Weakness (Jang Hanseok x fem OC)

55

A Love Written in Blood

Kiara was used to the scent of blood on Hanseok.

She was used to the way his mind worked—the way he calculated every move, how he decided who deserved to live and who didn’t, how he wielded power like it was his birthright.

And yet, she had chosen to stay.

She had chosen him.

Because no matter how many times she reminded herself of who he was, of what he was capable of, there was a part of her that knew—Hanseok had never been anything but hers.

Even when he killed his first friend for her.

Even when he buried the body of the man she had killed in self-defense.

Even when, just a week ago, she had pointed a gun at him and pulled the trigger.

And missed.

Now, as he lay against her lap, his warmth pressed against her, his fingers tracing slow circles over her thigh, she felt none of the shock she knew she should have felt.

Only exhaustion.

Because this was them—twisted, broken, bound by something deeper than love, more dangerous than devotion.

He had stopped speaking, but his grip on her never wavered. His fingers twitched against her skin, betraying the tension simmering beneath his facade.

She knew why.

They had barely spoken since the night she shot him.

Since the night she had chosen to defend Hanseo instead of him. Until two days ago

And Hanseok, for all his arrogance, for all his certainty that she was his, was still bitter about it.

She sighed, brushing her fingers through his dark hair. "You're being careful."

It wasn't a question.

His lips curled into a smirk against her skin, but there was something sharp in the way he exhaled. "Shouldn’t I be? My wife has been trying to kill me lately."

Kiara scoffed. "If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead."

Hanseok chuckled lowly, finally lifting his head to look at her. His dark eyes gleamed with something amused, something dangerous. "Oh? Is that so?"

She met his gaze without flinching. "Yes."

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The tension between them had always been like this—thick, suffocating, but never unbearable. It was part of who they were.

But then, his fingers ghosted over her stomach, the touch feather-light. The smirk on his lips faded.

"You're not being careful either," he murmured.

Kiara tensed slightly, but Hanseok didn’t move, his fingers continuing their slow, absentminded strokes over her stomach.

She was only a few months along, but Hanseok noticed everything.

"You should rest more," he said, almost absently. "You shouldn’t be stressing."

She let out a short, bitter laugh. "You're the one stressing me out."

His gaze flickered up to hers, something unreadable crossing his expression. "Am I?"

She rolled her eyes. "Don't act innocent."

His grip on her thigh tightened just slightly—not enough to hurt, but enough to remind her he could.

"I am innocent," he murmured, his lips curving into something softer, something deceptively tender. "I didn’t do anything wrong, Kiara."