Summary: When ZGDX schedules a training match with their neighbors at YQCB, no one expects Tong Yao, their reserved yet fierce Midlaner, to bolt barefoot up the drive upon learning the identity of YQCB's newest ADC. What follows is a revelation no one saw coming: a kiss that shatters secrets, a love long hidden, and the quiet confession of a girl who once left to protect her heart… only to find it still belonged to the man who never let go. Amid whispered truths, deep longing, and a legacy-bound promise, Yao is asked not just to trust again but to belong, completely.
One-Shot
The early evening sun was beginning to dip low across the gated drive that separated the two most formidable teams in the region, casting golden slants of light over the carefully maintained hedges and cobblestone path between the ZGDX and YQCB team bases. Inside the ZGDX lounge, the air was thick with lingering tension, adrenaline from their just-finished training match still sparking through their veins as the players sat scattered across the room, catching their breath, reviewing plays, and trading remarks with the kind of weary satisfaction that only came after a hard-won game.
It was Lao K who finally muttered first, rubbing at the back of his neck, "Barely pulled that one out. Who the hell is their new ADC?"
Pang, flopped over the armrest of the couch, added with a faint huff, "He read us like he's been watching our strats for months. I don't even wanna think about what happens if we face them next month."
The room fell silent until Lu Sicheng, sitting cross-legged on the floor with a half-full bottle of water still in his hand, finally tilted his head slightly and said with cool precision, "Hierophant."
Tong Yao, seated against the wall with Da Bing curled over her feet and a tablet open in her lap, paused mid-sip. Her eyes blinked once, slowly, before her brain fully processed what her Captain had just said. Then she coughed—violently—choking on the water as she slapped her palm against her chest and practically growled, "I'm sorry—what did you just say?"
Sicheng, blinking up at her with mild confusion as if this should have been common knowledge, repeated calmly, "Hierophant. That's YQCB's new ADC."
The silence that followed was blistering.
Then, in a voice sharp with incredulous fury, Yao hissed, "You mean Lee Kun Hyeok?! "
At his nod—slow, casual, and entirely unbothered.
Yao swore a blue streak so vividly descriptive that even Yue flinched from where he was lounging on the other side of the room. Her hazel eyes burned with a fire no one had seen from her outside of tournament rage, and without so much as a warning or an explanation, she threw down her water bottle, pushed off the wall, and bolted for the door in a blur of bare legs, jean short-shorts, and her oversized pale blue sweater sliding halfway off one shoulder.
"Yao—wait, what the hell—!" Pang shouted, scrambling to his feet as the rest of the team exploded into motion.
"She's barefoot—" Yue called as he ran after her.
"She left Da Bing—she's serious," Lao Mao muttered grimly as he followed, already pulling his jacket on as he sprinted at their Mid!
The team tore out the front door in time to see their Midlaner, all five-foot-three of her, charging up the drive with the fury of a storm. And sure enough, at the top of the path, just outside the YQCB team house, stood him.
Lee Kun Hyeok.
He was leaning casually against the low wall near the entry steps, black hoodie sleeves pushed up to his elbows, sweat-damp dark hair tousled and sticking to his forehead, his height unmistakable even from this distance. And he wasn't alone—YQCB's team was still gathered outside, chatting, hydrating, recovering, only now they were slowly turning toward the sound of fast-moving chaos barreling toward them.
By the time Yao skidded to a stop on the paved front walk, all eyes were on her. She didn't care. She pointed one accusatory finger directly at the smirking bastard in front of her, her voice sharp and rapid as she launched into a scolding tirade that sounded like it had been simmering inside her for months. "You—you manipulative lying snake—I told you to warn me! I told you if you ever pulled that on me again—how dare you just show up here without a single goddamn word—"
Kun Hyeok, still leaning back slightly, eyebrows raised with amused affection, said nothing. His smile tugged slightly at the corner, too controlled, too familiar.
Yao shoved his chest. "You think this is funny?!" she snapped, her voice rising.
His hand moved in an instant. One arm slid firmly around her waist, the other lifting to cradle the back of her neck, fingers splaying against her bare nape where her sweater had slipped. He tugged her forward. And then, in front of both teams—stunned, frozen, absolutely silent—he kissed her. It wasn't a quick kiss. It wasn't a soft peck or a hesitant brush. It was possessive, anchoring, and undeniably familiar. When he finally pulled back, her chest was heaving slightly and her hands had curled into the front of his hoodie out of instinct. She blinked once, twice, clearly trying to remember her name, her place, and the fact that her entire damn team was watching this unfold.
Ai Jia, who had been sipping from his protein shake, stood utterly dumbfounded with the cup still tilted near his mouth.
Even Sicheng's expression cracked, his amber eyes narrowing slightly as if reevaluating a chessboard he'd thought he had already solved.
"No one told us they were dating," Pang breathed.
"No one knew," Yue muttered back, stunned.
Across the lawn, Liang Sheng dropped his drink.
And in the middle of it all, Yao slowly dragged her gaze away from Kun Hyeok's face, turned her head just enough to glare at both her team and his, and said, with venomous bite, "He was supposed to tell me." Then she smacked his chest and muttered darkly, "You absolute bastard."
Kun Hyeok only grinned wider. "Missed you too, Princess."
And the chaos that followed was instant.
For a long, stretched-out second, the entire world seemed to hold its breath—both teams frozen in shock, mouths half-open and expressions somewhere between disbelief and full-on brain shutdown. And then—
"Ai Jia," Liang Sheng whispered like a warning.
Too late.
"What the actual hell?!" Ai Jia blurted, taking two steps forward, his water bottle sloshing from how tight he was gripping it. His face was a perfect storm of betrayal, confusion, and absolute outrage as he pointed an accusing finger at Yao like she'd just kicked over a national monument. "You—you said—you said you were never dating another E-Sports player again! Ever! You said after Jian Yang, that was it! No exceptions! No redos! I remember because you threw your chopsticks across the damn table when you said it!"
Yao, still wrapped securely in Lee Kun Hyeok's arms, let out a low, tired sigh as if she knew this reckoning had been inevitable the moment lips met lips in front of the world's most meddlesome peanut gallery. "I did say that," she admitted, voice soft but clear, eyes tilting toward her best friend with a look that held the weight of history between them. "And I meant it. At the time."
Ai Jia looked like he might combust on the spot. "And this? This giant smug-faced Korean skyscraper? This is what changed your mind?"
Before anyone could answer, Kun Hyeok, still casually holding onto his petite Midlaner as if daring anyone to challenge it, spoke up, his tone light but laced with smug fondness. "We met last year. She was in Seoul for a conference, gaming and AI tech. She solo queued into me on the Korean server. She beat me three out of five," he replied with a smirk that deepened with pride rather than shame.
Yao cut in flatly, arms crossed over her chest, "I stomped him three out of five."
"You used Teemo," he replied without even blinking.
"Fairly," she shot back with a glare. "You rushed jungle creeps with Kayn like a degenerate."
Kun Hyeok only shrugged and turned back to the others with a faint grin tugging at his mouth. "It took me three months to get her to even agree to coffee."
"Because you stalked me all over the damn city," Yao growled, glaring at him again despite the way her arms relaxed as he rubbed slow, familiar circles into the small of her back. "I would go to a bookstore? He'd be there. I'd duck into a food stall? He'd just happen to show up. And don't even get me started on the time I tried to take a quiet walk along the Han River and found him already sitting there pretending he'd been waiting for a friend."
"You kicked me," he reminded her, rubbing the back of his head where her sandal had landed.
"You deserved it," she snapped without remorse.
Yue, breathless and clinging to Lao Mao's hoodie as the whole of ZGDX stood clustered in a baffled line behind her, muttered, "This is like watching a live soap opera, but the twist is the psycho was a romantic the whole time."
Pang leaned toward him. "Bro. He just kissed our Midlaner in front of everyone and didn't even get decked. That's not a psycho. That's terrifyingly efficient."
Back near the steps, Ai Jia finally exhaled long and loud, rubbing both hands over his face as if trying to reboot his brain. "You swore off romance," he muttered at Yao again, "you literally told me that if you ever fell for another pro, I had permission to knock sense into you."
"I know," Yao said gently, her voice quieter now. "But he... didn't treat me like a trophy. He didn't expect me to fold or shrink just because he liked me. He knew who I was and respected it. He challenged me, yes, but not to win. He wanted to keep up. And I," She paused, her throat working around the admission as Kun Hyeok's arm tightened slightly in quiet support. "I never thought I'd be brave enough to try again. But he waited. He didn't push, he didn't manipulate. He waited. And that mattered."
Kun Hyeok looked down at her with a quiet gleam in his dark eyes, then turned his head toward Ai Jia, nodding once with something genuine and serious. "You've known her longer than anyone. I get it if you're pissed. But I promise you, I didn't start anything with her until she let me."
Ai Jia stared at the two of them, still looking somewhere between offended and deeply, deeply unsettled, before he finally straightened up to his full height, pointing at Kun Hyeok's chest with one finger that had just enough tremble to betray how badly he wanted to hit something. "You think I'm your problem if you hurt her?" he asked, voice low, tight, and cold. "You've met Jinyang, right? You remember who Jinyang is?"
That wiped the smugness right off Kun Hyeok's face. "...Her best friend."
Ai Jia's smile turned sharp and dangerous. "Try again."
Kun Hyeok's brows lifted slightly in caution. "...Sister-figure?"
Yue, watching this unfold from just behind Pang, leaned in and whispered, "Oh he's going with the nuclear option."
Kun Hyeok blinked.
Yao blinked.
Even Sicheng—still standing silently in the back with his arms crossed and unreadable eyes—let out the faintest sound that might've been a scoff of amusement.
Ai Jia's voice turned razor-sharp, a quiet growl that made even Liang Sheng glance over with a wince. "So let me say this slowly, in case you missed the subtext: if you hurt Yao, in any way—not only will I come after you myself, but I'll tell Jinyang. And then you'll have to explain to a woman who's been protecting Yao since she was fifteen exactly why she should not rip your spine out through your mouth."
A beat.
Kun Hyeok, to his credit, didn't even flinch. Instead, he nodded slowly, solemn now. "Fair. Extremely fair."
"And," Ai Jia added with a vicious gleam in his eyes, "if you so much as smirk wrong in her direction after a loss? I will invite Jinyang to an after party with a Bluetooth headset and let her listen to the entire match in real time."
Yao groaned and covered her face with both hands. "Oh my god. Will you stop threatening my boyfriend with my terrifying best friend?"
Kun Hyeok's arms tightened possessively. "Your terrifying best friend is also your terrifying big sister. I'm pretty sure she's already plotting my death."
"She texted me just now," Ai Jia said mildly, checking his phone with entirely too much satisfaction. "Said she felt a disturbance in the force."
Yue burst out laughing behind them, while Pang muttered something about needing popcorn.
Lao Mao, meanwhile, turned to Sicheng and asked dryly, "Still think Yao's the quiet one?"
Sicheng's gaze never left the pair in the center of the chaos. His tone was unreadable as he replied, "No. I think we've been playing around her like she's a rookie. But it turns out she's been a Queen all along."
And no one disagreed.
The tension began to ebb, the adrenaline draining from the air in slow, uneven pulses as the confrontation diffused into stunned conversation and wary glances. But Kun Hyeok, still holding Yao snug against his side, lowered his voice and murmured something close to her ear that made her stiffen slightly—then immediately roll her eyes.
"You're not carrying me," she muttered, though the flush in her cheeks was very real, and the curve of her mouth threatened something dangerously close to a reluctant smile.
"You're barefoot," he replied evenly, tone far too calm for a man who had just been threatened with emotional and possibly physical annihilation. "And you ran across gravel, pavement, and God knows what else in those tiny legs of yours. I'm not letting you limp your way back just to prove you're stubborn."
"I am stubborn," she bit out.
"And I like that about you," he said with an infuriating grin as he crouched down in front of her without waiting for her agreement. "Now get on."
The entire yard went still again.
Yao, spluttering, shot a look over her shoulder where both her team and his were now gathered like a goddamn audience, their faces torn between disbelief, amusement, and pure awe.
"No," she snapped.
"Yes," he replied simply, still crouched.
"No," she repeated, crossing her arms.
He turned his head and said, louder now so everyone could hear, "She gets like this when she's embarrassed."
"I will bite you," Yao hissed.
"I'd let you," Kun Hyeok said without missing a beat.
That did it.
Yue audibly choked from behind Pang, who looked ready to combust from trying not to laugh. Lao Mao just leaned against Lao K, muttering, "Didn't think we'd get front-row seats to watching someone tame our Midlaner."
"Correction," Lao K said quietly, "he didn't tame her. He negotiated a ceasefire and survived. That's harder."
Meanwhile, Kun Hyeok turned his head just enough to glance back at Yao, his voice dropping again to something soft, something only meant for her. "I know it makes you feel exposed. But it's me. Let me take care of you, even if it's just for one barefoot walk." And there it was, that damn vulnerability she hated showing, that quiet flicker of being seen. Yao sighed, long and sharp, before muttering a curse under her breath that would've made Pang blush if he'd caught it. Then, grudgingly, she stepped forward and climbed onto his back.
The others blinked.
Stared.
Ming, having just stepped into view and taken in the sight of Yao piggybacking on the man they had just learned was her secret boyfriend, blinked once and muttered, "...What the hell did I miss?"
Sicheng, still leaning against the porch railing with his arms crossed, watched the scene unfold with unreadable amber eyes.
When Yue nudged him and asked with something like awe, "Aren't you going to say something?"
The Captain's response was low, dry, and entirely Lu Sicheng. "He actually got her to listen...." he said, then added after a beat, "...I hate him."
And with that, Lee Kun Hyeok started walking, barefoot Yao on his back, arms loose around his shoulders, head tucked near his neck, while the two of them made their way slowly and comfortably down the stone drive toward the ZGDX base, their silhouette framed by the glow of the golden sky. It was the kind of sight no one expected, no one predicted, and yet no one would ever forget.
The warmth of the sun had long since given way to the dusky hues of evening by the time they reached the front steps of ZGDX's base. Neither spoke as Lee Kun Hyeok carried her the final few feet, his stride steady, his arms strong and secure where they cradled her legs behind him. Yao had stopped protesting several moments into the walk, her chin resting lightly against his shoulder, her silence no longer bristling with resistance but rather laced with something quieter, heavier, something that had nothing to do with the teams watching and everything to do with the man holding her.
As they reached the door, Sicheng, still standing sentinel by the porch rail, pushed it open without a word. His eyes briefly met Kun Hyeok's, that low-burning intensity of silent warning still present, but tempered by something more measured now—acceptance, perhaps. Not trust. Not yet. But something close enough to let him pass.
Kun Hyeok offered a single respectful nod and carried Yao inside, climbing the stairs with the same quiet determination, not once asking for directions, because he already knew exactly where she lived, where her room was. He remembered it all as she had messaged him a few times on where her room was and such. When he finally reached her room, he paused for the barest breath before setting her gently down onto her feet, fingers sliding away from her legs, slow and reverent. He reached past her, turning the knob and nudging the door open, then stepped inside behind her and closed it carefully, the sound soft, almost delicate in the hush of the hallway behind them.
Yao turned, her bare feet barely making a sound against the wooden floor, and looked up at him. Something in her expression cracked. And before he could speak—before he could even so much as take a breath—she moved. She stepped into his arms and wrapped herself around him with the suddenness of someone who'd been holding in far too much for far too long. Her arms slid tightly around his waist, her face burying itself into the front of his hoodie, her cheek pressed against the steady beat of his heart.
His hands rose slowly, one settling on the small of her back, the other cradling the back of her head as he held her close, breathing her in like he'd been starved for the weight of her in his arms.
"I missed you," she whispered, her voice barely audible, muffled against the fabric of his chest, but so raw it struck with the force of a confession.
Kun Hyeok closed his eyes and in that moment, all the teasing, all the smirking confidence, all the showmanship that came so easily to him melted into something gentler—something only she ever got to see. He bent his head just enough to rest his lips against the crown of her hair, his voice nothing more than a breath. "I missed you too, Princess."
And for a long moment, neither of them moved. There were no more crowds. No accusations. No teams. No matches. Just them. Just the quiet of a room that had been hers alone for so long, now filled again with the presence of someone who had waited—who had fought—not just for a place beside her, but for the privilege of being let back in. And she had let him in.
Still wrapped in the quiet stillness of her embrace, Kun Hyeok felt her shift ever so slightly against him—her fingers loosening just enough around the back of his hoodie before she pulled back with deliberate slowness, her arms still resting lightly at his sides as she tilted her head to look up at him.
Her hazel eyes, framed by the soft curtain of platinum-colored strands falling over her shoulders, searched his face with a vulnerability that she rarely allowed herself to show, the kind that lived behind every wall she had spent years building brick by brick. It wasn't suspicion in her gaze. It wasn't doubt. It was that fragile, cautious hope that only came when someone who had been hurt was daring to believe again. Her voice was soft when she spoke, barely more than a murmur between them, but there was no mistaking the weight behind the question. "Is your transfer to YQCB permanent?" she asked, her words careful, but unmistakably layered with unspoken meaning. "Or... is it just temporary?" The silence that followed was not hesitation. It was filled with the gravity of the moment, the understanding that her question wasn't just about logistics or contract terms. She was asking if he was staying. For her. For this.
Kun Hyeok's hands remained steady on her waist, his thumb brushing the hem of her sweater with absent care, and when he answered, his voice was low and honest—devoid of charm, stripped of games, filled only with truth. "It's permanent."
Yao blinked, breath catching slightly.
"I made the request months ago," he continued, his tone steady but softer now. "Even before your season started. Before I was officially signed. Before I knew if you'd even speak to me again. I just... I knew where I wanted to be."
She stared at him, the question unspoken but clear.
He answered it anyway. "I wanted to be where you are."
The stillness between them thickened, not with uncertainty but with something far more binding.
Her eyes shimmered faintly, not with tears, but with that flicker of overwhelmed understanding, the kind that broke through the last edge of defensiveness she had been clutching so tightly. "Why?" she whispered.
And Kun Hyeok, still watching her like she was the only thing that had ever mattered, leaned in slightly—not to kiss her again, not yet—but to bring his forehead to hers, their breaths mingling in the hush of the room. "Because," he murmured, "I never wanted to leave in the first place."
And there it was.
The full, quiet, undeniable truth.
Yao's breath hitched quietly between them, her fingers still curled into the soft fabric of his hoodie, her heart pressed tight beneath her ribs as his words settled into the spaces she had spent the better part of a year trying to silence—those aching, echoing corners of herself that had missed him so fiercely, she could never quite bring herself to admit it aloud. But even as he stood before her now, close enough to feel the rise and fall of his chest with each breath, something inside her trembled, caught on the one truth she hadn't yet voiced, the one he deserved to hear. She opened her eyes slowly, pulling back just enough to see his face clearly, to make sure he would see the sincerity in hers when she whispered, "You didn't leave me." Her voice was soft, but steady. "I left you."
His expression didn't shift, not exactly. But something deep in his gaze flickered—something raw, something that had waited, silent and unmoving, beneath every smirk, every patient moment, every calculated inch he'd kept between them until she chose to close it herself.
She swallowed, her hands fisting tighter now, clinging to him like her own truth was too sharp to hold alone. "I had to come back to China," she continued, her voice barely more than a breath between them. "It wasn't about us. It wasn't because I didn't care. I did. I do. I just... I couldn't stay. I didn't have a choice. There were too many things here—things I had to come back for. And I thought if I stayed longer—if I stayed with you—I wouldn't be able to let go." Her eyes lifted to his again, no longer veiled. "I didn't want to leave you. I never did."
Kun Hyeok didn't speak immediately. He didn't have to. Instead, his arms slid fully around her, holding her so close it felt like he was trying to pull her straight into his chest, into the space where all the ache he'd carried had been waiting, shaped like her all along. "I know," he said at last, his voice rough, quiet, laced with something so devastatingly real it made her chest seize. "You left because you had to. But that didn't mean I was going to let you stay gone." He pulled back just enough to look at her, both hands rising to cradle her face with a gentleness that made her throat close up, his thumbs brushing across her cheeks like he needed to memorize the exact weight of her in his hands. "I never let go of you, Yao," he said softly, each word deliberate. "Not for a day. Not for a second and I didn't want you to leave me, not then, not ever. But I knew you needed to go. So I waited." A breath. A heartbeat. Than, "And now I'm here." Not to pull her back. Not to drag her down. But to be here. With her. For her. Because she was worth following. Worth fighting for. Worth everything.
Yao leaned into his touch, her hands lifting to rest over his, her eyes shining as she whispered back, "Then don't leave again."
His answer was immediate. "Never."
Without another word, Yao slowly turned in his arms, her fingers trailing across his chest as she stepped over to the shelf near her desk where the small speaker rested—its lights blinking faintly in the dimness of the room. Her hands moved with calm precision, pairing it to her phone, and with a few taps, the stillness was shattered by the heavy thrum of music, something loud and fast, all bass and tension and electricity—an audible match to the current humming beneath her skin.
Kun Hyeok's brows lifted just slightly, surprise flickering in his expression as the music filled the room, but whatever comment he might've made died on his tongue the moment she turned back to him. Because she wasn't hesitant now. She wasn't questioning, doubting, hiding. She was moving toward him with intention.
Barefoot, golden-lit by the low glow of her desk lamp, and framed by that platinum spill of hair, she looked like something he'd spent the last year remembering with aching clarity and trying not to miss so violently. And now, with that look in her eyes—part hunger, part longing, all hers—he didn't dare move, didn't dare blink.
Yao stopped just short of his chest, her hazel eyes locking onto his with something that sent fire low into his gut, and then, with a slow inhale, she lifted herself up onto her tiptoes. Her hands rose to his jaw, fingers curling against his skin. And then she kissed him. Hard. Deep. Unapologetic. It wasn't soft. It wasn't testing. It was raw and igniting, filled with the kind of coiled-up passion that only came from months of restraint breaking all at once. Her mouth claimed his with a fire that made his pulse stutter, her lips parting, pulling, demanding, burning.
He barely managed a breath before instinct took over and he responded with equal force. His arms snapped around her, locking her to him, one hand sliding down to catch the back of her thigh as the other gripped her waist. She gasped into his mouth as he lifted her in a single smooth movement, her legs curling reflexively around his waist, her hands tangling in his hair. He kissed her back like a man starved, devouring the space between them until the only thing left was heat—his breath heavy, his lips moving against hers with a desperation that matched hers note for note. And then, not breaking the kiss for even a second, he turned, carrying her across the room.
The music pounded through the air, but she couldn't hear it.
Not really.
All she could feel was him—his strength beneath her, the grip of his hands, the weight of his mouth, the burn under her skin that had never really gone out.
He reached her bed and lowered her onto the edge of it, but even then, he didn't pull away. Instead, he hovered over her, breathing harshly, his hands sliding up her sides, under the hem of her sweater, his voice low and thick against her lips. "I told you," he murmured between kisses, "I never let you go."
And with the way she pulled him down, anchoring him to her like the final piece she'd been missing since the day she left Seoul, it was clear. She had no intention of letting him go either. Her fingers, small but no less decisive, gripped the hem of his hoodie and tugged hard, once, twice, before she managed to pull it over his head in one clean motion. The fabric slipped away and revealed the broad plane of his chest, warm and familiar, the skin beneath her touch taut with heat and tension. Her eyes traced him like she'd been remembering this in dreams, and now that he was here, solid and real, she wasn't going to waste a single second on hesitation.
Kun Hyeok barely had time to toss the hoodie aside before his hands were at her waist, his breath unsteady, pupils blown wide as he looked down at her like she was the only thing that existed in the entire world. And she was. She always had been. He didn't wait. He didn't ask. He grabbed the hem of her oversized sweater and lifted it slowly, teasing it upward as his hands skimmed the delicate skin beneath, palms warm as they traced the dip of her waist and the soft curve of her back. She arched into him, breath catching as he peeled the sweater off her and tossed it to join his own clothing, leaving her bare to his eyes and the low lamplight flickering across the room.
"God, Yao," he breathed, the words raw, reverent, like prayer and hunger twisted into one. Then he bent his head and attacked. His mouth crashed against the slope of her neck, kissing, biting, nipping—each movement rough and deep and hungry, no space left for pretense or restraint. His teeth grazed the spot just beneath her jaw, his tongue soothing it a breath later before he moved lower, his lips dragging across her collarbone as she gasped and clung to his shoulders, her legs tightening around his hips.
She tilted her head back, offering him more, and he took it, growling low in his throat as he moved with her, grinding down into the cradle of her hips, the friction brutal, perfect, scorching. Her nails scraped down his back, her chest heaving against his as every nerve lit up with the fire of his body pressing so intimately, so completely into hers. "Kun Hyeok—" she gasped, her voice shuddering, broken by the sheer intensity of what she felt, of what he was doing to her, of the way he moved like he couldn't breathe without touching her.
His hands slid up her back, pulling her flush against him, and he kissed her again—this time slower, deeper, a kind of consuming that made her moan softly into his mouth, the sound tearing something loose inside him. "I wanted you," he whispered fiercely against her lips. "Every day. Every time I woke up without you. Every time I looked for you and you weren't there."
She kissed him again, urgent, breathless. "Then take me. I'm yours."
Kun Hyeok pulled back just enough to look down at her, breath ragged, eyes dark with something feral and all-consuming, his chest rising and falling against hers as his hands moved to the waistband of her shorts. He didn't rush. He didn't fumble. His fingers found the button and worked it loose, the sound of it slipping free sharp in the haze of music and breath and pulse.
She didn't look away. Didn't flinch. Her eyes stayed locked on his, her lips parted and flushed, her skin glowing under the low light like she was made of starlight and fire and defiance. And she wanted him, completely, wordlessly, no fear, no walls, no escape. He slid her shorts down with a reverence that bordered on worship, his palms brushing the curve of her hips, the dip of her thighs, dragging them inch by inch until they were gone—tossed aside with the same carelessness that came when someone had waited too long to be this close. Her panties followed in one smooth, quiet stroke, her shirt already lost to the floor. Every inch of her was laid bare to him, and still, she didn't hide.
She didn't need to. Because in his eyes, there was no hesitation. Only awe. Only hunger. Only her. He moved back into her after removing the rest of his own clothing, settling firmly between her thighs, the fit of his body against hers perfect and searing, his hands braced on either side of her hips as he leaned down again—his mouth crashing into hers with a groan torn straight from the center of his chest. She answered with a kiss just as wild, just as urgent, her fingers threading through his hair and tugging him closer as her body arched beneath him. Her well-toned legs lifted, wrapping around his waist with fierce intention, locking him in place, claiming him as much as he claimed her. The pressure was exquisite, the heat maddening. He kissed her like he was trying to memorize every breath, every sound she made, every tremble of her body as she moved against him. She kissed him like he was the only solid thing in her universe. And in that moment, he was.
Kun Hyeok's control shattered the moment she tightened her legs around his waist, her body arching into his with a desperation that made something deep in him unravel. He moved with purpose—no hesitation, no pretense, just the deep, anchoring need to be with her, fully, completely, with nothing between them but the weight of everything they had both tried so hard to bury. He took her hard, his rhythm deep and relentless, the grind of his hips drawing soft, gasping moans from her lips as her fingers clawed at his shoulders, anchoring herself to him as if she could melt into his skin and never let go.
She whimpered his name, breathy and pleading, over and over like a mantra, like a prayer. "Kun Hyeok… Kun…." Each time it left her lips, it made his breath catch, his pace falter just long enough to press closer, to hold her tighter, to whisper her name back against her throat like it was sacred.
His mouth found her neck again, his lips brushing the sensitive skin with reverent intensity as he kissed, then nipped, the sound of her soft cry hitting his ears and making something possessive tighten in his chest. "You feel like heaven," he murmured, his voice low and smooth, trembling with restraint and adoration. "You were made for me… mine. " Yao gasped, her head falling back, exposing more of her neck to him without even thinking. He took it as invitation and ran his tongue along the curve of her pulse point before dragging his teeth along it again, a growl vibrating against her skin as he felt her tremble beneath him. "You're perfect… every sound, every breath… gorgeous, " he whispered, his praises spoken like silk across the fire of her skin, his words sinking deep into her as her body moved to match him—wild, beautiful, and unashamed.
She clung to him, her voice cracking as she whimpered his name again, eyes fluttering, mouth parted in wonder and need. Her body knew him—every motion, every thrust, every breathless word he breathed against her ear. And as he pressed her into the mattress with the weight of his love, his hunger, and the desperate longing that had waited through months of separation, it became clear in every word and every movement that there was no space left between them, no fear, no distance. Only them. Only love wrapped in fire. The moment it happened was unmistakable. Yao's breath caught in her throat before spilling out as a sharp, high-pitched whimper, her back arching beneath him as her nails bit into the strong muscles of his shoulders, her thighs trembling around his waist. That one sound—needy, helpless, filled with so much want it cracked the air—was all it took.
Kun Hyeok stilled for half a beat, his eyes locking on hers, dark and blazing with something primal. And then he broke. All the restraint he'd been clinging to, every thread of patience he'd woven for her comfort, snapped like a wire under pressure. His hands tightened on her hips as he shifted, grounding himself with a low, rough breath before he slammed back into her, deep and hard, tearing a sharp cry from her throat. "Yao," he growled, his voice hoarse, reverent, and raw. "You don't know what you're doing to me—"
She whimpered again, louder this time, as her body clung to him, each stroke dragging a desperate moan that echoed even through the music still pulsing through the room. Her fingers clutched at his back, her voice trembling as she gasped his name like she couldn't stop, like it was all she knew how to say. And then she cried out again, her voice cracking open around it, and his hand was there in an instant.
Large and warm, he pressed his palm gently over her mouth, not with force, but with care—an instinctive shield, protective and intimate. His eyes burned down into hers, softening even through the fierce heat in him. "Shhh, Princess," he murmured against her cheek, kissing her temple as his hips kept moving—deep, hard, fast, every stroke sending her spiraling, shaking, undone beneath him. "You've got to be quiet for me, yeah? Just a little. The stereo can only do so much."
She nodded quickly, her eyes wide, shimmering, burning with heat and trust and something devastatingly tender as she moaned again beneath his hand, the sound muffled but still trembling into his skin. His rhythm grew brutal then, perfectly controlled but rough, hitting every angle that made her shake apart in his arms, driving into her with a precision born of knowing exactly what she needed—what she craved—because he had studied her body, had memorized it, and now that he was finally here again, he was going to give her everything. Every inch. Every thrust. Every whisper. Every vow. She came undone against him, helpless and clinging, her body writhing as his name spilled muffled from beneath his hand, her pleasure shuddering through her like a tidal wave.
And Kun Hyeok—his jaw clenched, his lips dragging against her throat, his voice nothing but rough devotion—held her through all of it, never letting her go, never slowing, not until she had taken everything he had to give. Because she was his and he would always give her everything.
Kun Hyeok was close—closer than he wanted to be—but the tremble in her thighs, the hitch in her breath, the helpless way she writhed beneath him as her body responded to his every movement told him she was right on the edge again. And he needed her to fall. One more time. With him. For him. He pulled his hand away from her mouth, only to slide it down and cup her jaw, forcing her to look at him even as her hazel eyes flickered and fluttered, dazed and glassy with overwhelming pleasure. "Look at me," he whispered, voice low and wrecked with everything he felt. "Don't close your eyes. I want to see you come undone again."
She whimpered in response, her nails clawing into his back, and that was all the permission he needed. His rhythm changed, deeper, harder, rougher, the sharp slap of skin on skin drowned only slightly by the pulse of music thundering from the stereo. Every thrust was calculated, angled just right, relentless and unyielding, the kind of rhythm that took every last coherent thought and shattered it.
Yao cried out, her voice ragged, torn, her fingers locking around his shoulders as she clung to him, her body jolting with each stroke. Her legs tightened around him again, her heels digging into his lower back, needing more, needing all of him.
"You're close," he growled against her ear, his breath hot and ragged. "I can feel it. Let go for me, Princess. Just let go." Her hands trembled as she clutched at him, her head falling back against the pillows as another moan—sharp, high, helpless—ripped from her throat. Her body clenched around him, and he groaned, the sound low and deep, a sound of someone desperately holding onto control and failing. "Give it to me," he whispered fiercely, nipping at her neck, his hips slamming into hers with ruthless precision. "Come apart for me again. I want to feel you—want to hear you—when I come inside of you."
And she did.
With a broken gasp and a full-body shudder, she fell apart again beneath him—tighter, wetter, pulsing around him with a force that nearly dragged him under with her.
He groaned her name, his voice shaking as he thrust deep one last time and finally let go, burying himself inside of her as he spilled with a rough cry against her neck, his arms shaking from how hard he held her, from how much he'd needed this—needed her. And all that was left was breath and warmth and the sound of her heartbeat against his chest, pounding as fiercely as his own.
The music still pulsed low in the background, a soft thrum now that barely reached them, fading behind the slow rhythm of their breaths and the tangled heat of their bodies.
Yao lay against him, her limbs still trembling faintly, her skin flushed and dewy with warmth, her chest rising and falling against his as she clung to him, her face nestled into the crook of his neck. And then, in that tender, quiet stillness where only their heartbeats dared to speak, she whispered it. "I love you." The words were soft, breathless, almost like she wasn't sure if she was allowed to say them, but she said them anyway, with every ounce of truth that had lived in her, buried deep and waiting for the moment she would finally let it rise.
Kun Hyeok stilled, his hand sliding gently over her hair as he exhaled slowly—his mouth brushing her temple as he breathed out the words he had carried for months, tucked into every memory, every dream, every moment he'd spent waiting for her to come back. "I love you too." There was no pause. No hesitation. No faltering. Only the steady truth of it, warm and anchoring, pressed against her skin like a promise. Carefully, he began to move, brushing his lips over her cheek as he slowly pulled back, his movements tender now, unhurried and reverent as if she might break beneath his touch. He pressed one last kiss to her lips before slipping from the bed and disappearing into her attached bathroom, returning moments later with a soft, warm cloth.
Without a word, he knelt beside her, his eyes never leaving her face as he gently helped her clean up, his touch feather-light, respectful, laced with devotion as he moved with quiet care. It wasn't just aftercare—it was worship, and she knew it, felt it in every sweep of his hand and the way he looked at her like she was the only thing that had ever mattered. Once finished, he set the cloth aside and reached for his pants, pulling them close and reaching into the pocket. His fingers found the small velvet pouch he'd kept with him for weeks—always hoping, never sure—but now, here, with her still glowing beneath the faint lamplight, he knew there would never be a better moment. He returned to her side and sat at the edge of the bed, his fingers tracing the outline of the pouch before he handed it to her, placing it delicately in her hands.
Yao blinked, her brows drawing together as she sat up slightly, still wrapped in the blanket he'd tugged around her moments ago. She opened the pouch with quiet curiosity, her breath catching as she pulled out what lay inside.
The Lee Family crest.
A delicate, intricate piece wrought in blackened silver and gold, shaped with the elegance of tradition and the unmistakable boldness of legacy, a crest worn only by those tied to the family in blood, or in bond. She stared at it, eyes wide, lips parting slightly.
Kun Hyeok's voice was low, almost hoarse with the weight of what he was about to say. "My mother gave it to me the night I told her I was coming to China. Told her why. She didn't say much, just handed me this and said if I was certain, I'd know when to give it to you." He reached out, fingers brushing her hair behind her ear with gentle reverence. "I'm certain."
Yao stared at him, her lips trembling, hands tightening around the pouch.
"I want you," he continued, voice thick with emotion but clear, unwavering. "All of you. Your highs, your lows, your fire, your fury, your silence, your laughter. I want to wake up every day knowing you chose me. And I want to spend the rest of my life making sure you never regret it."
He looked at her then, his dark eyes burning with something that was no longer just desire—but deep, unwavering love. "Be my Intended, Yao."
And in her silence, in the widening of her eyes, in the way her fingers clutched the crest to her chest as if it were something sacred, the answer was already there.
Yao didn't speak for a long moment, her eyes fixed on the crest resting delicately in the velvet of her palm, the weight of it both physical and symbolic—a legacy, a vow, a truth that went beyond simple jewelry and into something deeper, binding. Her chest rose with a soft, unsteady breath as she let her fingers trail along the edge of the crest, feeling the cool metal warming in her hand, becoming a part of her even before it touched her skin. Then, with a quiet voice laced in emotion, she looked up at him—hazel eyes wide, glassy, filled with something that shimmered like starlight and storm clouds all at once. "Put it on me," she whispered. "Please."
The breath he drew wasn't steady. It was shaky, caught somewhere between awe and relief, but he nodded, swallowing hard as he reached for the crest with hands that didn't shake, though his chest ached with everything she had just given him by saying that. She sat up a little straighter on the bed, her blanket slipping slightly down her shoulders, baring the soft line of her collarbone as she lifted her hair without needing to be asked, exposing the nape of her neck to him. Her skin there was warm, flushed, still glowing from the aftermath of everything they had shared, and he couldn't stop himself from leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to the center of it before moving.
Kun Hyeok took the crest, revealing the chain wound delicately around it, and with a steady hand, he clasped it around her neck, the cool metal falling perfectly into place just above her heart. It settled there like it had always belonged—bold and beautiful against her skin, like it was made for her. He let his fingers linger, brushing the pendant where it now lay, his voice low, thick with the full weight of what this moment meant. "There," he whispered. "Now the world knows."
Yao reached up and touched it, her fingers resting lightly over his, the chain now warmed by her skin and his touch. But when she looked at him, her expression had shifted—still soft, still tender, but filled now with something fierce. Something certain. "I've always known." she said.
And then she leaned forward and kissed him again—not with urgency, not with fire—but with reverence. With belonging. With love. Because this wasn't the beginning. It was everything they had fought through to get here aAnd it was theirs.
Hours had passed in the hush of Yao's room, the music long faded into silence, replaced by the gentle rhythm of night outside her window and the soft sound of her breathing as she curled against him beneath the blankets. Her body was relaxed now, warm and tangled with his, her head nestled beneath his chin, the silver chain around her neck glinting faintly in the low lamplight with every slow, drowsy breath she took.
Kun Hyeok lay still, his hand gently stroking her back, content just to hold her—to keep this moment sealed between them as long as he could. But time, as always, slipped forward, and eventually, her breathing evened out to the slow, shallow rhythm of near-sleep. He leaned down, pressing his lips to her temple, letting them linger there for a moment longer than necessary, then whispered softly, "I need to head back, Princess."
Her brow twitched, her lashes fluttering as she murmured, still heavy with exhaustion, "Mmm… okay…" She didn't open her eyes, but her fingers tightened slightly around his. "Tomorrow?" she asked, her voice quiet and lazy and threaded with something that was almost shy, almost hopeful.
He smiled, brushing her hair back from her face. "Lunch," he promised. "Wherever you want."
A small curve lifted the corners of her lips, and she whispered, "Good… you're buying."
He let out a soft huff of a laugh and kissed her once more, gently, before untangling himself from the sheets. He dressed in silence, carefully pulling his clothes back on as not to disturb her further, and when he glanced back one last time before leaving, he saw her asleep again, the blanket drawn up over her shoulder, her hand resting just above her heart where the crest now lay. He stepped out of her room and moved through the quiet base, his strides silent and sure as he descended the stairs and passed the darkened lounge, his mind still half with her, his body still carrying the warmth of being wrapped around her for hours. The door creaked faintly as he stepped out onto the porch… and immediately came face to face with Lu Sicheng.
The Captain was leaning against one of the porch posts, one hand in his pocket, the other loosely holding a bottle of water, the faint moonlight throwing shadows across his features but doing nothing to soften the sharpness of his eyes. Eyes that were fixed, unblinking, directly on him.
Kun Hyeok paused. The air between them went still.
And then Sicheng, without moving a muscle, lifted the bottle slightly as if in greeting and said in a voice far too casual to be innocent, "Have a nice night?" There was no menace in his tone, but the edge beneath it was unmistakable—cool, precise, and loaded with implication.
Kun Hyeok didn't flinch. He simply met his best friend's gaze, leveled and unapologetic, and after a breath, said with equal calm, "The best."
The silence that followed was thick and full of unspoken history—of years of trust, of rivalry, of brotherhood too deep to fracture but sharp enough to wound.
And for a moment, neither said a word.
Then Sicheng looked away, down the drive toward the faint light spilling from the edge of the neighboring base, and said without turning, "Don't hurt her."
"I won't."
"I mean it." he added, his voice low, clipped, no longer the lazy edge of a smirk but the cold, firm tone of a man who rarely made promises but always kept his warnings.
Kun Hyeok nodded once, quiet but resolute. "I know."
Their eyes met again—brief, intense.
Then Sicheng finally pushed off the post, turned to the door, and without another word, walked back inside.
Kun Hyeok stood still for another breath, then exhaled, his gaze lifting back toward the upper floor where the soft light in Yao's room still glowed faintly behind the curtain. And then he turned, stepping off the porch, disappearing into the night with the quiet certainty of a man who had found exactly what he'd come for—and was never going to let it go again.
Notes:
Author's Note: The Muse would like to say that all comments, even small ones, are very much welcomed and they very much enjoy reading them!