peachyscenes - Tumblr blog

peachyscenes · 28 days ago

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OPERATION: HOW NOT TO GET THE GIRL L.HS

SYNOPSIS ⦂ You've never fit in. That much was true. Always feeling like the odd one out in your friend group. But when you're told to your face, well everything becomes more clear. Suddenly, every sidelong glance, every pity laugh, every party invitation that felt like a mistake, makes a little more sense. But it still stings. Especially when it comes to Soobin; sweet, soft-spoken, out-of-your-league Soobin, who doesn’t even know you exist beyond the orbit of your prettier friends. Enter Heeseung: campus golden boy, effortlessly charming, dangerously smug. He’s the type of guy who knows exactly how attractive he is — and how to use it. When he overhears your predicament (okay, maybe you yell about it a little too loudly in the hallway), he makes you an offer: he’ll help you reinvent yourself, rewrite your story, and finally get Soobin’s attention. In exchange? You’ll tutor him through senior lit, a class he's on the verge of flunking. You agree, of course. What could possibly go wrong?

PAIRINGS: heeseung x fem!reader

WARNINGS: smut mdni, virginity loss, jealousy, alcohol use, mean girls, talk of toxic beauty standards, college setting, ft Dani (katseye), Sakura (le sserafim), Soobin (txt), jay, sunghoon, jake, beomgyu (txt), wonyoung (ive), angst, slight miscommunication + more i’m probably forgetting.

WORD COUNT: 28K

RAIN'S MIC IS ON ࿐ haiii this is based on the movie "the duff" i wanted to give this a fun and very like early 2000s rom-comy vibes!! I do want to note especially that i do not support the toxic mindset that makeup and no glasses and dressing slutty automatically makes you more visually appealing, i think that's a mindset we should be letting go of but for the sake of fiction, it will be playing a part in this. Just a reminder that everyone is beautiful no matter what you wear or what you look like. Wear makeup if you want, or don't. Glasses do not equal ugly and nerdy. Also in this, i shortened “DUFF” to “DUF” because even in fiction i don’t feel comfortable saying “fat” so in my version it just means “designated ugly friend” which is still eh, but again for the sake of fiction it will have to do, Please remember those standards are out dated. Love you all hope you have fun with this like i did (: thank you so much to my love @yeonmuse for helping make the banner, she’s so talented check her out guys.

You’re not sure why you came.

The music pulses like a second heartbeat as you linger in the doorway of the house, the bass reverberating through your ribcage. Inside, it’s packed wall-to-wall with bodies moving in a chaotic kind of harmony, shoulders brushing, drinks sloshing, laughter climbing over music like ivy. You follow the familiar trail of your best friends, Dani and Sakura, as they dive headfirst into the party’s epicenter. They're already laughing with someone, effortlessly folding themselves into a circle of golden-lit conversation. You’re left in the doorway like static caught on the edge of a signal, half-there, mostly invisible. You try to speak, to jump into the flow, but your voice is swallowed by the noise.

Dani’s turning her head too fast, Sakura’s already moving on to a new story. It’s not their fault. They love you. They try; they always do. But in places like this, where charisma is currency and the loudest person wins, you always come up short. You’re the comma in their sentence. The pause between moments.

Eventually, Dani hooks her arm through yours and grins. “Come on. Let’s get some air.” You let them lead you outside, where the music softens behind glass doors and the cool night air brushes against your skin. The wooden deck is lit by string lights and scented faintly of smoke and expensive cologne. And that’s when you see them; The it boys on campus, Leaning against the railing like some untouchable constellation: Heeseung, Beomgyu, Sunghoon, Jay, and Jake. Each one a caricature of cool in different flavors. Beomgyu’s laughing with his head thrown back. Jake is draped over the deck chair like he owns it. Sunghoon and Jay are mid-story. And then there’s Heeseung, casual arrogance wrapped in black denim and a hoodie pushed halfway up his forearms.

The moment the girls approach, everyone shifts to accommodate them, the circle expanding like ripples on water. You find yourself next to Heeseung, who throws you a brief glance that feels like an assessment. His gaze dips for a second to your glasses and lingers. You know that look. You’ve seen it before in classrooms and locker-lined hallways. The look that decides exactly who you are in the span of two seconds and four syllables: nerd. Unworthy of any and all social interaction beside incandescent teasing. How comical that was. “You guys,” Heeseung says, in that smooth, drawling voice that makes everything he says sound vaguely amused, “Mr. Yoon was on my ass today. Said if I bomb this next lit paper, he’s yanking my scholarship. Like, sorry I don’t care about symbolism in 18th-century poetry, man.”

Sakura perks up, turning to look at you. “Wait She’s amazing at lit! Like, scary good.”

“She tutors people all the time,” Dani adds, nudging you playfully. You blink, caught mid-sip of something lukewarm in a red cup, and find five pairs of curious eyes settling on you. Including his.

Heeseung’s lip quirks. “Oh, I’m sure she is.”

You narrow your eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He gestures loosely toward your face, vaguely circling your glasses. “Nothing. Just, you’ve got that whole bookish prodigy vibe. You know. Brainiac chic.”

“Brainiac chic?” You raise an eyebrow. “That’s your insult? Do you even have a GPA?” His friends snicker. Jake lets out a low “oooh,” and Beomgyu slaps Heeseung on the back like he’s just taken a hit.

Heeseung, unfazed, smiles lazily. “Touché. Though, I’m not the one who just quoted my GPA like it’s a flex.” You can’t help the way your lip twitches. You shouldn’t enjoy this. You do. Heeseung is irritating. Arrogant. Infuriatingly pretty. But he’s listening. He’s bantering back. In this weird, warped little moment, you almost feel like you matter.

And then he walks up. Soobin. You spot him from the corner of your eye, tall and soft around the edges, dressed in an oversized hoodie that somehow still makes him look like a dream. His hair’s a little messy like he ran his hands through it too many times, and his smile; God, his smile, curls up slow when he sees your group. He says something to Jake, who waves him over, and then he’s standing in your circle, next to you, and your brain short-circuits. You try to say hi, but it comes out as a hiccuped squeak. Your voice cracks in three different places, and as if fate hadn’t humiliated you enough, you flinch backward and knock your elbow straight into the flimsy drink table behind you. The cup in your hand slips, spins midair, and splashes all over your shirt in one mortifying arc.

Soobin blinks. Heeseung stares. You feel the heat crawl up your neck like a flame eating paper. Someone offers you a napkin, Dani, maybe — but it doesn’t matter. You’re already backing away. “I—I’m gonna go,” you mumble. “I’ll see you guys later.” You turn before anyone can say anything else, your heartbeat thudding in your ears, the deck already blurry with shame. Behind you, the laughter starts again, soft, harmless, not mean, not really; but it doesn't matter. You’re already gone. And you have no idea how this mess is only just beginning.

The next morning arrives not like a promise, but like a punishment. The sun is too bright, the sky too smugly blue, like even the weather knows what happened last night. You drag yourself across campus wrapped in oversized layers, hoodie strings pulled tight around your face like armor. You haven't checked your phone since the party. Not because it hasn’t lit up — it has, but because you can’t bear to face the missed calls and texts blinking like tiny sirens across the screen. Dani: “hey, are you okay?” Sakura: “babe, call us pls.” A voicemail you didn’t dare open. It’s all waiting for you like unopened letters from a version of yourself that doesn’t exist anymore.

Because last night, you crumbled in front of Soobin. You keep replaying it like a cursed tape in your head: the way your voice cracked, the look of gentle confusion on his face, the splash of cheap punch soaking through your shirt like a scarlet stamp of shame. You can still feel the sting of it; hot, sticky, humiliating. You picture the exact moment his eyes met yours and how quickly you broke, like a window catching a stone at the wrong angle. You didn’t even say goodbye to Dani or Sakura. Just ran. Just let the night swallow you whole. And now, in the cruel light of day, everything feels worse.

Your footsteps echo a little too loudly on the concrete path through campus. You keep your head down, gaze locked on your shoes as the crowds blur around you in streaks of motion and color. But you feel them; eyes. Not direct. Not obvious. Just there. Flicking toward you. Lingering. Someone lets out a muffled laugh as you pass. You tell yourself it has nothing to do with you, but the way your stomach clenches betrays you. It’s a peculiar kind of spotlight, being noticed for all the wrong reasons. You’re used to being invisible, not mocked. You never asked for attention, never needed a stage. But now you’re walking through campus like a meme brought to life, like the punchline of a joke you didn’t know you were telling. You pass a group of students lounging on the lawn. One nudges the other. Another whispers something behind a hand. Laughter. It could be about anything. It could be nothing. But you flinch like it’s a slap to the face. So you keep walking, keep shrinking.

Your classroom isn’t far, but the distance feels endless. Like the stretch of hallway in a nightmare where your legs move but you never get anywhere. When you finally reach the door, your hands tremble as you pull it open, slipping inside with all the urgency of someone trying to outrun their own shadow. The air inside is still and cold, the hum of fluorescents a dull buzz in your ears. You’re too wrapped in your own spiral to notice where your feet take you. The room is already half full, students murmuring over open laptops, pens clicking like insects in early spring. You move on autopilot, slipping into the first empty seat you see near the back, hoping the distance from the front will buy you some much-needed invisibility.

But the moment you set your bag down and glance to your left, the universe decides to play its favorite game, humiliation, round two. Because there he is. Lee Heeseung. Slouched in his chair with all the grace of someone who’s never had to try too hard, hoodie sleeves pushed up again like it’s a personal brand, one knee bouncing lazily. His arm’s draped over the back of the chair, dangerously close to yours, and he’s already looking at you when you meet his eyes, eyebrow raised, lips curled in that signature smirk that could make a mirror blush. “Well, well,” he says, low and smug. “Couldn’t get enough of me, could you?” You blink, brain short-circuiting for half a second before the sarcasm kicks in like muscle memory.

“Oh, absolutely,” you say, your voice dry as dust. “I just had to sit next to the guy who thinks MLA formatting is a type of sandwich.” Heeseung whistles through his teeth, hand pressed to his heart like you wounded him. “Wow. Vicious. No wonder you’re single.”

Without missing a beat, you smile sweetly, and flip him off. And that’s what does it. Heeseung bursts out laughing. Not a scoff. Not a half-chuckle. A full-bodied, belly-deep laugh that shakes his shoulders and lights up his whole stupidly handsome face. It’s loud, too; sharp enough to draw a few curious glances from the rows in front of you. Someone turns around. Another student raises an eyebrow. But Heeseung just throws his head back and laughs, like you’re the funniest thing to ever happen to 9 a.m. lit. And somehow, against your will, a laugh bubbles out of you, too.

Just a snort at first, barely more than breath. But it grows, because you can’t help it, because it was kind of funny, because maybe you’re so bone-tired from crying that anything even slightly absurd feels like a lifeline. You laugh into your palm, trying to hide it, but that only makes Heeseung grin wider. “See?” he says, nudging your arm with his elbow. “I knew you liked me.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re delusional.”

“And yet,” he hums, “here you are.”You shake your head, biting back another smile—and for a second, just a second, you don’t care that people are still glancing at the two of you. You don’t care that your shirt from last night is crumpled in your laundry basket or that the video of you spilling punch may or may not be circling the group chat. You don’t care that your friends probably think you’re ghosting them. Because for this one moment, there’s no spotlight. No pressure.

The rest of the class unfolds in a quiet, uninterrupted hum. The professor drones on about motifs and metaphor, and your pen finally scratches to life again. Heeseung doesn’t speak after that, not really, but you can feel the lingering heat of his presence beside you, like a low flame that won’t go out. You catch yourself glancing his way more than once. He catches you every time.

Class ends in a quiet unraveling. You gather your things slowly, letting the rows of students trickle out ahead of you like a stream smoothing stone. Heeseung’s already up, stretching his arms over his head in that effortless way that shouldn't be allowed this early in the day. He tosses you a wink as he moves toward the door, and you pretend to roll your eyes, even as something traitorous inside you flutters like a curtain caught in wind. You follow the flow of students into the hallway, hoping to blend in. Hoping, maybe foolishly, that today might end on a quieter note.

But fate has sharp teeth.

A manicured hand taps your shoulder just as you pass beneath the atrium light, and when you turn, you’re met with a smile so sugar-slick and venom-laced it makes your spine stiffen on instinct. Jang Wonyoung. She’s standing in front of you like a statue carved from polished ambition, long legs, glossy hair, not a flaw in sight. Her clothes are designer without needing to scream it, her lip gloss a shade too pink to be innocent. She oozes confidence, curated and sharpened to a point. And you know who she is — everyone does. She’s not just the most popular girl on campus, she’s the one people orbit around. She’s the center of gravity in every room she enters. You’ve never spoken to her before.

“You’re friends with Dani and Sakura, right?” she says sweetly, voice as light as powdered sugar.

You blink, caught off guard. “Uh… yeah,” you answer, nodding a little too quickly, nerves flaring. “I am.” Her smile doesn’t change, but something behind her eyes hardens. Shifts. It’s like watching a rose bloom only to realize the thorns are still sharper than the petals. She tilts her head slightly, and for a moment, you almost wonder if this is some kind of polite small talk. But then she leans in just enough for her perfume to ghost past your cheek; something expensive and calculated, and her voice drops to a murmur, low and cruel.

“Don’t think for one second you have a chance with Heeseung.” She blinks, lashes fluttering like knives. “DUF.” You freeze. The letters don’t click at first. They hang there in the air between you, meaningless and jagged. You open your mouth, confusion spilling out in a quiet stammer. “Wait — what’s a DUF?”

Wonyoung’s smile stretches wider, and it’s not a smile at all now. It’s the curve of something about to cut. “DUF isn’t a name. It’s what you are,” she purrs. “Designated Ugly Friend.” You stare, the words crashing into you like sleet against glass. You don’t even flinch; not yet. You’re too stunned, too caught between disbelief and dawning horror to react. Your throat tightens. Her words burrow under your skin, cold and gleaming. “You’re always with Dani and Sakura,” she continues, still smiling like this is all just a casual observation, like she’s not peeling your dignity apart with her manicured fingers. “They’re hot. Like, objectively. You’re just… there. To make them look better. That’s your role. Know your place.”

You open your mouth again, breath hitching in protest. “My name is—” But she cuts you off, voice turning sharper, all pretense abandoned.

“DUF,” she repeats, slow and deliberate. “And Heeseung? He’s out of your league. So do everyone a favor, babe, and stay away from him.” She gives you one last look; final, dismissive, like you were never really worth seeing at all, and then she’s turning on her heel, walking away like she just dropped a bomb and is already bored of the smoke. And you — you just stand there. Your heartbeat thuds in your ears like a drum played out of rhythm. Your feet feel rooted to the tile, your hands limp at your sides, notebook barely clutched in your grip. It’s as if the world has narrowed to a single hallway, a single moment, and Wonyoung’s words are etched on the walls around you. DUF.

You’ve never heard it before. Not like that. Not named. But now that it’s been said, now that it’s out in the open, it echoes. It colors everything. It twists last night into a sick joke, replays every photo you’ve stood in between Dani and Sakura, every party where you stood off to the side. You see yourself through Wonyoung’s eyes, and the reflection stings. You don’t cry. Not yet. The tears are waiting, crouched behind your ribs, but you won’t let them win. Not in this hallway. Not here. You just swallow hard, lower your head, and walk, each step heavier than the last, as if you’re trying to carry the weight of someone else’s cruelty on your shoulders. And all the while, her words stay with you like a brand: Know your place.

You don’t remember how you got there. One moment you were frozen in that hallway, still tasting Wonyoung’s words on the back of your tongue like something spoiled and sour. The next, you’re seated at the farthest computer in the campus lab, shoulders hunched, the too-bright monitor casting a cold glow across your face. Around you, students move in hushed clicks and muted coughs, the clatter of keyboards filling the silence like light rain. No one looks your way. No one ever does. It’s what you wanted, right? To disappear? To be invisible? But not like this. Your fingers tremble as they hover over the keyboard, uncertain, like they already know what you’re about to unearth. You type DUF first, because that’s what she said. That’s what she called you. The letters feel clunky and unfamiliar, like a language you were never meant to understand. When nothing pops up, you frown, your pulse quickening.

And then, like the knife finally finding skin, it hits you. And the world splits open. The page fills with links, slang dictionaries, gossip forums, teen advice articles, old Reddit threads dissecting high school hierarchies like scientific taxonomy. You click the first video out of instinct, and a girl on the screen, barely older than you, leans into the camera with a sad smile and says, “The DUF is the Designated Ugly Friend. You’re the least attractive in your friend group, the approachable one, the funny one, the one guys talk to only to get to your prettier friends.” You freeze. Her voice continues, but it becomes background noise to the storm inside your chest. Your heartbeat hammers against your ribs like it wants to escape, and suddenly your body feels far too small for what you’re carrying.

Your fingers move on their own, clicking through link after link like each one might offer a different definition, something softer, something kind. But they don’t. They all echo the same gutting truth. The DUF is the one who fills the empty space. The background character in her own life. The girl who exists not for herself, but as contrast, to make her friends shine brighter by comparison. You feel it like a bruise blooming across your entire being. Memories rise unbidden, like film reels unspooling behind your eyes. The nights out where you stood at the edge of a circle, holding jackets and drinks while Dani and Sakura danced with boys who barely spared you a glance. The time a guy asked you for Sakura’s number while you were still in the middle of a sentence. The photos you’d be cropped out of, the stories you weren’t included in, the parties where you stood on the periphery like a shadow no one noticed.

You thought it was just how things were. You thought maybe you were just quieter. Shyer. Less hungry for attention. But now the pieces fit. Too well. And what guts you, what truly guts you, is the realization that maybe — just maybe — they knew. Dani and Sakura. Your best friends. Did they know what DUF meant? Had they heard it tossed around and just… never told you? Had they laughed about it with others, let it live in whispers while you smiled beside them, oblivious? Were you some inside joke dressed in loyalty? Did they ever look at you and feel sorry? Or worse, did they agree?

The nausea coils in your stomach like a slow-moving wave, threatening to rise. You press your palm to your chest, as if you can keep yourself from unraveling entirely. Your vision swims. The sterile blue of the lab feels too bright, too loud, too full of all the wrong kinds of silence. You’re still staring at the glowing screen, that same sentence blinking back at you like a taunt: “The DUFF is the one nobody notices until they need something.” Your throat tightens. You don’t want to be in this body. In this moment. In this story.

You slam the laptop shut without ceremony. The sharp clap of it draws a glance from a boy a few chairs down, but you don’t care. You’re already yanking your bag from the floor, stuffing your notebook inside with shaking hands. Your fingers are clumsy, rushed, like you’re trying to outrun a tidal wave that’s already crashing through you. You need air. You need to move. You need to not be here, not be seen. The walk out of the lab is a blur of cold tiles and humming machines. Your steps echo like betrayal. Like every footfall might draw more eyes, more whispers, more invisible hands pointing in your direction. You don’t even realize you’re crying until you taste salt.

Not the loud, sobbing kind of cry. No, this is something quieter. A leak in the dam. A silent surrender. The kind of crying that happens when the weight of the world doesn’t come crashing down in one dramatic moment; but seeps in, slow and steady, drop by drop, until you’re drowning. You step outside, wind slicing at your face, the sky too wide, too open. You feel small in a way you can’t describe. Not just physically, existentially. Like someone cracked your reflection and you’re left staring at the pieces wondering if any of it was ever real. And in the back of your mind, like a cruel echo still clinging to the walls of your skull, her voice repeats: Know your place, DUF.

The first thing you do after leaving the computer lab is search. You needed to see Dani and Sakura. You find them exactly where you knew they’d be. The C building’s hallway is packed, echoing with the end-of-period rush. Footsteps slap against the floors in every direction. Lockers clang open and shut, laughter weaves in and out of the noise like a skipping stone. The scent of dry erase markers, mint gum, and cheap coffee lingers in the air. But it all feels distant to you, muted, irrelevant. Like you’re underwater, moving through the crowd on instinct, not thought. And then, through the blur of motion and sound, you see them. Dani and Sakura.

The two girls you’ve called your best friends since freshman year. The ones who’ve seen you through breakups, panic attacks, late-night cramming sessions and slow, sleepy Sunday brunches. The ones who claimed to love you. They’re standing outside their chemistry lecture, laughing at something; Sakura’s head thrown back, Dani’s hip nudging hers. It’s such a familiar picture that for a split second, you hesitate. For a split second, your brain lies to you. Maybe they don’t know. Maybe Wonyoung was wrong. Maybe everything was just some cruel misunderstanding. But your heart knows better. You push through the crowd with the desperation of someone chasing the truth, and the second your voice cuts through the air, they turn to you, your hair wild from the wind, breath ragged from running, eyes rimmed with something between fury and heartbreak. “Did you guys know?”

The words tumble out too fast, ragged at the edges, raw like a wound. They both blink at you, confusion washing over their faces like clouds across sunlight. “Know what?” Sakura asks slowly, brow furrowing. Dani’s already stepping forward, hand brushing your arm gently, like she’s afraid you might shatter on contact. “What are you talking about?”

And then you say it; louder than you meant to, louder than you ever thought you’d say anything in public. “Did you know I’m your fucking DUF?” The hallway doesn’t go silent, but it feels like it does. Their faces freeze, and you see it instantly, the flicker of recognition in Sakura’s eyes, the tightness in Dani’s jaw. It’s not confusion now. It’s not disbelief. It’s guilt. Guilt. They look at each other. It’s barely a glance, half a heartbeat, but it’s all the confirmation you need. Something in your chest gives, a sickening drop that feels like the floor vanishing beneath your feet.

Your voice splinters when you speak again. “What? Are you just friends with me because you feel bad for me?” Your words hang in the air like smoke, heavy and choking. Dani’s eyes widen, her mouth opening like she’s about to say something, anything but you see the panic settle across her face. She wasn’t ready for this. They never expected you to find out. They never thought you’d ask.

“That’s not—” Sakura starts, then stops.

Dani shakes her head fast, her voice stumbling over itself. “That’s not true. Don’t say that.”

“Then why?” you ask, louder now, pain bubbling up from somewhere deep and long-buried. “Why did you always brush me off when I said I liked Soobin? Why did you laugh when I said I thought he might like me back? Why did you look at me like I was crazy?” They don't answer. Not really. They just look at you with wide eyes and silence thick between them.

“You didn’t think I was pretty enough,” you say, and your voice cracks right down the middle. Dani swallows. Her hands are wringing the strap of her backpack like she doesn’t know what to do with them. She steps closer again, gentler this time, quieter. “We don’t think you’re ugly,” she says, the words coming slowly, like they hurt her to say. “It’s just… you could try a little harder, you know? Like, you don’t really… put effort in.” The air leaves your lungs in a rush.

You feel it physically, like someone just knocked the wind out of you, punched a hole in your chest and left it gaping open for everyone to see. The people around you are still moving, still living their lives, but all you can hear is the echo of those words: try harder. As if your entire existence hasn’t been one long effort to be enough. And before you can respond, Sakura adds, “You’re just… not Soobin’s type, that’s all.” You blink. Your mind blanks. Your heart is already in pieces, but that line cracks the rest of you open.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” you ask, your voice trembling, not with fear, but with something deeper, more dangerous. Rage wrapped in heartbreak. Sakura falters. She opens her mouth, but no answer comes out. Dani shifts uncomfortably beside her. Their faces are pale now, eyes darting around, noticing for the first time how many people are starting to look. How many are pretending not to listen. You want to scream. You want to cry. You want to undo every moment of vulnerability you ever gave them. But more than anything, you want to run. Because staying here, standing in this hallway, heart bared like a wound while the people you loved carve you apart, hurts more than anything you’ve ever felt. You shake your head slowly, backing away from them as the tears begin to fall in earnest. “I thought you were my friends,” you whisper, and then louder, “I trusted you.” Dani reaches out again, but this time you pull back. You don’t want her comfort. You don’t want her pity. You don’t want to hear another word. So you turn. And you walk.

You don’t care that people are watching. You don’t care that your shoulders are shaking, that your tears are spilling freely now, or that your bag keeps slipping down your arm. You walk faster, pushing through the crowd until the voices blur behind you, until the memory of their faces fades into the roar of everything breaking apart. And as you go, the thought haunts you, echoing over and over in your skull: They knew. They knew. They knew. And they never told you.

The doors to the C building groan shut behind you, sealing away the voices, the stares, the wreckage. But the damage doesn’t stay inside. It clings to you, stitched into your skin like frostbite; cold, deep, and invisible to everyone else. The sting of betrayal coils inside your chest, twisting tighter with every step you take. Your breathing’s uneven. Not quite sobbing, but close. That awful in-between sound, caught in your throat like a scream that refuses to come out. The air outside is biting, too cold for early fall, but you hardly notice. It brushes your cheeks like ghost hands, cuts through your sweater, lifts the ends of your hair, nothing reaches you. Not really. You're numb in a way that feels permanent, like someone turned the volume of the world all the way down and you forgot how to turn it back up.

People pass by, some look, some don’t. A few recognize you, eyes flickering with half-curiosity, half-concern, but no one says anything. And thank god for that, because if anyone did, if even one person tried to ask if you were okay, you think you'd crumble. Right there on the sidewalk. Crumple like paper and never get back up again. The walk from the C building to your dorm stretches impossibly long. Every step is heavier than the last, as if the weight of Dani and Sakura’s words is dragging behind you, chained to your ankles. You replay it all, the glances, the hesitations, the way Dani looked away when you asked if they knew, the way Sakura's voice sounded too rehearsed, like she’d already decided what version of the truth you were allowed to hear.

“You could try harder.”

“You’re just not his type.”

Those words circle you like vultures. You can’t outrun them. You can’t out-walk what’s inside your chest. By the time you reach the dorm building, you’re shaking. Not from the cold, but from everything else. Rage. Shame. Heartbreak. All of it, bottled and clinking against your ribs like glass ready to shatter. Your key slips once in the door before you finally shove it in and turn, stumbling down the hall to your room like you’ve just escaped a storm only to find another waiting inside. You push the door open and don’t bother turning on the lights. You don’t take your shoes off. You don’t put your bag down. You don’t think. You just collapse.

Straight onto your bed, face-first, like gravity’s been waiting all day for you to break. The mattress groans under the weight of your body, the quiet rustle of blankets the only sound in the room. But even that silence feels loud. And then — finally — you scream. It’s muffled into your pillow, soaked into the cotton and foam, but it rips through you like it’s been building for years. A scream made of all the things you couldn’t say in that hallway. All the pain you swallowed down so no one would see you break. All the confusion, all the loneliness, all the self-doubt bubbling up into one long, raw, aching sound.

You scream because you thought they were your people. You scream because you believed, deeply, that you were loved. You scream because you didn’t know you were being pitied.

And when your voice finally gives out, when your throat goes raw and your breathing hitches in the dark, you don’t move. You just lie there, curled into yourself like something wounded, like you could shrink so small the world might forget you were ever here. Your pillow is damp now, tears soaking through it, hot and angry. You clutch it tighter like it might hold you together. For the first time in a long time, you feel completely and utterly alone. And the scariest part? You're not even sure who you can talk to anymore. Who’s left. Who actually sees you. Because the people you trusted the most already proved they never did.

The morning light is a pale, washed-out gray, soft and dull like an old photograph, like something that’s been wrung out of color and left to dry. You move through campus like a ghost, every step stiff and heavy, your limbs still echoing with the ache of yesterday’s unraveling. Sleep had barely kissed you the night before. It lingered at the edges of your consciousness but never quite arrived, chased away by looping memories, sharp-edged phrases, and the hollow ache in your chest where trust used to live. You’ve walked this path to Literature 204 a hundred times, maybe more. But today it feels different. The air around you feels thicker somehow, like it knows what happened, like the whole campus has been whispering about you while your back was turned. You keep your head low, hands shoved deep into the sleeves of your hoodie, as if retreating into yourself will make you smaller, less visible, less whatever-the-hell-you-are-now. The DUF. The outcast. The joke.

When you finally step into the lecture hall, it’s mostly empty, the way it always is ten minutes before class starts. The lights are half-dimmed, flickering in patches as if still waking up themselves. A few early birds have already staked their seats, nose-deep in books, airpods in, sipping lukewarm coffee out of dented thermoses. And then, of course, there’s him. Heeseung. You spot him near the front, standing beside Mr. Yoon’s desk. They’re speaking in hushed tones, but the words carry in this room where the ceilings are too high and silence feels sacred. You hadn’t meant to listen, you weren’t trying to eavesdrop, but your ears catch on the tension in their voices, the frustration curling at the edges of Heeseung’s sentences. You hear fragments. Tutor. Flunk. Drop out. Phrases that sound too final, too heavy for someone who always seemed so effortless.

You tell yourself not to care. You’ve got your own storm to navigate. You slide into your usual seat halfway up the rows, far enough to disappear, close enough to hear, and drop your bag beside you with a sigh. Your heart still feels raw, your stomach still tied in knots. You’re exhausted in a way that no amount of sleep can fix. And then you hear his footsteps. Heeseung doesn’t hesitate. He doesn’t scan the room for alternatives. He just makes a beeline straight for you and drops into the seat beside yours like it’s his god-given right. His presence is large, like it always is, broad shoulders draped in a hoodie two sizes too big, the scent of citrus cologne and coffee trailing behind him like something you could trip on. Usually, there’s a quip on his lips, something smug and irritating and just a little too charming. But today he’s quiet. And so are you.

For a long moment, nothing passes between you but breath. The quiet around you folds in like a cocoon, the only sounds the low murmur of Mr. Yoon gathering his notes and the soft click of someone’s mechanical pencil two rows back. And then, Heeseung leans back with a sigh and says, “Quite the spectacle you had going for you yesterday.”

You groan before you can stop yourself, dragging a hand over your face like you could scrub the memory out of existence. Your eyes narrow as you turn to him, voice sharp with lingering humiliation. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He’s already grinning, his mouth tilted up in that signature way that makes you want to slap him and kiss him at the same time, not that you’d ever admit that out loud. “Relax,” he says, stretching his arms lazily over his head. “I just mean, you, Sakura, and Dani? Everyone’s talking about it. It was, like, the hallway soap opera of the year.”

Your cheeks burn. You can feel the blood rising in your face like fire licking at your skin. Of course people were talking. Of course the entire goddamn campus probably had a front-row seat to your implosion. “Great,” you mutter, crossing your arms over your chest, “exactly what I needed, public humiliation on top of personal betrayal.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal, like it isn’t your entire world unraveling. But then, out of nowhere, he asks, “How long have you had a thing for Soobin?”

Your heart skips. Not in a cute, rom-com way. In a fuck, how does he know that kind of way. You blink, caught off guard, mouth fumbling for a denial that won’t sound like a lie. “I don’t, what are you even talking about?” He just smirks, eyes glinting with quiet mischief. “Come on. I’m not an idiot. The way you looked at him at that party? Like he was your last meal. It was kinda cute.”

Your stomach turns, part mortification, part defensiveness. “Why do you even care?” Heeseung shrugs again, but this time there’s something more calculated behind his gaze. “Because I think I can help you.”

You raise a brow. “Help me?”

“You like Soobin. Soobin doesn’t even know your name. I know what guys like him want, hell, I am guys like him,” he says, voice dipped in arrogance that somehow still doesn’t feel entirely cruel. “I could get you there. Make him see you. Want you.” You let out a sharp laugh, humorless and jagged. “Yeah, no thanks. I’m not really in the mood to turn myself into a Barbie doll just to impress a guy.”

“Suit yourself,” Heeseung says easily, turning back toward the front of the room like he couldn’t care less. “But when Soobin’s off making out with someone like Yunjin behind the gym, don’t come crying to me.” That line strikes like lightning, quick, bright, and unmistakably true. Because you have seen Soobin talking to Yunjin lately. Smiling. Laughing. He held the door open for her last week and you felt like your heart was trying to crawl out of your throat. And now the thought of him kissing her, or anyone, while you’re still sitting on the sidelines hoping for a miracle? It makes something sharp twist in your chest.

You chew on the inside of your cheek, arms crossed tighter now, and Heeseung must sense your hesitation because he glances sideways again. “I’m just saying,” he murmurs, this time softer. “You help me pass lit, I help you not be invisible. Easy.” It’s insane. It’s humiliating. It’s kind of insulting, if you think about it long enough. But it’s also… tempting. Because what other option do you have? Soobin doesn’t know you exist. Your friends, the ones who were supposed to build you up, have already torn you down. And Heeseung, for all his cockiness, sees you. Maybe not the way you want to be seen. But still.

Slowly, you turn your palm upward between you. He grins, all teeth and trouble, and slides his hand into yours. You shake. And just like that, the deal is struck.

The evening sun sinks past the dorm window like a sigh, casting the whole room in the soft gold of a day exhaling. You’re curled up on your bed in an oversized hoodie, legs crossed, a nearly-empty takeout container of bulgogi balanced dangerously on your thigh. The smell of garlic and soy sauce clings to the air like a second blanket, and you don’t care. You’ve earned this. You’ve survived this week, barely, and now you’re self-soothing with salty meat and zero regrets. Your phone buzzes once against the sheets beside you. You ignore it at first. Probably Dani or Sakura again. Their texts have been coming in slow waves all day; apologies, explanations, questions that aren’t really questions. You’ve left them on read, unread, ignored altogether. You’re not ready. You don’t know when you will be. But the phone buzzes again. And then again. Finally, with a huff, you set your chopsticks down and snatch the device up. It’s not a contact you recognize, just a random number. But the message?

[Unknown Number]

what are you doing tomorrow?

You blink. Narrow your eyes. Your fingers hover over the keyboard, halfway to typing who is this when another text lands:

[ heeseung ]

it’s heeseung

Duh.

And wow. Of course he wouldn’t lead with an introduction. Or an ounce of normal human decorum. You don’t even remember giving him your number; maybe it was one of those group projects last semester or maybe he’s just unsettlingly resourceful. Either way, you're already rolling your eyes. You type back, begrudgingly.

[ you ]

nothing. why?

There’s barely a pause before the dots start dancing again.

[ heeseung ]

i’m taking you shopping and then we’re going to a party, you’ll wear what we buy and pretend to be hot for once. You nearly drop your phone into your bulgogi. You stare at the screen for a second too long, as if the sheer arrogance of his words might combust it in your hands. Shopping? Party? Pretend to be hot?

[ you ]

what the hell does “pretend to be hot” mean???

[ heeseung ]

it means we’re working with what we got. you’ll be fine. trust the process.

You audibly groan and collapse backwards onto your pillow, phone pressed against your forehead as if it might somehow absorb the stress and return with divine wisdom. This was the deal, you remind yourself. You help him pass lit, he helps you with... what? Popularity? Style? Winning Soobin's attention through sorcery and strategic eyeliner?

[ you ]

i’m not “pretending” to be hot just to impress soobin. i have standards , and pride and a favorite hoodie that smells like detergent and self pity

[ heeseung ]

noted. wear something that’s easy to take off tomorrow.

[ you ]

HEY. phrasing.

[ heeseung ]

relax. for the fitting room, nerd. I’ll be at your dorm at 1. and yes, soobin’s going to be at the party ;)

You stare at that last line for a beat too long. Something flutters, just faintly, in your stomach, uninvited.

[ you ]

Fine. but if this party ends with me throwing up in a bush i’m holding you personally responsible.

[ heeseung ]

deal. i’ll even hold your hair back. I'm generous like that.

You throw your phone onto the bed, face-down, like it’s suddenly on fire. You don’t know why you agreed. Maybe it’s the part of you that still wants Soobin to notice. Maybe it’s pride, or maybe it’s just the sheer inevitability of Heeseung’s energy, like trying to argue with a hurricane wearing a smug smirk. Whatever the reason, you’re already mentally preparing for tomorrow. Shopping. With Heeseung. A party. With Soobin. A new outfit. A new you. A new mistake waiting to happen. You look down at your empty bulgogi container, sigh, and mutter to no one: “…this is gonna be a disaster.”

The knock on your door comes precisely at 1PM. Not a second early, not a second late. You open it with one shoe half-on, your hoodie sleeve caught in the zipper of your jacket, and your face still half-moisturized. Heeseung is standing there, leaned casually against the doorframe like a page out of a campus fashion catalogue, black jeans, leather jacket, sunglasses perched on his head like he’s just so effortlessly cool it hurts. His hair is slightly tousled, like he either woke up like this or spent an hour pretending he did. “Took you long enough,” he says, not bothering to hide his smirk.

You scowl and step out, slamming the door behind you. “I said ‘one second’ in the text.”

“Yeah, and I translated that from Girl to Human Time. So twenty minutes.” You roll your eyes, but you follow him anyway, because the deal has officially begun. Operation: Get Soobin to Notice You is in motion. Your dignity is already halfway out the window. Heeseung’s car is just what you expect, black, sleek, a little too clean, and filled with the faint scent of cologne, mint gum, and chaos. You barely get your seatbelt clicked in before he revs the engine and peels out of the dorm parking lot like he's in a race you didn’t know you entered.

“Oh my god, slow down!” you yelp, clutching the side handle like it might keep your soul tethered to your body.

“Relax,” he says, one hand lazily gripping the wheel, the other already reaching for the radio. “You’re acting like I don’t drive this road every day.”

“You drive it like you’re being chased, Heeseung.” He only grins in response, eyes still on the road, the picture of reckless confidence. “Maybe I like living on the edge.”

You’re about to fire back another sarcastic quip when the car fills, suddenly, gloriously, with the unmistakable sound of Taylor Swift. Specifically: Cruel Summer. And not the background kind of playing. The volume is up. Way up. Your eyes immediately dart to Heeseung, whose mouth is already moving, quietly at first, almost unconsciously, as he taps the steering wheel to the beat. “I’m drunk in the back of the car… and I cried like a baby coming home from the bar…” Your jaw drops slightly. Because he’s not just mouthing the words. He’s singing. And not in a “ha-ha this song is funny” way. In a felt that in his soul, this is on his heartbreak playlist, probably posted a breakup selfie to this in 2021 kind of way. You try. You really try to stifle the laugh bubbling in your throat. You press your lips together, you bite the inside of your cheek, you turn to the window in dramatic fashion. But it slips out anyway, a full, helpless giggle, light and sudden.

Heeseung cuts his eyes toward you, still softly singing, and raises a brow. “What’s so funny?”

You blink at him innocently. “You like Taylor Swift?” There’s a moment, a beautiful, brief, perfectly humiliating pause, where Heeseung seems to glitch. His mouth opens, then closes, then he looks back at the road like he’s searching for an exit from this conversation.

“I — well, I mean —” he clears his throat, shifting in his seat. “She’s… I mean, it’s just a good song, alright?”

Your laugh doubles, slipping out like sunlight through cracked blinds. “Cruel Summer, though?”

“She’s a lyrical genius,” he mutters, half-defensive, half-sincere. “That bridge? That’s literature.”

You raise your brows, lips twitching. “Quoting T-Swift now? Is this what my tutoring is doing to you?” Heeseung flips you off with absolutely no hesitation, but there’s no heat behind it. He’s laughing now too, eyes squinting as he turns into the mall parking lot with a slightly-too-aggressive swerve.

“Fuck off,” he grins. “You wish you had taste this good.” You hold up your hands in surrender, still giggling. “Okay, okay. I’m not judging.”

“You are judging,” he says, putting the car in park. “But I’ll allow it. Because you’re clearly not emotionally evolved enough to appreciate her catalog yet.”

“Oh my god. Shut up.”

“Nope. We’re listening to Lover next. You’ve brought this upon yourself.”

The mall greets you with its usual blend of too-loud pop music, screaming children, and the sweet, seductive scent of cinnamon pretzels. It’s packed with people, mothers pushing strollers, bored teenagers clinging to oversized shopping bags, couples holding hands like it’s an Olympic sport. You trail behind Heeseung, your feet already regretting your choice of shoes and your soul regretting this entire arrangement. “So what’s first?” you ask, trying not to bump into a mannequin dressed in denim overalls and heartbreak.

Heeseung doesn’t answer right away. He just keeps walking, purposeful, smug, like he’s on a mission from god. Then he abruptly turns left into a store that is suspiciously sleek and minimal. You blink. “Wait—this is…”

“An eyeglass store,” Heeseung finishes for you, already heading toward the back. “But more importantly, contact central.” You halt, crossing your arms. “Excuse me?”

“You’re getting contacts,” he says, matter-of-fact. “The glasses gotta go.”

You look genuinely scandalized. “Hey! I’ll have you know — I love my glasses.” He stops mid-step and slowly turns to face you, one brow arched so high it’s practically touching heaven. “Yes,” he says, voice dry. “Very librarian core. Sexy in a please return your books on time or I’ll gently scold you in a whisper kind of way.”

You roll your eyes so hard you practically see your ancestors. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, here you are. Following me into Lens & Style like it’s the promised land.” You’re about to argue more, but the woman behind the counter greets you both with a professional smile, and suddenly you’re being ushered into a little fitting room with sterile lighting and a mirror that shows way too much. A few minutes later, you’re handed a trial pair of contacts and instructed, gently, but firmly, to put them in. It’s harder than it looks. “What do you mean I can’t blink? My entire personality is blinking under pressure!”

Outside the door, Heeseung snorts. “You’re being dramatic.”

“You’re being annoying,” you grumble, poking yourself in the eye again.

After a full five minutes of internal screaming, finger fumbling, and probably some divine intervention, you finally get them in. You blink a few times, adjusting. The world sharpens around the edges. For the first time in forever, you can actually see without the weight of frames perched on your nose. You step out slowly, unsure, blinking into the bright lights of the shop. Heeseung looks up from his phone, his gaze flicking to yours. And then — He freezes. His smirk falters for the briefest of seconds. You see it. You feel it.

“Huh,” he says, slower now. “They… actually look good.”

You raise a brow, tentative. “Yeah?” He shrugs, but there’s something unreadable in his expression now, something softer, quieter. “They make your eyes stand out more.” He pauses, then adds with zero fanfare: “You’ve got nice eyes.” It lands like a piano dropped from ten stories. Simple, direct, and impossible to ignore. You blink, stunned; not just by the words, but by the way he said them. Like it wasn’t a joke. Like he meant it. Before you can formulate an actual response, Heeseung clears his throat and looks away. “Alright, let’s go,” he says, already walking toward the exit. “You can thank me later when Soobin gets whiplash tonight.”

It takes you a beat to follow. Just one. But it’s enough to register that your cheeks are suddenly warm. That your stomach did a weird, traitorous flip. That you hate how a single compliment from Lee freaking Heeseung just turned your brain into a puddle. You push the thought aside and jog to catch up, voice light. “You know, for someone who thinks I look like a librarian, you sure stare a lot.”

He doesn’t look at you, but his mouth twitches into a grin. “You wish.” You do not dignify that with an answer. Mostly because your brain is still back at You’ve got nice eyes. And just like that, with one step out of the eyeglass store and into the fluorescent madness of the mall, the first layer of the old you is left behind.

You’ve barely had time to blink, or process the fact that you’re now navigating the mall with 20/20 vision and a slightly compromised emotional state, when Heeseung is dragging you again. His grip on your wrist is light, but determined, like he’s got an agenda and you’re just a reluctant passenger in the Heeseung Express. You stumble to keep up. “Where are we going now? I need emotional closure before the next attack on my personality.”

He doesn’t even turn around. “Hair.”

“Hair what?”

“Hair cut. Hair styling. Hair lesson. Hair magic. Come on, keep up.” You dig your heels into the tile floor and jerk your arm back. “Heeseung, wait — I did not agree to this. My hair is fine!”

He finally turns, a single amused brow arched in classic Heeseung fashion. “Fine,” he echoes flatly. “That’s the bar now? Fine?”

You cross your arms. “It’s my head.” He takes a step closer, voice dipping into that maddening blend of mockery and charm. He laughs — laughs, the audacity of him, and says, “Relax. It’s just a trim. Maybe some layers. She’s gonna show you how to actually style it too. You know, so it doesn’t look like you were electrocuted every morning before class.”

You gasp in betrayal. “I’m sorry?!”

“Respectfully,” he adds, as if that softens the blow, then gestures for you to follow. “Come on. She doesn’t bite.” You eye the interior of the salon like you’re being led to an altar, but against your better judgment, and possibly because you’re too tired to argue anymore, you follow him.

The girl waiting for you is already at her station, brushing her long, glossy black hair behind one ear. She’s tall, unfairly pretty, and wearing jeans that should be illegal. Her name tag reads “Yuri” in bubble-letter cursive. She sees Heeseung and her entire face lights up like a rom-com montage in reverse. “Heeseung!” she squeals, standing to give him a hug. It’s the kind of hug that lasts exactly one second too long to be casual. “You didn’t say you were coming in today!”

“I didn’t,” he says coolly, his hand barely grazing her back. “Brought a friend.”

You watch the interaction with narrowed eyes. It doesn’t take a genius, or even a whole brain cell, to figure out that these two have history. Whether it was a one-night stand, a few steamy study sessions, or something more dangerous like feelings, you’re not sure. But based on the way Yuri’s eyes immediately slide past you and lock on Heeseung like you’re the invisible girl in the background of her fantasy novel? Yeah. They’ve definitely seen each other naked.

“She’s gonna need a trim and a crash course in how not to commit hair crimes.” Heeseung says, throwing a smirk her way. You open your mouth to protest, again but suddenly Yuri’s hands are in your hair and you’re being guided toward a chair like it’s your fate and destiny. “Don’t worry,” she hums. “I’ll take care of her.”

“She’s fragile,” Heeseung calls after her with a smirk as he saunters toward the waiting bench. “Mentally and emotionally.”

“I will throw a brush at you!” you yell back as he flops onto the bench with his phone. Yuri laughs under her breath and begins to run her fingers through your hair. Her nails are long, her movements graceful, and despite your stubbornness, something about the way she works is oddly calming. For the next half hour, you sit there as she snips and styles and explains how to curl and blow out and not look like you just woke up five minutes ago.

“You’ve got good hair,” she says at one point, combing through a section with reverence. “You just don’t do anything with it.” You shrug in the mirror. “That’s kind of my thing.”

Yuri gets to work with practiced ease, fingers threading through your hair, sectioning, snipping. She hums to herself as she teaches you how to twist certain pieces, how to round-brush volume into your roots, how to flick the straightener just so to create an effortless bend. It’s overwhelming, but oddly empowering. Like you’re being handed the controls to your own spaceship. And somewhere beneath all the bitchy undertones, Yuri’s… actually pretty good at this. You glance toward the waiting bench. Heeseung is slouched with his legs sprawled out, scrolling on his phone like he’s not the reason this spiral of makeovers and feelings is happening at all. Every few minutes he glances up; quick, unassuming, but you catch him watching.

Finally, Yuri steps back. “Alright,” she says, tugging off the cape with a flourish. “Moment of truth.” You turn slowly toward the mirror. And okay, fine. You look… kind of amazing. Your hair isn’t drastically different, just sleeker. Softer around the edges. Effortlessly polished in that “I woke up like this but with money and a personal stylist” kind of way. It frames your face, brings out your eyes, makes you look like someone who chose to be seen instead of hiding behind glass and sarcasm. You stand, still a little dazed, and make your way over to Heeseung. He looks up just as you reach him, and something flickers in his eyes. He doesn’t say anything right away.

But then — He grins. That slow, crooked, effortlessly smug grin. “She’s a miracle worker,” he says to Yuri, standing and pulling out his wallet. “Put it on my card.”

Yuri takes it with a wink. “You’re welcome.”

“Thanks, Yuri. I’ll call you.” He says, with the offer a wink in her direction.

She swoons. “You better.”

Once you’re outside, you finally say it, because someone has to. “You’re not going to call her.”

“Nope,” he replies, the ‘p’ popping off his lips like punctuation.

You shake your head in disbelief. “You are such a menace.”

“I prefer charming rascal,” he says, holding the door open for you like a true gentleman-shaped disaster. “Besides, she’s into guys who ghost her. Keeps the fantasy alive.”

You groan. “You’re actually insane.” He only shrugs, hands in his pockets, strolling beside you with the ease of someone who has never questioned his place in the world.

The moment your feet hit the tile floor of the clothing store, you know this is going to be a disaster. The air is thick with overpriced perfume and the walls are lined with mannequins posed like they’re judging you. Bright lights buzz overhead, harsh and clinical, and the racks seem to stretch into infinity, each one more chaotic than the last. There are sequin jackets tangled with pastel blouses, jeans with more holes than fabric, and crop tops that look like they were designed for dolls, not human beings. You glance around, disoriented. “There is… absolutely nothing here I’d wear.”

Heeseung, of course, looks completely in his element. He’s already moving through the racks like a man on a mission, pulling shirts and skirts and things that glitter ominously. “That’s the point,” he says over his shoulder, tossing a fringed jacket onto the growing pile in his arms. “You’re not supposed to wear what you’d wear. We’re evolving.”

“Into what? A disco ball?”

“No,” he replies seriously, “into the kind of girl Soobin stares at across the room and forgets how to blink.” You roll your eyes and reach for a flannel shirt, your comfort zone. Heeseung is there in half a second, gently slapping your hand away. “Nope. Absolutely not.”

“But—”

He points toward the dressing room. “Try these first. And don’t come out until you’ve mentally committed to the bit.” You sigh, arms loaded with fabrics you didn’t even know existed. The dressing room is small and slightly claustrophobic, and the first outfit you try on feels like something a pop star would wear to confuse the paparazzi. You step out hesitantly, tugging at the edges of the bright green top that’s two sizes too tight. Heeseung blinks.

Then he bursts out laughing. “You look like a glow stick in crisis.”

You snort, your face burning. “Okay, rude.” The next outfit is worse: a ruffled floral monstrosity that looks like it belongs in an 1800s romance novel, if that novel had a comedic twist.

Heeseung cackles. “You’re one bonnet away from becoming Pride and Prejudice’s chaotic cousin.” You both descend into full-blown laughter, the kind that makes your stomach hurt and your eyes water. It's ridiculous, how quickly the walls fall between you when you're in this bubble of absurdity, trying on outfits and exchanging insults like secrets. He calls you a fashion war crime. You call him a menace with too much confidence. He claims he’s got the eye of a stylist. You tell him that eye is clearly blind. But somewhere along the way, the laughter shifts. It softens. Somewhere in the middle of the chaos, he starts watching you differently.

You don’t notice it at first, not until you slip into the last dress. It’s simple. No sequins, no plunging neckline, no look-at-me theatrics. Just soft black silk that clings gently to your frame, the neckline a graceful square that highlights your collarbones, the hem brushing just above your knees. You stare at yourself in the mirror for a moment, surprised. It’s not flashy. It’s not dramatic. But it feels like you, the version of you that’s always been hiding underneath. You take a breath, then step out of the dressing room.

Heeseung is on the bench, scrolling through his phone, completely unprepared. He glances up, probably ready with another quip, but the second he sees you, he stops. His phone lowers slowly in his hand. His mouth parts. And he just… stares. For the first time since this entire makeover madness began, Lee Heeseung is speechless. You shift awkwardly under his gaze, tugging at the hem of the dress. “Is it—do I look weird? Be honest.” He doesn’t answer.

You take a hesitant step forward, heart thudding. “Heeseung?”

He blinks, like you pulled him from a dream, and then, because he’s Heeseung, he smirks and shrugs. “That’ll do for tonight, I suppose.”

You scoff and roll your eyes, but the flush on your cheeks betrays you. “Wow. High praise. I’m overwhelmed.” He grins, leaning back and resting one arm behind his head. “Don’t let it get to your head. We’re going for hot, not heart attack-inducing.”

You disappear back into the dressing room before he can see the stupid smile tugging at your lips. Your heart feels like it’s doing somersaults, and not because of Soobin. You shake the thought from your head, firmly, stubbornly, and change back into your jeans and hoodie. A few minutes later, you’re at the register, watching the cashier ring up the pile of clothes that feel like pieces of someone new. Someone a little braver. A little shinier. A little less invisible. Heeseung stands beside you, smug and satisfied, like he just built you in a lab.

The cashier announces the total, and before you can even reach for your wallet, Heeseung slides his card across the counter. “On me.”

Your head snaps toward him. “Heeseung, what?”

He just winks. “Don’t worry. I’ll bill you in character development. The cashier bags the clothes, and you step back into the mall with your arms full of potential and your brain full of questions.

After the last store spits you out, bags in hand, Heeseung’s wallet lighter, your soul slightly transformed, Heeseung glances at the clock on his phone and says, “Okay. Next stop: food court. I need carbs before I collapse.”

You blink at him, momentarily stunned. “You eat pizza like the rest of us?”

He shoots you a look. “ I don’t just eat pizza. I inhale it. Come on.” Your stomach growls before your feet can move, and suddenly you realize that in all the chaos, makeup, mirrors, the emotionally unsettling event of someone finding you attractive, you forgot to eat. Now that he’s mentioned it, you’re starving. Practically feral. You follow him past vendors and kiosks, the scent of fried food and cinnamon sugar swirling through the air. The food court is loud and crowded, but there’s something strangely comforting about it, the normalcy of it, the fluorescent lights and orange booths, the chatter of families and teenagers and friends grabbing greasy comfort.

Heeseung gets in line beside you at the pizza place, his arms still casually swinging at his sides like this is just another day. “What’s your poison?”

You glance at the menu. “Uh… pepperoni. And a soda.” He nods and orders for you both, without asking, like he’s already memorized the way you talk, the things you like. You’re about to protest, but then he’s paying with that same black card he flashed earlier and nudging you toward a table like it’s no big deal. You settle into a booth across from him, the tray between you bearing two steaming slices and a pair of plastic cups filled to the brim with soda. The first bite is practically a religious experience, greasy, cheesy, absolutely glorious.

Heeseung watches you with mild amusement. “You eat like you’ve just returned from war.”

“I have,” you say, voice muffled around a bite. “Battlefield: retail.”

He snorts and takes a sip of his drink. Then, after a pause, his expression shifts. “So… have you ever actually spoken to Soobin?”

You freeze mid-bite, the cheese stretching between your lips and the slice. You blink. “Define spoken.”

He raises a brow. “Words. Sentences. Preferably involving two-way communication.”

You swallow and clear your throat. “I, uh, once held the computer lab door open for him.” He’s already laughing. You roll your eyes, cheeks flaming. “He said thank you!”

Heeseung grins, eyes crinkling. “Wow. A whole conversation. Do you guys have an anniversary for that?”

You smack his arm lightly across the table. “Shut up.”

He rubs the spot like you wounded him. “Abuse. I’m calling my lawyer.” You giggle despite yourself, hiding it behind your soda. There’s something so stupidly easy about sitting here with him. You forget you’re supposed to be awkward and invisible. You forget that you’re the DUF. You’re just… you. Which is why the next thing he says nearly gives you whiplash. “Alright,” he declares, brushing crumbs off his hands. “I dare you to flirt with that guy and get his number.”

You nearly choke on your drink. “Excuse me?” He gestures with a nod to a guy sitting alone across the food court, mid-twenties, dark hair, nose in his phone, clearly minding his own business.

“No way,” you say immediately. “Absolutely not.”

“Oh, come on. This is training. You want Soobin, don’t you?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then get off the bench and into the game.”

You narrow your eyes. “Easy for you to say. You flirt like it’s breathing.”

He smirks. “Because it is.”

And then — he stands up. Before you can even form a sentence, Heeseung is already strolling toward a girl seated at a table nearby, casual and charming, like this is something he does between errands. You watch, jaw slack, as he leans in and says something that makes her smile, tilt her head, laugh. He gestures to his phone, and she takes it without hesitation, tapping her number in and handing it back with a wink. Heeseung returns, smug as a cat, holding his phone out to you like a trophy. “See?” he says, displaying the fresh new contact with flourish. “Easy peasy.”

You stare at him like he’s grown a second head. “I hate you.”

He just shrugs. “Hate me from over there,” he says, pointing again at the guy with the phone. “Go on. Play dumb, but not that dumb. Guys love that shit.”

“I am dumb,” you hiss. “There is no playing.”

“Perfect. Just be your beautiful, awkward self.” Muttering every curse you know, you stand up and start toward the guy. It’s awful. You clear your throat. He doesn’t look up.

You fidget, then say, “Hi!”

He blinks, surprised. “Um. Hi.”

You force a smile. “I like your… phone.” He blinks again. You want to die. “I mean — I like your case! It’s… very rectangular. Classic. Minimalist.”

He looks mildly alarmed. “Thanks?” You attempt a laugh that comes out sounding like a cough. “Sooo, um, are you… single?”

His eyes dart nervously around. “I… I have a boyfriend.”

“OH!” you blurt. “Oh, my bad. I totally support that. I’m not… you know. Homophobic. Or anything.” You want to crawl into a vent and disappear. He offers a small, polite smile. “Have a good day.” And he’s gone, up and out, food tray abandoned. You turn slowly, walking back to the table where Heeseung is laughing so hard he’s red in the face, wheezing into his pizza slice like it’s keeping him alive.

You slump into the seat. “That was a hate crime.”

“That,” he says between snorts, “was the best thing I’ve ever seen. Ever.”

You glare at him. “I hope your soda spills on your lap.” Still grinning, he slides your tray toward you and raises his cup. “To improvement.” You clink your soda against his without smiling. But your heart’s laughing anyway.

When Heeseung pulls up to your dorm, it’s with a dramatic screech of tires and the kind of recklessly confident parking job that screams I’ve never paid a meter in my life. He leans over the center console, smirking at you as you gather your bags of shopping and your still-wobbly self-esteem from the floor of his car. “Alright,” he says, eyes scanning the bags. “You have everything you need to socially destroy the night.”

You roll your eyes. “Thanks, fairy godmother.”

He winks. “I’m hotter than a fairy godmother. And taller.” You snort, slamming the car door behind you and flipping him off over your shoulder. He cackles, the sound following you up the stairs of your dorm and into the echoing silence of your room. Once you’re inside, the weight of the next few hours settles in your stomach like a boulder. You place the shopping bags carefully on your bed, smoothing the edges of the tissue paper like they might calm your nerves. Heeseung said he’d be back at 9 p.m. sharp to pick you up, which gives you a little over three hours to get ready. Three hours to transform. Three hours to convince yourself that you’re not the DUF anymore.

You spend the first half-hour just staring at yourself in the mirror. No makeup, hair messy, hoodie baggy and beloved. You look… like you. Regular. Quiet. Familiar.

You text Heeseung: “Okay so do I have to wear the mini skirt???”

His reply is instant. “Yes. And send pics. I’m the boss, remember?” You grumble, but slip into the skirt anyway and pair it with a halter top he claimed made your arms look “objectively illegal.” You take a mirror selfie, looking reluctant, and send it off. Within seconds, he replies: “Too ‘I work at a bar and hate my life.’”

You snort, throw the top across the room, and try again. Next outfit: jeans and a crop top. You pose. Click. Send “Cute. But it’s giving ‘we’re just friends.’” You flip him off through text “Try the dress. You know the one.”

You hesitate. That dress. The black silk one, the one that made his words stutter and his eyes flicker. The one that didn’t feel like you were trying to be anyone else, just a bolder version of yourself. You pull it out carefully, fingers gliding across the fabric like it might whisper back. Slowly, you slip it on. It fits like it did in the store. Soft, secure, like a secret. You stare at yourself in the mirror, and for a second… you see it. You see her. The girl who could walk into a party and turn heads. The girl who could maybe, just maybe, make Soobin notice. You send the picture.

Heeseung replies: “Jesus.” Then, seconds later: “That’s the one.”

No teasing. No jokes. Just those three words that knock your heart off-balance. You set your phone down, exhale slowly. Then, the routine begins. You do your makeup with trembling hands, lashes curled, liner precise, lips tinted a soft rose. Your hair falls the way Yuri taught you, soft waves that frame your face and catch the light. You spray perfume on your wrists, your collarbones, the backs of your knees. A whisper of vanilla and hope. You put on your jewelry, simple earrings, the necklace that sits perfectly in the hollow of your throat. You take one last look in the mirror. You don’t recognize her, but you like her.

Then, your phone rings. The name “Heeseung 💀” flashes on the screen. You answer, voice caught somewhere between a smile and a scream. “Hello?”

“Hey,” he says, casual and breezy like this isn’t the first time he’s hearing your voice dressed like this. “I’m outside.” Your stomach flips.

You grab your bag, give yourself one more desperate glance in the mirror, and whisper to your reflection, “Don’t trip. Don’t choke. Don’t die.” Then you’re out the door, the echo of your footsteps ringing down the hall, your heart doing somersaults in your chest.

The car is sleek and stupidly shiny, purring low like it knows it’s hot. You spot it the moment you step outside your dorm building, standing at the edge of the sidewalk like you’re on the brink of a red carpet. And standing against it, leaning like he was born to be the poster child for a Calvin Klein fragrance, is Heeseung. He looks up as you approach, and even in the dim lighting of campus streetlamps, his smile flickers into something that nearly knocks you over. He’s wearing all black, ripped jeans, a bomber jacket, his signature messy hair that probably took way too long to make look that effortless. You don’t want to say he looks good, because that feels too generous. He looks... unfair. Rude. And worse? He knows it. He gives you a once-over, slow and obvious. “Damn,” he says, like he’s complimenting you and mocking you in the same breath. “You clean up alright.”

You roll your eyes, clutching your purse a little tighter. “You’re not so bad yourself. For a menace.”

He smirks and pops open the passenger door for you with an exaggerated flourish. “M’lady.” You roll your eyes again, but your heart skips a beat anyway as you slide into the seat, the cool leather against your thighs making you realize just how very real this is. You’re on your way to the party. With Lee Heeseung. In a black silk dress and mascara that took you 45 minutes to get right. Breathe. The drive is short, just a few blocks away in one of those off-campus houses you’ve only ever seen through the haze of Instagram stories and hearsay. But your nerves are anything but short. They’ve curled into your stomach, wound tight around your ribs, pressed against the back of your throat. You grip the strap of your bag like it’s a lifeline.

You’ve been to parties before, sure. But never without Dani and Sakura. Without their protective, familiar presence to anchor you in the sea of bodies and music and beer breath. Without their shared eye-rolls and whispered commentary and midnight giggles on the walk home. And now… now you don’t even know if they’ll be there. Scratch that. You know they will. You just don’t want to see them. Not tonight. Not when you're dressed like this. Not when you're trying so hard to become someone new.

You barely realize the car’s stopped until Heeseung throws it into park. You’re frozen, staring out the window at the glittering string lights draped across the porch, the thump of bass already vibrating through the concrete. There are people everywhere, laughing, shouting, spilling out onto the lawn like they’ve never had a quiet thought in their lives. You’re going to puke. Heeseung glances over, and; because he’s Heeseung, he notices immediately. “You good?” he asks, casual but careful. “You look like you’re about to get drafted into war.”

You force a laugh, but it’s brittle. “I’m fine.”

“Liar.” You glance at him, cheeks hot. “Okay, I’m just… nervous.”

He nods like he gets it, and maybe he does. Maybe he doesn’t. But his voice is soft when he says, “Hey. Look at me.” You do. “Everything’s gonna be cool,” he says, with a cocky grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You look insane, by the way. Like, criminal levels of hot. If Soobin doesn’t fold tonight, he’s legally blind.”

That earns a weak laugh from you, and he nudges your shoulder gently. “Just remember who got you here when you’re famous on campus by Monday.”

You snort. “You mean when they put me in GroupMe memes for tripping over my heels and knocking over a keg?”

Heeseung grins. “Even better. Instant legend status.” You breathe out, shaky but a little more stable now. “Okay,” you whisper. “Let’s do this.”

“You sure?”

“No.”

He laughs, throwing open the door. “That’s the spirit.”

You step out onto the curb, your heels clicking against the pavement like you’re a contestant on America’s Next Nervous Breakdown. But still, you stand up straighter. Shoulders back. Head high. You smooth the hem of your dress and tell yourself this is what you came here for. To show them. To show yourself. Heeseung falls into step beside you, his hand brushing against yours, not quite touching, but close enough to anchor you. Together, you walk toward the house, the music growing louder with every step. Somewhere behind the front door, the party waits. Soobin waits. They might be waiting too. But for now; it’s just you. And Heeseung. And the version of you that’s ready to finally be seen.

The moment the front door swings open, you’re hit with a wall of noise and heat, thick and heady like you’ve just stepped into the center of a beating heart. The bass is thudding through the floorboards, lights pulsing with every drop of the music, and bodies are everywhere, moving, swaying, tangled up in each other, laughter and shouting and the occasional high-pitched squeal blending together like some chaotic symphony of college nightlife. It’s not your first party, not technically, but it’s your first this kind of party, this kind of entrance. Not as a background extra or the girl carrying everyone’s phones. No hoodie, no glasses, no fading into the wallpaper.

Tonight, you’re a main character. And Heeseung is your entrance music. He walks in first, easy and smooth, like the world shifts to make room for him. His presence is magnetic, and it pulls eyes toward the doorway like gravity. The second you step through behind him, heels tapping softly, dress swishing around your thighs like smoke, there’s a ripple. You feel it. Heads turning. Conversations pausing. The hush of recognition so subtle you might miss it, if your nerves weren’t already on fire.

You try not to look around too much. You try to look confident. Poised. Detached, even. You tilt your chin up like you belong, even though your hands are clammy and your stomach is doing Olympic-level gymnastics. You’re hyper-aware of everything: the way the strap of your dress slides against your shoulder, the way your perfume clings to the heat of your skin, the soft creak of your heels on the hardwood floor. You catch flashes of recognition from familiar faces, faces that used to glance right through you, now blinking, staring, mouths parted, whispering behind their solo cups. And you? You just keep walking. Heeseung’s friends spot him in the far corner of the room, near a low couch littered with bags of chips and someone’s half-eaten box of pizza. The greetings are instant, shoulder claps, finger guns, head nods and booming “Yo!”s that feel like something out of a movie. Sunghoon practically lunges forward, clapping Heeseung on the back like he’s just returned from war. Beomgyu pulls him into one of those half-hugs that somehow involve three back slaps and an awkward shoulder bump. Jay and Jake both pipe up at once about someone from class asking for him earlier, their voices fighting over the music. And for a second, you’re forgotten.

You stand a little off to the side, hands awkwardly clasped in front of you, smile hovering uncertainly on your lips. You’re not mad, they haven’t seen each other in a bit, and the reunion energy is real, but the awkward ache settles in your chest anyway, that old too-familiar feeling of being adjacent to the fun but not quite in it. Until Sunghoon finally turns toward you, and freezes. His eyebrows shoot up so far they practically disappear into his hairline. His eyes flick over you, slow and not particularly subtle, dragging from the hem of your dress to the curve of your collarbone to your lips like he’s trying to solve a riddle with his eyeballs. “Uh… who’s this?”

Beomgyu leans in, squinting in your direction like he’s staring directly into the sun. “Wait. Are you new? Like, transfer student new? Heeseung, bro, you didn’t say you were bringing someone.” Heeseung, who is somehow already sipping a drink he didn’t have two seconds ago, sighs and smacks Beomgyu lightly on the back of the head.

“She’s not new,” Heeseung says casually. “You guys know her.”

Jay looks genuinely confused. “We do?”

ake leans sideways to get a better look at you. “Hold on…” Heeseung glances at you, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Then, with perfect comedic timing and just enough pride to make your knees wobble, he says your name like it was obvious. To them, it was not and for some reason that twisted you up inside.

There is a silence. Then, chaos. “NO FREAKING WAY.” Sunghoon’s voice actually cracks. “Shut up. Shut UP.” Beomgyu’s mouth falls open. “You’re lying. This is not hoodie-and-sweatpants Y/N. This is, like — TikTok viral-level hot girl Y/N. You’re telling me it’s the same person?” You’re half-laughing, half-dying inside. You glance away, cheeks burning, unsure what to do with your hands or your face or your entire existence. This wasn’t supposed to feel like a scene from a teen makeover movie, but, well. Here you are.

“She’s always looked like this,” Heeseung says coolly, giving them a look that says don’t push it. “You just never paid attention.” The group stumbles over themselves with backpedaling compliments, Sunghoon muttering something about your eyes, Jake saying you look “like a star,” and Beomgyu still acting like he just saw a unicorn. You’re saved from having to respond by Heeseung, who, clearly reading your overwhelmed expression, tosses out casually, “You guys seen Soobin?”

Jay shakes his head. “Not yet. Might be outside?” Heeseung nods, and without another word, he reaches down and grabs your hand like it’s the most normal thing in the world. And maybe it is. Maybe it isn’t. Either way, the contact is sudden and warm and firm, and you don’t even think, you just let him pull you through the crowd, dodging plastic cups and tangled limbs as he weaves toward the kitchen. Your hand stays in his the whole way. You don’t ask why. You don’t let yourself hope. When you reach the drink table, he finally lets go, only to pour you something in a red cup and hand it to you like a bartender with a mission.

“You alive?” he teases, raising an eyebrow.

You take the cup, roll your eyes, and murmur, “Barely.”

Heeseung clinks his cup against yours, grin widening. “You’re killing it.”

“You sure you’re okay?” he asks, voice just loud enough to cut through the bass thumping behind you. It’s gentler than you expect, free of teasing or sarcasm.

You nod automatically. “Yeah, I’m—”

“Y/N?!” The sound of your name rips through the music like a siren. You freeze. You don’t need to turn around to know who it is. You’d know those voices anywhere. They’re carved into your memory, every syllable, every cadence, familiar and aching in the way only ex-best friends can be. Still, you turn.

Dani and Sakura are standing there, half in disbelief, half in judgment. Their eyes rake down your body, from the sleek dress hugging your frame to the careful curls in your hair. Their mouths are parted like they can’t decide whether to gasp or laugh. Sakura tilts her head. “What… are you doing here?”

Dani crosses her arms. “And with him?”

You glance back at Heeseung for half a second, who hasn’t said a word yet, just watching them with a slight furrow between his brows. Your stomach flips. You force a breath out of your nose and turn back to the girls, your grip tightening around your drink. You let out a laugh. It’s sharp and hollow and lined with every quiet insult they’ve ever made sound like a joke. “What?” you say, voice laced in dry amusement. “Surprised someone like Heeseung would want to hang out with me?” They flinch, barely, but you catch it. Dani opens her mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. You don’t wait.

You take a step closer, letting your voice drop, cold and brittle like breaking glass. “Why do you guys even care? Huh? You didn’t seem to care when you were calling me the DUF behind my back.”

Sakura’s expression twists. “We never—”

“This isn’t you, Y/N,” Dani cuts in, voice brittle. “The dress. The makeup. Hanging out with Heeseung? This isn’t who you are.” Your jaw clenches. The words burn, not because they’re true, but because they’re not. Because they’re laced with that same tired condescension, the same kind of backhanded care that always kept you two steps behind, like they wanted you close but never quite caught up. But before you can speak, a sudden warmth settles across your shoulders. Heeseung. His arm slips over you with ease, casual but claiming, protective but not possessive. His fingers brush the edge of your shoulder, and his voice is laced with syrupy sarcasm.

“We’d love to stay and chit-chat,” he drawls, flashing the girls a lazy grin, “but we’ve got somewhere to be.” And just like that, he doesn’t give them another second. He tugs you away gently, steering you through the party with surprising precision, hand resting firmly on your upper back as he guides you toward the back of the house. You don’t look back. You don’t want to see their faces. You’re too stunned, too angry, too relieved. Your heart is racing and your pulse is pounding and your vision is a little too bright. He opens the back door, and the cooler night air hits you like a blessing. You step out onto the porch, the noise of the party muffled behind the closed door. Fairy lights are strung across the railing, casting a soft gold glow over the wooden planks and the few potted plants half-dead in their corners. It’s quieter here. Private.

You suck in a breath and finally speak. “Thank you.”

Heeseung leans against the porch railing, glancing sideways at you. “For what?”

You give him a look. “For that. For getting me out of there.”

He shrugs, eyes flicking away. “It’s no big deal.”

You watch him for a moment, heart still unsteady. “It is, though.” He finally meets your gaze again, and for a moment, the cocky smile slips away. His eyes are dark and unreadable, but his voice is soft when he says, “They don’t get to make you feel like that. No one does.” You feel something twist in your chest. Something warm. Something dangerous. For a second, the two of you just… stand there. The silence stretches out, thick and humming with unspoken things. Heeseung’s hand is still in his pocket, but his shoulder is just barely touching yours now. Not quite close enough to be a statement, but close enough to feel like a promise.

The quiet of the back porch doesn’t last long. It breaks like glass, sharp and immediate, at the sound of stilettos clacking against the wood. You feel the shift before you see it. A cool draft. A wrongness. And then, the syrupy sweet voice that makes your spine stiffen and your heart drop. “Well, isn’t this cozy?”

Wonyoung stood there, draped in a skin-tight red dress that clings like a threat, hair curled into perfect waves, and lips painted a venomous shade of cherry. She walks like the world’s her stage, and you’re just an extra lucky to be in the background. Her smile is the kind that cuts, sharp and gleaming, like she knows something you don’t. Your heart sinks because you remember. You remember her words last time: “Stay away from Heeseung.” You didn’t listen. Maybe you thought she wouldn’t notice. Maybe a part of you hoped she didn’t mean it. But she’s here now, and she’s looking at you like a hunter cornering something helpless. Heeseung straightens beside you, his entire body going taut like a wire pulled too tight. “What do you want, Wonyoung?” he says, voice clipped.

She doesn’t answer. Instead, she saunters closer and, without warning, nudges you aside with the ease of someone who’s always taken up too much space. Her hand slides onto Heeseung’s shoulder like she owns it, like she’s done it a thousand times before. But Heeseung jerks away instantly, his jaw clenching as he shrugs her off like her touch burned. Still, Wonyoung smiles. “Hee… I miss you.” He doesn’t answer. Not at first. He just glances at you. And the look in his eyes, God, it’s something between apology and warning and please just trust me. But you don’t know how to read it, not really. Not when your stomach is twisting in knots and your voice is caught in your throat.

“Hey, Wonyoung…” you manage, your tone so high and squeaky you want to slap yourself. Wonyoung turns, slow as a villain in a teen drama, and actually groans, like your existence is somehow the inconvenience of the century. She eyes you up and down with obvious disdain before deadpanning, “What do you want?”

You blink, caught off guard. “Uh—I was just—” But she’s already looking away, like you don’t matter. Like you’re nothing more than a gnat buzzing in her ear. It’s humiliating. It’s infuriating. But you don’t say anything. You just shrink a little smaller.

She turns back to Heeseung, pressing forward again like she hasn’t just made you feel two inches tall. “We’re playing spin the bottle,” she says brightly, batting her lashes. “Wanna join?”

Heeseung lets out a dry laugh. “What are we, high schoolers?” His voice is full of disbelief. “Isn’t that a kids game?”

Wonyoung just shrugs, undeterred. “Still works.”

Before he can argue again, she latches her fingers around his wrist and tugs. You don’t know if it’s the surprise or the fact that he’s clearly outnumbered, but he lets her drag him halfway across the porch. You don’t even realize you’re following until you’re inside again, the noise swallowing you whole. The crowd’s shifted, coalescing into a rough circle on the living room floor. The center of attention now: an empty bottle spinning slowly on the wood, the air buzzing with half-drunken laughter and anticipation. You spot Dani and Sakura immediately. They’re sitting between Jake and Sunghoon, giggling, whispering, stealing glances at you. But there’s something different now. Not amusement. Not judgment. Pity. It glimmers on their faces like a sheen of sweat, and it makes something cold spark in your chest. You hate it. You’d rather be ignored than pitied. You tear your gaze away.

“Finally you’re here! Join us!” Wonyoung’s voice rings out, shrill and triumphant. Soobin. He was here, oh god. Your heart lurches at the sight of him. He’s dressed in a white tee and a leather jacket, hair falling perfectly across his forehead, the picture of cool detachment. He smiles slightly as he joins the circle, settling next to Beomgyu without much fanfare. He hasn’t even seen you yet. But suddenly the air in the room is thinner. The lights are harsher. Every breath feels like an effort. This is what you came for, isn’t it? The moment you’ve been chasing. The whole reason you let Heeseung drag you to the mall, to the salon, through an identity transformation that’s still barely settled on your shoulders. You should be thrilled. But instead, all you can feel is this strange, gnawing pressure. You glance at Heeseung, who’s already watching Soobin, something unreadable flickering across his features. Then his gaze shifts to you. There’s tension there. Tight. Heavy. Loaded. And it hits you: the game has started. And you’re no longer sure whose rules you’re playing by.

You watch as people had their turns with the bottle, watching as the glass spun round and round giving someone their fate for the night and finally after countless spins — it was your turn. The bottle spun with a nervous flick of your fingers, clinking softly against the scratched wood floor as it twirled, and you felt your stomach turn with it. Around you, drunken laughter swirled like smoke, the heat of the crowded living room pressing in from all sides. Someone let out a whistle, another person shouted encouragement, and Wonyoung was watching you with narrowed eyes, her arms crossed like she was waiting for you to fall flat on your face. But none of that mattered right now. None of it mattered because that damned bottle had chosen a direction, and it was pointing straight at Soobin. You could barely breathe.

Soobin tilted his head, the corners of his mouth tugging up into a soft, almost apologetic smile, the kind that made your lungs feel like they were filled with helium. His gaze was kind, nonjudgmental. Gentle, even. As if to say “It’s okay if you say no. I won’t be mad.” And God, did that make it worse. Because now the ball was in your court. Your palms were sweating. Your heart pounded so loudly you couldn’t hear the party anymore. Just the roar of blood in your ears. You’d dreamed of this. Fantasized about this exact moment for years. The idea of kissing Soobin had always seemed like something that belonged to a different version of you, a cooler, prettier, worthier version. And yet here you were. Inches from it. One lean forward and you'd touch lips. And still, panic dug into you like claws.

Your mind spiraled in frantic loops. What if I mess it up? What if I bump noses with him? What if my breath smells like the pizza from earlier? What if my lipstick smudges? What if I suck at it and he tells everyone? And more than anything; do I even want my first kiss to be like this? In front of Wonyoung, Dani, Sakura, and twenty semi-drunk strangers? But before you could finish the spiral, Heeseung’s hand gently curled around your wrist. His fingers were warm, grounding. You turned your head slightly, and he leaned in, his voice brushing against the shell of your ear, low and sincere. “You don’t have to do this,” he murmured. “We can leave. Right now.”

You paused. That offer, so casual, so safe, it nearly undid you. You looked at him, and for a brief second the noise of the party dropped away. Just Heeseung and his eyes, steady and unreadable. Ready to walk you out of this chaos with zero judgment. But then your gaze flicked across the circle and found Wonyoung, her arms crossed, her expression unreadable but unmistakably sharp. You couldn’t back down. Not now. Not in front of her. “I’m fine,” you whispered, offering Heeseung the tiniest smile, even if it felt wobbly and weak. “I got this.” Reluctantly, he let your wrist go. And so, heart pounding like a drumline, you leaned in. Soobin did too.

Your faces were so close now you could feel the warmth of his breath, smell the faint citrus of his cologne. You were trying not to close your eyes too soon, but you didn’t know the rules. Were there rules? Were you supposed to count to three? Tilt your head? Your brain screamed at you to stop, to run, to — “COPS!” The word cracked through the house like a gunshot.

In an instant, the entire room exploded. Screams. Shouting. Feet slamming against hardwood. Red solo cups hitting the floor and rolling away. Someone knocked over a lamp, plunging half the room into shadow. The panic was immediate and real, like someone had hit a switch that turned this party into a stampede. You didn’t even get a second to blink before Heeseung was yanking you to your feet. “Come on!” he yelled, wrapping his fingers around yours and hauling you after him through the chaos.

You barely had time to register what was happening before you were stumbling through the living room, dodging people vaulting over furniture and crawling through open windows. The entire party had turned feral. Shouting echoed off the walls, red and blue lights flickered from the front yard, and someone shouted something about hiding in the attic. Heeseung didn’t slow. His hand tightened on yours as he dragged you through the kitchen, shouldering past people, and out the back door. The backyard was even more chaotic. Students were climbing fences, squeezing through hedges, and ducking behind trash cans. You stared at the wooden fence in front of you, at least six feet high, and made a sound somewhere between a groan and a gasp.

“You want me to jump that?” you cried.

“Unless you want your mugshot posted in tomorrow’s student newsletter — yes!” With an ungraceful huff, you hiked up your dress and clambered over the fence, scraping your knee on the way down and landing hard in someone’s overgrown backyard. Heeseung followed right after, barely phased, landing beside you with an effortless thud.

“This way!” so you ran. Breath tearing out of your lungs, dress flapping around your legs, adrenaline pounding through your veins, you ran like your life depended on it. You didn’t stop until Heeseung’s car was in view, parked two blocks down. You practically dove into the passenger seat as he slid behind the wheel and slammed the door shut. He turned the key, the engine roared to life, and the tires screamed against the pavement as he peeled off into the street like a getaway driver in a movie.

You didn’t even speak for the first few seconds, just sat there panting, adrenaline still racing through your bloodstream, chest heaving as the lights and shouting faded behind you. Then, you looked at each other. And burst out laughing. Full, uncontrollable, hysterical laughter. The kind that curled your stomach and left tears in your eyes. You laughed until your lungs hurt. Heeseung clutched the steering wheel with one hand, his other wiping tears from his face. “I almost kissed Soobin,” you gasped out between wheezes.

“And then almost got arrested,” he choked out. “Honestly? 10/10 night.”

You threw your head back, still laughing. “That was insane.”

He grinned at you, cheeks flushed, hair a mess from the mad dash. “You’re kinda fun when you’re not busy hating me, you know that?”

You smiled, your heart slowing in your chest. Outside, the streets blurred past your window. Inside, something was starting to settle. Shift. Change. “I don’t hate you.” You whisper. You were supposed to kiss Soobin tonight. Instead… you ran away with Heeseung. The laughter between you and Heeseung had started to quiet, settling into the thick silence that sometimes follows a shared moment, like the tide pulling back after a crash of waves. It lingered in the air, warm and easy, the kind of laughter that left your chest aching in the best way. You wiped at the corners of your eyes, breath still uneven from giggling so hard, and turned to look at Heeseung.

He was already watching you. His eyes sparkled under the dim glow of the car’s interior lights, lips curled into a half-smile, like he was still amused by the chaos you both narrowly escaped. Then, he tilted his head, that boyish grin deepening. “You were really going to kiss Soobin just now,” he said, like he still couldn’t believe it. You tried to smile back, to laugh it off, but something in your chest twisted unexpectedly. The corners of your mouth dipped, your gaze fell to your lap, and your fingers began nervously toying with your fingers.

Heeseung noticed immediately. The smile on his face slipped, eyes narrowing just slightly—not in annoyance, but concern. “Hey,” he said softly, leaning just a bit closer. “What’s wrong? I thought this is what you wanted?” You swallowed. The words caught in your throat, all scrambled and fragile. You didn’t want to say it. You hadn’t said it out loud to anyone. It was too revealing, too… vulnerable. But something about Heeseung, the steadiness in his gaze, the quiet way he was looking at you now like you mattered, made you trust him in a way that startled you. So you said it.

“I’ve never kissed anyone before.” It came out softer than you intended. Barely above a whisper. But it landed between you with the weight of something unspoken for too long. Heeseung didn’t react right away. He didn’t laugh or make a teasing comment. Instead, he just looked at you. His eyes searched yours for something, you weren’t sure what, maybe the why of it, or maybe just the simple truth. But whatever it was, he found it, because after a moment, he nodded, his voice quiet and sincere. “I can teach you.”

You blinked. “What?”

He nodded again, slower this time. No smirk. No hint of mischief. Just quiet seriousness. “I can teach you,” he repeated, “so you’re not inexperienced when you finally get Soobin.” The words felt… strange. Like something cold and sharp and warm all at once. You weren’t sure what to say, your heart skipping beats like it couldn’t keep up. “You’d really do that?” you asked, voice barely audible.

Heeseung leaned back just enough to look at you fully. “Yeah,” he said. “If you want.” And you did. You didn’t know why. You didn’t know what it meant. But you wanted to. So you nodded. “Okay.” He leaned over the center console, his arm brushing against yours, and suddenly the space between you shrank to something small and intimate. You felt the electricity buzz in the air like static clinging to skin, your pulse racing louder than your thoughts.

You swallowed. “What if I’m bad at it?”

He smiled softly, not in a mocking way but like someone offering reassurance. “That’s why I’m teaching you,” he said. Then, his hand lifted, slow and steady, brushing your hair away from your face and tucking it behind your ear. His touch was featherlight, the pad of his thumb just grazing your cheek. “You want to set the tone,” he murmured. “Don’t just dive right in.” You nodded, breath caught somewhere between your chest and lips, and then — He kissed you. It wasn’t hurried. It wasn’t rough or overwhelming. It was soft. Intentional. Like he was holding the moment between his hands and molding it into something gentle. His lips were warm, firm but cautious, and he kissed you like he was afraid to scare you off. Like you were something rare. Precious. Fragile.

Your eyes fluttered shut, your hand lifting without thinking to rest gently against his arm. You melted, leaned into him. The world slowed down. The roar in your head dulled to a soft hum. The nervous energy in your chest unwound, slowly replaced by a kind of comfort that made your skin hum. When he pulled away, it was only by inches. His forehead almost rested against yours. His breathing matched yours, shaky and a little uneven. His voice was barely a whisper. “Did you learn anything?”

You blinked at him, dazed, lips still tingling. “I —I think I need another lesson.” He grinned, something sparking behind his eyes, and then nodded. “I think so too.” The second kiss was different. Gone was the careful, tentative pace. This time, his mouth found yours with a hunger that startled you, like he’d been waiting for permission and now that he had it, he wasn’t going to waste a second. His hand slid to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair. Your hands, unsure at first, found their way to his shoulders, gripping lightly as your lips moved against his. It was fire and silk and all-consuming. His mouth moved with confidence, coaxing you, guiding you, his kiss deeper now, filled with something unspoken. You kissed him back with everything you had, wanting, needing, trying to remember everything, to feel everything.

When he finally pulled away, both of you were breathless. The windows were fogged, your hearts thundering. He looked at you with wide eyes and a half-laugh in his voice. “Let’s get you back to the dorms before I forget this is supposed to be educational.” You blinked at him, flustered and floating somewhere between disbelief and bliss. You nodded, cheeks burning, and didn’t say a word.

The morning sun crept in through the slats of your blinds like a quiet promise, painting golden stripes across your sheets and the cluttered floor of your dorm. You stirred slowly, a little dazed, blinking against the light and the memory of last night that came flooding back all at once. Lee Heeseung kissed you. Correction: you kissed Lee Heeseung. Twice, you never thought you would see the day. Your cheeks burned as you sat up, the remnants of sleep falling off your body like petals, replaced with a rush of electricity that made you want to scream into your pillow. It wasn’t just that it was your first kiss, it was the way it happened. Soft. Gentle. Focused. Like he’d been waiting to kiss you and didn’t know it until the moment your lips touched. You padded across the dorm floor, slipping into your morning routine with a weird sort of buzz in your chest. Toothbrush. Face wash. Outfit. Breakfast bar you didn’t feel like eating. But everything felt brighter. Softer around the edges. You were still you, but something inside of you had shifted just a little to the left. Your phone buzzed.

[ heeseung ]

Studying tonight? Meet me at the campus cafe. 6pm sharp.

Your breath caught, and for the briefest second you just stared at the screen, heart kicking up a beat like it remembered the feeling of his mouth on yours.

[ You: ]

Is this a date or is Mr. Yoon threatening your scholarship again?

Three dots danced on your screen before his reply popped up:

[ heeseung ]

Can’t it be both? 😏

You let out a snort and shook your head, fingers tapping against the glass.

[ You ]

Fine. But I’m only coming for the lattes. And the pity.

[ Heeseung ]

You love me for my academic desperation.

The audacity of how quickly your fingers typed out “maybe I do” and how fast you deleted it made your heart skip. You settled on a safer:

[ You ]

6pm sharp. Don’t be late, loser.

He didn’t respond right away, and that was probably for the best. Your head was still spinning with thoughts you didn’t know what to do with. Because despite the fact that this whole arrangement started as a carefully crafted plan to get Soobin to notice you, Heeseung had crept under your skin in a way you hadn’t expected. You were supposed to tutor him, he was supposed to help you get a makeover and gain confidence. You were not supposed to like the way he looked at you. Or the way he laughed at your jokes, like they were the funniest thing he’d heard all day. Or the way he kissed you like kissing you was something he’d been waiting to do forever. And yet…You shook your head and tried to push the thoughts down as you threw your backpack over your shoulder. There wasn’t time to obsess. You had a class to get to and a very smug, stupidly attractive boy to study with tonight. Still, as you stepped out into the cool morning breeze, you caught yourself smiling. That soft, barely-there kind of smile that made your cheeks warm and your chest float.

The clock on the café wall ticked toward six with the dramatics of a heartbeat, each second heavier than the last. You stood outside the door for a moment longer than necessary, fingers tightening around the strap of your bag. It was just a study session. Nothing more. Just like it had been every time you’d met with him to talk about literature, syntax, metaphor, only now, every word he spoke felt double-edged. Heeseung had kissed you. Twice. You had kissed him back. And now here you were, stepping into the soft glow of the campus café, with your heart tucked somewhere beneath your collarbone and trying desperately not to show itself. Heeseung was already there, lounging in the corner booth like it was made for him. One long leg stretched out in front of him, a cup of iced coffee sweating on the table beside a half-opened notebook. His face lit up when he saw you, that easy grin sliding onto his lips as if it belonged there. You hated how your stomach flipped.

“You’re late,” he teased, gesturing at the seat across from him.

You scoffed, sliding into the booth and unzipping your bag. “It’s 5:59. Maybe your watch is just as bad as your syntax.”

He let out a sharp laugh, eyes crinkling in the corners. “Touché.” You started with the basics, flipping through your annotated copy of Frankenstein, pointing out literary devices with the kind of precision you were proud of. Heeseung listened. Really listened. His brow furrowed when he was concentrating, and his eyes flicked back and forth between you and the book like he was trying to stitch your words to the page in real time. He asked questions, good ones, and when he got something right, his grin was so smug you almost threw your pencil at him. But then, somewhere between explaining tragic irony and discussing the gothic atmosphere, his focus started to slip. You were mid-sentence when you felt it, his fingers poking at your side, soft and quick like a spark.

You jumped, letting out a startled laugh. “What the hell?”

Heeseung smirked, clearly proud of himself. “You were monologuing. I had to bring you back to earth.”

“You’re such a child.” You quip.

“A cute child,” he said, wiggling his brows. You rolled your eyes, shoving him lightly with your foot under the table, but there was no bite behind it. There never was anymore. Then, he leaned back in the booth, his voice lowering just enough to signal a shift. “I have an idea, by the way. About how you can actually talk to Soobin.”

You blinked, momentarily derailed. “You mean… like a conversation that doesn’t involve holding a door open and whispering thanks?”

He smirked. “Exactly like that.”

“Well? I’m listening.” Heeseung’s gaze flicked over your face before he continued. “Sunghoon’s hosting a get-together tomorrow night. It’s not a huge thing, more like a casual hangout. Pizza, soda, football on the TV, the works. Soobin’s gonna be there.”

You hesitated, twirling your pen between your fingers. “I mean, yeah, that sounds okay but…” You tilted your head. “Is it going to be weird if I’m the only girl there?” Heeseung paused. That pause said more than he probably meant it to. He scratched the back of his neck, like he was bracing himself.

You narrowed your eyes. “What? What is it?”

He sighed. “Sakura, Dani, and… Wonyoung are going to be there too.” Your heart dropped straight to your feet. You leaned back against the booth, head tilted toward the ceiling in a dramatic groan. “Of course they are.”

“I get it if you don’t want to come,” he said quickly. “I wouldn’t blame you.”

But you shook your head, jaw tightening with something that tasted like defiance. “No. I’m going.”

Heeseung blinked. “Really?” his shock, palpable.

“Yeah,” you said, voice sharper than you meant it to be. “I’m not going to let them ruin this. I’m not going to let her ruin this.” You didn’t have to say her name. He knew. Still, you couldn’t help yourself from asking, quieter now. “Why is Wonyoung even going to something like that? I thought you two were… done.”

“We are,” he said. “But she’s still friends with the guys. She shows up to stuff. It’s… whatever.” It wasn’t whatever to you, but you nodded anyway. Because you knew if you let your thoughts go too far, you’d unravel right there over your half-drunk latte. Heeseung shifted again, this time leaning in closer. “Hey. If anything happens, if anyone says something, or makes you uncomfortable, I’ve got you. Okay?”

You looked at him, really looked at him, and for a moment the din of the café faded behind the weight of that promise. “Okay,” you said. And just like that, it was settled. Tomorrow night, you’d walk into a room where your ex-best friends and your accidental nemesis would be seated on one side, your crush would be on the other, and Heeseung would be somewhere in between. You had no idea what would happen. But you weren’t going to back down.

It was barely past six when you heard the knock on your dorm doo, three quick raps followed by a familiar “Let’s go, loser” muffled through the wood. You smoothed down your shirt, did a quick breath check (because you were just being cautious, not because you were thinking about kissing him again), and opened the door. Heeseung stood there, smug as ever, but there was something different in his eyes, an excitement that made him bounce a little on the balls of his feet. “You’re early,” you said, raising a brow.

“I’m prompt,” he corrected with a wink. “Besides, I couldn’t wait to show you this.”

He brought his hands out from behind his back, and there, held like a treasure map or some kind of sacred scroll, was a single sheet of paper. You blinked, confused, until your eyes scanned the header and the bold black print across the middle. Literature 206 – Midterm Grade: 85% Your gasp was dramatic, theatrical, the kind of sound that would’ve made someone down the hall poke their head out in concern if it hadn’t immediately been followed by your delighted squeal.

“Shut. Up!” you shouted, grabbing the paper from his hands and spinning to look at it closer. “Heeseung, you passed! You didn’t just pass; you did amazing!” He grinned like a fool, the kind of smile that made your chest feel too tight, and before you could even think about it, you launched yourself forward and hugged him. Your arms wrapped around his neck, and his arms instinctively caught you around the waist, the paper crushed between your bodies. He laughed, that soft, deep sound you were starting to crave more than you should. And when you pulled back, just barely, your faces were close enough to feel the warmth of his breath.

“Told you I was a genius,” he murmured. You rolled your eyes, still beaming. “No. I’m the genius. You’re just the pretty face riding my coattails.”

He shrugged, smug. “Well, now that I’m officially a scholar,” he plucked the paper from your hand, “it’s time to cash in on your prize.”

You tilted your head. “Prize?” He held the door open for you, gesturing dramatically. “Tonight, you talk to Soobin. It’s finally your moment, superstar.” Your smile faltered, just a hair. Because somewhere, buried beneath all your excited nerves and fresh lip gloss, there it was. That voice. Small. Soft. Inconvenient. What if I don’t want Soobin anymore? You blinked, shoved it down. Laughed, even, like it wasn’t true. But it was. Or at least…it was becoming true. Every second you spent with Heeseung, that voice got louder. The boy who was once just a cocky annoyance was now a constant in your thoughts. He made you laugh. Made you feel seen. Kissed you like you were the only girl in the universe.

But you didn’t say any of that. Instead, you slipped past him into the hallway and said, “Well, let’s not keep my prize waiting.” The drive to Sunghoon’s house was familiar now, the same twisty roads and flashing streetlights. Heeseung’s music was loud, upbeat, something with too much bass and a beat that rattled your bones, but you didn’t mind. He drummed his fingers on the wheel, occasionally tapping along to lyrics, and every so often he’d glance at you out of the corner of his eye and smirk like he knew something you didn’t.

Maybe he did. You watched the world blur outside the window, trying not to think too hard about anything. Not the party. Not Soobin. Not the fact that Heeseung’s cologne was now recognizable by scent alone, or the way your hands had fit so naturally around the nape of his neck just moments ago. When he pulled into Sunghoon’s driveway, the house was already glowing, warm lights, windows open, the soft buzz of voices filtering out to the street. You took a breath.

“Ready?” he asked, not moving to get out just yet. You turned to look at him, heart thudding somewhere between nervous and expectant. “Let’s do it,” you said.

You weren’t sure when your heart had started beating so hard, only that you could feel it in the soles of your feet and the tips of your ears. From the moment you stepped out of Heeseung’s car and followed him to Sunghoon’s front door, your nerves had been steadily building, like pressure in a shaken soda can. The lights inside were warm, the sounds of chatter and clinking glasses casual, but nothing about this night felt easy. You stepped through the threshold like you owned the place, chin high, spine straight, masking your spiraling thoughts with the practiced poise of someone who’d watched one too many confidence tutorials on YouTube. Heeseung’s hand hovered protectively at the small of your back, just barely touching, but grounding you all the same. That slight pressure said, I’m here, and for a moment, you could almost breathe.

The living room was full already. Jake sat cross-legged on the floor, waving a slice of pizza around mid-story, while Jay and Beomgyu were in the middle of a mock argument about what toppings were superior. Sunghoon looked up from where he was grabbing drinks and offered a casual grin. And then, your eyes caught them. Dani and Sakura, tucked on one side of the couch, their laughter too forced, their eyes on you too long. But, Wonyoung. She didn’t say anything at first. Just stared. Her gaze zeroed in on Heeseung’s hand still lingering on your back like it was a personal offense, her perfectly glossed lips curling into something sour. “What is she doing here?” she said finally, her voice louder than it needed to be, slicing through the room like a knife dressed in perfume. You froze, but Heeseung didn’t.

“She’s here because I want her here,” he said smoothly, not even looking at her. His tone was so offhand it made Wonyoung’s eye twitch. She scoffed, turning back to Jay with an exaggerated sigh, tossing her hair like she hadn’t just tried to publicly shame you. You swallowed hard. The room shifted again, the center of gravity pulling you straight toward the boy you hadn’t seen since the party. Soobin. He was seated on the couch, drink in hand, wearing a simple hoodie and jeans, his soft smile as warm as you remembered. He looked up when you approached, a flash of recognition lighting his expression.

“Hey — Y/N, right?” he asked, voice gentle.

You nodded, tucking hair behind your ear. “Yeah, that’s me.” He patted the cushion next to him, and you sat, acutely aware of the way Dani and Sakura were watching, and more intensely, the weight of Heeseung’s eyes on the side of your face. But for a moment, none of that mattered. You and Soobin fell into conversation like it was the most natural thing in the world. He asked about your classes, your major, if you were enjoying campus life. His smile never left his face, and yours slowly returned to yours. You laughed at something he said, something dorky and sweet about how he got locked out of his dorm last week, and your hand brushed his arm without thinking. And then your eyes darted up, Heeseung, across the room, sprawled in a chair like he wasn’t watching. But you could feel his attention. Like it was tethered to your pulse.

Before you could dwell too long, a sharp clink of a glass brought everyone’s attention back to the group. Wonyoung, placing her drink with a flourish, said, “We should definitely play Never Have I Ever.” Heeseung groaned immediately. “Are we really doing every high school game in the book this week?”

She shrugged, all innocent smile and lethal intentions. “Come on, it’ll be fun.” A chorus of agreement echoed around the room, and you knew, there was no getting out of this one. Someone dimmed the lights slightly as everyone started moving toward the center of the room, sitting in a loose circle with half-finished pizza slices and soda cans in hand. You sat between Soobin and Heeseung, though the space between you and the latter felt a little too electric, like if you moved even an inch, you might get burned. The game began light, as they always do.

The circle had started off innocent enough, plastic soda bottles sweating on the table, crusted pizza boxes pushed aside, the living room heavy with the low hum of music and the occasional pop of laughter. Someone asked something dumb about stealing candy from a gas station. Another person confessed to cheating on a test in tenth grade. It was stupid, harmless, the kind of thing you could brush off with a smirk and a sip of your drink. But there was something in Wonyoung’s gaze that made the back of your neck prickle before she even opened her mouth. She was perched on the edge of the couch like a queen on her throne, manicured fingers curled delicately around her cup, eyes glittering with something sharp and venomous. She turned her head slowly, deliberately, and locked her eyes on you with a smile that didn’t touch her lips.

“Never have I ever…” she began, the silence prickling around her, “been a loser virgin that no man wants to touch.” The room froze. The words landed like shrapnel, hot and slicing through whatever warmth had existed just moments before. Your chest constricted instantly, the oxygen leaving your lungs in one swift rush. You could feel every pair of eyes in the room shift to you, some wide with shock, others downcast, uncomfortable. You sat rigid, your cup trembling in your fingers, your pulse thudding like thunder in your ears. And then Wonyoung, as if to twist the knife, tilted her head and said, sweetly venomous, “Y/N, that means you have to put your hand up.” Your throat tightened so fast it hurt. You blinked quickly, trying to swallow it down, trying to pretend you hadn’t heard her right. But Heeseung stood up then, voice sharp and cold in a way you’d never heard from him before. “Knock it off, Wonyoung.”

She gave a lighthearted shrug, still smiling like this was all some twisted joke. “I mean…it’s just a game, Heeseung. No need to get snappy.”

Dani scoffed, disgust heavy in her voice. “You know exactly what you’re doing. Cut it out.”

But the damage had already been done. Your vision blurred as a tear slipped down your cheek without permission, hot with embarrassment, with shame, with the kind of humiliation that clings to your skin like ash. The silence was worse than the laughter could’ve been, everyone staring, no one speaking. Just the sound of your shaky breath and the trembling rattle of your heart in your chest. You couldn’t stay. You wouldn’t. Without a word, you stood up on wobbly legs, grabbing your bag with clumsy fingers and bolting for the front door. You didn’t hear who called your name, didn’t wait to see who stood or who stayed behind. You just ran, your face burning and your lungs struggling to catch up to your heartbreak. Outside, the air was cold and biting, but not cold enough to numb the pain in your chest. You didn’t get far before you felt a hand gently catch your wrist, not rough, not demanding. Just there. Just him.

“Hey; hey, look at me,” Heeseung said softly, turning you to face him. The night was quiet except for your breaths, short and uneven. He reached up, brushing your tear-streaked cheek with his thumb, the gesture so tender you nearly fell apart all over again. “Don’t listen to her,” he whispered. “She’s miserable and she wanted to take it out on someone. That’s all this is.”

“I’m fine,” you choked out, even though you weren’t.

“No, you’re not.” His voice cracked slightly, and he gave a soft shake of his head. “And I should’ve never brought you here. I knew she was going to be here. That’s on me.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” you whispered, your voice raw. “You’re not the one who humiliated me.” Still, his face was drawn with guilt, his brow furrowed. He opened the car door for you and you slid in, heart still pounding, nerves buzzing beneath your skin. He got in after you, but didn’t start the engine right away. The silence filled the cabin again, but this time it wasn’t awkward, it was heavy. Dense with something unspoken.

You stared at your lap, thinking of Wonyoung’s words again. Loser virgin. No man wants to touch you. It echoed in your head, bouncing around until it started to stick. Was she right? Was that why Soobin had never looked at you twice? Why you were always the girl just outside the circle? Before you could overthink it, before the voice of doubt could talk you down, you turned to Heeseung. “I want you to take my virginity.”

He blinked like he hadn’t heard you. “What?” You met his eyes this time, steady despite the tremble in your chest. “I want you to take my virginity.” The silence was immediate. Then sharp. His eyes widened, lips parting, trying to find something to say, some script, some defense. But nothing came. Just silence and the sound of your breath coming quicker than before. “I just…” you began, fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve. “What Wonyoung said. Maybe she’s right. Maybe Soobin wouldn’t want someone like me. Someone who’s never—”

“That’s not true—”

“Please.” Your voice cracked then, raw and soft, but full of something else too. Desperation, maybe. Maybe hope. Heeseung looked at you then, really looked. And something shifted in his gaze, his expression folding into something more serious, more solemn. There wasn’t any cocky grin, no teasing smirk. Just… sincerity.

“Okay,” he said quietly.

You blinked. “Yeah?”

He nodded once. “Yeah.” Relief washed over you slowly, curling around the fear that had taken root in your belly. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, something like gratitude spilling from your chest.

“Tonight?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

He didn’t hesitate. “Tonight.”

And then he turned the key in the ignition, the engine humming to life as the two of you slipped into the dark, quiet night, no longer running away, but heading toward something that neither of you could quite name yet. But you could feel it, in the beat of your heart, the warmth in your chest, and the hand that rested gently over yours on the console.

The streets outside were washed in amber, the streetlights spilling honey-colored light onto the hood of Heeseung’s car as he pulled up to the quiet curb outside a low-rise campus apartment building. You recognized it, vaguely, though you’d never had a reason to be this far from your dorm before. He eased the car into park, the soft click of the gear shift cutting through the otherwise silent cabin. For a moment, neither of you moved. You were both suspended in this fragile, private space, like the world outside had hit pause just to give you this breath of stillness. He turned to you, one hand still on the steering wheel, the other reaching across the console like he might take your hand but thinking better of it. His gaze flickered to your face, warm and searching, not demanding. Not expectant. Just careful. Just him.

“You sure about this?” he asked, voice low but steady. And you nodded. Without hesitation. Without the voice of Wonyoung echoing in your ears. Without thinking about Soobin or the plan or the stupid game that led you here. You nodded because it was Heeseung and somehow, in the softest, strangest way, you’d never been more certain about anything in your life.

“Yeah,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sure.” That was all it took. Heeseung stepped out of the car, jogged around to your side, and opened the door for you, offering a hand as you slid out. The air between you pulsed with unspoken tension, not the bad kind, not the kind that makes you want to flee, but the kind that hums beneath your skin like a quiet, rising tide. Neither of you spoke on the short walk to the building. You could feel the beat of your own pulse in your throat, your palms, your knees. Every footstep up the stairwell echoed like a question you were still answering with every breath. When he unlocked the door to the apartment, you stepped into a place that somehow felt like him , even if it wasn’t entirely his. The living room was tidy but lived-in: a half-empty water bottle on the counter, a sweatshirt slung over the back of the couch, a flickering neon sign in the shape of a guitar hanging above the TV. There was a faint scent of cologne and fabric softener in the air , something warm and clean and utterly disarming.

You glanced around, instinctively nervous. “Are you sure no one’s—?”

“I live with Jake,” Heeseung said, gently tugging you further inside. “But he’s out for the weekend. Swear.” Jake was obviously still at Sunghoon’s house. So, you nodded, cheeks warm as he guided you toward the hallway. Every step felt louder now, your heartbeat echoing in your ears. You could feel the shift happening between you, something solemn, something sacred as he led you into his bedroom. The door clicked shut behind you. His room was dimly lit, the overhead light off, only the glow from a desk lamp in the corner casting soft shadows along the walls. Posters of concerts and bands you half-recognized were pinned above his bed. His guitar leaned against the corner, pick still nestled in the strings. The bed was made, barely and a hoodie lay crumpled on the chair by his desk. You turned to him again, breath caught somewhere in your chest. Heeseung was standing just a few feet away now, hands at his sides, gaze never leaving yours.

“Are you still sure?” he asked again, quiet and reverent. And again, you said yes. The word had barely left your mouth before he was stepping toward you, not fast, never fast , just sure, just gentle. His hand reached up to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, fingertips brushing your cheek like he couldn’t believe you were real. Then he was kissing you, slow and careful, lips warm and familiar now. The kiss wasn’t like the one in the car, not teasing, not frantic. This one was patient, intentional. Like he was asking permission with every soft press of his mouth, like he was trying to memorize the shape of your yes.

The rest happened slowly. Clothes were shed like old skins, your nerves still there, still fluttering like moths in your stomach, but softened by the way he touched you. Every brush of his fingers was careful, every motion deliberate. He wasn’t rushing, wasn’t teasing. He just was warm and present, grounding you with the weight of his hands and the way he whispered your name like it was something sacred. He kissed your shoulder. Your collarbone. The hollow behind your ear. He held you like you were something breakable and beautiful. When it finally happened, he was looking into your eyes, his hand laced with yours, thumb brushing over your knuckles to calm you. It hurt at first, of course it did, but it wasn’t scary. Not with him. And eventually the pain faded into something else entirely, something you couldn’t name, only feel.

His hands caressed your body like you were made of porcelain. His breathing hard groans falling from his lips with the severance of a melody you’d never want to forget. “Fuck” He grunted, his hips meetings yours. His forehead sheen with sweat fell against your naked shoulder, lining the skin with searing hot kisses.

“You feel so good.” His grip on your hips tightened as he allowed himself to go faster, rougher. The sound of skin, mixing with your breathy moans and Heeseung groans were the only sound in the room.

“Harder.” You choked, letting your head fall against the pillow, your hair creating a halo on the satin pillow case. “Please, Heeseung, harder.” You were begging, pleading for me. It felt too good, better than anything you’ve ever experienced and you just couldn’t get enough.

Heeseung groaned, a low groan that rumbled deep within his belly all the way up his throat. “You want it harder?” He asks, His eyes locked onto yours as you send him a frantic nod.

“Yes!” Your voice was almost shrill. “Please.” Your hands found his back, racking your nails up and down the skin — certainly leaving red marks in their wake. Heeseung’s hips pushed harder, the force of his thirst sending your body jerking upwards.

“Oh my god.” You hissed. “Oh my fucking–” Your voice was cut off with his lips falling to yours, his mouth swallowing the sound of your pleasure. He broke away from the kiss with a low moan and a shaky breath. Your breath caught as you tilted your head back, overwhelmed and undone in the best way. Heeseung murmured quiet things into your skin, not jokes, not one-liners, just your name. Just reassurance. Just closeness. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t fireworks. It was better than that. It was real.

When it was over, he didn’t roll away or laugh or ask how it was. He just stayed there beside you, your bodies tangled beneath his sheets, his thumb brushing lazy circles against your hipbone. You rested your cheek on his shoulder, skin still tingling, your heart finally slowing. And for a long time, neither of you said a word. You didn’t need to. Soon, you got up — put your clothing back on and thank Heeseung for all he did that night. You went to your dorm with an even bigger smile on your face.

Morning sunlight seeps through the cracks in your dorm blinds, painting golden stripes across your duvet and the delicate curve of your shoulder. You stir slowly, not with the usual groggy resistance of a school day, but with something like ease, something light. Your limbs feel loose beneath your sheets, your chest warm, your lips tingling with memories. Last night plays on a soft reel behind your eyelids: Heeseung’s hands, the way he looked at you like you were the only thing worth seeing, the way his voice trembled when he asked if you were sure. You smile before your eyes are even open. It wasn’t just physical , it was something else entirely. Something safe. Something soft. You don’t know what it means yet, or what it should mean, but right now, that doesn’t matter. What matters is the way you feel in this moment. Like maybe, for once, you’re not the DUF. Maybe, for once, you’re the girl someone actually wanted.

You get dressed slowly, pulling on your favorite jeans and a simple top that fits you right, a new confidence buzzing just beneath your skin. Your fingers hover over your phone more than once, tempted to text him, something casual, something teasing, but you stop yourself. You’ll see him in Lit anyway. And God, you can’t even begin to guess what that’s going to be like now. The walk to class is a blur of humming thoughts and overplayed memories, your heart skipping each time you think about him. You wonder if he’ll say something. You wonder if you should. You wonder if this is the start of something... more.

When you arrive at the building, the usual crowd of students loiters by the lecture hall, but your eyes find him immediately. Heeseung is leaning against the wall near the door, black hoodie pulled over his head despite the early morning sun, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans. He’s looking down at his shoes, but as if sensing you, his head lifts, and there it is. That smile. Soft and crooked and just for you. “Look who finally made it,” you call as you approach, your tone light and teasing, the banter slipping into place like a well-worn jacket. “Didn’t think I’d see your face again after last night.”

Heeseung chuckles, pushing off the wall and falling into step beside you. “Please. You think you’d get rid of me that easy?”

You roll your eyes, a grin curling at your mouth. “You’re relentless.”

“Persistent,” he corrects with a grin of his own. “There’s a difference.” The air between you hums with something more than your usual back-and-forth, a soft awareness, a shared secret, the ghost of his hands still lingering on your waist. Heeseung’s eyes flick over your face for a moment longer than they usually would, like he’s trying to memorize something. Then, as you’re about to reach for the classroom door, he says your name, softly, tentatively. You pause, looking up at him. His expression has shifted, and it’s not teasing now. It’s serious. Vulnerable, almost. Like there’s a weight on his chest and he’s finally ready to let it tumble out.

“Hey, I—” Heeseung starts, but he doesn’t get far.

“HEESEUNG!” Beomgyu’s voice barrels down the hallway like a wrecking ball, all volume and chaos, and before either of you can react, an arm is slung around Heeseung’s shoulder. “Dude! Party tonight. Sunghoon’s place again. It’s gonna be chill this time, no cops, I swear. You’re coming, right? And you,” Beomgyu points to you with a grin, “you better come too. You’re the new fan favorite.” You let out a laugh, caught off guard, but Heeseung just gives Beomgyu a playful shove. “Yeah, alright. We’ll be there.”

“We?” Beomgyu raises an eyebrow, smirking as he wiggles his brows. “Noted.”

And just like that, Beomgyu is disappearing down the hallway, already off to deliver his invite to the next unsuspecting soul. You glance back at Heeseung, your brows furrowed just slightly. “What were you gonna say? Before Beomgyu... you know.”

Heeseung looks at you for a beat, quiet. And in that silence, something shifts again, but this time it doesn’t rise to the surface. Instead, he just shrugs, sliding his hands back into his pockets. “Nothing,” he says casually, a smile that doesn’t quite meet his eyes. “Forgot what I was gonna say.”

You want to press, there’s something in the way he says it, the way his eyes flick away from yours for half a second too long, but you don’t. Not here, not now. So instead, you just nod, falling into step beside him as you both walk into the lecture hall. You’re still smiling. But this time, your heart is wrapped a little tighter in wonder.

The air tonight feels heavier, not unpleasant, just weightier, charged in a way that isn’t quite like the other parties. The crowd buzzes with the usual electricity, the low thump of bass vibrating through the floorboards, bodies weaving and pressing in rhythm to a beat no one truly hears. But you do. You feel it in your bones, in your blood, in the skin of your arms where goosebumps rise as you and Heeseung step through the doorway into Sunghoon’s house. He walks beside you, shoulder brushing yours, laughter spilling from his lips as he says something teasing about your outfit. It’s familiar, the way he leans in a little closer than necessary, the way he always seems to find something to comment on, from the way you wear your hair to how your drink tastes like battery acid. He’s still the same. But you’re not. Not exactly.

Because now you know what his breath sounds like when it trembles. You know how he looks when he’s above you, eyes full of questions and reverence like you were a poem he wasn’t sure he was allowed to read. You know what it’s like to be wanted, not by anyone, but by him. And that knowledge sits in your chest like a small fire, curling smoke and heat into your thoughts as you walk beside him. You make your way to the drink table where Beomgyu and Jay are pouring vodka into plastic cups with reckless enthusiasm, laughing at something Jake said. It’s all easy, the familiar chaos of a college party, but something inside you feels less swayed by the glitter of it now. Like you’ve seen what matters more, in the quiet hush of a dorm room when all the noise falls away and someone holds you like you're worth the wait.

You glance toward Heeseung, catching sight of him joining in a game of beer pong with Sunghoon. His laugh is loud, tilted back in his throat, his hair flopping into his eyes as he lines up a shot. He’s magnetic like this, full of life, a little too much, and always just enough. You don’t even notice the tap on your shoulder until you feel it. You turn around to see Soobin. Your stomach doesn’t flutter. Your pulse doesn’t spike. You don’t feel weak in the knees or dizzy in the way you once imagined you would. All you feel is... calm.

His smile is soft, almost sheepish, like he’s approaching a wounded animal. “Hey,” he says, voice raised slightly over the music. “I wanted to say… I’m sorry. For what happened the other night. Wonyoung was out of line, and honestly? Everyone knew it.” You blink at him, surprised by the sincerity in his tone. He rubs the back of his neck, eyes dipping away as if afraid to meet yours fully.

“That… that does make me feel better,” you say after a pause, offering him a genuine smile. It’s small but sincere, the kind of smile you give someone when you’ve outgrown the pedestal they used to stand on. He brightens at that. “Good. You didn’t deserve that.” The conversation unfolds easily, light, harmless. He asks about class, about your professor’s weird rant last week, and you laugh with him, grateful that it’s not awkward or strange. For a few minutes, it’s like nothing ever changed. But every now and then, your gaze slides across the room, to where Heeseung is, to the way his hand gestures wildly in the air after making a perfect shot, the way his eyes scan the crowd and catch on you. You feel it each time, that invisible thread tugging between you both, fragile but undeniable.

Soobin leans closer, tipping his head toward you. “Hey, the music’s kind of loud down here. Do you wanna go upstairs to talk?” You hesitate, only for a moment. This is what you’d wanted, wasn’t it? Alone time with Soobin. This moment; the intimacy, the possibility of something real with him, it used to be the end goal. It was the prize at the finish line. You look back toward the beer pong table. Heeseung isn’t there anymore. You swallow, forcing a smile as you nod. “Sure. Upstairs sounds good.” Soobin leads the way, and you follow, but there’s a hollow tug in your chest, a low ache that whispers: something’s different now. Something’s shifted. And you can’t quite tell if you’re walking toward what you want… or away from it.

The upstairs hall is quieter, hushed like a cathedral built out of creaking floorboards and dim lighting. Soobin’s footsteps are steady ahead of you, confident, calm. You follow him down the hallway, the thump of bass from the party below now muffled by layers of drywall and closed doors. He opens one at the end, someone’s bedroom, likely Sunghoon’s spare guest room and steps inside without hesitation. You enter, arms crossing over your chest instinctively. The room is sparsely decorated: a bed, a desk, a dresser with a dusty mirror. A single lamp glows faintly in the corner, casting everything in warm amber light. The kind of soft hue that makes everything feel a little too intimate.

You sit down on the edge of the bed, hands fidgeting in your lap. Soobin stands near the dresser, one hand running through his hair like he’s searching for the right words, the right entry point into something he’s been building toward. You try not to think about how your heartbeat doesn’t pick up like it used to. How your stomach doesn’t flutter. How the moment you used to dream about, you and Soobin alone in a room, about to have that talk, feels just a little off-center now. He turns to you, expression unreadable. “Can I ask you something?” You nod.

He gives a breathy laugh, rubbing the back of his neck again. “Do you… have a crush on me?”

The question hits you like cold water to the face. You blink. “What?”

“I mean,” he shrugs, “you’re here with me. Alone. Talking like this. And I’ve noticed you kind of… watching me sometimes. Not in a bad way, I just — I figured maybe you liked me.”

Your mouth opens, but no words come out right away. You weren’t expecting this — not so directly, not right now. But wasn’t this the whole plan? The makeover, the party, the studying with Heeseung, the kiss that didn’t happen, wasn’t this what you’d wanted from the beginning? So you say it. Quietly, like you’re repeating a line in a play. “Yes. I think I do.” Soobin smiles softly, like that was the answer he expected. He walks over, taking the spot next to you on the bed. There’s a small silence, not quite awkward but definitely unsure. Then, without another word, he leans in. And kisses you. It’s gentle. Thoughtful. His lips press to yours with an easy kind of care. But instead of feeling sparks or butterflies or that dizzy, swept-away sensation you thought would come, all you feel is stillness. Like kissing someone underwater. The moment suspended. Weightless. Hollow.

You don’t know how long it lasts, but eventually, your hand moves to his chest and you pull away, slow and apologetic. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, eyes avoiding his. Your heart pounds for all the wrong reasons. “I… I don’t think I feel what I thought I felt.”

Soobin tilts his head slightly, studying your face. “What do you mean?” You look down at your hands, twisting your fingers in your lap. “I thought I liked you. I really did. But it doesn’t feel… right. Not like I thought it would. Not like…” You trail off, not daring to finish the sentence. Soobin hums thoughtfully, like he’s already solved the puzzle.

“Ah,” he says, nodding once. “I get it.”

Your eyes lift, hopeful. “You do?”

A soft chuckle escapes him. “You like Heeseung.” It’s not a question. It’s a truth laid bare between you. You pause, breath catching in your throat. Then you nod. Slowly. “I think I’m in love with him.” There’s a moment of quiet. Not heavy. Not tense. Just the shared acknowledgment of something that’s been true for a while now, you just hadn’t let yourself name it.

To your surprise, Soobin smiles. Not bitter or wounded, just warm. Maybe even relieved. “I think you should tell him,” he says.

You swallow. “You think I should?” He nods, leaning back on his hands. “I think you’d regret it if you didn’t.”

Your heart flutters with something different this time, not nerves, not fear. Hope. You stand up, legs shaky beneath you, but your decision anchors you. As you move toward the door, Soobin calls out softly, just before your hand touches the knob. “He loves you back, you know.”

You turn your head, eyes wide. “You think so?”

“I know so,” he says, simple and sure. You nod once, lips parting just slightly. “I hope you’re right.” And then you step into the hallway, closing the door quietly behind you. The music is still thudding below. The party still rages. But you’ve never felt more clear. Never more certain of who, or what, you want. It’s not about proving anything anymore. Not about being experienced or wanted by anyone. It’s about him. And tonight, you’re going to tell him.

You step down the creaky stairs, the bass from the party still thumping like a distant pulse beneath your skin. Your breath catches, a subtle panic fluttering in your chest as you scan the crowded living room for Heeseung’s familiar face. Your eyes dart past groups of laughing friends, clusters of conversations, and neon lights that blur faces into hazy outlines. But he’s nowhere to be found. Heart pounding in your throat, you veer toward the kitchen, hoping for some sign, a whisper, a clue. There, leaning casually against the counter, is Jake. His usual smirk falters when he notices your searching gaze. “Hey,” you say, voice barely steady. “Have you seen Heeseung?”

Jake shrugs, tossing a grape into his mouth. “Last I saw, he was in the living room with a bunch of people. Why? You looking for him?” You nod and push past him, a fragile thread of hope knitting itself between your ribs. The living room comes into view, and your steps slow, the air thickening in your lungs like smoke. And then you see him. There, framed by a cluster of familiar faces, is Heeseung. But he isn’t alone. Wonyoung stands close beside him, her body pressed against his in a way that twists something cold and sharp through your heart. His arm snakes possessively around her waist, fingers resting lightly but surely on the curve of her hip. She leans in, lips ghosting across his neck and jaw, a soft, intoxicating murmur escaping her mouth as he whispers back.

The scene unfolds like a cruel play, one you wish you could close your eyes to, but you can’t look away. Your chest caves inward, a hollow ache blossoming beneath your ribs. Your stomach churns, bile rising bitterly as you struggle to breathe through the sudden swell of nausea and heartbreak. You try to wrench your gaze away, but the sight sears into your vision, branding itself onto your soul. You can’t watch. Turning on your heel, you stumble toward the door, desperate to escape the cruel tableau. The room blurs around you, faces, laughter, music, all fading behind the tight clamour of your ragged breaths and pounding heartbeat. Tears spill unbidden from your eyes, tracing warm, salty rivers down your cheeks. Each step away from the party feels heavier than the last, like you’re sinking deeper into a pool of your own shattered dreams.

You reach the night air, the cold biting at your skin but failing to soothe the ache inside. Pulling your phone from your pocket with trembling fingers, you summon an Uber. The glow of the screen feels alien in your hands, like a lifeline thrown across an endless chasm. Inside the car, the world outside dissolves into a blur of streetlights and shadows, but your tears keep falling, a steady cascade that no driver’s small talk or cityscape can interrupt. Your hands grip the seat, knuckles white, as the distance between you and the party grows with every passing mile. You are utterly broken. Stupid, you think bitterly. Stupid for believing, even for a moment, that someone like Lee Heeseung, with his easy charm and dazzling smile, could fall for someone like you. The DUF. The girl who blends into the background. The girl no one notices, the girl no one wants. You were chasing a dream painted in stardust and whispered promises, but it was always just that, a dream. And now, all that’s left is the ache of reality settling cold and hard in your chest.

The days bleed into each other like a slow, endless ache. You find yourself cocooned in your dorm, wrapped in the faded threads of your favorite hoodie, the one that swallows you whole and carries the scent of safety and solitude. The glasses sit perched on your nose, a barrier between the world and the girl who once believed she could be someone else. The weight of silence presses down, heavier than the thick blankets you pull up to your chin. Your phone lies discarded across the bed, buzzing and blinking with countless unanswered texts and missed calls from Heeseung, each one a fresh pang of regret and confusion you’re too scared to confront. You don’t know how to face him. How to face the truth that your heart still aches for the boy who chose someone else, who wrapped his arms around Wonyoung like you were a ghost in the room. You feel like you’ve been stripped bare, every hope unraveling thread by fragile thread. The girl who dreamed of being seen, of being wanted, it’s hard to find her beneath the rubble of broken promises and whispered lies.

Night falls again, the shadows gathering in the corners of your room as if to hold you close in your loneliness. The quiet hum of the city outside is distant and indifferent. You lie there, heart heavy, tears tracing silent rivers down your cheeks, when suddenly there’s a knock at your door. Sharp. Insistent. You don’t want to move, but something in the rhythm of that knock stirs you, a fragile hope tangled with dread. With aching limbs, you pull yourself from the bed, the cold floor a harsh reminder of the world beyond your blankets. You open the door slowly, and there he is, Heeseung. His presence fills the doorway, that familiar, impossible beauty that twists your heart in the best and worst ways. It makes your head spin, your breath catch in your throat.

His eyes search yours, deep pools filled with worry and something you can’t quite name. “Why haven’t you been answering?” he asks softly, voice low, as if afraid to break the fragile silence. “I saw you go upstairs with Soobin the night of the party…” Your throat tightens, the words choking you before you can even think. You take a shaky breath, then whisper, “The deal’s off. You don’t need to worry about making me ‘hot and popular’ anymore.”

His brow furrows, concern deepening. “What happened? Did Soobin hurt you?”

You shake your head, voice trembling but firm. “No. Just… go, Heeseung. Please.”

You reach out, beginning to close the door, but before it shuts, his foot slides gently into the frame, stopping it with quiet insistence. The space between you is charged, a fragile tension stretched thin. His voice is almost a plea. “What’s going on?” The walls you’ve built so carefully around your heart begin to crumble. You swallow hard, biting back the tears that burn your eyes, and say the words you’ve been holding in for too long. “I’m tired. Tired of pretending to be someone I’m not. Tired of playing a role, like I can be that girl, the one everyone notices, the one guys actually want.”

Your voice falters, breaking with raw, aching honesty. “Guys don’t want me. Not really. Not like I am. This was an experiment... and it worked for you, but it didn’t work for me. So… can you just go?” The silence hangs between you like a thick fog. You hear your own heartbeat pounding in your ears, loud and ragged. This time, your hand moves with quiet finality, closing the door with a definitive click. The sound echoes in the sudden, crushing emptiness of your room. And then, the floodgates break.

You lean back against the door, knees buckling as the tears you held back spill free. The sobs come unbidden, shaking your body, hot and wrenching and real. Each tear a silent confession of heartbreak, loneliness, and the aching desire to be seen, not as a mask, but as the fragile, imperfect soul beneath. In this moment, the girl you tried so hard to hide is raw and vulnerable and fiercely alive. And though it hurts more than words can say, it’s the first step toward something real, toward healing, toward finding the strength to be exactly who you are.

The morning light feels colder somehow, less forgiving as you step out of your dorm room and into the brisk hum of campus life. Today, you wear your armor: a soft, oversized hoodie pulled low over your frame, the familiar weight of your glasses perched on your nose, and leggings that carry no pretense, no flash, no glamour, just you. The girl who sought to dazzle and command attention has quietly slipped away, replaced by someone quieter, more raw, but undeniably real. As you make your way across campus, the chatter and footsteps of other students blur into a dull roar, a soundtrack to your internal storm. The air is thick with the ghosts of last night’s heartache, the sting of broken trust still simmering just beneath your skin. You tell yourself it’s fine. You tell yourself you’re okay. You’ve got this.

The lecture hall door creaks open, and you slip inside, hoping to be invisible, hoping to blend into the shadowy back rows where no one will notice your retreat from the world. But no one really goes unnoticed, especially not in a room charged with unspoken tensions. And then, just as your foot finds the seat furthest from the usual spot beside Heeseung, you hear it, a snide, low comment slicing through the hum of settling students Wonyoung’s voice, sharp and dripping with that familiar edge, echoes just enough for you to catch it. You don’t need to turn around to know it’s aimed right at you. But this time, something’s different. The bite of her words doesn’t sting. The heat of embarrassment doesn’t flush your cheeks. You simply keep walking, your stride steady and unyielding, heart quietly defiant beneath the soft fabric of your hoodie.

You settle into your seat at the very back, far away from the usual orbit of Heeseung’s presence. And yet, even from there, you feel the weight of his gaze, like a hawk circling above, watching, waiting. His eyes flicker toward you in stolen moments, cautious and curious, as if trying to read the new lines etched into your silence. But you refuse to meet his gaze. You bury yourself deeper into your solitude, the words of the lecture washing over you like distant thunder, barely registered by a mind that’s a million miles away. Minutes stretch on, the clock ticking with relentless indifference. You notice the way Heeseung’s fingers tap lightly against the notebook in his lap, his eyes darting toward you in quick, nervous glances. It’s as if he’s searching for a way back in, a crack in the armor you’ve so carefully constructed. But today, you are a fortress, quiet and impenetrable.

When the final bell rings, a sharp and liberating sound, you rise without hesitation, stuffing your books into your bag with brisk efficiency. Heeseung’s voice trails behind you, soft, hopeful, “Hey, wait—Y/n!” but you don’t stop. You don’t turn. The hall swallows your footsteps as you push through the doors, leaving the echoes of his call behind you.

The evening wrapped itself around your dorm room like a velvet shroud, the dim light casting soft shadows over your tangled sheets and the quiet ache that clung to your chest. You lay there, cocooned in your own solitude, the weight of recent nights pressing down like a relentless tide. The world felt heavy and distant, and the thought of moving, speaking, or facing anything at all felt like a mountain too steep to climb. Then, a sharp knock echoed through the silence, jolting you from your quiet reverie. “Please go away, Heeseung,” you mutter, voice thick with exhaustion and guarded pain, already bracing yourself for the storm you didn’t want to weather again.

But the voice that answered wasn’t his. Soft, hesitant, and tinged with something almost vulnerable, Dani’s words floated through the door: “It’s not Heeseung… please, just open up.” Your heart stutters, surprise and a flicker of warmth breaking through the cold shell you’d built. With a weary sigh, you push yourself up, the weight of days pressing down on your limbs, and unlock the door. There, standing in the dim hallway, were Dani and Sakura, faces soft, eyes sincere, their usual confident air replaced with something tender and remorseful. They step inside without hesitation, their presence gentle like a balm, the space between you shrinking as they settle beside your bed.

“We’re so sorry,” Dani begins, voice low and earnest. “For everything. For not being better friends, for not being there when you needed us.” Sakura nods, her eyes shimmering with an unspoken apology. “We love you, Y/n. We do. And we’re sorry for making you feel anything less than amazing.”

Their words settle over you like a gentle rain, the unexpected kindness dissolving some of the walls you didn’t even realize you’d built so high. They smile, shy but genuine, and Dani confesses, “Sometimes, we’re even jealous of you. You make everything seem so effortless, being smart, funny, just... you. We try so hard, but you just shine naturally.” A quiet laugh escapes you, the sound rusty but honest. You joke back, teasing them for their dramatic flattery, and in the warmth of shared laughter, the tension unravels. The three of you fold into a comforting embrace, a hug woven with forgiveness and the promise of mended bonds.

After the moment lingers, Sakura’s voice breaks through, gentle but curious. “So, what about Heeseung? What’s really going on?” Your chest tightens as you recount the complicated arrangement, the late-night talks, and then, the confession that trembles on your lips. “I lost my virginity to him,” you say quietly, the words both heavy and liberating. “And in all of that... I fell in love with him.”

Their faces flicker between surprise and understanding. Sakura’s eyes soften as she speaks, “The way he looks at you... he loves you too, Y/n.” You shake your head, doubt gnawing at you like a silent ache. “But Wonyoung—”

Dani cuts in gently, firm and unwavering. “He doesn’t care about her anymore. And he never looked at Wonyoung the way he looks at you.” For the first time in what feels like forever, you want to believe them. You nod slowly, the weight of hope settling lightly in your chest. They urge you to hear Heeseung out, to let him speak and show you what’s truly there. But before the conversation can spiral further, they shift the mood, inviting you to a get-together at Sunghoon’s happening just minutes away.

At first, you hesitate, the memory of Heeseung and Wonyoung still stinging fresh. “Heeseung and Wonyoung—” you begin. Sakura cuts you off with a firm shake of her head. “They won’t be there. We promise.” That promise, fragile and shimmering with possibility, nudges you forward. You breathe in, steadying your heart, and then you say yes. Together, the three of you leave your room, stepping out into the night with tentative smiles and the fragile threads of renewed friendship and maybe, just maybe, a second chance at love waiting to bloom.

When you pull up to Sunghoon’s house that night, you’re half-expecting the pit in your stomach to grow teeth and chew you alive. But instead, you’re met with the warm, familiar glow of porch lights, the echo of laughter spilling from inside, and the voices of boys you’ve somehow come to know like brothers. Sunghoon, Jake, Jay, and Beomgyu greet you at the door like you’re royalty, like nothing in the world is out of place. They offer you sodas and cheesy jokes, Beomgyu pulling you into a dramatic bow while Jake salutes like you're being welcomed home from war. And for a flicker of a second, you forget it all, the ache, the shame, the heartbreak. You laugh. You actually laugh. You let your shoulders drop. You exist again.

Sakura appears at your side like she’s always belonged there and gives you a little nudge. “Hey,” she says, smiling with all her teeth, “Can you go grab the extra cooler outside? It’s on the deck.”

You squint at her. “You have legs.”

“Yes,” she says sweetly, “but you have main character energy tonight. So scoot.” You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling, pushing through the backdoor into the backyard. And that’s when it happens.

Twinkling fairy lights string above you like constellations pulled down from the sky, wrapped through the branches of Sunghoon’s backyard trees. They blink softly around the bonfire, flames low and lazy, casting shadows across the grass. And there, seated on a log bench near the fire, is Heeseung. His head is bowed, fingers locked together like he’s praying or maybe bracing himself from falling apart. The moment he hears your footsteps, his head jerks up. His eyes meet yours, wide and uncertain. Time hiccups. You stare. He stares. And then, slowly, shakily, he stands.

“I’ve been trying to figure out what I was going to say to you when I saw you again,” he says, voice low but trembling with everything he’s been holding in. “And now… now that you’re actually here, looking like that…”

You blink. “Looking like what? Like a girl who’s no longer hot?” He shakes his head so fast and so fiercely that a laugh escapes your throat without permission.

“No,” he says, stepping toward you. “Looking like you. Just — you. Glasses, hoodie, stubborn scowl and all. You're beautiful.” Your breath stutters. The world sways. You try to speak, to make a joke, to do anything, but your lips don’t work. He fills the silence. “You’re so beautiful,” he says again, his voice stronger now. “And I love you.” You open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. You’re too stunned. Too overwhelmed. So he continues, and thank God he does.

“When I saw you go upstairs with Soobin that night… I thought I was gonna be sick. I’ve never felt anything like that. Not anger. Not sadness. Jealousy. Like I was losing something that wasn’t even mine to lose.” Your chest aches. You take a step closer, barely breathing. “Wonyoung came up to me after that,” he says, voice rougher now. “Told me she heard you and Soobin hooking up. She tried to kiss me. Said I should get over it. But I didn’t care what she said. Even if you were with Soobin, I didn’t want her. I wanted you. I’ve always wanted you.”

You want to cry. You want to melt. But mostly, you want to run to him.

“I was never going to get in the way of you and him if that’s what you really wanted,” Heeseung continues. “But then, when you told me outside your dorm that it wasn’t going to work out… I knew. I had to tell you how I felt.” His eyes lock on yours with full, unwavering honesty.

“I love you. Just the way you are. And I think I’ve loved you since the moment I saw you at Sunghoon’s party. When you insulted my G.P.A and spilled that drink all over yourself.” He laughs, almost breathless. “That’s when I knew I was doomed.”

A laugh bubbles out of you before you can stop it, wet and cracked but real. You take one step closer, then another, until the distance is gone. “I kissed Soobin,” you whisper, eyes locked on his. “Upstairs, that night. And it was... fine. But while it was happening, all I could think about was you. That stupid smile of yours, your dumb little jokes, the way you hold the steering wheel with one hand like you're in an action movie... I realized something.”

Heeseung holds his breath.

“I realized that I love you. Your charm, your goofiness, the way you never let me walk on the outside of the sidewalk. I love you, even the parts I think I hate, because it’s you. And I want you.” His mouth opens like he might say something witty, but he doesn't. He just crashes forward and kisses you, fierce, certain, heart-shaking. His hands come to your face, cradling you like you’re something sacred. It’s not gentle, not this time. It’s messy and passionate and breathless, like a whole novel written in one kiss. Like everything unspoken finally found its voice.

When you finally part, foreheads touching, breath mingling, he murmurs, “You’re it for me, Y/n.” You smile, tears slipping down your cheeks.

“And you’re the dumbest genius I’ve ever met,” you say softly, kissing him again.

Somewhere behind you, from the house, you hear Beomgyu shout, “ARE THEY FINALLY MAKING OUT?!” And then Jake yells, “SUNGHOON OWES ME FIFTY BUCKS!”

You both break apart laughing, and Heeseung groans. “God, they’re never gonna let us live this down.”

You grin, cheeks flushed. “Worth it.” Because it is. It always was.

(♬) - @beomiracles @biteyoubiteme @hyukascampfire @dawngyu @izzyy-stuff @1-800-jewon @xylatox @firstclassjaylee @teddybeartaetae @hoonjayke @princesstiti14 @seokjinthescientist @lillotus17 @yeonmuse @hoonieyun @s1rawb3rry

#this was so beautiful i genuinely shed tears man 🥹🥹#🍑 favs

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peachyscenes · 1 month ago

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the space between us | jinu x gn!reader

NO I AM NOT DEAD. yes i am writing the "how to love" series but i want to finish some projects (please refer to this drabble to know what i'm working on) before i finish one story of the series (hongjoong's is up first teehee). here's some saja boys brainrot because kpop demon hunters was toooo good

notes: reincarnation!au, slight angst (?), not beta read/not edited

the space between jinu and you becomes wider as the days go on. you're not very sure what's up with him, and neither does his family. you know his financial problems are getting to him, but you can't help but feel like it's taken a toll on your friendship with him as well. when you asked his mother if he was going to sing at the market, she simply shrugged. nonetheless, you thanked her before walking back to your food stand. you always brought them what you didn't sell, and while jinu's mother promises to pay you back, you simply asked for prayers and good health in return. as you're nearing your stall, you can't help but notice a little bit of commotion going on not to far from where you're stationed.

curiosity gets the better of you, so as you near the noisy crowd, the chatter becomes distant when you hear the voice of the person in question. jinu, handsome as always, is performing with his bipa. you stand and listen, his voice resonating in your ears and the crowd seems to disappear as you keep listening. by the end of his performance, you feel as though you're floating. the crowd comes back to you and you clap along with them at the performance.

"jinu! i was just looking for you-!"

he brushes you off as he stands to collect the money he has made. you notice how abundant his earnings are compared to his other failed performances.

"i'm making a soup later tonight, i would love if you and your family could join me."

"are you going to use the leftovers you can't sell?"

you pause abruptly at how harsh his words come out. with burrowed brows, you scoff at him.

"if you're insinuating that the foods i've given you aren't fresh, then you're out of your mind."

"i'll have to reject your invitation, i'll be providing my family with a better meal tonight." you felt your chest hurt at his words. before you could call out to him, someone walks up to you to ask if your food stand is open.

—————

it's been so long since jinu has stepped into the human realm. he knows things have changed, but he's quick to adapt. the others are doing well for the most part too, only having to correct them 3 times since the day started.

it's funny, he thinks. jinu doesn't remember humans being so simple, but he was once like that too he supposed. all it took was a busking performance and some demon magic and the saja boys were the next big thing. all with one song as well. the stylists that were currently preparing them weren't really doing their jobs all that well (he guesses his demon magic worked a little too well), but it's for the best. if he's going to break the honmoon and defeat the hunters, he'll live with incompetent makeup artists.

"hello? are the saja boys too busy?"

jinu straightens up.

it's been so long.

there's no way.

he thinks his mind is playing tricks. he's forgotten how that voice sounded. but he knows that isn't true.

he turns towards the door of the dressing room. before he could answer, one of the hair stylists opens the door.

jinu feels like the air was punched out of him.

"sorry for intruding, i brought some peaches. my family owns a farm and these are our best sellers."

jinu stays still as romance gets up to accept it. he's about to say something when jinu finally snaps back to life and rushes to get up from his chair.

who knew you'd look the same after 400 years?

"it's you," is the first thing he says. the gentle smile on your lips flatters a bit. your face twists into one of confusion.

"i'm sorry but…"

no.

he feels his heart ache and he's silently wishing. it's useless however, because deep down, in the back of his mind, you're different, and he's not sure if he can accept it. it was expected, but he didn't know it would hurt this much. hopeful wishes can only do so much, and it didn't do a lot for jinu in the past.

"… have we met?"

he doesn't know what to say. he's about to speak when the most obvious thing clicks for him.

this is your new life. without him.

it's abby that speaks up from behind jinu.

"you were on a billboard on our way here! are you here to play games too?"

you smile at abby before laughing.

"nope! i'm actually a special guest today! i'll be hosting."

from somewhere in the dressing room, jinu can hear the styling team.

"i just watched the movie they were in, it was so good!"

"i heard they're starring in a new drama."

"they're so busy! but what do expect from a top actor?"

jinu shakes his head. he clears his throat before stepping forward before abby and romance can corner you.

"i'm sorry for my sudden rudeness," he gently takes the basket before romance can. "i appreciate the kind gesture of our sunbaenim." he bows down to you.

you give him a shy smile. "it's no problem. i made sure to get the freshest ones! trust me, you'll love them."

"i'd accept them even if they were rotten."

you laugh at jinu before bidding the group a 'see you later!'.

yeah, he'd accept them no matter what, because at some point, he took you for granted.

the space between you two was once wide, almost to the point of no existence. his hopeless wishing may not have come true.

but, the once nonexistent space was found.

and he's going to close the gap.

#jinu x reader #kpop demon hunters x reader #kpop demon hunters #saja boys jinu #saja boys jinu x reader #kpop demon hunters jinu #kpdh jinu #jinu saja x reader #jinu saja #jinu kpdh #jinu saja boys #saja boys x reader #jinu kpop demon hunters

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peachyscenes · 3 months ago

Text

THE BEST.ᐟ

pairingᝰ.ᐟ 02z x reader

warningsᝰ.ᐟ oral (f), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, slight tit/nipple play, etc. (wc 5.366k)

natty's notesᝰ.ᐟ request, mdni, hate comments will be deleted.

"y/n, who do you think would be better?"

jay's voice pulled you out of your distracted haze, making you glance up at him with a confused tilt of your head. his expression was casual, but the subtle smirk curling at the corner of his lips told you otherwise.

you blinked, processing his words, but truthfully, you hadn’t been paying attention to any of their conversation. for the past thirty minutes, the three of them had been bickering back and forth, their voices fading into background noise as you remained engrossed in your phone, too uninterested to care about whatever stupid argument they were having this time.

"about what?"

your voice came out flat, uninterested, as your gaze flickered between sunghoon and jake, who sat right beside him.

but the moment sunghoon opened his mouth, your breath hitched, your body going rigid at the sheer audacity of his words.

"who do you think is best at giving oral?"

your phone nearly slipped from your grasp, your heart stuttering in your chest as you stared at him, eyes wide, lips parting slightly in shock.

were they serious?

the air thickened immediately, tension settling heavily between the four of you, and you could do nothing but sit there, staring at them, trying to piece together how the hell this conversation even started.

"bro, i'm literally number one—the best pussy eater you’ll ever know."

jake’s voice dripped with confidence, his smirk cocky, self-assured, as he shoved jay back playfully, as if the argument was already settled. jay barely reacted, only rolling his eyes, his expression unreadable, before giving a slow, mocking nod.

"yeah, okay."

the way he said it was so dry, so unconvinced, that it only added fuel to the fire, jake’s lips parting slightly as if he was about to argue his case again, but then both of them turned back to you.

waiting.

expecting.

your mouth felt dry, your skin suddenly feeling too warm, as their intense gazes bored into you, waiting for you to weigh in—waiting for you to choose.

but how the hell were you supposed to answer that?

your brows furrowed deeply, your expression a mix of disbelief and confusion, as you finally found your voice.

"how the fuck would i know?"

your response came out half incredulous, half exasperated, because, seriously—what the hell kind of question was that?

yet, despite the absolute insanity of this conversation, the atmosphere in the room had shifted.

the tension had thickened, intensified, and as you met their eyes again—jake’s cocky smirk, jay’s dark amusement, and sunghoon’s unwavering gaze—you realized something.

they weren’t just joking around anymore.

they wanted to prove it.

"if you're thinking the same shit as me, consider it not happening."

your voice was firm, unwavering, but the slight waver in your breath didn’t go unnoticed by them. the tension in the room had become almost suffocating, their gazes too heavy, too intense, and you needed to put some distance between yourself and whatever the hell this was turning into.

you pushed yourself up from the couch, your movements sharp, deliberate, as you made your way toward the kitchen. but just as you expected, they were right behind you, their footsteps close, too close, and you could already hear the low chuckles, the occasional shoves, as they jostled each other for space, acting as if this was some kind of game.

"please, y/n."

jake’s voice came first, smooth, persuasive, and just as you reached the kitchen counter, you felt his presence at your back, his hand reaching out to gently grasp your wrist, stopping you just short of putting any real space between yourself and them.

"these fuckers won’t stop until proven wrong…"

his words were half-exasperated, half-taunting, but the way his fingers tightened around your wrist, firm yet careful, sent a sharp shiver down your spine. you swallowed hard, feeling the warmth of their bodies closing in, sunghoon now leaning against the counter, his smirk lazy but his eyes dangerously sharp, while jay stood just a step behind jake, arms crossed over his chest, his gaze never once leaving yours.

they were serious.

and no matter how much you tried to ignore it, pretend like you weren’t affected, there was no denying the heat that was now thrumming in the air, curling around you, settling deep in your stomach.

jake barely had time to react before sunghoon shoved him aside, his movements quick, determined, completely unwavering as he made his way in front of you. his presence was overwhelming, the heat of his body so close, too close, as his hands found your waist with ease, thumbs pressing into your skin just enough to make you shiver.

his gaze was dark, unreadable, but the sly smirk playing at his lips told you everything you needed to know.

"let me prove them wrong, baby..."

his voice was low, smooth, thick with undeniable promise, and before you could even think about protesting, he was lifting you effortlessly, placing you onto the cool surface of the countertop. the contrast between the chill of the marble and the burning heat of his hands sent a shudder through you, and you barely had time to react before you felt his fingers hooking onto your waistband, dragging your shorts down slowly, torturously, as if savoring the moment.

"you’ll see why i’m the best out of the three, baby..."

his lips brushed against your ear, his breath warm, teasing, sending a wave of anticipation curling low in your stomach.

"gonna make you feel so good, you’ll be begging for more..."

the words dripped from his tongue like honey, and your breath hitched as he tossed your shorts aside, the fabric landing in a heap right in front of jay and jake’s shoes.

but he wasn’t done.

his hands moved with practiced ease, slipping beneath the delicate fabric of your panties, fingers curving just enough to drag them down the same way, slow, deliberate—torturous.

the second he let them fall from his fingers, your breath stalled, because the moment your bare pussy was revealed to them, a low, collective groan filled the space around you.

"fuck."

jay’s voice was hoarse, jake sucked in a sharp breath, but sunghoon?

he simply spread your legs wider, his hands gripping onto your thighs as he dropped to his knees, his hungry gaze locked onto you like he was starving.

the warmth of his breath fanned over your core, and before you could say anything, a soft whimper escaped you, completely unbidden.

he leaned in slowly, deliberately, his breath ghosting over your inner thighs, sending a shiver rippling through your body. his lips pressed down softly, warm and teasing, leaving a trail of heat as he inched higher, higher, his grip on your thighs tightening just enough to keep you in place. the anticipation was torturous, every small movement setting your nerves on fire, your breath coming out in uneven exhales as your body tensed under his touch. the way his lips lingered, the way his breath fanned over your skin—it was all too much, yet not enough.

your gaze was locked on him, pupils blown wide with both desire and trepidation, but no matter how much you tried to focus on sunghoon, you couldn’t ignore the two other sets of eyes burning into you from across the room. when you flicked your gaze upward, jake and jay were watching you intently, their expressions unreadable, though the subtle smirks pulling at their lips told you everything. there was something predatory in their stares, something that made your breath hitch, something that told you they were just waiting for you to break.

jay moved first, stepping closer, invading your space without hesitation, his presence alone enough to make your skin prickle. his fingers came up to trace over your cheek, soft, featherlight, a stark contrast to the intensity in his eyes. the way he looked at you was intoxicating, possessive, like he was already staking his claim before anything had even happened.

"gonna let sunghoon please you, doll?"

his voice was low, velvety, dripping with amusement, but there was something darker laced within it—something that made your stomach coil in anticipation.

"though he wouldn’t be as good as me..."

his fingers ghosted over your bottom lip, his touch barely there, yet enough to send a wave of heat through you. his words hung between you, heavy with implication, but before you could even think of responding, before you could process anything beyond the heat pooling low in your stomach—

sunghoon’s mouth was on you.

your reaction was instant, visceral, uncontrollable.

your body jolted, your thighs twitching as his lips wrapped around your most sensitive spot, his tongue flicking out in a slow, deliberate motion that had you gasping sharply, your nails digging into his hair.

"uh—fuck..."

your hands moved on their own, fingers tangling into his soft strands, your grip tightening without thought, without control, whether it was to ground yourself or push him deeper, you didn’t even know. he worked you with steady, calculated precision, his tongue dragging through your folds, lapping up your arousal with a hunger that made your head spin. his lips sealed over your clit once more, the suction intense, perfectly timed, before his tongue flicked over the sensitive nub, slow at first, then faster, sharper, sending pleasure rocketing through your body.

the heat in the room became suffocating, your skin damp, flushed, your breathing coming out in short, uneven gasps as sunghoon devoured you like a man starved. the contrast between his firm grip on your thighs—keeping you spread open, exposed, vulnerable—and the way his tongue worked against you, wet and warm and so precise, had your head falling back slightly, your body already on the verge of unraveling.

you could hear their breathing, could feel their presence surrounding you, the weight of their gazes pressing into your skin like a physical force. every time you moaned, every time your hips twitched involuntarily against sunghoon’s mouth, you knew they were watching, knew they were reveling in the way you slowly fell apart beneath their touch.

and god, you were so close to breaking completely.

"are you gonna cum, baby?"

sunghoon’s voice was low, muffled, his lips brushing against your drenched core as he peered up at you, his dark eyes burning with intensity. the sight alone nearly undid you completely—his mouth was slick with your arousal, his chin glistening as his tongue worked you over with expert precision, never once faltering in its relentless pace.

your breath came in short, ragged gasps, your chest rising and falling erratically as you locked eyes with him, your vision hazy with pleasure. your lips were parted in a silent moan, your mouth forming a perfect "o" shape, unable to articulate anything but breathy, desperate whimpers. the way he was eating you out—starving, greedy, determined—had you on the edge, your thighs trembling violently as you struggled to keep yourself upright on the counter.

but then—he changed the rhythm, and your body convulsed at the sheer intensity of it.

his tongue, once flicking and swirling over your clit in calculated, teasing strokes, now plunged deep inside you, the wet muscle thrusting in and out rapidly, fucking you with a pace so relentless, so overwhelming, that your hands flew to his hair, fingers tangling desperately as you pulled harder, unsure if you were pushing him away or pulling him closer.

"oh—fuck!"

your voice rang through the room, shameless and nearly desperate, the pleasure coursing through your veins making you feel boneless, weightless, completely undone.

"cum for me, baby," he murmured against you, the vibrations sending shockwaves straight to your core, your walls clenching around his tongue as he pushed deeper, his grip on your thighs tightening, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

"show these fuckers I’m the best..."

his words were cocky, possessive, demanding, and he only doubled down, his tongue working even faster, his lips suckling harshly on your clit before diving back in, drinking you down like he couldn’t get enough.

the coil in your stomach tightened to the point of snapping, and you could do nothing—nothing but give in.

your head tilted back violently, your back arching off the counter, your thighs squeezing around his head as pure, white-hot pleasure crashed over you like a tidal wave.

"m’gonna cum—fuck, hoonie!"

your shattered moans filled the air as your orgasm ripped through you, your entire body trembling from the intensity, your nails digging into his scalp as you came completely undone against his mouth.

sunghoon groaned in satisfaction, lapping up every last drop, his tongue lazily flicking over your sensitive clit, as if he wasn’t ready to let you go just yet.

jake didn't hesitate for even a second, shoving sunghoon aside with ease, his hands immediately cupping your face, his palms warm and firm against your flushed skin. before you could even register what was happening, his lips crashed against yours, hungry, demanding—claiming. his kiss was rough, unrelenting, his teeth catching your bottom lip, sucking harshly before letting it snap back into place, the motion sending a shudder down your spine.

your head was spinning, still reeling from your orgasm, but jake didn’t give you a moment to recover. without a word, he dropped to his knees, his broad shoulders spreading your thighs even further apart as he settled between them, his heated gaze locked onto your swollen, glistening core.

"fuck, princess…"

his voice came out in a low, sultry purr, his breath hot against your skin, sending goosebumps trailing up your arms. his hands smoothed down your inner thighs, fingers digging into the soft flesh, thumbs tracing slow, lazy circles—teasing.

"you look so fucking good like this..."

he pressed an open-mouthed kiss to your thigh, then another, his tongue flicking out to lick at your sensitive skin, the contrast between the cool air and the heat of his tongue making you tremble involuntarily.

but he didn’t linger there for long.

within seconds, he had your legs spread impossibly wide, his grip tightening as he dived in without warning, his mouth latching onto your clit immediately, sucking with an intensity that had you arching off the counter with a sharp gasp.

"oh—fuck, jake, wa—!"

your words dissolved into a choked moan, your body shuddering violently as the overstimulation hit you like a freight train, the pleasure almost too much, too soon.

but jake? he wasn’t letting up.

his tongue moved in sync with his lips, alternating between harsh, deliberate sucks and slow, teasing licks, as if he was determined to break you down completely.

"c’mon, baby," he murmured against you, the vibration of his voice sending sparks straight to your core, his hands keeping you firmly in place as he continued to devour you with no mercy.

"you can take it. i know you can."

jake didn’t wait for a response—he never did.

without hesitation, his tongue plunged into you, the wet muscle curling and flicking with an unforgiving pace, leaving no room for teasing, no time to adjust. his movements were relentless, messy, his lips and tongue working in tandem, coaxing wave after wave of pleasure through your already overstimulated body.

the sounds that filled the room were obscene—the lewd slick of his tongue against your soaked folds, the wet, desperate moans that spilled from your lips, and the deep groans vibrating through jake’s chest, sending shocks of pleasure through your core. your arousal was everywhere, spreading over his lips, his chin, dripping down his jaw, though if anything, it only seemed to spur him on.

"fuck, jake—oh my god—!"

your voice trembled, your breath hitching between ragged gasps, your thighs beginning to shake uncontrollably as the pleasure mounted too fast, too intense. your hands gripped at the counter, nails scraping uselessly against the cool surface as your head tilted back, eyes squeezed shut from the overwhelming sensations.

but jake wasn’t letting up.

"fuck—this pussy’s so fucking good…"

his words were muffled against you, but the husky, wrecked tone of his voice sent another pulse of heat straight to your core. before you could even think, before you could brace yourself for the inevitable, he dove back in, his tongue thrusting deeper, curling against the soft, sensitive spots inside you, his lips latching back onto your clit with a devastating finality.

it was too much.

your body tensed violently, back arching as the orgasm slammed into you like a tidal wave, white-hot pleasure consuming every inch of you, your vision going blank, your mind fogging over completely.

your eyes rolled back, mouth parted in a silent scream before a shattered moan ripped through you, your legs trembling furiously as the release crashed over you, leaving you utterly, completely undone.

jake groaned in satisfaction, lapping up every drop, his grip firm as he kept you pinned down, refusing to let you escape the pleasure—not until he had taken everything from you.

"j-jake, I can’t—!"

your voice broke, strangled and trembling as your body shuddered violently, the overstimulation burning through you like fire. you could barely breathe, your chest heaving as your hands gripped uselessly at the counter, trying to ground yourself, trying to escape the relentless pleasure that refused to fade.

but jake? he wasn’t done.

his lips were still latched onto your clit, his tongue still flicking, slow and precise, dragging out every last aftershock, refusing to give you even a second of respite. his hands tightened on your thighs, keeping you spread wide, holding you firmly in place as your body twitched and convulsed beneath his mouth.

"p-please—fuck, I can’t—" you sobbed, tugging weakly at his hair, trying to push him away, your mind dizzy, overloaded, completely undone. but jake only groaned against you, the vibration making you jolt, sending another shockwave straight through your exhausted body.

but then—

suddenly, his warmth was ripped away.

a sharp growl filled the air as jay yanked jake back, his grip tight and unforgiving, the air between them thick with tension. jake wiped the slickness off his chin with the back of his hand, his lips shiny and swollen, his eyes glazed with hunger as he glared up at jay, clearly displeased at being interrupted.

"bitch, you already had your turn."

jay’s voice was low, rough, dripping with possessiveness, his gaze locked onto you, hungry, dark, dangerous. he stepped forward, closing the space between you in an instant, his fingers trailing up your trembling thighs, his touch searing against your oversensitive skin.

"now it’s mine."

your breath hitched, your body still shaking from the aftermath, but jay wasn’t about to give you a break.

his hands moved gently, fingers trailing along your damp cheek, smearing the stray tears that had spilled so effortlessly. his touch was soft, almost tender, but the way his eyes burned into you—filled with the utmost, raw hunger—told an entirely different story.

jay didn’t speak right away, just watched you, admiring the way your breath hitched, the way your lips parted slightly, still swollen from the way you had been biting down on them, desperate to contain your moans. he leaned in, so close you could feel the warmth of his breath ghosting over your lips, teasing you, tempting you. but just as you pushed forward, chasing the kiss, he pulled back, a wicked smirk playing on his lips.

"so needy for me, doll?"

his voice was low, teasing, the deep timbre sending chills down your spine. he let his lips trail along your cheek, barely pressing against your skin before drifting lower, down to your jaw, where he lingered just a second too long, his lips barely brushing against you before he finally let his kisses deepen.

his once sweet, featherlight pecks turned into open-mouthed kisses, hot and wet, his tongue darting out to soothe each spot before his teeth grazed against your skin, sucking down just enough to make sure his mark would be there tomorrow.

"jay, please…"

your moan was nearly breathless, a mixture of desperation and impatience, your fingers gripping onto him, nails digging into his shoulders, but jay was in no hurry. he wanted to take his time—to watch you come undone beneath him, to savor every sound, every shiver he could pull from you.

his lips continued their torturous descent, drifting lower, his kisses growing wetter, sloppier, his hands curving under your shirt, bunching the fabric in his fists as he dragged it up. he took his time, his lips leaving a heated path down your stomach, pressing kisses along the dips and curves, his breath fanning over your sensitive skin, making you shudder.

but it wasn’t until he finally reached the apex of your thighs, his face mere inches from your aching core, that you truly felt the heat of his gaze, the weight of his hunger.

jay exhaled deeply, his hands gripping your thighs firmly, spreading you open as he took in the sight before him.

"fuck… look at you, doll."

his voice was thick with need, his eyes locked onto you with an intensity that made your entire body burn.

jay’s fingers barely grazed your aching clit, the lightest touch sending a jolt through your overstimulated body, but before he could go any further, a sharp voice sliced through the thick tension in the kitchen, making you flinch.

"that's cheating."

the words dripped with amusement, edged with challenge, and when jay’s fingers stilled against you, his jaw clenched in mild annoyance, you knew exactly who had spoken.

sunghoon.

leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, his sharp gaze was trained directly on you, his tongue clicking disapprovingly as he shook his head. jake, lounging lazily beside him, let out a low chuckle, his smirk only widening as he tilted his head at jay.

"fucking cheater."

"oh, shut up…" jay’s voice was barely above a murmur, a quiet growl of irritation mixed with amusement as his hand glided lower, fingers trailing teasingly along your inner thigh, making your breath catch in anticipation. he leaned in, so close that you could feel the warmth of his breath ghosting over your aching core, sending a shiver through your already sensitive body.

his lips brushed against your skin, and he let out a low, knowing chuckle, one laced with pure mischief, pure possession.

"just wanted to touch my precious doll…" he murmured, his tone mockingly sweet, but there was an edge to it, something darker, more possessive curling at the ends of his words. "guess if I can’t do that, then…"

he let the sentence trail off, leaving the thought unfinished, leaving you hanging in that space of need before—a sharp gasp tore from your lips.

jay wasted no time, his tongue dragging slow and deliberate, a single, flat lick up your soaked folds, the heat of it sending a shockwave straight through you. your thighs twitched, body jerking slightly, and a whine spilled from your throat, drawn out and helpless as he lingered just a second too long, letting you feel every bit of him, letting the wet heat of his tongue press against you fully.

your hands fisted his hair, toes curling, but nothing could prepare you for the way he finally reached your clit, his tongue flicking the swollen bud, a sharp contrast to the slow, languid strokes before.

"fuuuck, jay—!"

your voice broke, the pleasure hitting you too fast, too strong, your thighs trying to snap shut, but his hands kept you spread wide, his nails digging into your skin as if to say—you’re not going anywhere.

jay’s movements were slow, deliberate, each stroke of his tongue against your clit sending waves of pleasure coursing through your veins. his mouth was hot, wet, merciless, his lips wrapping around your swollen bud before sucking lightly, the sensation making your thighs tremble in his grasp.

a deep groan rumbled through his chest, the vibrations shooting straight through your core, making your body jolt as his tongue delved deeper, pushing into your entrance at an agonizingly slow pace. the stretch was new, the feeling intimate, filthy, and it had your walls fluttering, gripping his tongue tightly, pulling him in further.

"oh—s-shit…!"

your breath hitched, a sharp gasp escaping as your hands scrambled for something to hold onto, your body on fire from the overwhelming sensation. your eyes flickered open, and what you saw only made the heat pool even deeper in your stomach.

they were watching you.

sunghoon, jake—both standing there, their dark gazes locked onto you, silent, intense, their chests rising and falling with slow, controlled breaths. but you didn’t miss the way their jeans strained painfully, their bulges prominent, unmistakable, the fabric doing nothing to hide just how much this was affecting them.

sunghoon was the first to move.

he pushed off the wall, his footsteps measured, predatory, and before you could even react, his large hands tangled in your hair, his grip firm, possessive as he tilted your head up, forcing your dazed gaze to meet his.

"look at you…" his voice was low, taunting, his thumb brushing over your swollen lips, his eyes dripping with dark amusement. "so fucking pretty like this."

then, without warning, he crashed his lips against yours, swallowing the desperate moans spilling from your mouth. the kiss was hungry, feverish, all clashing teeth and tangled tongues, as if he was devouring the remnants of your sanity. your lungs burned for air, but you didn’t care, gasping against him only to have him steal the breath from your lips again.

and then—another pair of hands.

jake moved next, stepping into place like it was second nature, his touch searing as he reached for your shirt, his fingers brushing over your flushed skin as he dragged it up, up, up. your bra followed suit, the straps slipping off your shoulders before he tugged the cups down, letting your breasts spill free, the cool air making your nipples pebble instantly.

"fuck," he breathed, his voice raspy, thick with want, his hands already pushing your thighs further apart.

his lips met your skin a second later, hot and wet, tongue swirling over one nipple before his teeth grazed it lightly, tugging just enough to send a sharp jolt of pleasure straight down your spine.

you whined into sunghoon’s mouth, your back arching instinctively, and that only spurred jake on, his hands palming your tits, squeezing, kneading, his thumbs brushing over your sensitive peaks before his mouth latched onto the other one.

and through all of it—jay never stopped.

his tongue still delved deep into you, his lips still wrapped around your clit, the sinful combination of their hands, their mouths, their touches pulling you further and further into madness.

your thighs trembled violently, the overstimulation coursing through you in waves as jay’s slow, deliberate licks kept you teetering on the edge, his lips never once losing their rhythm. the contrast between his agonizingly slow pace and the sharp, sudden flicks of his tongue against your swollen clit had you completely breathless, your moans dissolving into whimpers against sunghoon’s mouth.

but just when you tried to push yourself further into the kiss, just when you needed the distraction from the unbearable pleasure building in your core, sunghoon suddenly pulled away, his lips leaving yours with a slick pop.

jake followed suit, detaching himself from your chest, his wet lips grazing your sensitive nipple one last time before he leaned back, both of them now watching you, taking in the state you were in—eyes hazy with lust, lips swollen and parted, chest rising and falling in sharp, unsteady breaths.

"fuck, jay—please don’t stop…"

your voice wavered, laced with desperation, your fingers tightening in his hair as you rocked your hips against his mouth, seeking more, needing more. but just as you thought he’d give in, a sharp sting spread through your inner thigh, a loud slap echoing in the heated kitchen.

a loud, broken whine ripped from your throat as your body jerked, your leg twitching from the impact.

"take what i fucking give you, doll," jay growled, his voice low, rough, sending a chill down your spine. his fingers gripped your thighs, spreading them even wider as he dived back in, his tongue moving faster, deeper, more relentless than before, his lips latching onto your clit as he sucked so hard your entire body shuddered violently.

your head tilted back, falling against jake’s shoulder, your body feeling weightless, on the verge of crumbling apart. his hands immediately wrapped around your waist, securing you against him, his lips pressing soft, almost mocking kisses along the side of your neck.

"gonna cum, baby?" jake murmured, his voice taunting, teasing, his lips brushing against your ear as his fingers traced up your trembling stomach. "gonna make a mess again, aren’t you?"

all you could do was whimper, nodding furiously, your hips rolling desperately against jay’s face, chasing the release that felt so impossibly close yet so painfully out of reach.

your entire body convulsed, waves of pleasure crashing down on you with an intensity that left you trembling. your thighs clamped around jay’s head, but he didn’t budge—instead, he moaned against you, the vibrations pushing you further into bliss, his tongue languidly stroking through your folds, savoring every drop of your release.

"fuck—fuck, jay!"

your voice broke into a scream, your back arching sharply, fingers gripping onto whatever you could find—jake’s arms, the edge of the countertop—anything to ground you as your orgasm ripped through you with overwhelming force. your breath came in sharp, gasping pants, your chest heaving, mind completely blank from the aftershocks.

but jay? he wasn’t done.

he kept going, his tongue lazily dragging through your slit, collecting everything you gave him, groaning deeply like he was addicted to the taste of you. it was too much, the overstimulation bordering on unbearable, and you whimpered, your hips weakly shifting away, but jay held you in place, his hands gripping your thighs tightly as he licked you clean, whole, ruined.

with one last slow swipe of his tongue, he finally pulled away, standing up, his chest rising and falling heavily, his lips, chin, and jaw glistening under the dim kitchen light.

when your hazy vision cleared, you were met with three pairs of eyes, all trained on you, all filled with dark amusement and heated satisfaction.

"baby, tell us now…"

sunghoon’s voice was low, coaxing, his fingers brushing damp strands of hair away from your face, tucking them behind your ear so gently it sent shivers down your spine. his gaze searched yours, expectant, confident—like he already knew the answer.

but you couldn’t speak.

your lips parted, but nothing came out, your throat too dry, your mind too foggy, either from the intensity of your orgasm or the impossible choice laid before you.

"come on, princess," jake murmured next, his lips ghosting along your cheek, his voice dripping with cocky certainty. "it’s me. i know it is."

his hands skated over your sides, his fingers sinking into your waist possessively, and for a moment, you thought maybe he was right—maybe it was him—maybe—but all you could do was whimper softly, a weak shake of your head following soon after.

"i… i c-can’t…"

your voice was small, breathless, barely audible, but they all heard it.

jay, still catching his breath, raised a brow, his gaze tracking over your shaking body, your parted lips, your chest still desperately seeking air.

"what do you mean?"

his voice was gentler this time, but there was something demanding behind it, something that said tell me now.

you swallowed thickly, eyes flickering between them—sunghoon’s intense gaze, jake’s lazily confident smirk, jay’s piercing eyes that never wavered from yours.

"i… i can't c-choose…"

the words left you in a whisper, your lashes fluttering as you dropped your gaze, feeling the heat of their stares consume you whole.

"you three are the best."

silence.

"fuck."

three voices, three reactions—jake’s grin widening, sunghoon clicking his tongue, jay exhaling sharply, shaking his head slightly before running a hand through his hair.

you barely had time to register their expressions before jake grabbed your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes once more.

"guess we’ll just have to take turns ruining you, then, princess."

natty's notesᝰ.ᐟ hoped you liked it !!

#HOLY SHIT #AND THE CROWD IS... TAKING OFF THEIR CLOTHES?!?!#🍑 favs

2K notes · View notes

peachyscenes · 3 months ago

Text

chapter 4 : okay, cowboy

previous chapter | masterlist | next chapter

summary: when you come into his shop to get your boyfriend's car fixed, yunho can help but wonder what a hardworking, pretty girl like you is doing with someone so...pathetic. and maybe, just maybe, he feels like he could treat you better.

pairing: cowboy mechanic!yunho x female!reader

genre: non-idol au | strangers to lovers | angst | fluff (no smut yet, but there will be eventually)

rating: pg-13 (18+ for the whole series bc there will be smut eventually)

word count: 5.5k

content/warnings: pet names (sweetheart, doll, babydoll)

notes: so this took me four months 😭 but i finally finished her! the next part will be the last part (which is honestly so sad to me 😔), but if you want to keep up with the story! there will be a spinoff for mingi 💗

and thank you so so much to @coffee-addict-kitten @skzdust and @desirehorizon for beta reading this part. truly the first draft of this was so ugly, and their help was vital to this just being a well-written story 💗

Yeosang was gonna kill Wooyoung tomorrow morning. There was no doubt in his mind. In fact, if he wasn’t ogling his boyfriend's arms as he carried the man, he probably would have done it now. Getting tipsy was one thing, but Wooyoung was so drunk off his ass that San practically carried him to the car.

“Can you at least buckle yourself?” San grumbled as he slid the drunk sack of potatoes that was Wooyoung into the back seat.

Wooyoung drunkenly grumbled something that Yeosang couldn’t quite make out before the door was slammed in his face.

San groaned and stretched his back before turning to pull Yeosang into his arms, causing his grumpy demeanor to break just a little as he melted into the large chest of his boyfriend.

“You okay?” San muttered into his hair, “You seemed kinda off tonight.”

Yeosang nodded gently, still taking in the warmth of their embrace, “I’m okay. Just a little thrown off I think.”

With a soft hum, San pulled Yeosang away from his chest, still cupping his arms with his hands, “Can we talk about it? I’d hate to have to get my information from him.” He nods towards the car where Wooyoung’s passed out in the backseat.

“Later?” Yeosang frowns and looks up into San’s eyes.

San smiles lovingly down at him, placing a chaste kiss on his forehead, “I just don’t want you to dwell on it too much. I worry about you.”

“I know…” he whispered with a little pout.

“Cute,” San muttered, cupping his cheek and leaning down to kiss him for real this time.

And they would’ve kept going if not for the sound of footsteps on the gravel approaching them from behind.

You looked like a mess. Your face was streaked with mascara and your hands shook as you held them to your chest. Yeosang blinked at you, peering behind your body trying to see if anyone was with you.

His brows furrowed when he realized you were completely alone. He knew Mingi and your friend had disappeared to the lake two hours ago but, where was Yunho?

A shaky hand wiped at your cheek, “Do you know where Wooyoung is?” Your voice was soft, but something in your tone made Yeosang’s heart hurt—though he wasn’t going to admit it.

San spoke up first. “Oh he’s a goner,” he chuckled, nodding toward the backseat of his boyfriend’s car. Yeosang knew he was trying to keep the mood light despite the tension, and though he appreciated it, it didn't do much to lift the uncomfortably stale air between the two of you.

You bit your lip, clearly trying to rethink your options.

He hated seeing you like that. The way you picked at your thumbs nervously and shuffled your feet, boots scraping against the gravel. Yet, despite the part of him that begged him not to, Yeosang spoke up, “Do you…need a ride?”

You looked him in the eyes for the first time in years, clearly shocked that he had offered without you even needing to ask. With a curt nod you cracked as you muttered, “Yeah.”

Yeosang was going to kill San now, too–beautiful biceps and two year long relationship aside. Because even after he’d offered you a ride, he didn’t expect to be sitting alone with you on the way to your apartment, fighting with himself to ignore your constant restless fidgeting. His knuckles turned white against the steering wheel.

But San had insisted. He’d dragged Wooyoung out of the car, leaving Yeosang with nothing but a kiss on the cheek and a “see you later” before he disappeared into the labyrinth that was Wooyoung’s apartment complex.

And the ride was just as unbearable as he thought it would be. He watched you fidget with your hands in your lap as you stared out the front windshield.

It will be over soon. He told himself.

He’d drop you off at your place, make sure you were safely inside, and he’d pull out of that parking lot like nothing ever happened. Like you’d never run into each other by some twisted string of fate. Like you had stayed out of his life for good.

But the longer he sat with you, despite the dreadful silence filling his car, the more he wondered how you were. He was glad to hear that you and Yeonjun broke up. And he imagined that, had things ended differently between you both, he would’ve called you up to go out for drinks to celebrate.

Fuck he missed that. The late nights with you, him, and Wooyoung spent on the floor of his dorm room just talking for hours and drunk off of beer that Wooyoung had stolen from his brother.

And the countless late nights cramming for exams at the very last minute, surrounded by empty cup noodles and a concerning amount of energy drinks. Nothing productive ever came out of those nights, but the hours spent together laughing and cursing yourselves for waiting until the night before to start your studying were always some of Yeosang’s favorites.

And though you had still been dating him at the time, Yeonjun was merely just a sliver of your life. Yeosang had assumed it was a fling. Your first love that you would be over in a couple months; it would hurt but you would have friends there to help you through it.

It wasn’t that Yeosang hated Yeonjun—at least not at first.

He was a friend of Wooyoung’s, a bandmate, and though he seemed a bit brash and over the top, he cared for you.

You went on dates, received flowers, attended his shows. Everything was normal.

But Yeosang could see that you were blinded by love. And in the three year overlap of your friendship with him and your relationship with Yeonjun, he could see what you couldn’t.

Yeonjun was possessive. But not in a way that was meant to protect you. He hated your friends, including Yeosang. He never said it outright but it was pretty obvious to everyone besides you. He took you on “dates” which consisted of inviting you to his shows but never letting you backstage because, as it turns out, he didn’t want you around his friends either.

It alarmed Yeosang if he was honest. Every day of your third year he could feel you drifting away. You flaked out on nearly every hangout, and you were nowhere to be seen whenever he asked if you could talk.

The final straw had been Wooyoung and Yeonjun’s fight. A rather anticlimactic affair looking back, but the aftermath was irreparable.

Yeonjun had lashed out at Wooyoung because he decided to leave the band. They were graduating in three months, and he had more things he needed to focus on. But Yeonjun had seen more for the band‘s future than anyone else ever had, and he’d seen the whole thing as betrayal. A lashing out from Yeonjun wasn’t a rarity, but this time it had gotten physical. And he nearly broke Wooyoung’s nose in the midst of his fit.

And when Yeosang told you the whole thing…well, you sided with Yeonjun. You told Yeosang that he was stressed and going through a lot with his family. That had been the final straw for him. In hindsight, Yeosang knows he should’ve stayed by your side, knowing that leaving you behind would only make you more dependent on the man you felt so adamantly that you had to defend, but he couldn’t help it.

That night had ended in a screaming match between the two of you, young, stupid and incredibly abrasive. One that ripped apart the seams of your already fading friendship. Opening up scars that seemed like they would never heal.

And he never saw you again after that.

He could tell by the way you bit your lip and kept sending him testing glances as he pulled into your apartment complex that you wanted to talk to him. And he’d be lying to himself if he said he didn’t want that too. He missed you, he really did, and it hurt him more than he’d like to admit when he saw the way you and Wooyoung reconnected instantaneously.

He hadn’t even put the car in park when you turned to him and finally spoke, “Do you wanna come up? Just for a drink?”

Yeosang sighed, glancing over at you, finally making eye contact with you.

“Please,” you begged, “I just wanna talk.”

“Fine,” he muttered before shutting off the car and slipping out of his seat.

You really never thought you’d see him again. It had crossed your mind when you thought about how things could have been different–the idealized version of your future where you had picked your friends over your shitty boyfriend.

And it embarrassed you to no end every time you thought about that fight. The way you had just thrown everyone aside, trying to rationalize and find a logical reason why Yeonjun would do such a thing. Looking everywhere and grasping at straws for the answer.

When the dust had settled and reality kicked in, you had wished with every fiber of your being that you had reacted differently. But it was too late.

You could’ve swallowed your pride and confronted your mistakes. But no. You simply let the friendship fade. And before you knew it, two people that had meant everything to you for years were gone.

Except here he was. Albeit reluctantly. But here in your apartment nonetheless.

“Is tea okay? That's all I really have,” you asked softly, “I haven’t gone grocery shopping in a couple weeks.”

He nodded, looking around your apartment which was scattered with the remains of your failed relationship, “Tea is fine.”

As you set up the kettle on the stove, you peered over at him, wondering what on earth you were supposed to say. You hadn’t exactly had a gameplan when you asked him to come up here. It was merely a desperate attempt to get him to speak to you again.

To your surprise and relief, though, he spoke first, “So you broke up.”

It was more of a statement than a question. He was just pointing out the obvious.

You hummed in acknowledgment, “Mhm. About two weeks ago now.”

“I’m happy for you,” his voice came out a bit dry and tired, but you could tell it was sincere.

“Thank you,” you smiled gently, “It should have happened years ago, but I guess I’m just too good at ignoring the warnings.”

He looked at you. Really looked at you. His dark eyes piercing through your soul.

“Yeo…” you started, trying to still your breath, “I’m so sorry.”

His eyes closed as he took a deep breath, composing himself, “Can I be honest?”

You nodded, “Of course.”

“I’m not mad at you anymore. Not for defending him,” you went to cut him off but he raised a hand, “You were in a bad relationship. Blinded by love. And you were wrong, we both know that. But honestly, after all these years, I don’t give a shit about that anymore. Hell, Wooyoung got over it in a week.” His eyes started to water just a little, “I just…I don’t understand why you never came back. And why now that you broke up with him do you think you can just show up again? Was it not worth it to risk losing him?”

You bit at your lip. Everything he said, you had thought before. It all had swirled around in the confines of your mind over and over and over again. But hearing it directly from his mouth just made it so much more real.

Slowly, you poured the water from the kettle into the two pastel blue mugs sitting next to each other on the counter, a soft puff of steam wisping off the top of them.

“I…” you started, staring down into the slowly steeping cup of tea in your hands, “I just couldn’t face you after that. You didn’t deserve that, any of it. You don’t deserve to have friends that throw you under the bus and toss you aside for loser boyfriends who are far from worth it.” A desperate sigh fell from your lips, “And I really didn’t think we’d ever get to talk again. Not like this.”

You slid the tea across the counter, and he gently picked it up, picking up the tea bag and swirling it around the cup. “And listen, we don’t have to make up or be friends. You don’t even need to show me the kindness you already have tonight. But please, I just want you to understand that I know I fucked up. And I know the way I treated you is far from okay. You deserve a hell of a lot more than what I gave you back then.”

He kept his eyes trained on the mug–still fidgeting with the string of the tea bag, “You surprised me tonight. I didn’t think I’d ever see you again, either. Surely not because you’re…hanging out with one of my friends.” A soft exhale passed through his nose, “But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t jealous of the way you and Wooyoung fell back into things so fast. I wish that was us.”

“Me too,” you murmured.

You could see the wheels inside his head spinning. “I want to try again.” He spoke softly, making sure to look you in the eye. “Us. We had a good thing. And maybe it will never be the same. But…I have to believe that our friendship is worth giving each other a second chance.”

The tears you were holding back started coming up once again. And you couldn’t help the way they started falling immediately at his confession. “Really?” Your voice broke.

He smiled softly, setting his mug down on the counter and meeting you on the other side of it. Gently, he wrapped his arms around your shoulders and pulled you against his chest. You hugged him as tight as you could, afraid to let go.

And as he held you there, stroking your hair, you couldn’t help but feel as if maybe you hadn’t fucked everything up tonight.

Out on the dingy balcony of your apartment, Yeosang sat beside you in one of the flimsy lawn chairs that had survived this many years by only a miracle.

You held the now fully steeped cup of tea in your hands, “Yeo.”

He hummed against his mug, taking a small sip.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Always.”

You tapped your fingers anxiously against the ceramic mug. “Do you think he hates me?”

Yeosang sighed, “Yunho?” You nodded. “I don’t think that man has ever hated someone in his entire life.”

You shook your head, “You didn’t see the way he looked at me when I rejected him.” An exhausted groan fell from your mouth, “He’s just…he’s so wonderful and helpful and perfect. He doesn’t deserve to have someone beside them who’s still reeling from the grief of a nearly decade long relationship.”

“You sure do like determining what people deserve, don’t you?” You gave him a sidelong glare.

He smiled against his cup, “You didn’t hear the way he was talking about you earlier. I mean, we were all a bit skeptical since you two only just met but the way he talked about you…I don’t think there’s anything you could do to make him hate you.

You frowned, “That just makes me feel worse.”

“I know,” he remarked, “But listen, I know you're scared. But do you trust my judgment?”

“Of course.”

“Yeonjun is not even half the man that Yunho is. And I know it’s terrifying to start something this new with wounds so fresh. So I understand if you need to take the time to heal. But I want you to know that that man will treat you worlds better than Yeonjun ever could.” He sighed, “And trust me I’ve spent enough time with both of them to know that.”

“It’s just so soon,” your brows furrowed in frustration, “I haven’t even been out of a relationship for a month. How can I possibly start a new one now?”

Yeosang leaned back against his chair, “You know what I think?” He glanced over at you. “I think you're scared. You were over Yeonjun well before you two broke up. But you’re scared of the commitment of another relationship.” He scooted closer to you, “Which I completely understand, by the way. San and I’s initial relationship was far from serious. But you know…when you like someone the desire to commit to them more and more grows on you.”

“But I can’t do that to him,” you stirred your words over in your head, “Not commit, that is.”

Yeosang laughed. A deep, genuine laugh, “Oh, trust me, I know you well enough to know that a casual commitment is not your thing. I just mean that I think you need to get over it.” He placed a hand on your knee, “You are going to regret it for the rest of your life if you let things end this way.”

He straightened up, “And frankly, I don’t really want to deal with him being mopey for the next several months because of this.”

You giggled, “Fine…I’ll reach out.”

“Thank you.”

“Have you missed me coming to you for endless relationship advice?” You nudged him jokingly.

A smile spread across his face.

“Every single day.”

After watching Yeosang pull away from your apartment, you had a million thoughts swirling through your head.

You thought about calling Yunho a hundred times, but every time you picked up the phone you wondered what the fuck you would even say to him. And it was two in the morning. Would he even pick up? And if he did, how could you ever face him? How could you sit there in the comfort of your home and tell him that you made a mistake when you weren’t even sure if you did?

You wanted him. You really did. Every part of you yearned to be taken care of like you knew he would. But you just couldn’t do it.

Yeosang was right. You were scared. Terrified, even. Now, more so than ever. Because after seeing the way his heart broke in two when you pushed him away, you couldn’t imagine doing that to him again.

Fuck. You ran your fingers through your hair, frustrated. You needed some air.

You glanced down at the keys on the counter, picking them up and heading out the door to where your car was waiting in the parking lot.

When you turned on the music and rolled the windows down, it felt like everything was just a tad clearer. The fear washed away as you pulled onto the highway, and you started imagining what a life with him could really look like.

Sweet, well-planned dates. Ones where he walked with you along the river, listening to your stories, holding your hand, and collecting flowers for you along the way.

Fancy, intimate dinners. Where he’d dress up in a clean suit with a flashy belt and that signature hat on top of his head. And he’d guide you with a hand on your lower back, before leaning down to your ear to tell you how beautiful you looked.

And late nights in his truck. The two of you lounged in the bed, looking at the stars. And he’d hold your palm to his lips so you knew just how much he cherished you.

The thought of his lips brought you back to just a few hours earlier. Where he had held you up close to him, his hands very respectfully gripping your body. And god his kisses. The sweetest, softest, and most passionate thing you had ever experienced.

The way he had whispered “Doll” against your lips had felt so personal. So special.

And you felt like a fucking idiot for throwing it all away.

But as soon as the unsavory thoughts started their way back in, you heard a loud thud from under the hood.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you cursed and pounded your hand against your steering wheel. And you watched in horror as your speedometer slowly fell toward zero.

What the fuck? Why now?

You looked around as you pulled the car off the side of the interstate. Nobody. Not a soul. In fact, it was so dark that the only light you could clearly see was that of your headlights.

And that’s when the true terror started to kick in. You were on the highway. Alone. With no way to get home by yourself. Anyone could take you, and none of your friends would notice anything was wrong for several hours.

Oh god. You started to lose control of your breathing. And as much as you tried to compose yourself, the darkness outside your windshield was enough to make you start thinking the worst thoughts.

And just as you thought it couldn’t get any worse, it started to rain. A lot. So bad you could hardly see anything outside the car. And the loud sound of the heavy downpour against metal consumed your brain.

You picked up your phone and your hands shook as you looked down at it. Down at the only person you could think to call.

He picked up on the third ring. “Hello?” His voice was deep and groggy from sleep, and you suddenly felt bad for waking him up.

“Yunho? I’m so sorry. I know it’s late,” you were trying to still your breathing enough to formulate words.

You heard the sudden rustling of sheets, “It’s okay, Doll? What’s wrong?” Oh god, of course he could hear you shaking.

“I’m really sorry, I just–”

He cut you off, “Sweetheart, stop apologizing. Tell me what's wrong.”

“I’m stuck.”

“Stuck?”

“My car broke down on the highway,” your tears were starting. God this was so humiliating. “I was just going for a night drive and the engine cut out of nowhere. And now I’m just stuck on the interstate, and it’s pouring.” You were fully crying now. The fear coursing back through your veins, “Yunho, I’m scared.”

Through the phone, you heard him slamming a door and running. “Send me your location. I’ll be there in ten.”

“Okay–” your voice cracked as you pulled your phone away from your ear and dropped him a pin.

Yunho had practically launched himself out of bed when he heard your voice through the phone. You sounded terrified enough as is, but the loud sound of the rain against the roof of your car was enough for him to know that something was up.

He praised and thanked his past self for not breaking out that six pack that Mingi had left on the counter, although he seriously considered it.

His visibility was less than ideal, especially on the highway, but he made do. The highway was practically empty, meaning he could go as fast as he needed to, and he just prayed that there wouldn’t be a cop on his route to you.

Soon enough, although not for him, he saw your hazards blinking off to the side of the road. He pulled up in front of your car–so you could see him clearer–and put his car in park. Barely checking to see if anyone was coming before flinging the door of his truck open.

His heart pounded as he jogged up to your little car. Through the windshield, he could see you hunched over, hands clasped in your lap so tight that you were shaking.

Trying not to scare you even more, he knocked on the window. You jumped. But when you saw it was him, he watched as your eyes filled with relief. And before he could gesture for you to roll the window down, you had flung open the door and barreled into his arms.

“Oh,” he let out a little sound of shock, before wrapping his arms around you, “It’s okay, Doll. I’m here.”

And he would’ve stayed like that forever, with your head against his chest and hands gripping the back of his sleep shirt, but on the interstate in the middle of the night was far from where he wanted to hold you.

“Sweetheart,” he spoke loudly over the rain, “Do you have an umbrella?” You cringed and shook your head.

“Let’s get in my truck then.”

You nodded and let him pile you into his passenger seat. When he pulled himself into the driver side, you opened your mouth to speak, to apologize he was sure, but he cut you off. “I think we’re gonna have to call a tow truck. I would check the engine and all, but it’s too dark and too rainy for me to even see anything.”

“Okay,” you said softly, “Thank you, Yunho.”

He glanced over at you. Fuck you were so beautiful. Even with your hair and clothes soaked and your eyes tired from lack of sleep, he couldn’t take his eyes off of you. It broke his heart a bit to see you out here, alone, clearly trying to reason with your own thoughts.

“Are you alright?” He muttered, pushing a bit of hair away from your face. Your eyes fluttered as his fingers brushed your cheeks.

“Mhm,” you tried to assure him, “I was just…thinking.”

“Yeah?” he cleared his throat, “Can we talk about it?” You looked up out the windshield at the pouring rain outside, “Can we get out of here first?”

The shop looked just how you remembered it. And it smelled just the same, too. A faint stench of motor oil and rubber floated in the air. Yunho disappeared into the back room to grab some towels, and you thanked every being under the sun that you were given a break from that soaking wet t-shirt that hugged every muscle on his chest.

You hated to admit it, even to just yourself, but Yunho's whole “rescue” was way more attractive than it should have been. The way he held you for just a brief second and the way he took control of the whole situation so quickly, you couldn’t help but feel more and more regret from earlier that night.

When he came back out of the back, he had changed into a white tee and jeans and he held a t-shirt in one hand and a towel in the other. But all you could focus on was the way he looked with his hair still damp and sticking to parts of his forehead.

“I have an extra shirt if you want it. I don’t know if it’ll fit but…” he offered the two items to you.

You smiled, trying to hide how flustered his appearance was making you, “That’s okay. I’ll just take the towel.” A small shiver ran through you when your fingers brushed his.

Patting your face dry, you watched as mascara came off on the towel, and you were suddenly very conscious of how much of a wreck you must’ve looked like. Turning away from Yunho, you continued to dry yourself off.

“Hey,” he spoke softly, reaching his hand out, “Can I help you?”

Hesitantly, you looked between him and the towel in your hand before handing it over to him. He started with your face, wiping off what you assumed to be the last of the mascara on your cheeks, before moving to your hair and gently patting it dry.

“You look beautiful right now, by the way,” he murmured as he continued to run the towel over your body, patting your back and wiping your arms.

Your face grew hot, “Thank you.”

“Of course, sweetheart.”

When he stopped moving the towel, you finally glanced up at him and saw him looking down at you. His hair still sticking to his forehead and a couple drops of water falling from his lashes. He looked too good to be true. “Doll…” he muttered, slipping his hands down your arms and to your back and slowly drifting towards your waist.

He held your waist just as gently as he had earlier that night, the tips of his hair still damp and dripping water onto your face. Your breath hitched when his face tilted down toward yours.

“If I kiss you…are you gonna run away from me again?” he whispered with a shaking breath.

You shook your head, eyes trained on his lips, and your voice came out in an almost unrecognizable whimper, “No.”

“Good,” he muttered. His hand slid from your hip to your lower back, pulling your body up against his.

He pressed his lips to yours yet again, but this time was different. Gone was the soft gentle kiss of a slightly tipsy Yunho who was testing the waters.

The man kissing you now wasn’t that Yunho at all. He grasped at your clothes in desperation. Groaning softly into your mouth. You tangled your fingers in his damp hair, pulling at the brunette strands causing him to shiver against you.

His hand slid under your wet t-shirt, exploring the damp skin of your back, before he gripped your hips again. This time pushing you toward the bed of his truck, wrapping an arm around your back and lifting you up onto it.

Without once breaking the kiss, Yunho’s hands explored your thighs, and he let out a soft moan when you wrapped your legs around his narrow waist.

His lips traveled across your jaw, nipping at the skin and leaving little marks in his wake. Your fists gripped onto his t-shirt as he trailed down your neck.

“Yunho…” his fingers tightened on your thighs when the moan of his name reached his ears.

He kept his lips on your neck, “God you’re so pretty when you say my name like that.”

You wrapped your legs tighter around his waist, the bare skin of your thighs pressing into the waistband of his jeans. He let out a low grunt against your neck when you rubbed up against him, right below his belt buckle.

Fuck you needed him. You needed all of him. Whoever this version of Yunho was, you wanted to cherish every second with him. Even if he looked at you like he was gonna tear you apart.

Rolling your hips against him made him tighten his grip on your hips, “Don’t tease me, Babydoll.”

Oh. God you were gonna pass out if he called you that again. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, and you felt your core tighten in a way it hadn’t in years.

Everything about him was fogging your brain. His damp hair tousled under your fingers. The heat of his breath against your skin. The way he tossed you around and picked you up like it didn’t even phase him.

He was so big in every way, even the ways you hadn’t yet been able to see. His presence towered over you, making you feel so completely overwhelmed by his everything. And the way his hands explored every inch of your exposed body in seconds made it so evidently obvious how massive he truly was.

“Oh? She likes that, does she?” He chuckled, and pulled away from your neck. Pressing his forehead to yours, sliding a hand to your neck and brushing his lips right above yours, “Hmm? Babydoll?”

You whimpered under his touch, “Yun…”

He pressed his lips to your nose, “You’re so fuckin’ cute, sweetheart.”

Your eyes fluttered closed as his lips approached yours. And when he finally kissed you again, it was like everything had fallen into place. His lips against yours were the only thing you’d ever need, but you were willing to take anything more that he was offering.

When he pulled back, he looked back into your eyes, cupping your cheek in his hand. “Doll,” he whispered softly, “As much as I’m enjoying this, we should stop.” You whined, grasping at his wrist and letting him cradle your face, “Please, Yun…”

He chuckled, “Come on, baby. You know me well enough to know I’m not gonna fuck you for the first time in the back of my truck.”

A small frown formed on your face, but he cut you off before you could speak, “You’re not talking me out of this one, sweetheart.” He settled your hands on your thighs, “Let me take you to dinner first. And then we can have all the fun you want. Okay?”

“Will you at least kiss me again, now?” “Of course, babydoll. I’ll give you all the kisses your sweet heart desires.” And he kissed you one more time as you stayed perched on the edge of his truck.

You ruffled his still wet hair when he pulled back, “Okay, cowboy. We can play by your rules. When are you taking me to dinner?”

“Tomorrow.”

general taglist : @swimmingkpopblog @oddracha @drinkingrumandcocacola @minaateez @funnyvxlentine @sunnysidesins @skzdust @princelingperfect @seomisaho @bigboymoozz @fireseo @atzlordz @sunwoosbaby @ultrapinkvoidbouquet @kierraperkins3 @my-atiny-kookie-rkive @astudyoftimeywimeystuff @yunhoish @yoongiigolden @ateez-atiny380 @applez98 @hodgepodge-musings @honeyfever @minkieater @avyskai

#UGHH CAN WE BRING BACK MEN LIKE THIS???#🍑 favs

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peachyscenes · 4 months ago

Text

Curse Your Name

𖤐❝Apricity❞𖤐

❥Vampire Ateez x fem reader

❝What is destined cannot be avoided.❞

Masterlist + Visualizers, Index

✫彡wordcount: 12k

(✯◡✯)genre: yandere, fantasy, smut, angst

ಠ_ಠwarning/content: see general warnings in the masterlist: slightly dubcon blood drinking (reader is drunk but chill with it), non-sexual semi nudity, deep emotions from blood drinking, smidge of hongjoong's backstory and its :(((, reader fighting with herself (soul vs mind). smut warnings: corruption kink so bad like soooo bad, clit and nipple stimulation, dirty talk, kissing, hickeys, biting + blood sucking, heavyyy praise, light dacryphilia, first orgasm

➯a/n: MATZ DRINKING SCENE I TOLD YOU I WOULNT LEAVE YALL IN THE DARK ALSO BUCKLE TF UP YOOOO

✫bleeding hearts✫@spenceatiny18 @gigglensnort @londonbridges01 @soobieboobiebaby @klllerwaifu @stayatinykatsy @onyxmango @purple-bell @peachyscenes @emilysecresy @ninjakitty15 @imeverycliche @princelingperfect @tunafishyfishylike

❝Drink from me and live... forever.❞

MDNI.

𖤐❝Be gentle with our girl.❞𖤐

"You smell so good," Seonghwa pants quietly as he yanks at the ribbon on the back of your dress.

He can hardly hold himself back from sinking his teeth into you. He has to remind himself to be gentle with you. "Like the sweetest fucking dessert. Oh, thank you. Sweet heavens, thank you."

"C-careful, My King," you stumble, placing your hands against the wall for stability.

The candles that Hongjoong light are the only source of illumination in your chambers. The sun is long gone.

"Come," Seonghwa pulls you to the center of the room, gathering up your skirt in his hands, "off with this already." He leaves a kiss to your jaw before he pulls the garment up and over your head; leaving you in your plain shift.

Before you have the chance to even feel embarrassed, Hongjoong's hands are on your waist. "You've made the King so eager," he chuckles as he eyes the way he's breathing heavily, scanning your body like he can see through the fabric.

Seonghwa's eyes are glowing red in the dim light. "You are more beautiful than I have ever dreamt of. The Goddess has outdone herself in your creation." He hums as he leans and presses his nose to your jugular. Your heart is beating so violently that he swears he can feel it.

Apparently, praise isn't affective in making you swoon only if it comes from the Lieutenant.

Your hands find his shoulders with a mind of their own, your breaths short as Hongjoong leads you both to the bed.

Your shift slides up your thighs as you land on the Kings lap, one leg on either side of him. "Be gentle with our girl," Hongjoong coos as he slips the thin sleeve off of your shoulder, exposing your flesh for him as he watches with ruby eyes.

"Grentizia," Seonghwa prays as he tilts his head back, his chest heaving.

"Drink from her neck," he tilts your head to the side gently, "it's her favorite. Isn't it, little one?"

You hum affirmatively, leaning into the way he grips your hair carefully. You don't know what's come over you. A few days ago, you were hesitant to even let the trio that you first met drink from you — now you find yourself thinking that if any of the royals asked you nicely, you'd expose your veins without a single trace of hesitation.

You think it must be the wine — but in reality, being so close to them is already affecting your soul.

Your souls are mingling even if your mind is lagging behind.

And your soul is desperate to please.

You gasp sharply as his teeth sink into your neck without warning. You grab onto his pink strands, grounding yourself as he feasts.

Hongjoong watches with something... fond, as Seonghwa runs through all of the emotions that he also felt the first time he tasted you; holding your head to the side and kissing your temple softly as you chase your breath.

Praise The Goddess, Seonghwa thinks. And then, another thought to follow. One that does not go away —

Praise you, his delicate soulmate. The last missing piece of his life's puzzle that he has waited centuries for. Praise you.

Seonghwa growls into your neck as he sucks more and more, his hands finding your waist and holding onto you like you'll slip away if his grip falters for even a split second.

This is more than just feeding to him. This feels akin to making love. The warmth of your blood settles in his stomach and blooms out to his entire body. His skin is so warm and tingling. It's taking much more willpower than he would like to admit to hold himself from bucking his hips into you.

It just feels so ethereal.

He can't help but slurp up every bit of crimson liquid you offer to him, even as you waiver on top of him dizzily and brace yourself with his hair. He can't be bothered to feel the sting.

Your heated body slumps against him, your blood sweltering against his tongue; taking root in his body like an ancient tree. You make him feel like... when he was human.

When he was not used to always being cold — when he would stand under the sun in the dead of winter and bask in it.

He closes his eyes, slowly withdrawing his teeth in a way that makes you shiver; makes you press closer to him. He wraps his arms around your torso tightly, cradling you as he lets you wash over him. Like the sunshine in the bitter cold.

He places his forehead against your chest, his fingers wrapping around Hongjoong's as the man holds his hand.

The King would never admit it out loud to anyone other than his soulmates — even then, he was hesitant. But he is a sentimental man. In life, and in afterlife.

After so many years of being the leader of an entire realm, it's beaten into him not to show weakness. Not to show affection.

Yet as he looks up at you, his eyes are filled with nothing but softness and warmth in the dimming red color of his irises. "Di enar, Elarin." {Thank you, the sun.}

You blink dazedly, you've never heard that language before; but the way he speaks so purposefully as he holds you makes your lips twitch with a smile.

Unbeknownst to you, Hongjoong is behind you with the biggest grin ever on his face. He's about to start bouncing off the walls at Seonghwa's sweet words.

He had called you something akin to 'Sunshine', and he threw it in with the deepest level of thanks that one could speak in the dead language.

"Do you feel okay?" Seonghwa traces his hand up your back, "did I hurt you?" He's afraid he might have — he was so lost in his own emotions. He's never had to hold himself back when it comes to his soulmates.

You shake your head slowly, "no, My King-"

"Seonghwa." He speaks softly, fixing up the strap of your shift, "call me Seonghwa. I would prefer it that way." He looks to Hongjoong as he slips your other sleeve down, exposing your untainted skin.

He's on you in a millisecond, kissing and licking all over your shoulder and making you gasp. "May I?"

With a shuddering 'yes', you tilt your head on your own; giving him a prime location to sink his teeth in.

He kisses your cheek before doing just that.

Seonghwa chuckles as the younger man pushes you both flat to the bed, climbing behind you and all but purring as he drinks your life force.

Good Goddess, he thinks, you're still as sweet as the first time. You have his entire body feeling like it's floating.

Seonghwa watches, just as Hongjoong did, as the other Vampire goes through the motions. He's looks so blissful. Like he doesn't have a care in the realm.

"You are so divine," the King whispers as his eyes find their way back to watch your expression; the way your eyebrows twitch and your lips stay parted in attempt to catch your breath.

When you let out the smallest moan from your trembling lips — Hongjoong can no longer pride himself in his self discipline.

He promised himself just a sip, just a small bite. You were already dizzy and panting from the amount of blood your other soulmate had helped himself to.

But he can't help himself when you make such cute sounds.

His mind is wandering further from the pure euphoria that he feels and into his darker desires. Finding himself wondering what kind of noises you might make if he put his mouth to use elsewhere. What you might sound like as —

Hongjoong forces himself to stop, growling quietly from behind you as he closes his eyes, trying to shake the image from his head.

"Thank you for allowing us," Seonghwa whispers just over Hongjoong's heavy breaths, "you truly have no idea how... satisfying it is. You are like nothing else I've ever encountered in all of my years."

You lean into the way he strokes your head, dizzy and sweaty between them as your heart tries to crack out from behind your ribs. "Th...thank you, Seonghwa."

He closes his eyes quickly, in the same way Hongjoong does — taking deep, steadying breaths.

The way you speak his name feels like he's being cursed with the most beautiful hex. His heart jumps into his throat, thud-thud-thudding while trying to match yours as it slows to a calmer rhythm.

He tightens one of his arms around you, holding you to his chest while the other searches for the younger vampire. He yanks him down, effortlessly sandwiching you between them.

"Please..." You rasp, closing your eyes slowly, "stay with me until the morning comes."

"You would have to force us to do otherwise," Hongjoong smiles as he rests his head on your back, listening to your heartbeat and committing it to his memory.

A pleased hum trails off into nothing as you fall asleep between them, spent with blood loss but still pleasantly warm between the two cold-blooded men.

𖤐❝Answer me something honestly?❞𖤐

You had moved, or rather — you had been moved, during the night to lay on your side.

Still between the royals, still deep asleep.

Neither of them had slept a wink. They sat in the comfortable silence until the beginnings of sunlight shone through the window.

"Hongjoong." The elder whispers, his eyes still closed as he holds your head to his chest. "Answer me something honestly?"

"Of course," he hums from behind you, his chest pressed to your back under the cover they had pulled up to keep you warm.

"How did you feel when you drink from her? Not- not how does she taste," he peeks his eyes open slowly, blinking in the face of the rising sun. "How does it make you feel?"

The younger thinks for a long moment, recalling every time that he's fed from you. He feels... so much. It's hard to put a single description to it. But there is one reoccurring thing — "I feel... like I am back in the moment I won my freedom in a dual." He gulps, pressing closer to your sleeping form. He hadn't said it out loud yet. He hadn't even fully realized it.

Seonghwa reaches over and rubs his shoulder comfortingly. It's a sensitive subject for the man. "Then, why do you enjoy it so much?"

"It's not the dual. It's not what led to it," he shakes his head. "It is when I ran for the first time without being hunted. When I had no owner, no shackles for the first time in my life. She... she is the comfort of the wind around me as I ran away, the comfort of knowing I could do whatever I wanted."

He can tell the brunet is tearing up, and it makes his throat tighten unpleasantly. He hates seeing people cry, but especially his soulmates. "Don't cry, Joong," he whispers, rubbing his head softly, "please..."

He sniffs, burying his head deeper into your back. "Why do you ask? What did you feel?"

Seonghwa hesitates. It's a similar situation to Hongjoong's, a bittersweet comfort. "I-"

"Good morrow, My Lady, h-" Ymanya pauses in the doorway with her hand still on the wooden handle. She takes in the scene for a brief moment before she suddenly folds herself over at the waist, bending more than ninety degrees. "Forgive me, M-"

"Ymanya, let me ask you something."

"...Yes, My King?"

Seonghwa sits up slowly, still in his day clothes — and she doesn't know why that gives her a bit of relief. "Has there been anything that the Lady has asked for?"

"Asked for?" She hums for a second as she thinks. "Oh, she did want to learn about Halazia traditions," she recalls from the other night. "Might that be what you mean?"

He looks to you with a bit of a smile. "That's all?"

"So far, King," she nods, still hovering in the doorway, unsure of what to do.

"Gather her some books," he says as he stands, leaning and kissing Hongjoong's head from where he hides his emotional face in your back. "Perhaps some of Mingi's writings. Whatever you think she will be curious about. Your morning duties are dismissed. Do that instead, please."

"Right away, My King. Shall I send Gele to ready h-"

"No," Hongjoong groans mumbled, pulling you closer as you shift in your sleep, "leave us, Ymanya. We will help Our Lady dress when she awakens. She needs to rest."

"Of course, My Lord." She bows again, hiding her smile as she closes the door behind her. She's glad that the royals are caring for you, even going as far to ask her what you might want. She can't say she's surprised. They have waited over 300 years.

Of course they'd be fussing over you so much.

She can't help but be happy. You have been here a mere three days and already she sees changes happening. For one, the royals have been smiling almost every time she's seen them.

She was right. It will be nice to have someone like you in the castle.

𖤐❝You'll let me learn?❞𖤐

"Drink up," Wooyoung smiles as he slides you a cup.

You're all at the table again, bathed in the early morning sunlight rather than the candles of last night.

"What's this, Lord Jung?" You ask as you sniff the steaming liquid. You're sat between Yeosang and Jongho, and there was clearly a small fight over who got the title of being next to you —

As you were walking in with the two eldest, they all were pushing and shoving to get to the chairs next to the one what was 'yours' in the middle of the long table. All Seonghwa had to do was sigh drastically and they all fell into their respective positions.

"Moondew berry and bloodvine tea," he reaches over the table and pats your head before sitting.

"Ah..." You nod as you look down at the drink.

"You have no idea what those are, do you?" San asks with a grin as he sees your thoughtful pout.

"Absolutely not, My Lord." You sigh, cracking a small smile at the sound of their laughter, "what are they?"

"Moondew berries help with headaches, and bloodvine is the stem of a flower which helps with heart health. It will help you get your blood back faster," Wooyoung explains for you, gesturing to the cup, "at least have half. If you don't enjoy it I can find something else to aid you."

You take the cup carefully and give it another inspection. After you take a sip, you nod to him; taking another.

"Good?" He beams, over the moon at the fact that he managed to make the herbal remedy taste good enough for you.

"Yes, thank you, My L-" Your voice is muffled as he jumps up and leans over the table again, cupping your cheeks and giving you a kiss.

He pulls back with a cheshire grin, absolutely buzzing with delight.

You freeze for a moment, dazed, still not even close to being used to their affection when it's pointed at you.

The conversation carries on without you as you come back to your senses, sipping the drink as you listen in.

"-thinking about sending Amfrid in my place. I don't want to leave so soon." Jongho leans his chin on his hand, looking at you in the corner of his eye.

"Understandable," Seonghwa definitely wouldn't want to leave so soon after you've joined them either, "brief him today and send him on his way- Hongjoong," he snaps as he thinks, "who is that new recruit? With the blonde hair?"

"Torin. He's got potential." Hongjoong answers quickly, sliding his fruit off his plate and onto yours.

"Tell him take Talin," the King nods, distracted as he sees Ymanya approaching with an armful of books.

"Torin," Yeosang's little grumble of correction earns him a chuckle from you as you push the food around on your plate.

"What have you got, Ymanya?" He stands, taking the heavy weight from her hold quickly and allowing her arms to sag to her side.

"Origins of Halazia traditions starting within your reign, My King." Her words get you interested in the conversation, leaning to look past Jongho. He leans back as he notices you, letting you look.

The stack of books is almost as big as your head. That's just the history of the traditions? How big is the stack of regular history?

He flips through the pages of one of the books, nodding approvingly. "Thank you, Ymanya, these will do nicely."

She gives you a bow and a smile as she leaves, "enjoy, My Lady."

Your eyebrows raise, and you look to Seonghwa as he continues to scan the books. Please be for you. Please let the books be for you.

"What are those for," Mingi speaks as he sees your patience wavering.

"Ymanya said Our Lady is curious about our traditions," Hongjoong grabs one of the books, reading the label. 'Human sacrif-' He tosses it quickly, "not that one."

"You'll let me learn?" You finally speak up with wide, hopeful eyes.

"Of course," Seonghwa hums as he closes the book, "you live here now. You should have some education on our way of th-"

How you managed to sneak up on the Vampire is a mystery. It's impossible to catch him off guard. But here you are, with your arms wrapped around his waist and his body completely frozen with shock. "Oh, thank you!"

You jump as you let go just as quickly as you embraced him, immediately turning to the books as the others laugh at the man's surprised expression.

You were a painfully curious person by nature. It probably didn't help that your father had neglected to teach you about anything other than religion.

You wanted to learn everything you could, and you did. The books in Caethnor were limited to the ones in the small library in the church, but you read every single one a thousand times over. Not only did you love to read, it would do you good to know more about the place that you now reside. You wanted to know everything about the world around you. About the people. About the flora and fauna.

The bell outside tolls shortly, signaling the end of the hour. Begrudgingly, Hongjoong sets down the book in his hand back into the pile. "We must get busy," he slides his hand across your waist as he joins your side, "might I have a kiss before I leave?"

You look up from the books with the biggest smile he's yet to see on your face, "thank you, Lord Kim." You say before you quickly peck his cheek.

"You're welcome, little one." He'll take it, he won't push you for a kiss on the lips. He's already held you for the entire night. He gives a final squeeze to your hip as he passes behind you, "come on, Yeosang."

The man stands up and pauses, "(Y/n)?"

"Yes, My Lord?"

"Be sure to eat," he points to your nearly full plate as he gathers his coat from the back of his chair.

"Oh, of course," you bow to him, and he has a deep itching urge to also ask for a kiss. He wants to feel your skin on his in any manner at all, really. He wants to feel the sparks. But you still seem very reserved with him. So he settles on —

"See you at supper."

You give him a soft smile, squeaking when San appears at your side and bends over to hug you tightly. "Have a good day," he hums with his cheek against yours.

"Y-you too, My Lord?" You stutter out, startled by his sudden actions.

"What is on your schedule today, Yunho?" Seonghwa asks as he tears his eyes from the sight which makes his heart tender and warm.

"I have a test planned for the apprentice mages later in the day, other than that," he shrugs, reaching for a glass of water. He knows it won't quench his thirst, but he must try. He has to have restraint when it comes to you, especially now that you're also bleeding for the others. The last thing he wants to do is hurt you.

Perhaps he should just keep his distance for a few days —

"You should help (Y/n) with her reading," Seonghwa says it like a suggestion, but he knows it's more of a command. "You know a lot about regional traditions." He takes San's place next to you and cups your jaw as he kisses your cheek. He can't help the grin that he has when he pulls back, your heart is pumping so fast and your skin is so warm. "Be a good student, yeah?"

𖤐❝I can't wait to teach you all kinds of things.❞𖤐

You are a good student. Yunho had never seen anyone so eager to learn about where traditions and ceremonies came from. The next day, San had never seen someone so determined to learn how to sew. After that, Mingi couldn't wait to spend the day teaching you about his visions and hearing all about your villages small variations from the realms religion.

Today marked six days of being in the castle. You went outside for the first time, much to Seonghwa's dismay. Yeosang eased his worries about their defenses not being strong enough by reminding him that you wouldn't be leaving his side, and Gele would also be accompanying you.

You didn't have to ask why they needed defenses, you aren't clueless. Some people hate the fact that the undead are ruling. Some people hate the undead, period.

You used to be one of them.

But over the days, you've come to see a whole new side of Vampiric life. They were still human, deep down. Sometimes you forgot they were hundreds of years old and equipped with supernatural abilities.

"You must have to be strong to use a bow with such precision," you say from the sidelines, seated on the grass atop of Gele's apron after she insisted a Lady should not touch the ground. You were still hesitant, but she reassured you that it was okay. You still felt bad, though. Perhaps you could get San to help you make her one as a thanks. "Is the string very difficult to pull back?"

Yeosang pouts in thought as he readies another arrow. It doesn't matter that he's been an archer for 346 years, he still practices every day. That's why he's the best. "I suppose so, I think I am used to it." He barely has to aim before he lets the arrow whiz through the air and hit the hay bale dead center.

The expansive field is just off of the back of the hill that the castle is situated upon. The brick stairs made the journey up and down less steep, and it was clear the path was cared for just as well as the inside of the estate. Bushes and flowers were all carefully arranged and trimmed and taken care of as they were strewn about strategically.

You're learning the layout fairly quickly, with an admittedly large amount of help.

The King's office window overlooks the entire area from the top floor. The chapel where Mingi works and prays is on the bottom floor, the first door you find after you enter through the double doors that lead out. San's workshop is next to it.

Closest to the castle was the greenhouse, which acted as Wooyoung's office, and was quite literally green except for the large windows around the entire building. You wonder if he did that on purpose or if he might be the origin of the word. He had poked his head out when he saw you coming down the stairs and called you over for a kiss, pouting over how you hadn't spent time with him even though you just sat next to him at breakfast.

A little further back was the stables, where you ran into Jongho as he readied his own horse; getting ready to head into the city. You gave him a kiss to the cheek and told him to return safely — which earned you a bit of light natured teasing from Gele as you walked to the open part of the field.

It was large enough to accommodate all the different divisions of the guard as they trained. You could hear Hongjoong directing the fighters if you strained your ears. You looked over a bit ago and saw him fighting, and it was quite the frightening sight to see him throw punch after punch while dodging and not even breaking a sweat. You looked back to the archers pretty quickly.

"It has to be sturdy enough so that it will not break when you pull it back. It can be difficult for a beginner," Yeosang goes to notch another arrow before he stops and looks at you.

The sun must be hitting him directly, because he feels warm all of the sudden as you smile at him.

"It's impressive! You haven't missed a single shot," you tilt your head, "I do suppose you've had a great deal of practice, My Lord?"

"Enough practice for multiple lifetimes," he laughs softly, looking down at his longbow. San crafted it nearly fifty years ago. He's had to replace the string countless times from his nonstop use of the weapon. He never let anyone touch it, not even the weapons master. San to make repairs, or the one or two times he's tossed it to Wooyoung on the battle field. But that is the extent of who handles his precious bow. "Would you like to try?"

"I doubt I will be any good."

"I, too, was once a beginner," he approaches with a grin and holds his hand out to you. "I did say I would teach you, didn't I? What better time to start than now?"

You look over your shoulder to Gele, who's leaning against another hay bale. "Don't look to me, Lady (Y/n)," she giggles, "I have never shot a bow. I preferred a sword in my day."

"I want to see that." You point at her before turning back to Yeosang. "Don't judge me too harshly, Lord Kang." You take his hand and almost jump at the sparks that bloom on your skin. You must have forgotten briefly. Your brain still hasn't caught up to the fact that you, indeed, have not just one — but multiple soulmates.

"I will never," he hides his giddy smile by looking down at the vibrant grass. It's the first time you've touched one another, and he couldn't be more happy to have finally grazed each part of his soul that wanders outside of his body.

"Watch me closely." He grips the bottom of the bow and looks over to you, pleased to see that you're watching him intently. He runs through all of the steps right up to pulling the string back and then he stops. "Again?"

"I think I have got it." Based on what they're learning about you; he doesn't doubt that, actually. You're a very quick learner. He likes that about you. He likes a lot about you, when he thinks about it.

You're a very driven person. You only learned how to sew from San the day before last and he saw you working on a quilt with scrap fabrics to practice this morning before breakfast.

He hands his bow to you without a second thought, watching you closely as you follow his steps. Right up to notching the arrow and pinching the end of it. "You seem a natural."

"Our Lady will be catching up to you in no time, Lord Kang," Gele jokes as she takes a seat on the apron, watching you repeat the preparation of the bow.

"We will have to see about that," he gives her a small chuckle before he steps next to you. "Try to pull it back, see how far you can bring it."

"Are you sure? My arms are pretty weak..." You hesitate, re-settling the arrow one more time.

"Just to see," he shrugs, "you needn't be perfect. I don't expect you to be."

Joining his family after so long makes you perfect enough in his eyes.

"Do not laugh at me," you take a breath before pulling it back in the way you had watched him do. It only moves a fraction of an inch. "Good Goddess, I have more respect for archers now." You sigh as you lower the bow, jumping a bit when he lifts it back up — suddenly standing behind you.

"I will help you," he can't help but smirk as he hears your heart skip a beat. "I will help you hold it steady and pull back, you do the aiming."

"A-alright." You force yourself to ignore the tingles on your hand as he places one over yours, the other above yours on the wood of the bow.

"When you pull the string back, take a breath in," he says as he helps you, doing most of the heavy lifting. But he can tell you're still giving it all of your strength by the way your arm trembles, you don't let him do all of the work.

You do so, filling your lungs with the fresh fall air.

"Focus only on where you want the arrow to hit. Forget everything else as you aim."

As long as you hit the hay bale, you'll be satisfied with yourself. Just hit the hay. It's a fairly big target. You don't have to hit it smack dab in the middle where all of his arrows lie. Anywhere in the circle, and you will be pleased.

He lets you move the bow to aim, still holding it with you.

"When you are ready to fire, let go of your breath and the arrow at the same time."

Your arms are beginning to shake just a little more, and you grimace in frustration for being so weak.

Forget everything else.

Just the hay. You can do that.

He lets go with you when he hears you let out your breath, smiling widely as the arrow flies through the air and hits the outer corner of the circle.

"Woah!" Gele claps from your previous spot, "you kick ass, My Lady!"

"Oh, Goddess!" You jump excitedly, turning to face him, "I hit it!"

"I saw," he chuckles as he takes the bow carefully. "You have good aim for a beginner. Perhaps you are a natural."

"Thank you," you bow a bit, smiling as you turn to look at the arrow now lodged into the hay. "If you say so."

"I do," he nods, looking down at you, "you're a quick learner. I can't wait to teach you all kinds of things."

𖤐❝Kiss me like you mean it.❞𖤐

The next day, you and Yunho finished an entire book together in only two hours, even with all of your questions and your admittedly low knowledge of how to read the language.

"Yunho mi," you call from your seat among the books. He commented about how you need a bookcase as he saw them all on the cushioned bench at the end of the bed.

"You have another question?" He hums from his place leaned back on the pillows, looking down to you.

"Yes, actually, but..."

He tilts his head curiously, "what is it?" He sits up, lowering the book he holds into his lap.

"I was wondering... what the ceremony is called when a human loses their virginity to a Vampire so that I can read about it and know what to expect." You ramble out quickly, keeping your back turned to him as he processes your words.

"Oh," he nods, "of course, (Y/n) mi!" He jumps up quickly, kneeling in front of you and the pile of books in a millisecond. "I can't believe nobody has told you about this yet. Ah, it should be in here."

He offers you one of the hardbacks titled 'Human and Vampiric Relations', smiling softly as you take it. "It is called The Soul Embrace. Do you want me to go over it with you?"

"It would be much appreciated," you say with a slight tremor in your voice.

He turns to the chapter you're looking for, taking a seat next to you.

The veil between a Vampire's soul and the mortal world is thinner than that of a human's. The soul of a virgin is more potent. Because of these facts, the soul of a Vampire will briefly enter the soul of a human if they are to take their virginity. When a virgin is penetrated by a Vampire, or when a virgin penetrates a Vampire — their souls will intermingle.

This is a very intimate affair, and as such it should be treated with the utmost care and respect. Like many of our other ceremonies, it is to be blessed by The Goddess. To receive her blessing, the human and Vampire must kneel and bow with their foreheads on the Earth. This is the beginning of the ceremony —

Yunho can hear your heart beating violently in your chest, and he watches as you scan past the small list of preparations; your throat bobbing as you gulp.

— lay the virgin down with a kiss before penetr—

You shove the book into his lap, breathing deeply. "That is so intimate! I had never even kissed anyone before I met you all." You bite your lip, looking down.

That gives Yunho pause. "You hadn't?"

"No... I fear I am much too inexperienced to ever be ready for," you point to the book with a grimace, "that."

"I was your first kiss?" He raises his eyebrows, heart thrumming to life in his cold chest. "If- if I had known, I wouldn't have-"

"It's okay. I'm glad it was you... your lips felt nice." You whisper, tracing the embroidery on your skirt. "Can I ask you another question?"

"Of course," he nods, looking at you intently, "I will answer it to the best of my abilities." He has to ignore the way you said his lips felt nice lest he kiss you breathless.

"What is... hand stuff?" You sigh embarrassedly, recalling the others words. "I assume it is when people touch each other without... penetration? But how does that work? Is not the whole point of it to... touch each other lower?"

His ears are red fucking hot.

They knew you were a virgin. Yes. They knew you were sheltered. Sure. But they didn't know the extent.

"Uhm..." He swallows thickly, looking down to the book, "it's like masturbation, but with another person. Sex can be a lot of things."

Your next words make his hands itch with the deep urge to grab at you and ruin all of your innocence. "What is masturbation?"

He tilts his head back to face the ceiling, praying silently for strength. "It's," he takes a moment, "it's when you touch yourself to reach an orgasm." Please don't ask. Please don't ask.

"An orgasm?"

"Sweet Grentizia," he groans, cupping his face in his hands. Seonghwa wasn't kidding when he said it was a challenge to hold back. They all had their own... pleasures. But one thing they all had in common was that they loved to absolutely ruin each other. And you are pure. Perfect. Made to break and place back together with gentle kisses and then repeat. Made to take —

"Will you teach me?"

He grips the book again tightly, staring at the words to ground himself. "...What?"

"I want you to teach me." You whisper as you look up to him. His eyes are still on the pages, but he isn't registering a single word — and you know it. "Please, My Lord. You said that you would teach me anything I wanted to know."

His nails are digging into the hard cover of the book, leaving crescent indentations. "And that-" He gulps, "that is something you want to learn?"

"Yes." You lean forward, tilting your head, "I trust you to teach me well."

Oh, you probably shouldn't. He's only one bat of your eyelashes away from ripping your dress off and saying 'fuck the ceremony.'

"Please, Yunho mi? I want to start experiencing... sexual things- ah!" The second the word 'sex' passed your lips, he was ready to devour you whole. He yanks you up by your dresses collar and bends you over the edge of the bed, making you kneel on the bench all in one swift movement.

"I will teach you," his voice is near a growl as he undoes the bow on your back, quickly tugging the ribbon. "I will have your first kiss and your first orgasm."

Good Goddess, what have you gotten yourself into?

You couldn't help yourself. After reading about the ceremony, how intense and intimate it will be, you realized you wanted to at least have something under your belt in the sexual experience category.

You knew that none of them would disrespect Seonghwa and take you before he did, even if you preferred them to over him. You were learning quickly that age meant respect in the Vampiric world, and he was the oldest of your soulmates. They would wait decades until you were ready to lose your virginity to Seonghwa — if that's what it took.

But virginity doesn't mean you had to be a complete stranger to such things. You had never even touched yourself. It just wasn't something you thought about... or knew how to do.

You trust Yunho to teach you. You trust him to make you feel good. You want to make him feel good.

If it were anyone else, you'd probably be chickening out. Wooyoung might lose control; despite all of his good natured teasing over the past few days — he was still as eager as all of them and he has zero control when it comes to you. You caught him staring at your behind quite often, and he didn't even pretend to be embarrassed. Hongjoong was still a bit intimidating, especially after you had seen him fighting yesterday. Mingi, you might have trusted as well; arguably, you knew him best. But you still weren't used to his voice being attached to his body, you were used to him being a 'ghost'. The others, you were only just now getting close enough to to be comfortable giving them kisses to the cheek.

But Yunho? His forehead kisses make you smile and he's so... attentive.

You will admit that The Goddess made all of your soulmates undeniably gorgeous. And something about the way Yunho looks at you has been making you hot for a few days.

Because he's looking at you like he looks at the rest of your soulmates. His gaze is all consuming and dominating over whoever he sets it on.

"Come here," he pulls you up, keeping you kneeled on the bench as he bundles up your skirts in his hands. He pauses, leaning closer to your ear, "are you sure?"

"Yes," you have no hesitation. You want Yunho to be the first one to show you how pleasurable the heat between your legs can be.

Your dress is gone in a flash, and you're being pushed to the bed on your back, looking down at him dizzily as he pulls off your shoes as well. "Will you," you pant as he crawls over you, "show me how to kiss like you do?"

He cups your cheeks, straddling your waist as he leans down. The tip of his nose against yours fills your skin with sparks. "Move slowly," he tilts his head to show you, his lips hovering just over your own. "Take your time," he whispers, "we have so much of it to spend together, don't rush. Close your eyes and feel me against you. Kiss me like you mean it."

Your hands mirror his, cupping his heated cheeks as you pull him the final inch to meet your lips.

You follow his instructions, moving slowly and purposefully against his lips. Your eyes closed as you try to memorize the feeling of him against you.

You kiss him like you mean it.

Because you do.

And it drives him wild, holding himself back from taking charge so that you can learn with him acting as a puppet for your knowledge. He cradles your face softly and limits himself to small movements to meet your own.

He has a dopey smile as you lean back, your eyes still closed. "Very good," he hums while tracing his fingertips down your neck, "you're a quick learner."

"I have a good teacher," you smirk lightly, peeking your eyes open.

His eyes have gone red with want, but his gaze is soft as he looks down at you. He pushes the straps of your underdress down your shoulders; matching your smirk ten-fold as your heartbeat kicks up.

"Can-" You lick your lips, "can you take your clothes off, too?" He sits up wordlessly and unbuttons his shirt in a hurry, making you giggle as you slide yourself up to lean on your elbows. The sight of your shift sliding down your chest a bit makes him move faster. Who is he to deny you?

"I promise," he leans and pecks your lips as he tosses off his shirt, "I will make you see stars."

"I look forward to it-" You yelp as he pulls you up to your feet. You'll never get used to moving so fast.

"Let me see you," he leans his head against yours, fingers yanking at his belt impatiently.

You take a deep breath, watching him step out of his pants. When he rid himself of his shoes, who knows but — now you're on the same level as he stands in front of you with nothing but his undergarments on.

The tent in the fabric catches your eyes as you scan him. "Will you teach me how to please you, as well?"

His breath catches in his throat. He wants to agree with breakneck speed, but he also doesn't want to spook you. "If you want me to."

For a virgin, you sure are a huge tease. You let your shift fall to the ground. "I do. I want you to show me."

He takes a long moment to admire you, his eyes shimmering. He has to swallow all of the saliva that's accumulating so he doesn't literally drool at the mere sight of your naked body.

"I want to make you feel good, too-"

Everything is a blur as he wraps his arms around you and moves you both onto the bed.

You grab onto his arms tightly as he holds you from behind, sucking in a shaking breath as you take in your new position.

He's got you sitting on the middle of the bed, holding your legs apart with his own as he all but crushes your back to his chest. "Don't say things like that, or I will not stop until you're begging for me to just fuck you already."

You're heating up just the same as when they drink from you, creeping up your neck and pooling in your stomach. "Would you?" You gasp as his hands cup your chest.

"When the time comes, I will have you until the only word you know is my name. Believe this, My Lady, I will ruin you."

"Oh," you moan out quietly as you feel your core dripping, "oh, Yunho..."

"Are we there already~?" He smirks against your shoulder as he fondles you, sucking at your skin and buzzing with excitement as you let out another shy sound.

He's kissing and licking all over your neck and shoulders now, paying extra attention to the areas that make your heart flutter.

You grab onto his thighs as he rolls your nipples in his fingertips, your jaw dropping. You didnt know that their sensitivity could feel so... enthralling. "I l-like that," you whine quietly, digging your fingers into him.

"Mmm?" He releases your skin from his mouth with a pop. He does it again, his fingers just a bit tighter together, "this?"

"Yes," you nod quickly, "more. More, pleaseeee," you groan as you arch into his touch. He's already got you feeling hotter than you ever have.

"Since you asked so nicely, gorgeous."

His words and the way he pinches your nipples just enough for it to toe the line between pleasure and pain makes you yell out, "good Goddess!"

You slap your hand over your mouth, panting heavily as he continues to tease the now sore pebbled flesh between his nimble fingers.

"Move your hand," he commands you, halting his movements until you slowly do so. "I want to hear every noise you make. I want to know how good it feels."

You whine as he slides his hands down slowly, "don't stop..."

"Who said anything about stopping?" He chuckles, "I said I would make you see stars, and I am not stopping until I fulfill my promise."

You lean your head against his chest, watching with wide eyes as he rubs your hips; venturing ever closer to your epicenter. He rests his chin atop your head, eyes never once blinking as he takes in every twitch and fidget you give him.

He's teasing you on purpose. He can't help himself. He wants you to beg. It's his guilty pleasure— well, it's one of his guilty pleasures.

"Touch me," your whisper just above the sound of your heartbeat reaches his ears, "please. I want you to touch me already."

"Isn't that what I've been doing?" He has a grin like a jackal as he hears you whine impatiently. You're melting in his hands, falling right where he wants you.

"Touch me e-elsewhere," you say in a breath, spreading your legs further despite the way it makes your face and neck burn with bashfulness.

"Have you ever touched your cunt?" His raspy question makes you groan, a pout forming as you feel your heartbeat... down there. "Or am I the very first?"

"You- you are the first," your hips jolt, yearning for his soft touch to land where you most want it. "I can't take anymore teasing, please, Yunho-" Your pleads trail off into a long sigh, your eyes fluttering shut as he cups your heat in his large hand, the other holding your hip.

He leans his head against your shoulder, breathing deep and slow to calm himself. "Fucking hell," he sighs quietly, "you're so warm... So wet, already..."

The simple fact that he's holding you like this is enough to make his member twitch. Enough to flood his brain with dopamine. Your soft, panting breaths when he's barely touched you are driving him mad.

He starts moving his hand slowly, almost like he's worshipping your heat or trying to map it out so he'll never forget. He massages up and down a few times before two of his fingers slide between your lips and start exploring your wet slit.

"Ah, that feel-feels nice," you draw out softly. Your fingers slowly releasing their death grip on his thighs as you relax into his touch.

"Yeah?" He hums, running his free hand up your waist, "then this will feel amazing~" You barely have time to register his words before one of his fingertips is on your clit, circling it slowly and bringing it to life — bringing you to tears.

You can't form any words. All you can do is take the new, heavenly sensation at the delicate pace he gives it to you. The only noise you can manage is a strangled and broken moan.

"Feels good, gorgeous?" He chuckles as he leans and gets a peek at your expression; you're already tearing up and your eyebrows are pinched together, your jaw slack as you meet his eyes and nod quickly.

"Fuck, you're so cute," he growls as he uses his free hand to grab your neck and pull you into a kiss, another finger added to his gentle assault on your clit.

With your mouth open, he slips his tongue right in. This kiss couldn't be more different than the one you shared just minutes ago.

He's taken control, and he's gotten rough. The contrast between how he handles your cunt and how he handles your mouth makes you dizzy; so you're thankful he keeps his dominating kiss relatively short.

You tilt your head back, panting for air as he picks up his fingers speed. "Drink from me," you stutter out before you can second guess yourself. You want him to.

He doesn't have to be told twice. He sinks his teeth into your shoulder and moans loudly, his fingers pressing against you just a bit harder to show his gratitude.

It takes every ounce of his self restraint not to bury his cock inside of you when you let out your first real moan.

It's of his name, you sound it out somewhere between a praise and a curse word; "oh, Yunho!"

He's going to lose his mind. He truly is, he thinks. He was your first kiss. He's the first one to touch your heat. He's drinking from you as he drives you ever closer to your first orgasm.

He's getting just as much satisfaction as you are, really. Not only is he over the moon to be able to please you, he's doing so while sucking up the blood that you offered to him. The blood that makes him all sorts of warm.

"Don't- don't stop! Please!" You plead even though he shows no signs of doing so.

He hums with his teeth still buried into your skin, making you shiver as the sound vibrates through your entire being. His arm snakes its way across your torso, pulling you closer to his chest roughly as you begin to tremble.

You definitely like hand stuff, is the conclusion you come to as the pool of heat in your stomach begins boiling.

"Fuck, lirae!" You grab his arm tightly, holding it to you. You're starting to get lightheaded from the combination of his feasting and calculated touches. {Fuck, yes!}

It's the first time he's ever heard you curse. It makes him twitch. You sound so needy. You sound so filthy. And it'll all for him.

He withdraws his teeth, moaning and licking his lips as the pinpricks in your skin start to drip; your heavy heartbeat pushing your blood to rush. "Ah, lirae? You like it when I touch you like this?" He smirks, licking up the blood slowly.

"Uh-huh!" You yelp as his free hand suddenly tilts your head to face him as he hovers over your shoulder.

"Your heartbeat is so loud, it's like a fucking drum. Music to my ears," he grins, holding your burning hot cheek as he presses his forehead to yours. "You must be close, you're shaking, poor thing~"

You bite your lip, swallowing thickly as the tension in your body pulses. You can feel your heartbeat in your throat, in your cunt, in your stomach. You feel like you're on fire in the most beautiful and delicious way possible. A tear finally slips past your waterline.

"Oh, don't cry," he says softly; but he has a wicked smile. This is just as satisfying as sex for him. Making his pretty little soulmate shake and cry for a release that she doesn't know how to get. He can tell it's just within reach. He can see it in your begging eyes. You don't know what's about to hit you. All you know is something huge is building up inside of you. And you need him to guide you.

"Yunho mi, wh-at do I do?"

"You're about to cum," he says with a nod, "you're going to have an orgasm for me." His crimson eyes are trained like a predator to watch every single twitch of your brow, every tremble of your lips. "You don't have to do anything but enjoy it, let me take care of you."

"Ah, swai losa," you groan, squeezing your eyes closed. The pleasure is swimming through your entire body but you need more. You need something to happen, somewhere for it to go. {Ah, it's so hot}

"Relax ba," he hums before landing a peck to your lips, "just let it wash over you. Let it all go, gorgeous." He starts swirling his fingers in the opposite direction, making your back arch briefly before he wraps his arm back around you and holds you to his chest. You're moaning with every breath. Your clit is throbbing under his blissful torture. You have nowhere to run as he holds you in place and bombards you with pleasure. "Let go."

Let go of everything and let him make you see stars.

"You can do that for me, can't you, mali'a sev?" Your eyes fly open, one hand finding its way to his hair and the other to his thigh. When the fuck did he learn that? {You can do that for me, can't you, my heart?}

You meet his gaze and —

The burning pleasure finally slams into its peak, washing over you like a tidal wave and dunking you into a pulsing ocean of euphoria. Spreading through your veins in a split second like an aphrodisiac infused lava.

You wail with pleasure loud enough that anyone in your vicinity has undoubtedly heard it. Your thighs snap together, making you jolt as you accidentally press his still circling fingers into your buzzing clit harder. "Oh~!" You yelp, cursing like a sailor in your native tongue so fast and jumbled that he wouldn't even be able to keep up if he were fluent.

He catches a few words he's picked up as he watches you convulse with a dark, satisfied smile. Namely he hears: good, heaven, Yunho, and yes — but he knows there's a good set of curse words in the mix.

"There you go," he coos while he slows his fingers to a slow and steady stroking up and down your messy slit. "There you go, I got you." He chuckles as you jolt with each of his movements, your head titled back against his shoulder and your eyes coming back from where they'd rolled back. You look dazed and throughly fucked out — and it makes him throb that he's managed to wreck you without even showing you what it feels like to be fingered internally. Goddess help you when he decides to teach you what a g-spot is.

"My... fucking fuck," you hiccup breathlessly, your death grip on his hair slowly letting go so your arm can join the other in being slumped, your fingers twitching atop his thighs.

"You see those stars I was talking about?" He rubs your side, listening to your heavy breaths with a smirk.

"Mmmhm," you can only moan, complete lax against him and feeling like your body is light — like he is the only thing grounding you to Earth. "Bou lamara sev."

He tilts his head, leaning against yours gently, "hm?"

"N-nothing," you twist in his arm. He loosens his grip just enough for you to shakily turn, and he lays back as you place yourself on top of him.

He hears the skip in your heartbeat that tells him you're lying, not wanting him to know.

Your pupils are still dilated way out of proportion, your gaze soft and unfocused.

He'll figure it out later, but for now —

"Can you show me how to please you now?"

𖤐❝Your soul looks different...❞𖤐

"Good evening, My Lords," you greet them confidently with an uncharacteristically bright smile as you join the table that night.

"Someone's in a good mood," Jongho smiles as you sit next to Yeosang, throwing a glance to Yunho as he enters just while you take your seat. "You're extra smiley today, too. Good study session?"

Your face heats up. "Indeed," Yunho takes the other seat next to you before the others can start filing in and fight over it. "Our best one yet, don't you think?" He's looking at you like that again; his gaze all enveloping and his smile bordering on a smug smirk.

"Oh, yes," you clear your throat, a smile finding its way to your lips which you hide by taking a sip from your cup.

A few of them are missing. Seonghwa, Wooyoung, and Mingi aren't in their seats, so the rest of wait.

"Hmmm," Hongjoong hums suspiciously, leaning his head onto his hand as he looks between you. "You two are hiding something, I can feel it."

"Feel it? Hongjoong, you're just tired and paranoid like always," Yunho rolls his eyes, throwing the Lieutenant a playful smile.

"Mh," he narrows his eyes for a second. "Probably!" He giggles, reaching over to serve you as he sees you reach for the food.

That's one thing that the servants don't do. You had asked Mingi about it, and apparently it was a tradition between the soulmates that had originated when Seonghwa and Yunho had found Wooyoung. The newest addition was similarly from a common background and he didn't like other people touching his food, so they served one another.

And it carried on even after Wooyoung got more accustom to royal life, even when Hongjoong joined them. And then, still, when the Choi brothers and Yeosang did as well. By the time Mingi came around, they didn't even think about it even more; it's something that just is.

"Thank you, Lord Kim," you peek at him as you take the plate. He looks nothing like he does when he's fighting. Maybe you shouldn't linger on that image of him.

"How is your quilt going, (Y/n)?" San asks curiously, his eyes shining as he looks at you.

"Slow but steady," you reply with a shrug, "I have started on the second row! Thank you, again, for all of the fabric."

"Evening!" Woooyung yells as he enters with Mingi, immediately heading straight to you and tilting your head to get a kiss like he's done for the past few days after you initiated a cheek kiss. "You smell extra sweet today," he observes before connecting your lips.

He's shocked when you start kissing him back — weaving your lips together softly.

You're feeling... braver after you and Yunho's afternoon together.

Mingi is still in the doorway, his eyebrows pushing together as he looks at you like he's trying to figure something out.

"Did you have a good day, Lord Jung?" You ask as you pull back. He's still leaning, in disbelief of how well you just kissed him.

"Uhhhh," he blanks as he stands up. As he sits, he tilts his head, "did you just kiss me? Like a real kiss?"

"I do believe what it's called. Yes, My Lord."

Yeosang chuckles from beside you at your barely contained sarcasm. He's glad you're cracking out of your shell and showing a more playful side.

"Mingi, why are you just standing there?" Seonghwa's voice calls all of your eyes to the only soulmates who aren't at the table.

Mingi is biting his cuticle, still staring at you in puzzlement. "Your soul looks different..." He whispers, making heads back turn to you.

"Huh?" You raise a brow, "how s- oh!" You yell as your seat is pulled away from the table, holding onto the armrests tightly.

The seer has yanked you back enough to stand in front of you and bend forward, face to face with you.

"It's brighter?" He states, but it sounds like a question because of his confusion.

"You're scaring me a bit," you pout as you meet his eyes. He's staring right past you and into your soul. You can feel him picking through it, trying to find the source. "S-stop that!"

Seonghwa is there in a split second as you voice your displeasure, pulling you back even further from the table to put himself between you and Mingi. "Were you soul-searching her?"

"Hwa, it's different!" He defends himself, looking over the Kings shoulder and locking eyes with you again. "It wasn't this bright even when she was a child."

The others are watching on anxiously, Yunho most of all. He thinks he might know why your soul is suddenly brighter. And as your eyes widen, he knows you're placing the same pieces together.

Your eyes flick to him for a half of a millisecond, but Mingi catches it.

Now he's in front of him, looking down intently. "You too... you're both glowing." That faint glow of Yunho's soul looks very familiar to Mingi.

Glowing like it does after a fulfilling night.

Mingi looks between you and Yunho repeatedly, and the others follow suit; trying to catch up to what he's putting together because they can't see what he can. "You-" He stutters, "no..."

"What? What is it, Mingi?" Hongjoong is getting impatient. If something is different, then different could mean wrong. Something could be wrong. With his precious soulmates. He's freaking out —

"Afterglow." Mingi chuckles in disbelief, and Yunho gulps. He knows that there is an unbelievable amount of teasing and questioning about to bombard the two of you. You, on the other hand, are unaware.

"Afterglow?" You ask quietly, looking to each and every one of their frozen faces.

"We did not have sex, toooo be clear!" Yunho yells before they can freak out, "she is still a virgin."

"Yunho!" You groan as you reach and slap his arm.

Everyone is stood up and crowding the two of you, a million words per second flying out of their mouths.

Even after so many years of pleasing each other, they still get giddy when talking about it — and you are certainly no exception. They've waited for you the longest, and they want to know everything about you. They want to do everything with you, sexual or platonic; it doesn't matter.

But since you're usually so reserved when talking about sex, and they are anything but; they get over eager when the topic comes up. Even Yeosang and Jongho, who arguably give you the most space.

Seonghwa is the only silent one, standing beside you with a smile trying to fight its way to his lips. If you're experimenting with things like that, it means you're at least a bit comfortable. "Enough," he voices, "let them have some space. Everyone sit down, this is ridiculous."

He's the last to leave, standing by your side until they've all taken their seats. His presence is welcomed, as he keeps them all from firing questions you can't even keep up with. "Thank you, Seonghwa..." Your whisper is like a ray of sunshine as it reaches him. He thinks he'll never get used to the way you say his name.

Yunho reaches and holds your hand softly, "I'm sorry, (Y/n). I forgot Mingi could see that... it's truly my mistake. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"Don't be uncomfortable!" San shakes his head quickly, "you don't have any reason to be shy with us, we're your soulmates!"

"Yeah," Wooyoung joins in, "we're just curious is all. I know your village was more conservative about this stuff but, we aren't. We talk about it openly!"

"We're sorry," Yeosang speaks from his seat beside you, talking for them as a unit. "We just have so many questions, you could see that. Our sex life together is very... abundant. So, we're just- uhm, eager to hear."

You look up from your lap, glancing around the room. While their eyes are certainly still filled with curiosity, they've toned it down significantly for the sake of not making you feel more embarrassed. "That's... okay. I'm just not used to talking about anything like this. I w-" you bite your tongue.

"You can speak freely, Elarin," Seonghwa reaches and fixes the lace on your collar, catching a glimpse of the hickeys on your shoulder that are just barely hidden. Yunho does like to mark his partners.

"I would just appreciate if you didn't all ask your questions all at once, My Lords..."

Yunho is about to start jumping off the walls. He's cracked the first layer of your walls down and made a path for the rest of them to follow.

"But," Hongjoong leans forward eagerly, "we can ask questions?"

You take a moment. After learning, after experiencing just a little bit; you're less scared of the topic at hand. "One at a time."

𖤐❝Come lie with me?❞𖤐

You couldn't sleep. Well, you couldn't stay asleep, that is.

It turns out the Vampires weren't lying when they said they were curious and eager. It seemed like each of them had a hundred questions. You did your best to answer them, to let your guard down a little bit; because they were beyond delighted to get any information. And something about that made you feel gratified, that you could make them excited.

The Lords all kept true to asking one question at a time, partly because the King sent a glare their way when they started talking over one another. He wanted to hear as much as they did, and he wanted to make sure you didn't feel overwhelmed again.

The questions had a wide range, and you were still thinking about a lot of them. That's one reason you found yourself tossing and turning.

Ones that lingered were like, 'what else are you curious about?' and 'what kind of fantasies do you have?'

You didn't dare to tell them that you had imagined Wooyoung and Yunho kissing, and you certainly didn't speak of how you had a dream twice now — of Wooyoung holding you down while he has his way with you.

They could all hear your heart thudding, and Wooyoung noted how you refused to look at him for a few minutes. Oh, he's definitely going to start teasing you more. He put the pieces together in a second flat. You've been fantasizing about him.

After you had the dream for a third time, you decided that it was useless trying to sleep and got up.

The halls are much different at night.

Usually they are bustling with activity, people to and from and here and there; the sunlight lighting them through the vast windows.

In the middle of the night, you could really focus on the grand beautiful of it all — no Lords or staffs or business that comes with being the capital of the entire realm.

It really is marvelous. You hadn't gotten the time to take it in. You were too busy trying to adapt and process all of the information you'd gotten over the past days.

You didn't mind the fact that you had so many soulmates. It wasn't exceedingly rare. It wasn't rare for a Vampire and a human to be fated, either — after all, Vampires were once humans.

You had asked Ymanya about her soulmate, a few days ago. And she had a sad look in her eyes before she just shook her head. You dropped the subject pretty quickly.

Gele said she was still on the search for her soulmate, and she talked about it with a passion that you wish you had when talking about yours.

You should be overjoyed to finally have found the missing pieces of yourself. You are happy, to an extent. You feel... satisfied. That hole inside of you is finally acknowledged and filled.

But you can't find it in yourself to be excited. To be elated, like your soulmates.

Your brain is simply too used to what it knows, what you've been told your whole life. 'You have no soulmate.'

You're wandering aimlessly now, your boots against the tile echoing in the empty halls.

After your afternoon with Yunho, you could deny it no longer.

This is where you belong. These men are your fate.

Because he didn't just satisfy you physically. The way he held you and praised you and looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered in that moment —

It made you say 'bou lamara sev.'

A whole other level of 'I love you.'

And you don't really know how to feel about that.

There is no guidebook or help center for 'I have been told my entire human life that I have no soulmate but turns out I have eight and they are Vampires.' You are completely and utterly stranded. In the middle of the ocean with only a raft that's barely keeping you afloat. No paddle, no charge of your own destiny.

You always had been.

You wish you had gotten a little more time with your father before they dragged you away from the only home you've ever known. You have so many questions. Namely; 'why did you do this to me? Why did you lie?'

The whole point of soulmates is that you are meant to be. Was what Tihilda saw truly so terrible that she would break her oath to The Goddess? It couldn't have been.

They were all gentle with you. They were all caring, perhaps even overbearing at times.

"(Y/n)?"

You freeze in your spot.

"What are you doing? It's the middle of the night," Seonghwa's voice is groggy and slow, like he's just woken up.

You turn slowly on your heel and face him. He's leaning on a doorway, eyes trained on you despite the obvious tiredness in them. Dressed nothing like he usually is, all prim and proper. He looks almost human, almost like a commoner with his large sweater and loose cotton bottoms. "I was just... I couldn't sleep."

"I can see that," he chuckles softly, tilting his head, "did I frighten you?" Your heart has a steady, brutal pulse that reaches his ears easily in the quiet of the night.

"Oh, I was away in my thoughts," you offer a ghost of a smile, but he doesn't buy it.

"Thoughts of what?"

"Just... stuff. Things."

"You are troubled." He pouts. Honest to Goddess pouts. You're taken aback, you didn't think you'd ever see the High King pout. "Pray tell, what's on your mind?"

You wrap your arms around yourself, your shift no longer keeping you warm under his gaze. "I would prefer not to speak of it."

"And I would prefer my soulmates well rested." He hums, turning into the room he's in front of with a simple, "come."

"Mh?" You hesitate, feet refusing to move. From the small look you can get into the room, it seems to be a chamber similar to your own.

"Come here."

And you're moving quickly at the slight edge in his voice, finding yourself in the room in a second flat. It is a bedroom, only slightly larger than your own. Blacks and blues color the room, shapes hard to distinguish in the light of the singular candle lit.

It's immediately clear that this is his chambers.

"Close the door." You turn away from his gaze at once and do so, slowly closing the wooden door as quietly as you can manage. "Tell me what's on your mind, Elarin."

"Might I ask... why do you call me that?"

"Here," you jump as he comes beside you, a sweater similar to his own in his hands, "I know it gets cold, apologies."

"I shouldn't-"

"I insist." He leaves no room for argument as he all but shoves the clothing into your hands. "You must keep warm."

"Thank you, Seonghwa." You whisper as you take it, quickly pulling it over your head. You were, as he had noted, getting rather cold. You were keeping warm while walking around, but as the night grew later; the temperature got lower. You were about to head back to your own chambers when he appeared.

"It has no direct translation," he shrugs before he looks you up and down — "Come lie with me?"

He can't stop the words as they practically claw their way out of his throat. You look so warm and comfortable. He wants to hold you through the night, and this time he wants to slumber with you.

"Uhm... okay." Your voice acts without your permission. Something deep within you wants to sleep in the same bed as him. Perhaps it was the blood loss, or the copious amount of wine, but you found that the night you slept between Hongjoong and Seonghwa was some of the best sleep you had ever gotten.

His arms immediately find their way around you after you rid yourself of your boots and climb under the thick blanket. Although you have no complaints, his cold arms oddly comforting to your racing mind; he asks, "is this okay?"

"Mhm." You slowly inch your way closer until your chest presses against his, your head resting in the crook of his shoulder. "If there is no direct translation, how can you describe it?"

"It is," he trails off while he melts into the feeling of your body warmth, "something like sunshine. Well- it's something like the feeling of sunshine warming you."

"That's strangely romantic," you feel your face warming, you didn't know what you had expected but it wasn't something like that. "Could I... ask why?"

He holds you a bit tighter all of the sudden, pressing his nose to your hair. "Because that is what you feel like. The sun shining down in the winter. The ultimate comfort."

𖤐❝APRICITY❞𖤐

𖤐❝NEXT TIME❞𖤐

"What's the matter with you, Ymanya?" He hums, tilting his head. "You didn't lose Our Lady, did you?" He jokes. But she does not move. She stares at the man with wide eyes. "You lost Our Lady!" He yells, quickly standing up, "how!? How, how, how?"

His chair clatters to the floor in his haste, his footsteps heavy as he passes her.

"I'm sorry, My Lord! She was not in her bed, I made sure she was during the night but now-"

He grabs the nearest guard who's passing by as he runs down the halls, Ymanya hot on his tail as she tries to explain herself. "Have you seen the Lady of the castle?"

"No, Lord Jung, is every-"

He's already running again, calling back briefly before bolting full speed, "lock the doors!"

𖤐❝CURSE YOUR NAME❞𖤐

#me when i have eight hot vampire men yearning for me: 😝#🍑 favs

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peachyscenes · 4 months ago

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thank you so much!!! i can't either 😝

How To Love | Fashion Industry!ATEEZ x Fem!Reader

The fashion industry has its own unique approach to life. Take a chance at romance with these helpful guides.

How to Fake a Marriage | Fashion Designer!Hongjoong x Photographer!Reader

Fame, money, and connections. You could say that Kim Hongjoong has it all. And while Hongjoong could give his girlfriend all and more, she did nothing but give him headaches. After 9 long years, and a beautiful ring he wanted to surprise her with, she decides to break it off... by having Hongjoong walk in on her cheating. A year later, he sees that she's now engaged. But what she didn't know, was that her overzealous ex wasn't going to stay silent in pain and instead, he decides to get even. Mark your calendars, because Hongjoong is getting married!

Coming in the near future!

How to Be a Winner | PR Manager!Seonghwa x Nepo Baby!Reader

All your life you've been handed everything on a silver platter. You don't take anything for granted, but you're pretty sick of being seen as anything else except a product of nepotism. They don't see the work you put into your modeling career, the hours spent working to feel worthy. It wasn't as easy as it seemed, especially with a grueling mother who expects you to be exactly like her in her prime. Seonghwa seems to think so too, choosing to take the gossip that surrounds you into account when Hongjoong picks you to be apart of his upcoming fashion show. However, his narrative about you begins to unravel bit by bit when he begins to view you in a different light.

Coming in the near future!

How to Breakthrough | Model!Yunho x Actress!Reader

Jeong Yunho, the golden boy of the fashion industry, has just scored a new chance in his career to star in a new upcoming movie. Unfortunately, he faces this with a challenge as he has no experience in acting other than being an avid movie and show watcher. On top of no real experience, people are skeptical about his ability. They say he's not good enough and has unfairly taken this chance from a real actor. Not you though. You think Yunho has potential, and you're ready to help him out. And as a seasoned actress, you'll make it your mission to make Yunho the best actor this year.

Coming in the near future!

How to Hate You | Model!Yeosang x Model!Reader

If there was one way to describe the relationship between you and Yeosang, it's like water and oil. Yeosang is the vein of your existence and if you had the chance to smite him off the Earth, you'd do it in a heartbeat. Yeosang could say many things about you, yet not a single adjective, verb, or noun is a positive one. Your hatred for each other is so well known, people know to not put you two in shows together. It's like silverware found in the kitchen. That is, until Hongjoong decides that he needs to add some flair to the opening and closing of his upcoming show, a wedding line at that. Look out, because the bride and groom-to-be's are not looking too happy.

Coming in the near future!

How to Win You Back | Model!San x Fashion Designer!Reader

The summer of your year-long internship was where you met San, a renowned model who's known for his handsome physique and charming personality. Little by little, you begin to see through the cracks of his image, and soon, he becomes your everything and you become his. Your future is bright as you're given the opportunity to stay as an official designer, when he suddenly dumps you. A year later, you're working under Hongjoong when you see San again, regretful and ready to start over. You're not sure what to feel, but one thing is very clear, you're not willing to go back. Lucky (or unlucky) for you, San is willing to fight for you both.

Coming in the near future!

How to Not be a Model | Model!Mingi x Physical Therapist!Reader

While opening for one of the biggest shows of the year, Mingi takes a fall that puts him on an immediate hiatus. You can't really have an extravagant lifestyle with a fractured tibia, and it puts great a pause on his life. Mingi feels suffocated in the four walls of his apartment complex during his recovery. The only thing that makes him feel a little better is his wonderful physical therapist who's way too professional for his liking. Getting to know you is like a breath of fresh air for him and after having a heartfelt conversation about happiness, Mingi begins to reflect on his own version of it and if he's truly happy where he is.

Coming in the near future!

How to do Damage Control | Model!Wooyoung x PR Manager!Reader

Jung Wooyoung, also known as Wild Child, is often in the spotlight for being one of, if not, the most outspoken model in the industry. "Difficult to work with," "Too immature," "Too intense," "Too much." Everything and anything has been said about him, but it's not until one major scandal that gets him kicked off a show that really pushes his overbearing image in the spotlight. And to make matters worse, his PR manager quit. With the help of Seonghwa, he manages to find a new PR manager, but unfortunately for Wooyoung, you're new to the business, therefore too frail in his opinion. So he decides to make it his mission to break you before the industry does. And you gladly accept his challenge.

Coming in the near future!

How to Write a Novel | Gossip Columnist!Jongho x Retired Painter!Reader

Jongho has written multiple articles on every celebrity in South Korea. As a renowned gossip columnist, he knows how easy it is to write about them. From humble rookies to jealous veterans and vice-versa, he's written it all. So, he decides to step away from his usual and ventures out to write a book. A romance novel that's based in the fashion industry shouldn't be a problem, except he doesn't know if true love is even possible. With the help of Hongjoong, he gets in touch with you, a former designer and painter, who at your peak, dropped everything for love.

Coming in the near future!

a/n: ok so obviously these won't be coming out ASAP (busy college student here!), but i'm currently in the process of writing how to fake a wedding! it's not done as i just started today (april 27, 2025), but i will absolutely finish this project as i fell in love with it (this came to me in a dream type shit (no it didn't i had a terrible stomach bug all day and i feel like i hallucinated this mid toilet break)). i do wanna put this out there, mingi's piece is not gonna be on some grey's anatomy shit. this is an ethical household. yes it's doctor x patient but it will not be doctor x patient during the check ups, my reader is a professional, she is NAWT losing her license trust.

Please do not plagiarize! I will legitimately cry and then plan your impending demise! All rights reserved! All original work by me @peachyscenes! This was thought of in my brain and typed with my own fingers! This is all fiction and not a true representation of ATEEZ or anyone who will be mentioned! Reblogs are much appreciated!

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peachyscenes · 4 months ago

Text

How To Love | Fashion Industry!ATEEZ x Fem!Reader

The fashion industry has its own unique approach to life. Take a chance at romance with these helpful guides.

How to Fake a Marriage | Fashion Designer!Hongjoong x Photographer!Reader

Coming in the near future!

How to Be a Winner | PR Manager!Seonghwa x Nepo Baby!Reader

Coming in the near future!

How to Breakthrough | Model!Yunho x Actress!Reader

Coming in the near future!

How to Hate You | Model!Yeosang x Model!Reader

If there was one way to describe the relationship between you and Yeosang, it's like water and oil. Yeosang is the vain of your existence and if you had the chance to smite him off the Earth, you'd do it in a heartbeat. Yeosang could say many things about you, yet not a single adjective, verb, or noun is a positive one. Your hatred for each other is so well known, people know to not put you two in shows together. It's like silverware found in the kitchen. That is, until Hongjoong decides that he needs to add some flair to the opening and closing of his upcoming show, a wedding line at that. Look out, because the bride and groom-to-be's are not looking too happy.

Coming in the near future!

How to Win You Back | Model!San x Fashion Designer!Reader

Coming in the near future!

How to Not be a Model | Model!Mingi x Physical Therapist!Reader

Coming in the near future!

How to do Damage Control | Model!Wooyoung x PR Manager!Reader

Coming in the near future!

How to Write a Novel | Gossip Columnist!Jongho x Retired Painter!Reader

Coming in the near future!

176 notes · View notes

peachyscenes · 4 months ago

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Curse Your Name

𖤐❝Halazia❞𖤐

❥Vampire Ateez x fem reader

❝What is destined cannot be avoided.❞

Masterlist + Visualizers

✫彡wordcount: 10k

(✯◡✯)genre: yandere, fantasy, smut, angst

ಠ_ಠwarning/content: see general warnings in the masterlist: talk of virginity and sex, kissing, drinking wine, manipulative hwa and joong take advantage of drunk reader (ONLY by drinking from her), a few mentions of death of a family member

➯a/n: wwwah im scared to let you guys down, i hope you enjoy !!

✫bleeding hearts✫@spenceatiny18 @gigglensnort @londonbridges01 @soobieboobiebaby @kllerwaifu @stayatinykatsy @onyxmango @purple-bell @peachyscenes @emilysecresy @ninjakitty15 @imeverycliche

❝Drink from me and live... forever.❞

MDNI.

𖤐❝I promise.❞𖤐

𖤐 It was late fall. You were twelve years old.

The water was cold between your fingers. The grass was soft as you laid on your stomach.

You were all alone.

The rest of the village was gathered together, celebrating the life of your recently departed mother.

But you did not feel like celebrating. You only felt like dunking your head in the water and screaming until you ran out of air.

When you sat up to do so, a familiar presence had stopped you before you could.

"Go away, Mingi..." You already knew it was the invisible man. You didn't have to look or ask.

The grass beside you sunk as his unperceivable form took a seat next to you.

"You're in pain. Has someone harmed you-"

"I said go aw-"

"I will do no such thing." You were shocked at his sudden stern tone. In the years that he's haunted both your dreams and your waking hours, he's always been soft spoken towards you. "I will do no such thing," he repeated a bit softer when he sensed your unease, "I will not leave your side when you are in such pain. Pray tell me, what has hurt you?"

You looked towards the water. The river where he had first came to you, that day you were learning how to fish from your mother. "I cannot speak it aloud... it's too horrible."

You felt his cold hand on your back, you felt him looking at you. You pulled your knees up and hugged them to your chest.

"Your mother?" He asked gently, getting his answer when you began to sob immediately. "Oh, sweet child," his ghostly embrace was more comforting than you felt it should have been; but you took what you could get. "I wish I was here with you. One day I will hug you and make all of your pain go away. I promise." 𖤐

"Did you hear me?" Wooyoung reaches across the gap between his horse and your and Hongjoong's, flicking your arm.

"Owwww," you draw on dramatically, "what was that for?"

You had been journeying with the Vampires for twelve days. Despite your initial efforts to distance yourself, to build a metaphorical wall between you and the trio, you started opening up to them around the eight day mark.

You no longer flinched from every touch, but you certainly didn't search them out. You didn't keep your answers to their questions to one or two words anymore, but you didn't offer them anything unprompted.

"I said we have about another three hours before we reach the castle," he repeats what you missed while you were stuck in your own memories, "do you need to stop for a little bit?"

"Oh," you shake your head, "no, I'm okay. Thank you, My Lord."

Hongjoong hums from behind you, resting his chin on your shoulder. "Your hips must be aching by now, you are still not used to being on horseback."

"I can bare it," you sigh, fidgeting with the bandage on your hand. "My Lords, might I ask a question?"

"Didn't you just?" Yunho, from his own horse in front of you, smiles over his shoulder, "of course, speak freely amongst us."

"Well," you take a breath. You don't know if you really want the answer. Because you're afraid. But going in blind is worse. "What will happen when we arrive to the castle?"

"No need to be frightened." Yunho speaks softly — and you don't have to ask how he knows you're scared. After almost two weeks with the councilmen and their subordinates, you know they can hear your heartbeat quickening no matter how steady you try to keep it with deep breaths. "We will call upon the rest of our soulmates, if they don't greet us when we arrive."

"That's very well but..."

"But...?" Wooyoung mimics you, tilting his head.

"Will... uhm, forgive me for being so crass, My Lords, but will they drink from me like you did?" You really don't want them to. Even though you were beginning to form a sort of trust with the trio, the times they fed from you over the past days always left you feeling queasy.

It was nowhere near as bad as the first time, when you had nearly passed out from the blood loss, but it still leaves you feeling dizzy and oddly warm.

You don't want that feeling from anyone, really. It feels sinful. The warmth in your body feels like it taints your soul. At least with the three of them, you have some sort of idea what to expect. Again, you have the beginnings of trust with them. They always ask for permission after the first day in the church. And you always grant it because something deep inside of you feels... sad at the thought of denying them.

Yunho is the gentlest, but he has the biggest thirst. Perhaps he's careful with you on purpose because he knows that you'll be losing a lot of blood. After you offer up your wrist to him, he kisses your forehead before taking as little as possible — which for him is still... a fair amount.

Hongjoong falls somewhere in the middle. He prefers your neck, which you had found always makes you dizzy the fastest, and left you feeling the warmest. He likes to feed at night; he climbs on top of you when everyone besides the designated guard is asleep and the only thing you see when awakening at the feeling of his lips on your throat is his glowing eyes.

Wooyoung... well, for a lack of better words; Wooyoung is feral. He's only fed from you twice since the day in the church because he knows that he can't handle it — he knows he can't stop himself. Maybe going hand in hand with that, feeding into it, is the fact that he waits until his hands are shaking and his throat is bone dry to feed from you because he's so afraid to harm you. When he finally does ask, and you remove your cloak; he doesn't have any preference or favorite. He tackles you and holds you tightly as he feeds from you, moaning and growling all the while.

If Yunho's soft kiss of gratitude leaves you warm, if Hongjoong's preference for your neck makes you hot — Wooyoung's begging eyes and bestial noises throw a match into your very being and set you ablaze.

But it's been two days since any of them last sunk their fangs into you, and you've connected the reasoning as to why. Wooyoung said the High King has a "large appetite" and Manon was making sure you were very hydrated.

You aren't an idiot.

They're preparing you to be sucked dry.

"Not all at once, no," Hongjoong reassures you with a soft squeeze to your hip. "Since we're already more used to your scent, we will make sure they stay in line. Though..." You can tell he doesn't want to tell you this next part, but he does anyway, "I will tell you that I have never known the High King to wait for anything he wants, and he will want you immediately."

He can hear you gulp. Your heartbeat rattling your rib cage. "I will make sure he's gentle, little one. No harm will come to you. I promise."

𖤐❝It is you.❞𖤐

To say that the castle is imposing would be an understatement. You can almost feel all of the darkness wafting off of the expansive building as you grow ever closer.

When you came up the large hill it was situated upon, a bell had started ringing. You didn't have to be told that the sound was to tell others of the return of the councilmen. Others that include the High King and the rest of his council.

Hongjoong squeezes your hip gently as he hears your heartbeat speeding up.

There's a parade of servants that are lined up by the main doors, all bowing as your entourage finally arrives right in front of the castle.

"Rise." Is all that Hongjoong says, and they all snap into action; running to help the others in tending to the horses or carrying bags.

He jumps down and points to one of them, beckoning him forward. The servant bows, "thank Th-"

"No time for formalities. Yes, 'thank The Goddess, My Lords have returned safely', blah blah blah. Listen closely. Gather the others. Gather the King. Tell them we have found her."

Hongjoong watches the boys eyes widen, and follows his gaze. Wooyoung is helping you down, holding you upright as you stumble.

The Lieutenant looks back to the boy, "did I say stare at her?"

"Apologies, Lord Kim-"

"No. I didn't. Hurry now, they have waited long enough."

The boy disappears before his eyes, nothing but a blur as he hurries to inform the rest of the royals.

"I told you we should have stopped," he hears Yunho chastise you as he approaches, grabbing the bag of your possessions. They made it painfully clear when someone else tried to carry your things at an early stop in a city — don't do that.

"I'm fine, really, Lord Jeong," your rebuttal is dulled by the way you cling to Wooyoung for support.

"Mhm," Hongjoong manages to make his hum the most sarcastic noise on the face of the planet, and smirks as you throw a measly glare his way.

"You should have a warm bath to soothe your hips-"

"They're ready for you, My Lords," the boy Hongjoong had sent was already back, panting as he bows.

"You're fast," Hongjoong smiles, patting his shoulder as he passes, "good job, kid."

As Wooyoung helps you towards the open doors, the now smiling boy bows once again. When you bow back weakly; the healer yanks you back up. Before you have the chance to question him, the sounds of the castle overwhelm you.

It's bustling with life, or rather with undeath, at the return of the councilmen and the quick spreading information that they have come back with their soulmate.

People are running around, bowing and reuniting and talking amongst themselves. While you feel a lot of eyes on you, wherever you look the person is always quickly looking down and bending at their waist as you pass with Wooyoung on one side of you and Yunho on the other.

You try to take in everything going on around you, you glance at all of the grandeur with awe in your eyes that makes the Vampires smile. They know you've never left your village before they arrived and effectively stole you away; and they've taken great pleasure in showing you all kinds of things at every opportunity, every city that you passed through.

"-had better be important." Someone's sleepy grumble breaks your inspection of the walls and their decorations as Hongjoong throws open a door.

"Family!" He smiles brightly, earning another groan.

"How can you possibly be so energetic after such a journey?"

Wooyoung helps you up the small step into the room, and the idle chatter stops. When Yunho closes the door to the room behind you, it cuts off the lively noise of the castle.

The room must be a meeting area. Almost all of the space is taken up by an enormous table, nine chairs around it.

"Dear Goddess..." Your eyes flick to the man who spoke. He has hair that matches Yunho, a light blue. He feels... familiar. He's looking at you like he's looking past your skin, into your soul.

Because he is.

He barely even registers that you've grown up, that you look almost entirely different. Because your soul looks exactly the same even as the years have worn down the edges of it. "(Y/n)?"

The others look between you.

You hold onto Wooyoung's sleeve as your gut fills with unease, not enjoying their eyes on you one bit.

"This is her." Hongjoong pulls back a chair and sits back with a wide smirk. "This is our soulmate."

The room explodes with action.

You're yanked from Wooyoung's side, into the arms of a buff man. "I knew it! I knew we would find you! Oh, you're so soft," he's nearly purring in your ear, holding you tightly as your feet hover above the ground.

Two of them are asking a million questions at once, directed towards you and towards the trio that is responsible for finding you.

The familiar man slaps his hands together and starts praying, thanking The Goddess in jumbled and hurried words.

At the head of the table, the Vampire with pink hair lets his jaw drop. "...What?"

The chaos continues, questions flying and making your head hurt even though you don't even try to answer them.

"Quiet!" The pink haired man bellows, and everyone stills effectively immediately. The man with his arms around you tightens his grip.

You've already made a guess, and it's proven right. This is the High King. You don't dare look at him after all of the rumors you've heard. It was frightening enough when some of the ones you've heard about the Lieutenant were proven right.

Those about Lord Kim were almost harmless. Those about High King Park Seonghwa are anything but.

"Let the girl down," he orders, and the man does so carefully. Yunho is there to steady you, leading your cowering form to the only empty seat beside his own.

Across the table from Seonghwa, at the other end of the giant table. The distance doesn't provide much comfort when you know just how fast they can move.

As you sit, Wooyoung speaks with a grin, "isn't she precious?" Hongjoong swears that there's stars in the younger man's eyes, and he can't blame him at all.

"Your name is (Y/n)?" Seonghwa ignores his words, looking at you closely and listening to your racing heartbeat.

"Yes, My King." You whisper, digging your nails into the wooden armrests. You had imagined a thousand different ways this would go if the High King didn't approve of having you as a soulmate. It didn't matter how attached his loyal councilmen were to you if he didn't want you around.

"It's her. It's her, I have no doubt-" Mingi's voice is cut off by the rushing wind as Seonghwa all but teleports to the other side of the table.

You yelp as his face is suddenly in the crook of your neck. He sniffs deeply, and grabs onto the armrests next to your hands. You slam your eyes shut, forcing yourself to tilt your head back in submission. He lets out a pleased groan, inching closer.

The rest watch on, the trio who's already experienced it sharing a smirk as they watch the eldest Vampires skin come in contact with yours.

The tip of his nose touches your neck and his lips widen in a cheshire grin. A million sparks travel through your body from the contact point. "It is you."

He leans back, licking his lips. They can all tell he wants to have a taste. The glint in his eyes is undeniable.

But, much to their surprise, he doesn't. He's holding back. He never holds back.

He's back in his seat, breathing deeply and swallowing before he speaks. "Might you explain what happened, Hongjoong?"

As he does, you take a sneaking glance at each of the council. Every time, you're caught — but it doesn't stop you. Especially because they meet your gaze with bright smiles. The only one you don't look at is Seonghwa.

"You've already been feeding on her?" Yeosang, you've learned, has a small pout as Wooyoung lets slip a comment about how good you taste; and the other two agree with breakneck speed.

"Have you no self control?" San, ironically the one who grabbed you, slaps Wooyoung's arm.

"No, no," Hongjoong shakes his hands, "the myths are true. A soulmates blood is... it's a drug. She's a drug. None of you would be able to resist either."

Seonghwa tuts his tongue, "I find that hard to believe." No, he doesn't. Even just smelling your blood through your skin had his fingers itching to grab you and never let go.

He looks to you. You don't meet his gaze even though he knows you can feel it. "Did they hurt you in their haste?"

"No, My King."

Yunho holds back a chuckle at your formality with the man. You were like that with him not too long ago.

"I don't believe it, either. No body can make a Vampire lose control by their smell alone. Especially not any of us," Jongho takes a deep inhalation, trying to get a whiff.

Mingi hasn't taken his eyes off of you the entire time. He's afraid that if he even blinks that he will wake up from this dream.

"She can." Wooyoung stands quickly, turning and rummaging in a drawer. "Here." He's next to you, a needle in between his fingers.

You take it slowly, looking up at him with your brows pinched together in confusion. Then, it dawns on you. "Lord Jung, no-"

"Yes. Prove to them that The Goddess has crafted you just for us. Even the blood that pumps from your heart is created with our souls in mind."

You look to Hongjoong. He promised no harm would come to you, and this seemed like a surefire way to get yourself bitten. But he nods.

You feel like you've never been so exposed in your life.

There's eight pairs of eyes on you, each of which belonging to a Vampire more frightening than the last one you look at.

As you scan the royals slowly, your hand starts trembling. "Do- do I have to, My Lords?"

"Yes," Yunho meets your gaze as you come back to him quickly after taking a peek at the High King. "It's okay ba." He's taken up your dialect in your two weeks together. It makes you slightly less nervous. "We won't let them get out of control."

You take a deep breath and look down at your hands. You pinch the needle tighter and bite your tongue as you prick your finger.

You know realistically that this is a horrid idea. But you seem to trust the three men enough to purposely make yourself bleed in a room full of bloodthirsty strangers.

The reaction is instant and intense, just as it was in the church. San is held back from literally climbing over the table by his belt. Yeosang is sucking in shaking breaths through his mouth, forcing himself to look away. Jongho, the youngest, is slammed back into his chair as he growls and fights against the Lieutenant. Mingi slaps a hand over his mouth, but his eyes still never leave you even as they morph into a crimson color that shows his desires. Wooyoung is smirking as he holds back Seonghwa by his shoulders.

"Please, please," Jongho pleads, meeting your shock widened eyes.

Is he... pleading with you?

"Just a lick," he pants, his red eyes filled with hunger and primal want, "just one?"

"We told you," Hongjoong giggles at the youngests pout, "she's nearly irresistible. Yunho," he nods to the taller man; and he gets the message.

"No!" San whines, a legitimate sorrow in his voice as Yunho leans over and licks the blood from the tip of your finger. He groans as he falls back into his chair defeated, Seonghwa and Jongho following suit.

The lot of them are breathing heavily, purposely to get the remaining scent of your blood or unintentionally from the ton of bloodlust they were just smacked with that was unlike anything they've ever experienced.

You cower in the chair, gulping past the lump in your throat. You were certain that something would go horribly wrong, but the trio held true to their promises to keep you fairly safe.

"I-" The King stutters, gripping the edge of the table with a vengeance. "I should... we should..."

"Take your time, Hwa," Hongjoong chuckles, reaching over and rubbing your arm gently —

"Welcome home, little one."

𖤐❝She is delicate compared to us.❞𖤐

Seonghwa sits back on his throne slowly, grabbing the sides with trembling hands. He's deeply regretting not sinking his teeth into you, but he knows that this is a... delicate situation.

When he had found the rest of his soulmates, they were already turned. And while their blood tasted good, it wasn't nearly as tempting as whatever divine curse you are.

He's been waiting since the day he was born to finally be complete. Now he has all eight of his soulmates under the same roof and he let you be lead away to rest — to rest! He should be worshipping you right now!

"Ymanya!" He yells loudly, leaning forward with his head in his hands.

"Yes, My King?" The elderly looking woman bows as she quickly runs to the throne.

"I have a new job for you."

"A job, King?"

"Yes, a promotion. You are no longer the manager of the staff," he leans back and crosses his legs as he looks down at her. "This job is much more important, so I need you to listen closely, yes?"

"Of course."

"You will be the keeper of the Lady of Halazia."

"The Lady?! You finally found her?" She clasps her hands together, tilting her head back in a short prayer.

"Indeed, and she is a human," he thinks back to you, your image is haunting him, "she... she is delicate compared to us. I am placing her under your care. If harm is to befall her in any way when we are not present — any manner at all, I will hold you personally responsible. If she trips and falls, I will push you down the stairs. If she gets a cold, I will make you sleep outside. Should she go hungry, you will not even see a drop of blood for weeks. Do you understand where I am going with this?"

"Yes, My King," she nods, "you needn't worry. I will take the utmost care of the Lady."

"Good. You are my most capable servant, have I told you that before?" He half-smiles, watching her return the favor.

"Many times, King."

"Make sure that it keeps true. We have waited a long time for her, make her feel welcome. Have Gele accompany you, as well. She is good with humans."

When she bows and turns to leave, he calls out before she can —

"One more thing, Ymanya."

"Yes, My King?"

"Report back to me with what you learn about her. I want to know everything about our Lady."

𖤐❝Why else would The Goddess give you such a fate?❞𖤐

Clang!

"Gele, be careful."

You stir at the sound of footsteps around you; groaning as you nuzzle deeper into the pillow.

"Shh, don't wake the Lady." The soft voice whispers, "Lord Jeong will have our heads."

You sit up quickly as you realize where you are.

The chambers they provided you with are bigger than your entire home back in Caethnor.

After being led to them by a servant, who was (very threateningly) told to treat you with the utmost respect, you were left alone for a while.

You did not mind one single bit. It was the first time you had been alone for more than fifteen minutes in days.

You had sat down on edge the large bed and hummed. It was... very comfortable. Just to feel it, you thought as you laid back — and then you were promptly asleep.

By the look of the sun casting the startled strangers in the golden hour light, that had to have been a few hours ago.

The two women jump back, one of them clutching an empty bucket to her chest tightly, "ah!"

"What are you doing?" You scramble to your knife, gripping the handle when the older looking woman speaks.

"Oh, My Lady please! Please, don't fret! Lord Jeong sent us to fill you a bath," she explains quickly, raising her hands to show you that she means no harm.

You eye them frantically, the bucket and the fact that they seem dressed like the other servants you had seen corroborate with her words. You let go of the dagger on your boot and bow to them, "sorry, you startled me."

When you come back up, they look completely in shock. "...Is something the matter?"

"My Lady, you needn't bow to us," the younger girl with red hair shakes her head, "you are our superior."

You rub your eye as you slide to the edge of the bed, "what?" You must still be foggy with sleep.

"Oh, Gele," the older woman turns to the redhead, "she was a common villager, she does not know these things! My apologies," she turns back to you, smiling sweetly, "this all must be very drastically different for you."

"Uhm," you clear your throat. It's the first time someone has acknowledged that. "I suppose it is."

"Here, come with me, child," she approaches slowly and waits for you to grasp her hand. "My name is Ymanya, this here is Gele." She explains softly as you take her wrinkled hand, standing to follow her. "We will be your maids."

"I do not think I will need any maids..."

"Then our jobs should be easy," Gele giggles lightly as she sets the bucket down, testing the temperature of the water in the tub that they had managed to fill without waking you.

It was only separated from the rest of the chamber by a folding screen, and you almost wonder how they managed such a task before you remember how little sleep you had gotten on the journey.

"Forgive my bluntness," Ymanya hums before going on, "but the Lords have hand picked us to care for you, and we must do our very best to please them. They have told us they will have nothing but perfection when it comes to your wellbeing." She can sense your hesitation about having someone doing things for you, and she places a hand on your shoulder, "you can think of us as your assistants. We are here to make your life easier, My Lady."

You can't think of anything that you can't do on your own — but you know that it's probably a useless task to argue with the council. "Must you call me that if we will be so close?"

"What else would we call you?" Gele asks as she settles on the stool in the area.

"My name, I would think," you laugh a bit, watching Ymanya reach into a cabinet and retrieve a towel.

"The Lords have told us to only refer-"

"Well, what they don't know won't kill them." You sigh, "please, when it is just us; don't use that ridiculous title. I'm not a Lady."

It's their turn to be hesitant, thinking over whether or not this is a test. "You are," Ymanya nods, "you are The Lady of Halazia now. You're fated to the most powerful men in the realm, we should address you with respect."

You shake your head, having a hard time grasping the concept. You are no Lady, you're just a nun from Caethnor. "Respect should be earned-"

"My Lady (Y/n)," Gele perks up, gesturing towards you, "that might please both you and our Lords. Is that okay?"

"I... well, I suppose that's better." You give her a smile, "I am okay with that. Should the Lords have a problem with it, I will try to tell them such."

You jump when Ymanya's hand comes in contact with the back of your dress. "Actually!" You turn around quickly, "this is one task I would much rather do on my own." You ramble out quickly, shaking your head.

"Of course, Lady (Y/n)," the grey haired woman smiles apologetically, bowing as she ushers the younger girl out, "but I bid you not tell the Lords. We promised Lord Jeong that we would help you. But, I know that it would probably be most uncomfortable for you."

"It would," you gulp, making the woman chuckle. You're so tremendously different from her Lords. You were born a commoner but you were fated for royalty... it might be nice to have someone like you in the castle. "I will not tell if you don't."

"A deal, then." She steps forward again and takes your hands, looking at you sincerely, "I hope to help you adjust to life here, Lady (Y/n). I know it is all a lot of change... but you seem like a strong girl. Why else would The Goddess give you such a fate?"

"Thank you, Ymanya," you squeeze her hands gently. She has an aura of nurture around her, you don't even care that her hands are freezing cold. She's a warm person.

"We have all waited a long time for you," she looks down, squeezing your hands back, "I am glad to have you join us, My Lady (Y/n)."

𖤐❝I should educate you quickly.❞𖤐

"Lady (Y/n)?" Gele knocks on the wall next to the screen divider, hovering just outside of it.

"Yes?" You hum from the water. You should thank them for working so fast to get the hot water in the tub, it feels wonderful on your sore muscles. It's a pleasant feeling to truly wash yourself, not just clean up in whatever body of water you could find.

"The Lords Choi have requested your presence in the dining hall after you are finished, should I tell them you accept?"

"Uhm..." You sit up in the water, pushing back your hair, "which ones is that, Gele?"

"The Lords? The Choi brothers, San and Jongho."

They were both having to be held back, if you recall correctly — and you do. You aren't entirely sure if you want to be alone with them-

"My Lady, if I may..."

"Yes, what it is?"

"Lord Kim will also be in attendance, if that eases your anxieties. I know you traveled with him."

It peeves you that it does, in fact, ease some of your worries. With a sigh of trepidation, you go against your want to just crawl back into the bed and tell her, "yes, tell them I will join them, please."

"Right away, Lady (Y/n)."

You hear the click-clack of her shoes and the soft closing of the door, waiting for it to clunk into place before you stand and carefully pull yourself out of the tub.

This place compared to everything you've ever known is like comparing night and day.

You've never known anything besides your little home, and here you are in chambers big enough to put your house inside of; with people calling you 'Lady' and luxuries that you didn't even think of when you thought of how royals might live.

As you dry yourself with the ridiculously soft fabric, you hear the door open again. Ymanya's voice follows, "yes, place them just over there on the bed. The Lady will go through them."

"Shall I take her measureme-"

"Not tonight, she has had rough travels. We will-"

"Ymanya?" You call softly, wrapping the fabric around you tightly at the sound of an unfamiliar man's voice.

"Yes, My Lady?" She responds quickly, shooing the man out of the room and closing the door behind him.

"Who was that?"

"The royal tailor, he has brought some gowns for you. Might I help you get dressed?" She stops just outside of the divider, remembering that you aren't just any Lady or Lord she's served. You aren't used to having people wait on you.

"Gowns? What about my clothes, where are they?" You peek your head out the side of the screen, jumping back when you come face to face with the elderly woman.

"Apologies," she bows a bit as she backs up, "they are being cleaned. And the Lords have had these dresses prepared for a long time, it would greatly please them if you wore one." She looks at you in a way that tells you it's probably a smart idea to start pleasing them; eyes flicking between you and the pile of clothing. "Would you like me to help you pick one?"

Begrudgingly, you step out from behind the privacy barrier and hold the fabric around you tightly. "I suppose so."

She goes through them as she hangs them up in the large wooden closet in the room. They all look like they'll fit you, maybe a few adjustments needed to be perfect — but that isn't what makes you hesitate to pick.

What gives you pause, is the fact that they are all so clearly made for a proper Lady. Supported bodices and flared sleeves and frills and lace corsets in the backs of most of them. Even the basic white shift and stockings you now had on were made of what feels like heaven against your skin.

"Please, My Lady," she sighs, "I know that you probably have never worn such gowns, but I fear the Lords will grow impatient."

You trill your lips as you look over them again. You certainly don't want to make them wait even longer, so you force yourself to choose. "This one."

You can't lie and say it isn't beautiful, because it is. The deep purple fabric has swirling flowers embroidered on the skirt, and the black bodice is meant to be tightened with the matching ribbon that weaves in the back of the torso. But it's meant to be worn by royalty, and you feel far from worthy.

She helps you slip the fabric over your head and smoothes out the skirt with a small smile, "have you ever had your hair done, Lady (Y/n)?" She asks as she comes behind you and begins tightening the built in corset.

"Not since I was a child, no..."

"Allow me to do it, come," she leads you quickly to the short chair by the vanity and sits you down. "A Lady should always have her hair done, that is one thing I must insist on." She jokes lightly, carefully combing through your hair.

"Only because you insist." And only because it reminds you of a simpler time, when your mother would sit you in her lap and put intricate traditional braids in your hair. "May I ask you a question, Ymanya?"

"Of course, My Lady. I will answer any questions you have."

"Is there any traditions in Halazia that I should be aware of? I didn't have the best education on those kinds of things."

"Oh, there is many. Too many to tell you them all now, I'm afraid. Perhaps you can ask the Lords to provide you a tutor — if you want, of course."

You hum in response, fingers tracing the frill of lace on your sleeve. "Well, any that I should know tonight?"

She thinks for a moment, her hands pausing as something comes to mind. "Well... perhaps one that I should warn you of."

"Warn?" You look up to her, eyebrows raised.

"It's not so much of a tradition as it is... as it is just something that happens. Just something the K-" The smell of your fear is growing as she speaks, and she figures she should stop lest the King have her head if he smells it as well. But you look so pure and... you remind her of someone. She wants you to have a fighting chance; not be smacked in the face with what the night has in store for you. "I'm sorry, My Lady, might I ask you somewhat of an improper question?"

"Improper how...?"

"Lady, forgive me, but are you a virgin?"

"What?!" You squeal, eyes widened at such a sudden and personal question. "I- What kind-"

"Lady (Y/n), please answer the question."

You turn back around in the chair quickly. "I... I am."

That changes just about everything. She needs to tell them, and fast. "Do you know... do you know how those things happen?"

"Ymanya, please! This is much too scandalous to speak so freely of..."

She sighs, going back to fixing your hair as she speaks, "in your village, perhaps. But in Halazia, we speak rather plainly about sex. The Lords are often seen kissing and," she clears her throat, "kissing among other things around the castle. It is not taboo here."

"Why are you telling me this?" You ask shortly. You want this conversation to be over. Because you had just imagined Wooyoung and Yunho kissing each other, and it gave you the same heat in your body that you felt after they drank from you. You need to pray after conjuring such a sinful scene.

"I would like to warn you, because I can tell you are pure of soul and of body... the Lords do not only have a strong craving for blood."

You hesitate to ask, but you feel you must.

"Meaning what exactly?"

"Meaning; perhaps if you do not know what to expect, I should educate you quickly."

𖤐❝What else am I to do when your heart smells so fearful?❞𖤐

Your heart is pounding wildly, despite the fact that you have now been sitting down for a few minutes.

The large dining hall was empty, and that somehow made the situation worse. Now you had to sit in silence as you thought over everything that Ymanya told you as she finished your hair and led you to the room.

Wooyoung conveniently left out the fact that the Kings large appetite was not limited to blood when you spoke all those nights ago. Ymanya filled in that missing information with the fact that he had ravaged each of his soulmates the night he found them, and their sounds traveled through the whole castle.

And she was regretful to tell you that she expected no different in his treatment of you. She did, however, tell you that she would try to speak with the King and get him to be gentle. She had been serving the castle since before he was crowned, you had learned along with the barrage of information. He trusted her word and took her advice on things to do with staff and care of the estate.

"Your heart is about to beat out of your chest." Hongjoong's voice spooks you into jumping up from the chair. He's entered along with San and Jongho... and Seonghwa. If the King is here, Ymanya hasn't gotten to speak to him.

If it wasn't before, it certainly is now.

"Hey, what's the matter with you, little one?" He asks softly as he joins your side, carefully lowering you back into the seat. "Has something happened?"

"Uh," you shake your head, trembling, "no. No, My Lord, my apologies. I don't mean to worry you."

"What else am I to do when your heart smells so fearful?"

"Are you frightened of us?" San asks quietly as he takes a seat across from you. "Because you needn't be."

"I'm sorry, My Lords, I am just anxious..."

"Hmm," Hongjoong pouts as he eyes you, "what for? Didn't I say I would take care of you?"

"Yes, Lord, but-"

"Then don't fret." He leans and pulls you forward gently, kissing your forehead. "You have no reason to be anxious. Let's enjoy a meal with our soulmates."

𖤐❝I promise myself to you.❞𖤐

You had blissfully forgotten all of your worries as you spoke with the men, as you ate together.

You had forgotten most of your fear of the man with pink hair who sat at the head of the table. He's still undeniably intimidating, even as he watches you and the brothers exchange stories with a small smile.

You had, that is, until the sound of hurried footsteps and a voice rang out. "High King!"

Ymanya is bowing repeatedly as she hurries into the room, and seeing her suddenly reminds you why you were freaking out when you sat down.

He doesn't even look away from you as he addresses her. "Is this important, Ymanya?"

"Yes, My King. It is most urgent. I deeply apologize for disturbing you, but I have-"

He looks towards her with a glare, and she stops her rambling. "Then, what is so important that you must barge in here?"

"I'm sorry, My King. Might I speak with you in the-"

"Speak here."

All of your eyes are on her now, and she meets your gaze. Yours isn't annoyed or curious like theirs. Yours is wide and nervous. You shake your head quickly.

Having your maid tell one man that you were a virgin so that he didn't hurt you was one thing. Having her speak it in front of four of them would make you want to disappear from embarrassment.

"Out with it, Ymanya."

"Don't," you manage to squeak as she opens your mouth. "Ymanya, don't."

She looks between the two of you. His gaze demanding and dark, yours scared and embarrassed.

San tilts his head as he leans forward, "Ymanya, you know better than to keep secrets from us."

"O-of course, my Lord, I-"

"Ymanya, please!" You grab Hongjoong's arm as you stand, gripping his sleeve as you look to him, "tell her to stop, Lord Kim. I beg."

"Enough of this!" Seonghwa shouts; slamming his hands on the table, sending you flying into Hongjoongs lap to cower. "Enough. There will be no more of this. If Ymanya knows something important enough to interrupt us, I will know what."

Hongjoong wraps his arms around your trembling figure, "Seonghwa, you are frightening her." He whispers in the tense silence.

"Perhaps you should just speak, Ymanya," Jongho says slowly, placing a hand on Seonghwa's shoulder to ground him.

"I-" She bows deeply, "I'm very sorry My Lady (Y/n). I must tell him. I do not wish for you to be harmed. Your embarrassment will pass."

"Why would I harm her?" He snarls, approaching her slowly. He towers over her, glaring down.

"My King," she looks away from you and towards the floor. "The Lady is a virgin. I bid you, please do be gentle with her... I know how you are with your soulmates, My King. I only wish for her soul to remain unharmed — for you not to taint your relationship. This is why I tell you."

It's silence for a long moment. Sill. Everyone unmoving. Your ears are ringing and hot as you feel the brothers looking at you.

"You may leave." Seonghwa says, his voice tense as he makes his way back to his seat. "Thank you, Ymanya."

"Of course, My King. Apologies for interrupting you, My Lords." She pauses at you, you look like you want to bolt; but Hongjoongs arms around you stop you from doing so. "Forgive me, My Lady."

"Leave now," Hongjoong nods to the doorway, pulling you closer to his chest.

Her footsteps hurry away just as fast as they came.

Silence. Stillness. The air charged with tension.

"Is this true?" Seonghwa speaks up, eyes back on you and unmoving once more. "You are a virgin?"

You nod, just barely.

"Speak, girl."

"Seonghwa, she's embarrassed, leave her be-" Jongho is cut off your yelp as you're suddenly pulled from Hongjoong's lap.

The King has you pressed to the wall by your shoulders, holding you against it as he looks into your very soul; his eyes red. "Speak."

"Yes." You whimper, looking away quickly.

"How is that possible?"

"Because she hasn't had sex yet, dumbass," Hongjoong joins his side, looking down at you with a small smirk.

"But you're so beautiful." He whispers, his eyebrows pushed together as he inspects you. "How did nobody take you yet?"

"It... it is not done in my village, My King. We wait for our soulmates..."

He bites his lip, taking a few deep breaths.

"Not at all?" San asks as he and Jongho join the elder Vampires in crowding you.

"Not even hand stuff?" Jongho looks, arguably, a little too eager — his previous ideal of letting you have space is gone.

"H-hand stuff?" You gulp, flinching when Seonghwa all but falls onto you. His head on your shoulder and his body pressed against you as he lets out a groan.

"You've never..." Hongjoong trails off, moving his head side to side as he thinks of the words, "touched anyone? A cock? A pussy, maybe?"

"Lord Kim!" You gasp, scandalized, "don't say such things! Of course I haven't touched-" You clear your throat, fidgeting against Seonghwa's weight. "No, I haven't. What is the great big deal? I'm already embarrassed, you needn't tease me."

"Oh, this isn't even close to teasing," San smirks, leaning against the wall next to you. "Wait until Wooyoung finds out, that will be teasing."

"You're going to tell everyone?" You pout, already knowing that, if they're making a big deal of this, the others certainly will as well.

"We have to, little one. Otherwise they might jump your bones before we can do the ceremony."

"Ceremony? What ceremony? I don't want to-"

"You must," Seonghwa growls from your neck, startling you, "we must. When a Vampire takes a virgin, it is different. It is not just simply sex. Because the veil of our souls is thinner, our souls will touch when I... when..." He pants, his hands grabbing your hips. "Oh, Goddess, give me strength..."

"We will wait until you are ready," Jongho quickly soothes any fear of being forced into a literal soul shaking ceremony, "otherwise, the bond between your souls will be tainted. And — we don't want you to do anything you're uncomfortable with."

That's a little bit of hypocrisy when you're still pinned to the wall.

"It's that powerful?" You ask with wide eyes, fiddling with your sleeves. Talk about pressure. You had a friend who told you losing your virginity was scary, and your fear has been multiplied.

"Indeed, it is," Hongjoong reaches and strokes the back of Seonghwa's head from where it's still buried in your neck. "It's the greatest honor for a Vampire to take someone's virginity. That's why people always sacrifice virgins to us, but really we never care. We don't touch them, it's too intimate."

"Please," Seonghwa whispers mumbled, his lips electrifying your skin, "promise yourself to me. I can make you feel so good when the day comes. I can show you pleasure that you never even dreamt of."

Hongjoong and San share a smirk as they hear your heartbeat thudding faster and faster and faster.

None of them were able to resist Seonghwa when they first came to the castle. Wooyoung was the fastest to cave; he let the older Vampire take him on the stairs, he was so fired up. Yeosang held out the longest, he was the shyest, but still he only held out a measly month and a half.

Nobody can resist Seonghwa.

Not even you. It a mix of anticipation and fear which makes you speak —

"I promise myself to you."

𖤐❝It aches in my bones.❞𖤐

"This place truly never ends, does it?"

You follow Gele the next morning, taking in every little detail as she slowly shows you around.

"It is... expansive," she giggles, opening up yet another door that leads to yet another never ending hall. "This is the- oh, Lord Song." She bows quickly, drawing your attention towards the man.

"My Lord." You bow as well, greeting the blue haired man.

"Ah, what good timing! I was on my way to your chambers," he smiles at you as you rise, his eyes bright in the morning sun that filters through the large windows.

"Really? What for, Lord?"

"I feel as if we have much to discuss. Gele, if you'll leave us." The woman pauses, taking a look towards you. When he clears his throat, she's quick to disappear.

"Come," he takes your hand and leads you back the way you came. The tingles make your fingers twitch, but you don't let go. "How are you finding your way so far, (Y/n)?"

"Good, I suppose. Thank you, My Lor-"

"You needn't be so formal with me. We know each other!" He throws another smile your way. "Wooyoung told me that you remember me. I'm glad."

"Oh, yes," you nod lightly, "I remember... some. Mostly from my early teenage years."

"I have always been there," he admits quickly as you enter the hall in which your chambers reside, "I tried to check on you at least once a day, even if I didn't show myself."

"Seriously?" You ask jaw-dropped as he opens the door.

"Indeed. How do you find your chambers?"

His quick change of subject catches you off guard, "uhm... good! Very good, My Lor-"

"Mingi." He corrects you quickly, hesitating to let go of your hand.

He looks around the room as if to inspect it. "I haven't been here in some years... not since I lost contact with you. I couldn't bare it."

"Has this-" You hesitate, watching him closely as he takes a seat on the vanity stool.

"Oh, go ahead! I'm sure you have many questions, and I will give you many answers."

You lower yourself onto the end of the bed, looking around the large chambers. "Has this room always been for me?"

"For a very long time." He nods, somewhat of a nostalgic look overcoming him. "After the first time you heard me, we had it renovated. We were sure that you could be joining us any day. We had no idea we would have to wait so long."

"Oh..." You nod, not knowing exactly what to say to him. You feel a bit guilty for whatever reason.

"I used to come here everyday and pray that The Goddess would keep you safe. But, after I could no longer find you, I must admit... I lost my faith for a while."

"Might I ask," you start softly, "how did you manage to lose me? Lord Jung told me that you were veil walking, and I'm afraid I don't know much about that, but... it seems odd for it to just stop."

"Oh, well, I am no walker. I'm just a seer, The Goddess blesses me with visions. After you were born, I felt it — well, we all felt it but I felt it. I felt your soul come into creation. And I begged The Goddess to show you to me, but... all I ever got was blurry images. I learned how to veil walk so that I could find you. Yunho tried, but his soul isn't strong enough for such powers."

You listen to him closely as he continues. "Veil walking is always easier when you are presenting to a child. Their souls are more- more uhm... susceptible. I thought it would be different for us, because we're soulmates. But I think I lost you when you reached womanhood."

You think back to the time. It was around your first blood that he no longer appeared to you. "Oh, yes. That must have been it. I was no longer a child..."

"Must have been." He hums, tilting his head, "why do you ask? Seems an odd thing to be curious about with so much more going on."

Why did you ask? You wonder to yourself for a moment before it suddenly dawns on you. "I do believe I missed you."

His eyes widen ever so slightly, his heart starts beating a little faster. "You did?"

"It's odd but-" you swallow, looking away, "you came to be a sort of comfort to me. Especially after my mother passed. I felt terribly alone... but you were always there. I could feel you even when you didn't speak. I started to think you were my guardian angel."

There's a pause between you, and you look up to see tears forming in his eyes. "Did I say some-"

"Might I give you that hug now?" His eyes are begging. His entire being wants to embrace you. To hold your body and not just hover over your soul like he was forced to do as he watched you grow up.

"Yes." You say before you can think.

"I have missed you, too." He tackles you onto the bed, his arms wrapped around you tightly and your arms quickly giving him the same treatment; albeit weaker.

"My soul craves you in a way that aches. It aches in my bones. When I could no longer see you, I was a mess — I could not sleep, I would not eat, I-" You lean your head onto his shoulder and he sighs softly, holding you closer.

It feels so... right. Like you were made to embrace one another.

"I am happy to see you again, Mingi."

𖤐❝You can handle one more glass, can't you?❞𖤐

"Are you not eating, My King?" You ask as you note his lack of a plate. The others are all eating along side you.

"Not yet," he grins lightly, standing to pour you some more wine. You've already had three glasses.

"Oh, My King, I don't usually drink so much-"

"Well, this is a celebration, isn't it?" He hums while filling your cup, "our first meal together as a completed soul. It's an occasion to drink." He sits back down, holding his cup to yours, "cheers."

You take a breath as you clink your glass to his, "cheers." If they keep up this pace of refilling your wine every time you take a sip, you'll have to be carried back to your chambers. You would already have to be shown the way, no chance you could find your way back through all the twists and turns while your head was so light.

So light, in fact, that you fail to notice that the King doesn't even drink from his glass. You fail to notice his ever present gaze on you.

He said he would wait for you to be ready for intimacy — he said no such thing about waiting to feed on you. He's a patient man, yes. But also one with an insatiable hunger.

He has to have at least a sip of blood a day. Usually he doesn't care from who. But since he had smelled your blood, everything else tasted... off.

He doesn't indulge much in food like the others, only things he liked when he was living. But even his favorite food made him sick. His body only wants you.

"You'll have to teach me sometime," you bow to Yeosang with a slight slur in your voice, "archery is one thing I never did pick up."

"But she can fish like nobodies business!" Wooyoung chuckles, leaning his head on your shoulder; similarly inebriated. For every glass you had drunk, he drunk about three. Vampires have fast metabolism, you suppose. "She spears them with a stick! How badass is that?"

You laugh as you lean your head on his, and the sound of your joy has hearts beating all around the table. "I can teach you someday, if you like. I know something that My Lord doesn't," you giggle drunkenly.

"I would like to learn," San pipes up with a smile, "I can teach you something in return! Woodworking, forgery, armory, sewing, you name it."

"You do all of those?" You ask in awe, usually a worker might know one or two; but then, he has been around a long time. He has had time to master multiple skills.

"Oh, yeah," Hongjoong throws his arm around the man, "Sannie is our jack of all trades." He smiles brightly, kissing his cheek.

You've quickly gotten used to their public displays of affection, it was clear that they had no qualms in showing their love for one another.

And it didn't bother you. You had thought that it might, being that even married couples didn't show much affection where you are from.

"Yunho mi," you call to the man, "I have a question."

"Ask away, (Y/n) mi," he smiles, leaning his head onto his hand.

"How do you make the fire?"

"The fire?" He smirks as he conjures a small flame at his finger tip.

The look of your shock earns you a few laughs. "Yes! How?"

"Magic," he shrugs nonchalantly, "I can do all sorts of things. I can show you, but I'm afraid it can't be taught. You'll have to stick to San and Yeosang for learning new things."

"Oh, I would love to see," you smile, a sparkle in your eyes that has the man just about ready to show you every trick he knows right here and now.

You lean back in your chair as a servant reaches for your plate, giving her the room to gather it. "Thank you." She pauses at your words, looking to the closest Lord; who happens to be Wooyoung because he's attached to your hip. He nods, giving her a stern look.

"Of course, My Lady. You needn't thank me, 'tis my job." She says just above a whisper as she gathers the nearby plates.

"You're so cute," Wooyoung grins as he pulls you over to him and kisses your cheek.

Seonghwa stops the girl when she goes to collect your glass, "let her finish it."

"Of course, My King," she nods, gathering what else she can before leaving with one more glance spared towards you.

Hongjoong leans forward, topping of your drink even as you gesture for him not to, "you don't need to bow to anyone besides us, you're the Lady of the castle."

You hold back a groan as you look at the glass. You don't want to be rude. "Lord Kim, I'm should not drink anymore, perhaps someone else-"

"Drink, little one," he's next to you in a second, picking up your cup. "You can handle one more glass, can't you? For me~?"

Oh. Oh, that pesky heat in your skin is back.

"O-okay," you blink up at him, suddenly very still in your seat as he lifts the cup to your lips.

"Chug," he smirks as you take the glass to your lips, never leaving his gaze as you begin to drink.

"Chug, chug, chug," San and Wooyoung chant as you do just that. The others smile as they watch, Mingi whistling in an impressed manner as you keep up with the way Hongjoong tilts the glass.

A drop leaves the corner of your mouth and travels down your neck. Yeosang watches with wide eyes. "Excuse me." Is all he says before he disappears, a suspicious blush on his face.

You swallow the sweet wine quickly as he all but pours it down your throat, keeping your dazed eyes on his; taking in the way the corner of his lips curl up and expose his fangs.

As he moves the empty glass, you go to take a breath — only to be met with his lips on yours.

You squeal in surprise, your hands hesitating before finding purchase on his wrists as he cups your cheeks.

"Oh, he's going to eat her alive," Wooyoung's joke from beside you never reaches your ears.

Hongjoong rests his forehead on yours, taking in your heavy breaths. When you open your eyes, you find that his have turned red. "Let the King and I drink from you." He hums, cradling your heated cheek, "won't you, little one?"

"Yes..." You slur softly, holding his wrists tightly. "Please."

The others are beyond jealous now, but they let it go. Their time will come. They should have pieced together that they were making you drink so much so that you wouldn't feel as much effects of the blood loss that's to come. Sneaky bastards, taking advantage of your naive nature— why didn't they think of that?

"Come, then," he giggles as he helps up your stumbling figure.

His plan worked like a charm. After hearing how Seonghwa hadn't fed, he came up with it. He's very observant of you, he knows that even the littlest praise or affection leaves you dazed. That, paired with the ever flowing wine that would also help you start pumping more blood, made you putty in his hands.

He felt a little bad, but what was he to do?

You were afraid of Seonghwa, but he had to drink lest he wither away.

And it's been days since he tasted you, he was starting to get restless.

It's not their fault your blood is a drug to them.

𖤐❝HALAZIA❞𖤐

𖤐❝NEXT TIME❞𖤐

His nails are digging into the hard cover of the book, leaving crescent indentations. "And that-" He gulps, "that is something you want to learn?"

"Yes." You lean forward, tilting your head, "I trust you to teach me well."

Oh, you probably shouldn't. He's only one bat of your eyelashes away from ripping your dress off and saying 'fuck the ceremony.'

𖤐❝CURSE YOUR NAME❞𖤐

#DINNER IS SERVED #🍑 favs

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peachyscenes · 4 months ago

Text

Curse Your Name

𖤐❝The Preachers Daughter❞𖤐

❥Vampire Ateez x fem reader

❝What is destined cannot be avoided.❞

Masterlist + Visualizers

✫彡wordcount: 9k

(✯◡✯)genre: yandere, fantasy, smut, angst

ಠ_ಠwarning/content: see general warnings in the masterlist: injuries, blood + drinking said blood + hard ons from said drinking of said blood, fear, supernatural elements, age gap (reader mortal/ateez over 300 years old😭), unbalanced power dynamics, forced smooches, fictional religion, soulmate au

➯a/n: and so it begins *evil laughter*

✫taglist✫(i can't think of something clever help lmao) @spenceatiny18 @gigglensnort @londonbridges01 @soobieboobiebaby @killerwaifu @stayatinykatsy @onyxmango

✩index: veil walking - an advanced spiritual technique when your soul leaves your body and takes you somewhere else. Caethnor dialect: ka - spoken before or after a sentence to make it more serious or stern. ba - spoken before or after a sentence to make it softer. mi - added after someone's name to show affection.

there will only be a few instances where i use an entirely made up language but when i do the translation will be written next to it {like this}

❝Drink from me and live... forever.❞

MDNI.

𖤐❝Fate cannot be changed.❞𖤐

Caethnor is a lucky village.

The river that flows in a near circle around the community is beautiful and provides protection and resources. Water grass and marine life are plentiful, even in winter months one could break through a shallower part of the water and fish. There is only one main bridge into and out of the town.

Not only that, it is a good two week journey from the capital of the realm. From the home of the cruel and disinterested High King and his council. You've only had the displeasure of seeing one of them in your lifetime, back when you were a child.

The homes are generational, built by the inhabitants close ancestors. Wood and cobblestone is the extent of the materials. Even then, cobblestone is only on the walkways and floors. Besides one building.

The church that stands at the back of the town. It's built completely of cobblestone.

That's where you almost always are.

And that's where you are now.

Ever since you spilt your first blood, you were wed to The Goddess. That was a good few years ago now. But you still felt like a piece of you was missing. The part that everyone said was filled when they met their soulmate.

You shake your head, ridding yourself of your thoughts and closing your eyes. If you weren't fulfilled with having The Goddess as your soulmate, you just needed to pray harder. That's what your father said.

You're kneeled by the window on the second floor, hands clasped when —

The fluttering of wings makes you a peek an eye open, thinking that you're imagining things like you did in your childhood.

"Oh... Elhyna, li'hora," you whisper as you open both your eyes, watching the large feathered creature hop around on the window sill. You reach out slowly when you see the scroll on its foot, "long travels...?" When you grasps the paper, it flies away; its job complete. {Oh... Hello, bird.}

You hum as you look down at it. It's clearly good quality parchment, and it's sealed with red wax stamped down with the sigil of the realm. You've never seen it in real life before now, only in the old and withering books in the churches library.

"Pa!" You yell through the window to the man who's tending to the offering bowl next to the river. "A messenger bird came! It has a red seal, should I-"

"I'm on my way!" You swear you've never seen the middle aged man run so fast, he's back inside the building before you even blink.

You're sitting down with Tihilda when he busts into the room, panting and waving for you to hand over the scroll you're inspecting.

"Hand it here," he huffs, rolling up the sleeves of his white robe.

He quickly breaks the seal and unravels it, his face becoming dimmer with each word he reads. "What does it say?" Tihilda coughs as she attempts to stand, and you're there quickly with some cooling tea.

As you hold it for her, you look back towards your father. "Pa?" He's sweating. He looks like his heart is about to fail.

He crumbles it up and tosses it in the fire. "We should begin gathering some offerings to the High Council."

You see now why he was so frightened. Their species is superior to humans. They even feed on your kind. You briefly remember your encounter with the royal Lieutenant many years ago, and it makes you shiver.

"Is King Seon-"

"Ka don't speak that devil's name in this holy house!" His yell makes you jump back, holding Tihilda's ever trembling hand.

"Sorry, Pa..."

"Go, go and do ten prayers. Beg that The Goddess did not hear you summon him to you."

As you exit the room with your head lowered, Tihilda sighs. "Preacher," she shakes her head, "you are too hard on that poor girl. It is not her fault she is fated in such a way."

"She is fated to no one. She promised herself to The Goddess-"

"You don't think that will save her, do you?"

They're in a stalemate for a good moment before his shoulders slump. He makes his way to the table, helping her with the teacup she struggles to hold still enough to drink from.

"I would rather first die than let that be her fate. Let those... false men be her soul mate. I promised her mother..."

"The Goddess does not care about human promises."

"So you've said." He sets the cup down carefully and looks to her, "you still have not seen any change in her future?"

"Not since the day she was born. It is always the same. You know this. Fate cannot be changed." When he says nothing, she continues, "what did the messenger bird bring us?"

"Three of the High King's royal council will arriving in two days time. They expect five sacrifices."

"Five... Oh, heavens. How will we tell everyone?"

He hesitates, "it said not to. The smell of fear t- it taints the smell, it said. They will choose their own offerings."

"It's time to tell your daughter the truth. She cannot-"

"She never has to know. She needn't even meet the retched men. Her encounter with the Lieutenant was enough fright for a life time. We got lucky."

The old woman scoffs, "lucky."

𖤐❝Don't try to put on a brave face.❞𖤐

With a grunt of effort, the men slide the preacher's podium across the cobblestone, revealing a wooden hatch door on the floor.

Your father, since there was no discernible leader of this village, he was the closest thing to such. He gathered you all in the church pews where you would worship together, and told you all that some of the High Council would be here in 'two days time.'

Panic was immediate, but he stressed the fact that they would not be hurting anyone. They just wanted some offerings. Just to be sure, though, children would be hiding in the basement with the Goddesses trusted sisters.

You were one such sister.

It was the very early hours of 'two days time' later, and you had younger boys help you prepare for the councils arrival.

"Thank you, Oswin," you hum as he pulls up the hatch, a cloud of dust coming up with it. "Sweet heavens, when was the last time anyone went down here?"

"I heard," Cynble clears his throat, waving his hand to disperse the dust, "last time anyone was in here was last time the High King was here. About, what? Fifty something years ago?"

"That's what my mother said, her grandmother was one of the Kings meals," Oswin hands you a lantern, a frown on his face.

"My father said the same. The last time they came with warning, everyone hid," you gulp as you take a step down the old stone stairs. "Will you both be joining us in the basement? Don't try to put on a brave face. There is no one to impress."

"I will, yes." Cynble nods quickly, "my little sister as well. She doesn't even know the tales of Vampires, she thinks this is just a practice for if we get invaded."

"Mayble?"

"Yes- aaah!" The teen yells as a rat runs past you all, grabbing onto his friend's arm. "Woooooah, shit, that scared me!" He laughs with a hand on his chest, making you shake your head with a smile.

"We can see." You grin lightly as you look around the room. It has a few dusty beds. A few crates with old blankets on them, clearly used as furniture a few decades ago. "Oswin, will you be joining?"

"No, I traded my spot for my big sister."

"Why would you do that? She's an adult, we're supposed to be hiding children," you give him a questioning look as you hand him the lantern.

As he explains, you gesture for Cynble to help you in pushing the beds together.

"I heard that women and girls taste better to Vampires. Like how humans prefer sweet wine over bitter. A traveler once told me that a Vampire walked right by him even when he was bleeding, so it could drink from his wife. I have a feeling that your father isn't telling us everything, and that blood will be spilt. No- no offense meant, I just mean that, isn't it strange that the High Council would come all the way out here and not feed?"

"I agree." You cough as you yank the blankets off of the straw mattresses, going on as you gather the ones on the crates as well. "I know that my father is not telling us the truth of everything. But I do believe he is doing what he deems best."

You take the lantern and lead them back up the stairs, "we can make room for you, Oswin mi. Don't fret."

𖤐❝Sevalin bou, solenya.❞𖤐

"Down you come," you smile as the toddler waddles down the stairs, "you're so fast!"

It was near mid-day, and with no idea of when the councilmen would arrive; you all decided it was best to get into place sooner rather than later.

You had spent the morning hours cleaning the decrepit room, making it as comfortable as possible. You had it fairly well lit, dusted and swept and blankets back in place after being knocked clean.

All of the (two) babies of the village are laid on the bed with the two other nuns. The handful of toddlers are playing with one another, and the smaller group of teenagers sit along the walls.

All together, it was around twenty people in the basement.

The toddler, Mayble, was the last one. "There you go, sweetie," you pat her head as she successfully joins you at the bottom of the stairs.

You look up, meeting your father's eyes, "we won't be able to hear, but keep it to a minimum anyways, okay? Vampiric hearing is no joke."

You only nod. You're afraid of what's to come; but you don't dare show it with all of the children looking to you and the other sisters for strength.

"Sevalin bou, solenya" he smiles, sadly. {I love you, only child}

"Sevalin bou, Pa."

You turn as the door is shut, covering your eyes as dirt comes down with it. You hear the podium being slid back into place, and after that it's just muffled voices of the congregation.

"(Y/n)," Mayble pulls on your long skirt, "will you tell me a story while we wait?"

𖤐❝The more blood, the stronger the scent.❞𖤐

It was many hours later at this point, you had concluded from the amount of oil that had been burnt up in one of the lanterns. With a sigh, you take a seat on a crate near the few teens who are speaking quietly between themselves.

"Hey," Owsin hums, thankfully having joined his older sister in the basement, "we were talking about soulmates. What about yours?"

"Mine?" You chuckle softly, "no, I don't have one. Neither does Sister Brea or Sister Magiah. We're fated to serve The Goddess."

Sarin, his sister, tilts her head. "Really? No soulmate? And you're okay with that ba?"

"I can't imagine having a soulmate anyways," you smudge the truth just a bit. You can imagine it. You crave for it. You want to feel the spark that your father always described having with your mother when they touched. You want to 'feel like you're being kissed by a million butterflies.'

You wonder why he told you about that, knowing you would never experience it for yourself.

He only talked of her when he indulged in wine.

"My soul is full serving the Goddess." Oh, you'll have to pray so much for lying.

"You dare lie to me?!"

You hear a booming voice above you, making you all jump. One of the babies begins crying. Then the other.

Then some of the toddlers are whimpering and tearing up. While your sisters quickly tend to the babies, you and the teenagers are running over and shushing the children.

One of them slips away, making a break for the stairs. "Aliah!" You whisper yell, making the boy stop, "c-come. Come here, get away from there."

The boy, in his panic, knocks over the lantern you had on the last step. Thankfully, the flame goes out. But less fortunately, glass is now surrounding the boys bare feet. "Don't move ka." You whisper as you slowly come closer.

With a peek up the stairs, you slowly start scooting the glass away with your hand, making a path for him as you ignore the thud thud thud of your heart.

A loud crash spooks you, along with everyone else, and makes your hand falter in its careful movements. A large shard of glass finds its way to your palm — and you have to slap the other over your mouth to remind yourself not to scream.

You hold your pain and bear through it, clearing the way for the boy less carefully; shoving the glass away with your injured hand. You bite your lip as you move your hand, taking the boys and leading him into the group of kids; which have gathered on the beds you had pushed together. The older children surround them, wiping away their tears and praying with the sisters that the chaos went unheard.

You put your back to the bed and face the stairs, looking down at your hand. Every single movement of your fingers makes another gush of blood spurt out. It's unbearable to leave in.

Scent can't get through stone, right?

Whether it can or can't, you don't have time to deliberate. Your body wants the sharp object out, and now.

With a shaking hand, you quickly pinch the glass and yank it out, throwing your head back as you whimper as quietly as humanly possible.

Another loud crash.

Oswin comes and wraps a ripped piece of blanket around your hand tightly, making your eyes fill with tears at the compression. "Shhhh, the more blood, the stronger the scent." He apologizes with his eyes as he puts more pressure on your hand.

Light suddenly comes in through the cracks of the doors. Another crash. Someone threw the podium.

The door is quite literally ripped from the hinges.

𖤐❝I have waited an eternity.❞𖤐

The three members of the Kings council waltz through the village like they own it — because, technically, they do.

Their subordinates follow behind them loyally, as they make their way to the church at the very back of the town that could be seen from the entrance. Theres no doubt about it, that's where everyone is.

They can smell them.

One of the lower ranking men yanks the door open. The prayers stop. "Kim Hongjoong. Jeong Yunho. Jung Wooyoung." He announces them loudly.

Everyone stands up. Quickly. All of their heads bowed.

"This is certainly one of our smaller villages," Wooyoung nearly rolls his eyes as he counts how many people reside here. So little. So little people, in fact, they all fit in the modest main room of the church. No more than fifty, he sees.

"Indeed." The Lieutenant keeps it short, ignoring all the rest of the people as he makes his way to the man at the podium. "Preacher," he greets.

"My Lord, it's an honor to have you in our humble village-"

"Don't bother lying to me. I can hear your heartbeat."

The man, from his bowed position, pauses.

The Vampire laughs at the sight, high pitched and spooking a fair few of villagers. "Aaah, I know you don't want me here, so I will keep this visit short."

The preacher doesn't say anything, he isn't given the chance to as Hongjoong quickly turns away and starts scanning the standing people. "Sit." He commands, and the floor almost shakes from the sudden amount of people sitting at once.

He walks down the aisle slowly, inhaling through his nose deeply.

Obviously, fear is still clinging to the air. But not nearly as much as it would be if the preacher had told them why they're here. If they knew five of them would meet their maker soon... or wish they had.

But beneath the fear, somewhere far, is something that makes his heart beat.

His heart never beats. It hasn't in a long time.

Someone in here... someone smells beyond appetizing.

"Close the doors." The lackeys are doing so quickly, without question. "This is your entire village?" He turns his head, looking at the sweating man.

"Y-yes-" He chokes against the pressure on his neck, Hongjoong had appeared infront of him in a millisecond. He's lifting him in the air by his throat.

"Preacher, I will tell you this only once. I detest liars."

He lowers him slowly, letting go of his throat, "so tell me," he lifts his lip, showing his elongating fangs. "Is this everyone?"

"Yes, My Lord."

He growls and shoves the man away. Row by row, he makes his way down. Each face of anxiety is inspected as he takes more deep breaths. But the sickly sweet smell is stale. Like it's stuck to the walls.

Yunho and Wooyoung look on with a bit of confusion, taking inhalations of their own. But they can't latch onto what he can.

About halfway through the room, Hongjoong is stopped by Yunho, "Joong."

"What?" He snaps. He's completely abandoned his original task of picking five villagers. He only wants the one who smells like heaven.

"There is no children here. Nor teenagers. They are hiding from us."

He huffs in amusement. He was so distracted trying to pinpoint the smell that he failed to notice that everyone in the room was full grown. The smell might belong to someone who's hiding.

He needs to smell it fresh. He needs to taste it.

He's back at the podium, slim fingers gripping the wood so tightly that it creaks. Staring right in the man's fearful eyes, his begin to turn red. He can smell it clearer, like it's taunting him.

"You dare lie to me?!"

The wail of a child comes muffled in the following seconds. Then another.

"From below us?" Yunho starts looking around the floor with a small smirk. Of course he was right.

"Sneaky, sneaky~" Wooyoung joins in the search.

When one of them knocks over something and it falls with a loud bang! —

Hongjoong stumbles. The smell is stronger. Warmer. He needs it. He needs to have the source in his hands. He bares his teeth, putting all of his weight onto the podium and breaking off the sides of it. "Tell me! Before I eat every beating heart in this room and make you watch!"

"Under the podium." One of the frightened villagers whispers. Just loud enough for one of the nameless men to catch it.

"Under the podium." He repeats as he approaches quickly, grabbing the preacher by the robes and yanking him away.

The scent is growing by the second. More and more and more.

Hongjoong tosses the offending furniture to the other side of the room without a hint of trouble. His red eyes immediately trained on a hatch on the floor.

He rips it from the hinges, throwing it into the pews where people yell and cry as they scramble to move.

He's down the stairs without a second thought —

Yunho bumps into his back as he stalls on the last step, his eyes swirling with red as he gets his first scent of what's been driving the Lieutenant mad.

Golden deadnuts... So potent and sweet, like it can be tasted by the scent alone.

Hongjoong's thick boots slooooowly crush the glass below them as he steps down.

The cries of the children huddled together on the bed get louder. But the Vampires can't be bothered to hear them.

Because all of their senses are honed in on you.

"You..." Hongjoong seems to recognize you. "You were right under my nose."

Here you are. In all of your glory, kneeling on the floor with blood seeping out of the fabric wrapped around your hand. In the same village he begrudgingly left you in all those years ago.

You've grown into a woman in all these years since you unknowingly slipped away from him.

Your two pristine braids have red ribbons in them. He knows that it's a hairstyle for nuns, the color of ribbon correlating to your years of dedication. He knows that red means you were still newly promised to The Goddess, but he can't help but feel like it's for him — for them.

Yunho gulps as his eyes follow a drop of blood down your wrist. Red following red as it taints your dress.

The crimson liquid is soaking your baby blue sleeve and skirt as it drips down.

Your heart is beating so violently. You must be terrified.

You are terrified. Staring at them with wide eyes and instinctual fear making your blood gush from your wound even faster.

Their eyes are screaming 'predator' with their red gaze trained on you.

Before you know what's happening, a pair of cold hands are wrapped around your ankles. Chilling you to the bone even through your thick socks.

As you let out a primal, ear shattering scream, Oswin yells out, "no!" He goes to grab at you, but is quickly slammed to the floor by a soldier.

Hongjoong drags you across the floor, and Yunho yanks you up by your dress' collar as you get to the stairs.

You're entirely too frightened to do anything as they carry you up the short stairway.

"Good Goddess," Wooyoung trips as the smell of your blood floods the ground floor, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. He's next to you in the following second.

The petrified crowd of people is stuck in place as they watch you be dropped to the floor. Be it from fear, or the archers ready to shoot at the first person who moves.

"Hid-," Hongjoong pants from the sheer force he's using to hold himself back, "hiding from your High Council? Who do you think you are?"

You only whine and shake your head, eyes going to your father who's trying to pull himself up from the same ground you find yourself on.

"Plea-" Your pleas are replaced by screams as Wooyoung yanks the impromptu bandage off of your hand. "No, no, no!"

Your flailing form is held down by Hongjoongs weight as he straddles your hips.

Both of Yunho's hands cradle your bloody arm like a piece of fine china, rolling down your sleeve; his eyes shining as his fingers come in contact with your skin for the first time. A broken moan parts his lips.

Your struggles have stopped, your fear temporarily replaced by confusion as his skin on yours makes you feel like you're floating.

Wooyoungs hand on yours has the same effect.

Hongjoong catches onto what's happening, and his hand cradles your heated cheek. He nearly collapses on top of you.

What in the world is this feeling?

"Grentizia," Yunho prays as he tilts his head back, looking at the ceiling of the church, "we have finally found her! Oh!" Another moan spills from his lips as his fingers slide in your blood.

Your eyes are still wide with a mixture of shock and fear when his face is suddenly in front of yours, "we're finally complete... I have waited an eternity."

Wooyoung's tongue twitches out of his mouth hesitantly before it dives into your hand, he holds it with his gingerly as he laps up every droplet that's pooled on your palm and in between your fingers.

You try to yank it away, try to turn away from Hongjoong's hand as it cups your cheek, try to look anywhere but Yunho.

You can't hear your father's weak protest over the thudding of your heart. This time, not from fear. This time, from... you can't tell. But as the blue haired man uses your eyes as a window into your soul, you find your skin buzzing from their direct touch.

All you can manage is, "w-what?" You don't have a soulmate. You don't. You don't. You're fated to serve The Goddess —

Yunho's lips upon yours stop any and every thought that you have. It's fleeting, but it's filled to the brim with more tingles.

He pulls back, laughing breathily, "I can't believe it. I can't believe it! Forgive me, beautiful, but I cannot wait another second or I fear I will lose what's left of my mind."

Before you can even blink; his tongue is on your arm, licking up your blood like he's starving, making you squeal and squeeze your eyes shut.

With them shut, you don't see Hongjoong looking down at you with a blush on his cold cheeks; watching his younger brothers feed on you. Watching your face scrunch up with disgust and... something more.

He leans, his breath on your face is the only warning you get before his lips are on your own. He kisses you like he's trying to leave a mark.

The little pleased moans of the others make him impossibly impatient. Usually he has better self control than this, he's the second oldest after all. "Apologies, little one." But you smell so tempting. He lifts your other arm and kisses the skin of your forearm gently before sinking his teeth into you.

A little gasp is all that leaves you. Your mind is entirely fried.

As are theirs.

You taste like nothing ever has. No blood or food compares. They'd rather starve to death than to ever go back after having their first taste. They feel the sparks they felt on their skin ten fold as they travel on their taste buds, down their throats. They settle in their stomachs with your blood like a crackling bonfire.

Wooyoung's heart feels like it might be beating just a bit too fast. Like one more push would make it explode. Along with that, he feels his pants tightening. He would fuck you right here on the floor of the worship building if he had his way. His entire being is eager to please you, to get your heart pumping more and more blood.

Yunho isn't fairing any better, sucking and kissing every little bit of crimson liquid he can get off of his fingers and your arm. He'd hold you down for Wooyoung if it meant getting a chance to see your blissed out face moaning for them. If it's anything like the view right now, he'll probably die a second time. His gaze never leaves your face as you close your tearful eyes, lips forced apart by little whines and weak protests.

Hongjoong is... Oh, Hongjoong... The oldest of the trio feels like a fledgling again. The entire situation has his cock painfully hard and his skin irritatingly warm. The final piece of their puzzle, right here infront of him. He'd hate himself for not sniffing you out earlier if his brain was anywhere near functioning; but it's not. Their final soulmate, held under his weight. He can't wait to see how the others react —

His brain comes back to him.

He hates himself for the next word he utters, but he knows it has to be done lest they send you into an even deeper shock. "S-stop."

The other two stop their feeding frenzy with soft growls rumbling up their throats. They don't want to stop. But they know better than to go against the chain of command.

Even though it felt like it did, the world did not stop around the four of you.

The royal soldiers had gotten everyone out of the basement with a small bit of struggle, and were now shifting on their feet; the smell of your blood was clearly enough to make them thirsty.

Hongjoong blinks a few times as he surveys the horrified looks of the townspeople. A smirk spreads across his bloody lips — "boo."

The simple word spooks a great deal of them, the broken silence is enough to make them jump.

He and Wooyoung laugh at their reactions, the latter playing idly with your numb fingers.

Yunho places his hand on your cheek slowly, looking down at you like you hung the stars in the sky. You're breathing heavily, eyes dazed as you force yourself to keep your eyelids open. The sweat on your skin doesn't stop the way he strokes your face adoringly. "Where have you been hiding, huh?" He chuckles quietly, the question clearly rhetorical.

Hongjoong is tired of all of these eyes on you. "Everyone out." He turns to you, then back quickly, "leave the preacher. Boys, you can feast."

Villagers start scrambling quickly, yells and cries of panic as the handful of lower ranking Vampires chase them out of the church.

It takes a good few moments for the chaos to clear, and he joins Yunho and Wooyoung in inspecting you slowly while everyone clears out. "How did I miss you, little one?" He hums, rubbing your waist leisurely, "you've grown a great deal. I forget that humans do that."

"Please, My Lords-" Your father whimpers from the bench he'd been drug to.

Wooyoung is a blur as he runs to the man, slamming a hand on either side of his shoulders, cracking the wooden pew. "You speak when we tell you to speak!! Be thankful I don't rip your tongue out for lying to us!"

Hongjoong begrudgingly gets off of your shell-shocked form, meandering his way over. "Yah," he tilts his head, and Wooyoung moves out of the way, still glaring daggers at the man who's responsible for hiding you. "I remember you now, preacher."

Yunho can't help himself, and gives your wound one chaste lick; giggling quietly at the way you shiver. He takes his jacket off, and maneuvers your limp body around to drape it around you. "W-what?" You mumble hoarsely, deep in the throes of distress.

"Shhh," he coos, carefully lifting you up. He sits you in his lap, holding back a moan and forcing himself to ignore his hard-on as he focuses on grounding you.

"Yes, I remember clearly." Hongjoong squats infront of the man, your blood still on the corner of his mouth; he licks it up slowly. "You lied to me not just today, but all those years ago. Tsk," he has to stop himself from gutting him on the spot. "You're lucky the High King didn't come himself, you'd be eating your own guts by now."

You gag at his words, slowly coming back to yourself. You feel like you're in the middle of a bad dream and a waking state. Nothing is making sense. But at the same time, it's all clicking into place.

Hongjoong looks over his shoulder, standing up. "Look who's back," he smiles in a way that might be kind. "Hello ba," he repeats your words from so many years ago, "isn't that how you said it, little one?"

You stare up at him jaw-dropped, wide-eyed. Yunho's finger brushing away a stray hair on your face feels like an electric shock, and you jolt; immediately looking down at the floor.

"T-toriel?" Your chin wobbles, and you gulp loud enough for the Vampires to hear. You look to your father, who's washed in an aura of shame and fear. "Ba sev vela toriel?" {What's happening? I don't know what's happening?}

Wooyoung leans over the back of the bench, now behind your father, and looks at him expectingly. "Sounds like she's asking you a question, Papa."

Yunho doesn't care what you're saying or about the fact that he doesn't understand it, he leans his head against yours and revels in the sound of your voice.

"(Y/n) mi, s-sev en'mali, I'm so-". {(Y/n), from my very soul, I'm so-}

"Waaaaah, holy shit!" Wooyoung reaches the conclusion first, grabbing the back of the man's neck and yanking him back. "You told her she didn't have a soulmate."

Yunho and Hongjoong both have realization fall over them. Yunho gets sad for you, while Hongjoong gets angry.

"Oh, I really have to kill you now."

"No, please!" You cry as soon as he takes a step towards him. "Please, My Lords! Have mercy on us, please, please, we-" Yunho's hand finds it way over your mouth as you plead, and your heavy hands try to pry it away.

"Is this true, preacher?" He asks, his voice lined with a barely concealed edge, "you told her she has no soulmate?"

"My Lords, you have to understand-"

"Little one?" Hongjoong looks to you, and Yunho removes his hand; instead holding your shoulder. "Tell us."

"My Lord, I- I have no soulmate, it's true. The seer- ah!" A small yelp slips up your throat as Yunho's touch once again shocks you. He has a pleased smirk. "...I'm promised to The Goddess."

"You are promised to us," Wooyoung quickly corrects you. "Your father has been spinning bull shit." He yanks the man again, and you face away as he fights back a yell of pain.

"Lying to the crown is betrayal. And betrayal is only punishable by death," Hongjoong goes to step again, but you find the strength to lift your arm and grab his hand with both of yours.

They watch on with slight disbelief as you slide from Yunho's lap and kneel, your head lowered and your arms trembling as you hold onto him. You force yourself to ignore the tingling spark.

"Please, Lord Kim..." His heart is beating again. How are you doing that? "Have mercy. I beg of you. I kneel before you-"

"Oh, stop it." He'll give in if you don't.

"Lord, he's all I have in the world. Please, spare his life..." You find yourself sobbing as you hang onto the Lieutenants hand, "I'll do anything."

The three Vampires look to each other, and glee overcomes them. "What was that?" Hongjoong smirks, and any hope your father had is shattered.

"I'll do anything..." You sniffle, your head still facing the floor when you feel a pair of arms wrap around your waist. They haul you up quickly, and you yelp in surprise.

It's Wooyoung, and he's carrying you down the aisle towards the door. "You'll be coming home with us."

𖤐❝Little one is brave.❞𖤐

In exchange for your father's life, you're now packing up all of your Earthly possessions.

It's hard with only one hand really functioning properly, but you've refused Yunho's help. You don't want anything from them. You don't know what kind of trickery Vampires can do, but you're certain that's what the tingles you felt are a product of.

Your parents wouldn't lie to you your entire life over something so monumental, right? Tihilda wouldn't go against her oath to help people find their soulmates, right?

The door to your home opens without warning, and Wooyoung waltzes in like he owns the place (again: because he technically does).

You sniff as you look away from him, going back to painstaking folding your laundry on the floor.

"Yah," he points to Yunho, who's sitting in the corner watching you, "are you making her do that all on her own?"

"She wouldn't let me help." He shrugs, leaning back as he watches him unroll his medical pouch.

"Come here, (Y/n)," he hums as he pulls out a vial of liquid, sitting a few feet away.

"No." You whisper, but they catch it. Of course they catch it.

Wooyoung sits up stalk straight, blinking at you in disbelief for a moment. Nobody is brave enough to say 'no' so plainly to any of them. Then, he feels disrespected. You may be one of his soulmates, but he's not going to let that slide. "No?"

It's your turn to straighten up, freezing as if you realize what you've said. "I-"

"Get over here, now."

He doesn't have to say anything more, you're sitting in front of him as fast as humanly possible; your head hung low. "I'm deeply sorry, My Lord..."

"Mhm," he tuts his tongue, grabbing your wrist gently and making it face palm up so he can inspect your injury.

You didn't like him before, when he was insufferably loud — but now you certainly don't like him, when's he's quiet with a barely concealed anger. "Forgive me ba," you expect a back hand or scolding or anything other than what you get, really.

"Give me a kiss," he says plainly, "and I'll forgive you."

You can hear Yunho chuckling from behind you, he's taken your place in folding up your clothes and packing them into the bag they've provided.

"A ki-ss?" You glitch internally. You never kissed anyone — well. You've never initiated a kiss with anyone.

"That's right." You hate that his smug little smile makes you want to do it even more.

You sigh, grab his jaw, and turn him to the side before giving him a quick peck to the cheek and retreating just as fast as you came in.

"Wow," he giggles, "you loopholed me. Very clever! I'll take it~" He carefully pulls your hand forward, "now, let me clean this up, yeah?"

You don't have much choice in the matter, but it's heartwarming that he waits for you to be ready for the sting of the disinfecting liquid. You hold back your noises of pain and breathe deeply, closing your eyes.

"Little one is brave." Hongjoong's voice makes you jump, looking to him with wide eyes for just a moment before you go back to staring at the floor like you were earlier.

Yunho tosses him the bag. "Anything else you want to take, beautiful?" You don't have much, all of your possessions fit into the one bag.

"Oh," you go to grab the item that comes to mind, but Wooyoung has a tight grip on your wrist as he applies a healing salve.

"Stay still."

"What is it?" Hongjoong asks, leaning against the wall with the bag in hand, "I'll get it."

You bite your lip. You don't want anyone else touching it. "I'll get it, My Lord."

The moment Wooyoung is done wrapping your hand, you hurry to the bed and reach between the cot and the mattress, feeling around blindly.

They watch curiously as you find what you're looking for.

A small dagger with an engraving on it that they can't quite catch even with their heightened gaze before you sheath it.

"A knife?" Wooyoung asks baffled, "aren't you a pacifist? Y'know, cause the whole nun thing?"

"Yes," you shake your head, "but I don't like being defenseless."

Hongjoong laughs softly, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and leading you out of the door after you clip the weapon onto the side of your boot. "You're full of surprises, huh?"

𖤐❝You sure she won't spear us, Joong?❞𖤐

Much to your displeasure, you were on the back of a horse with Yunho sat behind you; going on two hours now.

Although you insisted that you had never ridden a horse before, and therefore had no way of knowing how to use it to run away, they seemed to think you would use it to bolt. But, truthfully, where would you even go if you did run?

You spent a good hour thinking about that over the lazy chatter of the Vampires around you. They knew where your home town was, clearly. And thankfully a lot of people were left unscathed, you saw as you were lead to the gate. Your father among them.

If you were to go back, it would undoubtedly bring chaos with you when the men who were convinced they were your soulmates gave chase.

If you were to take your chances and try for another village, you had little hope that they wouldn't follow you there as well. Being entirely honest with yourself — you didn't even know what villages or even cities were around you. You never even thought of leaving Caethnor.

You were plucked out of your safety zone and placed on the back of an animal which you had no way of knowing how to tame, with a royal council member resting his hands on your thighs and two others riding along side you.

You hadn't even noticed when the seemingly endless march came to a halt, you only looked up from the soft brown mane of the horse when you felt Yunho's ever present weight behind you leave.

You look over slowly as he dismounts, and then survey your surroundings. The small group has stopped near a narrow stream, veered off the beaten path.

"We'll stop here for the day, get some rest," Yunho explains as he sees your curious eyes looking around, lifting his hands to you, "come."

You sigh, having no choice but to lean forward and steady yourself on his shoulders as he lifts you from the tall animal. "Thank you, My Lord." Your voice waivers as do your legs while he carefully plants your feet on the ground.

"Oh, she speaks," Wooyoung jests as he leads his horse to the edge of the water, letting it drink as he pets its neck. "I was beginning to think you fell asleep with your eyes open."

"Oh, leave her be," Hongjoong chuckles as he joins him.

The group engages in conversations that you don't bother to listen to as you shuffle to the nearest tree. You lean against the bark and sigh with relief, taking some of the weight off of your weary hips.

How has this become your reality? You went from thinking you had zero soulmate, to beginning to believe you had three Vampires as soulmates.

Every time Yunhos skin brushed against yours, you felt it... the same sparks you felt in the church. And you could no longer write it off as a fear induced hallucination or the tingles of blood loss.

Like you're being kissed by a million butterflies...

You blink your tears away quickly before anyone can see them. You don't want them to ask, because you don't have an answer.

You're just confused. Confused and unfortunately, hungry.

You reach down and slide your knife out of its holder, ignoring the look that one of the soldiers gives you as you start looking around the tress for a suitable branch.

With another sigh, you push off the tree and go to your chosen branch; snapping it off the tree with a small groan of effort.

You settle further down the stream, away from the rest of them, and certainly away from the three councilmen.

You yank off your boots and socks and roll your skirt up at your hips a few times. You can still feel eyes on you, but you pay them no mind as you sit at the edge of the water and dip your feet into the water.

The longer the fish can feel you, the less spooked they'll be when you start trying to catch them.

You're thankful that everyone leaves you alone as you begin sharpening your stick to a deadly point. It would give you time to think, if you were doing that. But you found yourself with a blank mind. Maybe it was still all too much to think about.

"You think she's going to try and drive a stake through us?" Wooyoung nods towards you from where the trio sits along a fallen log.

Hongjoong hums as he moves his gaze to look at you, "no, she's not stupid. She feels it too, I know she does."

"Hey," Yunho starts, "how do you think the others will react? I think San might faint." The others laugh lightly with him.

"Seonghwa is going to be over the fucking moon."

"Mingi more, probably," Hongjoong yawns as he leans his head on Yunho's shoulder, watching as you slowly stand and make your way to the middle of the stream. "He's had to watch her all this time, in his visions. He's going to freak out when he sees her for the first time."

"Do you think she's what he imagined? He said that she's always just a blur. He can only see her soul in those vision."

"She's certainly not what I imagined. The irony is hilarious," Yunho smirks as they observe you watching the water, "I mean come on. A preachers daughter — a nun? Fated to a bunch of Vampires? The Goddess must have more of a sense of humor that we thoug- woah!" He yells as you suddenly stab into the water, your makeshift spear coming back up with a fish on it. "Good heavens!"

You smile down at the fish proudly, once again ignoring everything around you as you make your way out of the water.

"You sure she won't spear us, Joong?"

𖤐❝Death is the most human thing.��𖤐

The sun is lowering in the sky, the day almost done.

When you started collecting fallen sticks for a fire, a female Vampire named Manon had followed you. After you gave her a questioning look, she said simply, "the Lords told me to keep an eye on you."

She's polite enough to not ask about your situation, and you appreciate that about her as you slowly begin talking more and more.

When you had been getting frustrated with starting the fire, you looked around for help and met eyes with Yunho. Without a word, he stood up and came to the small bundle. A smile on his lips as he produced fire from his fingertip and lit it ablaze. You had to stop yourself from letting your jaw drop, you had never seen a mage in action.

You were initially the only one around the fire as you cooked your fish; it seemed that the rumor about Vampires being cold blooded was true. The lowering temperature didn't bother them.

Manon was the first to join you, offering you a flask. And with the promise that it was just water, you took it with a small smile.

You were now simply staring into the flames as the sun grew ever lower in the sky. Your brain was allowing itself to think about the situation again. And you don't like that one bit.

Because that meant that you were thinking about the fact that your father, your mother, and Tihilda had all lied to you your entire life. The fact that they knew the answer to why you always said that you felt a part of you was missing, and they withheld it from you.

If they had told you the truth, would you have even wanted it? The reality of being not just one, but multiple Vampires soulmate was daunting. Everything you've heard about them. Everything they've done. What they are.

If they had told you, it might have explained a lot. Your dreams and your hallucinations as a child. They all seemed to link back to the royals.

"What are you thinking about?" Wooyoung asks softly as he lowers himself to sit beside you.

You shove your thoughts far away and clear your throat, "nothing, My Lord."

"Oh, come on," he nudges your shoulder with his light, "we have to spend the rest of our lives together, open up a bit. Or it's gonna be a rough few thous-" He stops himself, faking a cough into his elbow. "Ahem, anyways, what's on your mind?"

You eye him suspiciously for a moment in the corner of your vision. "Uhm," you dig your makeshift spear into the dirt, "just, things... when I was a child, I had these- these dreams? But, they felt like I was really there. And sometimes, they would happen. And now, I think it's because of you all."

He listens intently, leaning back on his hands.

"When I was a girl, I had a dream of Lord Kim visiting our village. And, a few days later, he did."

"Ah, that's what he was talking about? How you've grown?"

You hum affirmatively, tracing a pattern into the soil.

He watches you close, every move you make. "What else have you dreamt of as a child?"

You hesitate for a moment, like you weren't expecting him to continue the conversation. "Well," you exhale softly. May as well converse with the man that The Goddess has slapped you in the face with. "There's... there was a spirit, a man, who always came to me in my dreams- in my waking hours too. As I grew older, he went away. He would tell me to stay where I am, that my fate would come to me. For a while, I thought they were divine visions. That I was an oracle," you stifle a laugh, "I followed the villages witch around asking her how I would know when my fate found me."

"You sound like you were a cute kid," he smiles your way, and his heart starts thudding as you return the gesture. He gulps before asking, "did the man tell you his name?"

You look up at the darkening sky as you file through your memories. The dreams and the hallucinations all stopped when you first bled, when you became a woman. It was quite a few years ago by now. "Uhm," you drag on, "I don't rem-"

𖤐 You were eleven. Sitting on the steps of the village healer's home while your mother got her weekly treatment. You were sad. She wasn't getting any better.

There was a presence beside you. There was no one there. "Your aura..." It was the same voice you heard at the river. "Why are you sad, sweet child?" His voice was clearer. It had become so with the years.

"I'm not supposed to speak to spirits," you had said as you clasped your hands in prayer. When you are haunted by the spirit: pray — that is what you were told to do. "I bid you leave me be ka."

"I am no spirit, I am you and you are me. I can feel your sadness. We can feel it." There was the ghost of a hand, just the faint feeling of it. It was large and cold, it wrapped around yours in a way that felt... comforting. "I might ease your pain."

You were told that spirits were dangerous. Conniving and malevolent. That they would weasel into your heart and then take advantage of you. You knew this. But this... spirit — he didn't feel any sort of crude.

You needed comfort, and there he was.

"My mother," you whispered, "she has fallen gravely ill. She is in such pain, I fear she might not recover."

It was silent for a long moment, but you knew he hadn't left you; you still felt him in the air. "Death is..." He stalled, and you swore you could feel his sigh against your skin. "Should death come for your mother, she will be at peace. She will no longer be in pain after she joins The Goddess."

You take another long pause to register his words. "But... she will no longer be here."

"Does the thought frighten you?"

This was the longest conversation you'd had with the invisible man at the time. You always got spooked or interrupted. He'd asked many times where you were, but you were always too scared to answer should he be malicious.

"Deeply, yes." You hadn't admitted it aloud. Not even to your parents. Death, especially of those close to you, scared you. One of your friends had left the village on a trip with her family, and she did not return with them. Only sadness and grief.

"Death is the most human thing. You should not fear it, sweet child. It is only the beginning..."

The summer sun was beating down on you. His cold hand was still upon yours. "What is your name?" You had asked. Your curiosity had gotten the better of you after his comforting words. Your father said that to speak the name of evil was to bring it to you. But you wanted to know.

"Mingi." He had replied quickly. 𖤐

You turn to Wooyoung after a long moment and find him staring at you.

"Mingi."

His eyes widen at that, "Mingi?" His shock turns into laughter, "oh, oh wow! We thought he was jesting!"

Your brows push together with confusion, "what?"

"I'm sorry," he says through his giggles, "I'm sorry- it's just, that was no spirit."

"How could you know that, My Lord?"

"Because he's the royal seer. He's our soulmate — your soulmate." He watches the cogs turn into your head as you take in the information, going on to explain, "he felt it more than all of us when you were born. He nearly fell over. He started watching over you by veil walking, trying to figure out where you were. He never could, I suppose because he's never been to your village he couldn't place it."

"W-wait, what?" You hesitate, "who's 'all of us'?"

"The council." He states simply, licking his lips as he hears your blood start rushing. "We're all fated together."

You stare out at the horizon, watching the sun inch its way down. You were back to being in disbelief. Two or three soulmates, sure. A few Vampires, you could handle. But you've heard that the High King has seven council members.

"Shocking, isn't it?" He hums, leaning forward, "for us too. Vampires with a human soulmate... The Goddess should know better. I should warn you, beautiful — the King has a large appetite."

Tears are welling up in your eyes, and Wooyoung embraces you even as you try to lean away. He buries his head in your shoulder, arms locked around you. He forces himself to calm down, so close to your pulse point that he could easily take a sip. But he doesn't want to make you even more scared. He just wants to hold you.

The sun is giving its last rays of light, half way below the horizon.

You tilt your head, watching dumbfounded as something starts blocking the sun from below.

The moon.

An eclipse.

The moon is taking over the sun, blocking out its light.

As they align, it swallows the star whole.

The sun becomes void.

𖤐❝THE PREACHERS DAUGHTER❞𖤐

𖤐❝NEXT TIME❞𖤐

You feel like you've never been so exposed in your life.

There's eight pairs of eyes on you, each of which belonging to a Vampire more frightening than the last one you look at.

As you scan the royals slowly, your hand starts trembling. "Do- do I have to, My Lords?"

"Yes," Yunho meets your gaze as you come back to him quickly after taking a peek at the High King. "It's okay ba." He's taking up your dialect in your two weeks together. It makes you slightly less nervous. "We won't let them get out of control."

You take a deep breath and look down at your hands. You pinch the needle tighter and bite your tongue as you prick your finger.

𖤐❝CURSE YOUR NAME❞𖤐

#this is going in my recs #HELLLOOOOOO GIRL DINNER!!!#🍑 favs

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peachyscenes · 4 months ago

Text

MIRROR MIRROR – 최산

⋆ synopsis. your boyfriend convinces you to try something... new.

pairing. boyfriend! san & fem! reader

wc. 1,6k

warnings. smut (mdni!), soft dom! san & sub! reader, mirror kink, size kink, pussy slapping, reader’s body is defined as “tiny” (comparing it with san’s), fingering, clit play, overstimulation, praise (like fr they’re whipped for each other), dirty talk, pet names (jagi, princess, sannie & more), teasing & mocking (the dynamic duo 🙂‍↕️), this is not proofread it’s almost 4am y’all.

nic’s notes ⋆ y’all can totally blame @dirtyrichboys for this one (literally had the time of my life writing this)

“don’t pull your eyes away from the mirror or i’ll stop.”

san grunted as his skillful fingers pumped inside you at a primal pace, the squelching sound of your gushing pussy delighting the man. your core was quivering, unsure of what to do, what to plead for. your fingers clutched onto his thighs as if your life depended on it.

the view was starting to become unbearable, but you were getting closer and closer to the edge.

and san was enjoying himself way too much.

san’s frame outlined yours, his broad shoulders doubling the size of your tiny core. his strong upper body supported your crumbled body, muscly arms manhandling you as he pleased. he snaked one arm over your uncovered waist, keeping you in place, still, as the other glided over your thigh so that he could work you open with his fingers. your glistening juices shined under the dim light of his room, your puffy pussy lips enveloping san’s fingers perfectly, greedily sucking him in, begging for release. san chuckled as he felt how desperate you were to come.

‘cause yes, he could feel it. the way your body trembled against his, the way you were struggling to keep your eyes open and not hide yourself in san’s neck or chest, the way your walls clamped down on his fingers tighter with every passing second.

he had you there.

the shit-eating grin that appeared on his face almost pulled a pathetic whine out of you. you were desperate, you couldn’t stand staring at your shaky reflection any longer, yet you couldn’t close your eyes.

no, because san said you couldn’t. no, because if you did, he’d stop.

and girl did you want him to stop.

“what’s wrong, jagi?” he teased, his tone drowned in an ocean of sins. his natural honey-dripping voice was now replaced by a low, deep baritone. “need to come?”

the arm that held you in place sneaked down your valley, index connecting with your swollen clit. you started squirming as you followed his movements, a strange anxious feeling bubbling inside you. “n-no! sannie—”

you pleaded, too late.

his index and middle finger quickly started their ministration, stroking each nerve and spot that had your toes curling; your words cut off mid-sentence. you couldn’t help but scrunch your eyes, incapable of bearing with the overwhelming feeling. you rocked your head back, skull hitting san’s firm chest. and that’s when san pulled his fingers out of your seeping cunt, hand gliding up your cheeks to squeeze them, pressing them together gently enough so that he didn’t hurt you.

“what did i tell you, princess?” he groaned in a velvety voice, sharp and authoritative. “keep. your eyes. on the mirror.”

his stern voice cut through thin air, immediately pulling you out of your haze. you opened your eyes wide enough to be able to stare at your figure in the mirror. his fingers returned home and slammed into the warmth of your inviting, pulsating hole, your weakened body jolting upward as your back arched into a perfect crescent moon. he replaced the fingers he kept busy on your bundle of nerves with his thumb, applying the perfect amount of pressure so that your moans grew more breathless and desperate with each passing moment.

his feline, sharp eyes peered holes into your divine reflection, hungrily watching your every movement like a hunter to his prey: every twitch of your cunt, every shudder that ran through your core, every whine that you exhaled satisfyingly.

but he was lowkey watching his reflection as well.

every now and then, his eyes would drift off and fall into his well-built, pumped bicep. then he’d mindlessly look at his body, overshadowing and completely covering your shuddering figure. fuck, you looked so cute, helpless and pliant under his touch and command.

you shifted incessantly in your place as you felt the coil inside your stomach starting to snap, your eyes watering immediately. your bottom lip quivered as you softly whispered. “sannie, please—“

the combination of his thick fingers pistoning into your wet entrance and his fat thumb playing with your puffy bud was starting to become unbearable, too much. san hummed lowly, the sound rumbling through his chest and vibrating against your back.

he was so in love with you and everything about you.

“fuck baby, look at you.” he hushed, spreading wet, lingering kisses all over your neck, his tongue greedily lapping its side. “doing so good f’ me.” he closed his eyes for a bit, immersing himself into the aura of the moment, the dreamy haze he always felt whenever he had this kind of intimacy with you. “i love you, i love you so much.” he repeated mumbling, meeting your teary-eyed expression in the mirror. “you’re so beautiful,” he paused for a brief second, taking in the view: you, leg-spread with his fingers working you open, slowly pushing you into the abyss. “my beautiful girlfriend.” his head fell down your shoulder, sticky forehead meeting your sweaty skin. “i’m so lucky i get to call you mine.”

you nodded even though he wasn’t looking at you. “yes, sannie. yes,” you breathed sharply. “’m yours and—ugh!— ‘nd only yours..” you confessed, though it wasn’t news. your voice cracked but you couldn’t care less.

you could’ve closed your eyes and just get lost into the heat of the moment, but you simply couldn’t. you had already disobeyed your sannie once, you weren’t going to do so twice.

and that just explains the effect this man has on you, how whipped you are for him, how much you’re drawn to his love.

san’s dark irises returned to your reflection, a soft glint sparkling in them. “that’s my pretty girl.” he kept on going with his ministrations, his smirk wider as your moans grew in volume; body twitching more violently now. “i can feel you, baby.. you’re right.. there,” his working thumb slowed down its pace to a stop, withdrawing from its position; a chill breeze sending shivers down your shoulders. he raised his hand right above your oozing cunt before landing light slaps on your swollen clit, sparks blowing inside you.

you twitched, whining wantonly. “fffuck, sannie..!” you exhaled. “if you keep doing that—angh!” your back arched as he hit your pussy with another sharp smack.

you suffered while trying to keep your eyes on the mirror, nails digging into san’s muscly thighs. until you couldn’t handle it anymore. “sannie.. no more, i can’t—fuck.. i can’t, please..”

you begged him for an ounce of mercy, which meant he allowed you to hide your face in his chest as you came undone for him.

and san would never tell you this, but he loved every time you did that.

so how could he possibly resist that?

he sighed, intoxicated by the effect your words and pleas had on him. “fuck, yeah—yeah, jagi, come,” he grunted. “just let go and come, my princess.”

you immediately gyrated your head, a desperate hand flying straight to san’s neck. your fingers pressed against his nape as your half-lidded eyes finally fell closed, frowned brows and your jaw hung open complimenting your blissed-out expression. a string of breathy moans and pants fell off your tongue as you came undone for him, legs throbbing as clear liquid sprayed out of your gushing cunt.

your hot breath fanned san’s exposed chest, a weird wave of coziness and possessiveness washing over him. he continued mumbling praises right above your ear, riding your orgasm better than you could ever.

the shuddering ceased and your limbs went numb, totally spent and lightheaded.

san’s hands abandoned your overstimulated pussy and shifted upwards, adjusting your body so san was cradling you, dilated irises staring right into your soul in the most endearing and romantic way.

san smiled at the sight, sweetness pouring out of his lovely grin. “there she is.” he cooed at you, “there’s my girl.”

he leaned closer, almost towering over you to press a tender kiss on your forehead. you stared up at him, consumed by his loving gaze.

until something hard rubbed against your arm, which was pressed against his abs.

oh.

of course you had felt his erection poking your lower back moments ago, but you were so lost in the feeling, so gone that thinking about anything else was the furthest thing from your mind.“wait but, what about you?” you couldn’t help but ask.

“ah that?” he stared down his hard-on nonchalantly, immediately brushing off your concern. “don’t worry, i’ll take care of it in a moment,” he said with a sweet smile plastered on his face, he gently moved you off him, adjusting you on the tangled sheets until you were lying comfortably. slowly, he crawled out of bed, circling around the mattress before leaning down, his body hunching over yours. a soothing hand reached up, tenderly brushing a few stray locks of hair from your face. “you must be exhausted, so just stay here while i go and get something to clean you up.” he offered with that silky voice of his.

you grabbed his arm before he could stand up and walk away. “but i want to.” you volunteered. “please?”

oh no, not the puppy eyes. he sighed and sat down next to you, mumbling in a low whisper. “how could i say no to that..”

| masterlist

#girl dinner! 🍽️#🍑 favs

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peachyscenes · 4 months ago

Text

Be The Light: Pt. 6 (Matz x Fem!Reader)

Pairing: Hongjoong x Seonghwa x Fem!Reader | Side pairing(s): Ateez x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 7k

Genre: Smut, angst | AU: historical, arranged marriage, polyamorous, royalty au.

Summary: YN has spent her entire life in service of Han Sookmyung, Queen of Hanseong. She never dreamed above her station, or that she'd ever be in reach of Sookmyung's concubines, 'The Golden Ones'. But, when secrets are brought to life, her world is turned upside-down.

Warnings: graphic descriptions of violence, heavily referenced torture (briefly), heavily referenced abuse (briefly), heavily referenced sexual abuse (briefly), enslavement, slight gaslighting, lost sibling, political drama, historical drama, joseon!au, concubine!ateez, nsfw content, virgin!reader, polyamory, polygamous, throuple, threesome m/m/f, oral sex (m. and f. receiving/giving), group sex, multiple positions, multiple partners, cunnlingus, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, virgin sex, virginity discussed.

Tags: I wasn't sure if the previously tagged wanted to be tagged again since it's been so long, so let me know below!

Part 5 < | > Part 7

****

You arrived at Jisoo’s residency a few moments later. Normally, you never hesitated to knock on the frame to enter. The Queen Mother always made you feel welcome and wanted in her presence. You knew the real reason behind that now. Yunho and Wooyoung stood ahead of you, and you dreaded them knocking for you. Not even Seonghwa’s presence assured you.

Only last night you discovered the woman who cared for you so deeply was really your mother. Your birth mother. You didn't know how to feel about it. You'd felt angry in the beginning, betrayal fanning the flames, but that feeling settled into pity. It must have been difficult to give you away something she'd desperately wanted. Her love must always be from a distance, never touching too much or being overly affectionate. She likely saw her husband’s face in yours, and longed for more. Despite this, you could not see her as your mother. Whenever the word “mother” came to mind, you pictured Park Chaewon. She'd raised you. She loved you. You didn't see anyone being your mother except her.

“Your Majesty,” the guard at the door opened it, bowing to Jisoo, “The Queen has arrived.”

You entered the room to find Jisoo, your mother Chaewon, Advisor Wonshik, and Hongjoong in the room. Hongjoong no longer wore the black and gold hanbok of Sookmyung’s “Flowers”. He wore red, the color of kings, with his hair in a topknot held by a golden band. The dragons of royalty swirled around his shoulders and down his wide sleeves. He looked like a king. A true king. You found it hard to look away from him. Jisoo, Wonshik and Chaewon stood up when you walked in, and you almost said they didn't have to stand for you.

But, yes, they do.

“Good morning,” you said, speaking to them first, “I was told you wished to see me?”

“We did,” Jisoo nodded, “Please sit.”

You took a seat at the head of the table, and all their eyes fell on you. Except Hongjoong. He looked anywhere but at you. You saw the blush of pink on his cheeks, and the way he scratched the inside of his sleeve. You wanted to say something to him. Out of all her concubines, Hongjoong had been her favorite. He'd witnessed her cruelty in the dungeons. He knew her true nature. You hoped if anyone understood your fear, it would be him.

“Your Majesty,” Jisoo drew your attention to her, “His Grace, Advisor Wonshik, Chaewon and I have been discussing important matters concerning your new position-”

“-Has Sookmyung been found yet?” You asked, trying not to appear frightened about the answer.

“I'm afraid not,” she said. “The guards have combed the city, but there has been no sign of her. She has likely fled to one of her allies by now.”

“There are people looking into it,” your mother said, patting your hand comfortingly. “She will be caught soon enough. We have other important things to discuss.”

Your stomach knotted again. The marriage. They mean to talk about marriage. You picked at the border of your hanbok, wishing more than anything to be somewhere else. The thought of being Hongjoong’s wife drained you of warmth completely. What if he doesn't want to marry you? You might have had brief exchanges before now, but nothing to suggest any romantic feelings. He'd done it out of pity, not love.

“Now that Sookmyung is no longer on the throne, we must focus our efforts on rebuilding what she has broken,” Jisoo began. “Wonju is considered one of her biggest failures, rather than triumphs, since the people there did not recognize her as their ruler. As you know, Wonju was never conquered by the Han clan several centuries ago, and remained an independent kingdom until Sookmyung’s reign.”

“Yes…”

“In order to reunite the two kingdoms-”

“-They wish for us to marry, YN,” Hongjoong cut her off, unable to keep it to himself. “The people are looking to us to save them, and the only way that can happen is if our kingdoms reunite as allies.”

“They want us to marry?” You questioned him in a soft voice.

“Yes,” he nodded. “It wouldn't be for a while, since your coronation needs to be done as quickly as possible. But, a marriage pact would show the people that this is only the beginning of our reform. My family said they would not agree to reuniting without one.”

“Um, well…I…”

“You do not need to make a decision now,” he added. “You have gone through a very sudden change, and I told them that I didn't want to have this conversation so soon, but they insisted.”

“It is important we act swiftly, Your Grace,” Wonshik said apologetically. “Every moment we wait will be a chance for Sookmyung to reclaim her power.”

“I understand that, yes,” Hongjoong replied, “But there is no point if people do not see YN as their queen first.”

“What about Sookmyung?” You asked again.

The words came laced with fear. She will hear about this union, and be overcome with rage. That rage would be taken out on you slowly and painfully. The image shook you to your core. Only your mother's gentle touch calmed you slightly, but only just.

“She will be found,” she reassured you, “And answer for her crimes.”

“If she hears about thi-”

“-There will be nothing she can do about it,” she comforted you. “She will be far away.”

“That is what she will want you to think…”

“I won’t let her get anywhere near you,” Hongjoong said firmly. “I promise. Sookmyung will not harm a single hair on you while I’m alive.”

“If you’re alive…” you said under your breath, but you knew he’d heard you.

“The wedding will happen after the coronation,” Wonshik moved on from the conversation, withdrawing an old leather book from beside him. “Advisor Heechul drew up estimates for the cost of the coronation feast and celebration afterwards. I told him the crown will be paying for the event to avoid raising the taxes any higher so as not to be a burden on the people.”

“Good,” you heard yourself say. When they turned to you, you explained, “I meant that taxation is already so high that people cannot afford food. If the crown can cover the cost, then they should. The people shouldn’t have to pay for a coronation of a queen they don’t know.”

“And unfortunately, the coronation of a new monarch implies that the previous monarch has passed on,” he said. “King Siwon passed away nine years ago, and is currently buried in the King’s temple within the city. Since we already had our two year mourning period for him, I don’t see any reason to have one now so that may be passed over. However, people will expect you to make the walk towards his temple to pay your respects to the old king.”

You remembered Sookmyung’s period. Most monarchs abstain from meat after the death of the previous ruler, but not Sookmyung. She claimed her father would’ve wanted her to live heartily. Anyone who knew King Siwon would’ve known he always followed traditions and cultural customs. You’d done it out of respect and love for him. Learning he was your true father, it only brought sense to your decision then.

“Since Queen Sookmyung was dethroned, there really isn’t a need to have such an austere ceremony,” he said, “Which means we can add a bit of a festive flair to the event.”

“Meaning?”

“People are meant to celebrate you,” Jisoo said bracingly. “We must start your reign off on the right foot if we are to win the respect and trust of the people. You will go to the King’s resting place, then we will have you take the throne, and have the feast afterwards.”

“And what about Hongjoong?” you glanced over at him. “He’s the King of Wonju now. How can he be my King Consort if he has a throne of his own?”

“My cousin, Jeongin,” he said, “Will be crowned King instead of me.”

“What?” Jisoo’s eyes widened at this. “When were you planning on telling us this?”

“Now,” he said. “I sent a letter to my cousin early this morning that I am adjudicating my throne and giving it to him. He has had good tutors and many trustworthy advisors at his side. He will not fail his people, I know it.”

“But, you’re supposed to be the king,” you said softly, confused. “Isn’t that what you always wanted? To go home? To be with your people and lead them? You cannot do that if you’re my husband.”

“I can lead my people just as much at your side than on my father’s throne,” he told you. “We can lead them together.”

“To-Together?”

“Yes,” he nodded, “You did not truly believe I’d let you have all the credit, hm?”

You couldn’t stop yourself from smiling. Being under his gaze made your heart flutter, much like with Seonghwa.

“The coronation will happen at the end of the week,” Jisoo declared.

“So soon, Your Majesty?” your mother asked, concerned.

“It needs to happen as quickly as possible,” Wonshik said. “In the meantime, Her Majesty can go into the city and meet her people.”

“I don’t believe that is wise, Chief Advisor,” Hongjoong told her. “If Sookmyung or her allies hear YN is walking around the city, they may use it as a chance to strike.”

“She will be under guard, naturally,” Jisoo replied. “You can choose the men yourself, if that puts you at ease.”

You can tell it did not. “I don’t know if I’m very comfortable with that,” you said next. “Sookmyung will be looking for any chance to seize back her power. If I’m walking freely around the city, she’ll send an assassin or see it as an opportunity to attack. She'll wait until our defenses are down.”

“I doubt she’ll have that with such little time-”

“-I beg to differ,” you interrupted her. “Sookmyung is not one to sit idle for long. Right now, she is planning the quickest way to regain her power. She is likely screaming at her allies to gather up their troops and form a strategy against us.”

“And we can use that to our advantage,” Hongjoong said. “Sookmyung is impulsive, impatient, and rash. Her allies, whoever they are, will try to convince her to stay her hand, but after a while that will not be enough.”

You wondered how many times she has said, ‘I am the queen’ in the hours since she’d left.

“Her own madness will be her undoing,” he said, as if promising this to you. “I’d like to ask you, YN, if you’d like Mingi and San to be your personal guards.”

The sudden change in topic surprised you. “Before there are to be any discussions of public appearances,” he continued, “We should discuss your guardsmen. I took the liberty of placing Mingi and San at your doors last night, but if there is somebody else you prefer, I’ll make sure they’re put there tonight.”

“San and Mingi are fine,” you said, unsure of how else to phrase it.

“You should have trained soldiers as your guards, Your Majesty,” Wonshik intervened.

“San is a trained soldier,” Hongjoong argued. “Mingi might’ve not been in the army, but he sailed with pirate hunters before he became a shipbuilder. The other lords are just as capable with swords as well. YN will be perfectly safe with them.”

“But people may have a different impression of their queen if she is seen with Sookmyung’s concubines,” Jisoo said. “We don’t want people to think any less of her or believe she indulges in Sookmyung’s desires as well.”

“I don’t want anyone else as my guards.”

Your words stunned both your mother and Jisoo. When they didn’t speak, you said, “Sookmyung had many spies amongst the royal guards. If she knew of your coupe, she may have asked one or two to stay behind to act as spies. She could have even ordered them to kill me if they caught me alone.” Silence once more, so you looked at Hongjoong, “Also, if anybody knows Sookmyung as well as myself, it’ll be her concubines. They know how she thinks. They know the depth of her depravity and ruthlessness. I don’t trust anyone else to protect me as much as them.”

If that is what they wished. The last thing you wanted was for the concubines to believe they must stay in the palace under a new title.

The group continued discussing your coronation and appearance in the city. You listened intently, occasionally giving your input, but otherwise content to stay silent. Sookmyung would seize the opportunity if it presented itself. The image of you walking amongst the city streets came to mind. You pictured a masked man hiding in plain sight, waiting for the chance to strike you down and end your life. You tried comforting yourself that you’d have guards, but what good are those when you have an unrelenting force after you?

“-We will have to speak with the advisors on the best route through the city,” Jisoo concluded the meeting, “But I am sure they will agree a trip through the safer parts of Hanseong is best.”

“We also must discuss her first official act as queen,” Hongjoong said. “Something that will show people that she is different from Sookmyung.”

“The people in the dungeons.” The words left you suddenly, and they stared in curiosity. “I wish for them to be released,” you continued cautiously, “And treated by the physician. For those who have already died, they will be cleaned, mended and given a proper burial.” When none of them spoke, you said, “Is that something we can't do?”

“Yes, we can,” said Jisoo, “But there are many people down there.”

“And I want them removed. They have suffered long enough.”

You couldn't stop yourself from picturing the mangled bodies. It made you sick again. You hadn't saved them in life, but you could help them find peace in death. But, a tiny voice inside you still spoke:

“They will only know peace when she's dead.”

“I can arrange for the jailors and guards to bring the wounded into the courtyard outside,” Jisoo interrupted your thoughts. “Once people hear what you've done, they may see you're nothing like her.”

“That isn't why I asked,” you responded, not looking at her. “Those people did nothing wrong. They'd committed minor offenses, at best. I want to end their suffering, since I…”

‘Couldn't stop it before it happened.’

“The physician may not be able to treat everyone,” your mother said. “He's only one man.”

“Yunho was a physician's apprentice,” Hongjoong said. “He can aid Physician Yoon, and the other lords have their own we can call upon.”

“I’ll make sure your command is carried out,” Jisoo assured you.

“Thank you.”

You met his eyes and knew he understood, even if the others did not. The meeting concluded, and your mother and Jisoo left for Advisor Wonshik's office. This left you alone with Hongjoong. You saw him nervously chewing the inside of his cheek. The overcoat, bright red with golden dragons, appeared a bit large on him. You also noticed the wear on the buttons keeping it closed, and the belt as well.

“Is that yours?” You asked him, indicating the hanbok.

“King Siwon’s,” he said. “They thought it would be good to dress according to my station, but…”

“They didn't have any spare hanboks,” you finished, nodding. “This is one of Jisoo’s old dresses. I don't know if I like it.”

“We'll have our own soon enough. I suspect a dressmaker and tailor are already being sought after.” He then said, “Our marriage…It doesn't bother you, does it? I know a lot of things have happened overnight, and this marriage arrangement won't relieve anything. I told them I didn't wish to discuss it so soon, but they insisted.”

“I understand the need for haste,” you replied, “But yes, it is a lot to take in at once. I can’t stop thinking about it. Sookmyung…being the queen…Queen Jisoo and King Siwon being my birth parents…you becoming my betrothed…Now meeting the people and being enthroned. It’s…” you gripped the cuffs of your sleeves, picking at the seams inside again. “It's so much.”

“It is,” he scooted closer to you, and laced his fingers with yours. “But you'll have me and the others to help you. You won't be doing this alone.”

That comforted you, but his touch was electrifying. He seemed to know this, and instead of pulling away, locked hands with you.

“I hope to become someone who can comfort you,” he admitted. “I could not do much when Sookmyung was nearby, but with her gone, I'd like us to be closer in the future. If we're to be married, I'd like to be friends at least.”

“Only friends?”

The corner of his mouth twitched, “Unless you'd like to be more? It isn't something I will force upon you.”

“I…I don't know…” you wanted to, yes. You absolutely wanted to be more with him. “But, Sookymung-”

“-Does not own us,” he cut you off. “She might have owned my body, but not my heart. YN, I know we did not speak much with Sookmyung always so close, but now that she's not, I want to-Well, what I mean to say is that I wish to be closer to you. Ever since we met all those years ago, when I saw how she treated you and that I was not alone in my misery, I've dreamed of the moment I'd be free to pursue you.”

“You did? You do?”

“Yes,” he blushed, “It was childish, really. But now that we're arranged to be married, I would like to have a closer relationship with you.”

“You do?” You asked one more time.

“Is that so hard for you to believe?”

“Yes, actually,” you nodded. “Since we've met, I've done my best to avoid speaking to any of you. I knew if I showed the slightest interest in front of her she’d punish me. I knew she’d do the same to you if she thought you might return those feelings. She hated it whenever any of you showed a flicker of kindness to another woman, and it made me fear what she might do if that woman happened to be me. I stayed away to keep her from hurting anyone else.”

“But, she isn’t here now,” he said. “I understand exactly how you feel. There'd been so many instances where I wanted nothing more than to reach out and comfort you; to save you from whatever cruelties she forced you to witness. But, I knew if I showed any signs of affection or notice, she'd hurt you. I didn’t care if she hurt me, YN, I was used to it. It was you,” he cupped your cheek, “Whose pain I couldn’t bear. If there is any reason that I’m glad she’s gone, it’s that she can no longer harm or disgrace you.”

“She’ll come back,” you whispered, the fear starting to creep back at the slight touch. She could be watching right now, seething and drowning in her rage, eager to strike out at you. “She’ll come back,” you croaked again, “And she’ll-she’ll kill you. She’ll do it and make me watch before she does it to me.”

“She won’t because I won’t let her,” he said firmly, cupping your cheek to keep your eyes on him. “I’ll do everything in my power to make sure she never lays a hand on you again.”

You tried finding comfort in his words. For ages, you dreamed of this exact moment: Hongjoong sitting close to you, touching and whispering sweet nothings. Other times, it might be Seonghwa or Yunho or one of the other concubines. You thought of all the times she’d put them within your grasp just to pull them away at the very last second. Every time she mentioned finding you a husband, you knew she did not mean it. In a twisted, obscene way, you were hers and only hers.

“We don’t need to speak of this right now,” he said once he sensed your hesitancy. “There are far more important things to handle first. I…” he paused, looking over your face one more time. “I simply wished for you to know of my feelings.”

You reached for his hand when he pulled it away. So soft. So gentle. Before you could respond, someone else walked into the room. Seonghwa stood at the other end of the table, hands folded in front of one another and bowing to each of you.

“Excuse me, Your Majesties,” he began, “But the council wishes to speak with you now.”

“Did they say why?”

“I don’t, but I imagine it may be about taxation and property laws,” he said. “If you wish, I’ll tell them you’re…preoccupied,” he shifted a glance to Hongjoong, hiding a smile.

“No, no,” you shook your head, “We’ll speak with them.”

“‘We’ll’?” Hongjoong asked curiously.

“You’re to be my King Consort soon,” you said, “And I know very little about law making. I thought perhaps you’d like to join us?”

“Of course,” he grinned. “If there is any way I can assist, I will.”

The smile you shared warmed your entire body, bringing heat into your cheeks. The two men let you leave first, then followed you. Seonghwa a few feet away, you walked beside Hongjoong. For the smallest of moments, you pictured yourself and him at the altar. In another life, perhaps a marriage arrangement between Hanseong and Wonju would’ve happened. Sookmyung being the elder might’ve been put forward, but if Hongjoong didn’t like her, as the groom, he could decline. He would’ve picked you instead. The image of a seething Sookmyung hiding nearby, watching Hongjoong help you into your palanquin, gave you pause. In that other life, she’d be equally jealous. She’d plot ways to kill you then like she must be doing at this moment.

“Don’t be nervous,” you heard Hongjoong say. “You’re going to do well.”

“Am I?”

Better to let him think you’re worried about the advisors rather than the person planning your demise right now.

“Yes,” he said, “And you’ll have Seonghwa and I to help you.”

This certainly made you feel better. “It might be intimidating at first,” Seonghwa said from beside you. “They’re all ambitious men who will want their voices heard. They’ll each have their own ideas and opinions about how we should proceed from here on out. There’s likely to be arguing and objections, but in the end, it’s all your decision where things go.”

“That’s…not helping, Seonghwa,” you said with a soft nervous laugh.

“He’s only preparing you,” Hongjoong consoled you. “I used to go with my father to his meetings when I was small. I sat there and listened to all these powerful men disagree, shout over one another, and argue over whose idea was the best. It was my father’s job to help these men all come to an agreement. There’s going to be a lot of compromises and negotiations, since some of these men will have more than the kingdom’s interest in mind. It’s up to you to decide what routes to take.”

“And we’ll be right there if you need someone who won’t gain anything from this meeting,” Seonghwa assured you.

Your nerves still buzzed in your stomach as the doors to the advisor’s room opened. Wonshik sat at the far end of the table, with Heechul, Taeyong, Daewon and Junhan taking up the sides. All of them stood when you and Hongjoong arrived. He took up an empty seat next to you, while you sat at the head of the table across from Wonshik. The old man looked at you with a proud smile.

“Good Morning, Your Majesty,” he said. “It is refreshing to see the ruling monarch sitting with us at the council table again.”

“And I plan to come to as many of these as I can,” you replied. “I have asked Seonghwa and Prince Hongjoong to join us.”

“As expected,” he nodded. “Her Majesty may invite whoever she believes will be fit to give his opinion on important matters.”

“Enough pleasantries, Wonshik,” gruffed Junhan, Master of War. “We have many things to discuss.”

“Ask for a progress report in locating Sookmyung,” Hongjoong leaned over and whispered.

“I’d like to know where we are in finding Sookmyung,” you said to the council.

“We’ve been unable to locate the former queen,” Junhan, Master of War, answered. “We believe she has fled with her allies, but no idea as to where. Gongju is closest to us, so it is likely she will travel there first. We already have scouts seeking her out, Your Majesty, and Prince Hongjoong has sent word to the rebel leader to place spies in their courts. She will come out of the woodwork eventually. Once she hears of our plans to crown you as queen, she will act on impulse and behave rashly. If we’re lucky, we can use that rashness to our advantage.”

“And of the dukes who remain in the palace?” you asked.

“They’ve all pledged their loyalty to you, Your Majesty,” Wonshik answered. “When your coronation comes, they will make public vows in front of the entire court, but for now, our alliance is still intact. That aside, those lords will wish to talk about trades with you once this is all over. They’ll want something in return for their continued alliance.”

“You will also have to prove you won’t turn into your sister,” Heechul added. “We all know you are far from being her, but they do not know you as we do, Your Majesty.”

“Unfortunately, treating with nobility is a lot harder than pleasing the common folk,” Wonshik said.

“What sort of things would they ask for?”

“Nothing outrageous,” he dismissed. “Land, titles, treaties or gold.”

“I know for a fact that Daegu is going to ask to lower port fees,” Taeyong, Master of Ships, said. “Sookmyung’s taxes and fees on local merchants are far too high and it makes trading between the coastal cities difficult. This puts a heavy burden on the lords there.”

“Iksan will ask for more military power,” Junhan added. “They have had lots of run ins with outlaw groups raiding their trade routes.”

“Starving citizens,” Daewon, Master of Law, said. “A lot of the so-called ‘bandits’ the guard picks up are people in need. Lowering taxation on resources like food and clothing will make merchants lower their own prices so people can afford to buy them.”

“We’d need a near overhaul of the economy for that to happen,” Heechul argued. “The coppers are plenty but not unlimited, Do.”

“Then perhaps it’s time there was one,” Daewon retorted. “Sookmyung’s financial plans always centered on the elite. I know I personally can afford to pay my taxes. Can you say the same, Kim?”

“I can-”

“-Intervene,” Seonghwa whispered to you hurriedly. “You have to keep them on track before this gets louder.”

“My lords,” you spoke up, stomach churning when they immediately stopped. “If….If an overhaul is what we need to get our people fed, then we’ll make sure it’s done. Our people are starving in squalor. We must do what we can to help them.”

“There are lords around these parts who might not be happy with having their taxes raised,” Daewon said, still eyeing Heechul.

“They’ll survive,” you said right away. “I’ve seen how these lords and ladies live. A small increase will not kill them.”

“Not many lords or ladies will like having their taxes raised,” said Wonshik. “What would you do if they refuse?”

You thought about it for a moment, then said, “I’d compromise with them until we came to an agreement.”

“And if they didn’t budge? What then?”

“I…” you struggled to think of a proper solution, “Well, I’d keep going until they did.”

“You could lower their contribution amount,” Hongjoong answered. “If we raised both their contribution to The Crown and their taxes, they’ll revolt for sure. But, if we lower their contributions, they’ll be more inclined to pay the tax instead.”

“Yes, that,” you agreed, nodding.

“There's also the problems in the smaller villages, Your Majesty,” Wonshik said. “They do not have access to clean water or proper resources for housing. I recently visited a village just outside our walls that was raided by bandits. Houses burnt down, children slaughtered, families torn apart. The people need our help, Your Majesty. They want to know what The Crown will do to help them.”

“We will do the best we can,” you told him.

Sookmyung’saggressive laws caused a ripple effect you never imagined. Every decision she made trickled down to the lowest citizens, the poorest getting the worst of it. You attentively listened to each man’s thoughts, taking it into consideration and seeing if it aligned with your own wishes. Seonghwa and Hongjoong managed to placate the men whenever they grew too heated with each other, but otherwise the group kept things civil. After much back and forth, arguments, rebuttals and objections to each other’s proposals, you and the advisors finally came up with new laws and changes.

They voted on lowering property taxes on the poor and raising the ones on the rich. But, the amount of tribute required by each lord will also be lowered to avoid said lords raising taxes on their own lands. Advisor Heechul insisted this will lift many people out of poverty over time. Imported goods will remain the same, but exports will be raised to bring in more money. In the meantime, a portion of the “royal crops” would be given to the people.

The “Queenswood” surrounding the palace and city will no longer be off limits. Hunters would be encouraged to explore the land freely; any extra game they wish to trade will not be taxed by the crown. Speaking with Advisor Daewon, the both of you agreed that removing the fences and guard towers at the borders was the first step.

With Junhan, the city guard would resume their patrols on the streets, replacing the military presence. He agreed that the formal city guards would lower fear amongst the citizens, and the military can focus on their real purpose. The corrupt leaders extorting the smaller businesses wuld be rounded up alongside the slum lords and be punished accordingly. The both of you agreed that your people should feel safe in their own kingdom.

“These steps may be small,” Advisor Wonshik said at the end of the meeting, “But their impact will be large. The people need to see that their new queen wishes only the best for them.”

They agreed to put everything into action immediately. When you left the advisors, Hongjoong went to speak with Wonshik alone, which left you with Seonghwa. Your handmaidens and guards nearby, you become increasingly aware of their constant presence. Before, it never bothered you since Sookmyung was their focus, but that changed. You are their priority now, and you still did not know how to feel about that.

“Do they have to follow me all the time?” You asked Seonghwa in a low whisper.

“It's advisable that they stay at your side for now,” Seonghwa said, “But if you'd like, I can send them away for a while.”

You'd been about to answer when a foul scent caught in your nose. You recognized the scent right away as it grew stronger. The stench of the dungeons was unmistakable to you. Walking away from the royal offices, you went ahead of the group into the main courtyard. It became more pungent as you drew closer to the jail. There, you saw Hongjoong talking with the head physician, an older man named Yoon. Soldiers carried people out of the jail on stretchers to blankets laid on the ground. You clasped your hands over your mouth.

Perhaps it was the darkness and your own discomfort that made the number seem so small. But now, standing several yards away, you saw dozens of victims. Men and women laid out groaning and weeping in pain as physicians treated those they could. The faces that once haunted you in your dreams now came to life. Tears welled in your eyes seeing the people you watched be broken. It is your fault. You should have helped them sooner. You should have stopped her. You had plenty of opportunities, but you'd been paralyzed by your own fear.

“Your Majesty,” Seonghwa’s voice came to you softly, “You don't have to see this. Let's go to the hare-”

You ignored him and walked towards the first body on the ground. A young man covered in filthy, bloody rags laid shivering. You recognized him immediately: the young man Sookmyung hung from the ceiling with weights. You moved closer to him, hearing his haggard breathing and whimpering, and knelt down. He’d been the stableboy who tended to Sookmyung’s horse. When her newest mare fell ill and died, Sookmyung blamed him for not maintaining its health. Of course, this accusation was ridiculous, but that never mattered to her. You gently brushed matted hair from his forehead.

“How bad is it?” you asked the physician attending to him.

“Very bad, Your Majesty,” he answered, dabbing disinfectant on the wounds. “Several bones are broken or dislocated. I managed to put them back in place, but some of the injuries have become infected from the conditions below.”

“Will he live?”

“With some medicine and rest, he may be able to begin recovery. He is one of the lucky few who have such a chance.”

You looked down at the dazed man, and said, “What is your name?”

“Kyun-Kyungwoo,” he croaked an answer.

“You are safe now, Kyungwoo. I swear it.”

“No, no, no! Don’t! Don’t!”

Your head shot up at the panicked voice. Two rows away was a young woman flailing her arms at the man trying to tend to her. You realized the man was Yunho, wearing a beige overcoat tied at his waist. The long black hair he often left down was tied into a top knot, held with a pin to keep it from his eyes. Gently, he took hold of the woman’s hands to steady them.

“Sookmyung is not here anymore,” you heard him gently reassure her as he held onto her hands. “She cannot hurt you.”

“She-She sent you!” she screamed hysterically. “She’s playing a game! A trick! She sent you to make me think she’s helping me! Don’t heal me!”

“I have to. You’re injured, and your wounds are infected.”

You left Kyungwoo’s side and went over to the pair. Right away, you understood the woman’s distress. “Insook,” you said her name softly, kneeling beside her, “Insook, please hold still. He cannot wrap your wounds if you’re moving so much.”

Wide, panicked eyes flitted over to you. Insook, a cook in Sookmyung’s kitchen, was accused of putting poison in her soup recently. Black strands of hair sticking to her sweaty forehead, blood dried on her fingers and stained her thin tunic.

“YN!” she gasped your name, grabbing your collar t bring you closer, “Tell him! Tell him what she’s doing! You know! You always knew!”

“Insook,” you uncurled her fingers from your jacket, then said, “Sookmyung is gone. She isn’t here anymore. You are not going back into the cells. I promise you.”

“Lies! She’s letting me out only to put me back in! She did it last time! I’m not a fool!”

“If that were true, she wouldn’t have her Flower attending to you, Insook.”

“Fl-Flower?” She glanced over to Yunho, who nodded “Wa-wait. You’re…You’re one of hers…”

“I was,” Yunho nodded, “But not anymore. You're not hers either. Now, please,” he gingerly took her injured hand, “Let me start here. These are the worst of them.”

“No!” she pulled her hand away, “YN, tell her I didn’t let him touch me! Tell her I was a good dog! I didn’t-”

“-YN, give me that jar right there.”

Yunho nodded to a small glass jar near a leather satchel. You picked it up and handed it to him. Yu watched him pick out one of the small white nubs inside, then hold it to Insook’s bloody nose. It took several sniffs before her cries quieted, her eyes rolled back and she fell unconscious. You looked up at Yunho.

“Sookmyung used to release some prisoners,” you said, “And then recapture them right when they thought they were free. She said watching the hope leave their eyes made her feel alive.” You smoothed hair from Insook’s head, the rancid stink of the dungeons coming off her. “How bad is she?”

“A few broken bones, some whip lashes on her back, but she’ll be fine with some rest,” he told you, starting to work on her missing fingernails. “Forgive me for leaving guard duty, Your Majesty. Physician Yoon asked me to come help him when Queen Jisoo started summoning the physicians. I’m a better healer than a fighter, I’m afraid.”

“Good, we need more healers at the moment,” you replied.

“Considering how many people are here, that’s more than true. Your Majesty-”

“-YN, please-”

“-YN,” he nodded, “I knew Sookmyung was awful but…I didn’t believe it was like this. Some of the injuries these people have are horrendous. One man had scorpion and spider bites all over his body; one of the other physicians said he must’ve been in there for days.”

The Box. You hated thinking about it. “I’m sorry you had to witness all of it,” he said, looking away from his work to meet your eyes. “I can’t imagine what seeing this does to someone. I’m glad it never changed you.”

You’d given him a small smile when a small voice croaked out your name. Another familiar face, a young boy with a bandage over his eye and a physician putting a cast on his left leg, broke your heart. Immediately, you scooted over to him and lifted his head to rearrange the pillow underneath. Jiwoon, arrested for poaching in Sookmyung’s forest like so many others, would never see out of his right eye again.

“Hello Jiwoon…” you said, looking over his cracked lips and hollow cheeks.

“Is it true?” he asked in a hoarse voice. “Are we really free?”

“Yes, it’s true.”

“I can see my papa now?”

“I’ll make sure someone tells him you’re here,” you said, remembering the boy’s father as a palace guard. You picked up a water canteen nearby, “Here, drink this.”

You tipped his head to help him drink, heart aching as you listened to him gulp the water. Nearby, you saw one of the guards watching over the scene and called him over. You ordered him to find Jiwoon’s father, then told another palace servant to send a message to the kitchen.

“Broth and bread,” you said, “As much as they can make.”

This went on for some time. People who looked on might be seeing a queen trying to build up an image, but that wasn’t your intention. Each person you comforted healed a piece of you; you hoped it healed a piece of them as well. They’d spent days wallowing in pain and suffering. You prayed they found a shred of hope in your gentle words and assurances.

Once you saw the last of the living, you looked upon the dead. So many. It sickened your stomach and brought tears to your eyes. Seeing one woman in particular, you remembered your helplessness. You couldn’t save her. You couldn’t save any of them no matter what you’d said. Sookmyung always laughed at your softness, saying that she’d make you strong one day. As you walked amongst the dead, those who’d loved them started walking onto the courtyard. Servants who’d waited for word about their loved ones wept openly, crying over the injured or deceased.

You’d finished consoling the daughter of one of the victims when you noticed her. A young woman laid a few feet away in all black. She bore all the signs of Sookmyung’s usual methods, but you didn’t remember her face. What drew you closer was Hongjoong gravitating to her first. Then, you suddenly remembered her: the assassin from the garden.

“Naeun,” Hongjoong said when you reached him. “She was the assassin Sookmyung tortured the other night. She was from Wonju.”

“She was the woman you’d meet in the garden,” you said, more a statement than a question. When he looked over at you, you said, “I remember overhearing you with someone. I never told anyone because I feared what Sookmyung might do to either of you. I thought she was a lover you’d somehow met, not a spy.”

“She was my contact, yes,” he nodded. “I was giving her information I learned from Sookmyung. It was easy because she spoke about her plans so freely in front of us. I couldn’t leave here, so being an informant was the best way to help my people.” He bit his inner cheek, then said, “I can’t let her death be in vain, YN.”

“It wasn’t,” you said, touching his hand. “You are a prince again, and that’s only the first step.” You then realized something. “I’m sorry you witnessed her death. Sookmyung never went easy on anyone. If she thought Naeun wanted to kill her, she likely made it worse.”

“She never gave in. She didn’t say a word no matter how terrible the torture.”

“She was stronger than most I’d seen, then. Sookmyung preyed on the weak, but she loved breaking the strong. Naeun must’ve not wanted to give her the satisfaction of believing she’d won.”

“None of Changbin’s rebels would,” he said. He withdrew a necklace, the winged dove charm broken into two pieces. “This was hers,” he explained, putting the charm on her chest and placing her hands over it. “She used it to pass a message to me the night she died. I think it meant something to her.”

You sat with him as he looked over the woman one more time. While you did not witness Naeun’s death, it still joined the hundreds stained on your heart.

“She hurt so many people,” you said quietly, standing with Hongjoong but not looking away from the scene. “Not just in her dungeon, but all over the kingdom. She’d driven families into starvation, turned children into orphans and let her city become a crime-ridden slum. Nobody was safe regardless of distance. She’s likely hurting someone now because of how angry she is.” You didn’t want to imagine who’d become her newest victim. “If she came back into power, she’d be much, much worse.”

“Which is why she can’t come back,” Hongjoong said, “And she won’t.” He looked at the victims with you, “What shall we do with them, Your Majesty?”

“Heal them,” you said. “Prepare them for burial. Tell the people that we’ll be holding a funeral procession for them on their way to the gravesite.”

“What gravesite?”

“The one I’m going to have made for them. There are people here who need work, and we can pay them to dig graves for her victims,” you said, the plan forming in your mind. “It can be in honor of their memory. They can be buried in a place of light and beauty, instead of rotting in the dark. There’s a lovely spot outside the city that can be open to the people. We can send declarations around the kingdom so family members may come see them.”

“A memorial to them,” he said, “And the people she’s indirectly hurt too. Wonshik and Jisoo will love the idea. It’ll show people you’re not the monster she is.”

“That isn’t why I want to do it,” you repeated your words from the meeting.

“No, it isn’t, but it doesn't hurt.”

You remembered each person. The baker who’d mistook her instruction for red bean as black bean. The seamstress who’d accidentally nicked her skin when fixing a hemline. The merchant who boldly proclaimed her taxes as unjust and the young woman who’d begged for her husband’s life. You’d made it a point to learn their names. Many times, you’d cradled a head as they whispered it to you. Being amongst them now, hearing their groans of pain, your eyes stung at the memories. Sookmyung could not return. She could not be allowed to continue on like this should she come back to power. You wouldn’t let her.

****

A/N: heeeyyy look what's back! I'm really glad to be back on this one. There's more to come so stick around! <3

#WE ARE SOOOOO BACK #🍑 favs

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peachyscenes · 4 months ago

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ateez recs: fic series edition

these are fics that have genuinely changed my brain chemistry. most are ot8/ateez ensemble.

the places between us by @written-in-flowers

HOLY SHIT! warning for anyone who comes across this, it is a HEAVY read. lots of content that may feel uncomfortable. oh my godddd the way i was screaming at the protagonist for making stupid decisions. honestly one of the best reads i've had in a while i won't lie to you.

clair de lune by @atzfilm

this series had me gripping my fucking sheets. it was so so good and i wish i could read it for the first time again. this one also has slightly heavy themes so warning to those who wanna read it.

into the aurora by @honeyhotteoks

lots of crying, sobbing, and even more crying. they all love each other so much, this is what i show to people when they ask me what love means. everyone is a ride or die here.

like a waltz by @justbelievinginmagic

i actually found this gem on ao3 (WE LOVE YOU AO3 🫶🫶). ateez are all red flags in this but i'm just like the protagonist, COLORBLIND ASF! not her fault though #letherdance. it's not completed yet but definitely recommend!!!

like the moon by @sunmoonjune

FREE BUG!!! SHE JUST WANTS TO HAVE A FAMILY!!! FUCK HER DAD!!! ateez clan are bug's ride or dies and i stand with them!!!

the answer by @berryunho

hongjoong is so fucking uncanny in this. every time he's up to no good i hear music from hereditary playing. ALSO FUCK YOU SAN!!!

in love and lore by @shadowynn

y/n helps someone and suddenly gets eight lovers, can we give her 5 big booms?

hotel california + paradise gardens by @mint-yooxgi

give me whatever the protagonist has (minus the people that are targeting her). 8 HOT lovers who would give me the world, genuinely love me, and got MONEY?? ladies, don't EVER settle for less.

not all that glitters is gold by @the7thcrow

TOOOOO GOOOODDD. i wanna give wooyoung a hug but also punch him.

pirate king by @chaseatinydream

the first ateez x reader i read and it was so beautiful. the lore the storytelling the world buildup was top tier and i wouldn't change a single thing about this. i love that the protagonist is her own character and while i love an x reader where i can imagine myself, this is so incredibly well made.

cat's cradle by @raincoreee

i have no idea when this'll update (i have hope) but sannie is a cat and reader is gender neutral!!

don't forget to support and show love to these amazing authors. may fanfiction never die 🙏🙏🙏

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peachyscenes · 4 months ago

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The Moment I Saw You || C.San

Pairing: Rookie.Idol!Reader x Idol!San

Requested: Yes

Word Count: 10,495 words ; Reading Time: 40-ish mins

Synopsis: They called you the "guitar rookie" — cool, mysterious, and unforgettable on stage. But for San, it only took one performance to fall completely under your spell. What starts as quiet glances and backstage banter slowly turns into secret texting, emotional confessions, and late-night comfort. But fame is cruel, and love in the spotlight even more so. When the hate gets brutal, San does something no one expects — he fights for you.

Author’s Note: This story’s a love letter to that electric spark between two people who meet in the whirlwind of fame and find peace in each other. I adore writing flustered San, loyal San, "ride-or-die" San — so this fic gave me life. Hope you enjoy the slow burn, tension, and soft chaos.

The air in the practice room always smelled faintly of sweat and ambition, a potent cocktail that you had grown accustomed to. Just six months into your solo debut, the buzz around you was a low hum, a quiet acknowledgment of the raw talent that crackled through your live performances. In a sea of perfectly synchronized dance routines and polished pop anthems, you offered something different: grit. Authenticity. And a damn good electric guitar.

Your company, a smaller label that had taken a gamble on your unique blend of idol charm and rockstar edge, was cautiously optimistic. Your digital single had performed respectably, earning you a small but fiercely loyal fanbase who appreciated your self-composed tracks and the way your fingers danced across the fretboard during live stages – a genuine rarity in the current idol landscape.

You yourself preferred the quiet hum of anticipation to the deafening roar of immediate fame. It gave you space to breathe, to hone your craft, to let the music speak for itself. Your stage presence was a carefully constructed paradox: cool and composed, almost aloof, yet undeniably magnetic. There was a mysterious charm about the way you’d offer a fleeting smirk after a particularly sharp riff, the way your dark eyes would scan the crowd with an unreadable intensity.

Tonight, however, the quiet hum was about to be amplified to a deafening roar. Tonight was the culmination of a year’s worth of relentless work: the prestigious Gayo Daejun. The air backstage thrummed with nervous energy, a chaotic symphony of hurried footsteps, last-minute mic checks, and the hushed excitement of idols from every corner of the industry.

Your own dressing room felt like a small island of calm amidst the storm. Your black custom guitar, affectionately nicknamed 'Shadow', leaned against the wall, its sleek body gleaming under the soft lighting. Your stylist fussed with the subtle silver chains adorning your black leather jacket, while your makeup artist dabbed at your already flawless smoky eye.

“Ready, Y/N-ah?” your manager, a kind but perpetually stressed man named Mr. Kim, poked his head in.

You offered a small, confident nod. Inside, however, a familiar flutter of nerves danced in your stomach. This was the biggest stage you’d ever performed on. The audience wasn’t just your fans; it was the entire Korean entertainment industry, fellow idols you admired, and millions watching at home.

As the minutes ticked by, the tension backstage thickened. Snippets of other performances drifted into your room – the booming bass of a powerful dance track, the soaring vocals of a ballad. Then, Mr. Kim gave you the signal. It was time.

Walking towards the stage felt surreal. The backstage area was a blur of glittering costumes and anxious faces. You took a deep breath, the scent of hairspray and expensive perfume filling your lungs. The roar of the crowd beyond the heavy curtains was a tangible thing, a wave of sound that promised both exhilaration and potential disaster.

Your name flashed on the monitor, and a surge of adrenaline coursed through your veins. This was it.

The lights dimmed, and a single spotlight pierced the darkness, landing squarely on your silhouette as you stood center stage, Shadow slung low across your hips. A hush fell over the arena, a pregnant silence that amplified the frantic beating of your own heart.

Then, you raised your hand, your fingers hovering over the strings. A single, clean note rang out, cutting through the silence. It was the opening of your self-composed track, a raw and edgy anthem about breaking free. The crowd responded with a wave of cheers, but you barely registered it. Your focus narrowed, your world shrinking to the six strings beneath your fingertips.

The first chord hit like a punch to the gut – a gritty, distorted power chord that reverberated through the stadium. The stage lights pulsed in time with the music, casting sharp shadows that danced around you. Your cool composure settled over you like a second skin. Head tilted slightly, you launched into the opening riff, your fingers a blur of practiced precision.

From the side of the stage, hidden in the shadows after the explosive finale of his own group’s performance, Choi San stood catching his breath. Ateez had just delivered a high-octane set, leaving the crowd in a frenzy. He was about to grab a water bottle when a lone figure walked onto the stage. He barely glanced up, expecting another flashy dance number.

But then, the first chord struck.

San froze. The plastic water bottle slipped from his suddenly numb fingers, clattering unnoticed on the floor. His jaw went slack, his breath catching in his throat. It wasn’t just the sound – though the raw, live tone of the electric guitar was a shock in itself – it was the sheer confidence emanating from the figure bathed in the spotlight.

His heart, which had been pounding from Ateez’s intense performance, now seemed to have vanished entirely, replaced by a strange, hollow ache.

He watched, unblinking, as you moved with a fluid grace that belied the aggressive energy of your music and your soft voice blending well. The way your head would snap back with a flick of your dark hair during a particularly powerful strum, the fleeting smirk that would play on your lips as you effortlessly shredded a solo – it was captivating.

The music surged, a tidal wave of sound washing over the arena. San was oblivious to the cheers of the crowd, the flashing lights, the murmurs of his own members nearby. His entire world had narrowed to the figure on stage, the girl with the guitar, the raw talent that seemed to bleed from her fingertips.

He watched as you stepped closer to the edge of the stage during a particularly intricate solo, your eyes locking with unseen members of the audience. There was a fire in them, a fierce passion that resonated deep within him.

The final chord crashed, echoing through the stadium before fading into a sudden, profound silence. Then, the arena erupted. The cheers were deafening, a testament to the captivating performance they had just witnessed.

You offered a small bow, the corner of your lips tilting into that enigmatic smirk one last time before you turned and walked off stage, disappearing behind the curtain.

San remained rooted to the spot, his mind a complete blank. The echoes of the music still vibrated in his chest. It wasn't just that you were talented; there was something else, something that had resonated with him on a visceral level.

Finally, as his members started to nudge him, concern etched on their faces, San managed a single, breathless utterance, his voice barely a whisper amidst the lingering roar of the crowd.

“…who is she?”

The adrenaline from Ateez’s performance had long since faded, replaced by a persistent, almost unsettling hum within San. Back in their dorm, the usual boisterous energy of the members felt muted, a backdrop to the insistent replay echoing in his mind. He’d excused himself shortly after they’d arrived, claiming exhaustion, but instead, he’d retreated to his bunk, phone clutched tightly in his hand.

The YouTube video title glowed on the screen: “Y/N - Iconic Solo Debut Stage @ Gayo Daejun” He’d found it within minutes of searching, the algorithm already attuned to the sudden spike in interest surrounding the mysterious guitarist.

He pressed play.

The opening chord of ‘[Your Song Title]’ reverberated through his earbuds, sending a familiar jolt through him. He watched, his eyes glued to the screen, as you stepped into the spotlight. Every subtle movement, every confident strum, every flick of your hair was magnified, imbued with a significance he couldn’t quite articulate.

He watched the entire performance again, and then again. A strange tension coiled in his stomach, a feeling he hadn’t experienced before. It wasn’t just admiration for your talent; it was something deeper, something that felt intensely personal.

On the fourth viewing, he paused the video. It was a fleeting moment, almost imperceptible – a small, genuine smile that flickered across your lips after nailing a particularly challenging riff. It wasn’t a practiced idol smile for the cameras; it was a flash of pure, unadulterated joy, a glimpse behind the cool facade. San’s thumb hovered over the screen, tracing the curve of your smile as if he could somehow capture the feeling it evoked within him. His chest tightened.

He replayed the solo, the intricate melody and the raw energy of your playing sending shivers down his spine. He’d always appreciated good musicianship, but this… this was different. It wasn't just skill; it was soul. It was like the music was an extension of you, a direct line to something honest and captivating.

A restless energy began to build within him. He needed to know more.

He exited YouTube and opened his browser, typing in your stage name. Information flooded the screen: your full name, your company, the name of your debut single, even a few interviews where you spoke shyly about your music and your unconventional path as a guitar-playing idol. He clicked on every link, devouring every piece of information, piecing together a fragmented image of the person behind the captivating performer.

He learned you were a soloist, which surprised him. Your stage presence felt like it could command an entire band. He scrolled through fan forums, reading comments that echoed his own fascination: “Who is this girl?”, “That guitar solo was insane!”, “Her vibe is so cool.”

Later, when a few of the members had gathered in the common room, their post-show buzz slowly dissipating into comfortable exhaustion, San couldn’t contain it any longer. He wandered in, his phone still clutched in his hand.

“Do you guys know the rookie guitarist from tonight?” he asked, his voice a little too eager.

Wooyoung, sprawled on the couch scrolling through his own phone, looked up, a playful smirk already forming on his lips. “You mean the one you haven’t stopped watching on your phone?”

San flushed slightly, trying to appear nonchalant. “I was just… impressed. Her live playing was really something.”

Jongho, ever the straightforward one, nodded. “She was good. Definitely stood out.”

Hongjoong, who had been quietly sketching in a notebook, looked up, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Bro. You’ve watched that clip six times since we got back.”

San’s ears burned. He hadn’t realized he’d been that obvious. He mumbled something about needing to analyze different performance styles.

Hongjoong leaned back, a knowing smirk spreading across his face. “Analyzing, huh? Or maybe… admiring?” He tapped his pen against his chin thoughtfully. “She did have a certain… je ne sais quoi.”

San avoided his leader’s gaze, suddenly finding the pattern on the rug intensely interesting.

“Just ask her out already, Romeo,” Hongjoong added, his voice laced with playful teasing.

San’s head snapped up, his eyes wide. “Hyung! What? No! I just… I was curious about her music.”

The other members exchanged knowing glances, a chorus of suppressed chuckles filling the room. San knew he wasn’t fooling anyone. The image of you on stage, bathed in that single spotlight, the raw sound of your guitar echoing in his ears, was firmly imprinted in his mind. The quiet hum of curiosity had morphed into something far more insistent, a burgeoning fascination that felt dangerously close to… obsession. And he had a feeling this was just the beginning.

The fluorescent lights of the music show backstage buzzed with a familiar, almost sterile energy. A few days had passed since the Gayo Daejun, and the memory of your performance still lingered in San’s mind like a favorite song he couldn’t stop humming. He’d tried to play it cool around his members, deflecting their teasing with awkward jokes and feigned disinterest. But the truth was, he’d spent a significant amount of his downtime rewatching your stage and scrolling through any new information he could find about you. He even found a few fan-made compilation videos of your live guitar moments, each one further solidifying his initial captivated impression.

Fate, or perhaps his own carefully orchestrated movements, had brought them both to the same music show today. Ateez had an early performance slot, and San had been surprisingly subdued throughout their pre-show preparations, his usual playful energy noticeably absent. His mind was elsewhere, a nervous anticipation thrumming beneath his skin. He kept replaying Hongjoong’s teasing words – “Just ask her out already, Romeo” – and a ridiculous scenario where he tripped over his own feet while trying to introduce himself.

He’d subtly inquired about your schedule from one of the staff members he knew, feigning general interest in the lineup. When he learned your dressing room was on the same floor, a few doors down from Ateez’s, a plan began to form – a flimsy, transparent excuse to be in your vicinity. He’d even rehearsed a few potential opening lines in his head, ranging from a simple “Hello” to a more elaborate (and probably disastrous) compliment about your guitar tone.

Now, his heart hammered against his ribs as he stood outside your dressing room, a half-empty water bottle clutched in his hand. He’d “coincidentally” run out of water just as Ateez’s segment wrapped up, and this hallway, he’d reasoned, was the most logical place to find a water dispenser. He leaned against the cool wall, trying to project an air of casual nonchalance, taking slow, deliberate sips. Every distant footstep echoing down the corridor sent a jolt of nervous energy through him. He silently berated himself for his lack of composure. He was Choi San, for crying out loud. He commanded stages filled with roaring fans. Why was this one potential interaction turning him into a stammering mess?

Then, the door to your dressing room opened.

San’s breath hitched. You stepped out, your manager, a slightly harried-looking man in a crisp suit, a few paces behind you, both seemingly engrossed in a quiet conversation. You were dressed in a stylishly understated outfit for your post-performance interviews – dark wash jeans, a slightly oversized band tee, and a delicate silver necklace peeking out from beneath the collar. Your dark hair was pulled back in a sleek ponytail that accentuated the sharp angles of your jawline and the delicate curve of your neck. San’s gaze lingered for a fraction too long.

For a split second, your eyes met his. Your expression was neutral, a polite acknowledgment of a familiar face in the industry. But for San, it felt like a spotlight had suddenly illuminated him. He froze, his carefully constructed facade of nonchalance crumbling into a jumbled mess of nerves and a sudden, intense awareness of his own slightly sweaty post-performance state.

He hadn’t planned what to say, hadn’t rehearsed any smooth lines that could possibly convey the impact your performance had had on him. All the witty remarks and carefully crafted compliments he’d mentally conjured vanished from his brain, leaving him with a single, overwhelming thought: it’s really her. Up close, the intensity he’d witnessed on stage was somehow both amplified and softened.

As you drew closer, his throat suddenly felt incredibly dry. He pushed himself off the wall, his legs feeling strangely unsteady, like he’d just finished a particularly grueling choreography session. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but all that came out was a strangled, almost bird-like sound. He winced internally.

“You were…” he finally managed, his voice cracking slightly. He cleared his throat, the sound echoing awkwardly in the relatively quiet hallway, and tried again, his gaze fixed somewhere around your shoulder, unable to meet your eyes directly. “You were… amazing. At the Gayo… the guitar part? Insane.” He cringed internally at his utterly inadequate delivery. Insane? Really, San? That’s the best you could come up with?

You stopped walking, a genuine hint of surprise flickering in your dark eyes. You shyly tucked a loose strand of hair that had escaped your ponytail behind your ear, a delicate, almost unconscious gesture that San found inexplicably endearing. A faint blush, barely perceptible, dusted your cheeks. You lowered your gaze slightly.

“Thank you,” you replied softly, your voice even more melodic and nuanced than he’d expected from your powerful yet soft singing voice. “I… I didn’t think anyone noticed. It felt a little… out of place, maybe, amidst all the other amazing performances.” You offered a small, self-deprecating smile.

San’s internal monologue was a chaotic scream of flailing limbs and incoherent noises. She doesn’t think anyone noticed?! It was the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen! Tell her! Tell her how it made you feel! Tell her you haven’t stopped thinking about it!

But outwardly, he could only manage a slightly wider, albeit still awkward, smile and a more emphatic nod. “Noticed? Are you kidding? It was… captivating. The way you played, the energy… it was completely different. In a really, really good way.” He finally managed to meet your eyes, and the intensity he felt seemed to momentarily surprise you. He quickly looked away again, suddenly feeling like he was staring.

He wanted to say so much more – to tell you how the rawness of your sound had cut through the usual polished perfection, how your confidence with the guitar had been incredibly inspiring, how he’d rewatched your solo countless times. But the words seemed trapped in his throat, choked by a sudden wave of self-consciousness and the unexpected reality of you standing right in front of him.

He offered another small, slightly less awkward smile, hoping it conveyed at least a fraction of the genuine admiration and burgeoning fascination he felt. You returned the smile, a brief, shy curve of your lips that sent another unexpected jolt through him, settling somewhere warm and unfamiliar in his chest.

Then, your manager, who had been patiently observing the exchange, gently placed a hand on your arm. “We should probably get going, Y/N-ah. The interview with Star News is starting soon, and they’re waiting.”

“Right,” you said, nodding apologetically. You offered San another quick, polite nod, your eyes briefly meeting his again with a hint of something he couldn’t quite decipher before continuing down the hallway with your manager.

San watched you walk away, your ponytail swaying gently with each step, his mind still reeling from the brief but impactful interaction. He’d actually spoken to you. He’d sounded like a complete idiot, but he’d spoken to you. He replayed the exchange in his head, dissecting every word, every glance, the shy tuck of your hair, the soft melody of your voice.

He took a long, shaky gulp of water, the coolness doing little to quell the heat rising in his cheeks. He leaned back against the wall again, a goofy, starstruck grin slowly spreading across his face. Choi San, the charismatic performer known for his powerful stage presence and confident charm, was officially a flustered mess. And he had a distinct feeling that this brief backstage run-in was just the beginning of a much more complicated – and potentially exhilarating – chapter.

The weeks that followed the music show took on a surreal quality for both you and San. For you, the unexpected compliment from a senior idol, especially one as charismatic as San of Ateez, had been a pleasant surprise. You’d replayed the brief interaction in your mind a few times, a faint warmth spreading through you at the memory of his earnest, if slightly stammering, praise. You’d even found yourself looking up Ateez’s performances afterwards, a newfound curiosity piqued by his intense stage presence and the powerful dynamic of his group.

Then, the “bump-ins” began.

It started subtly. At the company cafeteria, you’d be mid-bite into your kimbap when you’d glance up to find Ateez at a nearby table, their usual boisterous energy filling the space. More often than not, your eyes would meet San’s, and he’d offer a quick, friendly smile, sometimes accompanied by a small wave. You’d offer a shy nod in return, a blush creeping up your neck.

At music show waiting rooms, their paths seemed to intersect with increasing frequency. He’d always find a reason to approach – a casual “Hey, Y/N-ssi, your performance today was great,” or a lighthearted comment about the chaos backstage. Once, he’d even complimented the unique design on your guitar strap, sparking a brief, slightly awkward but undeniably pleasant conversation about your musical influences.

You tried to rationalize it as coincidence, the inevitable overlap of schedules in the relatively small and interconnected idol world. But a persistent feeling, a delicate dance of anticipation and nervousness, began to bloom in your chest. Every time his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled at you, a little spark ignited within you.

You found yourself paying more attention to your appearance on days you knew Ateez would be at the same events, and a nervous flutter would erupt in your stomach whenever you heard their distinct laughter echoing down the hallway.

San, on his end, was far from relying on mere chance. He’d become a surprisingly adept strategist, his internal radar constantly pinging for any sign of your presence. He’d casually inquire about your schedule from friendly staff members, linger a little longer near common areas he knew you sometimes frequented, like the practice room hallways or the studio lounges, and even subtly enlist the help of Wooyoung and Seonghwa to “casually” scout ahead.

His members, initially amused by his sudden, laser-like focus, were now exchanging knowing glances and offering increasingly unsubtle teases. “Looking for your sunshine again, San-ah?” Hongjoong had quipped one afternoon, earning him a playful shove.

Then came the official announcement that sent a genuine tremor of excitement through the industry: a special collaboration stage for the upcoming Golden Disc Awards. And your name was listed alongside Ateez. Specifically, the press release detailed a duet and a joint performance piece that would culminate in a powerful instrumental break featuring your guitar playing alongside Ateez’s signature dynamic energy. And the duet partner? Choi San.

A wave of surprise, quickly followed by a surge of nervous excitement that made your palms sweat, washed over you when your manager relayed the news. A collaboration with a group as globally recognized and incredibly talented as Ateez was a monumental opportunity, a chance to reach a wider audience. But the thought of working so intimately with San, the idol who had sparked this unexpected and rather persistent flutter in your heart, sent a different kind of thrill, a more personal and slightly dizzying sensation, through you.

Rehearsals began a week later, a whirlwind of choreography practices with Ateez’s formidable dance line, vocal run-throughs where your voices surprisingly blended with a unique harmony, and meticulous stage blocking sessions. The song was a powerful, emotionally charged ballad that built to an explosive instrumental bridge, perfectly designed to showcase both Ateez’s dramatic performance skills and your raw, emotive guitar prowess.

During these rehearsals, San’s attention was often, though not always overtly, fixed on you. It wasn’t the intense, unwavering gaze from the Gayo stage, but a softer, more curious observation. When you were carefully tuning Shadow before a run-through, the delicate movements of your fingers across the fretboard seemed to captivate him.

He’d lean against the wall, his usual playful banter momentarily silenced, his eyes following your every adjustment. Once, he’d even asked, his voice genuinely curious, “What tuning are you using for this song? It sounds… different.” You’d explained the drop-D tuning and how it lent a heavier feel to the lower register, and he’d listened intently, nodding thoughtfully.

Between takes, as you’d often hum the melody to yourself, lost in the intricacies of the arrangement, his gaze would linger on you, a soft, almost fond smile playing on his lips. Sometimes, he’d even hum along quietly, and you’d catch his eye, a shared moment of musical connection passing between you.

From his perspective, every small detail about you seemed to be etching itself into his memory. The way your brow would furrow in intense concentration as you worked out a particularly complex chord progression, the way you’d tap your foot rhythmically even when you weren’t playing, the small, almost imperceptible sigh you’d let out after a particularly demanding vocal section.

Even the subtle scent that seemed to perpetually surround you – a delicate blend of warm vanilla and a bright, refreshing citrus – became a comforting and uniquely yours sensory detail that he’d subconsciously started to associate with moments of quiet focus and unexpected smiles.

He started calling you “sunshine.” It began innocently enough, a casual remark during a particularly grueling rehearsal when you’d offered a quiet but encouraging word to a visibly tired Wooyoung. “You’re like sunshine, Y/N -ssi,” he’d said with a genuine smile, and the nickname had stuck.

He used it sparingly, mostly during lighter moments or when he wanted to offer encouragement. But the way your cheeks would instantly flush a delicate pink every time the nickname escaped his lips, the way your gaze would momentarily soften and then quickly dart away, told him it had a deeper, more personal impact.

You tried your best to maintain your professional composure, focusing intently on the intricate vocal harmonies you shared with San and the precise timing required for your guitar solo within Ateez’s powerful choreography. But it was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore the warmth that spread through you every time San’s gaze lingered a little too long, or the way your heart did a little flip-flop whenever he offered you a genuine, encouraging smile, often accompanied by that endearing nickname.

His presence was a constant, gentle distraction, a warm current that made it harder to maintain your focus but also made the often-stressful rehearsal process feel surprisingly lighter, filled with stolen glances and unspoken understandings.

The tension between you was building, an invisible thread stretching taut with each shared rehearsal and fleeting interaction. It wasn’t just the pressure of the highly anticipated Golden Disc performance; it was the undeniable pull of mutual attraction, a silent conversation conducted through lingering glances, shy smiles, and the shared language of music.

You both knew something was subtly shifting, a delicate connection forming beneath the surface of polite professional interactions. The Golden Disc stage was looming, and with it, the tantalizing promise of a closer collaboration, and perhaps, something significantly more.

The exchange of phone numbers had been a purely practical affair, orchestrated with the efficiency of a military operation by your respective managers under the guise of “seamless rehearsal coordination” for the Golden Disc collaboration. Your contact list now held a new, somewhat official-sounding entry: “San (Ateez) 🎤.” You’d sent a polite introductory text confirming your number, a brief “Hi San-ssi, it’s Y/N. Got your number,” and he’d replied with a simple but friendly, “Got it! Looking forward to working with you, Y/N-ssi :)”. The initial exchange felt formal, almost anticlimactic, leaving you wondering if that would be the extent of your direct communication outside of rehearsals.

However, as the intense rehearsal schedule for the Golden Disc Awards kicked into high gear, the need for direct communication occasionally and organically arose. A last-minute change in the choreography blocking that affected your stage positioning, a question from San about the specific tone you were aiming for during the instrumental break, a quick confirmation needed on shared wardrobe elements to ensure visual harmony on stage.

These exchanges were usually brief and strictly professional, yet each notification that popped up on your screen displaying San’s name still elicited a subtle, almost involuntary quickening of your pulse, a tiny flutter of anticipation that you tried to suppress.

Then came the night after a particularly grueling full dress rehearsal that had stretched late into the evening. You were finally back in the quiet solitude of your dorm room, the distant hum of the city lights painting faint, blurry streaks across your ceiling.

Your body ached in places you didn’t even know existed, your mind still buzzing with the complex choreography, the intricate vocal harmonies you shared with San, and the soaring melody of the collaboration song that had been looping in your head for hours. You’d changed into comfortable pajamas and were mindlessly scrolling through social media on your phone, a familiar and usually effective way to unwind before sleep claimed you, when your phone vibrated with a new message.

The contact name displayed brightly on your screen read “San (Ateez) 🎤.” Your thumb hovered over the notification for a long moment, a strange and unfamiliar mix of anticipation, nervousness, and a touch of something akin to excitement swirling within you. It was late; you hadn’t expected to hear from him.

San (1:03 am): Were you nervous that night? At the Gayo. You didn’t look it at all. Like you owned that stage from the moment you stepped on it.

A small, genuine smile touched your lips. He was thinking about your debut stage again. It felt like a lifetime ago in the whirlwind of the past few months, yet the memory of the intense spotlight, the roar of the crowd, and the raw, unfiltered energy of your music was still incredibly vivid. You hesitated for a moment before replying, carefully considering your words, unsure of how much vulnerability to reveal.

You (1:04 am): Terrified. Honestly. My palms were sweating so much I thought I might drop Shadow. I just didn’t want to screw up on such a big stage, especially as a relatively new face.

Your reply felt honest, stripped of the cool, composed confidence you consciously projected on stage. You wondered if he’d find it surprising, perhaps even disappointing, that the seemingly fearless guitarist had been battling a storm of nerves underneath.

His response came almost immediately, the speed of it making you smile again.

San (1:04 am): Seriously? You were incredible. You commanded that stage like it was your own. The way you moved, the way you connected with the music… and that guitar solo… still gives me chills every time I watch it. You have such a unique energy.

A warm, fuzzy feeling spread through your chest at his words. It was different from the polite, often generic compliments you usually received from industry colleagues. There was a genuine enthusiasm and a keen observation in his message that felt… real and deeply validating.

San (1:05 am): Next time you’re on a big stage like that, I’m cheering for you from the front row. Promise. I’ll even bring a giant banner with your name on it!! :}

Your heart did a little unexpected flutter at that playful promise. A promise from Choi San, delivered in the quiet intimacy of a late-night text message. You typed out a simple “Thank you :]” but deleted it, feeling it was far too inadequate to express the warmth that was blossoming within you.

You (1:06 am): That means a lot, San-ssi. Really. It’s… reassuring to hear that.

The late-night texts slowly but surely became a more regular, almost anticipated occurrence. They were often initiated by San, usually after both of your demanding schedules had finally wound down for the day, when the rest of the bustling idol world seemed to have finally fallen silent.

They talked about everything and nothing – the unique pressures and unexpected joys of being an idol, their individual musical tastes and surprising shared interests in obscure indie artists, funny and sometimes slightly embarrassing anecdotes from their respective days.

You found yourself genuinely looking forward to these digital exchanges, the quiet intimacy of sharing your thoughts and feelings with someone who seemed to genuinely understand the unique and often isolating pressures you faced in the industry.

San was surprisingly easy to talk to, his digital persona mirroring the warm and playful energy he exuded in person, but with an added layer of thoughtful curiosity. His texts were often punctuated with a liberal use of playful emojis and genuine, insightful questions.

He’d delve into your songwriting process, asking about your lyrical inspirations and the emotions you aimed to convey through your music. He even remembered the name of your guitar, Shadow, and would occasionally ask about it, curious about its history and your connection to it.

You found yourself opening up to him in a way you hadn’t with many others in the industry, the relative anonymity and unspoken understanding of the late-night messages creating a safe and comfortable space for vulnerability.

One particularly hectic afternoon, in the midst of a chaotic day of back-to-back schedules that included a radio interview and a photoshoot, your phone buzzed with a picture message from San. Your initial thought was that it was probably another funny meme his members had sent him.

But when you opened it, your breath hitched slightly. It was a selfie of him, looking slightly tired but grinning broadly, his dark hair a little tousled, holding up a piece of slightly crumpled white paper. Scrawled on it in playful, slightly uneven lettering, adorned with a few charmingly crooked doodles, were the words: “Team Y/N”. He’d even drawn a little stick figure playing a guitar next to your name, its shape endearingly lopsided.

A genuine, unguarded smile bloomed on your face, chasing away some of the day’s accumulated stress. You quickly saved the picture to a private album in your gallery, tucking it away amongst your personal photos, a secret little treasure.

Every now and then, when the relentless pressures of the industry felt particularly overwhelming or isolating, you’d find yourself subconsciously scrolling through your gallery and stumbling upon that silly, heartfelt selfie, and a wave of unexpected warmth and quiet support would wash over you, a tangible reminder of the connection you were slowly building. The late-night whispers in the digital darkness were undeniably weaving a delicate but strengthening thread of something special and undeniably personal between you and Choi San.

The Golden Disc Awards ceremony was a blur of flashing lights, roaring applause, and the nervous energy that permeated every corner of the massive venue. Your collaboration stage with Ateez had been a resounding success.

The ballad, initially a gentle blend of your vocals and San’s, had built in intensity, culminating in the powerful instrumental break where your guitar solo intertwined seamlessly with Ateez’s dynamic performance. The crowd had been captivated, a sea of glowing lightsticks swaying in unison.

Backstage, the atmosphere was electric with post-performance adrenaline. You exchanged exhausted but exhilarated smiles with the Ateez members, a sense of shared accomplishment hanging in the air. San’s eyes had met yours a few times amidst the congratulatory chaos, a soft, knowing smile passing between you that spoke volumes without uttering a single word.

As the evening progressed, and the awards ceremony moved onto other performances and announcements, the opportunity for a private moment felt increasingly elusive. Yet, a silent understanding seemed to exist between you and San, a shared desire to acknowledge the unspoken feelings that had been simmering beneath the surface of rehearsals and late-night texts.

Finally, during a brief intermission, amidst the flurry of idols heading to the refreshment areas or making quick phone calls, San caught your eye from across the bustling backstage corridor. He offered a subtle nod towards a less-trafficked hallway leading towards the emergency exits, a silent invitation.

Your heart skipped a beat. You made a quick excuse to your manager about needing some fresh air and followed him, your steps light with a mixture of anticipation and nervous excitement.

The hallway was dimly lit and blessedly quiet, a stark contrast to the vibrant chaos you’d just escaped. San was leaning against the cool wall, his hands tucked into the pockets of his stylish stage jacket. He looked up as you approached, his usual playful energy replaced by a soft, almost vulnerable expression.

A comfortable silence settled between you for a moment, the unspoken tension thick in the air. You fiddled with the hem of your dress, your gaze fixed on the patterned carpet.

“That was… incredible,” you murmured, breaking the silence, the adrenaline of the performance still coursing through you. “Thank you for… for everything during rehearsals. It was amazing working with you all.”

San pushed himself off the wall, taking a step closer. His gaze was intense, focused solely on you. “The pleasure was all ours, Y/N-ah. Your playing… it added a whole other dimension to the song.” He paused, then his voice softened. “But you know… tonight… when we were performing…”

You finally lifted your gaze to meet his, a question in your eyes.

You murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, the words feeling both inevitable and terrifying to voice, “You weren’t looking at the audience tonight, San-ssi. Not really. You were looking at me.”

A soft, almost shy smile spread across his face, a smile that reached his eyes and made your heart do that familiar little flip. He took another step closer, closing the remaining distance between you.

“Yeah,” he admitted, his voice low and husky, his gaze never leaving yours. “Yeah, I was. And you’re right.” He took a deep breath, as if gathering his courage. “That’s… that’s when I knew I was in trouble.”

He reached out, his fingers gently brushing against your hand, sending a jolt of electricity through you. He didn’t take your hand fully, but the light touch was enough.

“From the moment I saw you on that Gayo stage,” he continued, his voice earnest and sincere, “there was something… I don’t know. Something about your passion, your talent… it just… it hit me. Hard.” He chuckled softly, a nervous sound. “And then getting to know you during rehearsals, those late-night texts… it just confirmed what I was already starting to feel.”

He finally met your gaze fully, his eyes filled with a vulnerability that mirrored your own. “I… I really like you, [Your Stage Name]-ah. A lot. And I know this is probably crazy, especially with our careers and everything… but I wanted to be honest with you. I want to give this a real shot. If… if you’re okay with it.”

The sincerity in his voice, the gentle touch of his fingers, the vulnerability in his eyes – it all washed over you, confirming the feelings that had been quietly blossoming in your own heart. The late-night conversations, the stolen glances during rehearsals, the unexpected warmth of his attention – it had all pointed to this moment.

A soft smile bloomed on your own lips, mirroring his. You finally laced your fingers through his, your touch tentative but firm.

“San-ssi,” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly, “I… I like you too. A lot more than I probably should.” You took a deep breath, your gaze locked with his. “I was… I was falling too.”

A wave of relief washed over his face, his grip on your hand tightening gently. The quiet hallway suddenly felt like the only place in the world, the hushed silence amplifying the unspoken emotions that hung between you. In that dimly lit space, amidst the whirlwind of the idol world, a new chapter had quietly begun.

The initial secrecy of your relationship with San was a fragile, precious thing. It thrived in the quiet moments, in the stolen glances across crowded rooms, and the coded language of late-night texts. Small, tangible tokens of affection became your secret communication.

Notes, folded into impossibly small squares, would appear nestled amongst the strings of Shadow, San’s playful handwriting a stark contrast to the serious intent of his sweet messages. Bubble teas, delivered with a knowing smile by a staff member who’d clearly been briefed, were a small, sweet rebellion against the demands of your schedules. You, in turn, would leave little gifts in Ateez’s studio, a silent acknowledgment of the connection that was growing stronger with each passing day.

But the digital world offered no true sanctuary. The leaked photo, blurry and taken from a distance, was enough to shatter the illusion of privacy. Two figures, walking hand-in-hand under the dim glow of a streetlamp – San’s unmistakable silhouette, your smaller frame – were all it took to ignite the internet.

The explosion was immediate and brutal. Comment sections became battlegrounds, initial curiosity quickly morphing into a torrent of negativity. Accusations of using San for fame were rampant, your talent dismissed, your worth questioned. “She’s just a leech!” one comment screamed. “Riding on Ateez’s success!”

The rigid expectations of idol life fueled the fire. “A rookie dating? Unbelievable!” another user fumed. “She should be focused on her career, not boys!” The attacks grew increasingly personal, descending into cruel insults about your appearance and unfounded rumors about your character. “She’s so plain,” one anonymous commenter sneered. “No wonder she has to cling to someone famous.”

Yet, in the face of this online onslaught, your fans stood firm. They defended your talent, your hard work, your right to a private life. “Leave her alone! She’s an amazing artist!” their voices echoed across the digital space. Surprisingly, a significant number of ATINYs joined their ranks, their support for San extending to his personal happiness. “If San is happy, we should be happy for him,” one ATINY wrote, a sentiment that resonated with many.

Despite this unwavering support, the sheer volume of hate was overwhelming. The negativity seeped into the real world. Your company’s social media was flooded with abusive messages. Your manager’s phone rang non-stop with angry calls.

Then came the chilling delivery. A stark white box. Inside, funeral flowers – white chrysanthemums. A typed note, its words a venomous threat, a stark warning to stay away from San.

The sight of those flowers, a tangible manifestation of such intense hatred, sent a cold wave of fear through you. The joy of your new relationship was instantly poisoned.

San, who had been watching the online storm with growing fury, finally snapped when he learned about the funeral flowers. The image of those stark white blooms, the direct threat against you, ignited a protective rage. He couldn't stand by while you were subjected to such vicious malice.

The playful, loving man you were falling for was momentarily consumed by a fierce, unwavering determination to shield you from the darkness that had descended upon you.

The notification popped up on countless screens simultaneously: “ATEEZ San is live.” Within seconds, the number of viewers skyrocketed. Fans, still reeling from the leaked photo and the ensuing chaos, flooded the chat with questions and worried emojis. San’s lives were usually energetic, filled with playful banter and updates on Ateez’s activities. This felt different.

The camera focused on San’s face, his expression uncharacteristically serious, his eyes holding a raw intensity that made viewers instantly fall silent. He was in what looked like a quiet corner of their dorm, the usual playful clutter noticeably absent. He took a deep breath, his gaze steady and direct.

“Atinys,” he began, his voice lower than usual, carrying a weight that commanded attention. “And… everyone else who is watching.”

He paused, his gaze sweeping across the unseen viewers. “Over the past few days, there has been a lot of… speculation and negativity online. Regarding the recent photos that were circulated.”

He didn’t name you directly, but everyone knew who he was talking about. The chat, which had been a torrent of messages moments before, slowed to a crawl, a collective holding of breath.

“I usually try to keep my personal life private,” San continued, his voice firm. “But the level of hate and maliciousness that has been directed towards… someone I care deeply about… it cannot be ignored.”

His jaw tightened. “So, I want to be clear about a few things. Firstly, the hateful comments, the personal attacks, the threats… they have gone too far. My company, KQ Entertainment, is already collecting evidence, and if this does not stop immediately, we will be taking strict legal action against those responsible. This is not a request; it is a warning.”

A hush fell over the internet. The mention of legal action, especially from a company known for its protective stance towards its artists, was a serious deterrent.

San’s gaze softened slightly, a hint of vulnerability flickering in his eyes. “Secondly,” he continued, his voice dropping a notch, becoming more personal. “I have seen a lot of unfair accusations being thrown around. Especially towards… her.”

He paused again, taking another deep breath. “So, let me be absolutely clear on this. She did not pursue me. She did not initiate anything. If anyone is to blame for… for us… it is me. I was the one who was captivated from the moment I saw her on stage. I was the one who sought her out. She didn’t confess; I did.”

The impact of his words was palpable. The narrative that had been so viciously constructed online, painting you as an opportunistic rookie, crumbled in an instant.

San’s expression hardened again, his eyes blazing with a fierce protectiveness. “Finally,” he said, his voice ringing with conviction. “The person you are all attacking… she is not some fantasy you have created in your minds. She is not some character in a story. She is a real person. She has feelings, she has dreams, she has worked incredibly hard to get where she is.”

He looked directly into the camera, his gaze unwavering. “And yes,” he stated, his voice firm and resolute, each word carrying weight. “She is mine.”

The internet seemed to hold its breath. The usual rapid-fire commentary in the live chat was replaced by a stunned silence. San’s raw honesty, his direct address of the hate, and his unequivocal declaration had landed like a shockwave.

Slowly, tentatively, the tide began to turn. The sheer force of his statement, coupled with the explicit threat of legal action, had a chilling effect. The most vicious hate comments began to subside, replaced by more cautious and uncertain messages. The fear of facing legal repercussions started to outweigh the anonymity and perceived impunity of online hate.

The narrative had shifted, propelled by San’s unwavering defense of the person he loved. The silence on the internet was heavy, pregnant with the aftermath of his words, and the dawning realization that they had crossed a line they might now have to answer for.

The moment San ended the live stream, the adrenaline that had coursed through him began to recede, leaving behind a raw ache of anxiety. Had he said too much? Had he made things worse for you? The uncertainty gnawed at him as he practically sprinted out of the dorm, his members watching with a mixture of concern and understanding. He didn't offer any explanations, his only focus was getting to you.

The drive to your dorm felt like an eternity. Every red light, every slow-moving car, amplified his fear. He imagined you alone, facing the fallout of the scandal, the weight of the hate, and now, the potential repercussions of his public declaration. He cursed himself for not being there sooner, for not being able to shield you from any of it.

Finally, he reached your building, his heart pounding in his chest. He practically flew up the stairs to your floor, his knuckles rapping urgently against your door. Every second felt like a lifetime.

The door creaked open, and there you stood. Your eyes were red-rimmed, and your face was pale, but the sight of him seemed to bring a flicker of relief. Before either of you could speak, he pulled you into a tight embrace, his arms wrapping around you with a fierce protectiveness. He held you so close he could feel the tremor that ran through your body.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured into your hair, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m so, so sorry for all of this.”

You clung to him, burying your face in his chest, the familiar scent of his cologne a small anchor in the storm of your emotions. Your own voice was muffled against his jacket as you finally spoke.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, San-ah,” you whispered, your words catching on a sob. “You… you didn’t cause this.”

The dam of your carefully held emotions finally broke. Tears streamed down your face, hot and heavy against his shirt. The fear, the anger, the exhaustion of the past few days – it all poured out in a torrent of silent weeping.

He held you tighter, his hand stroking your hair soothingly. He didn’t try to stop your tears; he simply held you, offering a silent reassurance, a solid presence in your moment of vulnerability. He knew words were inadequate. What you needed was comfort, understanding, and the knowledge that you weren't alone.

He held you like that for a long time, until your sobs gradually subsided, leaving behind a quiet hiccuping. He gently pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his own filled with a deep tenderness. He brushed a stray tear from your cheek with his thumb.

“Are you… are you okay?” he asked softly, his voice laced with concern.

You managed a small, shaky nod. “Just… scared.”

“I know,” he whispered, pulling you back into his embrace. “I know. But I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

He stayed with you that night. You didn’t talk much, the silence filled with a comfortable understanding, a shared exhaustion. He held you close on your small couch, his presence a warm and reassuring weight. Sleep eventually claimed you both, a fragile peace found in each other’s arms amidst the wreckage of the scandal.

The aftermath of San’s live stream was a strange mix of relief and lingering tension. The most vitriolic hate comments online did indeed slow down, replaced by a hesitant uncertainty. The fear of legal action had cast a pall over the most aggressive antis. However, the underlying prejudice and negativity hadn’t vanished entirely.

In the days and weeks that followed, healing became a slow, deliberate process. You leaned on each other, finding strength in your shared experience. San was a constant source of support, his presence a quiet reassurance that helped to soothe your frayed nerves. You talked, tentatively at first, then more openly, sharing your fears and anxieties. He listened without judgment, offering comfort and unwavering support.

Your company, emboldened by San’s public stance and the threat of legal action, stepped up their efforts to protect you, increasing security and actively pursuing legal avenues against the most egregious offenders. The storm hadn't completely passed, but the intensity had lessened, a fragile calm beginning to settle in its wake. The healing had begun, nurtured by the quiet strength of your connection.

Eleven months. The memory of the scandal’s harsh glare had begun to soften around the edges, like a photograph left in the sun. In its place bloomed a quiet resilience, a steadfast focus on the music that truly defined you. The songs you’d poured your heart into during those months of healing, each note and lyric a testament to your journey, were finally seeing the light.

Your new album, a collection of melodies that whispered of romance and longing, resonated with a global audience in a way that surpassed all expectations. The vulnerability and emotions in your voice, the delicate arrangements, the raw honesty of your lyrics – they spoke a universal language of the heart. Fans, who had witnessed the subtle shifts in your music and your demeanor, intuitively understood the quiet inspiration woven into each track.

You watched, a profound sense of gratitude washing over you, as your album soared up international charts, your name now synonymous with a unique blend of idol charm and genuine musical artistry. The label of “rookie guitarist” had faded, replaced by the recognition of a rising star, your music captivating hearts across continents.

Throughout this whirlwind of success, San remained your unwavering anchor, your most enthusiastic supporter. His encouragement was a constant, a quiet strength that buoyed you through every demanding schedule and nerve-wracking performance. He’d be the first to text after a show, his messages a flurry of emojis and heartfelt praise. The Ateez dorm often echoed with your new tracks, his members offering good-natured teases while secretly humming along to the catchy melodies.

And when your solo concerts began, San made sure he was there. He’d often slip into the venue unnoticed, a face in the crowd, his gaze never leaving you as you commanded the stage. From the shadows, his phone would capture fleeting moments – the intense concentration etched on your face during a complex guitar solo, the radiant smile that bloomed when the audience sang your lyrics back to you, the sheer joy that radiated from you as you connected with your fans through your music. His phone gallery became a secret testament to your talent and the pride he felt.

One night, after an electrifying concert in Las Vegas, the energy between you and the roaring audience a tangible force, San felt an overwhelming wave of love and admiration. He wanted the world to know the depth of his feelings, the sheer luck he felt in having you in his life.

Back in his hotel room, the glittering cityscape spread out before him, he scrolled through the candid shots he’d taken that night. He selected a few that truly captured your essence – the focused intensity in your eyes as you played, the pure joy in your laughter as you interacted with the crowd, your silhouette a powerful presence against the vibrant stage lights.

He opened his public Instagram account, his thumb hovering over the share button. He wanted to express his feelings honestly, openly, for all to see. Finally, he typed a caption, his heart laid bare:

“Watching you shine so brightly tonight, Y/N, fills me with a happiness I can barely describe. Your talent is breathtaking, your passion is infectious, and the way you connect with everyone who hears your music is truly magical. I feel incredibly lucky, every single day, to have you in my life. You inspire me endlessly. ❤️🎸”

He attached the soft, candid photos, a public declaration of his love and admiration. The post went live, and the internet responded with an outpouring of warmth and support. Fans, who had long sensed the depth of your connection, were touched by his heartfelt words and the genuine pride that shone through.

The image of the charismatic idol so openly celebrating his partner resonated deeply, solidifying their perception of your relationship as a source of strength and inspiration. The rise of your star was no longer just your own triumph; it was a shared journey, a testament to the enduring power of love that had weathered the storm and now shone brightly for the world to witness.

The relentless pace of idol life often blurred into a continuous cycle of performances, recordings, and travel. But tucked away in the quiet corners of their shared apartment, a haven carved out amidst the chaos, existed a different reality – a space where the bright lights faded and the masks came off.

Tonight was one of those nights. You were curled up on the plush couch, a worn paperback novel open in your lap, bathed in the soft glow of a nearby lamp. San’s oversized hoodie swallowed your small frame, the sleeves pulled down over your hands. Your hair was piled messily on top of your head, secured with a stray hair tie, and your glasses rested on the bridge of your nose, your makeup-free skin looking soft and natural. You were completely absorbed in your book, oblivious to the world outside and the adoring gaze fixed upon you.

San, who had been quietly tinkering with some music equipment across the room, paused, his eyes drawn to the picture of domestic bliss you presented. A soft smile touched his lips. He reached for his phone, snapping a quick, candid photo of you, your brow furrowed in concentration as you turned a page.

Without a word, he opened his phone settings and set the photo as his wallpaper, a private reminder of the quiet joy you brought to his life. You remained engrossed in your book, completely unaware of his silent adoration and the new image gracing his phone screen.

A mischievous glint suddenly sparked in San’s eyes. He moved silently towards the couch, a playful grin spreading across his face. In one swift motion, he scooped you up in his arms, lifting you with surprising ease.

“San!” you exclaimed, your eyes widening in surprise as you were suddenly airborne. The book tumbled to the floor, landing with a soft thud.

He carried you the few steps to the bedroom, his grin widening with each flustered protest you made. “Operation: Relocate the Bookworm!” he declared in a mock-heroic voice. With a playful grunt, he gently tossed you onto the soft mattress.

You landed with a soft bounce, your glasses askew, your heart hammering in your chest. You stared up at him, wide-eyed and breathless. “Oh my god, San, I’m a virgin I don’t think you’ll fit—”

San froze mid-chuckle, his playful expression instantly morphing into one of utter shock. He stood there, a statue of bewildered surprise, his mouth slightly agape, his eyebrows practically reaching his hairline.

A beat of stunned silence hung in the air, broken only by your slightly panicked breathing. Then, a slow dawning of realization crossed San’s face, followed by a flicker of something akin to amusement struggling to break through the surprise.

“…I was trying to cuddle?” he finally managed, his voice a hesitant whisper, a bewildered question mark hanging in the air. He even gestured vaguely with his hands, as if demonstrating the concept of a platonic embrace.

Another beat of silence. Your eyes widened further, the color rising in your cheeks as the full implication of your utterly mortifying statement hit you. You squeezed your eyes shut, wishing the floor would swallow you whole.

San’s eyebrows shot up even higher. “…Wait,” he said slowly, his gaze searching yours with a mixture of disbelief and dawning understanding. “You’ve never—?” He trailed off, a slow, knowing smile starting to play on his lips.

Your face flushed a deep, uncontrollable crimson. You became a flustered mess of tangled limbs and stammered denials. “NO! I mean… I’m waiting… I—ugh! This is so unbelievably embarrassing! Can we just… can we just forget I said anything?” You buried your face in the pillows, mortified beyond words.

A soft chuckle rumbled in San’s chest, a sound that held genuine amusement but also a surprising tenderness. He gently sat on the edge of the bed, reaching out to carefully pull you into his arms. You kept your face hidden, your cheeks burning like twin embers.

“Hey, sunshine,” he murmured softly, his lips brushing against your temple. “It’s okay. Really. There’s absolutely no pressure, no expectations. You take all the time you need, okay? I’m not going anywhere.” He held you close, his arms a comforting and reassuring embrace. He kissed your temple again, a lingering, tender gesture.

A playful smirk tugged at his lips, and a mischievous glint returned to his eyes. “But,” he whispered, his voice laced with amusement, “I am definitely teasing you about this forever. You know that, right? Like, for the rest of our lives.”

You groaned into his chest, but a small, reluctant smile finally broke through your embarrassment. “Oh, you wouldn’t dare,” you mumbled, though the lack of conviction in your voice betrayed you.

“Oh, I would dare,” he said, his chuckle deepening. “In fact, I’m already planning the anniversary celebrations for ‘The Night Sunshine Thought I Wouldn’t Fit.’” He punctuated his words with a playful squeeze.

You swatted playfully at his arm, your face still buried in his chest. “It’s not funny!”

“It’s a little funny,” he countered, his voice full of mirth. “Especially the look on your face. Priceless. I should have taken a picture.” He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Maybe I still can? For posterity?” He made a mock attempt to reach for his phone.

You tightened your grip on his hoodie. “Don’t you even think about it, Choi San.”

He laughed, a warm, genuine sound that filled the room. “Alright, alright. My lips are sealed… for now. But just so you know, the next time we’re cuddling, and you look even remotely tense…” He trailed off suggestively, raising a playful eyebrow.

You playfully punched his arm again, a giggle escaping despite your lingering embarrassment. “You are the worst.”

“The worst… but you love me,” he finished, nuzzling his face into your hair.

You sighed contentedly, the warmth of his embrace chasing away the last vestiges of your mortification. “Unfortunately,” you mumbled into his chest.

“See? Admitted it,” he teased triumphantly. “Now, about that book you were reading… maybe we can cuddle and just read?” He emphasized the word “just” with a playful wink that you couldn’t see but could definitely feel in his tone.

You finally lifted your head, a genuine smile gracing your lips. “Maybe,” you said, leaning into him. “But if you even think about bringing up the ‘fitting’ thing again…”

He grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Wouldn’t dream of it… for at least five minutes.”

You rolled your eyes, but the laughter bubbling in your chest was a testament to the comfortable, playful love that defined your quiet moments together, even the hilariously awkward ones. In the safe haven of their shared home, amidst the endless teasing and the deep, unwavering affection, their unique and tender story continued to unfold, one laugh, one cuddle, and one mortifyingly iconic misunderstanding at a time.

-- The end <33

#:(((( this was so sweet i love it #🍑 favs

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