for the rest of village. Your mother took her own life soon afterward.

 Your soldiers were trained as well and you smirked at yourself seeing how they could hold their own against the Fire Nation.

 Then there was Peeta. He was the leader of your men and one of your oldest friends. You grew up together and ever since your parents passed, he was the closest thing you had to family.

 Peeta took down two of their soldiers and made his way to the carriage. He quickly broke the door down. Mei put out a fight but Peeta climbed out of the carriage holding a huge bag of gold. You smiled as you stared at the huge bag of gold that Peeta held in his hands.

 Before he could reach you, a spear came flying his way but he dodged it. The Fire Prince struck but Peeta blocked him once more.Peeta was your greatest warrior so you weren’t worried. But Zuko was known to be a strong fire bender as well which made you nervous. His moves were sharp and he was fast. His reflexes were up to par with Peeta’s and you gulped every time he attempted to cut Peeta down.

 You picked up your bow and arrow and aimed at Zuko’s head. You fired and before it could hit him, he dodged and rolled away. “Damn it.” You cursed and mounted your horse.

 Zuko looked up at you and your breath hitched. His eyes were intense and boring into you and you felt your heart skip a beat. Your cheeks flushed and you were thankful your face was hidden behind your hooded cloth over your head. You saw Mei peak out of her carriage, glancing at the prince with a worried expression.

 Shaking it off, you began to ride towards the carriage. Picking up a spear poking through the ground, you threw it at an incoming soldier.

 As more soldiers began to charge at you, you slid your sword out of your waist and took them down one by one.

 You charged straight to Peeta who quickly tossed you the  bag and once you caught it, you rode away from the carriage as fast as you could.

 Zuko’s eyes widened as he spotted the gold in your hand while you rode away. He quickly ran from the carriage and mounted his horse.

 “PRINCE ZUKO DON’T!” One of the other guards yelled but it was too late, he was determined to catch you.

 You were riding towards your village but you heard the sound of another horse behind you. You turned around and saw Zuko catching up with you. You tightened the grip on the reigns and rode faster.

 You cursed as suddenly he was riding next to you. You sped up and he matched your speed as well. You decided to turn around back to the carriage, afraid you might lead him straight to your village.

 But before you could turn, you felt strong arms spearing you off your horse. Your back hit the ground with a thud and the spear fell from your hands.

 Before you could reach out to grab it, your arms were pinned down on your sides and you felt a heavy knee weighing down on your chest.

 Your face was still covered as you looked up to see the Fire Prince staring down at you. His eyes were angry as he gripped his sword that was pointed at your throat.

 His other hand grabbed the cloth that was wrapped around your face and he pulled it down your face with so much force your head jerked forward.

 When your face was free, he froze. His face softened as he began to study your features, coming to realize that you were a woman.

 Zuko just stayed there looking at you, as if trying to study every part of your face. You looked up at him as well and this was the first time you were seeing him this close. His golden eyes were wide open in shock and you swore they sparkled as you stared up at them. His features were piercing and you felt like you couldn’t breathe as you saed up at him. He was beautiful. He continued to stare at you and his mouth parted as if he was about to say something.

 His grip on your arms softened and you suddenly snapped out of your trance. You broke free from his hold and elbowed his face and he stumbled backward.

 You ran to your horse but then suddenly, you felt half of your body being swallowed by the earth.

 Looking down, you felt the earth tighten around your waist the more you struggled. You heard footsteps above you and you saw Zuko watching you. You tried to climb your way out but the more you moved, the tighter the earth wrapped around you.

 “Stop moving. The more you move, the faster it will swallow you whole.” You looked up at him and he was staring at you with a nonchalant expression.

 You rolled your eyes at him and tried to grab onto the land surrounding you to pull yourself up but you just sunk lower. “AAGH!” You closed your eyes in pain as the ground tightened around your waist.

 Cursing at yourself for what you were about to do, you looked up at Zuko who was still staring at you with crossed arms, “HELP ME!” You yelled, quickly regretting your words you began to struggle some more.

 He looked at you once more and turned around and left. Seeing him no longer there, it made you struggle harder to get out but you felt your legs stop moving due to the pressure.

 Suddenly, the end of a rope was thrown in front of you, and you widened your eyes in shock. You look up and the Fire Prince is holding the other end of the rope which is attached to his horse.

 “Grab on.” He says calmly and you do. He pulls on the rope and his horse walks forward and you feel yourself slowly breaking free from the ground.

 He continues pulling on the rope until have your body is out, and he steps back for one final tug.

 He pulls with all his might and you break free and fall forward. “UGH!” You hear him yell and you look down to see him under you.

 Your hands are on his chest as you lay on top of him and he stares back up at you with wide eyes. You stay there for a moment until you jump off him.

 You reach for your sword on your waist but you realize it’s gone. You feel a cold blade on your neck that’s being held by Zuko.

 “You’re their leader, aren’t you?” He asks but you remain quiet.

 “Does it feel good stealing from people?” He turns his head, mocking you. You scoff and roll your eyes, unable to hold your tongue any longer.

 “Why don’t you ask yourself the Fire Lord that question?” You smirk and he chuckles. “You know nothing. He wouldn’t steal from his people. What do you know?” Zuko knew his father was many things but he believed his father fought to protect his people, or what he told himself.

 “I know enough to know that we aren’t the thieves here.” You said through gritted teeth as the Fire Prince continued to stare at you.

 “Just because your finally on your father’s good side, you’re fine being his lapdog?” You snap back at him. His expression suddenly changes to one of confusion but then he shifts back to his cold exterior. It was no secret the Fire Lord mistreated Zuko, which was evident by his scar. But ever since he returned claiming the Avatar was dead, he was back in the good graces of his father.

 “Come with me. You’ll serve time in the Palace.” He moves forward to grab your hand.

 “Why? So you can race back to the politican’s daughter?” You tease and his smirk drops. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Zuko looks down as if he was upset when you mentioned the princess.

 “She seemed to be very invested in how you were doing against my men.” He looked away and he seemed to be thinking of something that bothered him.

 “Mei is just an old friend, that’s all.” He said almost defensively and you wondered why. “Whatever, that doesn’t matter. I’m taking you with me.” He reaches for your hands to tie them together but then his head jerks forward being hit with an object behind him.

 Zuko falls and there’s a stone lying next to him, behind him you see Peeta smirking at you and you smile back at him in relief.

 When Peeta comes closer you kick the prince’ s body and see him stir.

 “We should take him with us.” You say, which earns a confused look from Peeta.

 “Why?” He asks and you sigh. “Because he’s the Fire Prince. We could make use of him. Plus, if we take him hostage, we might get something in return.” You finished and Peeta began to lift Zuko up.

 When you reached the village of the rebels by the mountains, Peeta placed Zuko in one of the cells.

 Peeta left but you were still there staring at him. He was lying there unconscious, and his face turned to you. You couldn’t help observe his features. The hard expression he had earlier was gone and he looked angelic. You shook your head snapping out of it,and made your way to your tent.

 The next morning, Zuko woke up to sounds of voices around him. He sits up and rubs the back of his head where the stone hit him.  He sees the bars in front of him and looks around.

 He’s somewhere in the woods and he realizes he’s in Rebel territory. Warriors walk around the area glaring at him in the cell as he begins to stand up slowly.

Suddenly, he hears laughter grow closer to him and he looks down to see children playing in front of him. He cocks his head, confused at the sight of children in the Rebel Camp. Two women rush over and pick up their children and laugh as they walk away.

 He watches as they walk away in confusion. He was taught the Rebels were savages and killers out to take over the Fire Nation. The image he had of the Rebels were completely different from what he was seeing in front of him.

 Old men laughing with one another, women gossiping as they cooked, children playing around the area, while warriors drank and told jokes with one another. It was a community, he thought.

 His thoughts were interrupted by the Captain of the rebels he assumed, the one he was fighting on the battlefield.

 “You’re finally up.” He smirks.

 “What are you planning to do with me?” He asked but the warrior just continued to stare at him.

 “That’s not up to me to decide.” He says and from behind him, the girl who he chased appeared next to him. He held his breath as she walked closer. He met her brown almond eyes and he felt his heart flutter.

 Her hair was tied up in a ponytail so he could see her features clearly. She was beautiful he thought, with rosy cheeks and pink lips. To him, she looked like an angel, but seeing how she fought, he knew she was strong.

 “Are you their leader?” He asked her and she walked closer to him. “You know, keeping me won’t do anything. You’re overestimating how much my Father cares about me, you might as well kill me.”

 She looked at the captain then back at him.

 “Mei’s family will. I saw how she looked at you.” She teased and Zuko felt his chest harden.

 “And how did she look at me?”

 “Like she would do anything to keep you safe.” He rolled his eyes at her but she smirked in response.

 Zuko continued to look around and observe the people. His expression was a mixture of surprise and confusion that the girl noticed.

 “What? We’re not how you expected to be, am I right?” She challenged and he finally looked at her.

 He didn’t say anything but she could tell he was beginning to question what he knew about your people.

 “I know you’re thieves and rebels—” She laughs and looks into his eyes.

 “We have a reason to steal, but what reason does your people have to kill?” She walks closer to the bars and her face changes to anger.

 “You’re not any different! You’ve killed people too!” Zuko argues and grips the bars of the cell.

 The Captain steps forward but she raises her hand signaling him to stand down.

 “Leave him. He doesn’t know anything.” She says through gritted teeth and walks away.

 That day, Zuko continued to observe the rebels from his cell. He saw families, students, elderly, the warriors and how they interacted with one another. They were no different than other villages he’s seen and the Fire Nation as well.

 As he lay down about to sleep, he recalled the scholars calling them savages and killers. How the Fire Lord exiled the Rebels for threatening to kill the children in the Fire Nation,if he did not meet their demands. At that time, he was filled with anger thinking about how they would threaten innocent children, but seeing how they are now in person, he’s finding it hard to believe what he was told.

 The next morning, he tries to look for the girl but she’s nowhere to be seen.

 Suddenly, he sees her walk towards the fire in the middle with wood next to the captain. She’s laughing at something he said and he couldn’t help but wonder what her laugh sounds like.

 She catches his gaze and walks towards him.

 “I want to understand.” He says and she looks at him with a confused expression.

 “Understand what?”

 “I- I want to know…” he begins, finding it hard to ask her what he’s been troubling him the whole night.

 She motions for him to continue, and he sighs in defeat.

 “I want to know about your people. I want to understand what happened to you.” Her eyes widen at his statement and she starts to look down as well.

 “I want to understand why I was told to see you as an enemy. When what I see here is no different than what I see back home.” She’s shocked at what he just said. She thought he was just a typical Prince, blindly following orders by the Fire Nation.

 “Why?” She asks and he looks down.

 “If what I’ve been told my whole life was a lie…then I’ve been fighting for nothing.” He looks at her with desperation and she takes a deep breath. Walking closer to his cell, she grabs the keys from her pocket and unlocks the door.

 She grabs his hands and he jolts forward. She takes his hands in hers and he looks at her with caution wondering what she’ll do. She grabs rope from the ground and begins tying his hands together.

 She turns from him and begins to walk away.

 “Come on.” She turns around and urges him to follow her. Her caption rushes over to them wondering what she’s doing but she tells him to leave them.

 He follows her as she hikes up the mountain and she stops once the view of the palace is seen.

 He looks to where she is looking and waits for her to begin.

 “Do you see the land over there?” She points to the spot next to the palace where they kept their weapons. It was a large piece of land and the king kept weapons as large as catapults there.

 “As you know, that used to be where we lived. But I’m sure the story you were told was that we were threatening children to keep the land.” He paused for a moment but nodded. She scoffed and continued to gaze out to the horizon.

 “The Fire Lord had children from the palace play with us one day. They said he told them to stay over that night. The next day soldiers came barging in saying we were threatening the children. I was eight at that time. They grabbed the children from the palace as we were playing and killed most of the adults for kidnapping. After that, we were driven out. I still remember how they burned our houses down while I was screaming as my father carried me as he rode away.”

 “We found out there was gold buried by the creek of the village. The Fire Lord wanted us out so he could take it. Once he did, he turned the land into your armory.” Zuko looked at her with shock and sadness. He felt like his whole life was a lie. What he fought for was a lie. What he believed in was a lie.

 “I…” He began but he couldn’t find the right words to say.

 I’m happy we found this land…but we don’t have resources. Which is why we steal. If your soldiers get in the way of providing for our people then we have no choice.” He looked at her, and despite her effort to stay strong, he could tell in her eyes that she was in pain.

 “I-I’m sorry…I didn’t know—”

 “Well now you do.” She turned to look at him and she could tell he was rethinking everything he knew.

 “Do you still think we’re savages?” She walked towards him and he could feel her breath on his face.

 “No.” He said and smiles lightly.  She looks down for a moment then looks back up at him. “Let’s go.” She says and walks past him, leaving him there for a moment too stunned with the new information he learned to move.

 He soon followed her and she placed him back in his cell.

 She turned to leave but he had to say something.

 “Wait.” She stops and turns to him.

 “What’s your name?” He asks and she cocks her eyebrow in curiosity. “Why do you want to know my name?” She asks and he shrugs.

 “I’m Zuko.” He says and she sighs but smiles.

 “Y/N.” She walks away and Zukois left there with his thoughts.

 The next day you plan to raid the palace’s food supply that’s located behind the stables. You and your warriors have been spending hours trying to find the best possible way to break in unnoticed.

 Suddenly, Zuko speaks from his cell.

 “I know a way I can help.” You all turn to him with your faces in shock. “What? The Fire Prince wants to help?” One of your men scoff and the rest laugh.

 He looks at you as if pleading for you to hear him out and you nod.

 “I…” He begins and the rest stop to look at him.

 “I know I’m the last person you think who would help you…I know that. I was trained to be a soldier my entire life. I was told to fight for the Fire Nation no matter what. I…I know this is not an excuse, but…I recently found out that everything I fought for and everything I believed in..was false and…I know I’m part of the injustice you all have been facing but I want to make it right…I swear on my life.” You all look at each other after Zuko's speech and the men look at you.

 You take a moment to think about it looking at Peeta.

 “I can’t find a way where we won’t get caught.” He states and you nod.

 You slowly walk over to Zuko’s cell and unlock it. You step back and he steps out with a small smile on his face.

 “Thank you.” He says and you nod, as we walk forward, you grab his arm and tiptoe to whisper in his ear.

 “If you betray us, I’ll slit your throat.” You warn and he looks down at you with intense eyes.

 “I won’t.” He states, and continues walking.

 Zuko leads your men through a tunnel made for the royal family in case of an emergency.

 Some of your men are still wary of him but if Peeta was able to trust him, so did you. When the tunnel ended Zuko put his hand up to signal for you to stop.

 He turned to face you and nodded in the right direction. A guard was patrolling and you couldn’t leave yet.

 An hour passed and the guard wasn’t leaving. Zuko sighed and faced and spoke.

 “He’s not going to leave. The best way is if two of us sneak into the supply room and the others wait by the river in case the roving guards shift by the exit.”

 “I’ll go.” Peeta states and Zuko nods.

 “No.” You step forward and they all look at you. “I’ll go with him. Peeta, you take the men by the river and wait.”

 “But—” You held your hand up to silence him and he nodded.

 Peeta and your men make their way out of the tunnel while Zuko motions you forward.

 “The guard is going to turn left on that corner, once he does, we run to out the arch in the front.” Zuko whispers and you nod. The guard does as Zuko said he would and the two of you run to the arch.

 Luckily, the food supply room is nearby and you make your way inside.

 Once you’re inside, you grab what you can form food, water, horse feed and Zuko helps you.

 As you’re about to leave, you hear footsteps outside the door. Suddenly, you feel Zuko’s hand grip your wrist and pull you to the side wall away from their sight.

 You quickly drop the supplies you were holding as the soldiers enter.

 You were so distracted by the soldiers that you didn’t notice how close you were to Zuko. Your back was pressed against the wall as he held your wrist to your sides. His chest was on yours as he kept an eye on the soldiers.

 The soldiers picked up food and left and you felt Zuko’s chest sigh in relief.

 He looked down and was met with your eyes and he paused for a moment.

 He blinked, finally realizing how close the two of you were before smiling sheepishly and backing away from you.

 You felt heat rise to your cheeks and turned your face away from him.

 You quickly picked up your supplies and made your way out of the supply room.

 When you made it out the exit, Peeta and the men greeted you with smiles.

 Zuko followed after you carrying more supplies which gained him nods from your men as well.

 As you made your way back to camp, you spotted Peeta and Zuko talking energetically In front of you and you smiled.

 The next few days, Zuko was no longer sleeping in his cell but sleeping in his own tent. He somehow morphed into one of you as he bonded with your men, especially Peeta.

 You watched from afar as Zuko was carrying one of the children on his shoulder as the child laughed being spun around.

 You smiled lightly watching him and it was strange to you that he is technically still the Fire Prince.

 Zuko continued to play with the child and then suddenly looked at you. His bunny smile turned into a sweet one and you felt your cheeks turn red.

 You turned around and made your way to the lake with your flask.

 The sun was setting and you liked to sit by the lake and drink while looking at the rays of the sun hitting the water.

 You took a sip of your gin from your flask and sighed.

 Suddenly, you heard footsteps behind you and then Zuko was seated next to you. You looked at him and he smiled down at you.

 “So this is where you disappear every day.” He sighed and stretched out his legs.

 You remained silent and continued to look out into the horizon.

 You took a swig of your flask and then felt his hands grab the flask from you.

 “Hey!” You scolded but he was already taking a sip himself. When he was done, he winked and you rolled your eyes at him.

You stay silent for a while and turn to Zuko who is just looking at the moon. 

“You’re not what I expected you to be.” You say and he smirks. 

“Why? Thought I’d the entitled Prince everyone says I am?” You laugh and nod. 

“Do you regret choosing your father’s side?” 

Zuko suddenly looks down and tells you everything. From choosing Azula over the Avatar, for betraying his uncle. He said he’s been struggling on what the right thing to do was ever since he got back and tried to convince himself that following his father and Azula was the right choice. 

When he’s done you nod and Zuko continues to lay his head low. 

Before you could speak to lighten up the conversation, Zuko says something. 

 “I can’t believe I’ve been here for three weeks.” He sighed and your eyes widened at the realization.

 “We’re…we’re not keeping you here you know…you can leave.” You looked down and you could feel his eyes on yours.

 “I don’t want to.” Your eyes shot up at him in surprise as he looked out to the distance.

“You don’t?” He shook his head and you waited for him to explain.

 “After finding out what really happened to your people. The truth about who I was serving…I can’t go back.” You nod and take another drink.

 “Don’t you want to see Mei?” You tease and you notice his body stiffens.

 “What?” You ask and he clenches his jaw.

 “What makes you think I want to see her again?” He looks at you and you couldn’t tell if he was sad or annoyed at your question.

“The way she was looking at you makes me think you do.” He scoffs at your statement as you continue to stare at him.

“I might as well tell you now. My father…has requested me to marry Mei…more of an arranged marriage actually. You know, her father being an important politician and everything.” He looks down and sighs.

“…And you don’t want to marry her?” You ask and he shakes his head.

 He opens his mouth as if to say something then he stops.

 “There’s another reason why I don’t want to leave.” He says and you look at him intently.

 “More of…another reason to stay actually…” He looks down then at you and you feel like your heart is beating out of your chest.

 He keeps looking at you with longing in his eyes and there are no words coming out from your mouth.

 He suddenly becomes nervous and looks down at his feet.

 Before you could say anything, you hear both of your names being called by Peeta for dinner and Zuko smiles at the horizon one more time before standing up to head back to camp, leaving you stunned sitting alone.

 That night you couldn’t sleep thinking about your conversation with Zuko. Did he mean he wanted to stay because of you? Were you the reason he didn’t want to marry Mei?

 The next few days, you’ve been spending more time with Zuko. When you’d ride every morning, he’d join you. He’d be there with you on missions and the men started to ask him to teach them new battle formations and styles of fighting.

He’d join you every night as you stared at the moon by the lake and you would just talk.

 You learned about his childhood, how Uncle Iroh was more of a father to him than the Fire Lord. He used to think praise from his father and his approval meant everything. But, after spending time with your people, he started questioning everything he knew.

 You told him about your father, how he died defending his people and you could see his face change as you told him the story.

“I’m sorry.” He said softly.

 “It’s not your fault.” You say and he looks at you.

 “I know but…” He doesn’t finish his sentence and you look down. “I wish…I wish I wasn’t who I am…and you weren’t…” He doesn’t finish his sentence and you look at him with curiosity.

 You feel the tension shift and you look around to avoid eye contact with him. You stand up signaling to leave as you were nervous about where the conversation was going.

 But before you could leave, you feel Zuko tug on your wrist. He wasn’t looking at you but his grip only tightened on your wrist so you sat back down.

His grip on your wrist didn’t leave and you stayed that way for a moment while watching the moon.

 You turned to him and his eyes were sparking as he looked up at the sky, his mouth slightly open as if it was the first time he’s seen the sky.

 “I wish I could stay like this forever.” He says and you see a small smile form on his lips. He turns to you and looks at you tenderly and your breath hitches.

 “Am I the only one…feeling this way?”

 “What do you mean?” You ask softly. You knew what he meant but you were scared of your own feelings as well.

 Zuko didn’t say anything but he kept looking at you. Suddenly, his face was moving closer to yours and he started rubbing circles around your palm with his thumb.

Your lips parted as if to say something but before you could, you felt Zuko’s lips on yours. Your eyes widened in surprise then you reached up and pulled his face closer to yours.

 You felt him moan in your mouth and your eyes slowly fluttered open. You met his eyes and you felt a hint of sadness in them.

When you parted, Zuko leant his forehead on yours and closed his eyes.

“This is where I want to be…with you.”  You looked at him and you started to smile back at him and he did as well.

 He stood and took your hand to pull you up.

He looked back up at the moon and stayed there for a moment.

“What are you doing?”

 “Trying to save this moment in my memory.” He says and you smile and he pulls you closer placing his head atop yours.

 He takes your head and leads you back up the hill but then you hear voices.

 He stops and pushes you behind him.

 “Zuko is out here I feel it.” A deep voice says in the forest. Zuko scrunches his eyebrows in confusion trying to make out the voice.

“He’s been gone for weeks do you think he….” Another voice says and you look up at Zuko  who looks like he suddenly realized something.

“The palace guards.” He says and you freeze.

 “They won’t stop till they find me.” He sighs and looks down.

 You stare at him as he clenches his jaw trying to figure out what to do.

“Go.” You say and he looks at you with a surprised expression on his face.

 “I don’t want to—”

 “I know…but…you have to settle things with them…and your life there…and I can’t risk them finding my people.” You say and you could feel the tears starting to form in your eyes as you try to blink them away.

 Zuko shuts his eyes as the voices get closer.

 He looks at you and places two fingers under your chin and places a light kiss on your lips.

 “I’ll come back for you; I promise.” He whispers and disappears into the night.

[asciendo]

Epilogue

Chapter 23

Jean was the cocky bastard that walked around like he owned the place. Y/N couldn’t stand him so when the time came that you were his sparring partner, you couldn’t wait to teach him a lesson.

Little did the both of you know, that sparring match would be the start of your unexpected relationship with Jean Kirschtein, that will change your life, and the rest of the Scout Regiment forever.

Chapter 1/Chapter 2/Chapter 3/Chapter 4/Chapter 5/Chapter 6/Chapter 7/Chapter 8/Chapter 9/Chapter 10/Chapter 11/Chapter 12/Chapter 13/Chapter 14/Chapter 15/Chapter 16/Chapter 17/Chapter 18/Chapter 20/Chapter 21/Chapter 22

Tag list:  @empty-glass-full-of-emotion @dai-tsukki-desu @usernamehere91@princess-peaches1 @thestrugglesofateenagedirtbag

The last chapter!

I just want to say thank you to everyone who read my story! It really means so much especially for my first fanfic!

If you have any requests please let me know and I'm thinking of writing a Levi one soon!

Your eyes flutter open as the sun's light shine through your window. You feel for Jean on your bed but clutch onto the sheets at the empty space beside you. Sitting up and rubbing your eyes, you look for your three your old son on his bed and notice how its empty as well.

You get dressed and walk onto the courtyard and you see Jean giggling over something with Connie.

He sees you walking towards them and him and Connie suddenly stop laughing.

"What is it this time?" You sigh placing your hands on your hips.

"N-nothing." Connie looks down and Jean is biting his lip trying to hide his smile.

Before you could ask, you hear your son's voice ring in your ear.

"MAMA! MAMA!" Marco runs down the courtyard and you smile. His ash gray hair shone bright in the sun and his eyes that matched yours was beaming with happiness.

You smile suddenly turned into a frown when you realized what he was wearing. Captain Levi's coat. Your eyes widen and glare at a laughing Connie and Jean as Marco was now in front of you.

"Mama! Look! I'm a Scout!" Marco giggled and you laughed as well. He continued to run around while you made your way to Connie and Jean.

"I'm going to kill the both of you." You stated and they quickly stopped laughing.

"Come on, Captain Levi isn't going to do anything to a kid." Connie smirked and Jean nodded.

"You have to admit, he's pretty cute." Jean pulled you in for a hug and quickly placed a chaste kiss on your lips.

"I don't believe that's yours." Captain Levi's voice rang in your ear and you quickly turned around.

Levi was carrying Marco by his green coat and he was giggling as he was hung in the air.

"Captain I'm so sorry—"

"It's fine. Let's go eat, shall we?" Levi picked up Marco and began to carry him to the dining hall.

"Told you." Connie sang and you smiled. Despite Captain Levi's hard exterior and tough training methods, he had a soft spot for your son, and you couldn't be happier.

Jean slips his hand into yours and leads you towards the dining hall.

At breakfast, Marco is sitting on Jean's lap as he continues to feed him. Sasha suddenly sneaks a piece of bread onto Marco's plate and he giggles as she ruffles his hair.

"Stop competing Sasha, we all know I'm his favorite god parent!" Connie yells as Sasha stares daggers at him.

"YOU?! You're an idiot. How can you be the favorite?!"

"If you think I'm an idiot...what do you think you are..." Connie's eyes widen as he tries to comprehend Sasha's statement.

Armin arrived and began conversing with Marco as Eren groaned behind him.

"He's a baby, he won't understand." Eren rolled his eyes which caused Jean to glare at him.

Despite his comment, Eren sighed and ruffled Marco's hair before sitting down on the table with the rest of you.

Mikasa arrived and started analyzing who Marco looked like, you or Jean.

"He has Jean's hair for sure, but Y/N's eyes...it's really a combination of the both of you." Mikasa stated and you smiled.

These days, all of you were stressed and the new information that was discovered and plans to deal with the Marleyans. But what got you through was your son. How you had hope because of him, how you saw Jean had hope too, but also what joy he brought to the rest of the scouts.

How Connie and Sasha would take him out every morning to play with him. Armin and Mikasa would read to him in the afternoons, even Eren would join in and play with him. Hange would try to make him observe her experiments, but you would protest, even Captain Levi would place him on his horse and ride around HQ with him.

It was those moments that made you thankful for everything around you despite there was a time you cursed the life you all lived in. Sure, there was still an upcoming war, but there was something to hope for, a life with Jean and Marco.

It was late in the afternoon and you couldn't find Marco and Jean. Suddenly, you see two figures sitting atop the fence. Jean had Marco on his lap and he was pointing to something in the horizon.

You walk up to them and sit next to Jean. His eyes are beaming at Marco as he tells him about the ocean.

"I wanna go to the ocean, Mama." Marco stares up at you.

"One day, Marco. I promise. We'll all go to the ocean together." You kiss his cheek and Jean takes your hand.

"I think we'll be alright." Jean states and you look at him and he's smiling down at you.

"We will." You agree and Jean leans down and kisses you.

"EWWW! DAAAAADDY!" Marco shrieks and Jean bursts into laughter, "What? I can't kiss your mama?" Jean begins to tickle Marco who has tears coming out of his eyes from laughing.

You smile at the sight of Jean and your sun and have this feeling of utmost clarity that despite what's going on in the world, everything is going to be alright.