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trashytracktales · 3 months ago

Note

hey gurlll first thing first id like to say that im IN LOVE with ur fics. not to be dramatic but im seriously on my knees whenever u post bcs how do u write them so GOODD😭😭😭😭 so i have a request hehe🤭 u can totally ignore this. no pressure!

if u would consider this, hear me out. lando and reader are childhood best friends. they are like two peas in a pot but something made them fought (nothing specific, u can write anything!) that had them not talking for almost 6 months which never happens. since they have the same circle of friends, they got invited to a vacation in portugal. the tension between them is like WOW. then one night, when everyone was already asleep, they had another argument maybe make it like an angry confession that leads them to ANGSTY HOT LONGING YEARNING MINDBLOWING SEX but turns out it was one sided where reader kinda disappeared the next morning lol idk u can imagine the rest. OK THANKS LOVE YA💋

Not quite us | LN⁴

🛥 summary ──── A cold winter fight shatters their friendship, but it’s the heat of the Portuguese sun that brings them back together, months later.

🛥 pairing ──── Lando Norris x fem best friend!reader

🛥 rating ──── explicit

🛥 warnings ──── 18+, mature/sexual content, descriptive language, mentions of drinking, angst and emotional tension, arguments, swearing, jealousy, smut, unprotected sex, manhandling, passive-aggressive behavior, pining, emotional miscommunication, past relationship dynamics.

🛥 word count ──── 8.6k

🛥 date ──── Apr. 23, 2025

🛥 a/n ──── Wrote this one straight off the vibes, just went with the flow and let the request guide me here and there. Sometimes the chaos cooks itself, so I hope you guys enjoy it either way ♥︎

IT’S NEW YEAR’S, and Lando would have a lot more fun if he stopped looking across the room every twenty seconds. But he can’t help himself. If someone looked at him right now, it would be so easy to read it in his body language: he is exasperated, beyond frustrated, and maybe a little drunk. His fingers encircle his glass so tightly that his knuckles have turned white, and his jaw clenches every time he sees the way she flinches when her boyfriend talks back to her.

Suddenly, the music gets too loud, the champagne is too warm, and even if he’s trying his damn hardest to pretend otherwise, his night is completely ruined.

She’s sitting on the edge of a sectional couch with her phone clutched in one hand, refusing to look up at her man, her face carefully blank in a way that screams something is wrong. All it takes is a blink of an eye and he walks towards the exit, visibly annoyed, leaving her behind.

Lando frowns while taking another sip of his drink, forcing a smile as one of his friends says something he doesn’t quite register. Still, he nods along anyway. But all he can think about is her. The girl he’s known since he was seven years old. The one who always matched his chaotic energy. The only one who managed to beat him at Mario Kart and made fun of his haircuts and once almost peed herself laughing during a round of mini golf when they were thirteen.

His best friend.

Or at least, she used to be.

It has been different for a while. They only see each other at events now, like birthday parties and New Year’s gatherings. It sucks, but it’s better than not seeing her at all.

It started shifting the day she met her boyfriend — some guy from uni, older than her, quieter, a bit too polished for Lando’s liking. She said he made her feel seen. Lando didn’t say anything then, just nodded, smiled and pretended he wasn’t dying a little inside.

He told himself he was just being protective, but truth is, he never liked the guy. Something about him felt off, and Lando noticed it in the way he was too controlling and dismissive at times. But Lando had no proof, therefore, no real reason to speak up. So, he stayed quiet. Let the distance grow. Let the invites slow. Let her disappear into another life that didn’t include him the way it used to.

There are a few minutes left until midnight, and he’s still watching her. She smoothes her dress with the palm of her hand, breathes slowly a few times, then gets up from the couch, apologizing with a small smile every time she bumps into other people in her path. Then, she disappears down the hallway, shoulders hunched, phone still in her hand. Her head is down, like she’s trying to avoid any potential encounter. At that sight, something in Lando twists and, for a moment, he thinks she’s going after her boyfriend, his body instinctively tensing. But he relaxes when he realizes she’s just turned right instead, stepping out onto the balcony.

Without thinking, he sets his empty glass down and slips away from the crowd, past the streamers and glitter and flickering lights, heading in the same direction she went. It doesn’t surprise him when he finds her deep in thought, typing on her phone then shoving it angrily into her purse.

Her back is facing him, arms folded over the railing now, the cold air nipping at her exposed shoulders. She must be freezing, but she doesn’t seem to mind. She’s also not turning when she hears more steps, then the door closing.

She lets out a breath, but it’s not relief. More like she’s trying not to cry. “Hey, Lan.”

She doesn’t need to turn around to know it’s him. They’ve spent so much time in each other’s company that she’s memorized his footsteps, the sound of his sigh and the hesitation in his voice before he speaks whenever he’s unsure of his words.

Lando pauses a few feet behind her, careful, like he’s afraid she’ll shatter if he’s too loud. “You alright?”

Without waiting for her to answer, Lando just shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over her shoulders from behind. The girl stiffens for a second, then lets his scent settle around her like a familiar comfort.

She knows things that no one knows about him, like the way his laugh changes depending on who he’s with, but the real one, the high-pitched one that sounds like a hyena giving birth, only comes out when he’s with his friends. She can tell when he’s nervous just by the way he starts tapping his fingers against his thigh. She knows he prefers sleeping with the fan on, even during the winter, that he can’t eat spicy food without tearing up, and that he pretends to like certain people just to keep the peace.

Her best friend.

Or at least, he used to be.

“He left,” she finally says, her voice just a whisper.

Lando moves to stand beside her, copying her posture. “What happened?”

“He said he was going home, but I don’t know.”

He blinks, confused. “Midnight’s in, like… five minutes?”

She shrugs, wiping under her eye with a knuckle, trying to be discreet. “Yeah, well. Apparently I was laughing too loud and drinking too much and fooling around. I was embarrassing him. So he left.”

Lando stares at her, stunned. “It’s a party. What the fuck is he expecting you to do? Sit quietly in the corner and sip water?”

Her laugh is short and sad around the edges, “No, but I know he doesn’t like it when I’m loud or hyper or… whatever.”

There’s a long pause in which she reconsiders her behavior, thinking that maybe her boyfriend is right. Meanwhile, Lando tries to find the right words to counter every single lie that asshole has fed her, the annoyance flooding back in. He turns his head to look at her, and her profile knocks the wind out of him. Her eyes are wet and tired, like she’s trying to hold herself together for longer than just tonight.

“Don’t listen to him,” says Lando quietly, playfully bumping his shoulder against hers, “I love your loud laugh.”

She looks over at him then, a warm wave of safety covering her from head to toe, despite the cold that feels like it cuts across the skin of her face. The words settle heavy between them: I love your laugh. Not ‘it’s nice’. Not ‘it suits you’. I love it. It means more than he probably meant it to. Or maybe it means exactly what he’s never had the guts to say out loud. Until now.

Lando swallows before continuing, “I don’t get it,” he says, “You should be with someone who wants to hear you, no matter how loud or hyper you are. Who knows how lucky they are to be in your presence.” She laughs, as if dismissing his words, but Lando insists, “I’m serious. I still don’t understand why you’re with him.”

The girl lets out a shaky breath, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. “He wasn’t always like this.”

“I know.”

Lando’s answer sounds a little too sarcastic and, in response, the silence stretches between them once again. But it’s not empty this time. It’s charged. Heavy with everything they’ve never talked about, and all the months they spent apart.

She turns her eyes back to the view, but her fingers tug his jacket tighter around her body. And then, without looking at him, she speaks again, “No, you don’t. We didn’t talk much lately, so you wouldn’t know.”

Lando wastes no time, “And whose fault is it?”

She shifts her body towards him abruptly, “What is that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs. “Dunno. It was just a question.”

“Right,” she nods once. “I don’t even know why I’m talking to you about it. I guess I just… needed my friend for a minute.”

Lando nods too, and steps close enough that their arms brush. Before she can say anything else, he leans in, uncertain but determined, and wraps his arms around her. Her cheek presses against his shoulder, seeking his comfort. The only problem is that there’s nothing casual about how Lando’s heart starts to race. His arms come around her tightly, holding her like his life depends on it, even though she’s the one that’s been ditched by her boyfriend on New Year’s.

They stay like that for a while, their breaths fogging between them in the cold night air. The space they share gets warmer, which makes her snuggle into his chest. She smells like citrus and champagne and every memory he’s ever tried not to think about too hard when he was missing her.

The girl pulls back slightly, enough that her face is tilted up toward his. And when he reaches to cup her cheek, her skin is smooth beneath his palm, her lips slightly parted like she might say something, but doesn’t. They just stare at each other, the same way you only look at someone when you’ve missed them for too long, and you’re finally close enough to touch but terrified to move any further, thinking that maybe they’re not even real.

The countdown begins in the background, a little muffled through the glass door, people shouting numbers like a slow drumbeat from the inside.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

“Break up with him,” Lando’s voice cuts through the haze, rougher than he intended.

One.

The cheers erupt from every direction. The sky bursts into a sea of light above them, fireworks flaring gold, silver, and pink. The noise is distant, like it’s happening on another planet. They wouldn’t know, because they don’t even look. Instead, her eyes are still searching his, confused and a little broken.

He could lean in and take it all, just this once, and blame it on the alcohol.

But she blinks, breaking the ephemeral magic of the moment. She takes a step back, then another, slow and cautious, until she’s out of his arms. “What?”

Lando doesn’t move. “You deserve better.”

“Lando…”

“No,” he shakes his head. “He treats you like shit,” his voice rises gradually, dipped in more emotion than he probably wants to show, “And I don’t know what’s worse: that you know it or that you allow it.”

She looks at him as if Lando is shapeshifting right before her eyes, and he does it far too quickly for her to have time to process.

“Stop assuming things about me,” she warns, all the warmth between them dissolving in an instant. “You don’t know.”

“I know he should’ve been here, kissing you right now. I know he made you cry instead,” he says, stepping forward, closing the distance that she put between them earlier. “I know he left you at a party alone because you were laughing too loud,” he continues, mockingly. “Do you hear how fucking ridiculous that sounds?”

Her voice is sharper next time she speaks, “You don’t know the full story, Lando. He asked me to go home with him, but—”

“I don’t care,” he interrupts her. “Looks like he ditches you whenever you’re too much for him. And I can bet this isn’t the first time he’s made you cry, is it?”

She scoffs, “Oh, so now you’re paying attention?” she asks, adopting a defensive attitude. “It’s been months since you’ve shown any interest in me.”

Lando flinches like she just slapped him. “You’re the one who stopped showing up. It’s cause you’ve gotten busier. With him, eh?”

“Smooth, Lando,” she fires back in a disappointed voice. “You pulled away first,” she reminds him, pointing a finger at his chest; tears threaten her eyes again, but she blinks rapidly to clear them away.

“Yeah, because I didn’t know where I fit anymore,” he says, his voice cracking around the edge of frustration. “You were always with him. Always defending him. I didn’t want to be that friend who hovered too close or some asshole that oversteps your boundaries. Because, believe me, I was so close to cross a lot of those before deciding to back the fuck up.”

She stares at him, incredulous, as if all the months they have been apart have completely changed her childhood best friend. “So, instead of talking to me, you just ghosted me? Very mature.”

Lando’s jaw tightens before replying, “I needed space.”

“You disappeared,” she corrects him. “You didn’t just take space. You shut me out.”

“That was me respecting your sorry ass relationship.”

“No,” she laughs dryly. “You were trying to make a point.”

Maybe, Lando thinks, looking away. But that’s not the whole truth. It’s painful, not to mention frustrating, to watch someone you care about being treated badly. It may have been selfish on his part, but Lando couldn’t stand by and watch the girl who deserved it all get only a piece of it.

“You don’t like him,” she continues, voice quieter now. “I get that. But instead of saying it, you just judged me from a distance.”

“No, I don’t like him,” he admits. “Matter of fact, I despise the guy. But not just because of who he is. It’s because he changes you.”

Her eyes narrow. “That’s not true.”

Lando laughs, but he’s not amused in the slighlest. “You went from having fun to crying in a matter of minutes. Because of him. How many times has this happened before?”

“He never—” she tries to warn him, before Lando cuts her off again.

“Keep defending him,” he says, irritated. “Because God forbid someone call you out when you’re being steamrolled by someone who doesn’t see your worth.”

“And God forbid you admit that maybe you’re not always right!” she snaps. “You don’t get to parachute in and act like some moral compass. If that’s the case, where the hell have you been all this time?”

The question silences them both. He can’t say too much without saying it all, and she’s waiting for something that won’t get to her. Not yet.

Disappointed, hurt, and extremely tired, she shrugs his jacket off and throws it at his chest. “Happy fucking New Year.”

𝟳 𝗠𝗢𝗡𝗧𝗛𝗦 𝗟𝗔𝗧𝗘𝗥

📍 Somewhere off the Algarve coast, Portugal

AFTER THE HECTIC life she’s lived in the past few months, a weeklong yacht trip along the Portuguese coast is all she needs. Blue water, rosé on deck, and most importantly, no drama.

She says yes before she even checks the guest list, but that shouldn’t be a problem. Everybody in their group knows about the social distancing between her and Lando. Plus, she always checks his calendar, keeping an eye out for the weekends he’s away, racing, meaning she can tag along without stressing that they’re going to bump into each other.

Of course, she still watches his races. Just because they stop talking that doesn’t mean she stopped caring about the dream that Lando has been striving for since childhood. That’s also why she knows that Lando will be in the UK for at least another week, as he mentioned in the post-race interview, which won’t interfere with their little getaway.

By Friday, however, things change drastically. It’s only when she’s already halfway to the marina — after spending the entire afternoon shopping with the girls — that Max texts her.

BTW, just so you’re not surprised… Lando is flying in tonight. I know things aren’t great between you two right now, but he’s still my friend as much as you are, and I didn’t wanna lie or make it weird :D

You okay?

For a moment, everything seems to slow down, including her heartbeat. All the sounds that surrounds her fade into the background, while she tries to steady herself against the sudden rush of emotions.

Is she okay? Well, for the most part yes. But that’s because she haven’t seen Lando in months. There are many ways she can react when they’ll finally be face to face again, and she can’t decide which is worse. But in the end, it doesn’t even matter, because she simply doesn’t have the time to analyze every scenario.

I’ll survive, she texts back.

She will.

She has to.

It gets dark pretty late, but the night is warm, balmy with salt and wine in the air. They decorated the boat’s upper deck with a string of lanterns, their golden glow flickering against the white hull, gently illuminating the space. The music thumps lazily from a speaker somewhere, low enough not to overwhelm the sea’s waves but steady enough to pulse through bare feet on smooth wood.

Someone’s uncorking another bottle of vinho verde, and a few of the girls are still in their swimsuits, legs tucked beneath oversized linen shirts as they lounge across sun-warmed cushions.

She’s also barefoot, her skin kissed pink from the day, a loose skirt swaying at her thighs as she spins around one of the support poles, smiling wide; she decided, hours ago, that she won’t let anything ruin her vacation. It’s the first time in months she’s felt this light, and has no intention to let the feeling be washed away by the waves of a past so distant.

Only when she realizes that she is, in fact, invincible and that nothing can shake her confidence, she hears a familiar laugh, the same one she’ll recognize anywhere. But she doesn’t turn to it immediately. Instead, her body stiffens as fast as if it’s controlled by a remote.

He’s here and, suddenly, the breeze curling in from the sea feels somehow cooler. It’s just a voice, but it’s his, and it sounds so melodic in her ears, even after all this time.

When she finally turns around, all the noise dials down.

Lando’s standing on the deck like he’s never been gone, a duffel thrown over one shoulder, his curls slightly damp from the flight or the heat or the mist. He’s in a loose, black tank top and shorts, his sneakers untied like he didn’t even bother to fix them. He’s already smiling when he sees Max coming to greet him with a drink in hand, sliding easily into hugs and handshakes. Everything is so normal that she almost rushes to the stairs to jump into his arms.

As if he hears her thinking about him, Lando looks up and their eyes catch mid-movement.

The music doesn’t stop. No one freezes. The conversation continues. And yet something just between them shifts, making Lando still for a moment. His smile falters slightly. The duffel slides off his shoulder and drops at his feet. His gaze lingers longer than it should, because he seems genuinely surprised, like he hadn’t expected her to look the way she does — lighter, freer, happier than the last time he saw her.

Like a low-budget movie, they just look at each other for a while and then, barely perceptible, Lando nods once. It is a subtle, tired gesture. Not warm, but not hostile either. More like: I see you. I’ll behave.

And she nods back: I see you too. I’ll try.

That’s all that it is. A small breath of peace in the warzone. Because they both know that this vacation isn’t about them. There are too many people they both love here, too many memories tied up in this group to be so selfish as to ruin everyone’s fun.

With that, Lando disappears below deck with a few of the guys, and the party continues as if nothing happened.

SOMEHOW, THEY’VE MANAGED.

It’s the last night on the boat together, and not once have they really spoken. Just kept on with the civil nods and carefully timed appearances. She took the mornings on the upper deck with a book and her sunglasses pulled low, while he suck to afternoons with Max and Keegan, sunbathing and pretending not to look over when she passed by.

Every time they went out for dinner, they sat at opposite ends of the table, pretending to be invested in conversations that barely held their attention.

When they went to explore the nearby cliffs and hidden beaches, they naturally split into smaller groups, Lando ending up with the boys, as usual, taking the off-road buggy trails that wind through dusty hills, while she tagged along with a few of the girls. They didn’t walk near each other. Didn’t even end up in the same group photo.

But the glances were a constant, and all of them have carried them both here, almost at the end.

There’s a bizzare quiet in the air tonight, the kind that only the sea can create — so deep, violent, and alive at the same time.

After soaking in her own heat for hours, she decides to step out of her cabin for a breath of fresh air.

They’ve ordered seafood for dinner, and her relationship with it is not exactly good. A small breeze brushes across her face, lifting her hair slightly, carrying with it the clean scent of salt. The boat rocks gently beneath her, and the stars above are strewn carelessly across the sky like spilled sugar.

The second she steps into the dark of the corridor and turns toward the small galley, her heart skips a beat. For good reason. Lando’s already there, barefoot and shirtless and deep in thought in the low light, leaning against the railing like he belongs in the night. One of his hands is resting on the cool metal, while the other is wiping the beads of sweat off his forehead.

His head turns when he hears her cat-like steps, eyes catching hers in the dark.

The only sounds are the gentle hush of the waves against the hull, and the occasional creak of the boat. Neither of them says anything, as if they don’t even know how to speak to each other after throwing cutting words at each other, all those months ago. The silence between them doesn’t make them feel awkward. Maybe just a little guarded. However, it’s very depressing, really, not having anything to say to the person who once knew absolutely everything about you.

It would be very easy for her to turn on her heels and walk back into her cabin, avoiding Lando, just like she has done all these days. But then she hears his whispered voice, and his mellow intonation is enough to make the entire planet stop from spinning.

“Everything okay?”

She swallows, caught in the stillness of the night as if she’s a thief. “Yeah,” she whispers back, even though it sounds more like a question than an answer. “Felt a bit sick.”

He nods slowly. “The shrimp?”

“The fucking shrimp,” she agrees.

Lando shrugs. “Ew.”

His reaction triggers a wave of warmth that washes over her, forcing a smile while thinking about the past. The memory flashes rudely uninvited. Still, she weclomes it with nothing but nostalgia in her heart. They were eight, crammed into a bed on a family vacation, and she’d eaten her weight in shrimp and clams at dinner, proudly declaring herself a seafood queen. Hours later, she threw it all up, right there, in bed, all over him. Lando woke up screaming, drenched in the smell of stomach acid, fish and betrayal and, ever since, he couldn’t even stand near a fish without gagging.

Cautious, she edges forward, bracing her arms on the railing only a couple feet apart from him, eyes fixed on the black stretch of sea. The moon paints a silver path across the water, waves shifting like oil under its light. For a few minutes, they just stand there like two ghosts, side by side, watching the view, but probably stuck in different memories.

“So, I’ll go back inside,” she says a little unsure.

His voice cuts through the quiet, “Stay,” says Lando without hesitation.

It’s not just the gentle plea that catches her off guard, but the way he says it. Like he means it more than he means anything else right now. Possibly more than he meant anything else ever.

Awkwardly, she moves forward, letting herself lean closer to him. That’s how she finds out that physical distance means absolutely nothing when it’s the emotional distance that kept them apart. More than that, there are many things left unsaid that fill that void.

Out of sheer curiosity — or plain stupidity, she’s not sure yet — the girl begins to walk uncertainly towards the edge of the space that separates them.

“You remember New Year’s?” she asks, the words coming out softer than she expects.

There is no trace of hatred or resentment behind her voice, which surprises her. She understands that she has, without realizing it, moved beyond their most tensed moment so far. And all that’s left now, besides her curiosity, is the fact that no matter how much time has passed, the two of them still know each other on a level they haven’t reached with anyone else.

Lando doesn’t look at her, but his jaw flexes. “Hard to forget.”

“I threw your jacket at you,” she continues with a small laugh.

“And stormed off like you were in a romcom.”

“To be fair, you were being a dick.”

He chuckles then, and the sound is gentle yet painfully nostalgic. “I probably was.”

“You talked like you knew everything. It was…” she hesitates, fingers tightening slightly on the rail, “A bit cruel. Even if it came from a good place.”

Lado nods. “I know,” he says, “I guess I didn’t know how to talk without sounding like some immature tantrum just because I was missing my friend.”

She glances at him then, studying the curve of his profile in the moonlight. The familiar slope of his perfect sculpted nose. The way his curls fall just a little longer then she remembered. The way he speaks but seems so deeply forgotten in the memory of that winter night.

“I broke up with him the next day,” she admits.

He turns, his eyes searching for hers. “Yeah,” says Lando, “I figured.”

Even though she tries her best, she can’t read his demeanor. He seems tense, even though their conversation isn’t hostile in any way. Not yet, at least. Still, Lando looks as if he’s bracing for some sort of impact that she’s not aware of. There something softer in his expression, though. Something hesitant that encourages her to keep him in that memory.

“I think about it sometimes,” she continues. “That night. All of it.”

He nods again. “Me too. ”

She looks over, eyes wide and cautious, but Lando doesn’t look away.

“But,” he continues, “I won’t apologize for what I said. Because I wasn’t wrong. You do deserve better. And maybe I had no right to say it the way I did, but I’d rather have fought with you than keep watchig you shrink yourself for someone who didn’t even appreciate you.”

His words hit like the waves, tightening her throat. “I get that. But in the moment, it made me feel…” she begins, eyes filling up with tears, “Like you stopped respecting me because of him. And I felt stupid for being so blinded that I lost sight of all the things that were the most important to me.”

The way Lando looks at her now makes her heart sink. Not with pity. Not even with regret. Just a dull ache, like he’s been carrying it with him for months, and he’s too tired to hold it tightly anymore.

“Come on, you know that’s not true,” he says. “I was just irritated and drunk. Watching you disappear like that wasn’t easy, and I didn’t know how to ask you to stay without sounding like a selfish prick. I should’ve just said something,” adds Lando. “Instead of sulking and keeping score and acting like you betrayed me for living your life,” he looks away then, back to the endless sea, eyes half-lidded like the movement of the waves might offer him something easier to face. Anything but this.

He had time to think and weigh his actions. But it all came down to those last few minutes, when it suddenly became too much for both of them.

“I missed you, Lando,” she confesses after a while, letting the words out in a small voice.

The silence that follows is no longer heavy with avoidance, but an intimate warmth that somehow infiltrates under her skin. It merges with all the sadness caused by the time they spent apart and, together, they create a new kind of feeling that she doesn’t yet know how to name. And, for some reason, she’s in no hurry to do so.

Uncertain yet courageous after hearing her admission, Lando’s hand finds hers along the railing and, to his surprise, she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she threads her fingers through his, like she was already waiting for it. For him.

It’s weird, she thinks, how their hands fit together like the end of a sentence that finally makes sense. So she keeps it there, feeling his pulse in her palm like it’s the most normal thing in the world. They can’t look at each other, though. And suddenly, the waves are so much more interesting than the mess they’ve created, their soft undulation bewitching them both, mirroring their feelings in a sick, twisted way; tamed at the surface, yet storming somewhere deeper.

In the chaos of her mind, she can feel the gentle way his thumb brushes the side of her hand. The way he squeezes her afterwards. Like a promise. And she knows, without either of them saying it, that this was always going to happen. That they are inevitable, like gravity pulling them toward the center of each other.

“Are we gonna go back to being cold in the morning?” he finds the strength to ask, voice barely above the hush of the tide.

Truth is, she doesn’t even know what the next few minutes will bring, let alone the next morning.

The girl turns her head slightly, her cheek pressing to his shoulder. “Well, I don’t know how to be your friend nowadays,” she admits, not to make him feel bad, but because that’s the only thing she’s sure of. Her truth.

Lando sighs, “Yeah, that’s not quite us anymore, hm?”

It takes another crushing silence before Lando turns to her completely. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter they can’t be friends anymore, because they’re way past that. Lando is way past that. All he wants is one chance to show her how much it means to him; every word, every touch and every single thought that’s been haunting him for days on end.

He looks like he’s on autopilot when he brings his other hand up to brush her jaw. After his movement, she takes the next step and leans into his touch. She opens her mouth, maybe to say his name, but the words don’t get the chance to get out, because Lando grabs her firmly and pulls her toward him. Hard. Like he can’t take the distance anymore.

His mouth crashes into hers without any warning. It isn’t careful. It isn’t sweet. It’s the result of months of silence, of aching, of watching and wanting and never having. It’s teeth clashing, breath catching, fingers curling so hard into skin that it’ll leave marks.

She gasps into his mouth, as if the ground is crumbling beneath her feet, but at the same time, it’s the most exciting feeling she’s ever felt. Her arms are instinctively wrapping around his shoulders, pulling him closer like she’s been just as consumed by what they didn’t say. Lando fists a hand in her hair, the other gripping her waist tight enough to bruise. He’s all fire, hot and desperate, and there’s not enough water that surrounds them to cool what’s raging in his chest.

He gives her the kind of kiss that says I missed you too and I’m sorry and I never stopped thinking of you all at once. Her hand constricts around his bicep, grounding herself in the feel of him: his salty lips and the way he exhales with a relieved sigh like she’s air after being underwater for far too long. It’s impossible not to feel how much he needed this, because there’s nothing left unsaid in the way he holds her. The truth — his truth — was always there, waiting for the moment they’d both be brave enough to let in.

The kiss deepens before either of them realizes what’s happening. And it’s her who leans in a bit further. That brings him back to the present moment, not because she is just as desperate, but because of how much she means it. How much she wants this. It’s right there, in the way her mouth moves over his, open and urgent, like a need that’s been burning for too long. It makes Lando groan silently when her teeth graze his bottom lip, her tongue flicking against his like a dare. A dare that he answers to, meeting her halfway, teasing, then licking into her mouth with a skilled confidence that makes her head spin.

Oh, he’s a good kisser.

Dizzy from the sudden intensity, she clings to his neck, tilting her head as he takes control, his hands finding their way back to her waist after roaming up and down her body, guiding her back a few steps until her spine presses lightly to the railing. The breeze kisses across her bare legs, her thin nightdress doing nothing to hide the way her body shivers. Or how hard he gets against her. She feels it instantly, like a sharp contrast between his swim trunks and her body, and it sends a jolt of heat right between her thighs.

Her breath hitches once they stop, glancing up at him, caught between amusement and want. “What are you so excited for?”

Lando meets her gaze with an innocent grin twitching at his lips as he shrugs, “Sorry.”

She can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation she finds herself in. Loud. The kind of laugh that throws her head back a little and makes her cover her mouth when she realizes its heat.

Lando just watches her, enchanted by her mere existence. And, without thinking twice, he asks, “How can anyone be embarrassed by that laugh?”

The sudden comment silences both of them. Lando, because he just heard himself saying it out loud. And her, because of how sincere he sounds. How tender.

Still grinning, he lets his forehead fall against hers. They may never encounter such a moment of peace again, so neither of them hesitates to take it where it’s supposed to go to: her tiny cabin. The narrow door clicks shut behind them, and the space is barely big enough for one person, let alone the two of them tangled in something so close it’s hard to tell where tension ends and need begins.

She backs into the bed, and Lando follows, eyes fixed to her like she’s the only girl ever. When they finally collapse onto the mattress, it creaks under their weight. Their knees bump. Shoulders brush. Lando’s arm wraps around her waist in an instant, and she fits there like it’s hers. That grip. Him.

Somehow, he’s bigger than she remembers. Or maybe she’s just never noticed how broad his chest is, how his legs stretch past the foot of her bed, how small her frame feels when she pulls him into her. And now, in the closeness of their embrace, it’s impossible not to feel it.

It intimidates her, but she keeps her hands all over him, warm skin meeting her palms. Her eyes roam without shame, wandering from his abdomen up to his pecs and then stop on his freshly kissed lips. Her fingers trail along his arms, feeling the strength carved into muscle by years of racing and tension. She watches the way goosebumps rise under her touch, and when her hand flattens over his chest, just above his heart, Lando exhales heavily, with a slight shudder.

He doesn’t look away, though. He doesn’t have the heart or enough willpower. He simply looks back at her, eyes burning, as if seeing her underneath him like this is the only normal thing in their messed up lifes.

“I need to know where’s your head at,” he says, his long fingers brushing the outside of her thigh.

She closes her eyes for a moment. Mostly because she finds it hard to pay attention when her childhood friend — the skinny little boy who used to be blown away by the slightest breeze — is now on top of her in the flesh, displaying groups of muscles she’s never seen on his body before, let alone touched.

Her hand stays on his chest, “Am I ever going to get my best friend back?”

His hearts breaks a little, because he realizes that both of them know the implications of her question. The answer, too, but she still wants to hear him saying it, because that’s the only thing that’ll make it true.

Lando’s eyes search hers for a moment too long, and something in him rearrange, the muscle in his jaw tightening before he leans in. “No,” he simply replies.

She figured. Still, it is not necessarily the answer itself that makes her emotional, but the way Lando said it, as if it is torture for him to even admit it.

“I can’t ruin myself over and over again, pretending that what I feel for you is small. It never was.”

She nods, lifting her hand to the back of his neck, threading her fingers into his hair and pulling him down until their lips are barely brushing. Lando’s hands are pulling at her, slowly sliding the straps of her dress down. He takes his time, undressing her like he’s unwrapping a present he’s waited far too long to touch. And when she’s standing there, bare and warm and only for him to see, he sits back to stare and take as many mental pictures as he can.

“You’re…” he starts, voice nearly breaking, “So fucking beautiful.”

She presses closer, hands moving to his shorts with urgency. Lando lets her, barely breathing and, when the last layer falls away, she looks down at him. All of him. His golden skin that glows in the dim light filtering through the porthole, muscles tightening under her hungry touch.

Impatient, his hand slides between her legs while maintaining eye contact, his fingertips brushing over the soft skin at her inner thigh before he presses just lightly against her entrance. The reaction is immediate, a sharp breath followed by a soft whimper that catches in her throat. Her hips instinctively lift toward him, and his own breath wavers at the sound.

“So wet,” he breaks off, almost spiraling from the realization, from finding out just how much she wants him. Just like he wants her.

For a moment, there’s something feral in his gaze, something that won’t let her move her eyes. Like he’s balancing on a tightrope of restraint, and she’s the drop waiting to pull him under.

“It kills me,” he admits. Then he leans in, lips brushing against the shell of her ear, “But you need to be quiet, darling.”

She nods, her breath still uneven, knowing it’s going to be anything but easy.

Lando presses a kiss to her shoulder, then her collarbone before he continues, “Even though I love it when you’re loud, you’ll have to save that for later.”

Just the thought of her, waiting for his next move all warm and wanting, has his cock already pulsing in his palm. He strokes himself slowly, gaze locked on her as she shifts beneath him, spreading wider with a shaky inhale.

As curious as ever, she glances down between them, eyes filled with want, and he watches her bite her lower lip at the sight of him, so hard and ready. The gap between them closes quickly, suspended in that final moment before everything changes. Her fingers curl into the sheets, watching Lando lining himself up, just barely brushing against her clit. Then, he pushes in with a whimper that sounds like it’s been clawing at his throat for months. Like this moment has been sitting just under his skin, waiting to become real.

“Fuck,” he pants, silently. “You feel better than I ever imagined.”

Right now, all her senses are inhibited by him. The weight, the stretch, the warmth, the way his hands frame her hips like she’s the only thing keeping him in check, and she’s the only reason why Lando isn’t unleashing hell yet. Her legs wrap around his waist, holding him close, as if her body already knows what her heart won’t let her say.

Lando. Lando. Lando!

But he shakes his head, his voice going lower than normal, “No, baby, Let me.”

The bed is laughably small, making Lando huff out a frustrated breath, one arm sliding under her thigh as he shifts them both, gripping her firmly to guide her where he needs her. It’s not graceful in any way, but there’s something about the way he manhandles her, lifting, adjusting, controlling the angle until it’s perfect, that makes her head fall back with a gasp.

He exhales through his nose, lips pressing in a thin line to avoid making sounds that could get them both into trouble. “There. That’s it.”

She lets him move her, pliant and trusting, her breath getting heavier when their skin brushes in all the right places. Every thrust is slow at first, drawing soft moans from her mouth that only make him harder. The way her body reacts only fuels him, encouraged by the way her lashes flutter, and the way her hands slide into his hair when she can’t find the words. She couldn’t say it anyway. Can’t give voice to what’s blooming and breaking inside her.

But Lando feels it in the way she moves with him, and how her body opens like it was always meant to. That pushes him to thrust harder, feeling like the entire boat shakes at the force.

“Easy. You’re gonna break the bed,” she says against his jaw, her voice a breathy laugh.

“Wouldn’t be the worst thing I’ve broken over you,” he mutters back, but there’s no malice in his tone, except a dangerous affection that’s always lived under his skin when it came to her.

It makes her curious to know what he means, but just as she’s about to ask, Lando finds that angle where their bodies align like puzzle pieces that should’ve never fit but somehow do. He rocks into her so sweetly, and that’s enough to silence her. The answer is in the way her breath stutters. The way her fingers grip his arms. The way her body pulls him in and clenches around his length like it’s never known anything else.

“Shit. Again, please,” Lando breathes wetly against her skin. “Do that again,” he repeats, already buried to the hilt, grinding against that perfect spot inside her, that once he found it, it’s impossible to stop. “Mhm. Let me make it right.”

“You said you can’t,” she challanges him, barely able to speak. “So stop taking your sweet time, Norris,” she pants, breathless but defiant, smirking even as her thighs tremble around his hips.

Lando lifts his head, curls damp against his forehead, eyes dark with a sudden annoyance. “Yeah? That’s how he’s had you all this time? Quick, in and out, job done?”

Her smirk drops into a scoff, her hands pressing against his chest like she might shove him off. But she arches into him instead, loving the way her back rubs against the mattress with each push.

“If anything, he had the balls to be honest with me.”

“Fuck’s sake,” he thrusts deeper, making her gasp mid-retort. “Stop defending him, will ya?”

The sheets are already half off the bed, twisted and forgotten, heat pulsing like a heartbeat between them. Lando starts moving inside her with a relentless rhythm, as if trying to erase anyone who came before him with every shove. But she won’t give him the silence he craves.

Not anymore.

Her head tilts back, sweat glistening at her collarbone, but her eyes are sharp, ready to catch his reaction. “No wonder you drive like that. Always trying to prove you’re better than the last guy, aren’t you?”

His hips slam forward, hard enough to make her gasp again, fingers bruising against her waist. “That’s rich coming from the girl who settled for someone who didn’t even know how to fuck her, let alone treat her right.”

She bites her lip, not in surrender but to hide the moan that slips out anyway. Her nails dig into his back, dragging down like a punishment until he grunts. “You’re such a coward,” she snaps. “At least he didn’t treat every conversation like a race he had to win.”

All of a sudden, Lando slows his movements, grinding deep, making her eyes roll before he fucks back into her harder than before. Only to make a point. Only to see all the places he takes her to.

“‘Cause he had the habit of abandoning before it even started, isn’t it? How many times did you have to fake it?”

Her eyes snap to his, speechless, but Lando doesn’t blink. He grins at her, knowing he is waiting for an answer he’ll never get.

She kisses him then, hard and angry, pouring all the emotions she never thought Lando, of all people, would ever awaken in her. Then she pushes him, her legs squeezing around his waist, her action emphasizing the duality of the thoughts going through her mind.

“Just so we’re clear. You’re not the first to try and fuck me into forgetting,” she finally replies.

At that, Lando stops for a breath, not from exhaustion but from the way her words claw straight through his big ego. He slams into her again, smiling at her, hand catching her thigh to spread her wider. “But I’m the one who’s going to succeed.”

She’s so close, he can feel it in the way her body aches to keep his cock inside and how her insults start to blend with moans. What amazes him, though, is the strength she has to continue their little argument, as if they’re not in the middle of something else right now.

“Never thought you could be such an asshole, it’s unbelievable.”

Lando doesn’t even blink when he speaks again, “He made you cry on New Year’s,” he growls, voice sharp, like a blade slipping between her ribs. “And I’m the asshole?”

Before she can throw a retort back, he tilts his hips, changing the angle, and drives into her so sudden that it knocks the breath from her lungs. Her back arches, while her hips are lifting to meet every punishing thrust.

“Lando,” she moans his name, arms winding around his shoulders like she’s holding on for dear life.

She can feel him in places she didn’t even know could feel. He’s fucking her with such intensity it turns into a blur of slick skin and strangled whimpers, the bed creaking beneath them.

The banter dies somewhere along the way, and all that’s left behind is the heat, the pounding rhythm, the kind of pleasure that makes thoughts disappear and stars dance behind their eyes. Her brows are scrunched, eyes glazed, and she realizes she’s about to scream. Actually scream.

Luckily, Lando places a hand over her mouth just in time, muffling the broken sounds pouring out of her throat. It takes her by surprise, realizing how well he knows all her signals without ever telling him. But it’s easy for him. Especially when he sees the way her body’s trembling under his weight, and the way her eyes plead and challenge all at once.

He nods, hips pistoning into her, watching her come apart beneath him, a quiet, shaking mess.

“Yeah,” he grunts as quiet as possible through gritted teeth, “That’s it. Just me now.”

The words hang in the sweat-soaked air as she comes around his length, clenching so tight it nearly takes him with her. Lando doesn’t stop moving. Instead, he talks her through it, his voice breathless against her ear.

“That’s my girl, let it all out. So fucking perfect.”

Her nails sink further into his back, riding the aftershocks with his cock still buried deep, stretching her in all the ways she was craving. It brings him right on the edge, and with a frustrated cry, Lando pulls out, the head of his cock flushed and swollen as it rests hot and heavy against her thigh. He lets himself go at the sight, thick ropes spilling messily onto her skin. Sticky. Warm. Heavenly.

“Lan,” she breathes, half a protest, half a moan, reaching up to drag him back on top of her.

Lando can’t resist the pull. Not when her touch unravels him with every glide of her fingers over his skin. He used to dream of it, but the reality is always better. He kisses her again, softer this time, letting the moment stretch before his hand finds the curve of her breast, fingers teasing with just enough pressure to make her arch against him. Patiently, his thumb sweeps over her nipple, circling, pressing, feeling it harden under his touch.

It makes her whimper, her hands fisting in his hair. Lando’s lips find the column of her throat then, biting gently just beneath her jaw. Her sounds light him up like the fireworks they didn’t witness that night. He trails his kisses down to her collarbone, one palm flattening over her stomach before traveling back up.

Somehow, the chaos has slowed, but the heat is still there.

Their bodies are tangled in ways that no one could tell where she starts and where he ends, the mess between them so satisfying. When their eyes meet again, he sees her flushed cheeks, the sheen of sweat on her brow, and her chest heaving. Her eyes are so vulnerable as she looks back at him — her Lando, stripped down and completely wrecked.

And without a single word, he slides back in.

No sharp words, no angry breathing. Just the sound of their pants, the wet glide of his cock moving inside her, the weight of emotion that neither of them dares to name. Every thrust is unhurried this time around, his sweaty forehead resting against hers, like he’s trying to memorize the feel of her walls fluttering around him, the way her thighs lock around his waist with each roll of his hips.

It’s not just sex anymore. Is so much more than that, something that will linger for a quite some time after they part tonight. And they both know it.

When the pressure builds again, it’s different. There’s less fire. More ache. She blinks up at him, and her lips tremble. Tears pool at the corners of her eyes, not from physical pain, but from the overwhelming closeness of it all.

Lando sees it, and kisses them away.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers.

And when he comes again, it’s with a quiet groan right against her lips, buried deep as her body pulls him in, taking every drop of his pleasure and keeping him as if he belongs to her from now on. All of it. All of him.

The silence that surrounds them afterwards feels too full. She lets him stay there, wrapped around her, her fingers idly tracing his back. But her gaze is distant, fixed on the ceiling, already somewhere else.

For now, at least, they can coexist in the same world, breathing each other in until the reality will catch them from behind.

But that’s a problem for tomorrow morning.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ MASTERLIST . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Thank you for reading!

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spearbokkie · 3 months ago

Text

feels so good (minsung x afab!reader)

Rating: Explicit (minors DO NOT INTERACT!)

Pairing: Lee Minho x Han Jisung x Reader – reader is AFAB, I used they/them pronouns when pronouns were unavoidable + there is no description of the reader’s appearance or body (except for naming body parts, referred to as “pussy” and “breasts”)

Word count: ~14,5k

Summary: You go to a party at the SKZ dorms, play some party games, and things take a somewhat unexpected twist at the end of the night.

Content warnings: alcohol + drinking games (but no one is particularly drunk), explicit language, handjobs, fingering, oral sex (f & m receiving), P in V sex, scratching, light spanking, use of pet names (“baby”, “kitten”)

Author’s note: this is my first SKZ fic, I hope you enjoy <3 would appreciate any and all feedback! Use protection and don’t forget to pee after sex if u have a vagina xoxo.

It was party night with Stray Kids. You were looking forward to this, but you were also quite nervous. You hadn’t been a part of their close circle for very long yet and you’d only partied with them a couple of times before in that time period. Their schedules didn’t often allow for very much time off, especially with all eight of them being free on the same evening and the next day as well. This was one of those rare instances in which they all had an entire weekend off, so you knew what that meant.

Yes, the boys were all in their twenties, but they still often acted like a group of rowdy teenagers, and if you were honest, this was one of the things you loved most about them. You liked that they didn’t take things too seriously, that they enjoyed games and having fun and doing whatever it was they felt like without worrying about what anyone else thought. They were pretty accustomed to acting silly on camera already, but especially in the privacy of their own homes, they really didn’t hold back. You enjoyed being around that kind of energy because you had always struggled to fully let out your crazy, playful side. But simply by being around them for a couple of months at this point, you were slowly starting to loosen up. And so tonight would be good. You just hoped that you could leave your worries behind and let yourself fully enjoy the chaos.

Of course it didn’t help that you had a massive crush on Minho, of all people, and were mortified of him finding out. He was so hard to read and it was definitely taking him the longest out of everyone to really thaw to you, although you did get along fairly well by now. But it just hadn’t quite reached that place of effortless ease yet that you’d gotten to naturally with most of the others – some more so than the rest. You got along particularly well with Jisung and Hyunjin and had become very comfortable being your true self around them. The rest of the group even joked around that you were Minho’s unofficial Paboracha replacement member when he wasn’t around, which happened occasionally. He was fond of quiet alone time just as much as he loved hanging out with the rest of the gang, which was something you could relate to and yet another reason you felt drawn to him. But you were very afraid of being laughed at should he find out how you felt. You knew him well enough to be pretty sure he would never be so cruel, even if he didn’t reciprocate your feelings, but your stupid anxiety-riddled brain still loved to present you with worst-case scenarios that you couldn’t quite disregard.

On top of that, you genuinely weren’t sure if there was something romantic going on between him and Jisung and did not want to cause problems if there was. Stray Kids were all fairly open with each other in terms of physical and emotional closeness – and had, at least partially, begun to include you in that, which you loved. They were like this even more so when the cameras were off, but you still didn’t know if there were any relationship boundaries that you weren’t aware of and did not want to unintentionally step on anyone’s toes. So needless to say, you felt there was a lot at stake.

You didn’t think it was completely unrealistic that your crush would come out at some point tonight, even though you hadn’t explicitly confessed it to anybody yet. The group was very used to teasing each other, didn’t seem to have many secrets between them, and was extremely good at reading each other – not surprising, given the sheer amount of time everyone spent together. Add alcohol and party games to the mix and the chances became exponentially higher of your secret seeing the light of day. You knew that none of the boys would ever cross any boundaries if you seriously set them and told them you didn’t want to talk about something, but you were afraid your behavior would give you away regardless. Still, you were excited for a night of fun and craziness with your eight favorite people, and you didn’t want to let your worries take that away from you.

As you were making your way over to the dorms, specifically Felix and Seungmin’s, which had been decided on as the location for tonight’s party, your phone buzzed. Minho had just texted the group chat that he would be running late, as he was still taking care of a few things. At first, disappointment washed over you. You were very much looking forward to seeing him – even if the interactions between you two didn’t always flow as easily as you wanted, just being around him made you happy. But when you thought about it a little longer, you realized this could be a good thing. It could give you a chance to loosen up and get used to the atmosphere enough to hopefully get out of your head and into the moment as much as possible by the time he got there. With that slight bit of relief in mind, you quickened your pace as you got off the subway and soon arrived at the SKZ dorms, where Felix buzzed you in once you texted him that you were downstairs. He was waiting to greet you at the door of his dorm with an enormous grin on his face and you felt your heart warm instantly at the sight.

---

It was a couple of drinks, some chatting and a few quick games into the night. The atmosphere was light-hearted, everyone was loose and laughing, and you could tell the general consensus was to spice things up a little bit. And so you weren’t particularly surprised when Felix suggested playing Truth or Dare. It was a game that combined everything he loved: seeing his best friends be silly as well as bonding over shared secrets and anecdotes. Jisung, a lover of chaos, shouted his agreement quickly once Felix brought up the suggestion. Jeongin and Chan pretended like they didn’t want to play at first, but you knew from experience that once the game started, Chan could never hide his genuine laugh at the antics, while Jeongin’s appalled face in situations like these was always put on and he was, in fact, enjoying himself. The two of them alone couldn’t override the rest of the group’s wishes regardless. Even if they’d truly wanted to – one look at Felix’s pleading pout would turn anyone weak.

And so Seungmin began smirking while Changbin rubbed his hands together in glee as you all settled in a circle. Some of you sat on the floor, some on the sofas and armchairs that stood around where the coffee table usually was; it had been moved to the side for tonight. Hyunjin plopped down onto a big armchair, pulling you with him. He casually rested his arms on top of your legs as you draped them across his. Once everyone had settled you made eye contact with Felix, whose eyes glinted from the other side of the circle, before he shifted them to look at the man sitting with you.

“Hyunjin, truth or dare?”

“Dare,” Hyunjin smirked, radiating confidence, his facial expression basically begging Felix to do his worst. But it was Felix, and Felix was an angel who took every opportunity to see his friends be cute with each other, so he started the game off by daring Hyunjin to kiss anyone of his choosing on the cheek. You groaned in mock annoyance as Hyunjin shifted your legs off of him in order to fulfill his dare, but just before he could, Felix told him to wait and ran out of the room quickly. When he returned he was carrying red lipstick, which he handed to his friend. The latter took it from him reluctantly and Felix grinned in delight.

While Hyunjin was applying the lipstick, Changbin couldn’t stop himself from shouting out how beautiful he looked and proceeding to offer himself repeatedly and quite enthusiastically as the “kiss victim”. This earned him a light punch on the arm from Jisung, who was next to him on the ground. Hyunjin threw his head back, laughing out loud, and shot Changbin a grin before kneeling down next to Jeongin instead. Changbin crossed his arms and sent a mock-offended pout Hyunjin’s way, but he couldn’t hold his giggle back for long at the scene that was unfolding.

Jeongin was protesting vehemently and wailing as Hyunjin got closer and closer to him, straining his neck to move his head as far away as possible. But he couldn’t prevent the inevitable, and when Hyunjin gave him a big smacker on the cheek, leaving a bright red mark, the smile on his face spoke for itself – as did the overjoyed expressions on everyone else’s. Chan reached over to pinch a fake-pouty Jeongin’s other cheek, delighted. You found yourself grinning as well as a red-lipped Hyunjin returned to the armchair and you made space for him to get back into his earlier position, draping your legs back over his body and reaching up to run your hand over his hair affectionately as you did.

Hyunjin proceeded to dare Changbin to freestyle a sexy dance, which he gladly did, quickly hijacking the playlist in order to play one of his favorite girl group songs. Then he strutted into the center of the group, half-drunk beer in hand, and gave it his all, finishing his little dance off with a hip thrust and wink in Hyunjin’s direction. The latter couldn’t stop laughing in delight the entire time – you could feel his entire body vibrating from it and it made you giggle uncontrollably as well.

You took a moment to appreciate the pure positive energy in this room. Jeongin was still shielding his eyes from when Changbin had shaken his butt in his direction; Felix was grinning from ear to ear; Jisung was doubled over in tears from laughter. You felt so warm and fuzzy inside, surrounded by your favorite people. Only Minho was missing to complete this moment. But he would be here soon, and for now everything was going as you had hoped: you were feeling quite relaxed.

Despite that, you had still decided to stick to dares for now in order to avoid any potentially awkward questions, so when Changbin picked you to go next, he ended up daring you to sing a part of one of SKZ’s songs. You groaned and smacked your hand against your forehead, knowing full well you were about to embarrass yourself. But then again – these boys embarrassed themselves all the time. And you loved them for it. Time to steer into the chaos, then. You cleared your throat exaggeratedly, then proceeded to rap Felix’s part in “Maze of Memories”, complete with a fake deep voice and terrible Australian accent, dancing around on your armchair with Hyunjin while everyone else cheered and pumped their fists.

Next you dared Jisung to close his eyes and let Seungmin feed him something without knowing what it would be. This earned you a smile from Seungmin that could only be described as pure evil before he went and got a slice of lemon to stick in Jisung’s mouth. The latter’s expression was priceless as he bit into it.

As the game wore on, your cheeks began to almost hurt from laughter. More truths and dares were flung around the group, among them: Chan eating a spoonful of hot sauce, which made him turn as red as a tomato; Felix shamefully revealing his most recent League of Legends stats; Seungmin reading out his most recent Google searches (some of which were very questionable); Jeongin letting Chan do his hair full of sparkly ribbons and little butterfly clips (no one questioning why Felix had all of these just laying around); Changbin recalling an embarrassing story about a time he’d mistakenly thought someone wanted his autograph, but they’d really just needed his signature on a receipt; Jisung revealing the weirdest place he’d ever had sex, and Hyunjin drawing a silly, purposely bad picture of one of the others and letting everyone guess who it was supposed to be. Eventually you were asked again.

You picked dare, and when Hyunjin dared you to kiss somebody on the lips with a smirk on his face, you ooh-ed right along with the rest of the group, in too good of a mood to overthink anything right now. You glanced around the room at all the boys, but you wanted this to be as comfortable as possible, so you were really only considering your two closest friends for it. And since you didn’t feel like getting lipstick on you right now, you quickly got up off of Hyunjin’s lap and crossed the circle to kneel in front of Jisung. His cheeks turned a light shade of pink as he giggled along with you. You made sure to ask if he was okay with this, and when he nodded you could hear Changbin cackling to one side of you and were well aware of Chan grinning on the other. Then, before you knew it, your lips were on Jisung’s and your hands had found their way into his hair.

Maybe it was the alcohol you’d had – you weren’t really drunk, but definitely tipsy. Or maybe it was a momentary lapse in reason, who knew. But all of a sudden you felt like you were experiencing that cliché shit that’s always described in romance novels or seen in cheesy movies. Like… you genuinely could have sworn that time stopped and the world around you melted away for a second. That was how good it was, and you had not been prepared to feel that way. Jisung’s hair was so fluffy, his lips were so soft, he tasted so sweet, and you wanted to deepen the kiss so badly… but it was over before you knew it, because as soon as his fingers found their way onto the small of your back and you felt his tongue lightly brush your lips, it hit you that you were currently being watched by six other pairs of eyes.

And just like that, the world came back into focus and Changbin’s signature high-pitched giggle penetrated your ears. You pulled away from Jisung and looked at him sheepishly – his mouth was still open, cheeks still flushed. Then you made your way back to the other side of the room. You settled on the floor below the armchair this time, between Hyunjin’s legs, wrapping an arm around one of them as if to ground yourself with it. The rest of the group was laughing and wolf-whistling. You made eye contact with a wide-eyed Han Jisung once more before quickly averting your gaze and clearing your throat when Seungmin reminded you that it was your turn.

“Right,” you laughed, trying desperately to play it cool, and quickly asked Seungmin, who picked dare. You dared him to make what he thought Chan’s orgasm face would look like, earning hysterical laughter and cries of outrage (ahem, Jeongin). Chan himself seemed too stunned to react at all. And just like that your mood began to lighten up once more, though you would have been lying if you’d said you weren’t still thinking about the feel of Jisung’s lips on yours and that little ghost of a touch of his hands on your back. It wasn’t like he’d never touched you before – he did it all the time. But this had been different. Now was not the time though, so you willed yourself to focus on the game. Seungmin had just dared Jeongin to greet Minho like one of his cats once said man arrived. And oh. Right. Minho. There was still Minho to think about. Mysterious, sexy Minho, who you had been unable to keep your mind off of for months. Mysterious, sexy Minho, who you had forgotten about for a moment there.

And as if he had known, just then the second oldest of the boys walked through the door. Your stomach did that somersault thing it always did when you saw him. He made eye contact with you as he entered the dorm with an extra six-pack of beers in one hand. Your heart leapt into your throat as you gave him a small wave… and then he was looking down in confusion at a red-faced Jeongin with a kiss mark on his cheek as well as ribbons and clips all over his hair. The maknae was rubbing against Minho’s legs on all fours, eventually even meowing once after the rest of the group begged him to do so. Minho’s confused expression turned into an amused smirk and he bent down to pat the youngest on the head gently. Jeongin blushed and quickly made his way back to his spot on the floor, where he buried his head in his knees. Chan reached over to ruffle his hair and the group’s giggles that seemingly hadn’t stopped all night grew even louder, reverberating around the room.

The game naturally ceased as regular conversation returned. The group caught Minho up to speed on some of what he had missed while he cracked open a beer – though for some reason no one brought up your kiss with Jisung. You certainly weren’t going to. Minho explained that he’d been intending to arrive earlier, but had had a few things to deal with that had been stressing him out. He then declared that he just wanted to relax and catch up on the drinking a little bit, and that was when Felix got that little glimmer in his eyes once more that told you he wanted to play another game – and sure enough, he suggested Never Have I Ever next.

“Come on, we haven’t played this one in ages!” he exclaimed excitedly, looking around the room for approval. Seungmin nodded his agreement as he sat back down on the floor cross-legged; he had just returned from the kitchen with a couple of bowls of chips he placed in the middle for everyone. You quickly grabbed one of them for you and Hyunjin to share. A few of the others agreed enthusiastically as well while reaching for the snacks themselves. You noticed Minho hadn’t reacted to Felix’s suggestion and the younger Australian quickly addressed him. “Come on, hyung, this’ll get you in the party mood!”

Minho had settled beside Jisung by now, the two of them sitting close together at the foot of a sofa, their backs leaning against it, their legs touching. Jisung nudged Minho in the ribs and encouraged him with a playful “Come on, baby!”, which Minho responded to with an eyeroll and a “Fine.” But a crooked little smile graced his lips and Felix clapped happily.

This particular game was one you had never played with the boys before. You were sure there weren’t many secrets between them, so to them it was probably more a game of exposing each other and targeting individuals to drink rather than actually finding out juicy secrets, but you were bound to learn quite a bit about them and them about you. And mostly everyone seemed to be in quite a spicy mood. The questions went to all sorts of raunchy places that had Jeongin shaking his head, from things as comparatively harmless as “Never have I ever gone skinny dipping” to topics such as sexual experiences and even kinks. Occasionally, innocent questions were thrown in by somebody just to keep it light (and keep Jeongin from losing his mind entirely).

Throughout the game you found yourself sneaking glances over to Jisung without initially being aware you were doing it a lot of the time. In fact, your eyes were on him almost as often as they were on Minho right now, though every time you noticed yourself looking in their direction, you tried to stop. But you couldn’t help but feel Jisung’s eyes on you too, and eventually Minho started eyeing both of you, seeming to have picked up on something. He looked mildly irritated, as if he couldn’t figure out what exactly was going on. When his eyes met yours, you quickly averted your gaze again and tried your best to focus on the game that was happening.

Which became easy once Jeongin spoke up with the next question. The question itself wasn’t shocking, especially given the direction the game had already gone in. It was the fact that it had come from the youngest, who claimed not to want to indulge everyone else’s dirty minds, that made it so surprising.

“Never have I ever had a sex dream involving someone in this room,” he grinned, eyes scanning the group as he himself raised his beer to his lips. You looked up at Hyunjin who smirked, taking a sip as well. Changbin couldn’t hold himself back from shouting “It was about me, right? You can tell them it was about me, Hyunjin-ah, it’s okay!”, which got everyone giggling again. You drank too, but avoided looking at anybody else as you did so. Actually, it seemed like everybody in the room had taken a sip at that question.

Seungmin decided to take it a step further when it was his turn next. “Never have I ever fooled around with anybody in this room,” he stated with a deadpan expression, and your eyes widened in anticipation as you looked up from your beer, trying not to make it too obvious that you were most curious as to whether or not Jisung and Minho would drink. You saw that Minho had a hand resting on Jisung’s thigh by this point. And then, sure enough, the two of them raised their beers to take a sip at roughly the same time, even exchanging a tiny little blink-and-you’d-miss-it smile as they did. You also noticed Jisung’s cheeks turning a light pink. You suddenly became very aware of your heart pounding heavily in your chest.

You did notice a couple of other beers being raised in your peripheral vision, including Hyunjin’s right next to you – you were back on the armchair at this point. But to be completely honest, you weren’t paying enough attention to really register who else was drinking. You would definitely kick yourself for this later, but right now you were simply focused on the confirmation of Jisung and Minho’s relationship being (or at least at some point having been) more than platonic – and what knowing that was doing to you.

You weren’t sure at all how to feel about it, especially because at this point in the night you were painfully aware of how badly you wanted to kiss (and do more than that with) not just Minho, but also Jisung again – that second part you really hadn’t planned on. And maybe it was just the alcohol clouding your brain, but it didn’t really feel that way, because you still weren’t really drunk. You were only taking small sips of beer and drinking lots of water in between.

It was so hard to make sense of what you were feeling. You weren’t jealous of the two of them being with each other. You wanted them to enjoy themselves and be happy, and were glad if they could give each other that. The thing was just that you wanted – like, wanted – both of them too. Badly. You couldn’t deny that at this point. And you were afraid that wasn’t ever going to be possible, nor did you want to get in the way of whatever they had going on.

But then again… you remembered the way Jisung had been looking at you, both after the kiss and several times since then. And as you were thinking about it, your eyes drifted to him and… he was doing it again. Looking at you like that. Looking at you like that with his damn fluffy hair and his damn flushed cheeks and his damn kissable freaking lips. Your heart skipped a beat and your gaze flickered over to Minho. And he looked at you too. And then at Jisung. His eyes kept jumping between the two of you, but he had an eyebrow furrowed, as if he was still trying to figure out just what was happening here. You wished you knew yourself. You gulped and tried to clear your mind, turning your attention back to the game that was resuming now that everyone had gotten all the cheering and whistling out of their system in response to the previous question.

Felix informed Minho that it was his turn, so the latter cleared his throat with a little shake of his head before glancing around the room with that devilish little glint in his eyes you’d come to love so much.

“Never have I ever pissed in JYP’s front yard.” This caused the entire room to burst out laughing, several of them clapping as they did. You clearly were missing some kind of inside joke, but it was pretty self-explanatory once Changbin whined out an “I hate you, hyung” and reached across Jisung’s lap to playfully punch Minho in the thigh. Minho shot him an overly exaggerated crazy-eyed death glare in return. Changbin raised his beer to his lips sheepishly and you joined Hyunjin in his full-body laughter that was shaking the entire armchair again as you pictured the scene. Minho looked around the room with a furtive little smile on his face, like he was really proud of himself.

The game went on for a while longer, the conversation and laughter flowed and you focused on just enjoying yourself once more. However, you still couldn’t prevent your eyes from drifting over to the two boys across from you every so often – just like you couldn’t prevent the jolt of electricity that went through your body every time you caught one of them looking at you too.

Eventually the group moved on to other games, more laughter and chatter, and finally the night seemed to be drifting towards an end as Chan began to yawn, earning him lots of teasing comments from the others (but mostly Seungmin) about how old he was. But then the others started getting quieter and more sleepy bit by bit as well, Hyunjin yawning and stretching overly dramatically every so often. You had been sort of keeping your distance from the two boys you couldn’t keep your mind off of, but had still been surreptitiously observing them. They were in a good mood, both still at fairly high energy levels – particularly Jisung, who kept suggesting more games and didn’t seem to want the night to end. You didn’t want it to either. But eventually, when even Felix became very sleepy, even briefly dozing off sprawled out on one of the sofas with his head on Changbin’s lap, the rest of you knew it was time to get going.

Felix and Seungmin hugged each of you goodbye one by one as you left their dorm. The two of them had had to stop Chan from cleaning up around the room and usher him out despite how tired he was. Minho was the last one out the door, and he couldn’t resist slapping each of the hosts on the butt as he left, even giving Seungmin a little squeeze. They shook their heads with a smile as they shut the door behind him. You sighed. It was silent out here.

You did not feel like a journey home in the middle of the night right now. But you knew that if you needed a place to stay, somebody would definitely let you crash. Chan had already told Felix he would be happy to let you stay over (or pay for a taxi if you preferred to go home) when the younger Australian had showed concern, not wanting to let you leave until he knew you’d be safe. Hyunjin was currently loitering close by you as well, an arm protectively around your shoulder, and you knew he’d have no problem offering you his bed either. You’d stayed at his and Changbin’s dorm previously when it had gotten late after you were all hanging out. In fact, that was where you were intending to go tonight again, and were just about to start heading in that direction with them when Jisung spoke up.

“Y/N, do you want to come hang out with us a little longer? Me and Minho-hyung aren’t that tired yet. You can stay over, don’t worry.” Your heart skipped a beat as you looked at him. Did he seem… nervous? You couldn’t tell. You glanced at Minho next, but he was just looking back at you blankly, blinking a couple of times.

You’d never spent a lot of time at their dorm before, despite being quite close with Jisung, mainly because you worried about bothering Minho. But as nervous as the thought made you right now, especially after the way the night had gone, you absolutely wanted to spend more time with the two of them – even if you weren’t sure it was smart, exactly.

“Yeah, okay,” you replied, trying your best not to seem overly eager. You turned into Hyunjin’s arms to give him a quick hug goodbye, then the others as well. Chan patted you on the shoulder before he turned to walk back to his dorm with Jeongin. Changbin and Hyunjin skipped away in the opposite direction arm in arm. And that left you in the dimly lit hallway with Minho, Jisung and a racing heart.

“Well, let’s go then,” Minho said and again, you couldn’t tell what he was thinking. You thought there was the slightest ghost of a smile on his lips, but it was dark and he was Minho, so who knew, really. Either way, you followed him as he turned on his heel and headed down the hallway. It was a short walk across the courtyard to their dorm and as you entered the cold night air, a brief shiver went through your body. Jisung put an arm around you, rubbing your shoulder, and the two of you walked the rest of the way like that. It wasn’t far, but it was so silent the entire way that it somehow felt longer than it should have. But you were smiling nonetheless. And you were suddenly quite aware of how good Jisung smelled.

---

Once inside the boys’ dorm, you were wracking your brain trying to think of something to say to break the silence, but you couldn’t come up with anything and you cursed yourself for it. For once you actually sort of wished you were drunker, so you maybe wouldn’t be worrying so much about embarrassing yourself. Although then again, maybe it was good you weren’t, because who knew what you would say if you weren’t thinking clearly. As it was, you were already pretty sober again and the boys didn’t seem particularly drunk either. Jisung was a lightweight, but he usually sobered up fairly quickly and the night air seemed to have helped him along, while Minho could hold his liquor pretty well and hadn’t ended up drinking that much tonight after all. He got each of you a glass of water, which you gratefully accepted, sitting at their kitchen island and tracing the pattern of the granite with your fingertip.

You looked up and noticed Minho quirking an eyebrow at you. You felt your cheeks get a little hot. You needed someone to speak. Now. This was unbearable. Were they feeling the same way you were? Or were they relaxed? Why weren’t they saying anything? Anything, any topic at all, please. You thought about the evening you’d just had, whether there was something you could use to start a conversation. And then you had it. You took a deep breath and put on a smile.

“So Changbin really pissed in JYP’s yard, huh?” This instantly set Jisung off in a fit of hysterical laughter, doubling over and clutching the kitchen counter for support. You breathed a sigh of relief as you continued. “I need to hear the whole story. Please.” And just like that the tension lifted again as the boys recounted the event, you commenting how badly you wished you’d been there in between giggles.

The conversation naturally moved onto other topics from there and things felt right and normal again between all three of you. These were the boys you’d gotten to know as good friends over the past few months and you even began to wonder what you had been so in your head about all night. The three of you chatted about all sorts of things for a little while and eventually you landed on the topic of movies. When you confessed that you’d never actually seen a Deadpool movie, Jisung was so taken aback he suggested you watch the first one instantly.

And so the three of you ended up on Minho’s bed with the movie playing on his big TV screen. You knew he had one in his bedroom because he loved nothing more than to relax watching an anime when he wanted some alone time. The TV was nicer than the one in the living room and the bed was big enough for the three of you to be comfortable, so here you were. Jisung had instantly sprawled out in the middle, insisting he needed cuddles from two of his most favorite people, and you both gladly indulged him – though you did catch Minho rolling his eyes jokingly as Jisung pulled him down and flung his right arm around his shoulders. You settled against his left side, taking in his scent and giggling at the way his hair tickled your forehead. Then you began to watch the movie.

About twenty minutes into it, you felt your stomach growl a little bit. It was around 2 am; not excessively late yet, since the party had begun fairly early, but you did realize that you hadn’t had a proper meal since this afternoon. You hoped no one had heard you, but either Minho had or he was hungry himself, because not long after, be briefly paused the movie and offered to take a quick walk down the street to the boys’ favorite late-night fast food place to grab something for you all, saying he wanted some fresh air anyway. Jisung quickly nodded eagerly and you confessed you were hungry too. You asked Minho if he wanted any company, feeling bad about sending him out by himself at this time of night, but he said he didn’t mind and told you guys to continue watching; he’d seen the movie enough times anyway. And that was how he ended up leaving you two alone in his bedroom… and all of a sudden your mind was right back in the place you had fought so hard to get it out of earlier.

You tried to concentrate on the movie. You really did. But you weren’t catching a damn thing that was happening on the screen. You were overly aware of every single thing about Jisung – his earthy scent you’d decided you really liked; the way his hair was still brushing against your forehead; the way his chest rose and fell with his breathing; the curve of his collarbone under your head. His heartbeat, which you swore was a little quicker than it should have been. You were also overly aware of your own heartbeat, which was definitely quicker than it should have been and seemed much louder than usual. And suddenly you were terrified that he had noticed it too, that he suddenly knew exactly what was going through your mind. You slowly turned your head, hoping to sneak a glance at his expression and gauge the situation. And he was looking right at you. Your heart stopped momentarily and your belly fluttered in the way that had been reserved for Minho and Minho only up until now. You wanted to look away before it got awkward. You wanted to but you couldn’t, because he was looking at you like that again. Like he had been all night. Like… like he wanted to kiss you again.

You licked your lips and swallowed, your throat suddenly dry. His eyes flickered to your mouth. Then back up to your eyes. Then back to your mouth. And then he was kissing you. His hands found your waist. One of yours crept up to caress his jaw while the other instantly tangled itself back into the hair you had been dying to touch again all night. You melted into his embrace.

The kiss was sloppy in the most perfect way, your bodies flush against each other. You could feel every part of him, from his hands that were finally resting properly on the small of your back, to his legs that had become entangled with yours, to his tongue – Jisung’s tongue, your friend Jisung’s tongue – to his hipbones, to his crotch, where you felt something twitching and beginning to grow hard. A small moan escaped you. And all of a sudden this was very real. And you remembered that you were in Lee fucking Minho’s bed. You suddenly pulled back a little bit, chest rising and falling rapidly. Jisung’s eyes found yours again, searching.

“Wait, wait, wait,” you said breathlessly. For a second you forgot what you were going to say as you looked at him – his messed-up hair, his flushed face, his dilated pupils, his glistening mouth that had tasted so sweet. And oh no, he was biting his lip. You squeezed your eyes shut for a moment. “Wait.”

“What’s wrong?” Jisung asked, voice full of concern. You had to tell him. You had to be honest before this went any further. It was too weird for you to be doing this. But wow, you did not want to tell him. Especially not when you could be kissing him instead.

“I… I need to be honest with you about something,” you groaned. This was so embarrassing. Was he going to hate you? Tell you it was messed up to have been kissing him when you were harboring feelings for his best friend? Or was it his boyfriend? His sexual partner? Did it matter? Oh god, you didn’t want to ruin it all. But you couldn’t ignore it.

“What is it, baby?” Oh, now why did he have to call you that? Didn’t he realize he was making this even more difficult for you? His eyebrows were furrowed. “Is everything okay?” And it was too late to back out of the truth now, because he was actually worried, and you weren’t going to leave him feeling that way. The mood was probably already ruined regardless. You averted your gaze.

“I… don’t know if we should be doing this. I kind of… um… have a thing for Minho? Oh god.” You could see the corners of his mouth twitch slightly upwards out of the corner of your eye and felt his gaze on your skin like it was burning you. “Don’t look at me. Ugh. I’m so sorry. It was so weird of me to be all over you like this, I don’t know what got into me, I’ve had a crush on Minho for months and I don’t even know what’s going on between you two – not that you need to tell me, I just don’t want to butt in, I promise I didn’t plan for any of this to happen, oh god this is so fucking embarrassing, I can totally understand if you want me to leave, I can call a cab or maybe Hyunjin is still awake and I can go over there instead, just please tell me we can figure out a way to keep being friends, I…” You trailed off. The silence was deafening. Your cheeks were on fire. Why wasn’t he saying anything? You had to look up at him, didn’t you? You did not want to. You swallowed once. And peeked. He was smiling. Why was he smiling? Was he laughing at you? That would be even worse than you’d feared. You were about to turn your eyes away again when he put a hand on your shoulder.

“Y/N.”

“Jisung.”

“Just… take a breath, okay? Everything’s fine.”

“If everything’s fine, why are you laughing at me? Maybe this is amusing to you, but it’s not to me, this is mortifying, I don’t want to lose my friends, I’m so embarrassed right now, I don’t even know what to-”

And all of a sudden you were cut off by his lips again. You quickly pulled back. He moved with you. His eyes were laser focused on your mouth. He looked like he was getting ready to devour you. You wanted to let him so badly.

“Jisung!”

“Y/N!” He was giving you nothing. You groaned. You kissed him. You couldn’t help yourself. You were melting into the kiss again, into him. His tongue was so soft and felt so good in your mouth. Your arms snaked around his waist. His hand made its way to your ass. Your eyes shot open. You detached your lips from his once more and put a little space between your bodies, placing a hand on his chest to ensure the distance was kept this time. You could still feel the heat radiating off of him. It was intoxicating.

“Jisung, we need to focus! Minho will be back any second, this is weird!” You looked at him, trying to convey how serious you were with your eyes, but it was difficult when you were sure you were in just as flustered and flushed a state as he was – and seeing him like that was making it very hard to concentrate. He sighed, but there was still a little smile on his lips.

“Look, Y/N, I wasn’t necessarily expecting it either, but I don’t know, I think I like you.”

“I mean… you were definitely kissing me like you do.”

“Hey!” he exclaimed. “You kissed me first!”

“That’s… true. But in my defense, it was only because Hyunjin dared me.”

“To kiss anybody in the room. Not me specifically.”

“I hate you.”

“I wanted it.” He grinned at you. Your heart skipped a beat.

“But… Minho?” You swallowed uneasily.

“What about him?”

“I just told you I like him.”

“I know.”

“Do you like him?”

“Yeah.”

“Does he like you?”

“Yeah.” He said it so nonchalantly. It drove you crazy.

“Don’t you think this is way too complicated?”

“I think you’re making it a lot more complicated than it needs to be.” You smacked your own forehead at his words.

“Now what on earth does that mean?”

“Look, Y/N, the way I see it, it’s kinda simple. I like Minho, so I kiss Minho. I like you, so I kiss you.”

“But I like Minho.”

“Do you like me?”

“I think so.”

“Then kiss me.”

“I want to, but – stop!” He was moving closer again. “Doesn’t it bother you that I like Minho?”

“No, why? Minho’s great. And beautiful. I totally get it.”

“Well, you said he likes you. And I don’t want to, like… cause any problems.” Jisung smiled at your concern. You did not want his pity.

“Look. I know Minho can come across as kind of… possessive? But trust me. He will not be bothered by us hooking up. The only thing he might be bothered by is if we didn’t offer to include him.” You swore you forgot how to breathe for a moment when you heard those words. Jisung clearly noticed your reaction, because his smile widened considerably. He was enjoying this, wasn’t he? You couldn’t even tell if he was being serious. What on earth had you gotten yourself into?

“Did I just hear you right, Han Jisung?”

“You did.”

“You’re suggesting we hook up… with Minho.”

“I am.”

“You want us to hook up. With Minho. You. And me. And Minho. Yes?”

“Yup.” He clearly noticed you were not processing this at all, so he continued. “Did you think I was just hoping to get in a secret quickie with you before he came back? You know the restaurant’s not that far away, right? He’s already been gone longer than I thought.”

“Were you guys… planning something? Is he, like… expecting to come back to this?”

“Nope. But sometimes things happen. And so you go with the flow, you know?”

“You didn’t talk to him about wanting to have… a threesome… with me tonight? That’s not why you invited me over?”

“Nope. We just wanted to hang out. But now I want to have a threesome. Do you want to?”

“I mean… yes? But, like. Will Minho even want to?”

“We’ll ask him.” He made it sound so simple.

“Does Minho even like me?” You were terrified of the answer.

“Don’t know. I know he thinks you’re really hot, though.”

“He told you that?”

“Lots of times.” Oh. Well, that was that. Your brain had officially stopped working. How were you supposed to process this information? And it was almost scary, the way Jisung seemed to be reading your mind right now, because the next thing he said was: “I want you to stop thinking so much about it all. You don’t need to figure it out.”

“I… don’t?”

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, good.” His voice had become an almost-whisper as he had inched his way closer to you once more, now taking the hand that had been placed on his chest into his own and intertwining your fingers. You could feel the breath coming from his mouth when he spoke. Something in you wanted to protest more – that part of your brain that was such a seasoned overthinker that it short-circuited whenever something interrupted that process. But Jisung wasn’t going to give you a chance to. And honestly, you were grateful to him for it. And so you gave in to the kiss once more. Fully, this time.

You lost yourself in him, let his hands roam your body, let yours roam his in return, every curve, every bone. You felt his chest contracting against yours with each heavy breath he took. When he detached his mouth from yours you almost whined in protest, until he attached it to your neck instead and you forgot everything, focused only on how good his teeth felt on your sensitive skin, saliva everywhere. Your hands slid under his sweater. His skin was so smooth; you could feel the muscles in his back and stomach tensing as you ran your hands all over them, caressing him, incoherent moans escaping you. He was perfect. And he was so good at this. Why was he so good at this?

“Mmh, Jisung. So… good,” you moaned into his hair and he began sucking on your neck even more aggressively at that. His sweater was slipping off his shoulder and you wanted to get him out of it so badly. Your hands reached for the hem of it, began pulling it up… and just then you heard the sound of a key in the lock. And you froze for a moment. Jisung looked up at you. You made eye contact with him. His eyes were glinting like he knew something you didn’t. Like he was almost sure Minho would be happy to join you. Meanwhile you were terrified once again of Minho coming into his own bedroom, finding you in this state with his Han Jisung, and being absolutely disgusted. But the situation was what it was now. And his steps were coming closer to the bedroom. Your belly did a somersault. And he came through the door.

You had moved away from Jisung a little bit and attempted to smooth your clothes down. Regardless of all that, you knew your neck was a mess, so it was probably pointless to even try to look presentable. But it had been an automatic reaction to try and fix your appearance. Jisung had done no such thing. His hair was all over the place, his sweater was still half off, and there was a very obvious erection straining against his jeans. Not to mention the lust-filled grin that was plastered on his face as he looked at the man that had just come through the doorway.

“Hi, Minho,” he grinned.

“Um, hi guys,” the older of the boys responded and you noticed the corner of his mouth quirk up. You looked away quickly when his gaze met yours, hating the fact that you were so nervous again. “What’s going on here?” He couldn’t keep the amusement out of his voice as he reached for the remote to pause the movie that was still running. Both you and Jisung couldn’t stop yourselves from chuckling as you realized it had been on this whole time.

“We, uh… might have gotten a little distracted,” you said sheepishly after your giggles had subsided.

“I can see that.” Minho smirked as he observed the state the two of you were in. “Well, there’s fried chicken in the kitchen, but I’m sure it can be reheated later.” You couldn’t help but giggle again at that deadpan statement.

“Minho-hyung.”

“Yes, Han?” Your heart was pounding as you looked expectantly at the beautiful man standing in the doorway. The man you’d dreamed about so many times. The man whose bed you were currently in… with somebody else. Was this the moment you were finally going to get your hands on him? Was something way beyond what you’d ever dreamed of about to happen?

“Do you want to… join us?” And yes. Jisung had really just said those words. There was no going back now. You swallowed as you awaited Minho’s response. He didn’t say anything at first. But he made his way towards the bed. It sunk as he crawled onto it and took his place on the other side of Jisung once more. Jisung could barely contain himself; he was biting his lip again and his hand was already reaching for Minho’s hip, attempting to pull him closer. But Minho looked at you again first.

“Y/N, are you comfortable with this?” And you could tell he was holding back from pouncing – on someone, anyone, either of you, both of you –, just waiting to make sure this was something you really wanted. And you loved him for it. But if he couldn’t tell by now how badly you wanted him, what with the way your eyes were dripping with lust and your chest was heaving as you stared at him, then you were better at acting than you’d thought.

“God, just get in here, Minho.”

He did not need to be asked twice. He pounced. His lips were on yours in an instant and it was everything you’d ever imagined it to be. He was rough in all the right ways and he tasted even better than you could have dreamed. As you ground into Jisung’s hip, he hoisted Minho’s thigh over his other side, attaching his lips to the older boy’s neck. Then he quickly began to unbutton Minho’s shirt as the two of you continued to make out messily, pausing in between for air and to finally help Jisung out of his sweater as well. You’d never seen the younger of the two quite this excited before and it did things to you that you had no words to describe.

Both of them were so beautiful. Both of them smelled so good. Their scents were all over the room as sweat was already mingling, and you briefly pulled away to take your own shirt off as well. Both pairs of eyes were on you as you did so, and you returned the gaze, looking at their bodies in awe. Jisung had begun unbuttoning his jeans now and Minho reached a hand down to stop him.

“Let me.” The way he said those words sent a shiver down your spine, and suddenly he was pulling you back towards them as well, shoving you down next to Jisung. You began kissing and biting the younger of the two all over his ear, jaw, neck, chest, anywhere you could reach as Minho took his time unbuttoning the man’s jeans and sliding them down his legs excruciatingly slowly, taking his underwear right along with them.

“Don’t be shy now,” Minho said to you as you stopped what you were doing to look at Jisung’s boner that stood against his belly, twitching in arousal, all but begging to be touched. “I’ve had my fun with it plenty of times. You can get us started.” And so you did. You trailed your hand down towards Jisung’s crotch and around the general area first; his lower body bucked upwards when your fingers brushed the inside of his thigh. He let out a small whine, already breathing heavily, cheeks pink, lips slightly parted. And then you were wrapping a hand around his length, giving it a couple of slow pumps, loving the way it felt pulsing under your palm. Jisung groaned, his eyes fluttering back in his head. You caught Minho watching him in awe and thought you might just about die.

You were very aware of your own wetness pooling in your underwear and your pussy twitching, heat coiling in your lower belly. You leant down to place a few excruciatingly soft kisses around Jisung’s crotch and finally on the tip of his cock, before pulling away to start removing your own pants. Minho took the opportunity to attach his mouth to Jisung’s cock and when you heard the moans coming from the younger man, you felt like you couldn’t get your clothes off fast enough. Minho was straddling Jisung’s legs by now and Jisung’s hands were grasping for the other man’s crotch too, attempting to rub him through his pants before awkwardly stretching his body to reach for the buttons and fumbling with them desperately. Minho stopped him, pulling his mouth off of his penis with a pop, then sat up straight and smiled. He kept doing that – smiling like that – and you couldn’t take your eyes off of him when he did. But Jisung’s whine at the loss of contact pulled your attention back to him for a moment.

“Y/N, take over,” Minho ordered, and you took his place eagerly. As you positioned yourself between Jisung’s legs and bent down to take him into your mouth, you felt the bed shift as Minho presumably got undressed… and then you felt his hands begin to roam you from behind. They went all over your body, helping you out of your bra before sliding your underwear off and tossing it to the side. There was so much going on that you luckily only had a brief moment to feel self-conscious as you knew Minho was inspecting your ass and pussy from the back. His hands were kneading your ass cheeks while Jisung was grabbing at your breasts desperately. At the same time you could feel him thrusting up into your mouth and heard his moans quickening… at which point Minho pulled you off of him and flush against his own naked body instead. You gasped at the feel of his erection against your ass and his hands all over your breasts, kneading, pinching. You turned your head slightly to look at his face, panting. He was smiling at Jisung.

“Not yet, baby,” he told him, before pressing several kisses against your shoulder and the crook of your neck that were so soft you almost burst right then and there, your entire body tingling. You arched your back against him, grinding back against his crotch. His chest was slick with sweat against your back. When he looked up from your shoulder, you tried to catch his lips with yours, but he just teased you with an evil grin before flipping you onto your back next to Jisung once more. You turned your head towards Jisung and the two of you looked at each other, completely breathless. A small giggle escaped you which Jisung quickly reciprocated before pressing another sloppy kiss to your lips. You bit and sucked on his bottom lip for a few moments, then turned your head to look up at Minho as Jisung kept kissing and nibbling along your cheek, your neck, your ear. Your eyes trailed up and down the body of the man you’d been lusting over for months. He looked unbelievable, kneeling over you like that. When your eyes met you couldn’t keep yourself from moaning.

You grasped one of his hands, brought his index finger to your mouth and ran your tongue along it before beginning to suck on it, never breaking eye contact with him as you did so. He was watching you intently. You were aching to be touched. He began to lean down, bringing his face impossibly close to yours. You reached for the back of his neck, ready to pull him into a kiss, already feeling his breath on your lips, so eager to taste his mouth once more… but he stopped just short of it again, smirked at you once, then turned his attention to Jisung.

He pulled Jisung’s face off of you before kissing him passionately, deeply, as you could only watch in awe. It was too much.

Your hand found its way to your pussy and you began rubbing your clit while simultaneously spreading your wetness around your folds. You whimpered at the sight of the two of them messily making out, tongues battling as their naked bodies ground against each other. You squeezed your legs together tightly once before pressing a first cautious finger into your pussy, then a second. Your other hand had made its way to your own mouth and you moaned into your palm softly, holding back a little bit. Still, the boys broke their kiss to look at you. It took everything in you not to look away – you were so overwhelmed, so turned on you thought you might burst, so self-conscious but still unable to stop touching yourself at the sight of them.

“I think Y/N needs some attention, hm?” Minho purred at Jisung. “What do you think? Want to put that tongue of yours to good use?” Jisung began grinning again before sliding his body down the bed a little bit, motioning for you to position yourself on top of his face.

“Are you sure?” You asked him, but he was nodding eagerly before you had even finished your question. Minho took you by the wrist, practically forcing you to stop fingering yourself, and helped you position your body above Jisung’s face, slowly lowering you down until your pussy made contact with the younger’s mouth. You moaned loudly as soon as it did, grabbing onto the bed’s headboard to steady yourself as your body arched in response. Jisung put a hand on each hip to steady you, and as he ate you out, Minho began to give the rest of your body attention again. His hands and lips were all over you, squeezing your nipples, kissing you behind your ear and all down your back, making you shiver all over. He lightly slapped your ass cheeks and came back up right next to your ear to ask you in an excruciatingly seductive tone if that was okay for you. You nodded quickly.

“Yeah?” he asked. “That feel good?”

“Mhmmmm,” you moaned back as he slapped you a couple more times.

“What about Jisung? Is he making you feel good?” You could only respond with unintelligible noises as the younger’s tongue penetrated you deeper at the sound of his name.

“M-Minho,” you brought out breathlessly. You were a bit nervous to ask him for anything, but your arousal overrode your embarrassment. “C-can you scratch me?” You panted. “Please?” You swore you could hear the smirk in his voice when he answered.

“You want me to scratch you, kitten?” You nodded, still moaning and holding onto the headboard for dear life, the muscles in your arms flexing. “As you wish, beautiful.” You barely had time to process the fact that he had just called youbeautiful before his nails were on you. All down your back, along your thighs, your hipbones, everywhere. You moaned even louder. Your body was reacting beyond your control, you could feel the tightening sensation in your lower belly growing exponentially and your legs began to shake so that you wondered if you would even be able to remain upright long enough to orgasm.

“You like that, huh?” Minho spoke, and you nodded wildly, still desperately trying to keep your body stable. He kept going, grinding against your ass, scratching you and peppering you with kisses all over your neck and back while Jisung held you steady with a firm grip on your hips. Your thighs were quivering at this point and you knew you wouldn’t last much longer. Jisung pulled away for an excruciating moment, placed unbelievably soft kisses on the inside of your thigh, and when his lips and tongue reattached to your pussy once more, it didn’t take long before you went over the edge. Minho had added one of his fingers into the mix, steadily circling your clit with it as Jisung kept eating you out. Your thighs shook uncontrollably as your orgasm washed over you and you let the two of them hold you up as you rode it out, eyes closed in pure bliss until the last of the waves of pleasure had rocked through your body.

Then you slowly lifted yourself off of Jisung with Minho’s help, slumping with your back against the headboard, and looked at the two of them sheepishly. You were well aware your mouth was still open but you were incapable of closing it fully at this point in time. You looked at Minho; he was still wearing that mischievous expression. You looked down at Jisung, who was wiping your juices off of his lips, sucking them off his own fingertips as he made eye contact with you. Then you broke into a smile.

“Holy fuck,” you breathed. The boys laughed. It was silent for a couple of seconds save for the sounds of all your heavy breathing.

“Are you done, baby?” Minho asked from where he knelt in front of you.

“God no,” you responded, earning more chuckles from the two of them. “Just give me a moment.” Your chest was still falling and rising rapidly while your body felt so heavy and sensitive that you didn’t think you could move just yet. “Can you keep yourselves busy for a few minutes?” They both looked at you as if that was a stupid question and instantly were all over each other once more. Jisung grabbed Minho by the hips and pulled him down until he was straddling him. They began to make out desperately, hips grinding against each other, pornographic sounds coming from both of their mouths.

Jisung’s hand found its way between Minho’s legs and when the older of the two broke the kiss briefly to throw his head back, squeeze his eyes tightly shut and let out a strangled moan, you nearly lost it. The veins in his neck were very visible and he had never looked better. No. You most definitely were not done with them yet.

You watched them for a few minutes more, taking in every detail. Jisung’s smooth body, the muscles in his arms tensing up as he had one hand buried in Minho’s crotch, the other wrapped around his ass to hold him down against him. Minho’s thighs on either side of him. God, those thighs. You were feeling your own arousal begin to build quickly again and cautiously reached down to touch yourself once more, slowly letting yourself get accustomed to the sensation again without overwhelming your still very sensitive body.

You ached to taste Minho again, to shove your tongue in his mouth, to get your hands on him, on his dick which you had yet to have your fun with. You began crawling towards him, reached a hand into his hair, gently turned his head in your direction. His half-lidded eyes met yours and there was that smile again. You tried to pull his face towards you, but just before his lips met yours, he moved them to your neck instead. You groaned.

“What’s- ah! What’s wrong, kitten?” he brought out breathlessly in between moans as Jisung kept pumping his hand up and down his cock. You looked down at it until Minho used his spare hand that wasn’t currently clutching onto Jisung’s shoulder to pull your face back up by your chin and force you to look into his eyes. “What do you need?” As he said that, he trailed his hand down your front until he reached your pussy, where he began slowly circling your clit once more with two of his fingers.

“Mmh- Minho, oh god.” A shiver went through you and you closed your eyes to let the sensation fully wash over you. He was using just the right amount of pressure as he rubbed excruciatingly slow circles over your clit and you forgot everything else for a moment.

“Tell me, kitten,” he huffed out.

“M-Minho… need… you,” you panted. Your hips were bucking in his direction every time he completed a circle and you wanted to feel him inside of you immediately. “P-please. Just fuck me.” You opened your eyes to look at him again. He had reached his other hand down to stop Jisung jerking him off and caressed the younger man’s hand gently before reaching past him to the bedside table, where he retrieved a condom from the top drawer. He looked down at his roommate lovingly, then back up at you.

“Jisung’s been waiting a little longer than me. Don’t you think we should let him go first?” You looked at Jisung and his eyes were so wide, so full of desire. Minho didn’t even wait for your response before he unwrapped the condom and began to slowly pull it down over Jisung’s cock, which you noticed was twitching and already dripping precum. You felt your mouth begin to water, despite the devastating loss of Minho’s fingers on your clit. When he had finished putting the condom on the younger man, he moved to lay down next to him again. “What do you think, Jisungie?” Minho asked him, running a finger down his stomach, trailing it between his legs, grazing his cock, causing Jisung’s hips to jerk upwards.

“Mmh… Y/N. Can I? Can I f-fuck you?” He was panting. He looked incredible. You nodded and moved to straddle him. Who were you to turn him down?

“God, please,” you breathed out, but just before you could settle on top of him, he grabbed you by the waist and flipped you over so you were on your back beneath him instead. Your head hit the pillow and you glanced to the side to make eye contact with Minho for a moment. He was licking his lips and moved to stroke your cheek with his hand. You leaned in towards him, but he gently pushed your face back to look at Jisung instead. You complied, your initial frustration forgotten quickly as your eyes settled on the younger of the two who was now towering over you. He had reached up to push a hand through his hair and the muscles in his arm flexed tantalizingly as he did so.

You reached your hands up to run them over his chest and stomach, feeling every breath that he took. His skin was hot and slick with sweat and you reached up to his neck to pull his face down to meet you. His mouth was on yours in an instant, his tongue pushing into your mouth eagerly. Your breath was already quickening from the exhilaration of the kiss alone. When you felt his hand reach down to grasp himself and slowly begin to position his cock at your entrance, it sped up even more in anticipation. You reached your own hand down to spread yourself for him.

He slowly pushed into you and each little bit further he went sent new waves of pleasure radiating out from your stomach through your entire body. He already felt so good and he had barely even begun.

“Mmh… feel so good, baby…” he groaned as if he was reading your mind again, eyes closed, mouth open as he continued pushing into you until he bottomed out. Then, slowly at first, he began to thrust.

“Oh fuck,” you couldn’t contain your moans. “Jisung!” His hands were on either side of your head now, grasping the pillow for support. Yours were on his ass, pulling him closer, pushing him deeper into you as you slid your hips up and wrapped your legs around his back to find just the right angle. You closed your eyes for a moment, just feeling him, the indescribable sensations going through your body. Both your voices filled the room in time with his thrusts as he settled into a rhythm.

You heard Minho groaning next to you too and when you turned your head to look at him once more, you saw he was slowly stroking his own cock while looking at the two of you. Knowing he was getting off on watching you both amplified your pleasure tenfold and you didn’t even know where to look at this point. You wanted to see both of them. But Jisung enclosed your mouth in yet another desperate kiss, taking the decision off your hands as he continued to thrust into you, though you could already feel his movements speeding up and becoming slightly more erratic as he whined into your mouth in pleasure.

You bucked your hips up to meet his movements and help him keep the pace. He pressed his forehead against yours as he moaned your name against your mouth. You reached one of your hands up to push his sweaty hair out of his eyes. He grabbed your hand with his own and intertwined your fingers against the pillow next to your head. You felt Minho begin to place soft kisses all over both of your hands as he continued to writhe against the sheets next to you, still stroking himself agonizingly slowly. You could see his chest rise and fall out of the corner of your eye.

Meanwhile Jisung’s movements were becoming even more frantic. His hand was still on yours, squeezing tight, but he buried his face in your neck again, allowing your skin to swallow up the sounds still coming from his mouth.

“Mm- so close, baby,” you felt him groan out, the vibrations from his lips shooting through your entire body. “So… close…” He turned his head to meet Minho’s face in a hungry kiss, then looked back at you, the veins in his neck popping out, jaw clenched from how hard he was trying not to cum right now. Yet he didn’t slow his movements down.

“Let go, baby,” you whispered, squeezing his ass hard with the hand that was still resting there. And that was all it took. With a few final big thrusts, you felt his cock pulse inside you as he hit his climax, until his movements gradually slowed down. He was panting against your neck again, still holding onto your hand for the final few sporadic, lazy thrusts before he pressed one more kiss to your neck, then came back up to your face to attach his lips to yours again for a moment. Finally he pulled himself out of you, collapsing next to you and trying to catch his breath. You grinned at him and stroked his cheek affectionately. He laid there with his eyes closed for a few moments more before blinking them open and looking at you.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for that to happen so fast!”

“It’s- oh! It’s o-kay… mmh…” Minho’s hand had latched onto your pussy so fast you barely had time to register it as the sensation overwhelmed your body. You reached down to stop its movements before you completely lost your mind again. “I still have this one to get through, after all.” You cocked your head in Minho’s direction and grinned at Jisung, who was wiping sweat off his forehead, where his hair had started to curl slightly. Minho had moved his attention to your breasts, kissing them, then between them, then your belly, then your hipbones.

“Still sorry,” Jisung panted. “I wanted to make you cum.” He pouted a little bit.

“You already did, remember?” He smiled at that.

“Don’t worry, Jisungie, you can still help,” Minho purred, looking up at him. “Do you need more of a break?” he asked you, and when you instantly shook your head he chuckled a little bit before retrieving another condom from the bedside table, sitting up to slide it over his own dick this time. You watched, entranced, until he lifted your face up by the chin with a finger and smirked at you in that way he always did again. You swore you could have cum just from that. He reached down between your legs once more and you could feel yourself trying to squeeze your thighs shut against your control as the sensations threatened to overwhelm you.

“Minho,” you warned him, breathing heavily. “Not like this. Need you inside me.” He complied, removing his hand from your pussy and rubbing it over your thigh once instead before leaning down to press a kiss to your hipbone again and nip at it a couple of times.

“Where do you want me, baby?” he asked as a shiver went through your body. You took a moment to ponder.

“Lay down,” you decided. “Want to ride you.” He complied.

As his head hit the pillow, Jisung began to kiss and nip at his upper body while you positioned yourself on top of him. His hands quickly gripped your thighs tightly, nails digging into them as you took his cock into your hand, loving the way it felt, and gave it a couple of strokes, which it responded to as if it had a mind of its own. Your other hand reached for your pussy to spread it again and rub your wetness around a little more before positioning Minho’s cock at your entrance.

Then, ever so slowly, you began to lower yourself onto it. A guttural moan came from deep inside Minho’s chest as he shut his eyes for a moment. Now it was your turn to smirk as you slowly took him all the way inside of you before beginning to slide up and down on his cock. He looked even hotter beneath you than you’d ever imagined, than you’d ever thought possible. When he opened his eyes again and looked at you, the eye contact while feeling him inside of you nearly drove you insane.

Jisung was currently squeezing Minho’s bicep while sucking on his neck. You leant down, hoping to kiss Minho while still keeping your hips moving up and down steadily. Just before your mouths connected, he placed his hand at your lips and shoved his finger back in your mouth instead. You were going to go crazy if he didn’t kiss you soon. You hated it. You loved it. It only made you hungrier for him. You sucked and bit at his finger eagerly, relished in his grunts, then sat back up straighter, throwing your head back.

You were starting to get tired but you could not stop going, feeling your pleasure building and building, even more so when Minho began scratching you again, on your back, your thighs, your hips. You arched your back, shut your eyes, moaned his name. He kept his hands on your hips now and slowly his grip began to tighten, holding you down until you couldn’t move anymore. Then he pulled himself up until he had his arms around you tightly and his face at your breasts, kissing them, sucking on your nipples one after the other, licking a stripe up your neck. Then he was lifting you off of him.

“Turn around,” he instructed. “On your knees. Jisungie, you want to help?” The younger nodded excitedly. “Good. Get below them. You can help keep them steady.” Jisung complied. You were straddling his thighs again as Minho gently pushed you down so you were on all fours, hands on either side of Jisung’s head, faces dangerously close together. Then Minho positioned himself behind you again, this time lining himself up with your entrance, asking if you were ready and slowly pushing his cock inside of you once more when you told him you were.

The moan that left your body was the loudest one yet as he bottomed out inside of you, instantly hitting a very deep angle. Jisung swallowed your sounds up hungrily, mouth all over yours. Then Minho grabbed both of your wrists and held them behind your back. Your upper body slid down a little until your face was on Jisung’s chest and all three of you rocked along with the entire bed as Minho thrust into you steadily. Jisung’s hands moved from your hips, where he had been holding you in place, to your breasts and began to play with them while you moaned into his burning skin. You were sure the two men were looking at each other over your head and just the thought of that turned you on even further, if that was possible.

Minho held your wrists in place with only one hand as the other scratched down your back slowly once, causing a shiver and eliciting more moans, before he used it to repeatedly slap and knead your ass in time with his thrusts. One of Jisung’s hands reached down to your clit and you knew you were going to be done for very soon.

You were trying to moan out names – either of theirs, both of theirs. You were trying to say “theretherethere ohgod right there”, you were trying to say “fasterharderpleaseohfuck” – but what came out of your mouth was fully incoherent at this point. It didn’t seem to matter, because Minho was clearly on the same wavelength as you. You were aware of his grunts and groans growing more frequent, you were aware of his hips smacking against your ass faster and faster as he fucked you harder, deeper, hitting just the right spot over and over, and you were aware of your pleasure building and building until it felt almost impossible to bear.

“Gonna… cum…” you managed to groan out against Jisung’s sweaty skin, and just before you did, Minho pulled your body back up against his. His movements slowed again for a brief moment, and then he was turning your face towards his and before you could process what was happening, his lips finally consumed yours – deeply, intimately, passionately. When his thrusts sped up again your climax hit you so fast and hard you almost bit down on his tongue, nearly screaming into his mouth as your pussy clenched around him, wave after wave of pleasure tumbling through your trembling body. When it finally started to slow down and your soul reentered your body, you were so grateful for Jisung holding onto your thighs below you, because you might have fallen over otherwise.

“Almost… there…” Minho groaned against your mouth. “Hold… on… baby.” Your hands curled into fists as you steadied yourself against Jisung’s chest, focusing on how hot Minho sounded when he was desperate like this, knowing you would let him fuck you for as long as he needed no matter how much it took out of you. But he came not long after with a shaky moan, hands holding your hips in place as he rutted into you frantically, then slower, slower, until he stopped. His forehead rested against yours. You both stayed like that for a moment, eyes closed. Then he kissed you once more, so softly this time, before pulling out of you, smoothing your hair down gently with one hand.

You collapsed half-on top of Jisung and he chuckled into your hair, pressing soft kisses to your temples and the top of your head. You felt Minho’s lips ghost against the scratches on your back once, twice, three times before he collapsed next to the two of you as well, resting his head against Jisung’s shoulder.

There was silence for a little bit. You felt so heavy, in the best way. The world around you seemed muted, like everything had been dipped into candlelight – not just your vision but your hearing as well, the sounds of the boys’ breathing muffled as the blood rushing through your head finally started to slow down.

Jisung rested a hand on your back and you were so sensitive to the touch you almost jerked away from it, but once you got used to it, it felt so good, grounding you. His naked body beneath yours was warm and comfortable. You slowly fluttered your eyes open again and looked at Minho across from you. You reached out to touch his face, caress his cheek gently, then turned your face down to Jisung’s chest to press a kiss to it. Then you rolled onto your back, legs still intertwined with Jisung’s, and looked up at the ceiling. Just like before when you guys had first entered the dorm, you were the one to break the silence, but this time it wasn’t awkward.

“Wow.” A single word. And all three of you huffed out little laughs, looked at each other – and you had never been happier, never felt more blissful, more relaxed, more at home. You couldn’t have wiped the smile off your face even if you’d wanted to. After another moment you spoke again. “Um, we might need to try watching that movie again another time.” The sound of the boys’ soft laughter filled your heart with joy and your stomach fluttered again. You loved the way it felt this time.

“You’re both so fucking hot,” Jisung said out of the blue and you and Minho both grinned.

“You’re fucking hot, baby,” Minho told him in return and you could only nod your enthusiastic agreement.

After a little more comfortable silence, Jisung slowly began to shift you both off of him, announcing he wanted to take a quick shower. He asked if anyone else wanted to but you informed him you couldn’t stand just yet and Minho agreed with you, so once Jisung had left, he pulled you into his arms instead. His skin felt so good against yours, so comforting. He played with your hair as you listened to the sounds of the water hitting the tiles in the shower and after a while Minho mumbled “You really are beautiful” against the skin of your temple. You turned your head up to kiss him and he reciprocated with no hesitation. There was none of the urgency from before and it was incredible in its own way, soft and sweet and perfect.

After another little while you became vaguely aware of the sound of a hairdryer at the edges of your drifting consciousness, and by the time Jisung returned you both were half asleep already, Minho’s arms tight around your middle as he spooned you from behind. You were aware of Jisung turning the TV off before he crept into the bed beside you and pressed a kiss to your forehead. Your eyes fluttered open once, met his and you both smiled before he reached over to the nightstand to turn out the light and settle down on his back. You laid your head against his chest, inhaled him deeply, draped an arm across his stomach and let his heartbeat lull you to sleep. It didn’t take long.

---

When you woke up the next day to daylight cautiously peeking in through a gap in the curtain, still very much tangled up in both Minho and Jisung’s bodies, you panicked for a second. But laying here with them was so soothing that you didn’t let yourself think about your worries for long, instead listening to their deep, steady breathing and letting their scents envelop you.

It wasn’t too long until they began to stir as well, blinking their eyes open not long after each other. And the way they both smiled when they took in where they were and who they were with told you everything you needed to know: this had not been a mistake. And it also would not be the end of it. If their gentle, content expressions hadn’t been enough to convince you of that, the way they softly greeted you and each other and the lazy kisses and cuddles that ensued certainly were, as well as the rest of the slow morning (or, well, afternoon) you spent together. You took your time cuddling, chatting, getting ready, eating some breakfast that Minho prepared for you all.

You didn’t talk about the situation in depth yet, but you felt no rush to. In fact, for once in your life, you didn’t want to try and rationalize or understand everything. The only thing you all did confirm was that you had enjoyed yourselves immensely and wanted to spend a lot more time together – and that was enough for now.

When you ran into Felix on your way home that afternoon, you still hadn’t been able to wipe the smile off your face that you’d been wearing all day. You stopped to chat for a few moments and you could tell he wanted to ask, but you also figured from the way his eyes were twinkling that he maybe already had an idea. Either way, you told him you’d catch up with him and the others again later – that you wanted to go home and freshen up and take a little time to yourself for now. But just before you left, you pressed a quick kiss to his cheek and grinned at him.

“Great party, Lix.”

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thebestandworstdayofjune · 3 months ago

Text

i only see daylight

summary: a few months before the Pittfest shooting, Dana calls you to the ED to calm down Dr. Robby, who's had a rough shift. This is a follow up to a fic I’ve already posted, linked below. This is a prequel, so it’s not strictly necessary to read that first! previous wc: 2 k+ a/n: Please feel free to send any requests my way! Title taken from Daylight by Taylor Swift warnings: general fluff, canon typical stress

A single text from Dana had sent you running for the emergency department doors. ‘Any time to stop by today?’ You did your best not to panic, but she wasn’t one to ask you to come to the hospital without reason to. It was your day off from the bakery, but you’d spent it in the kitchen nonetheless. Batches of banana bread had already been packed in a bag that you planned to pawn off on the next emergency department worker that was sure to stop in the next morning, but there was no reason to wait, emergency or no, so you threw it over your shoulder on the way out the door.

The walk was short, but stretched out in front of you dauntingly. Your heart pounded in your chest, and you did your best to take steadying breaths in the interest of not needing a bed once you arrived. You’d long ago been given permission to come through the ambulance bay, but it still felt like you were committing a bit of a crime. You smiled at the EMTs waiting in the ambulance bay and made your way to the nurse’s station, finding Donna on the phone with her glasses perched on her head. She spotted you and tucked the phone against her chest. “Hey, doll,” she called, before whoever was on the other end of the receiver demanded her attention. It seemed the emergency could wait a moment or two.

You snuck into the staff room, depositing a few loaves of banana bread on the counter along with a little note inviting people to take a slice along with a few plates and napkins. It wasn’t uncommon for all of the dishes to be stuck in the sink, so you took it upon yourself to keep some paper plates and things stocked for them, bringing extra with any treats as well. You allowed yourself a small smile before heading back into the fray.

“He’s on a tear today.” Heather had fallen into step beside you. You peaked at her, not breaking your stride. There was no need to ask who she was talking about, there’s only one doctor you seem to have a special sauce for calming down.

“What provoked him this time?” you ask, clasping your hands in front of you.

“What makes you think someone provoked him?” she asked, laughing softly. “You are too nice, sometimes.”

You shrug, unsure how to respond.

“Thank god you’re here.” Frank falls into step on your other side. “I wasn’t sure Gloria would live to see the end of the day at this rate.”

“You’re so dramatic,” you sigh, but take his sarcasm as a sign that things are maybe not as calm as you first suspected. “Banana bread in the breakroom.”

“If I wasn’t already married…”

“Go before I tell Abby about this.” you laugh, bumping your shoulder against his arm. The threat was empty, just like his flirting. It used to freak you out, but after meeting Abby and seeing the way they worked together, you knew that he was harmless. Some assurance from Michael on the matter hadn’t hurt either.

He turned on his heel, marching straight for the room you’d just left. “How bad is it?” you asked Heather, searching the central rooms instead of meeting her eyes.

“He’s been snippy, Gloria’s caught the most of it but he’s…” she hesitated, searching for the right words. “You know how he gets.”

You nod, knowing that this likely wasn’t an easy day for anyone. You were searching for the right thing to say when a med student appeared at Heather’s side, pulling her away. She gave you a look that said ‘I’m sorry’, but you were quick to give her one that insisted you were okay in return.

You flopped into a chair on Dana’s right, glad to see that she was off the phone. “What can I do for you, my love?” you ask, turning the chair side to side.

“He’s finishing up with a patient in Central 7,” she said, not looking up from her tablet.

“And?”

“And we both know you’ll calm him right down.”

“High expectations,” you huff, examining a hangnail you hadn’t noticed until now.

You felt Dana’s gaze on you before you even looked up. “I tried it all. I fed him, I plied him with coffee and that special creamer you left last week.” you fought down the heat in your cheeks, knowing that you’d been caught. You always insisted the things you left were for no one in particular, and you were a terrible liar. “We ran interference on Gloria but she’s slippery today.”

For someone who was not employed at this hospital, Gloria was a surprisingly large thorn in your side. She had a way of choosing the most inopportune time to bother your friends, and you were left to pick up the pieces. You heaved a deep breath, steadying yourself for what you needed to do. “I’ll give it my best shot.”

Dana laid a hand on your shoulder, squeezing firmly. “I know, doll.”

The curtain to Central 7 thwipped open, revealing your grumpy friend rubbing at the back of his neck. He took a deep breath before shaking his hand, shoving his hands in the pockets of his zip up. You gave him a once over, noting the lines between his brows and the way his shoulders were nearly touching his ears. Gloria really did a number on him. You waited for his gaze to drift your way, not wanting to overwhelm him if he wasn’t ready to talk. You knew how to help but you weren’t keen on making him feel like he had to accept it.

He stopped to talk to Samira, who was your favorite of the residents, not that you’d ever admit to having one in front of anyone else. After a few moments, she caught your eye over Michael’s shoulder, and her eyes lit up. She offered you a little wave, but Micahel didn’t see, already checking over his shoulder.

You gave him a sheepish smile, doing your best not to curl in on yourself. He said a few words to Samira, nodding once before making his way to the nurse’s station. He leaned on the opposite side of the counter, shoulders hunching as he leaned on the desk. He gave you a once over, checking you over for signs of sickness or injury, half a byproduct of his job and half because he had a tendency to worry about you more than most.

“Fancy seeing you here,” you joke, breaking the silence.

You can see a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, but all you get is a heavy sigh. “I’m fine.” he insisted, voice heavy.

“Mmhmm. I brought banana bread.” you gestured behind you to the staff lounge.

He gave you one more once over, another sigh heaving from his chest. You lean forward, resting your chin on your folded hands. You do your best to look innocent, but his eyes narrow and you have to admit you’re losing the battle. “I’m fine,” he insisted.

“You promised you wouldn’t do that with me.” your voice is soft, a stark contrast to the sounds of the ED that echoed around you.

His head dropped, forehead resting against his arms. Your fingers twitched at your side, wanting to comfort him in a way that you knew would be more effective, but you were unsure if it would be appropriate at the moment. Probably not a good look for the attending to have his hair smoothed mid shift. After a few moments, he peeked at you, shield slipping just a bit.

“You don’t have to tell me now, or at all for that matter, but please don’t pretend.” you took a breath, centering yourself. “I’m not going to break.”

You could almost see the thoughts swirling in his head. He’d confessed before that he worries about overwhelming you, or dulling some of your shine if he talks about a particularly bad shift. You didn’t say anything for a moment, trying to find the right words that wouldn’t spook him. You’d settled on a simple thank you, and the laughter that fought its way out of him had only made your heart warm.

He nodded, his own deep breathing mirroring your own. You glanced at the clock, glad to see that it was late enough his shift should be ending soon. “Plans later?” He shook his head. “You wanna walk me back?” A nod. You smiled, some of the tension in your chest loosening. “I’ll be here when you’re ready. Go finish saving lives.” He smiled, backing away a few steps and nodding again. “No pressure, though!” you called after him, and his laugh washed away the remaining worry.

“You did good, kid.” Dana said, and you swiveled your chair towards her, unaware that she had been watching. “Thought I was gonna have to send Abbot up after him.”

Jack had mentioned their trips to the roof so casually, you weren’t sure if he was being serious at first. But when you’d stopped by with a few treats and a coffee with his name on it and found him on the wrong side of the guard rail, your heart stopped. He’d climbed back over the instant he saw you, and you did your best to quell the guilt over him having to comfort you.

You shook your head, shooing the memory away. “Glad it didn’t come to that.” you say, tucking your hair behind your ear.

Dana caught it, smiling to herself. “Hasn’t in a while, dear.” Her tone implied she wanted to say more, but the charge phone broke the tension and you were saved for a bit. The time passed quickly, a few med students stopping by to complement the banana bread, fielding questions about the fall menu from Princess and Perlah.

“That bad today, huh?” you looked up from your phone to find Dr. Jack Abbot, backpack slung over his shoulder and a mischievous smirk on his face.

“It’s been relatively calm since I got here-”

“He usually is after you show up, long as you’re not too banged up.” There was no humor in his voice.

This time, your face went hot within seconds. It wasn’t a secret that you had a soft spot for Michael, and that he was a bit protective over you. But it wasn’t something either of you talked about. “I, um-”

“Dr. Abbot, can I get your eyes on this?” you were saved by a med student, iPad in hand. Jack gave you a final once over before lending his full attention to the student.

You blinked a few times, willing your thoughts to clear. You were stuck for a moment in the middle of the aisle, the sounds of heart monitors and other various equipment making it a bit difficult to think. A rough hand rested softly against your elbow, grounding you. You turned to find Michael, familiar backpack slung over his shoulder.

“You ready?” he asked, eyebrows scrunching together above his nose.

“If you are!” you said, mustering up some false cheer.

“And you promised not to do that with me.” You spared him a sheepish look, knowing that you’d been caught. All you can do is nod, and let him lead you out. You waved goodbye to Dana, who was leaving in the opposite direction and did your best to focus on Michael’s hand on the small of your back, warm and sure and grounding.

“You gonna tell me what’s got you so freaked out?” he asked once you were a few blocks from the hospital.

“Just something Jack said.”

“Do I wanna know?”

“Probably not.” you laughed, although the nerves were still hanging around. “I thought I’d make dinner, if you’re up for it.”

He laughed, the smile finally reaching his eyes. The little crinkles that appeared when he smiled made your stomach flip, in the most platonic way possible. “You’re a terrible cook.”

“Fine, you make dinner then.” you huffed. He wasn’t wrong, you could make incredibly complicated french pastries, but cooking was often too freeform for you to really wrap your head around.

“I ordered a pizza about three minutes before we left, we should beat it home by a couple minutes.”

You smiled, looping your arm through his and doing your best not to focus too hard on how he’d referred to your place as home. There was time to worry about it later.

#the Pitt x reader #the pitt hbo #the pitt #the pitt max #the pitt fanfiction #dr robby x reader #dr robby fanfiction #dr robby imagine #dr robby #michael robinavitch #Michael robinavitch x reader #Michael robinavitch imagine #Michael robinavitch fanfiction #Michael robinavitch x you #the pitt x you #dr robby fluff #Michael robinavitch fluff #the pitt fluff

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coquettepascal · 11 months ago

Text

texas sweet

summary: joel is your friendly neighborhood dad of the year, so why is his driveway empty on father's day? better yet, why do you feel the need to make up for everyone elses absence?

tags: 18+, smut, handjob, desc of joel mastubrating, a "massage", neighbor!joel x f!reader, massages, general cheesiness, soft!joel, pathetic!joel, almost(?) sub!joel, reader gets blueballed (sorry), biting, joel whimpering, joel being a proud girl dad, no-outbreak, ellie and sarah exist, tommy is mentioned(!!), joel is a southern gentleman, mention of reader having parents, no desc of reader but she can fit between joel and the couch, dilf!joel (yum)

-> part. ii here!

a/n: my first joel fic ever... i would like to thank every person who has written no-outbreak!joel or pre-outbreak!joel. i freaked it.

texas sweet masterlist and my masterlist

(4.9k, not beta read.)

Moving to Texas was not the plan, or even the “blessing” your mother claimed it would be. Being the one who took over your grandparents home after they moved to a seniors facility? Fantastic! Amazing, even. Leaving your job, friends, and boyfriend, back home? Horrible. Heart wrenching and annoying.

Austin, for the most part, was lonely. Long distance didn’t end up working between you and your boyfriend, your friends just got busier with their jobs, and it wasn’t like your parents could just drive 14 hours to see you every weekend. Co-workers were nice, but honestly who really wants to hang out with people you already spend 40 hours a week with? Maybe you were jaded, or picky, which was what your mother also claimed, or maybe your whole life was uprooted for what felt like no reason.

What you weren’t picky about, was the view from your bedroom window. You’re not a peeping tom, or a perv, but it isn’t your fault that your dilf-y next door neighbor is so easy on the eyes.

No, moving to Austin was not a blessing, but Joel Miller was.

Joel was the neighborhood guy. Need an oil change? Joel. Need your fence fixed? Joel. Block party? Joel’s yard. It’s like he doesn’t know how to say no to anybody, that southern politeness deeper than the drawl that lies in his voice. When you had first moved here he had helped you move your couch through the door, all smiles and polite nods. He barely introduced himself before he was asking if you needed any help, and he had called you “young lady,” which made you giggle. Such a giving man, but of course he was. A single father to two daughters? “No” wasn't in his vocabulary.

Sometimes, you think if your dad was as good a father as Joel Miller was, maybe you wouldn’t be fiending after him with such ferocity. Watching him with his two girls, Sarah and Ellie, was something that tugged your heartstrings no matter what. Sarah wasn’t around a lot anymore, apparently she went away to a fancy college. You had helped her pack all her stuff into Joel’s truck, but quickly went inside when you saw him getting misty eyed, you didn't want to embarrass the poor guy. Ellie is younger than Sarah and still lives at home. Honestly, you didn’t know much about her apart from the fact that she was adopted and that she’s in high school. She’s always happy to chat, but she’s also always going somewhere, which leaves Joel lonely sometimes.

Joel seems better suited for loneliness than you are though. His brother Tommy comes around pretty often, though they seem fairly opposite. Tommy truly is sweet, has always chatted with you during block parties (even if it may be for nefarious reasons when he’s had too many drinks,) but he looks like… a fuckboy. Without fail, every time he rolls up to Joel’s house, he’s blasting some shitty new country music and wearing Pit Viper sunglasses as he carefully parks his spotless truck. Despite their differences though, they get along just as well. Your summer evenings are often interrupted by the sound of their laughs and the crisp sound of the two cracking open some cold ones.

So why is it that when Father’s day rolls around, Joel’s driveway is empty?

You aren’t watching on purpose, you just happen to glance over that way a lot. The only action you see from his house is Ellie leaving for her friend's house sometime after noon, like usual on a Sunday. No signs of Sarah or Tommy. Part of you figured that maybe Sarah would make the lengthy drive down from her school, or maybe that Tommy would show up at some point, but nobody does.

‘Not creepy,’ you assure yourself as you go upstairs to peer through your bedroom window to see if anyone is there. You could totally look through the kitchen window that directly faces his backyard, but you fear the day he’s looking right back at you.

Looking outside, you see nothing. Joel’s grey-blue truck sits unmoved in the driveway, his plants are watered though so you guess he came outside at some point. The thought makes you feel a bit sad, the image of Joel and his soft eyes watering the plants, whistling to himself and trying to tell himself it doesn’t matter that nobody came. He probably really doesn’t care at all, a lot of men aren’t very sentimental or emotional about days like this, but you care.

He’s a good man, a good father, and a good neighbor. Seeing him be underappreciated on what is basically his day is ticking you off for some stupid reason. When 3pm rolls around you decide that you have to do something for Joel, it feels wrong not to.

Which is how you end up in line for the register at Home Depot. You sat in the parking lot for 10 minutes racking your brain, trying to think of things that guys like, but came up with nothing. Joel is a contractor, so he’ll probably find some use out of a 50 dollar Home Depot gift card, but it still feels too impersonal. Joel literally fixed your toilet when a date you took home broke the handle off the tank mid-vomit. He’s too nice to just hand a stupid gift card with “Happy Father’s day” scrawled across the mini paper envelope. He deserves something thoughtful, something gentler than a gift card for (probably) his job.

…Which is how you end up waiting in line for the register at the supermarket. You have a bouquet of flowers in your hand, with a Home Depot gift card shoved in your jacket pocket. It feels utterly ridiculous to give Joel Miller flowers, to pick out which colours you think he’d like and get the florist to wrap them up neatly with a bow, but you have a good reason. At some point in the past week you had seen a post about how a lot of men never receive flowers. It resurfaced in your head as you picked your brain again, making you wonder if Joel had ever received flowers. You know that he was married once, but that was when Sarah was little, it’d probably been 10 or even 15 years since he had any gestures like that made for him.

Not that this was for romance reasons. It was for father’s-appreciation-day reasons. Of course.

Maybe you shouldn’t be so invested in your neighbors emotions and life, but it’s too late now. You carefully pack away the flowers in the back seat of your car, snuggling the gift card into the ribbon that holds the flowers together.

—

And if you thought that standing in line at Home Depot, or at the supermarket was bad, it’s so much worse trying to work up the courage to knock on Joel’s front door. You can’t figure out how to hold this bouquet of flowers behind your back without dropping them, so you just awkwardly knock on his door with one hand, flowers in the other. At least the gift card is managing to stay in place where you tucked it, but you wish you told the florist not to write his name in cursive.

Your repeating thoughts of “Is this weird? Am I weird?” are interrupted when he opens the door.

Joel looks… normal. He doesn’t look sad like you thought he might, if anything he looks more confused at you being there. His brown hair is tousled slightly and he’s wearing pajama pants, even though he smells fresh. Joel’s eyes meet yours and he tilts his head quietly, as if waiting for you to go on, but what do you even say? Oh shit that’s right–

“Happy father’s day,” your voice comes out shyly. You shove the flowers at him a little abruptly and he blinks in surprise, accepting them. It’s awkward for a second, the way his eyebrows shoot up as he notices the cursive lettering of his name written on the envelope.

“These’re for me, darlin’?” He asks curiously, still looking over the flowers.

A stammering of “um” and “yeah” leave your mouth pretty quickly and he smiles. You’re pretty sure he says thank you, but you just kind of stare at him awkwardly. A beat passes between the two of you as he admires the gift. “You uh– You don’t think of me as your dad, do you?” Joel asks. Oh fuck. You hadn’t thought about the fact that maybe that was what he would take away from this. All of your thoughts had been consumed by worries that he’d think you were trying to hit on him, but here he was thinking that you thought of him as a father figure. Which you didn’t. Your dad is fine, no need to replace him, at least not at this point.

“No, no. Oh my god– Sorry,” You choke out, half laughing. It’s a quiet moment on the porch for a second, just the two of you standing there. Maybe you should explain your thought process.

“It’s just that you’re a dad and like– not to sound like a weirdo freak but nobody’s been at your house all day and it made me sad for you. Not that I pity you but,” your voice trails off as you fear you’ve made this worse. Joel seems a bit surprised at this, mouth opening slightly but then transitioning to a soft smile.

“And what if I told you that I wanted everyone t’leave me alone today?” He asks you slyly. And oh god, that is so much worse than him mistaking this gesture for flirting or pity. You never would have thought that maybe the guy who does everything for everyone probably just wants to be left the hell alone for a gift. Your heart drops in your chest, taking all the blood in your face with it. Embarrassment floods you with a force you didn’t realize possible, stuttered apologies leaving your lips as fast as you can. Joel shakes his head, laughing quietly as you sputter “sorry” repeatedly, like a broken sprinkler.

“I’m jokin’, sweetheart. I appreciate this,” he says. The crows' feet by his eyes shouldn’t be as charming as they are, but combined with that rumbling laugh and smile… he could get away with anything. He plucks the Home Depot gift card from the ribbon and huffs a laugh, like he’s impressed.

Well that’s… something? It made him smile right? Maybe feeling bad for Joel was better than feeling stupid in front of him. You step back, towards the stairs of his porch, but he shakes his head. “You were really this worried?” He asks, admiring the flowers. That makes your heart bloom in your chest, seeing how much he really liked this. Joel didn’t seem much like a flower guy, but you saw the way he kept his yard neat, with tulips in the spring and his lawn trimmed squarely. Shyly, you nod in response to his question. It feels silly to worry for him like this, you don’t know if he considers you a friend the way he is in your head.

“S’awful sweet,” he tells you. Something about his presence is so big, a balance of hospitality and intimidation all at once. Maybe it’s his big stature, broad shoulders and thick arms, a body built for work. Or his voice, the strong timbre of it, humbled in southern twang. Joel is a force of warmth, a heat that can’t be contained. His heart shines through his golden skin, forcing whoever he looks at to have a spotlight. That’s where the intimidation lies, in how he makes you feel like there’s a halo over your head, all his attention right there.

He’s so hot you don’t even want him to look at you.

But there he is anyways, smiling as he admires the gift again, dorkily leaning in to dramatically huff the flowers. His mouth is moving but you're deafened by the sensation of a blush on your face. You thought it was just a silly little crush, because who wouldn’t find Joel attractive. He’s handsome, hard working, and just an all around traditional man. But this attraction… It's like your crush on him has given you tinnitus. His lips are moving and you aren’t registering the words. Wait shit, he’s speaking–

“Darlin’?” Joel calls. He looks at you, head tilted, and still fucking smiling. The way his eyes glimmer, the crows feet that squeeze them into a smile… Why is it so hard to hear him?

“I asked if you wanted to come in,” he repeats.

—

You’ve never been inside Joel’s house, but you’d never thought about it either. Being in it, now, it all makes sense. Photos of his daughters are framed everywhere, their achievements plastered on the walls in shines of silver and gold. It’s hard not to imagine Joel hunched over his kitchen counter, tediously cutting pictures out to place them in frames. He was only an idea before, an idea of a man, and now he has become one wordlessly. All it took was stepping inside his house, smelling him everywhere. Life dances in the jackets that are tossed over dining room chairs, the toolbelt dumped by the shoe rack at the door. The picture of Joel you held in your mind begins to come alive, the movements in the details of his life stealing your breath. He is more than a good man, he is a great one.

And now, you have to strike up a conversation with him.

Joel grunts as he sits down on the couch beside you, placing two glasses of water down. He places his glass in front of the can of beer sitting on a coaster, distorting the label to nothing but warped blue and red. Is he hiding that he was drinking? Why is that cute?

A pause hushes both of you as Joel gets comfortable, sitting down. He’s paused a show, but it just looks like it was whatever movie was playing on the local TV channel.

“You must be so proud of them,” you say, eyes glazing over the pictures of Sarah and Ellie. You can tell exactly which photos were taken with a camera and which were taken with his phone. One picture of Ellie, maybe when she was 13 or 14, is from her soccer tournament. She’s smiling, holding up a ribbon for MVP, and Joel’s thumb is in the bottom corner. It’s strange to realize that Joel has basically been a father twice over, but also admirable.

He talks for a little while, rambling about Sarah and her time up at college, and also how Ellie has been doing better in school this year. You always had a feeling Ellie was a bit feistier than Sarah was, but to hear how proud Joel is of her anyways makes your heart flutter. His love for them was so unconditional, so why weren’t they here today? You ask him, a half smile crossing his lips as he hears your question.

“Sarah called me ‘round lunchtime, one of them video calls. Had lunch with my girl and got to catch up with her. She’s so damn busy, y’know that? Always studying and,” he catches his breath, realizing he’s blabbing again. A reddish tone creeps up his neck in embarrassment.

“Point is, she called. Was nice of her, I miss her lots,” He finishes quietly.

Your eyebrow raises. He didn’t mention Ellie. Joel huffs.

“I’m 99% sure she’s over at Dina’s making me a gift, but it’s fine that she forgot. I’ve been on her ass about homework, fair’s fair.”

He looks cute when he’s begrudging, one side of his mouth sliding to the side so part of his cheek puffs over it. You nod, making a comment in response. The conversation is so smooth you forget what you’re saying as soon as you’re laughing.

This is easier than you thought it would be. Joel’s always been friendly, obviously, but you just assumed he would be more closed off than this. Even if it’s just rambling about his daughters, or Tommy, or the jobs he’s been managing and how annoying his clients are, it’s something more. Something more than the passing glances and small conversation you’ve had before.

You talk a bit about your own life, how tough the move to Texas was, how lonely it can be. Joel doesn’t seem as receptive to this, but there’s an understanding in his eyes that you can feel. He’s a tough clam to slide your knife into, and you doubt you’ll feel his tongue today. The eager blabber he has for his family and career doesn’t extend to himself, and it seems you’ve hit a wall with him. Or maybe you’ve hit too close to home. “Sorry,” you say, feeling a little weird.

This whole day has felt like you’re pulling against a lead Joel wasn’t even holding in the first place, like you’re always doing too much. But just like the rest of the day, he isn’t holding the rope around your neck. He’s surging forward with reassurances blooming out of his mouth, Texas sweet to the bone.

He shakes his head, telling you that it’s fine, he gets it. A joke about being a single father, a smile directed at you, consoling. Vaporub for your congested anxieties.

“I’m sorry darlin,” Joel starts, and fuck is he sending you home? Is that your cue to leave? You did too much, he was just being nice.

“-- I didn’t even offer you water when you came in. D’you need somethin’ to drink?” He asks.

God, doesn’t he get tired of being this nice? Your neighbors warned you that he was a grump when you first moved here, dirty liars.

“Oh, sure, uh. Water would be good, thanks,” you reply.

You’re only half paying attention to the grunt he lets out when he gets up the first time, your eyes busying themselves with the way his cotton tee stretches across the muscled planes of his back. But, after he hands you the glass of water and groans when he sinks back into the couch, you notice.

You down the glass like you’re parched, but really your mouth just needs to be full right now. The sound of his groans are bouncing in your ear canals as your neck flushes red with each gulp of water. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything.

“Bad back?” You ask after you catch your breath.

He hums in response, talking about how it comes with the job he has. “All that lifting in my early years…” as if he’s a thousand years old. Joel mentions that he’s been to the chiropractor a few times, thanks to Sarah’s begging and pleading.

“I don’t know, I think it’s gimmicky. They get you on the table and the guy feelin’ you up acts like he’s Christ himself,” Joel says, rolling his eyes.

The idea of Joel, shirtless and face down, grumbling as some guy works his hands over his skin. The idea of Joel groaning in relief as someone else works those knots out, God you wish you were a chiropractor, you wish you could put your hands all over him.

Greed hardens over your mind like a shell, and the words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them.

“I could– I could help, maybe. My dad used to have a pretty bad back and I kinda figured out how to work knots out.”

Joel’s eyes widen, looking over to you with mild interest. For the first time today, around Joel, you don’t feel like you’ve overstepped. In fact he looks interested in this offer. A beat passes between the two of you, hesitation caught in his throat it seems.

It’s probably super fucked up in his head, his younger neighbor coming over and offering to rub him down. But your mind is still greedy, coated in thoughts of his skin under your palms, and that southern rumble that’s given you dilf earworms.

He looks like he’s about to say no when you speak again.

“You don’t even have to lay down, or take your shirt off. Could just lift it up,” you offer.

Joel still looks like he’s going to say no, the left side of his mouth raising to make up some reason. You can’t let him, not when you’ve been this ballsy. Walking out of here now would make this infinitely more awkward.

“It’s your day, Joel,” you supply him with a reason to say yes. The reason might be silly, might be a last minute add-on to his father’s day, but who cares.

Apparently not Joel, since he pulls his shirt up to his shoulders, the fabric scrunching around his broad frame.

—

You feel a little stupid, slotted behind Joel on the couch. The two of you are basically shoved up against one another, Joel wriggling to give you access to his lower back. He hasn’t said anything yet, no reassurance that this backrub is any good. You think you’re doing well, you feel the knots loosening. It might be better this way, him not making noise. The groan you heard earlier was more than enough to push you into a frenzy.

Your hands work further down, where his waist begins to pull in. Looking closer you can see where the softness of his tummy is, a fatherly badge of honor. Continuing your movements, you gently press your thumbs into the flesh there, and earn yourself Joel’s first noise.

Not a grunt, groan, complaint, or cuss. A whimper.

Your voice clashes with his, both of you talking over each other accidentally.

“Are you okay–” you ask as his voice flounders again, a “Darlin--” leaving him out of his own volition.

Pulling your hands away you begin to pull his shirt back down his back, mortified. How could you claim you were good at this and then hurt his back more? Joel’s been through enough today.

“Please don’t stop,” Joel’s voice grabs your brain again, forcing your focus.

He’s sliding his shirt up again, just by rolling his shoulders as he hunches over, waiting for you to continue. His face is in his hands, and his ears are pink. It’s the first time he’s asked you for anything tonight, you can’t refuse him.

Placing your hands back where they were, you begin to massage again. It seems like his lower back is the main problem, with the way he’s grunting into his palms. As your hands work away the aches he begins to swear to himself.

“Fuck,” he grunts as your thumbs dig deep, soothing a pain he hasn’t felt eased in years.

This is good. Pride spreads in your chest, knowing he feels better. Your hands work away, and you get laser focused on untangling these massive knots in his back. Eventually you break your focus, switching to softer rubs and small scratches up and down his back.

Tearing your eyes away from his skin, you realize the throw pillow that was beside you earlier is gone. The yellow corner of the cushion peeks at you from where you saw Joel’s belly earlier, over his lap. A thick forearm is crushing it into himself there, the veins in his neck pulsing.

Flames lick up your face, onto the tips of your ears and down your neck, heating your spine. Is he aroused right now? “Joel?” You ask quietly.

He shakes his head, voice tight.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Just– it just feels nice,” he admits.

Your hands pause. Okay, so he’s admitted he’s hard. What do you do now? Keep rubbing his back and blueball the poor guy? On Father's day? That seems mean, and awkward. Everything about this is awkward though, so it couldn’t really get worse.

“I could… I could help it feel better,” you offer meekly.

You’re not scared of a dick. You aren’t. Your voice is quiet because it seems like he is horribly ashamed of this, probably feeling guilty.

Joel rubs a hand over his face.

“You don’t have to, you can just go,” he says, but his voice betrays him. Need is sewn in his tone, a desperation.

Part of you wonders how long it’s been since someone touched him like this as you reach around, palming the front of his jeans. The hiss he lets out tells you it’s been awhile. How wrong that is, an attractive man like Joel being forced to get his own rocks off.

Getting the button and fly of his jeans down is difficult when you can’t see, even worse when your brain is making up images of Joel masturbating. He’s so shy when he’s being touched, does he bite his sheets? Bite his other fist in the shower? Poor boy, he deserves this.

His hips lift off the couch to help you shove his jeans and briefs down. Joel’s bare ass slides against you and he cringes. “Is it okay if you don’t look?” He asks.

You hate that he seems so insecure, but you’re not going to push him. Nodding into his skin, you press your face to his back, resting your cheek near the blade of his shoulder. He’s heavy in your palm, warm skin with veins your fingers can trace over.

Telling him that he’s big feels redundant, you’re sure he knows that about himself. Neither of you seem very sure about what you’re doing, the shuddering breaths from his chest matching your hesitant grasp around his cock.

“Are you okay?” You ask again.

Joel nods into his hand, asking you to please touch him.

Admittedly, it’s a dry hand job, but Joel doesn’t seem to mind. The flick of your wrist is fluid, even if your arm is cramping from being wrapped around him. Joel lets out these little noises, grunts and whines. His hand is covering his eyes while the other one rests lightly on your forearm, like he wants to know that you’re still there.

Need is exuding from him, making his desperation take over his need to really give a shit about how submissive he might be appearing. He shudders particularly hard as you squeeze on the upstroke, voice choking.

“Shit– shit, please,” he gasps, “please can I spit in your hand?”

It’s a little surprising, but again, you can’t refuse him. You say “yeah” into his skin, closing your eyes as you feel him spit into your hand. It’s filthy, his saliva on you as he guides your hand to jerk him off. Joel uses your palm to slick the head of his dick, teasing himself on your skin.

It’s the first time you’ve seen him be selfish all day. Part of you wants to call him a good boy, but part of you also knows this might not be normal for Joel. Hell, this isn’t normal for you either.

Instead, you ask him if it’s good. A rasped “yes,” emanates from him between a low groan and a curse. Your head lifts from his back as he begins to shudder, his orgasm creeping closer. Listening to him is so good, you’re a mess between your legs, where your core nudges his ass.

Without a thought, you sink your teeth into the meat between his shoulder and his neck. Not enough pressure to bruise or hurt, just to let him know you’re there. There was no intention to push him over the edge, but your little bite does. A guttural groan is forced out of him as he comes into your hand, stringing sticky between your fingers.

“Fuck– fuck I’m sorry, oh my god,” he pants, shivering.

Your head is shaking again, reassuring him that it was okay, that he’s okay.

“It’ll wash off,” you joke, feeling the stick of him on you.

—

Joel does help you wash it off, once he’s done redressing. He’s clingy though, arms around your waist and chin hooked over your shoulder as you wash your hands in his kitchen sink. He’s definitely sleepy, eyes blinking slowly when you peek at him while you dry your hands.

You step close to him, your damp hands meeting his dry ones. The awkward spirit of the evening has been killed off, his shyness melted away.

“Usually I’d offer to return the favor but… I have to pick up Ellie from her friend’s house now. I’m really sorry, darlin’,” he admits.

Shaking your head, you push away the negative feeling that surfaces. How are you supposed to go back to being neighbors after that? But also, what did you really expect?

Joel leads you to the door, legs a bit shakey. A smug feeling joins the negative ones in your chest at that, but it’s not enough.

“I really do apologize,” Joel says again, “but this just gives me an opportunity to see you again. If you’d like, obviously. I think I owe ya dinner.”

And there he is, not holding your lead but reassuring your heart. He wants to see you again.

Your eyes meet his in the dim light of the hallway, catching those sweet eyes in your own. He looks so hopeful, so apologetic too.

“I’d like that, but you don’t owe me anything. It’s Father’s day,” you point out.

Joel rolls his eyes. This Father’s day excuse is a little overused between the two of you now, but it’s still cute to him since you’re the one saying it. He opens the door for you, slipping his own boots on and grabbing his keys.

“Fine,” Joel says, “but when Pretty Neighbor day rolls around, you let me know.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal #hbo!joel #neighbor!joel #tlou fanfiction #dilf!joel #reader insert #joel miller x reader smut #joel miller x you #joel miller smut

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yundeob · 3 months ago

Text

dirty dancing | PSH

part 2 of the Night in Hollywood!series

☆ trope: enemies to lovers!au, 1960s!au

☆ pairing: dancer!seonghwa x reader

☆ warnings: probably some inaccurate sixties references oops, reader is v shy in the beginning, smut, marking, p in v intercourse, use of protection, dirty talk, sub!reader, dom!hwa, use of pet names (baby, sweetheart, etc.), grinding, slight degradation kink and manhandling, slapping, mirror sex, size kink, sweet aftercare, the “L” word, smoking/tobacco use, drug use, seonghwa is able to lift reader when they dance, profanity, sloww burn, SA, groping, mentions of a*ortion (if you’ve seen the og movie then you’ll know about penny’s situation), accidental pregnancy (not reader) — NOTE: IF YOU AREN’T COMFORTABLE WITH THESE TAGS, DNI! Please read the actual film’s synopsis first if you’re you do not like the last few tags.

☆ synopsis: THAT WAS THE SUMMER you met resident heart-breaker and cocky entertainment crew member, Park Seonghwa. Remind yourself why you’re suddenly dance partners with him again? . . .

☆ playlist: be my baby by the ronnettes, another saturday night by sam cooke, still feel like your man by john mayer, we belong together by ritchie valens, karma chameleon by culture club

☆ a/n: for everyone that’s been following along with the writing process, thank you so much for your patience and understanding. I really had to force myself a few times to just sit and get this done, but I’m pretty proud of how it turned out! Let me know what you think with your reblog and feedback! cheers to the long awaited second fic of this series🥂

☆ word count: 14.3k

THAT WAS THE SUMMER OF 1963. When everyone called you baby, and it didn’t seem to occur to you to mind.

Summer was in full swing; families driving up to the vacation resort owned by your aunt in their shiny new corvettes, eagerly awaiting the nights of drinking, golfing, and mambo classes accompanied with luxury hospitality.

That’s a given when you're staying at a place like your aunt's vacation resort.

Pool days followed by structured entertainment for these folks meant summer job opportunities for young college students like yourself, hoping to save up some money before the fall semester came.

While other girls vacationing at the resort were spending their time fawning over The Beach Boys, sneaking out to the lakes to go skinny dipping, and enjoying the taste of freedom, you were taking orders and waiting tables at the bar across the golf course every night. Your hair smelled of fryer grease, your pockets filled with ketchup packets, and with every passing shift you worked, the burning desire to just quit and get away grew deeper in your heart.

But you really needed this money. There wasn’t any other reason that could replace why you were still here after closing hours, folding table napkins into the shape of swans.

“It’s for you, baby”

A voice brings you out of your thoughts, turning to see a long outstretched hand holding the receiver of a phone towards you.

Yunho sits slumped against the counter on top of a bar stool, his polo uniform shirt that you were wearing one identical to sticking to his chest with sweat. All the while he fanned himself from the sweltering July heat.

He wipes a bead of sweat running off the side of his brow.

“It’s a call for you,” he repeats again, shrugging the receiver to you expectedly.

You quickly walk over, taking the phone with a quiet thanks before holding it close to your ear.

Yunho watches the frail and timid little thing you were, barely holding the receiver close enough before a familiar voice cuts through.

“I hope that those napkins are looking like swans and not chickens, baby”

Your aunt’s soft laughter fills your ear, breaking out into a silent state of panic as you eyed the pieces of cloth spread disappointingly across the table you were just standing at.

You truly sucked ass at folding.

“Just trying my best” you told her softly, voice unfamiliar as you just let out the first few words you’ve spoken all night. A sudden feeling washes over you that you’re being watched, and you’re proven right when you crane your neck to see Yunho looking at you out of the corner of your eyes. Warmth spreads throughout your face when you momentarily locked eyes. The tall blonde boy merely smiles, trying to be friendly before you shuffle awkwardly and turn away from his gaze.

He wasn’t trying to be weird. In Yunho’s defense, it was just kinda interesting for him to see you share a casual conversation with your aunt, known as none other than his own employer and the literal owner of the resort he worked at.

Plus, he never got to hear your voice. Like ever.

Tangling the cord of the telephone wire in between your fingers, you questioned your aunt quietly. “Did you need help with something?”

“I do, actually” she says, the background muffling her words with loud chatter as it seemed the lodge guests were still up and wide awake at this hour.

“I need you to do me a favor. Grab those watermelons sitting in the fridge and bring them down to the kitchen in the main building for me. I forgot to get the staff here to pick it up, and it would just be so much faster if you brought it down for me, darling.”

You eyed the mentioned goods sitting perched in the back kitchen.

“The ones on the counter?” You asked hesitantly.

“I don’t recall leaving any other melons on top of one of my kitchens… so, yes” she remarks sarcastically.

Hauling those massive things and walking back to the main building was going to be a hassle, especially with your location being all the way on the opposite side across the golf course.

But what you were dreading even more was confirmed with what she said next.

“You could just ask that boy Yunho to help you.” She states casually.

Your body tenses at her words, dreading the likely fact that you’ll have to speak more than five words to the golden retriever looking bartender in order to complete your aunt’s request.

“I’m sure you two will be fine. I’ll be expecting to see you soon, baby”

“Okay, goodbye” is all you say, hearing her thanks over the phone before you hang up.

You hand the receiver back to Yunho, who had still been watching you with a small grin on his face.

“Boss say anything important?” watching as your brows furrow in debated thought, wondering if you should just ask him for his help.

Your hands get a little clammy, and you make an effort to smooth your khaki work pants, nervousness getting to you. For fucks sake, you were only asking him to help you hold a watermelon. The worst he could do was say no!

You looked up to the tall boy, already feeling a little stupid when you saw him look at you quizzically.

“Actually, Yunho…” you began, swallowing in nervousness. “Could you help me bring those?” You muttered quietly, shoulders cowering as you pointed to the watermelons sitting on the kitchen counter. He looks back to see what you’re referring to.

You immediately see his face change in surprise, having caught his attention by speaking more words just now, than you had the entirety of the few weeks you’d worked together.

Then, the boy can’t help but break into a smile when he hears you clear your voice to speak up again.

“Please?”

“Do you believe watermelons are berries?” Yunho asks you, taking long strides in front of you across the damp grass of the golf course.

The faint chirping of crickets and summer cicadas resonates across the amphitheater of an empty field, the only sources of light coming from the outdoor flood lights illuminating the path to the main building of the lodges.

The nighttime air was humid, an unsatisfying breeze blowing past you two as you made your way together.

“Sorry?” You huff, trying to catch your breath.

You’re staring at the way he’s been able to tuck the two large melons safely in his arms, having to stop in his tracks as you struggled to keep up with his speed while carrying just one.

“Technically, watermelons don’t have any internal divisions, but because they have seeds you could argue that they’re just massively large berries.” he points out, the idea seeming to spill from his mouth like he had been pondering the thought for very long.

His brows are furrowed in thought when he looks over to you, awaiting your opinion.

“I-I guess so” you agreed meekly. How else were you to respond?

Your arms began to hurt from holding the heavy fruit for so long, and the both of you had only barely made it past the pond near the golf course, changing direction towards a trail with a cleared path. Yunho carries on with his fruit philosophy.

“If you put popular beliefs aside, pumpkins are considered berries too.“ He grins, chuckling to himself as he walks beside you. “Which means you and I are just holding three massive berries in total!”

“Right..”

Before you could think to say anything else in response, a tall figure identical to the height of Yunho rushes up from behind and smacks the back of head.

You’re seconds away from dropping the watermelon in your hand from shock, jaw hanging open as you clutched on the melon in surprise while Yunho stops in his tracks to curse out loud.

“What the fuck-”

“Hey yuyu, finished your shift already?” A boy cheekily grins while wearing a blue, well-loved varsity jacket. His eyes turned into crescent moons while giggling with utter joy at the sight of his friend scowling in pain, dodging the kicks Yunho tries to get back at him while holding the two fruits.

“Get off my back, Mingi” he spits, though he lets the boy hang near him.

You do what you’ve grown accustomed to over the past month of working here, making yourself invisible amongst the two friends you slowly trailed behind.

There’s a good reason you‘ve become this shy and hesitant to ask for help while working at the resort, and that was because no one here actually liked you.

Being the niece of the lodge owner didn’t exactly have the perks you’d think would come with it. Rumor had already spread like wildfire on your first day of work amongst the young employees, gossiping all sorts of ridiculous stories as to why a girl like you needed to be spending her summers working at her rich Aunt's resort to make money. From rumours that you were cut off by your rich parents, to one being that you got knocked up and sent away here as punishment, the gossip from the part-timers was like a supply of fuel to be added to the fire.

You had been extremely lucky to get this job thanks to your Aunt. In order to keep your place here, you made up for it by working twice as hard as any other person. Picking up other people’s shifts while tolerating being ignored and trashed about was something you decided you’d stick it out for the whole summer. You desperately needed this money to afford finally moving out of your house back home. It was only after much hesitance that you resorted to reaching out to your distant Aunt on your mothers side you never actually talked to. You were willing to do any work she gave that would be enough to keep the bills paid. The only friend you seemed to somewhat make while working this summer was Yunho, and thankfully, he didn’t seem to care about all the nepo baby crap he heard everyone spew behind your back.

“Why are you even here? Shouldn’t you be giving tango lessons to the bungalow bunnies back at the gazebo?” Yunho teases to his friend, propping up the watermelons in his hands to make them appear like two large breasts.

You looked away, blushing as Yunho juts his lips out to mimic the middle aged trophy wives his friend frequently gave dancing lessons to. Mingi must’ve been a part of the entertainment and dance staff, the one clique of part-timers in this place that no one else seemed to be able to go against.

He teased in a high pitched southern accent, “Oh, Mingi, you really know how to put those hips to use!”

Yunho's laughter resonates throughout the empty field, becoming Mingi’s turn to pummel his ass from embarrassment, ears going red.

“Shut up, man! Keep talking but at the end of the day, you could only dream what it’s like having those women all over ya!” He states proudly.

Yunho peers over to see you awkwardly trailing behind, shoving his friend’s shoulder and jerking his head to you, motioning to give you some help. Mingi leans down to grasp the sliding melon falling out of your hands, letting you catch up so you three could all walk together.

You’re about to protest but Mingi is already smirking down at you.

“So you’re the boss’s niece everyone’s been talking about, huh?”

Knowing the rumours going around about you, you were mentally preparing for what else was to come out of Yunho’s friend. But the next words that he says surprises you instead.

“I don’t care about that bullshit, y’know”

He grins, standing tall with the watermelon easily tucked under one of his arms.

“If I were you, I’d own it proudly.”

You hadn’t expected that answer to be honest. You glance over to Yunho who chuckles at his friend, gratitude and relief seeping into your heart when you realize Mingi seems to be a decent guy just like him.

“First thing I’d do if my aunt owned this place would be to raid the liquor cellars under the guests lounge” he states, Yunho rolling his eyes while Mingi looks at you again. “I’d be trying to get away with all the shit I could do.”

The blonde scoffs, sneering at his friend's words.

“Yeah, as if you can even handle your alcohol well.”

Mingi glares back.

“Kid passed out one time from a sip of beer” Yunho mutters to you, watching the corners of your mouth turn up. He definitely didn’t appear to be a lightweight in your thoughts.

“You don’t really speak much do you?” Mingi interrupts, coming closer as you walk side by side.

You shook your head.

“What did they call you again?” he pauses to think, racking his brain to find the nickname everyone made fun of you for. “Bonnie? Berry?…”

It's ridiculous how a childhood nickname your Aunt kept for you had now stuck with the entire staff at the summer lodge. So admittedly, you can’t help it if some of your frustration seems to slip out when you give him a sarcastic roll of your eyes

“It's baby,” you answered with a huff.

Mingi stares at you for a moment which makes you worry you’ve taken your attitude too far, before he’s already chuckling at your response.

“Well baby’s got spunk, hasn’t she?”

“Not everyone calls me that” you tried to convince him, frowning when Yunho chips in.

”Yeah right, everyone calls you baby here.” he grins, teasing you.

You looked away, awkwardly staring at some bushes nearby. He was right.

Mingi already decides that he likes you, and seeing how Yunho likes you as well, the rumours he’s been hearing about you going around don’t matter to him anymore.

“Well then, baby” He beams, the lights near the main building's entrance glowing brighter as you get closer. “Wanna go to a real adult party?”

You slowed down your steps, eyes widening at his words as Yunho shoved his clueless friend for his comment.

“Don’t fucking say it like that, creep!”

Mingi realizes what his offer might’ve sounded like, assuring you that he was just inviting you and Yunho to the after party the entertainment staff were holding in the abandoned barn behind the west building. The west building located dorms where all the staff were able to live during the busiest time of vacation season.

“A party?” You repeated, lips parting softly.

Mingi nodded eagerly as he joked.

“C’mon, you’re not gonna tell your aunt on us, are you?”

The three of you stood near the back entrance of the main kitchen. Your last task of the night would be dropping off the watermelons before you’re free to walk away from the offer standing before you tonight.

And perhaps it's because you're tired. Not necessarily tired from lack of sleep, but tired of the whole routine. Of the monogamous, soul-draining routine you’ve picked up ever since you got here, which was spending any second you weren’t working, sleeping, or eating, being cooped up in your twin-sized bed reading or laying awake at night to the sounds of cicadas.

“I wouldn't tell her regardless, Mingi” you said truthfully, which makes the boy change his playful demeanor a bit.

You thought for a long, hard moment.

You’ve never had friends. Never broke the rules. Never once dared to sneak off the property to go somewhere, let alone a party with other people your age. And so with in mind the thrill of it all, with the absolute exhaustion of being alone all the damn time, you say yes.

The two boys grin in excitement, and Mingi thrusts the watermelon in his arms to perch over his right shoulder.

“Great! Me and Yunho will pick you up at your dorm once we drop these off.” He says, the two boys walking off inside to drop off the delivery your aunt requested. It isn’t before Mingi turns to call out your name.

“Oh, and baby! Don’t be afraid to dress casual” he smiles, sending a nod of his head back to you.

Inside, your stomach turns.

You’re already started to regret this.

You mumble quiet curses to yourself, awkwardly adjusting the cardigan and short skirt dress you managed to convince yourself was deemed appropriate for hanging out with other staff outside of work hours.

You’re walking up those steep wooden steps of the hill leading up to the barn house, and with every thumping sound of the music getting louder, so does the beat of your heart inside your chest.

“Just be cool, baby” Yunho reassures you, having changed out of his uniform as well into a pair of shorts and a yellow Hawaiian button up shirt.

“We’ll introduce you to more of our friends” Mingi assures, leading the way at the very front.

You huff worriedly in response, knowing that the other college kids aren’t going to be very happy when they see the outcasted niece of the resort owner. But you still send them both a thankful smile, keeping it plastered on your face for not too long.

“I just hope that son of bitch Wooyoung doesn’t eat all the pop tarts” Mingi mutters under his breath, shaking his head and clenching his fists inside his varsity jacket.

“He knows I like strawberry…”

Once you reach the doors to the barn, Mingi and Yunho pause to look down at you before going in. “Ready?” the bartender asks, beaming down at you. You swallowed your nervousness, bundling up your nerves and hiding them away inside you. You give them both a small nod.

Mingi immediately kicks the barn doors open, hollering to the large crowd of dancing college students. Half of which you know for a fact don’t work at the resort and have driven up from the city.

And all at once, your breath is taken away.

Bodies melted against one another in an obscene way you had never before seen back home. A few girls were wearing tight, form-fitting clothing that accentuated their hips and curves, while men sported the trending greaser look that had them thrusting their hips through tight fitting jeans or leather pants.

You watched from a distance as couples grinded onto one another, dancing so passionately as though the music had overtaken their minds. The barn, though appearing to be rundown and shabby from the outside, was the definition of a banging, fucking party.

“What are they doing?” You asked cluelessly to Yunho, unable to take your eyes off the sweaty bodies molding themselves together on the dance floor, rocking their hips and shaking their legs.

This wasn’t even dancing. This was something else.

He laughed loudly. “They’re just dancing!” looking down at you as he raises his voice over the loud music. “All the kids are doing it back home.”

“You wanna try it?” He asks, teasing you. You reverently shake your head no and he can’t help but laugh at your continuation to stare in shock. He urges you forward instead.

“Come on, baby”

You can tell how popular Mingi and Yunho must be, the way that every so often they bump into a friend of theirs and chat with them eagerly. A few of them give you some judging stares, but with the two giants by your side, it doesn’t bother you as much as it usually does.

Beer, cigarettes, and slips of condom packages are exchanged on the dance floor, folks minding their business and having the time of their lives.

“Can you imagine dancing like this on the main floor?” Yunho laughs, gesturing to the sea of sweat, lust and rhythm that could never in a million years find its way back to the ‘family friendly’ establishment you worked for.

“Your aunt would close the place down first!” he chuckles, letting you grab onto his arm to navigate through the party.

Yunho catches up to Mingi standing a few meters away, thinking you’d follow when you let go. Instead, a hand snakes its way around your waist near the dance floor, grasping you tightly and making you jump from surprise. A body begins to lewdly grind itself against you, worn out jeans coming into view as their legs trapped yours in between them.

“You’re a pretty little thing aren’t you?” a voice whispers into your ear, the smell of booze reeking from the man’s hot breath.

“Haven’t seen you around here” his accent slips through.

Sweat begins to form on your forehead, a sinking feeling settling in your stomach. You were highly uncomfortable right now.

“Please let go,” you asked politely, struggling to pry the dirty hands off of your body.

“C’mon,” he protests, pulling you closer. “Just one dance, OW-”

A heeled shoe comes to stomp on the man's big toe, a manicured hand swatting the grip on your hips away, making him yelp in pain and shove you away. You stumble a bit, whipping your head around to see the ugly looking bastard. A woman stands in front of you protectively between him, hands on the hips of her dress.

“You fucking sleaze!” You hear from in front of you.

“Fuck was that for, Minny?” he lashes out, his voice rising in tone over the loud music. A few couples stop to stare at his outburst momentarily, though they quickly go back to dancing, moving around the comotion.

“The next time I see your nasty hands touching another poor girl's ass, Bobby, and I'm telling Seonghwa and the rest of the dance crew.” the girl snaps, dangly earrings rushing back and forth above her perfect exposed collar bones while she points an accusatory finger in the direction of the pervert. Her chest moves with every fuming breath she takes.

Bobby, who had just been trying to cop a feel at you, scoffs, staring her down and intimidating you in the process.

“You ain’t gonna do shit, Minny.” He spits to the floor, making you take one more step behind the girl.

“I might not do shit. But you sure as hell know Seonghwa isn’t gonna leave you alone.”

“Just like last time” She threatens, watching as his eyes look away pathetically in fear, knowing specifically what she was referring to.

“You’re fucking disgusting. Get the fuck out of my sight” she brushes him off, watching how he glares at her for a moment before reluctantly sliding to another side of the dance floor.

The situation de-escalates as quickly as it first began.

Your heart continues to pound against your chest, a wave of relief washing over yourself when he leaves. Your hero, standing tall in front of you in pretty tango heels and a pink chiffon dress, lays a hand on your shoulder.

“You alright, hun? Don’t mind that creep, he’s lower than piss on the floor” she states, the lights flashing over her toned, dancer body. She shakes her head in frustration. “These sort of morons are always lurking on the dance floor so you gotta be careful sometimes”

You’re starstruck, words unable to fall out of your mouth as you thank her.

“Thank you for that” you find the courage to say. She smiles, sending you a small wink.

“Don’t mention it. Girls gotta stick together” she grins.

Just as she’s about to leave, Yunho rushes over to you, messy blonde strands sweeping over his frantic eyes.

“I was looking for you, where the hell did you go?” Yunho towers over you, in the process also making eye contact with the girl.

“Don’t go losing your girl now, Yun” she teases, arms crossing over her chest.

Yunho immediately recognizes the face and smiles. His ears begin to match the red party cup he was holding in his left hand.

“Minny!” he grins sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. “How’ve you been?”

“Busy as usual,” she shrugs. “Booked under mambo classes, kids tango, main floor ballroom, you know how it is.” she sighs. “You?”

“Night and day shifts all fucking mixed together” he replies.

The two become lost in each other's eyes, clearing your voice as you speak over the loud music.

“I’m not his girl, by the way”

She looks back at you, shooting a smirk at Yunho who laughs out loud, introducing you to her.

“This is baby, we work the night shifts at the bar down by the golf course together” he explains.

He sends a smile to the girl in front of him who you can already tell he’s head over heels for.

“This is Minny, works with Mingi and the rest of entertainment if you didn’t already notice.”

“B-A-B-Y, baby?” She asks, eyes going wide as a sweet grin settles on her lips.

“That’s your name?”

You nod slowly, face feeling warm.

“Just a nickname we all call her” Yunho chuckles, looking down at you as he explained. “But she sure does look all clueless like a baby, doesn’t she?”

Minny nods, smiling at you as the song changes to something fast paced that makes people cheer and holler over their cigarettes and drinks.

“Let’s go dance then, baby” she smirked, intertwining your hand with hers as she flashes a look towards Yunho.

“Bye, Yunho!” She winks back.

You’re unable to say anything more as Minny guides you to the dance floor, your feet resisting her pull as you frantically shout over the music.

“But I can’t dance!”

She waves you off like it’s no big deal. “It’s okay if you don’t know! I’ll teach you!” She encourages, her body swaying so naturally in a way that makes you envy her.

“Just feel the music, baby” she tells you. “Forget about everything else.”

You follow her words, a small smile making its way to your face as you become excited with every passing beat of the music. You’re not as good as her, but it’s a start to you coming out of the protective little box you’ve been in for too long.

Minny’s eyes close as she looks up to the ceiling, shutting her eyes and desperately trying to let the music consume her.

“Sometimes you just gotta dance ‘til your feet hurt more than what's in your heart”

From afar, a figure leaning against the wall follows your every move, watching you unknowingly throw your head back and giggle with every move you attempt to follow.

“Someone must’ve had a fun time last night”

Your aunt continues diligently writing away in her cheque book, accounting for the weekly sales and profits behind the counter of the front desk of the resort. With every check mark, she goes back to the large calculator beside her, punching in numbers under her steel rimmed glasses, a few curses of frustration slipping out when the machine doesn’t work.

“I’m surprised you’re not awake like you usually are, baby” she points out, watching as your slumped back immediately turns straight and you sit up tall in your seat, blinking your tired eyes.

You should be properly manning the front desk you’re sitting at right now, but with all the guests gone to do the lodge offered activities like canoeing or water polo, the main desk is left empty except for the two of you sitting in your seats.

“Have you been staying up late?” She asks with sharp curiosity.

You shook your head, stifling a yawn. “I think I just slept in a weird position. Haven’t been sleeping well, that’s all.”

The truth of the matter was, you’ve been sneaking out for the last few nights, having the most exhilarating experiences dancing and hanging out with Minny and the rest of the party staff in the abandoned barn.

Although your dancing wasn’t as good as Minny’s, no one seemed to care that you were there with them. For all the kids that did seem to talk shit in front of you for joining them, Minny would stick her fist up their asses just to defend you, and you had grown to love her already.

At your carefully picked response she nods, going back to her checkbook for a moment before she asks you carefully.

“And are the part-timers treating you well? Teaching you the ropes behind everything here?”

You could never bring yourself to explain to your aunt that you were usually a complete and utter outcast amongst the lodge staff. You’d rather keep these details to yourself than to cause more unnecessary trouble to the woman who got you the job in the first place, so you opt for the same reassuring sentence you’ve been telling her since the first day.

“Yes, they’re good to me.” You lie.

She nods with a satisfied sigh, closing her checkbook and adjusting her glasses.

“Just don’t get too close with the entertainment staff” your aunt warns you.

You turn your head to look at her properly this time.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Some of those dancers are looking for trouble, and I mean especially the boys” she tsks, disapprovingly shaking her head.

“God knows what I’ve had to do to get them to stop causing trouble and keep them in line for the guests. Those kids can dance, but lord can they be a pain to deal with”

Your quiet stare at her causes your aunt to shake her head, her wrinkles deepening as she waves it off to you.

“Though that’s nothing you need to know. Just be mindful of who you’re with and why you’re here” she reminds you, firm and strict.

You nod, thinking to yourself as her words circled your mind.

Later, when your shift ends that night, you follow the trail of pebbled tracks back to your dorm, the sun already set as the outdoor flood lights turn on.

The summer breeze blew through your hair as you made your way outside the main building. Just as you’re about to walk away, a hand grabs your arm, yanking you to the bushes nearby making you scream.

You’re met face to face with a frantic looking girl, her close proximity and frazzled looking appearance throwing you off guard as mascara stained cheeks and bloodshot eyes stared back at you.

“Minny?”

“Baby, I need you to help me” she pleads softly, choking up on her sobs as her body shakes violently. She was a complete opposite to the sweet, carefree looking girl you met a few nights ago.

You immediately place a hand around her arm, trying to calm her down.

“W-What’s wrong? Is everything alright? Are you-”

She mutters something incoherent to herself, shaking her head as she raises her face to look at you.

“I need you to find Yunho for me. Now!” she cried, clutching onto your arms in desperation. “Just please find him for me” she whimpers, snapping you from your thoughts.

You knew that if you didn’t help her right now something very bad would happen.

“O-Okay I’ll find him” you told her reassuringly.

You left to run through the vast green fields of the resort, knowing that whatever Minny needed to talk to Yunho about, it must’ve been urgent.

The west building where all the summer part-timers lodged, came into view. You picked up your pace, quickly passing each and every numbered door until you stopped in front of Yunho’s and knocked frantically on the wood while trying to catch your breath.

You gasp for air, hearing approaching steps as the door swings open and you're face to face with a man you’ve never seen before.

“Yunho!” You cry out first thing, though his name dies in your throat as your eyes catch up to your voice and you stare at someone else.

Standing in front of you is a dark haired man. Tall, lean, but with a body displaying strength. You glanced up at his face. At his sharp nose, perfect lips, and deep piercing eyes that followed you with every heavy breath you took.

“Can I help you?” He asks intensely, looming over you. You try to rack through your thoughts to make sure you don’t forget what you’re standing here for.

Just behind him do you see Yunho sitting on a worn out leather couch in his tiny room, laughing with a few other guys about something while a cigarette was propped behind his ear, the strong smell of drugs and burnt tobacco wafting in the air.

You forgot about the figure staring down at you, intimidated by his stance but looking past it.

“Yunho!” you called out, the worry and urgency prominent in your voice.

The blonde looks over to you, his smile faltering in confusion at your sudden presence, before he notices the fear in your eyes and sits up straight.

“It’s Minny” is all you have to say before he’s grabbing his leather jacket and walking out the door. An arm stops to grab onto him.

“What about Minny?” The man who answered the door asks in concern, his expression turning into one of protectiveness. You saw his grip tightening around Yunho's arm, to which the boy shoved off roughly.

“That’s what I’m going to find out” he grits, turning to face you now with his brows furrowed and an expression laced with worry.

“Where is she? I’m coming with you.” He states firmly.

You have no time for this, so you leave the tension radiating off the two at the front door, motioning Yunho to follow you as you lead him back to Minny. When you see the figure from the doorway catch up alongside you, you look to Yunho for at least some sort of explanation.

“This is Seonghwa.” he sighs, his long strides speeding up in a hurry.

“He’s Minny’s dance partner. We can trust him, " he says, his lips forming a tight line.

You look at Seonghwa, watching as the boy dressed in all black turns his gaze to look back at you, an unreadable expression on his face before you look back to the trail.

You hear him mutter under his breath in concern.

“Jesus christ, Minny, what did you do now?”

It's not long before the three of you are approaching the bushes of the main building. Seonghwa dashes in front of all of you at the first sight he gets of Minny crouched in a fetal position, sobs still wracking through her body. Yunho follows suit, rubbing a hand through his tousled hair when he sees her. “Minny, what happened?” he breathes out.

The dancer looks up, tears clouding her vision when a soft sob leaves her throat.

“Yunho-” she begins to say after hearing his voice, then clutching the skirt of her dress when she sees who followed nearby.

“Seonghwa?”

You didn’t know what to tell her, standing awkwardly off to the side before a beat of silence follows when Seonghwa takes ahold of the girl's hand, holding it gently.

“That’s alright honey, I got you. Seonghwa’s here” he assures her, embracing her in a comforting hug as he pats the back of her hair, letting her tears fall onto his suit.

Minny accepts the embrace, finally letting the words spill.

“Seonghwa, it’s bad. It’s bad this time” she wailed, mascara staining her eyes as she struggled to catch her breath with every sob that racked her body.

Yunho approaches the girl, crouching down so he could look at her properly, feeling as though the worry and suspense would consume him. “What is Minny? Tell us!”

The girl holds her body closer to her small frame, letting another tear fall before she looks up at you all.

“I’m pregnant.”

“So what’s he going to do about it?”

Seonghwa turns his head to glare at Hongjoong who had directed the obvious question to him.

The four of you had relocated to the empty barn house sitting in the forest behind the resort, the once lively and upbeat place replaced with a solemn mood that unveiled a frightening situation.

Only you, Seonghwa and Yunho first knew about Minny, though that was shortly changed when the rest of the entertainment crew living at the barn found out as well when they saw you arrive with the sobbing girl.

You out of all people had somehow been roped into it all, watching as the dancers huddled near the poor girl on their worn down couch supported with slates of wood, a cloth blanket covering her shivering shoulders.

“It’s not Seonghwa,” Minny states clearly, scrunching her face at the assumption. She hangs her head, feeling nauseous from the anxiety.

“But I thought-”

“Well you thought wrong” Seonghwa spits back, turning away from his friend when he realized he wasn’t helping.

Hongjoong was the leader of the crew. Followed by Seonghwa, Mingi, and another boy named Wooyoung who you had just met tonight for the first time. Yunho appeared close with them, watching as they discussed the seriousness of the situation.

Minny groans when Mingi asks for the truth.

“Then who the fuck did this to you? I swear I’m gonna kill that fucking bastard” he threatens, nostrils flaring as he over protectively tells his friend.

Minny tells him dejectedly. “He wants nothing to do with me or it. Didn’t even believe me when I told him…”

Yunho turns his head, staring at her as he gently asks.

“Tell us who it is, Minny”

She’s silent before she lets it out.

“It’s Bobby.”

You stared in horror, realizing the pervert who felt you up at the party a few nights ago was the father. You felt like throwing up and shooting him at the same time.

Wooyoung's eyes widened, his fist covering his wide open mouth as he exclaims.

“Bobby “The Sleaze” Gilmer?”

Seonghwa looks at the girl he would call his own sister in disbelief.

“That fucking lobby boy who works on the main floor did this to you?!”

She sighs, looking just as disgusted by hearing his name.

“If I could go back and close my fucking legs, believe me, I would!” She retorts back, huffing as her voice raises in frustration.

“I didn’t mean to get with the guy! It just happened a few weeks ago and I didn’t think much of it until I was feeling nauseous yesterday afternoon during rehearsals.”

She leans back, knowing she’s made up her mind.

“I’m not keeping it, I-I can’t. I have to get rid of it, but I don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to do when Seonghwa and I have upcoming performances at other hotels” Minny realizes with small sniffles, the scary reality crashing down on her again in this situation.

“I-I mean I can get the girls to fill in for my classes here, but what the fuck am I supposed to do outside of this?” she says, a tear flowing down her cheek. “How are we going to tell them we can’t perform?” She admits defeatedly, thanking Mingi when he hands her a tissue box.

“We’re gonna get you a doctor first, Minny” Yunho promises, watching as Wooyoung nods in agreement before he points out another problem.

“Yeah, but where are we even gonna get the money for a doctor Yunho? And if word gets out with the other staff, we’re all fucking screwed.”

Mingi shoves him in the rib cage for saying that, everyone sitting in a discouraging silence.

Hongjoong briefly glances over to you, rolling his eyes in cynicism.

“Great, and now that baby over here knows, she’s gonna run off to her playpen and tell her Aunt everything!”

You haven’t hated that nickname any more than you did right now.

Before Minny goes to your defense, you stick up for yourself first.

“I would never do that.” You state seriously, looking him in the eyes. Hongjoong still crosses his arms skeptically. “I’m not turning my back against you guys. I’m on your side, and I’m going to do whatever it is I can to help you Minny” you promised her wholeheartedly.

Yunho, who was grasping onto Minny's hand, gives her a reassuring squeeze while sending you a small thankful smile.

“Don’t blame yourself too much Minny. This could’ve happened to anyone and it just so happened to be you. But now you know we’re all here for you, every last one of us.”

The blonde and the brunette lock eyes for a split second.

Mingi mutters sarcastically under his breath to what his friend says. “Yeah, can’t say if I know anyone who’d sleep with Bobby Gilmer”

Minny ignores him, shaking her head as she still needs to face reality.

“Then who’s gonna dance with him then?” she nodded in the direction of her partner.

Seonghwa looked overwhelmed, rubbing a hand over his eyes.

You spoke up. “Couldn’t someone else fill in? There’s other girls who do nightly entertainment that must be free. There can be a way for us to come up with the money and if someone-”

Seonghwa glances over, his reply sharp as he cuts you off. “No, Ms. Fix it, nobody else can fill in. Maria has to work all day, she can’t learn the routines, and Rosie’s gonna have to fill in for Minny’s other classes. All of us could try and pick up a few jobs to pay for the fees but that money isn’t going to be enough! Nothing else is gonna cut it unless we do those performances.”

The man clenches and unclenches his jaw, taking a deep breath to control his frustrations.

“We all work,” he says, making each word a defined statement.

You stand back in the corner where you belonged, Seonghwas gaze and rude attitude making you clench your fists in anger.

“Hey, all she’s trying to do is help!” Yunho defends you, brows furrowing as he stares the black haired boy down. Tension arises once again between the two.

“And maybe Hongjoong is right,” Seonghwa spits, taking another jab at you. “Maybe the kid here is gonna jeopardize this whole fucking situation and get us all fired!”

Minny cuts him off on his last word, pointing an accusatory finger as she looks at him with disappointment.

“Stop that Seonghwa. Both of you calm down the fuck down and-”

Just as Seonghwa is about to retort back to Yunho, a question directed towards you leaves everyone to stop arguing for a moment.

“Do you dance, baby?”

Your eyes lock on Wooyoung who stands there with a cigarette lodged in between his lips, playing with the straps of his suspenders as he looks at you with an unreadable expression.

“For fucks sake, Wooyoung” Seonghwa mutters under his breath loudly, rolling his eyes in disbelief.

“What? I can’t ask the chick if she dances?” He retorts back defensively.

“I- No I don’t.“ you reply, taken aback.

Mingi looks at you carefully, his eyes gazing up and down your body, able to imagine you as a dancer partner as he catches on to what his friend was suggesting.

“No, he might be onto something…”

Minny lifts her eyes from the wet tissues, pupils dilating as she looks at you too.

“Baby,” she gasps, sitting straight as the blanket around her shoulders falls.

“You could fill in!”

“what?!”

“yes!”

“Are you all out of your fucking minds?!” Seonghwa shouts, hands resting on his hips because now the impossible idea Wooyoung shared has now made him furious.

Minny snaps at her childhood best friend, clutching the skirt of her dress as she stands up to face him straight on.

“You’re the best dancer out of all of us Seonghwa, you could lead any partner!”

“I can’t even do a full dance routine, let alone the Mambo!” You exclaim, cheeks getting hot.

Seonghwa looks at your expression and decides to speak on your behalf as well.

“The kid says she can’t even do the Mambo! She cannot dance, she’s got no talent, nothing!”

Jeez, when he says it, it just twists the knife a little deeper in the wound.

You watch Seonghwa carefully, a glare in your eyes as you stare him down.

The group goes back to defeat as you stood there silently, hearing them discuss other possibilities as to what they could do to make up for the money.

“I could try to pick up weekend shifts at Kellerman’s right across the town” Wooyoung offers, sending a smile of hope to Minny who looks over in gratitude. “We could put that money to use.”

“I already got another part time job at the gas station a few miles from here,” Mingi smiles, his usual boyish attitude replaced with sincerity. “I can pitch in.”

Yunho reassures the girl sitting beside him on the couch, facing the fearful situation with an optimistic outlook.

“Whatever you need Minny, we’re here for you. We’ll get that money, just leave it to us and—”

“I’ll do it.”

Heads turn at the sound of your confident voice, your gaze unwavering as you send a promise to Minny as well.

“What do you mean you’ll do it?” Yunho asks incredulously, not believing his ears.

Wooyoung silently smiles at your decision, a grin forming on his face. Beside you, you can feel Seonghwa stare you down, closing your eyes as you let out a deep breath.

“I‘ll fill in as Seonghwa’s dance partner. I’ll do whatever it takes, however many rehearsals or lessons he’s willing to teach me, but one thing is for sure Minny, I’m not leaving you on your own either” you tell her, thinking back to how the girl has stood by you in the short amount of time you’ve gotten to know her.

Minny stands up abruptly, rushing over to you and knocking your breath out by giving you a tight hug.

“Thank you” her voice cracks, knowing how much this meant to you while feeling sorry at the same time. “Thank you so much”

You hug her back gently, letting your hands pat her back in response.

“No more than a few shows.” Seonghwa mutters while crossing his arms, causing you to pull back.

“Three shows and that’s it” he states, not believing what he’s gotten himself into.

He walks off, slamming the barn door closed. Hongjoong sighed, muttering a word of ‘good luck’ to you.

“This is gonna be very interesting” Mingi whispers to Yunho who looks at you with slight worry.

“He‘ll teach you everything you need to know, baby” Minny reassures you as she wipes her own tears away. She sniffles, turning your chest so you could face her properly.

“I know you can do this”

Holy fuck you couldn’t do this.

What on earth did these dancers wear? Was everything always this suffocating and tight?

“Come on out” Seonghwa impatiently states for the second time, tapping his foot against the polished wooden floors of the dance studio, arms crossed against the black tank top he wore for today's first practice.

You felt the tight material of the dance leotard hug your body in places you didn’t know you could even show off, and you felt every fiber of your being regret the decision you made to say yes.

Awkwardly, you step out from behind the folding screen, clutching your arms self-consciously around your body as the tight outfit felt foreign and made you feel exposed.

Seonghwa narrows his eyes as he suddenly comes forward to rest his hands on your hips, shifting them forward and making you cry out in surprise.

“What-”

“Turn around for me” he states without wasting time, watching as you reluctantly turn slowly. It allows him to get a view of the back, but it certainly doesn’t go unnoticed when his large palms keep their place on your body as you move beneath.

“It’ll do” he decides, leaving you standing timidly when he goes to place the stylus on the Solomon Burke record. The music rings throughout the empty studio offered for private lessons.

“Follow my steps” he orders, swiftly moving to the front of the room and facing the mirrors.

The loud music makes you overwhelmed, unsure how to even begin copying the first step when Seonghwa takes swift, graceful shuffles, displaying how to move to the beat.

“I want your form always straight. That means chin up, shoulders back”

You look back in confusion, your steps hesitant as you copied him.

“Try and keep up, baby” he huffs, watching you dance like a baby deer learning to walk.

You bite your lip, repeating the moves Seonghwa had just shown you in complete focus, unaware when his presence comes closer and you suddenly feel his breath hit your neck. You lightly gasp when strong arms support your own, his hips moving against yours.

“Sometimes the steps aren’t enough,” he urges, his deep voice entering your ear.

“Feel the music”

You glance up into the full length dance mirror, following the way he was skillfully molding your body to move to his own wishes. Your heart continued to beat against your chest, throwing you off with the rhythm of the vinyl that was currently playing out loud.

When he sees you distracted, Seonghwa bites his lips, grips your hips and spins you around, making you grasp onto his biceps as your ankles stumble in the dance heels you weren’t accustomed to.

“I want you staring at your own body when you dance and look into the mirror” He warns you, firmly holding you in his grasp.

“Not on me, baby”

A moment of silence passed as you looked up at him stunned.

“Nod if you understand”

You swallow. Following his orders.

With one last smirk, he spins you back around and lets go before now going in front to put you in another starting position.

“Eyes on my feet now, honey”

The next few weeks have you going through pairs of shoes faster than the number of cigarettes you saw Seonghwa burning at every dance practice. You found yourself waltzing through hotdog orders, practicing steps and dance moves Seonghwa practiced with you while filling up pints of beer and serving tables.

You really wanted to do a good job and you would do whatever it takes in order to prove that to Seonghwa and Minny.

When you passed by other staff, you could hear the hushed whispers going around.

Why was she hanging with him? What was she doing in that studio?

Thankfully, no one dared to challenge you once they confirmed who you were spending all your late night evenings and early weekends with. It came across as though you and Seonghwa were secretly dating, when in fact, Seonghwa was meticulously putting you through hell every time he saw you. He had to teach you to keep up with the strict choreography he adjusted for you when you came to fill Minny’s shoes.

But he was growing all the more frustrated with you at every practice, and you were well aware of it.

“Hold on the fifth count I said, goddamn it baby are you deaf?”

Seonghwa yells at you from across the sweltering hot studio one rainy afternoon. It was only two days before your first performance.

With two days left on the clock, the pressure was getting to the experienced dancer, knowing he had to make sure you did flop on your ass the minute you went on that stage.

But that was unfair to assume you weren’t struggling with your own share of concerns, putting your mind and body through hell just to try and keep up.

“And what's up with your turns today? You gotta concentrate! Is this your idea of fun?”

He takes the cigarette hanging in his mouth and flings it out the open window, the pouring rain thundering above the barn as you glared at him, teeth gritting with anger.

You were exhausted. Every muscle in your body ached with soreness as sweat trickled down your forehead and covered your eyesight. Your feet ached, your back felt like shit, and your patience with Seonghwa and his excruciatingly annoying nagging was wearing thin.

Placing your hands on your hips, you turn to face the man in front of you properly, feeling like you’ve had just enough of his bullshit.

“Oh yes, as a matter of fact this is my idea of fun” you sarcastically barked back, stepping forward to him in your dancing heels that tapped against the shiny, shellac floorboards below you.

“We’ve got the show coming up in two fucking days, you wont show me lifts, I’m not even sure on how to properly do turns, and yet I’m doing all this just to help that poor girls future, even if you’re being a fucking asshole and all I want to do is drop you”

Seonghwa ticks his jaw, sweat forming above his brow as he looks down at you.

The rain continues to pour, sloshing down the trees and seeping into small puddles over the open window ledge.

He pushes off the full length dance mirrors, the sounds of rain growing louder outside. Shuffling back as he approached, you still kept your gaze locked on his own.

You hated that even when you were pissed at him, he still looked that good.

“What?” You bit back at Seonghwa who peered down at you.

“Do you have a raincoat?”

You look at him in confusion. “No, why?”

He turns to the couch nearby, grabbing his leather jacket and flinging it over to you, seeing you barely catch it in surprise. He doesn’t turn to look at you, simply walking near the window to inspect the rain before he calls back.

“Cover yourself with that and follow me”

You trudged through the wet rain, droplets hitting your legs as Seonghwa’s leather jacket protected you from getting wet on your head. He had decided to face the rain head on, quite literally, choosing to get wet while leading you down the hill to a different part of the forest nearby the resort.

“Where are you taking me, Seonghwa?” You called out, eyes squinting just to see him through the pouring droplets.

He said nothing, giving you no clue as to where you were going before eventually stopping under a grand oak tree that had to have been at least a few hundred years old. Its bark and long strong branches were a testament to time.

It was only then had the rain decided to stop, the clouds clearing bit by bit as the sun shined through the cracks of leaves.

Seonghwa’s jacket sat slumped over your shoulders, watching as he brushed his damp locks out of his face and turned so his back was no longer facing you.

“When you dance, baby, what do you feel?” He blurts out, looking at you as he tries to read your expressions.

You sighed, lips parting to say something before they closed shut.

“Like I don’t have the slightest clue as to what I’m doing” You confessed, looking towards the boy holding a soft look in his eyes.

“Dancing is not just about how your body moves, baby. When you dance, your body is the vessel, but your soul is the driver.” Seonghwa described, shrugging his jacket off your shoulders to reveal your white tank top underneath.

He throws the leather to hang over on a branch nearby, before beginning to unbuckle his pants and catch you off guard.

“What the hell are you doing, Seonghwa?!” You shrieked, trying to look away as you couldn’t believe the man in front of you was stripping. “Put your clothes back on, Jesus Christ” you exclaimed, trying to tear your eyes away from the strong, tanned thighs that slipped from the hem of his pants.

Seonghwa stands in front of you in his boxers and black tank top, watching your expression.

“When you dance with someone, you get a feeling of the pulse in your heart as it lets every note guide your next movement. It's about the connection” he says as he lifts the corners of his top over his head, exposing his chest and sculpted upper body.

You stood there, crossing your arms over your chest protectively.

“We can connect just fine with our clothes on, don’t you think?” You retorted back nervously.

Seonghwa ignores your comment, shifting closer to you and grasping your hand in his own to set your palm against the flesh of his right chest, his heartbeat resonating against your fingertips.

You still your movements as you feel the intimacy of it all, hearing what he has to say.

“It’s a game of give and take, of trust and tension. Every beat I share with you when I dance is a promise. Every spin is a challenge. There’s no holding back, no second-guessing. It’s raw, it’s intimate and it lets two bodies speak the language of the music they’re dancing to.” He tells you passionately. You stand there with just Seonghwa, a warm feeling spreading in your chest.

“I’m trusting you, baby” He utters softly, gazing at you. “So I need you to trust me too”

He looks down at your body, his gaze following your fingers absentmindedly playing with your dance skirt. You look back up at Seonghwa, tracing the faint wrinkles near his eyes, the curve of his jaw, and the structure of his overall face. If trust was what he was talking about, then trust he would get.

You shrug your tank top off, exposing the white lacy bra you had on underneath. Thank god you wore something nice today. Seonghwa lets his hand find their usual place around your hips, letting you shrug out of the oversized rain boots you borrowed from before, padding your bare feet over the damp, freshly rained grass.

The moment is quiet, personal. You’ve never done anything like this with Seonghwa before, or with any other person for that matter.

“You’re real pretty when you listen well” You hear from above you, cheeks flaring up and mouth becoming dry as you shoot a look at Seonghwa focused on your eyes.

“I’m joking,” he smiles. “You’re always pretty”

Was Park Seonghwa flirting with you right now? The guy you swore had it out for you every time you crushed his toe with your heel? You can't even believe the fact that you two were standing here in this vast luscious meadow, half naked under an oak tree and sharing this intimate moment together.

He lets go of your touch, running a few steps back as he readies himself to lift you. With a clap of his hand, he leans a little forward so the silver chain around his neck hangs back and forth.

“C’mon baby, I know you’ve got it” he grins.

Here it was. The big lift. The one move you had been dreading during the whole entirety of rehearsing. Every single time you even tried listening to Seonghwa explain it to you made your palms sweaty, the image of you falling to the ground and breaking your skull imprinting your mind.

The grassy ground feels foreign beneath your feet, but you can see why Seonghwa chose to bring you here in this vast meadow to practice lifts. It was far better being cooped up inside a studio. This was away from the resort. Away from people. Just the two of you.

You see him urge you to run. He’s watching you carefully, ready to support you. And so with his trust, you're sprinting forward, sharing a loud scream as Seonghwa hoists you up into the air. It was just enough so that your upper body lifted up magically, seeing a new level of your natural environment. Your toes are off the ground for a few moments before you're brought back down.

You’re so close to him that your breath becomes shared, noses on the verge of hitting each other as you glance at his lips for a split second. You’re hyper aware of how he feels right now, his hands on your body keeping you safe and god dammit you realize you kinda do like it. You like Seonghwa, and he looks as though he might like you back.

He clears his throat, finally pulling away.

“Good, that’s it, I want you to do the exact same thing but hold your core longer this time” He tells you, cautiously taking a few more steps back on the soft, plush grass. “I’m gonna raise you up a bit higher”

You let out a deep breath, shaking your nerves though you confessed to Seonghwa the fear that had been circling your thoughts.

“I don’t want to hurt you,”

He chuckles but then softly assures you, his heart clenching.

“You won’t hurt me baby. Now again! Jump!”

Finally the night of the performance comes. You’ve practiced your steps, you’ve tailored your dress, you’ve noted to keep your shoulders up like the hundreds of times Seonghwa told you so, and you’ve prayed even more times for the lift to turn out well. But the pre-performance jitters are still really getting to you.

Peeking out from behind the backstage curtain of the hotel you and Seonghwa were performing for, your eyes look over the crowd of folks present tonight to see you dance.

God, you felt as though your stomach was going to fall out of your ass. You feel nauseous, looking around to see if there was a mop bucket or something for you to puke your guts in when a warm hand comes to rest on your waist, turning you around so your back hits the stage wall.

Suddenly you realize you’re trapped underneath Seonghwa’s hold.

“Hey, look at me baby” Seonghwa tells you, voice firm but softening a bit when your nervous eyes reach up to his. He looks dashing in his sleek suit slash tuxedo, his hair gelled back and different from the soft curls that would hand over his forehead when you two practiced. You watch as he begins to assure you.

“Just like we practiced.” He brushes a loose curl from your hair, the action making butterflies explode in your already nervous stomach. You bite your rouge coloured lips, the sparkly dress and heavy makeup Minny did for you making you feel out of place. You're scared of messing this up.

“Follow my lead and you’ll do great.”

Seonghwa seems nervous but there wasn’t a possibility it could be as much as you were. Your lips part softly when he touches your arm to remind you one last time.

“And sweetheart, don’t forget to have fun” he grins. You nodded back, your thoughts clearing a bit thanks to his comfort.

And now, the Sheldrake Hotel presents Park Seonghwa and partner in Mambo Magic!

The voice through the microphone pulls you from the wall. Carefully, Seonghwa takes your hand in his own, straightening his posture and flashing you one last look before you take to the stage, the blinding show lights coming into view as the audience claps enthusiastically. The stage looks bigger than it did off stage, your mouth feeling like there were cotton balls shoved inside it. He takes his position behind you, hand on your hip like you’ve practiced a million times when the music finally begins.

It’s funny how the body acts on its own. One second you're completely still and the next you're following Seonghwa to the rhythm of the music, your steps fast, precise.

Before you knew, your body already knew.

He spins you around, grasping your hand as the skirt of your red dress flowed gracefully, hearing the sounds of the impressed audience watching below.

Every move you made fell in line with what you had learned, a reassuring comfort to have Seonghwa’s hands on your body almost the whole time as you let him serenade both you and the audience.

“Doing so well” He muttered under his breath, his expression never changing as you successfully executed your cross body lead. A little bit of pride grows in his heart. Seonghwa does incredibly like he always did, watching how his expressions changed to correspond with the music, his dancing following with the changes in tempo. Park Seonghwa was born to perform.

Finally it comes time for the grand finale. The lift. Seonghwa steps back, giving you the space you needed before he ushers you into your cue. You don’t know what happens to you after doing well so far, but you stop right at the end of your tracks, come face to face with a bewildered looking Seonghwa who watches you attempt a random dance move to keep the music going.

God, no!

His arms find his way around you, leading you into his steps expertly before soon the song ends and you're both posing with baited breath, face to face with the final spotlight shining down.

The audience erupts into applause, feeling an overwhelming sense of relief wash over you. You did it, and it was over, but you still had to swallow the disappointing truth.

You didn’t make the lift.

Seonghwa takes your hand in his own, both of you taking a deep bow before striding off stage. Only when you're out of the stage lights do you burst in apology, catching your breath from dancing.

“I’m so sorry, Seonghwa.” shaking your head as you already expected the criticisms to follow. “I chickened out at the last minute and I couldn’t do the lift. I-I thought I could, but then I saw you and I didn’t want to risk it, and I’m pretty sure I was late on that last step and I’m really sorry for stepping on your toe-”

His hands engulf your body into his own. Inhaling his strong cologne and the musky smell of cedar and cigarettes, Seonghwa has his arms wrapped around your body in sheer proudness, patting your hair and whispering softly into your ear.

“I’m so fucking proud of you, you hear me?” He says, cutting you off. You didn’t know what to say, your body tensing under his sudden actions.

“I don’t care about the lift, baby. We can work on that later” he comforts you. He pulls back, watching your stunned face. He tries to open his mouth to speak, but he stops to collect his words.

“You were incredible… you did so well.” The compliments circle towards your beating heart, making your worries disappear with what he says next.

“Minny would be proud of you” he smiles, the corners of his mouth turned upwards.

You grinned back, tears forming in your eyes with huge relief. You hug him back wholeheartedly this time, the other performers watching you two backstage.

You shared the embrace for a while longer than before. This time, not as dance partners but perhaps something a little more.

After the first performance, you continued practicing with each other. You both learned to adjust to each other's dancing, and the lifts and spins eventually came like second nature to you. Soon, sweltering July heat faded into soft August showers. A close partnership blossomed between you and Seonghwa, finding each other's rhythm every time you snuck from the west building to practice in the abandoned barn house, even when the dance studio was closed. You found yourself running off to dance with the boy, even when your performances were over. You already raised enough money by booking shows at every hotel, inn and resort nearby, and you were more than relieved to have found a doctor in town, willing to help Minny.

And what do you know, you and Seonghwa turned out to be too good of a dancing couple to not do a few more extra shows with. Dancing turned into a real, second job for you now, and that meant the chemistry between you two changed.

“Promise me you’ll take care of him” Minny asks you the night before she’s headed into town. You know she means Seonghwa. Her manicured nails grasped your hands and held them close. She would be gone for a few days for the procedure, but she knew she had to still say her thanks to you before she left.

Minny stands in front of you looking like a girl scared shitless for her life. You knew how strong she was for going through all this, and you only prayed for her to receive the best outcome that reflects her choice. Not the outcome any other fucking person wanted in order to criticize her for her mistakes.

Your eyes soften when she mentions Seonghwa.

“I’ve danced with him since we were kids, baby.” she confesses. “I know what he looks like when he’s out there performing, that, that look he has that makes him feel like he’s got everything he needs in the world.”

“He looks like that with you. I know he wants you just as much as you do”

You blush, shaking your head in denial before she catches you into a gentle hug.

“I could never thank you enough, baby” she whispers, making your heart go warm. “You’ve done a favour for me that no other being but a real friend could do”

For the first time since coming here, you felt as though you could confidently say you had found happiness in something, and that was from finding both a passion and a friend.

“C’mon Minny” Yunho softly calls for her from behind, leaning against his car with the door open. He’s gonna drive her into town and take care of her just like he said he would.

He looks back at you with a smile, and you reciprocate it back to the blonde boy.

“Drive safe” you told them, watching Minny wave you goodbye.

You were undeniably scared for Minny.

But seeing her walk back to intertwine her fingers with Yunho who stands by her side by the door of the car, looking as though he was ready to fight the entire world for her, you knew that she would be okay.

“C’mon doll, I didn’t teach you to dance with form like that” Seonghwa teases you one afternoon a few days later, the barn house empty as you two fooled around with a new set of LP’s Hongjoong bought.

He slides his strong arms down your thighs, adjusting the casual position you were dancing in, though the gesture is in fact far from innocent. And it still makes a smile curl onto your face.

You shake from his hold with a gasp, feigning fake innocence and batting your lashes to a cocky looking Seonghwa who stares down at you with pulsating desire.

“Now don’t go correcting me about form when I can see your hands just can’t keep to themselves” you teased, your hands ghosting over his exposed skin under his shirt, pushing away his grabby arms as you suddenly switched roles. You were becoming the teacher and him, the student.

Seonghwa groans at your cruel teasing, watching your legs shuffle themselves to the music, your hips brushing against each other every so often that it drives Seonghwa mad to have to keep his composure like this for another second longer.

“Look at you move, Jesus Christ” he mutters.

“Uh uh, you keep your eyes on the mirror, Hwa” You commented, using his own words he once used against him. “Not on me, baby” you smiled.

Seonghwa doesn’t think he can take it anymore and swipes a hand to hover near your ass, gripping the flesh hungrily so your back was pressed to his chest and he could feel you dance against his body. Nothing would be able to pass in between you.

You bit your tongue to prevent letting out a moan. Did he always have to pull the rug right under your feet like that? Just when you were finally starting to get the upper hand in the moment, he leaves you feeling like you had no absolute control from the beginning.

“Keep it up and let’s see what happens” he hums into your ear, the movement of your bodies having reached a new level of comfort and compatibility.

You just fit so well together now.

He continued to rock you back against his thigh, matching the slow tempo of the music. Even while you couldn’t see him due to your eyes being closed in pure bliss, you could feel his stare on your face. The expression you put on while grinding against his body, his intent stare reflecting through the mirror.

All that sexual tension that had been manifesting between you two these past weeks was reaching its limit. The time was now, and Seonghwa was afraid it would all end with him doing whatever it was that he wanted to do to your sweet body.

The last song on the record ends as the vinyl comes to a stop. You opened your eyes to see Seonghwa gazing down at you.

“Keep moving,” he whispers, his breath hot against your cheek. He wanted you to move not because the music was telling you, but because your heart was telling you.

There's that thumping feeling of your heart that makes your ribs rattle against your chest, pressing on the tips of your toes to look him properly in the eyes.

“If you want me to move, you’re gonna ask me nicely, Seonghwa” who marvels at the sight of how far you’ve grown out of your shy timid shell.

“Look at my baby making demands” he says in astonishment, a giggle escaping out from you. Then the dancer stoops his neck down, leaning close to fulfill your request.

“Please, baby” he moans, watching as your hands creeped up his chest. He looks at you with an intense gaze, sucking you into a need that’s bordering obsession.

“Be my good little girl”

Your lips crash into his, your actions becoming the fuel to set ablaze a burning fire of lust that leaves Seonghwa hoisting you up into his arms, hands supporting your thighs as he pushes you against the full length mirror.

“Fucking finally” he mumbled as front teeth clashed, fighting for dominance with you as you made out passionately. His hands caged you against the wall while your thighs straddled his hips and your legs linked from behind his ass. You could feel Seonghwa’s hard member pressing against you up from through his slacks, letting out beautiful whines and deep gasps as your pussy craved for pleasure.

“Please, Hwa” it turned into now your turn to beg. You allowed access for his lips to trail down your open jaw onto the skin of your neck, his breath tickling you.

He coos at your pathetic state, deciding to sit himself down onto a nearby couch in front of the mirror, bringing your thighs to cradle him on each side, knowing that this position would give him the perfect view of your back.

He moans, feeling your lips press hickies against his neck, his eyes following the curve of your ass in your jeans.

“Let me see you move, baby”

Those words mean something different now. They can’t mean what they did before in rehearsals. Not when you’re laying on top of Seonghwa right now, stripping your clothes off, so that his cock finally brushes against your sopping wet folds.

Seonghwa is big. Even with just his pants on, his belt unbuckled and his leaking tip poking through, you can tell he’s hiding a little more length underneath. He doesn’t dare take his lips off of you, moaning as he hurriedly shuffled through the pockets of his leather jacket hanging nearby, taking out a condom as a few others fell to the floor. Why even bother to pick them up when he knew it would be easy access for him when he fucks you against the floor later.

“Seonghwa, quickly” you begged softly, watching him slide the latex over his cock. It had been so long since you felt anyone inside you. Your first time had felt so underwhelming and disappointing you thought you’d never want to have sex again.

But fuck that because Seonghwa here has you begging like a bitch in heat.

He stops his movements to look at you properly, holding your soft cheek in his right palm as he brings you back from a hazy trance.

“Hey, listen to me” he mutters, looking almost like he was in pain to fight back the urge to not just take you right there.

“I want you so bad, baby, I really do” he mumbles, his raven coloured hair falling from its secured style to frame his face. He catches his breath for a moment to look in your desperate eyes.

“But I also want to make sure I hear it from you”

You’re about to give him what he wants, but the words get choked up when Seonghwa accidentally shifts his hips in a way that causes him to slip in his seat, rutting his hips up and feeling his bulbous tip slap your awaiting entrance.

You mewl, clawing at the sofa material.

“Shit, fuck, I-I need to hear you say it baby. Tell me you need me” he sighs, watching you cry out loud and fall to his chest, his arms cradling you while your bare tits brushed against him. “Can you tell me you need me?” he whispers.

“Seonghwa, I need you right fucking now” you reply instantly, not believing how long its taking for him to make love to you on his lap.

“I need you” you repeat a dozen times, yelping when the anticipating stretch you were dreaming of finally came.

Seonghwa allows his strong arms to wrap around you and support you, pressing kisses on the side of your forehead. “That’s my good girl”

“Oh fuck”

“Doing so good. Look at your form through that mirror” he observed, watching your back arch from behind you, staring as his cock disappeared when you sank down again and again.

You gripped his shoulder, unsure of his deal with watching him fuck you, but you let him do so, the pleasure consuming you. A sound was building inside of you as your hips snapped to the rhythm that Seonghwa made for you, watching you ride him. He was leading you, just as he always did on the dance floor,

That sound struggled to be let out. A cry, a sob. . . you weren’t certain what would follow next, just knowing that Seonghwa’s cock felt so good. Too good.

His hands grip the mounds of your behind, his breath turning uneven with every passing second.

“Look at my little baby, too fucked and drunk on my cock to even speak properly” he smiles, throwing his head back when he feels your walls clench harder. His hands roam your beautifully strong thighs.

The lewd squelching is embarrassing to hear resonate throughout the empty bar house, mumbling incoherent words when all of sudden, Seonghwa slaps one of your ass cheeks, causing a burst of fire to spread through your legs, your already weak knees breaking their position as your breath hitched into a surprised yelp.

“Fuck, Seonghwa!” You moaned loudly, the sounds echoing off the walls.

“You like that baby, don’t you?” He teases. Your knees begin to give out, turning your face away from the mirror so you wouldn’t have to watch as Seonghwa used you mercilessly. His pupils were dilated, a slight obsession forming while watching you.

“Pretty things have to be watched properly, don’t they?” he tuts, pulling your hair to the side and letting your head turn on his chest so you were now forced to get a glimpse of both your expressions in the mirror reflecting you. He already feels that you’re both close.

“S-shut the h-ah- hell up” you had the audacity to mumble, tears forming near your eyes that make him laugh sadistically. He wasn’t even gonna spank you for that tone, he‘ll just fuck you harder.

“But you’re gonna take all of it, aren’t you?” He goes back to his soft voice, palming your ass as beads of sweat formed on his forehead.

“You’re still gonna take all of my fucking cock, right baby?”

You nodded compliantly, the last few whines leaving your swollen lips from biting them too much, as it suddenly feels all too much.

“Yes, yes, I’ll take it!”

Your shuddering as your orgasm takes over you and you let out a weak noise, feeling Seonghwa fuck you till he came as well.

“T-Take me” you mumbled under your breath, giving into the submission. “Make yourself feel good too” you sighed, knowing that he would treat you the same, if not better.

And at that, his cock twitches, letting out a groan as he finds his release too. Your warm walls clenching and unclenching periodically.

Heavy breathing resonates throughout the room. The smell of sweat and sex undeniable, falling on top of Seonghwa as he cherished you for a few minutes more, praising you all the while.

”So good to me baby” he pants, holding you as he switches positions to place your back against the couch now.

“So fucking good to me” he sighs, letting you catch your breath

You feel his hands coming to either side of your head as he pulls out his cock, whimpering at the empty feeling as you looked down to see the shiny condom filled with his seed reflecting the light. You close your eyes, letting a hand travel down to gently tug on the pulsating tip of his cock that rests on your lower stomach. Seonghwa groans, silently thinking he has to tell you or else he’ll regret it.

Your legs spread a little bit further, feeling his slick coat your stomach. Perhaps he would let you suck —

“I love you”

You opened your eyes to see Seonghwa is looking down at you like he’s never done before, sweat glistening on his skin as his chest heaved out every last breath from him.

You both lay there in silence, feeling stunned as you watched him lean down and press a kiss to your frozen lips.

“Fuck, I’m in love with you baby”

You blink away small tears, feeling embarrassed that the post-sex endorphins were doing this to you but Seonghwa paid no attention. He was the same.

“I really love you” he says again, almost as if he was saying out loud to realize it again. It makes you wrap your arms around him and pull him in close. You finally whispered back.

“I love you too, Seonghwa”

It feels right. To be here with him and to feel this way. To feel good.

For so long, a part of you felt as though you could never fully enjoy anything you did. This summer job you took up had you looking at life with a one track mind, thinking everyone here was temporary. Though in that moment as you pulled Seonghwa in closer, you knew he wouldn’t be temporary.

This boy would be forever.

“Baby?” Seonghwa calls to you after a moment passes, just as you’re bathing in the sweet feeling of gentle aftercare and calmness.

You hum, the head resting against your chest moves as he adjusts himself to be face to face, with you looking up at him. He caresses your hair in his hands.

“Tell me your real name.”

It takes you a second before the name spills from your lips.

Seonghwa smiles, pulling you in closer and tucking his chin in the valley of your neck.

“It’s beautiful. And it suits you. Suits you just fine”

𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄:

Seonghwa pats your back softly, calling you by your real name which he silently wishes you told him earlier, just so he could've called you by it more.

You shake your head insistently, words coming out muffled as you hold him in your arms, desperately trying to remember this feeling for a moment more.

“Five more minutes” you quickly stated, making Seonghwa break into a soft grin.

“I gotta go, love”

You didn’t take that for an answer, fighting back the tears and frustrations as you looked up.

“You don’t have to leave” you cried, lashes fluttering as the teardrops fell from your eyes. Seonghwa looks down at you, calmly wiping them away. Yunho was right. Sometimes you really were a baby.

“You could stay. don’t go” you begged naively.

It was only so long before your Aunt found out about you sneaking around with Seonghwa, and it didn’t take the boy a split second before he knew he wasn’t gonna let you lose the job. So he took the full blame.

His car is packed, his small box of belongings that he came here with sitting in his backseat as the clouds drifting in the blue summer sky above, cast a shadow down over you two.

This summer will never be forgotten. What you had learned, what you experienced, what you had felt. It would stick with you wherever you’d go. In that sense, Seonghwa would then still be with you forever. Maybe just not side by side with you.

He looks down at you and asks you softly.

“Are you gonna keep dancing even when I’m gone?” His thumb places itself underneath your chin, making you look up at him.

You nod. There was no denying it.

“Then that’s all I need”

Seonghwa smashes his lips against yours for one last time, making you stifle your cries as your lips move in sync, savouring each others taste.

He’s first to let you go, brushing the tears away with his thumb and grabbing his leather jacket that he left perched on the hood of his car.

Without any more words, Seonghwa gets inside the driver seat and starts the engine, a roar coming to life as he slowly drives off into the distance, leaving you standing alone with a hand over your heart.

You were right. He would always be your forever.

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navybrat817 · 9 months ago

Text

Sweet as a Berry

Pairing: Farmer!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Summary: You go to the local market to buy berries and meet the man of your dreams.

Word Count: Over 3.5k

Warnings: Fluff, meet-cute, flirting, tension, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?)

A/N: Welcome to my Bountiful Harvest AU ( or Farmer Fall as discussed with @thezombieprostitute and @witchywithwhiskey ) and our intro to farmer!Bucky. Thanks to @yenzys-lucky-charm and @targaryenvampireslayer for letting me babble about this man. ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @whisperlullaby , but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @saradika-graphics . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Your weekly trip to the farmers market was one you looked forward to. A place for merchants to come together to offer an abundance of products, there was always something to browse or discover. Today you only had one thing on your list: berries for your pies. Frozen fruit did the job, but you preferred to bake your pies with fresh fruit. Buying from the market was also a way to support local farmers. Maybe one day you'd even bag a handsome farmer for yourself. It was a silly fantasy, of course, but your mind liked to wander some days.

Not that there was anything wrong with city men, but they couldn't compare to a man working on a farm. There was just something about a guy who knew how to work with nature and provide, wasn't intimidated by hard work or afraid to get his hands dirty, and had a strong body and character due to his work ethic. You liked to think you’d make a good wife and take care of him the way he’d take care of you. You also liked to imagine a handsome man walking inside after a long day and stripping down and wanting dessert before a hearty meal. And by dessert, you meant you.

For now, you were only a farmer’s wife in your dreams and journal.

The gravel crunched under your tires as you turned down the road, the market coming into focus. You made good time and managed to snag a decent parking space. A little bit of walking wouldn’t hurt. Plus the day was nice enough that you wore one of your sundresses, the soft breeze pleasant against your skin once you got out of your car.

Lively chatter greeted you as you got closer to the stalls and booths and expertly weaved your way through the bustling crowd. The various produce and flowers created a kaleidoscope of colors, brightened more by the brilliant rays coming from the sun. The earthy fragrance that blended with the sweet and ripe aromas was one you only encountered here. There was nothing else quite like it.

Quick movement in front of you made you come to a stop, your heart jumping. Had you not been paying attention you would've collided with a little boy. “Mama, there's Dada! He’s getting honey!” He shouted as he ran past and threw his arms around a man’s legs.

“Walk, please, and watch where you're going!” His mother said after him, a both fond and exasperated look on her face as she gave you a tired smile. “I’m so sorry about that.”

“No apologies,” you smiled. He hadn't done anything wrong. “I wish I had that energy.”

“Same. I’d bottle and sell it,” she said over her shoulder.

Watching as the woman went to her son and husband, both of them looking at her like the sun rose today because of her, you felt a twinge of sadness. Your trips to the market were solo, always had been. You longed to have a partner to go with, someone to put his arm around you or hold your hand as you picked out items together. Even better if the two of you could make a family down the line.

With a wistful smile, you shook yourself from those thoughts. There was no reason to feel sorry for yourself. Just because you didn't have that in the present didn't mean it wouldn't happen in the future. You had to have faith that the right one would come along at the right time.

For now, you would find some berries and be on your way.

Walking a bit further, you spotted a booth you hadn't seen in your previous visits. The sign that read “Barnes’s Berries” complete with hand painted fruit pieces piqued your curiosity as you stopped in front of it. As the customers in front of you paid for their bundles and blocked the view of the person assisting them, you took a minute to admire the range of berries reflecting a spectrum from blues to reds. Your mouth watered from the sight. There were so many things you could do with these. Pies, jams, cakes-

A deep, husky voice asked, “Is there anything I can help you with?”

You made some sort of sound as you turned around, your heart pounding in your chest. The man in front of you was tall with thick thighs that deliciously filled out his jeans. The rolled up plaid shirt exposed part of his arms. The left was covered in tattoos and the ink couldn't hide the muscles or veins. If anything, it accentuated his strength. His chest and shoulders seemed to go on for miles, too. The chestnut hair that fell below his chin and stubble on his face gave the already handsome man a rugged look.

Sapphire eyes crinkled when you made eye contact and he smiled so softly that you couldn't help but smile in return. A man of his size and stature working a berry stand when he looked like he could easily chop wood or build his own home was otherworldly. He didn't just step out of your fantasy. He took your thoughts and made them better than you could've imagined.

“Is there anything I can help you with?” He asked again a bit hesitantly when you didn’t answer his question. “If you're still looking, please, take your time.”

“You’re real, right?” You asked, your face heating up as the words left your mouth. A giggle followed because you couldn’t believe you just said that. “What I meant to say is, yeah. Just looking for now,” you added to save face, smoothing out your dress for no reason.

Amusement filled his eyes, the soft smile still tugging at his lips. “I sure hope I’m real and not just a figment of your imagination.”

You wished you could reach out and touch him to “prove” he was real, but didn’t want to weird him out. “Not a figment of my imagination,” you said, but that wasn’t totally true. You very much imagined a man like him when you were alone at night. “But I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.” It wasn't like you knew every single vendor, but you would've remembered him.

He sure as hell had a face worth remembering.

“I’m Bucky,” he introduced, offering you his hand. His grip was gentler than you expected, but there was no mistaking the roughness in his touch. The man worked with his hands and it showed. “This is actually my first week here.”

You said your name, proud that you remembered it with the way he was staring so intently at you. He stood a bit close, too. Close enough that you could smell his woodsy cologne. Subtle, yet enticing. “I hope everyone has been welcoming.”

“Most have been very friendly, which has made my job easy,” he said. You could imagine with his looks and friendly demeanor despite his size that he’d have a lot of repeat customers. “A couple of my friends recently started selling here, too, so it’s good to have some familiar faces close by.”

“That’s really nice. I’m sure they're glad you're close by, too,” you smiled. You wondered who his friends were. “Did you have to travel far to get here?”

“Yeah, they’re good guys,” he smiled back, your heart racing when he ran a hand through his hair. “Not too far since my farm is only a few miles away, which also makes things easier. Makes me wonder why I didn't do this sooner.”

You nearly swooned. Your dream man was becoming dreamier by the second. “You have a farm not too far from here?”

It would’ve been easy to assume he did since he had a stand here, but not everyone who worked the market had their own land. It was also easy to assume he wasn't married since you didn't see a ring on his left hand or any sort of tan line or indentation to indicate that he removed a ring. A man like that though probably had a partner. It wasn't worth getting your hopes up.

“Yeah. I have a few acres. Beautiful place. but if I’m being honest it gets a bit lonely since it’s just me out there with no one to share it with.” He scratched the back of his neck with a small chuckle and avoided your gaze. “I don't know why I said that. That’s kind of embarrassing.”

Your stomach did a funny flip. Not just because he pretty much let it slip that he wasn't with anyone when you assumed moments ago that he was, but from the urge to comfort him taking over. You wished you could wrap him in a hug.

“Well, I don't have a farm, but I understand feeling lonely some days,” you admitted. Being vulnerable with a complete stranger wasn't how you expected your day to go, but you wanted him to know he wasn't alone in that feeling. “And it’s not embarrassing,” you assured him. If anything, it was endearing.

He slowly met your gaze. “I appreciate that.” He rubbed the back of his neck again as your heart began to race. “I hope you don’t mind me saying so, but I find it hard to believe that someone as sweet and beautiful as you gets lonely.”

The compliment left you momentarily dazed before a shy smile graced your face. You could've said the same thing about him. Maybe the instant connection you felt wasn’t so one-sided. “Well, I do. Even coming here, I’m usually by my lonesome” you said, the words not at all bitter. Just honest. “And do you call all potential customers sweet and beautiful?”

“No, I don’t.” He continued to gaze at you before he cleared his throat. “But you said potential customer. If I made you uncomfortable…”

“You didn’t.” It was gentlemanly that he wanted to make sure that his comment didn’t put you off. “There’s a stand a little further down that I sometimes stop at, though your berries are extremely tempting.”

Bucky’s brows pinched before he snapped his fingers. “Jed, right? He’s actually not here this week. Had an accident recently. Broke his leg.”

You gasped. “Oh, my god. That’s awful.” Jed was a kind, older farmer who had been there for as long as you could remember. A hard worker who didn’t deserve any kind of pain. “I hope he heals quickly.”

Bucky nodded solemnly. “So, do I,” he said, clearing his throat. “I’m no Jed, but is there anything I can do to get your business today?”

The hopeful look in his blue eyes had you smiling slightly. “Well, I-”

“Wait. Let me try to guess what you’re specifically looking for before you tell me.” He waited until you nodded. “Clearly berries, but not for anything like a fruit salad or an everyday snack,” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully and you tried not to giggle when he grinned triumphantly. “Pies. You want berries to make pies. Blueberries, right? Maybe blackberries, too. And if I had to pick a third, raspberries.”

Your mouth fell open. Was he a mind reader? “Yeah, that’s exactly it. Blueberries, blackberries, and raspberries. I have this triple berry pie recipe that I love and I make the crust from scratch and…” You bit your lip to keep from rambling. He didn’t need to hear all that. “Sorry. I just like to bake.”

“No apologies.” His light touch to your arm surprised you as he met your gaze. “You sound very passionate about it and I like that.”

You found yourself nodding, unable to tear your gaze away. It took everything within you to not blurt out how gorgeous he was. And on top of that, he was kind? Maybe he wasn’t real. “I am passionate about it. And not just pies. Other treats, too,” you said, nodding to the strawberries. “Those would be perfect for mini shortcakes or scones.”

He studied you with an appreciative smirk. The sundress was a good choice. “I have no doubt your treats are delicious and you are making me very hungry,” he said, your heart thudding. The smirk disappeared as quickly as it appeared when he gestured to his stand. “And I think they’ll be tastier with my berries.”

You blinked, stuck on the fact that he called your treats delicious. It wasn’t a big deal. It wasn’t like he called you delicious and he hadn’t tasted anything of yours, though you’d find a way to bake something and deliver it to him personally if he asked. “You sound very confident, Bucky.”

He puffed his chest out. “I take a lot of pride in all my crops. Tell you what,” he said, stepping away from you to grab a sample cup. “Why don’t you try some and see how you like them? If they aren't the best berries you’ve ever tasted, I’ll shut my stand down and let you on your way.”

“You’ll really shut your stand down? That’s a big wager,” you smiled, his fingers touching yours as he handed the cup over. It heated you up all over again. “The look of them alone is amazing,” you said, the vibrant berries beckoning for you to have a bite.

“Taste amazing, too, but I’ll let you be the judge of that.”

Bucky shot you a dazzling smile as you tried the blueberry first since that was the berry you were most interested in purchasing today. You didn’t care if it was mortifying, you outright moaned at the flavor when you bit down on the small and plump piece of fruit. Not overly sweet or acidic as the juice coated your tongue. It was the perfect balance. So much that you licked your lips and craved another.

Your eyes honed in on the rise and fall of Bucky’s chest before your gaze flickered to his face. His eyes were darker and you realized after a moment that he was staring at your mouth. A look like that could’ve made you choke on your breath, but it somehow gave you a burst of confidence. Testing the waters, you tried the blackberry next and made a show of licking your lips again at the sweet and succulent taste. The groan he let out shot a burst of heat between your legs.

God, he looked like he was ready to eat you whole.

“Delicious,” you said in a sultry voice you didn't recognize.

“You, um…” He brought a hand up and brushed his thumb along the corner of your mouth. You quivered when he showed you the drop of juice that you missed. Without breaking eye contact, he licked the drop away. It was a look that melted your insides when he said in a gruff tone, “You're right. Delicious.”

“Excuse me?” A woman spoke, making you jump back a bit from Bucky and pulling you both out of the moment. She might as well have dumped a bucket of cold water over your head. “I’d like to buy these.”

Your heart continued to race when you saw disappointment flash in his eyes. “Go ahead,” you smiled. He was there to do a job after all, not chat and flirt with you. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Bucky turned his head toward the customer. “Of course, ma’am,” he smiled, still glancing back at you momentarily as if was afraid you’d walk away if he didn’t keep an eye on you.

Biting your lip, you held in a giggle as you tossed the sample cup into the small wastebasket. You swore you felt him gazing at you as you gathered up the bundles. Maybe you didn’t need to bend so far over to get the last bundle, but was it wrong that you wanted him to look? It wasn’t every day that you had a kind, handsome farmer flirting with you. It would have you walking on cloud nine for the rest of the day.

Turning toward the table to pay, you gasped when you nearly collided with Bucky. He managed to grab your arms to keep you from falling and you somehow didn’t drop a single bundle as he stared into your eyes. “You know, I think you’re even sweeter than my berries,” he spoke in a low voice, swiftly taking everything from your hands and lining them in a box before your brain could process what he said. “This everything then?”

“Yeah.” You blinked and got your money out to pay. “Thanks. And keep the change.”

He shook his head when he saw the amount you gave him. “Oh, I couldn’t do that.”

“Please. I insist,” you smiled. He took a lot of pride in his work and any extra change could go toward that.

“I’ll keep it on two conditions,” he said, nodding to the box. “One, you let me be a gentleman and help you carry that to your car, that way you’re not stuck carrying it around.”

You nodded, butterflies in your stomach. “Okay, if you insist on being a gentleman.” He was nice enough that he wanted to step away from his stand and carry something for you. He really kept getting better and better. “And the second condition?” You asked with a coy smile. Maybe if you were lucky enough he’d ask for your number.

He reached behind him and presented you with another sample cup. “One more for the road? Please?”

You stamped down your disappointment that he didn’t ask for your number, which was more than okay. “How can I say no to that?” You popped the berries into your mouth without hesitation. They tasted ever sweeter than the first sample you had and you watched his eyes go to your neck as you swallowed. “Thanks. You really do have a gift,” you added to distract you from his heated gaze.

He looked humbled by the compliment. “I really do appreciate that,” he said, glancing over your shoulder to nod at someone. “Steve! You mind watching the stand until I get back? I’m gonna help her carry these to her car.”

You turned just in time to see a gorgeous blonde just as large as Bucky jog over from the stand across the way. “That’s nice of you, jerk. Real gentlemanly,” he smiled, giving you a small nod. “Ma’am.”

“Punk,” Bucky mumbled, but the affection was evident.

Another giggle worked its way out. Where did these men suddenly come from? Was there something in the water you didn’t know about? “You don’t need to call me ma’am, but thank you. And you’re right.” Your eyes went back to Bucky. “He is a gentleman.”

“And this is my cue to get you away from my friend before he says otherwise,” Bucky teased, steering you away with one hand while he balanced your fruit in the other.

“I don’t think I’ve seen him here either.”

“That was one of the friends I was talking about earlier. Has a farm, too, but his real passion is art,” he explained, his arm brushing against yours as he walked close. “He actually helped make my sign since I’m hopeless with that stuff.”

“That’s really nice,” you said, falling into a comfortable silence with him as you both maneuvered your way through the crowd. Once you got to the parking area, you pointed out your vehicle. “I’m just over there.”

Bucky’s gaze flickered over to you as you got your keys out. “I’m really glad you stopped at my stand today.”

Your heart fluttered when you caught the sun shining along his hair. “I’m glad I did, too,” you said softly, unlocking the car so he could set everything inside. Thank God it was clean. That would’ve been embarrassing. “But I should let you get back to work.”

He shifted on his feet, like he wasn’t quite ready to go. “Yeah, I should go.” He stepped forward and took a breath. “But I don’t think I can go back before I ask you to go on a date with me.”

You blinked. This wasn’t a drill. Bucky was asking you out. His tone was so gentle, his gaze so compelling. He was mesmerizing. He could’ve asked you to do anything and you likely would’ve done so without question.

“You want to take me out on a date?” You questioned, your mind screaming that your response was the wrong answer. This wasn’t a fantasy. It was really happening.

With an unsure chuckle, Bucky brushed a hand through his hair. “Too forward?” He smiled a little. “I’m sorry. I just thought that we…”

Your heart reacted to his uncertainty. It took a lot for anyone to put themselves out there and you wanted him to know it was worth the risk. “Not too forward at all, Bucky,” you smiled and placed your hand on his left arm, happy when he smiled back. “I'd love to go out with you.”

He took your hand in his when you went to pull your hand back. “I’m really glad you said yes,” he whispered.

“Me, too,” you sighed at his warm touch. It was the beginning of something special. You could tell. “So, when would you like to go on that date?”

And that is our intro! Now here is where it gets interesting: This story will go down two paths, one light and one dark. Be on the lookout for the continuation and choose your path (or choose both 😏). Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

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gardenwons · 10 months ago

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NERDY AND NASTY

SYNOPSIS maybe making a nerd beg for your forgiveness was your kink? And maybe making you beg was also his?

PAIRINGS nerd!heeseung x popular!reader

WARNINGS smut with plot(?), switch!heeseung, making out, unprotected sex, cunnilingus, size kink, praising, somewhat insecure heeseung, hint at future 3some

A/N 8k+ words heavily inspired by all the nerd fics *leeechin and her loser!hoon pls.. im currently reading and eating up, loser!hee is long overdue at this point needed to make him a priority lol also super sleepy so not proofread

“I really don’t think you should go through with this. You’ll chew him up and spit him out,” Wonyoung whispered in your ear, her eyes flicking toward the guy a few seats ahead of you.

You hadn’t been paying attention to class for the past two hours, too busy eyeing Heeseung—lanky, messy hair, big glasses that slipped down his nose as he furiously scribbled notes. Something about the way he muttered to himself and hunched over his textbooks made you wonder what he’d be like when things got... intimate. You found yourself biting on your bottom lip and grinned.

“Do you think he’s a virgin?” you whispered back to Wonyoung, ignoring her warning.

She giggled softly. “Maybe. But even nerds have game these days. Might as well find out.”

“I swear, Y/N is staring at you,” Jungwon whispered excitedly, nudging Heeseung’s arm for what felt like the hundredth time. Heeseung tried to ignore him, rolling his eyes.

“No way. She doesn’t even know I exist,” he muttered, flipping through his notes with forced indifference. The idea of you noticing him was ridiculous. You were you—confident, untouchable. He was just some guy trying to survive the semester.

But then, he chanced a glance behind him, just to prove Jungwon wrong. His heart jumped into his throat when his eyes met yours. You didn’t look away. In fact, you winked at him.

Heeseung’s face flushed crimson as he whipped his head back to the front, his pulse racing. Jungwon snickered beside him, clearly enjoying his reaction.

“Told you, man,” Jungwon teased.

Heeseung’s thoughts were spinning. There was no way someone like you would actually be interested in him... right? But he couldn’t help the small spark of hope that flickered in his chest. You, the girl everyone wanted, were giving him attention. For once, he wasn’t invisible. And that both terrified and excited him.

You slipped through the mass of students as soon as class ended, making a beeline toward Heeseung. He was still at his desk, packing up his notes, oblivious to the fact that you were heading straight for him.

Jungwon noticed you first, eyes widening in surprise as he fumbled with his notebooks, hugging them to his chest. “H-Hi, Y/N,” he stammered, his voice cracking slightly as he elbowed Heeseung hard to get his attention.

Heeseung let out a small groan, rubbing his side as he looked up. His expression shifted from irritation to wide-eyed surprise when he saw you standing in front of him.

“Hey, I’m Y/N,” you introduced yourself with a casual smile, though you knew you didn’t have to. Your reputation precedes you, but there was something cute about doing it anyway—like a formality. You watched as both of them stammered out their own introductions, even though you already knew their names. They were shy, but that just added to the fun.

“I know who you guys are,” you continued, leaning in slightly. “I was wondering if you’d want to group up for the project? Wonyoung ditched me for someone else, and I thought it’d be okay to work with you guys.” It was a harmless cover, but in reality, you had your eyes on Heeseung for other reasons. Still, two birds with one stone, good grades and a chance to see what Heeseung was really about.

Jungwon immediately nodded, almost too eagerly, slapping a hand on Heeseung’s shoulder. “We’d love that,” he said with a grin, giving Heeseung a look as if urging him to just go along with it.

Heeseung blinked, clearly still processing the fact that you were talking to them at all. “Uh, yeah, I guess it’d be fine,” he mumbled, his lips curling into a shy smile as he glanced at you nervously.

“Perfect! Let me give you guys my number,” you said, flashing them a confident smile. Both of them handed over their phones without hesitation. You quickly entered your contact information on Heeseung’s phone, adding a little heart next to your name for good measure before handing it back.

Jungwon’s eyes darted between you and Heeseung, a knowing grin playing on his lips as you sauntered off. “Dude,” he muttered, nudging Heeseung again, “you better not mess this up.”

Heeseung just stood there, staring at his phone, his heart racing as he saw your name and the heart emoji.

“I’m not sure what just happened,” he muttered under his breath, still in disbelief, “but I think I’m in trouble.”

Two days had passed, and you were growing impatient. Not a single text from either Heeseung or Jungwon. Were they really that swamped with schoolwork, or were they just too shy to make the first move? Deciding you’d waited long enough, you took matters into your own hands and set out to track Heeseung down.

You checked all the usual spots where nerds hang out—the library, the study hall, even the cafeteria—but no luck. Then, as you wandered the quieter part of campus, you passed by the music room. It was mostly abandoned now, dusty and forgotten, but something made you stop. A soft humming caught your ear, pulling you toward the ajar door.

Peeking in, you spotted Heeseung sitting alone, flipping through his notebook and humming quietly to himself. The sight of him caught you off guard—he looked so... at peace. You watched him for a moment, his soft voice filling the empty room. No wonder you couldn’t find him earlier; no one came here anymore.

After a minute of listening, you knocked gently on the door, making him jump. His wide eyes shot up to meet yours, looking startled—almost terrified—at the sight of you standing there.

“S-Sorry, I didn’t know you were—” he started, scrambling out of his seat, offering it to you in a flustered rush. It was the only clean seat in the room, the rest of the space coated in dust and neglect.

But you weren’t focused on that. Your eyes were drawn to him—his usually neat appearance was slightly undone. Two buttons on his shirt were carelessly unbuttoned, his tie loosened around his neck, and the messy look was doing things to you. He looked unexpectedly... hot.

Heeseung, on the other hand, was fumbling through an apology, but all you could think about was how good he looked, so different from his usual polished self.

You rolled your eyes, sitting down with a huff, blowing loose strands of hair away from your face. As you settled in, you beckoned Heeseung toward you with a slow curl of your finger. His breath hitched, and you could already see the nervous sweat forming on his forehead, his body stiff with tension as your presence overwhelmed him. Reluctantly, he shuffled closer until he crouched down, his wide eyes barely able to meet yours as you stared him down.

“It’s not very nice to leave me waiting,” you said coolly, your voice laced with annoyance. Heeseung’s cheeks flushed deeper as he nodded, his gaze flicking away quickly, unable to hold eye contact for more than a few seconds.

“I-i didn’t know what to message you...” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. He looked embarrassed, and the sight of him, so timid and unsure, almost made you laugh. Almost. But you bit down on your lip, forcing back the giggle bubbling up. Instead, you shrugged, feigning disinterest, as if his pathetic nervousness didn’t amuse you.

“A simple ‘hi’ would’ve worked,” you replied nonchalantly, watching him squirm under your gaze. You let the tension hang in the air before adding, “But now... I think I want an apology.”

Heeseung’s eyes widened, and he nodded quickly, already muttering, “Of course, I’m really sor—”

“On your knees,” you interrupted, your voice taking on a teasing, yet commanding tone. “Just so I know you’re sincere.” You fluttered your lashes at him, lips curling into a playful pout.

Heeseung’s breath hitched again, his throat visibly bobbing as he swallowed nervously. But he didn’t argue. Slowly, he dropped to his knees in front of you, his hands trembling slightly as they hovered by his sides, unsure of what to do. His face flushed a deeper red as his eyes unintentionally fell to the edge of your skirt, where the faintest hint of your pink panties teased him, peeking between your legs. His mouth went dry, and he quickly averted his eyes, his whole body tense as he knelt there, waiting for your next move.

You nodded, silently urging him to continue. Heeseung stammered, his voice shaky as he tried to find the right words. He felt embarrassed, hot under your intense gaze. Just moments ago, everything had been peaceful—normal even—but now, here he was, on his knees, trying to beg for forgiveness while resisting the growing urge to glance between your thighs.

“I-I’m really sorry, Y/N,” he whispered, his head dropping low in shame, every emotion swirling inside him, mixing into a mess of anxiety, desire, and guilt. He prayed none of it showed, especially the inappropriate thoughts creeping in as he tried to save face.

But you weren’t done. You reached down, gently grabbing his chin, tilting his head back up until his wide eyes met yours again. You fixed his glasses, which had slid down his nose, and ran your fingers through his messy hair. “You’re so cute like this, y’know?” you said softly, a teasing smile playing on your lips. Heeseung choked on his spit, blinking rapidly as his mind struggled to keep up with the situation.

Before he could respond, you stood up, the edge of your skirt brushing against his face. From this angle, he had an unobstructed view of the way your panties moulded perfectly to your cunt, leaving little to the imagination. His breath hitched, and he felt a dizzy wave wash over him. Heeseung’s face turned a shade of red so deep he thought he might faint.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry about that,” you said with mock innocence, feigning surprise as if you hadn’t planned it all along. Your voice dripped with playful teasing, and you watched as Heeseung struggled to regain control of his thoughts, his eyes darting anywhere but toward you.

You leaned down, lowering yourself to eye level with him again, your lips curling into a smirk. “You’ll forgive me, won’t you? After all i’ve already forgiven you,” you whispered, your tone dripping with suggestion. His mind raced, and his throat felt dry as he nodded frantically, completely out of his depth, but too entranced by you to say anything coherent.

Satisfied, you patted his cheek lightly before turning to leave, letting your fingers trail under his chin for just a moment longer. “Good boy,” you murmured under your breath, just loud enough for him to hear. With one last glance over your shoulder, you placed your phone up to remind him of what to do and walked out of the room, leaving Heeseung kneeling on the floor, heart pounding, utterly shaken.

Heeseung stayed frozen in place for a few moments after you left, still processing what had just happened. His hands trembled slightly as he ran them through his hair, mind racing, trying to figure out how to face you again—or if he even could.

Needless to say, he did message you. His text came in late that night, "Hey, about earlier... I'm really sorry again." You could almost picture him, blushing behind his phone, nervously typing and deleting his words before sending them. That was the moment your plan began to take shape.

It wasn’t long before the perfect opportunity arose. Heeseung and Jungwon invited you over to their place to work on the project. You had played it cool, agreeing without hesitation, masking your real intentions behind the promise of schoolwork. This was your chance to get Heeseung exactly where you wanted him.

You stood outside their apartment door, a smirk tugging at the corners of your lips as you checked your reflection on your phone screen one last time. You’d dressed down, but in a way that still showed just enough—casual yet enticing. After all, you weren’t here just for the project.

When Jungwon opened the door, he greeted you with a warm smile, stepping aside to let you in. “Hey! Glad you could make it,” he said, gesturing toward the living room.

As you entered, you noticed immediately how much more relaxed they seemed in their own space. Heeseung sat on the couch, dressed in a fitted graphic tee that accentuated his lean frame, and joggers that hugged his legs perfectly. Gone was the timid, nerdy look he sported in class; here, he was undeniably handsome, and you couldn’t help but appreciate the transformation. Jungwon was equally attractive, his casual hoodie and jeans showcasing a well-defined physique that you hadn’t fully registered before.

“Hey, Heeseung,” you teased, letting your voice drop a little lower as you stepped further into the room. He looked up, his eyes widening slightly before he quickly averted his gaze, but not before you caught the flicker of something in his expression.

“Hey,” he mumbled, a nervous smile breaking through. You could see him trying to maintain his composure, but his cheeks betrayed him, coloring a light pink.

As you all settled down to work, Jungwon started outlining the project guidelines while Heeseung focused intently on his notes, though you noticed he couldn’t help stealing quick glances your way. You played along at first, discussing ideas, jotting down notes, and pretending to pay attention. But soon enough, the atmosphere shifted.

You stretched out casually, your shirt riding up just enough to reveal a hint of skin, drawing Heeseung’s gaze once again. “It’s getting hot in here,” you murmured, more to yourself but loud enough for Heeseung to hear. His fingers tightened around his pen, and you could see his jaw clench as he fought the urge to look directly at you.

“You okay, Hee?” you asked, your voice laced with playful concern. “You seem a little... distracted.”

Jungwon, oblivious to the tension, glanced over at Heeseung and chuckled. “Heeseung’s always like that when he’s stressed,” he said, shaking his head. “But we can take a break if you need one.” You noted how Jungwon didn’t realize that the real distraction was you, sitting so close, your knee brushing lightly against Heeseung's under the table.

He swallowed hard, struggling to maintain his composure as you continued to inch closer, your knee brushing against his under the table. It was a simple touch, but to him, it felt electric. His thoughts spiralled as his mind conjured images of everything he’d been trying to suppress since that day in the music room.

Suddenly, Heeseung stood up abruptly, almost knocking his chair over. “Uh, can you... can you guys give me a minute?” he stuttered, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I need to... um... take care of something.”

You raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. “Take care of what? We’re in the middle of a project, hee.”

“Yeah, it’s nothing! Just- just a quick break,” he said, his voice rising slightly in pitch. “I’ll be back in a second. Please, just give me a minute.”

He quickly retreated into the hallway, leaving you and Jungwon in stunned silence.

Jungwon looked over at you, puzzled. “Is he okay?”

You shrugged, suppressing a laugh at the absurdity of the situation. “I think he might be overwhelmed,” you said, a smirk playing on your lips.

“Maybe we should go check on him,” Jungwon suggested, but you shook your head.

“No, let him have his moment. It’s probably just a bathroom break or something,” you replied, biting your lip to hold back your amusement.

Taking a deep breath, Heeseung leaned against the wall, trying to calm his racing heart. He could hear you and Jungwon talking softly in the living room, and the reality of what was happening hit him hard. He was undeniably attracted to you, and the more you flirted, the more he found it impossible to focus.

With shaky hands, he fumbled for his phone and quickly typed out a message: Hey, I’m really sorry, but I’m feeling kind of sick. I think it’s best if we wrap this up for today.

He hesitated before hitting send, biting his lip as he envisioned your reaction. But it was better this way; he couldn’t risk being in the same room with you when his mind was racing in directions he didn’t want it to go.

After a moment that felt like an eternity, his phone buzzed with a reply. You had responded almost immediately: Are you okay? Do you want me to bring you anything?

He frowned at your concern, a mix of guilt and appreciation swirling in his chest. No, I’ll be fine. Just tired, I think. Thanks for understanding.

Another buzz. Okay, we can reschedule. Take care!

He sighed, relief washing over him. Thanks, Y/N.

He took a moment to collect himself, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the wall. He felt guilty for lying, but he knew it was for the best, at least until he figured out how to handle his feelings.

When he finally stepped back into the living room, you and Jungwon were both looking at him expectantly. Jungwon spoke first, his brow furrowed. “Hey, everything okay? You look a little pale.”

“Yeah, I just... thought it was best to call it a day,” Heeseung said, forcing a smile. “I’m not feeling great, and I wouldn’t want to distract you guys from the project.”

You raised an eyebrow, concern evident in your eyes. “Are you sure? I can stay if you need anything.”

“No, really. I think it’s best if you go home and let me rest,” he insisted, trying to sound convincing.

“Okay, if you say so,” you replied, though the hint of disappointment in your voice didn’t go unnoticed by him.

You lingered for a moment, looking at Heeseung as if weighing your options. “Text me if you need anything, alright?”

“Of course,” he replied, forcing himself to sound upbeat.

With one last look, you finally turned to leave, and Heeseung felt a pang of regret hit him. As soon as the door closed behind you, he leaned against it, exhaling deeply.

“Everything okay?” Jungwon asked, glancing back at Heeseung, who was still trying to catch his breath. “You looked really flustered when Y/N was here.”

“Yeah, just... a bit overwhelmed,” Heeseung admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t want to freak out in front of her.”

“Dude, she’s into you,” Jungwon said, raising an eyebrow. “You could have just gone with it. Instead, you made her leave.”

“I know,” Heeseung sighed, kicking at the floor. “I just... I don’t know how to handle this. I’m still trying to figure out what I feel.”

Jungwon smirked, shaking his head. “Well, good luck figuring that out while you’re trying to hide your crush. Just don’t take too long.. I don’t want to see you miss your chance.”

Heeseung groaned, plopping down on the couch. “Thanks for the pep talk.”

“Anytime,” Jungwon said with a grin, heading into the kitchen to grab a snack. Heeseung watched him go, feeling a mix of frustration and longing.

Alone in the silence of the apartment, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he had just made a huge mistake.

You couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling of concern for Heeseung after he texted you that he was sick. Even though you had shared playful banter, something in his message had felt off, igniting a spark of worry within you. The thought of him alone in his apartment, feeling under the weather, was enough to propel you into action. Determined to check on him, you decided to surprise him with a visit.

With a small bag of snacks in hand, you made your way to Heeseung’s apartment. The soft sound of your footsteps echoed in the quiet hallway, a stark contrast to the anticipation thrumming in your chest. As you entered Heeseung's apartment, courtesy of Jungwon for lending you a spare key, the cozy space wrapped around you like a warm blanket. The gentle aroma of herbal tea wafted through the air, mingling with the faint scent of laundry. Heeseung was curled up on the couch, bundled in a thick blanket, looking adorably vulnerable, but there was a flicker of mischief in his eyes. His hair was tousled, and his cheeks had a faint flush that made him look even more endearing.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” you asked softly, crossing the room to kneel beside him.

He turned his head slightly, his large eyes widening with surprise and delight. “Y/N? I didn’t expect to see you here. I thought I told you I was sick.” His voice was a little too casual, and you could see the corners of his mouth twitching upward, betraying his facade.

You smirked, settling down beside him. “Exactly. That’s why I came to check on you. You can’t just lie around here and get worse. Someone has to take care of you.”

He chuckled weakly, but there was an unmistakable glint of mischief behind his eyes. “You really didn’t have to.”

“Too bad! I’m here now,” you declared, standing up and placing your hands on your hips, feigning authority. “Now, let’s see if you have a fever.”

Heeseung raised an eyebrow, suddenly hesitant. “Uh, are you sure you need to do that?”

Without waiting for his response, you hopped onto the couch, positioning yourself over him. Heeseung’s breath hitched, eyes wide as you settled your weight on his hips, straddling him. The sudden proximity sent an electric shock through the air, making your heart race.

“Just hold still,” you said playfully, leaning down to press your forehead against his, your fingers gently brushing against his cheeks to gauge his temperature. “You’re warmer than usual, but I can’t tell if that’s from your so-called illness or if you’re just flustered.”

Heeseung swallowed hard, his cheeks turning a deeper shade of pink. “Maybe it’s a little bit of both…”

You chuckled softly, feeling a rush of exhilaration as your playful banter took on an undertone of tension. “I think we need a more accurate method.”

With a playful grin, you pulled back slightly and reached for the thermometer from your bag. As you turned back to face him, you couldn’t resist leaning in closer, teasingly bringing the thermometer up to his lips.

“Open up,” you instructed, a mischievous sparkle in your eyes.

Heeseung hesitated, glancing down at the thermometer, his expression shifting from playful to anxious. “Uh, are you really sure this is necessary?”

“Of course! How else am I supposed to know if you’re truly sick?” you replied, maintaining your teasing tone.

Finally, he relented, opening his mouth to take the thermometer. The moment it beeped, you pulled it away and glanced at the reading. “Looks like you’re slightly warm. But nothing I can’t fix.”

“Is that so?” Heeseung asked, his voice slightly shaky as he tried to maintain his composure beneath you. “Are you sure you want to be here?”

You nodded, a smirk playing on your lips. “Yes! A little TLC should do the trick. Now, let’s get you some soup and-”

Before you could finish your thought, he interrupted you, a sudden seriousness in his eyes. “Y/N, are you sure you’re not just doing this because you feel sorry for me?”

The question caught you off guard. You had been so wrapped up in the playful banter that you hadn’t fully considered the implications of your actions. “What do you mean?”

“I mean… I don’t want you to feel obligated to take care of me just because I’m ‘sick.’ If you’re here because you genuinely want to, then that’s one thing. But if it’s out of pity…” His voice trailed off, uncertainty clouding his expression.

You bit your lip, feeling a rush of warmth at his vulnerability. “Heeseung, I’m here because I want to be. I wouldn’t have come if I didn’t care about you.”

The tension between you two hung in the air, your heart racing at the honesty in your words. You could see the relief wash over his features, followed by a glimmer of something deeper, something that felt almost like hope.

“Really?” he asked, his voice softening.

“Yeah,” you replied, your gaze steady on his. “I like being here with you, even if you are pretending to be sick.”

Heeseung smiled shyly, his heart swelling with emotion. “Thanks, Y/N. That means a lot to me.”

With that, the playful atmosphere returned, but now it was layered with something more- an understanding, a connection that felt genuine and real. As you straddled him, the weight of your body pressed against his, sending a jolt of electric tension sparking through the air. Heeseung's breath hitched, confusion mingling with an undeniable desire swirling within him. The playful glint in your eyes ignited a fire in his chest, the warmth of your presence overwhelming in the most intoxicating way possible.

“Y/N, are you really sure about this?” he asked, his voice trembling slightly, as if afraid this intoxicating moment would shatter like glass at any moment.

“Absolutely,” you replied, a mischievous smirk curling your lips as you leaned closer, your breath teasingly brushing against his ear. “But first, let’s check your temperature.” The teasing lilt in your voice sent shivers cascading down his spine.

He hesitated, caught in a whirlwind of emotions that twisted and turned inside him. “I’m not really sick, though…” he mumbled, cheeks flushed and gaze flickering to the side, not wanting to admit how desperately he craved the closeness.

You let out a soft, playful laugh, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Oh, come on, seungie. Let me take care of you.”

Before he could protest any further, you pressed your palm against his forehead, the heat radiating off him igniting a thrill in your veins. Heeseung gulped, feeling the weight of your gaze anchoring him in place, his mind racing as he struggled to focus. You could see the way he squirmed under your touch, his breath hitching at the slightest contact, his vulnerability only heightening your desire.

“You’re definitely warm,” you said, feigning seriousness, your thumb gently stroking his cheek, relishing the softness of his skin. “But I think we need to take this a step further.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper, heart racing with anticipation and confusion, his breath coming in shallow gasps.

Without answering, you shifted slightly, sliding your hands down to his waist, locking your eyes onto his. “I need to get a better reading.” With that, you fully settled into his lap, your weight pressing him deeper into the plush couch. Heeseung’s breath hitched, eyes wide as he felt the intoxicating heat of your body against his.

“Y/N, wait—”

You leaned closer, fingers grazing the fabric of his shirt, teasingly close to where you knew he wanted you the most. “Just relax, Hee. Let me take care of you.”

He hesitated, heart pounding fiercely as you leaned in, capturing his lips in a teasing kiss. The softness of your lips against his ignited a fire within him, and he instinctively leaned into you, craving more. “This isn’t fair,” he murmured against your lips, the pull between you almost magnetic, trying to pull away but only finding himself drawn closer.

“Why not?” you countered, a sly smile playing on your lips, mischief dancing in your eyes. “You’re the one who looks like you need this the most.”

His cheeks burned at your words, heat pooling low in his stomach as he wrestled with his desire. “But I’m not-”

You cut him off with a sultry grind against him, the sudden friction causing him to gasp, a sharp intake of breath that echoed the conflict raging inside him. “Tell me you want this,” you whispered, your breath hot against his ear, your words dripping with seduction. “Tell me you want me.”

Heeseung’s resolve began to crumble under your teasing gaze, but he couldn’t give in that easily. “I want you, Y/N,” he confessed, the sincerity in his voice laced with a defiant edge. “But I want you to know that I’m not just some easy target.”

Your heart raced at his words, and you leaned in closer, lips brushing against his neck, leaving soft, lingering kisses along his skin. “Then let me take care of you, Heeseung. Just let go.”

He hesitated again, squeezing his eyes shut, fighting against the overwhelming sensations threatening to sweep him away. “I don’t know if I can just let go,” he admitted, voice thick with uncertainty, battling with the emotions swirling within him. “What if this is all a mistake?”

“Or,” you said playfully, pressing your lips to his neck, your voice sultry and inviting, “what if it’s the best mistake we ever make?” You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, eyes glinting with mischief and lust. “You’re clearly enjoying this. I can feel how much you want me.”

Heeseung opened his mouth to argue, but the words slipped away as he felt the heat radiating between you. “I do want you, but-”

You cut him off again, leaning in to capture his lips with a hungry kiss, a challenge hanging in the air between you. “Then let me show you just how good it can be.”

Heeseung’s breath quickened, and the way you looked at him made his heart race even faster. “Fine,” he relented, determination lacing his voice as he leaned closer, breath hitching. “But I want to hear you beg for it first.”

Your eyes widened in surprise, but the challenge sent a thrill through your body. “Oh really? You think you can turn the tables on me?”

“Absolutely,” he replied, confidence returning as he leaned closer, his breath hot against your ear, teasingly intimate. “You want me? Show me how much.”

You felt a rush of excitement at his words, but you weren’t about to back down. “Alright then, Heeseung. I want you, and I want you to know that I’m not afraid to take what I want.”

His gaze darkened with lust, and he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours, a smirk playing on his face. “Then let’s see how far you’re willing to go. Beg for it, Y/N. Show me you want this.”

You felt a rush of excitement and defiance at his challenge, but you weren’t one to shy away. “I want you, Heeseung,” you said, your voice dripping with sultriness, “and I want you to give me everything you have.”

“Then let’s make this interesting,” he proposed, his gaze heavy with desire. “You want me to give you everything? Then show me just how much you’re willing to give in return.”

His challenge ignited a fire within you, and you knew you were in for a wild ride. You leaned in, capturing his lips again, this time with more urgency, and Heeseung responded, matching your fervor.

“Y/N,” he breathed between kisses, the air thick with longing. “I want you to know that I’m not going to make this easy for you. I want to see how much you can handle.”

“Bring it on,” you replied, your voice sultry and daring as you pressed your body against his, feeling the heat radiating between you.

As the heat between you surged, you pulled away slightly, your breath mingling in the charged air. Heeseung’s eyes were dark with desire, but beneath that lust, there was a flicker of uncertainty. “Y/N,” he murmured, voice low and gravelly, “are you really sure about this?”

You smirked, your gaze intense and unwavering. “I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t. Just remember, I’m the one who takes charge.”

“Right,” he replied, a hint of bravado creeping into his tone, but the way his hands fumbled as they reached for you only added to the tension. “So what now?”

“Now,” you said, leaning in closer, letting your lips almost brush against his, “you’re going to show me just how much you want me.” The air crackled with anticipation, your heart racing.

With a burst of confidence, Heeseung grabbed your waist, but in his eagerness, he tugged too hard, sending you both tumbling onto the couch in a tangled mess of limbs. His glasses slipped down his nose, and he hurriedly adjusted them, cheeks flushed with a mix of desire and embarrassment.

“Smooth,” you teased, trying to stifle your laughter as you looked up at him. Heeseung’s expression shifted from flustered to determined as he leaned over you, his body hovering above yours, the heat radiating between you palpable.

“Let’s… try that again,” he said, voice shaky but filled with renewed resolve. His gaze roamed your body, taking in every curve, and you could practically see the fire igniting in him.

“Show me what you’ve got, Heeseung,” you urged, your voice sultry and inviting. His confidence wavered for a moment, but he leaned down, capturing your lips that sent shivers down your spine.

His kiss was a mix of passion and clumsiness, his movements a bit awkward as he tried to deepen the connection. You could feel him hesitate, and that uncertainty only fueled your desire. “You’re so cute when you’re trying to be confident,” you teased, pulling back just enough to lock eyes with him.

“Shut up,” he replied, attempting to sound gruff but failing as a nervous smile broke through. He leaned down again, this time his kisses were more insistent, laced with an intoxicating urgency.

As he pressed his body against yours, you felt the heat between you intensify. “You want this, don’t you?” you murmured, your breath hot against his lips.

“More than anything,” he breathed, his voice thick with need. Just as he leaned in for another kiss, his glasses slipped down again, and he fumbled to adjust them, frustration flickering across his face. “Ugh, why am I such a loser?”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, the sound a heady mix of desire and mischief. “It’s part of your charm. Now, stop overthinking it and just kiss me.”

He nodded, visibly calming himself, and leaned in again, this time with a fierce intensity. He pushed his lips against yours, pouring all his eagerness and desire into the kiss, and you melted against him, surrendering to the moment.

Feeling emboldened, you moved your hands to the hem of his shirt, pushing it up to feel the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips. Heeseung shivered at your touch, his breath hitching as you traced your fingers along the contours of his body.

“God, you’re so warm,” you murmured against his lips, your voice low and sultry. “You want me, huh?”

“I do,” he replied, voice thick with need, and leaned in, his kisses growing more fervent as he lost himself in you. He pressed his body against yours, the heat radiating off him intoxicating.

But just as he was getting lost in the moment, he accidentally bumped his head against your chin again, and both of you burst into laughter. “I swear I’m not this clumsy normally!” he exclaimed, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly.

“Who cares?” you replied, your tone dripping with seduction. “Just focus on making me feel good.” You pulled him closer, your lips brushing against his neck as you whispered, “Make me feel good.”

His gaze turned heated, a primal desire flickering in his eyes as he leaned in, kissing a trail down your neck. His lips were warm and soft against your skin, sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. “Y/N, you feel so good,” he murmured, voice thick with lust.

As he explored your body, you felt him beginning to lose himself in the sensations, the air thick with desire. Just when he seemed to find his rhythm, he accidentally brushed against your thigh with his knee, sending a shiver of excitement through you. “Sorry,” he mumbled, cheeks burning as he tried to regain his composure.

“Don’t apologize,” you whispered, capturing his chin with your fingers and forcing him to meet your gaze. “Just keep going.”

He leaned back in, the mix of confidence and nervousness fueling his desire. “Let me show you what I can do,” he said, voice low and commanding.

With newfound determination, Heeseung kissed a path lower, his lips trailing over your collarbone, hovering just above the swell of your breasts. “Is this okay?” he asked, his breath hot against your skin.

“Yes,” you urged, your heart racing with anticipation. “More. I want more, please seungie”

Encouraged by your response, he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against the fabric of your shirt, igniting a fire within you. His kisses were urgent now, fueled by the intensity of the moment, and you could feel the heat pooling between your thighs.

Heeseung’s gaze darkened with desire. The air was electric, thick with anticipation. “I want to eat your cunt” he growled, his voice low, the urgency unmistakable.

“Then do it,” you challenged, your voice sultry as you dared him to take control.

Without a word, Heeseung’s hands were on you, firm and eager. His fingers slid under the waistband of your shorts, and with one swift motion, he tugged them down, leaving you exposed before him. He tossed the fabric aside, eyes devouring the sight of you laid bare for him. His breath hitched as he knelt between your legs, his hands gripping your thighs possessively, pulling you closer.

“You’re going to feel so good,” he murmured, his voice rough with hunger as he leaned in.

With that, Heeseung dove in, his lips pressing against your core. His tongue flicked out, tasting you with the urgency of a man starved. The sensation made your body jolt, and a gasp escaped your lips as he licked you up like he couldn’t get enough.

“Fuck, you taste incredible,” he breathed, pausing only to glance up at you with an intense gaze, his glasses slipping low on his nose. The sight of him, desperate and determined, sent a fresh wave of heat through you. Heeseung's hands tightened on your thighs as he dove back in, licking and sucking with a fervor that made your head spin.

“More, Heeseung,” you moaned, your body trembling under his touch. “Please, don’t stop.”

“Quiet,” he growled, his voice filled with authority as he pulled you closer, burying his face between your legs. “Let me taste you.”

Heeseung’s tongue moved with more confidence now, sliding against you with a precision that left you breathless. He lapped at you eagerly, his hands gripping your thighs, holding you in place as he devoured you with a hunger that made your pulse race.

“Y/N,” he groaned against your folds, the vibration of his voice sending a shiver through your body. “You’re so fucking sweet.”

Heeseung was relentless, his tongue swirling and teasing in all the right places, his mouth claiming you as he drank you in. Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, hips rocking against his face as you chased your release.

“Heeseung, yes,” you cried, feeling the tension build inside you, so close to the edge. “Don’t stop, please-”

“Then beg for it,” Heeseung murmured against your pussy, licking up to your clit and circling around it as his eyes locked onto yours. The intensity of his gaze sent shivers down your spine, igniting the fire within you.

“Please, Heeseung,” you gasped, your voice a desperate whisper. “I need more. I need your tongue on me.”

A wicked grin spread across his face, and he continued his teasing motions, his tongue swirling around your sensitive bud. “That’s better,” he said, his voice low and husky. “Keep going.”

You felt a rush of heat flooding your cheeks, but the overwhelming pleasure drowned out any embarrassment. “Ngh~ please,” you pleaded, hips rocking instinctively against his mouth. “I can’t hold on much longer.”

With each lick and gentle suck, Heeseung was relentless, pushing you closer to the brink. “I want to hear you say it,” he coaxed, his breath hot against you.

“Please, Heeseung,” you whimpered, fingers tangling in his hair, urging him closer. “I want to come. Make me come, please.”

“Good girl,” he murmured, diving back in with intensity, his tongue working magic as he teased you relentlessly. The tension inside you coiled tighter, ready to snap as he continued his lewd actions.

With a low growl, Heeseung sucked harder, his tongue pushing you to the brink. “Come for me,” he demanded, his voice thick with lust. “I want to taste you.”

With one final flick of his tongue, the pressure snapped, and you came undone, crying out his name as waves of pleasure washed over you. Heeseung kept his mouth on you, lapping up every drop of your release, his eyes locked on yours, filled with raw desire and satisfaction.

When you finally collapsed back, trembling and breathless, Heeseung pulled back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his lips curling into a cocky grin. “That was even better than I imagined,” he said, his voice dark and dripping with pride. “You taste fucking amazing.”

As you caught your breath, Heeseung’s gaze locked onto yours, the heat between you still simmering, charged with the energy of your earlier exploration. The grin on his face was a tantalizing mix of satisfaction and insatiable hunger, his glasses slightly fogged from the heat of the moment, giving him an adorably flustered look that only heightened your desire.

“You’re incredible,” he breathed, his voice low and husky, leaning closer until your foreheads touched, sharing the same intoxicating warmth.

You smiled, emboldened by his praise, feeling the rush of adrenaline coursing through you. “You’re not so bad yourself,” you teased, your voice dripping with sultriness as you leaned in to capture his lips in a heated kiss. The taste of yourself lingered on his mouth, mingling with the sweet flavor of desire, and you deepened the kiss, pouring all your pent-up passion into it. The sensation of his warm breath against your skin sent shivers down your spine, igniting an unquenchable fire within you.

Heeseung responded instantly, his hands finding your waist again, pulling you closer until there was no space left between your bodies. The kiss was intoxicating, a heady mix of urgency and longing, as if you both were trying to consume each other entirely. His tongue slipped into your mouth, teasing and exploring, igniting a blaze deep within you that made your body ache for more.

“Y/N,” he murmured against your lips, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes dark with need and a look of pure love that made your heart race. “I want you.”

“Then take me,” you urged, your voice sultry and low, your heart racing at the prospect. “I’m all yours.”

His expression shifted to one of determination as he captured your lips again, kissing you with a raw intensity that left you breathless, your senses heightened. He pushed you back against the couch, his hands roaming your body with feverish need, exploring every curve, every contour. You could feel his heart pounding against you, a reminder of the electricity crackling between you.

Heeseung's hands slid down your body, grasping your thighs and lifting them to wrap around his waist. “I’ve thought about this,” he confessed, his breath hot against your skin, sending goosebumps cascading across your body. “Thought about how you’d feel wrapped around me.”

“Then let’s make it happen,” you urged, your voice thick with lust as you ground against him, feeling the unmistakable hardness pressing against you. The sheer weight of his cock sent a thrill of excitement coursing through your veins. Who knew a nerd like him could possess such size? A flicker of uncertainty crossed your mind, would he even fit inside you?

With a swift movement, Heeseung adjusted your bodies, positioning himself at your entrance. He paused, looking deep into your eyes, searching for any hesitation. “Are you sure?”

You nodded, breathless, your body aching for him. “I want this, Heeseung. I need you.”

His lips curled into a smirk, a mixture of pride and mischief in his gaze. “Good,” he said, his voice a sultry whisper, before thrusting into you with one powerful movement. The sensation was overwhelming, stretching you perfectly as you gasped at the intensity, your body arching into him instinctively.

“God, you feel amazing,” he groaned, his voice low and raspy, filled with unfiltered desire. The sheer size of him filled you up in ways you hadn’t imagined, igniting a fire within you that drove you wild. You could feel the distinct bulge of his cock in your stomach, a constant reminder of just how much he had to offer. Heeseung had spent countless hours lost in wet dreams and endless scrolls through porn sites, but nothing could compare to this- a real connection, real pleasure that felt as if it was lifting you to new heights.

“Fuck, you’re so big,” you gasped, your eyes rolling back as he continued to thrust, each movement sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. His cock stretched you to your limits, filling you completely and making you feel utterly owned.

“Yeah? You like that?” he asked, a smirk playing on his lips as he looked down at where you were connected, watching the way his cock disappeared inside you. “You’re taking me so well.”

The weight of his cock stretching you made you feel desperate, a primal urge to be filled completely. “More,” you breathed, your body begging for him to give you everything he had. You could feel your body tightening around him, urging him on, craving his every thrust.

Heeseung’s expression shifted to one of pure determination as he picked up the pace. The sound of skin against skin filled the air, each thrust pushing you deeper into bliss. “You’re so perfect for me, Y/N,” he murmured, voice thick with lust and admiration. “I’ve wanted this for so long.”

“Then don’t stop,” you cried out, feeling the heat coiling in your core. “I’m so close.”

In a moment of playful mischief, you reached up and adjusted his foggy glasses, clearing his view just as his eyes widened in shock and lust. The sight of you, glistening with desire and slightly breathless, made his breath hitch. With a feral growl, he thrust harder, his need intensifying as he chased your shared pleasure.

“Me too,” he groaned, pushing harder, chasing his own release. With every thrust, he buried himself deeper, the overwhelming sensation of his size driving you both closer to the edge, the bulge in your stomach becoming more pronounced with each powerful movement.

With one final powerful thrust, he hit that sweet spot, and the pleasure consumed you both, washing over you like a tidal wave. You felt the tension in your body peak, and as you cried out his name, your orgasm crashed over you, waves of ecstasy washing over you.

“Y/N!” he shouted, feeling you tighten around him, and with one final thrust, he spilled into you, warmth flooding your core as he filled you completely. You could feel the delicious warmth of his release spreading inside you, a sensation that sent shockwaves of ecstasy coursing through your body. The way his cock pulsed inside you made you feel completely full, satisfied in every sense.

You both fell into a panting mess, bodies entwined, the world outside fading away. Heeseung collapsed beside you, breathless but with a satisfied smile playing on his lips, his glasses slightly askew and still fogged from the intensity of your connection.

“Fuck,” he murmured, turning to look at you, his expression a mix of awe and disbelief. “That was… amazing.”

You grinned back, feeling a warmth spread through your chest at the connection you’d just forged. “Yeah, it really was. And I didn’t know you were this big.”

He chuckled softly, a hint of pride shining through his eyes, still full of love and admiration. “Guess I have some advantages.”

You laughed, feeling your heart swell at the moment shared between you, an intimate secret you would carry together. “Definitely an advantage.”

As you both began to come down from the high of your shared ecstasy, Heeseung pulled you close, his fingers gently brushing through your hair.. You could feel his heartbeat against your chest, a steady reminder of the intensity you had just shared. Your heart felt giddy as you looked at him, his hair tousled and his glasses almost fogged up again from the heat of the moment.

“Let’s clean up before Jungwon gets here,” Heeseung suggested, his voice still slightly breathless but laced with affection as he leaned down to place a tender kiss on your forehead.

You nodded, smiling softly as you helped him untangle yourselves from each other, the lingering warmth of his body still radiating against yours. Adjusting your clothes, you felt a mix of giddiness and satisfaction at the shared intimacy.

Unbeknownst to you both, Jungwon had arrived just moments earlier. He stood just outside the door, the sound of loud moans and passionate cries echoing through the hallway. His face flushed a deep crimson as the realization of what he was hearing hit him like a wave. He blinked in disbelief, blood pulsing to his cock as he listened to his best friend finally manage to fuck.

“Lucky idiot,” he muttered under his breath, a mix of envy and amusement swirling within him. Shaking his head, he turned away from the door, his mind racing with thoughts and images he couldn’t shake. With a silent, careful motion, he closed the door, trying to ignore the lingering sounds of pleasure that filled the air.

As he walked up to his room, Jungwon knew he’d definitely be taking care of himself tonight, the vivid sounds of your shared bliss echoing in his mind as he settled in for a long, private session of his own.

#aik’s thoughts #enhypen hard thoughts #enhypen hard hours #enhypen smut #jungwon hard thoughts #heeseung hard hours #heeseung x reader #heeseung scenarios #heeseung smut #heeseung hard thoughts #heeseung imagines

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junplusone · 28 days ago

Text

daughter of the sword, son of the wild ; jeon wonwoo

SUMMARY. you were supposed to kill him, he had no reason to keep you alive - and yet, the universe works in mysterious ways. what will you do when your path begins to unravel? how long until you realize the sword you wield can very well be used against you?

PAIRING. jeon wonwoo x f!reader

GENRE. enemies to lovers, rebel!wonwoo, assassin!reader, historical au, angst, some fluff towards the end, lots of introspection, junhao speak cantonese with each other in this universe

WARNINGS. language, mention of drinking, main & side character death (multiple character deaths), violence & blood (not graphic), kissing - slightly suggestive? but not really? read at your own discretion

WORDS. 34.54k

NOTES. um so... let the record show i did not originally intend for this fic to get this long. but! i can't believe it's finally done! this was a very engaging story to write and i genuinely enjoyed every moment of it. huge huge thank you to jay @ppyopulii & calli @hhaechansmoless for letting me scream about this and brainstorming along with me this fic would absolutely not exist without them!! so sorry for causing all of those crashouts guys... i love u so much i promise. anyways, that's all i have to say - i hope you enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed writing! xx (oh also if you see weird gaps between paragraphs that's the shift + entering i had to do to fit this in one post oops)

TAGS. @mochacoda @ppyopulii @jiabae @nerdycheol

PLAYLIST. tsunami - niki / gemini - jun / do i wanna know - arctic monkeys / sailor song - gigi perez / the cut that always bleeds - conan gray / close to you - gracie abrams

The night is quiet – a little too quiet, an eerie kind of silence that cannot be ignored. Wonwoo gets goosebumps on the back of his neck, hairs standing on end, and he knows immediately that something is wrong.

Silently, he taps Jeonghan’s shoulder twice. A signal. The older man raises his eyebrows, hand instinctively moving to his sword.

“We are not alone,” Wonwoo cautions him, taking careful steps forward. It’s a lucky thing that he’s mastered the art of staying calm in situations that are as suddenly critical as this. He and Jeonghan were only hoping to return home after a long day of travel, but now he has the feeling someone wants to prevent that from happening.

Out of the corner of his eye, Wonwoo suddenly catches an unmistakable glint of something that can only be metal. After all, the moon never lies.

Jeonghan has noticed it, too. “There,” he says, sword drawn, “behind that shed. Do you see them?”

“That cannot be any less than fifteen, at least.”

“Only fifteen? This could have been a lot worse.”

Wonwoo is very familiar with that look, the impish smirk that Jeonghan always wears. Nobody knows what it’s meant to mask, but it has become something of a comforting sight.

“Do not get in your own head,” Jeonghan advises, offering him a firm pat on the shoulder. “Remember what we are here for.”

“Right,” Wonwoo nods, before ducking instinctively. The knife, having come out of nowhere, just barely misses the top of his head. We are surrounded, he realizes, surveying the area around him. There is no easy way out.

Jeonghan says nothing, bringing his blade out to parry an unsuspecting blow, slashing the man’s chest with one fluid motion. Wonwoo wonders how many years of this it’s taken him to draw blood with such an indifferent expression.

How much practice does it take to effortlessly kill?

Well, the resistance will not fight itself, he tells himself as he sinks his daggers deep into his attacker, blood splattering onto his face. The metallic scent is not new to him.

There has always been a certain headspace that Wonwoo enters in situations such as these; everything aside from the battle is nothing but a blur. Seungcheol had always liked this about him, and praised his state of focus.

Now, Wonwoo wonders if it is just a way to bottle up his fear.

Every wound he inflicts feels like a cut on himself. He can’t freeze up, he can’t – this is the mantra he repeats to himself in his mind, keeping Seungcheol’s advice with him. All he can do is hope it serves him well now.

The thoughts distract him only for a second. But that moment is enough, he realizes, bearing the brunt of a strong kick to the chest. Wonwoo stumbles backward, just barely dodging his assailant’s sword to his neck.

Close calls in this line of work are one too many, too often.

Belatedly, he feels blood trickling down his cheek. He must have gotten nicked somewhere, comes the afterthought, as he spins his daggers between his fingers, stepping closer for the final blow. He braces himself again before letting the knife fly. The sound is sharp, but subtle. Wonwoo just barely misses flesh, the edge cutting through the fabric covering most of his attacker’s face instead.

For some reason, he freezes at the sight of your prominent cupid’s bow, and the way your skin glows under the moon’s light. You freeze, too, sword halted in mid-air.

Wonwoo doesn’t really understand what’s going on, until he looks into your fiery, lash-framed eyes, and it hits him.

A woman, he realizes, bewildered. It is unheard of, nearly impossible – the emblem stitched onto the side of your robes tells him exactly who sent you, and he thinks his eyes are playing tricks on him. Nobody associated with the palace would even consider sending a woman into the field, even with their best fighters.

And yet, here you are.

Wonwoo’s shock must have been mirrored on his face, because you take advantage of it and slash at him furiously. He’s fast – he’s trained for this, feet quicker than light – but not enough, for you manage to nick his torso with the edge of your sword.

Wonwoo falls back with a grunt, throwing a quick look over his shoulder. Jeonghan is making quick work of the men, his blade swirling around with effortless speed and precision. Bodies lie all around him; some dead, some hardly clinging onto their last breath. It makes Wonwoo sick to his stomach.

He staggers with every parry, trying to ignore the metallic smell that rises in his nostrils. You match him in skill and strength, he notes, strike for strike, and for the first time he finds himself struggling to put up a good fight.

And then, as aggressive as you have been, you back away for a second, alarm clear in your eyes. It catches Wonwoo off guard, the way you suddenly glance behind him to survey the empty valley and slink away into the darkness.

“Wait!” he calls out gruffly, sprinting in your wake, but he’s already lost you. You are quiet, and leave no trace – the night is concealing, and amidst the tall grass and sparse roads, Wonwoo does not know where you have gone. The others have followed in your trail, and soon the valley is as silent as if nothing had occurred in the first place.

There is something akin to guilt. A stronger man would have been able to finish the job, he thinks, reminded faintly of Seungcheol. Empathy is a vice, for people like him. He should not have wavered at the sight of your face. Wonwoo could have finished you then and there, if not for the hesitation that held him back.

Jeonghan approaches slowly, wiping his sword against the grass and staining the blades dark red. “I cannot believe several of them still got away,” he says vengefully. “After this sort of ambush I should have wiped them all out one by one.”

“You say that like you were the only one fighting.” Wonwoo gives a sheepish half-smile. “It is my fault too, hyung.”

Jeonghan seems to soften a little at this. The vexed expression is gone from his face, replaced by something kinder, more forgiving. Carefully, he brushes the dirt off of Wonwoo’s robes, giving him a reassuring pat.

“Are you hurt anywhere?”

“No.”

“I know when you are lying,” Jeonghan points out. His fingers graze the wound on his shoulder, and Wonwoo winces involuntarily. “Make sure you tend to this later.”

The journey home is mostly quiet. Wonwoo is not one for many words, and Jeonghan is not normally inclined to fill the silence, choosing to bask in it instead. It is late, and all Wonwoo wants is to be able to bathe himself and drift off to sleep before another day arrives. Maybe Mingyu is still awake, he muses, painfully aware of the hunger in his abdomen. It has been days of travel, and there is nothing like being back home.

Wonwoo can feel dawn coming on by the time he has returned to the familiar cluster of small houses. Surely nobody is still up, he tells himself, bidding a good rest to Jeonghan and gently letting the curtains fall behind him. He is carefully silent as he washes up, scrubbing away dried blood and bandaging his wounds in the small yard behind the house.

“Jeon Wonwoo, what have you gotten yourself into this time?”

Oh, dear. He would know that voice anywhere. He turns to find Hayun standing behind him, arms crossed sternly, and he thinks he’s never been more intimidated by her before.

“What are you doing up so early?”

Hayun purses her lips, frowning, and chooses to ignore the question.

“Is my husband aware that you’ve gone and gotten yourself injured again, or do I need to inform him?”

Wonwoo sighs through his nose. “Please do not do that.”

She softens at this, a little. The look in her eyes shifts from disappointment to concern.

“You must not put yourself in harm’s way on such a whim. How many times has Mingyu entreated you to look after yourself? What on earth even happened?”

“Jeonghan hyung and I were returning from the capital when we were attacked. He is not hurt,” he adds quickly, “but I am inclined to think it was a planned ambush.”

“You boys must be careful,” she emphasizes, taking a seat on a tree stump. “It is more important now than ever.”

He knows she is right. One wrong move, and it will all be for nothing. “Has Mingyu been well?”

“Better, I suppose.” Hayun’s fingers fiddle with the hem of her sleeves. “He is still recovering. But he is able to hunt on his own now, and walk without much pain.”

“That is good news,” he agrees, memories from the fateful night of Mingyu’s injury flashing in the back of his mind. “I have not seen him in a while.”

“Well, you are home now. He will be very glad to see you, and quite upset about your wounds,” she says pointedly.

“He will not know what I do not show him.”

“If you must.” Hayun rises, brushing the dirt off of her hanbok, and pauses. She is several years younger than Wonwoo, but the look in her eyes is one of motherly concern.

“We will be careful,” he insists. She does not respond to this, just smiles wistfully and pats his shoulder.

“Sleep, Wonwoo. It is nearly sunrise, and you have not gotten any rest. You will need it.”

He struggles for words. He does not know how to tell her that sleep has rather successfully evaded him lately.

“Alright,” he says finally, and watches her retreat back behind the wooden door. Still, he does not move. His legs suddenly feel too heavy to stand, and his wounds ache with sorrow for all the blood he has drawn under the dark cover of the night.

Sparse light begins to filter through the sky, harkening the arrival of another dawn. The clouds split, and Wonwoo wonders what he could have been in another life.

Thirty-two casualties, eight injured, three missing. The numbers are against you, and you know it.

You have not had a moment of peace since arriving back at your quarters. This palace is much smaller than the king’s, and therefore busier, but you would not dare to complain. If anything, having company at all times is better than perpetual isolation.

“I do not think His Highness will punish you,” Seokmin assures you. As your right hand man and faithful friend, it is duty to say such things, even when he might not be absolutely certain he is correct.

“He is not a generous man. You know this,” you tell him, undoing and redoing your braid in frustration. “We are looked after as long as we serve his purpose. Tonight was the exact opposite of that.”

Seokmin’s silence vindicates you further. You pace anxiously in the room, awaiting your impending doom. Will he have you banished? Executed perhaps, for sheer and utter failure. You think of your sisters then, somewhere in your small village waiting for your safe return.

There is a series of harsh knocks on the door. A royal guard, by the look of his attire.

“His Highness would like to speak with you,” he says grimly. You throw an apprehensive glance over your shoulder at Seokmin, who merely nods. It is meant to be comforting, however it is everything but.

You follow the guard down the winding halls and into a room that has housed many meetings before, none of which ended remarkably well. The guard leaves you with a polite bow and shuts the door behind him.

The room is dull, windows drawn and curtains closed. It is mostly bare, save for the sparse bookshelves and the table where the second prince Muyeol is hunched over a scroll. You lower your eyes, not daring to speak first.

“I have received news of recent events,” he says, finally. His voice is low, but sharp as an arrow.

“My deepest apologies, Your Highness.” He does not speak further, just watching you with those eyes that have seen years of war and rebellion, and it compels you to explain yourself. “I assure you, we tried our best. I did not anticipate–”

“I did not ask you here to listen to your excuses.” You realize now the way he so easily holds control over his men, and all those coerced into doing his bidding. Fear is a powerful thing. “I want to know how two village boys overpowered some of the palace’s most highly trained and able warriors.”

“I do not–”

“You had one opportunity to prove yourself,” Muyeol remarks, discarding the scroll he had been inspecting. Whatever light there is highlights the faint streaks of gray in his beard as he rises, stepping closer to you. “After all, it is unheard of for a woman to be involved in such activities, let alone be placed in control of the movement. Some of our allies are wondering if it is too much power, to such feeble a person.”

Your fists clench at your sides. This does not go unnoticed – he laughs, an evil and rumbling thing that only stokes the fire in your chest.

“I am far from feeble,” you say with as much venom as you can muster, “and I believe I have proven so in the past. Do not forget I have been loyal to you and your cause for many moons.”

“True loyalty is not bought.” He picks up one of his knives, a beautiful, glistening weapon. Your breath catches as he points the tip at you, tracing the sharp edge along the curve of your throat. “I have not forgotten the circumstances under which you were brought here. Do you truly believe you would still be here if your family was not at stake?”

Tall flames, pungent smoke in your airways. A ransacked village lies in the distant path of your memories. You remember the price many have paid for attempting to cross this man, the consequences you are still living to this day.

“They are getting in the way,” he continues, coldly. “The commoners believe they are fighting for justice against the crown. It is turning into a problem, for I must rid my brother of the throne before they have the chance to.”

What a cruel man, you think. His words make you sick, but you swallow it down for the sake of your survival.

“I do not forget any allegiance I have pledged, Your Highness.”

The blade drops, and you finally take in the breath you’ve been holding. The air feels sickly sweet in your lungs.

“I want them dead.” Muyeol drops the knife with a loud clang. “All of them. The uprising must be quashed. Bring me their bodies, so that we may burn them as an example to those who dare to ruin our kingdom. You know what is at stake if you do not.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

He turns his sharp eyes to you, sly and unsettling. “You may leave.”

The feeling of dread does not leave even as you enter the courtyard, letting the gentle breeze lap against your cheeks. It is so late that you can feel the beginning rays of dawn creep up the horizon, and yet you are not tired. It strikes you then, in the lush expanse of the palace, that you are as good as powerless. That no matter how high you rise in the ranks, you are still a woman where there is room for none. And if only to make matters worse, you are a pawn in a cruel game that you would rather not be playing at all.

For the first time in months, you feel your eyes stinging with tears you should not let fall. You wish someone was there with you – Seokmin, Seungkwan, anyone – but that is not the case.

Under the impassive gaze of the night, you are completely alone.

There is little time before your next mission. You assemble a small group of your most trusted soldiers and start to make your plans.

Your reluctance does not slip past your crew unnoticed. Three of them stay behind after you dismiss the others – your most trusted archers, and confidants. Friend is a precarious title in this line of work, but you have learned to make exceptions for them.

“I hope you know you can speak your mind to us,” Seungkwan begins. “What is holding you back?”

“It is nothing.”

“If it were nothing, we would have left for the foothills tonight.”

It is always uncanny how perceptive he is. “My thoughts do not matter,” you say, “so long as His Highness is satisfied and my sisters are safe.”

Hansol is perched on an armchair, eyes thoughtful. “Do you ever think of what you will do once this is all over? When the king finally abdicates and the people are happy?”

“I do not know if the people will truly ever be happy,” you say truthfully. “The second prince has promised action, and action is better than inaction. But he is not the good and kind man the people want for a ruler.”

“The same man that murdered his own son, for fear that he might lay claim to the throne.” Seokmin shudders. “I feel complicit in all of his crimes.”

You take a moment to really look at him, then, as well as the others. Not as soldiers, not as the deadliest archers this side of the river – but as mere boys of twenty-something, full of locked-up love for fallen friends and slain mothers and burning villages.

What kind of person was Seungkwan at seventeen? What had been Hansol’s favorite fruit to pick and eat in the summertime?

None of that matters, now. They all have shadows in their eyes; sisters, brothers, loved ones they have left behind. Muyeol had been correct. None of them are here because they want to be.

“One day, we will be on the right side of history,” you say, placing a hand on Seokmin’s shoulder. “But we cannot do that as corpses, and that is what we will be if we fail now.”

“You are right,” he says finally, after a few moments. He glances out the window, at the sun spilling the last few drops of light on the earth. “Please rest, Y/N. There will be a long day of travel, and an even longer hunt afterwards.”

“I will try,” you agree absentmindedly. You offer them your best smile, knowing they will always see through it, and bid them a good night, staying behind to watch what is left of the sunset.

That night, a man appears in your dreams. He knows your name, but you don’t seem to find this strange. Instead, you curl yourself further into the calm familiarity of his voice. You have not seen him since you were eleven, just a child who should not have known the grief that was about to befall her.

You are so brave, he tells you. You are so strong. Mother would have been so proud of you.

You reach for him, unconsciously. Am I really?

Yes. You are so much stronger than you know, little tiger.

A single tear seeps through your lashes, illuminated under the moon’s soft glow. You wake up in the morning and cannot remember your brother’s face at all.

The forest had been Wonwoo’s entire childhood. Raised him, in a sense.

There are faint memories of afternoons spent running in the tall grass, peals of carefree laughter while climbing the tall larch trees. His little brother had liked to catch dragonflies, particularly, letting them go after admiring their scintillating wings. Mingyu does the same, when he is able. The bittersweet likeness always puts something of a smile on Wonwoo’s face.

But that had been before the trees burned and the ferns went down in crackling flames, taking everything precious with them. Now, Wonwoo catches a glimpse of forsythia and barely feels anything.

Unlike the others, he has never been able to sleep in for long. It was hours ago when he first rose, shifting the blankets carefully so that he would not wake up Chan. His muscles are still very sore, wounds still stinging, but he basks in the warm sunlight and feels just a little more alive.

“You’re outside quite early.”

Wonwoo turns sharply. He is normally alone at this time, but Seungcheol is standing in the doorway, eyes heavy with sleep. “Mingyu will be elated to see you,” he adds. “Once he is awake, that is.”

“He seems to be more tired as of late.”

“We all are.” Seungcheol’s eyes dart to the bandages on Wonwoo’s shoulder, and across his torso. Unlike Jeonghan, he says nothing – his mouth settles into a thin line that can only be concern. “I am glad the both of you returned safely last night. The attack was a complete surprise. We did not think that the palace would send soldiers so far into the country.”

Wonwoo thinks of you, then, movements as fluid and graceful as a river. Had he dreamt all of it? He cannot quite recall your face, but he remembers the feeling of your sword on his skin and the smell of fresh blood.

“Do you think they will come again?”

Seungcheol takes a seat on the small wooden bench, patting the spot beside him. Wonwoo does as he is told.

“Wonwoo, do you know what makes a far greater weapon than your daggers and swords?” He shakes his head no. Seungcheol only smiles.

“Hope,” he continues. “When our enemies say we are too loud, too demanding, and wish us silenced or dead – that is the greatest ammunition one can have.”

Wonwoo certainly does not feel hopeful, especially not recently. It has been so for many years, under the current king’s rule: starve, or die trying not to. He says so, petulantly, and receives a pat on the shoulder in return.

“You will learn,” is all Seungcheol says. He is not so much older than Wonwoo, but there is a calm wisdom about him that makes it feel like there are many years between them instead of just the one.

The conversation dissipates with the arrival of the others. The sound of laughter, such a rare and precious thing, echoes throughout the clearing. Mingyu approaches him with a grin and an ever so subtle limp in his step.

“You look a little rugged,” he remarks, pulling him into a careful hug.

“You are not so bad yourself,” Wonwoo quips back. “How are you feeling?”

“Much better. Hayun must have told you, but I’ve recovered very well. Chan still says I look a little silly when I walk, but you should not listen to him.” Mingyu gazes lovingly at his wife and Wonwoo feels a distant sting from a wound he does not have.

“Chan enjoys teasing you,” he says absentmindedly. “You make an easy target.”

“I always say that,” Jeonghan calls from where he’s perched on a tree stump, “and he still never listens to me!”

Mingyu only rolls his eyes at him, before turning back to Wonwoo. “What about you? You are not hurt too badly, I hope? Jeonghan was making a fuss out of it earlier.”

“He always does.” Wonwoo brushes a finger over the freshly changed bandages. “Do not worry. They are only minor injuries.”

Mingyu frowns, like he always does when he inspects and cleans the dried blood off the others’ skin. He often volunteers for it, saying it’s the least he can do to help, but the memories of his own scars never quite leave his eyes.

“You must take care of yourself,” he places a gentle hand on Wonwoo’s shoulder, “especially now. Things are only getting more dangerous.”

“You sound more like your wife every day,” Wonwoo teases, but the tension in the air is real. He chooses to ignore it and leave all the words unsaid, like always. Hayun and Chan bring out steaming bowls of porridge, and they all eat together outside under the mid-morning sun. It is moments like this that feel like family. It never matters that these are friendships forged of blood and battle, never has.

Sometimes Wonwoo wonders if this is what he could have had in a different timeline, laying in the tall grass watching the clouds with his brother. Perhaps his father would have returned home from a long day in the fields, with fresh fruit and flowers for his mother in tow. But dwelling on the past that never existed is futile, and he knows this.

“I would advise you all to be careful being out, particularly after dark,” Seungcheol starts, once everyone has finished eating. He’s wearing that frown again, the one he gets when he’s especially worried. “I received word earlier from one of our ally groups in the southeast. Their village was raided at nighttime – many dead, even more missing. There is no telling which of us may be next.”

A hushed quiet falls over the circle. Mingyu folds his arms, eyebrows furrowed. Even Chan, who usually resorts to lighthearted jokes to handle bad news, is entirely silent.

“I am not trying to scare any of you,” Seungcheol adds. “But this is the truth, however harsh, and you should know.”

“Cheol is right,” Jeonghan agrees, “We should be alert and prepared. Always carry some sort of weapon on you, and never let your guard down.” Wonwoo notes the bleak look on his face – saved only for the rarest of occasions – and exchanges an uncertain glance with Chan. They will talk about it at some point, when they can speculate on their own time.

It is colder in the evening, when the sky begins to dim just a little. Wonwoo had agreed, earlier, to exercise with Jeonghan before dinner, and the breeze serves to cool him down whenever they decide to take a break.

“It has been quite a while since we have sparred,” Jeonghan observes, setting his flask down.

“Shall I get the wooden swords?”

“No need. I think you have been past that for some time.” He only chuckles at the dubious expression on Wonwoo’s face. “Do not worry, I know you will not hurt me.”

“Well, that is not my concern,” Wonwoo laughs, “It is myself I worry about. You know you are a far better swordsman than I.”

At this, Jeonghan sets down his sword with a light sigh. “You must not underestimate yourself like this,” he says, gently this time. “Sometimes I feel that is your greatest obstacle.”

“I like to be realistic.”

“Your reality is shrouded by your own fear.” Jeonghan looks at Wonwoo, and it feels like he is staring straight through to his soul. “Do not be so surprised. It is clear in the way you move, and how you wield your weapons. I always see the regret in your eyes.”

Wonwoo shakes his head, shoulders slumped. “How do you do it, hyung? You make it seem so easy.”

“It is not. It never gets easier,” Jeonghan says, sadly. “Some of us are forged out of necessity. Others, courage. But it all leads to the same thing. These are still lives we are taking, regardless of how they were lived.”

Wonwoo watches him carefully, tries to remember what Jeonghan had been like when they first met. He was never the type of person to show how deeply he felt about anything, and still is not. There is a distinct change, however. He had been lighter back then – happier. The mysterious shine in his eyes is still there, but it is different now.

“What would you have done?” Wonwoo turns his observant eyes to his friend. “If you were not a part of all this, I mean.”

Jeonghan ponders this for a second, long hair shadowing his face. In all the years they have known each other, he has barely spoken about his childhood years. His village, his family – nobody knows much about these things at all.

“I do not know,” he says finally. “There was not much of an option, was there? I would have worked in the fields, like my father, and lived a simple life.” Then his expression turns solemn, and his lips form a tight line. “I might have married Haeun, in that timeline.”

This, Wonwoo knows about. He’s only heard her name once before, one night when Jeonghan had just a little too much makgeolli. Drunk Jeonghan was always very chatty, he recalls. But he doesn’t pry further, instead placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Wonwoo, do you know what happens when we die?”

“What?”

“My grandmother used to say that our brain still goes on for seven minutes,” he muses, “Even after our heart stops. Those seven minutes are supposed to be our life’s best memories.”

Wonwoo thinks about this for a moment. “Is that true?”

“When I find out, I will not be able to tell you.” Jeonghan chuckles softly, leaning back against the tree trunk. “But I think that you would be in it, and all of our other friends. And Haeun too, I hope.”

“Do not say such things,” Wonwoo chides, turning away so that the troubled look on his face is not visible. “But it is a happy idea that our last moments of consciousness are spent in comfort.”

“Right? I thought so as well.” Jeonghan lifts his head and glances back at the house. The smell of meat cooking – a rare luxury – fills the air, and Wonwoo is suddenly acutely aware of the hunger in his stomach.

“Come, Wonwoo, let us eat. It seems as if Mingyu is finished preparing dinner.”

The journey to the foothills feels much longer than it should be.

It is easy to distract yourself, however, and listen to the others’ chatter. Your horses walk slowly, occasionally getting sidetracked by a stray plant or butterfly, as Seokmin and Seungkwan bicker endlessly behind you.

Hansol’s yawn catches your eye, and you turn to him. “Tired?”

“No,” he says immediately, but the fatigue is evident in his eyes. “I was just thinking.”

“About?”

He only shrugs. It is so very Hansol. “Everything.”

An apt answer, you think. He is not so much younger than you, but he feels it – you wish for him to see and experience more of the world than you have. He still wears a specific type of curiosity in his eyes, the kind that gives you hope.

“What is your favorite fruit, Hansol?”

He thinks about it, then tells you he likes plums. Faintly, you are reminded of your youngest sister, the reddish-purple juice dribbling down her fingers in the summertime. Behind you, Seokmin says something about persimmons. Seungkwan lets out one of those loud, contagious laughs. You wish you could freeze this moment in time.

You glance up at the moon, an early crescent in the darkening sky. One of your men asks whether you will be stopping for the night, but you shake your head.

“We are not too far from our destination,” you explain, “and it is safer to camp nearer to people than here in the woods.”

“I, for one, do not know how I will sleep through Seungkwan’s snoring tonight,” Seokmin announces. “Nobody shall comment on the eyebags I will have tomorrow.”

You wait for the telltale sound of Seungkwan’s fist making contact with his arm – there it is, followed by Seokmin’s pained yelp. You laugh, having grown used to their antics over the years.

Hansol raises an eyebrow. “Are they always like this?”

“More or less,” you tell him. “They are serious when they need to be. I promise you are in good hands.”

“I believe you,” he says sagely.

As the minutes pass, you feel your eyelids growing heavy, the day’s exhaustion hitting you all at once. Seokmin’s bubbling laugh floats over to your ears, and you wonder how he still has the energy for it.

“Tired?” Hansol quips. You shake your head, laughing. It is not long before you begin to see the silhouette of houses in the far distance, glowing lamps dotting the horizon. Seungkwan cheers, eager for some respite.

Suddenly, a sharp sting blossoms at the tip of your ear. The group falls silent at the sound of your surprised yelp, and you bring a hand to your ear in an attempt to stifle the pain.

“What is it?” Seungkwan asks, anxiously.

Your fingers come away red. Blood.

The forest is silent, too silent – the birds have stopped chirping entirely, and the leaves do not carry the wind as they normally do. An eerie feeling rattles down your spine. You grasp the reins a little tighter. Somewhere between the trees, you catch the slightest movement, a flash of blue against the lush foliage. Seokmin sees it too, and his eyes dart to yours, questioning.

“We need to get out of here,” you declare, urging your horse into a gallop. “Now!”

Another arrow whizzes past your head and pierces a tree trunk. Hansol has drawn his bow, letting his own arrows fly. Panic flows through your veins and pools in your chest as you just barely dodge a spear.

Alarmed, you toss a look over your shoulder. The sounds of voices grow louder by the second, accompanied by the thundering hoofbeats of men in pursuit. Seokmin gives you an understanding nod and knocks one of the oncomers clean off his horse.

“What is going on?” Hansol urges, reaching into his quiver. “Who are they?”

“We do not have time to find out.” Some of the men have circled around, approaching you from the sides. You reach for the knife strapped to your thigh and hurl it with precise aim, lodging it into an exposed torso. But one man down does not spell victory – they outnumber you by far, and in a matter of minutes, will have you surrounded. Wildly, you look for something, anything, to provide a way out.

Not so far ahead, half hidden behind bushes, is a slightly less beaten path that branches off to the right. There is another trail further ahead, one that seems to loop around and double back. If you all stay together, you realize, you will be cornered in no time.

“We have to split up!” you shout, amidst the chaos.

You can’t see Seungkwan, but you know he is frowning. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” you insist. “You have to trust me!”

From your right, Hansol gives you a concerned look. “I will accompany you,” he says, shooting at someone behind you. You shake your head immediately, not liking the idea.

“No, Hansol. You cannot!”

“I must,” he protests. “I can hold them off with my arrows. Your sword is better suited for a much closer range.”

You think you will never forget this look in his eyes, such a far cry from the young boy he was when you had first met him.

“Alright,” you say reluctantly, catching a glimpse of sudden movement behind him. “Hansol, watch out!”

He whirls around sharply, but his reaction is not fast enough. Without thinking, you pull your sword from your belt and reach over so far you nearly slip off of the saddle, barely managing to pierce the man’s shoulder. Blood spatters across Hansol’s face, dotting his sunkissed skin.

“Thank you,” he gasps. “I did not think they would catch up so fast.”

You glance over your shoulder, catching Seungkwan’s eye. He nods firmly, and it gives you the courage to turn back around so you don’t have to watch him and Seokmin tear off to the side, veering left into the thick forest. They will be able to hold out on their own; you have to believe this to be true.

Your pursuers have split, just like you planned – around half of them remain on the path behind you, fast approaching on horseback. You tug on the reins, a bit harshly. Hansol slows down to let you pass through the narrow side trail first.

“I will cover,” he assures you. “Trust me.”

That is all you can do – making as much distance as you can and dodging stray arrows when they fly just past your head. You do not know who it might be that wants you dead so badly that they would ambush you at night, but as much as you rack your brains looking for an answer, you cannot find one. There are not many who know exactly who you work for, and even less among them who might want to hurt you.

“How much further?” Hansol yells over the commotion, blood dribbling from a gash on his shoulder. “I do not have infinite arrows!”

“I am hoping they will leave us be if we reach the village, if we can make it that far!”

“And how far is that exactly?!”

You turn to face him, but do not get a chance to respond. Before you can open your mouth, an arrowhead lodges itself in the divot beneath your collarbone.

Sharp pain blossoms across your chest as the metallic scent of blood rises in your nostrils. You try to keep your grip on the reins, but your sight goes blurry, and your fingers let the leather slip. Faintly, you hear something that sounds like a shout of your name. But it is too late – your horse rears back, startled, and you cannot stay on any longer. You roll off, hitting the uneven ground with a sickening thud.

The dark red of your blood stains the rocky terrain below you as you attempt to get on your feet, but to no avail. You let out a pained groan, wondering whether Seokmin and Seungkwan have managed to make it to safety.

And what of Hansol? You can only hope he makes it to the village unharmed.

The last thing you see is a vaguely familiar symbol, silver etched on dark velvet fabric, but it soon disappears into the night’s cover. Your fingers tighten around a pebble’s edge, and you send a silent prayer up to whatever god is willing to listen. The world disappears, and your vision goes black.

Have you been well?

Your voice is sticky in your throat. No words come out.

Wake up, little tiger. It is time. A whole world awaits you.

You try to fight it, burrowing yourself into that familiar warmth of your brother’s voice. It does not work. Instead, you feel him tumbling further and further away from you, and a strange light intensifies between your eyes.

You wake with a start. Above you is a ceiling you do not recognize, and around you is a room you have never been inside. Blinking twice, you attempt to orient yourself, but a sharp sting renders you immobile when you try to sit up.

The only other person in the room is seated against the wall, crushing leaves in a mortar. She glances up at the sound of your rustling and lets go of the pestle.

“You are awake,” she observes, carrying the mortar over and kneeling beside you. Carefully, she peels back the layer of bandages and applies the paste to your wound. It stings a little bit, and you wince, not expecting the pain. “This salve should keep it from getting infected.”

The woman is beautiful, with soft features and long lashes. Yet there is a fierceness in her eyes that unsettles and comforts you at the same time.

“Hansol,” you breathe, struggling for words. “Hansol, where is he?”

She arches an eyebrow. “I am assuming you are talking about the boy we found with you,” she says finally. “He was not as badly injured as you are. Do not worry.”

Relief rushes through you, like a spring river. If Hansol is alive and well, then the others have to be, too.

“Where is he?” you repeat, earnestly. “Please, let me see him.”

The woman stares at you for a few moments before heaving a deep sigh, rising to her feet. She leaves the room for a minute or so, and returns with several others in tow. You try to sit up again, leaning yourself up against the wall.

The very first thing you see is Hansol, hands and ankles tied together with thick rope. Behind him are two men, one at each side, wearing grim expressions on their faces.

“What have you done to him?” you demand, albeit weakly. “Let him go!”

Hansol shakes his head at you, as if to tell you to stop talking. The men shuffle him over slowly and deposit him onto the floor so that he sits across from you. He leans forward urgently, eyes desperate.

“Y/N, you have to listen to me, they –”

His sentence is cut short. Without stopping to hesitate, the taller of the two men draws his sword and points it right at this throat.

“Do not hurt him!” you cry out, before succumbing to a coughing fit. The woman rushes to fill a small ceramic bowl with water and brings it to your lips, letting you drink slowly. The man pays no mind at all, and his sword remains in the air.

“Speak,” he says firmly. Hansol throws you a confused glance, the rope chafing his wrists as he fidgets under it.

“I do not know what you ask of me,” he says finally. The man takes a step forward, a subtle limp in his left leg.

“We know everything,” he says coldly. “There is nothing left for you to hide. We know exactly who you are, and who sent you.”

The blade does not drop. You watch Hansol swallow, nervous, as the metal glints threateningly under the morning sun.

“Please, you cannot hurt him,” you entreat once again. “He knows nothing, I swear. I brought him along to aid me.”

The sword’s edge points at you now, sharp and shining. The woman gives him a look, frowning slightly.

“Mingyu, please,” she murmurs. “She is not even able to stand on her own.”

Mingyu does not listen to her. He continues to glare down at you instead, hand steady. “Speak, then,” he demands. “And do not even dare to try and lie to us.”

Your eyes dart from him, to the man beside him, wondering what you could possibly say to save yourselves from the situation you’ve found yourself in right now.

“We are from the capital. The palace,” you clarify. Hansol watches you with wide, terrified eyes, but you are not telling them anything they do not already know.

“That much is clear,” Mingyu says. He gestures towards the sleeve of your robes, where the silver royal emblem sits. “But you have still not told us why you are here.”

“We were given orders,” you begin shakily. The uncertainty in your voice is making Hansol anxious, and you know it. “To find someone.”

Mingyu frowns, sword faltering slightly. “Who?”

You do not know what to say. That is, until another figure emerges behind Mingyu’s broad shoulders. Sharp, catlike eyes that could rival your deadliest blade bore into yours. You’ve seen those eyes somewhere before, for sure, but you cannot put your finger on exactly where.

A dark night flashes in your mind, tense silence in the foothills. You catch the moment of recognition in his eyes too, chapped lips parting just slightly. Yes, you remember that face now, those hands that had skillfully parried your own. The sound of your veil being sliced open still haunts you to this day.

You do not dare break eye contact, but you lift your chin defiantly and stare right back.

“Him.”

As much as he tries, Wonwoo cannot get the image of you out of his head: bandaged and bruised on the floor, and yet sporting the same fierceness he had first seen a few nights ago.

“It seems they came looking for you and Jeonghan,” Mingyu clarifies later. “Orders from the second prince. You heard her.”

Wonwoo just nods, staring out into the woods where Mingyu and Jeonghan had found you during their morning hunt. His nemesis, brought forth from the forest he’d grown up in.

“What should we do, hyung?”

“Well, they are more useful to us alive than dead. And we cannot let them go.” Wonwoo sighs, cracking his knuckles. “Where is she?”

“Hayun is helping her eat. Some porridge, I think.”

“And the boy?”

“He is with them. Do not worry, we have their weapons. And he cannot move with his limbs tied together,” Mingyu reassures him. “I wrote to Seungcheol hyung, too. He should return from the north within a few days.”

“Okay. Good.” Wonwoo laces his fingers together pensively, wonders how you came to be injured so badly in the first place. If you were after him, then who had been after you?

Mingyu takes another tentative step, then takes a seat on the bench beside him. Wonwoo isn’t sure why all his thoughts are stuck in his throat, refusing to present themselves as coherent sentences. It has always been easier to say what is on his mind to Mingyu – he has never once questioned his feelings, taking them all in stride.

“Are you alright?”

“Hm?” He tears his gaze away from the sparrow perched on a tall branch and meets Mingyu’s earnest, concerned eyes. “Yes, Gyu. Do not worry about me.”

“Psh. I always worry about you. What kind of friend would that make me?” Mingyu laughs softly. “How is your shoulder?”

“Much better. I can move it further now. It should be completely healed within a week,” Wonwoo says, experimentally rolling his shoulder back and forth.

“That’s good.”

They fall into that easy silence again. Wonwoo feels the words bubbling up, but they never leave his tongue. There are too many feelings, and speaking feels like a certain kind of blasphemy to the quiet that lets him just be.

“How is your leg now?” he asks instead. Mingyu gives a lopsided smile, the one that exposes his sharp canine teeth.

“I keep telling Hayun I am able to go back out there with you, but she will not hear it,” he admits. Wonwoo sees her point, secretly; but this sentiment he would not say out loud. “I know I have been helping out where I can at home, but I still feel a little useless.”

“You are not–”

“It should have been me,” Mingyu lightly touches Wonwoo’s bandaged shoulder, “that night you were with Jeonghan. And every other night, too. Do not think I have forgotten each time you come home battered up and bleeding.”

“It is my duty too.” Wonwoo says it solemnly, can’t bring himself to look his best friend in the eyes right now. “This is not something you must feel bad about.”

Mingyu says nothing, choosing to blink away the unbidden tears in his eyes. Deep down, Wonwoo wonders if things would have been better today if that fateful injury had never happened. Mingyu had always been stronger – not just physically, but mentally. A born fighter, who would have truly known his place on the battlefield.

But it has been many months since Mingyu has lifted his weapon. Wonwoo, full of regrets and mismatched empathy a warrior should not have, needed to step up in his wake. If it had been Mingyu in the valley with Jeonghan that night, you might not have lived to tell the tale.

Wonwoo does not bring any of this up later, when he encounters Hayun in the kitchen. He just sits on a stool quietly, watching her stir the rice porridge.

“You look like you want to say something,” she begins eventually. He stiffens, not used to openly being called out.

‘No,” he denies. “I was just bored.”

“Now that is something I expect Yoon Jeonghan to say.” Hayun laughs. “It is alright, Wonwoo. You are not obliged to speak if you do not feel like it.”

So he does not, instead watching her tidy things up around the small kitchen. She balances several bowls together, passing him a plate.

“Help me carry the seaweed salad,” she says. “At least the boy will eat it.”

Wonwoo is used to doing as he’s told. He obediently follows her into the small side room, plate precariously in hand. Hansol, still bound by the fraying rope, immediately tenses up at the sight of him, but you do not stir. Well — you are asleep, he realizes, and rightfully so. He knows more than anybody how important rest is for an injury. Still, the sight of your lashes gently brushing the skin under your eyes irks him. He cannot pinpoint why.

Hayun sets the plates and bowls on the ground. The rattling seems to jolt you awake, eyes wide and then narrowing at the sight of Wonwoo.

“I hope you have not come to execute us,” you say sharply. Wonwoo sees straight through your facade, can tell how you’re struggling to speak through the pain. Hayun only purses her lips, setting the bowl of rice porridge beside you.

“I know that we are at odds. But we are not barbarians,” she says gently. “You must eat.”

You lock eyes with Wonwoo once again, gaze unnaturally piercing. He is certain that under different circumstances, you would have your sword at his throat with no hesitation whatsoever.

Hayun brings the spoon up to your lips, but you jerk away slightly, assuring her you can feed yourself. She does not look convinced, but backs away to let you have your space, and glances back at Wonwoo.

“What are you waiting for?” she asks, gesturing towards Hansol. “Untie him.”

Wonwoo gapes at her. “You want me to untie him?”

“How will he be able to eat otherwise? You and Mingyu, really,” she rolls her eyes, “They are hurt and unarmed, and you have got a whole set of knives on you. Do you really see them as a threat right now?”

Wonwoo sighs, reluctantly gets to work on the knots tying Hansol’s wrists together. He is visibly scared; none of the defiance that you hold, and all of the fear you don’t seem to have.

He sits there against the wall as the two of you slowly eat in silence. Hansol eats quickly, and very little, but you take your time. You have to, he supposes, thanks to the lack of mobility in your right arm. Hayun asks for your name, tentatively, and you tell her. Wonwoo lets it ring in the air before deciding that it suits you: sharp and angular but still soft, smooth rolling off your tongue. He doesn’t turn away until you catch him watching you, expression morphing into a glare.

Wonwoo is not as curious as Hayun, for sure. He only needs to know one thing about you.

“Who was following you here?” He tries to sound as commanding as possible, nodding towards your wound. “Did you see who shot you?”

He observes carefully as Hansol immediately looks to you. He knows nothing, that is for sure. But you hesitate, just barely. A troubled look crosses your eyes for just a moment before it’s gone again.

“No,” you say finally. “I do not know.”

Wonwoo holds your stare, almost challenging. You do not break. Still, he senses your lie. He is not sure what exactly it is you are hiding, but there must be something. It does not matter just yet. There will be time to find out later.

He helps Hayun gather the dishes afterwards, almost feels bad binding Hansol’s chafed wrists again. But no measure is too much, and he’d rather be safe than sorry.

“I will keep watch overnight. Just to make sure the boy does not try anything,” he tells her outside. “You should go in and get some sleep.”

Hayun raises an eyebrow at him. “You will stay up all night? Please tell me you are joking, Jeon Wonwoo.”

“Jeonghan and I will keep watch,” he relents, under her stern demeanor. “We will both be adequately rested.”

“You better be. Jeonghan likes to complain when he wakes up with eyebags,” she chuckles, wiping her hands. “I will leave you to it. Goodnight, Wonwoo.”

He mumbles a goodnight in return, trudging back to your room. There is a book lying on a stool, and he brings it with him to read. Why not?

Hansol is as good as asleep when he finally settles in the opposite corner. You are not, but you do not even spare him a glance as he sits down. Whatever, he thinks. At least he has something to bide his time until Jeonghan comes in and he can sleep.

He opens the book eagerly. A romance novel, it seems. Wonwoo wrinkles his nose, and wonders whose it is. He had never been very fond of the genre, but it will have to do. Wonwoo flips to the first page, filled with avid descriptions of a fair maiden and a lush countryside, and wonders exactly how long of a night awaits him.

Sleep is a fickle guest, dipping in and out and toying with your consciousness.

You cannot seem to surrender to any sort of dream for too long. Always your eyes fly open, gasping for breath even though you have not been underwater. The sharp-eyed warrior across from you does not spare you more than a threateningly curious glance.

It is when you wake up next that you notice he is no longer there. This man has rounder, softer eyes, and wilder hair. You remember him, too, from that night in the valley. Subconsciously, you note that he does not look half as vicious as he fights. He seems to sense your eyes on him, looking up suddenly from his paper and ink.

“Oh,” he says, a disarmingly playful smile spreading across his face. He whispers, so as not to wake Hansol. “I see you are healing well. Much better than the wreck you were when I found you, at least.”

This piques your interest, and you sit up straighter. “You found me?”

“She speaks,” he remarks sagely. “Yes, I did.”

His demeanor confuses you, to put it plainly. Everyone else had treated you with such coldness, and rightfully so. But he does not seem to have any qualms about speaking with you at all.

“I am Jeonghan, by the way.” At your bewildered expression he adds, “I know your name, but you do not know mine. Is it not impolite?”

“No,” you say bluntly. “I do not really care about your manners. Or your lack of them.”

He shrugs jovially, returning to his paper. “Just as well.”

A little more time passes in utter silence, before you impulsively break it. “What are you writing?”

Jeonghan raises his eyebrows, setting the brush down and turning the paper towards you. “I draw,” he says simply. “Sometimes.”

His nonchalance does not distract you from the impressive detail of the sketch. It is done with little care, but still executed well, a perfect likeness of a mountain range. You wonder how much this tells you about the kind of person he is.

“You are very different from the other one,” you observe.

“The other one?” Jeonghan tilts his head, before it dawns on him. “Oh. You are talking about Wonwoo? Yes, we are not very similar. But maybe that is why we make great friends.”

So that is the catlike man’s name, after all. You repeat it quietly, letting it coat your tongue and roll off of it. Privately, you decide it suits him — slick and smooth, and prickly where you would not expect.

Friends, Jeonghan had said. A laughable thing – you cannot imagine Wonwoo smiling at all.

“When will we be allowed to leave?” you ask, after some thought. Jeonghan’s hand stills.

“I do not know,” he says. “Mingyu wants you dead. Wonwoo thinks you are more useful to us alive. I, for one, do not particularly care. There is nothing the palace can do to us if we are always one step ahead.”

“How long must we wait, then?”

Jeonghan shrugs without looking up. “I told you. I do not know.”

Your heart sinks a little, but you continue to watch him silently, adding thoughtful strokes here and there to his sketch. Somehow the repeated movement lulls you back to sleep, lids heavy and fluttering closed. Your brother does not show up in your dreams this time. Instead, you are surrounded by nothing. Nothingness is starkly different from darkness. It is simply empty, unsettling.

An oddly familiar symbol flashes underneath your eyelids, burning through your vision. It reflects light from an unknown source, before blood dribbles over it, oozing out of the emptiness. You feel it everywhere, pain buzzing just underneath your skin in unbearable torment.

You wake with a start, breathing heavily. Nothing seems to be out of place – gentle sunlight, the same room you remember, Hansol in the corner. But everything you’ve just seen with your eyes closed continues to haunt you.

“Are you okay?” he asks quietly. A pang of sympathy strikes you; he has not spoken much since you were brought here.

“I think,” you reply, propping yourself up with your uninjured arm. “Hansol, I must ask you something.”

“What is it?”

“I need you to tell me anything you remember from the attack,” you ask, seriously. “Anything. About what happened after we were separated, and about who they were.”

“I did not make it much farther than you,” he says ruefully. “I panicked after you got knocked off of your horse. I think it was sheer luck that they left after assuming we were dead. But one thing was rather odd, actually.”

“What?”

“Some of their robes,” he continues, frowning. “I am sure the royal symbol was on them. But those cannot have been real, right?”

You feel your heart racing, thumping along in your chest. You search Hansol’s eyes for any sign he’s lying, or joking, but there’s none.

“I saw it, too,” you say, hushed. “Just before I fell. I thought I was hallucinating.”

“I do not think you were.” Such a grim expression feels mismatched on Hansol’s face; so much conflict for one so young. “But how? And why?”

Apt questions, both of them. Your deduction seems almost bizarre, if you really think about it. Laughable, almost. Why would the second prince want to thwart his own plan?

But… it is not impossible.

You purse your lips. “I shall be honest with you, Hansol. I do not know why such a thing would happen – but I also know that man is not to be blindly trusted. So there is that, too.”

Before he can respond, someone clears their throat. Calmly, but loud enough to interrupt. Wonwoo enters the room with narrowed eyes, making his presence known.

“What are you two whispering about?” he demands, folding his arms. You resist the urge to roll your eyes at him.

“We are plotting out how to kill you and get away with it,” you say dryly. He does not laugh, instead staring at you with a coldness that could rival even the iciest glaciers.

“Very funny,” he replies, full of sarcasm. “Humor will not do you any favors here. Remember that.”

God, you really wish you had actually killed him that day. His smooth voice somehow irks you even more, drawing your cantankerous mood to the surface at record speed. However, you tamp it down, settling the frustration in your chest in preparation for the request you are about to make.

“Can I borrow some ink and paper?”

This gets Wonwoo’s immediate attention. He turns, eyebrows raised. For a moment you think he might just laugh it off and ignore you. And he would not be wrong for it, you realize – you are essentially a hostage in this small village, and neither he nor the others owe you a single thing.

“What for?” he says sharply. “Surely you do not think you will be able to trick us?”

“No, of course not,” you shake your head vehemently, heart sinking. “I would not do that.”

Wonwoo scoffs. “As if I am stupid enough to believe such a thing. What are you trying to do this time, call for reinforcements? Leave the target on my and Jeonghan’s back for somebody else to find?”

“No,” you insist, desperation seeping into your voice. “I must write to my sisters. It has been too long – there are some things I must tell them.”

A matter of life or death, you think silently. If Muyeol truly is after you, then he will certainly not draw the line at harming either of them. For a moment, you think Wonwoo might be considering it. He looks at you with that calculating expression he has, probably weighing the decision in his head.

“You are a fool if you think I am that naive,” he says, finally.

You try not to show it, but your face falls. If there was one thing that provided a sense of normalcy for you in the capital, it was being able to keep in touch with your sisters regularly. They are, after all, the only family you have left. But Wonwoo pays you no mind, shuffling about and searching for something before he leaves again. You deflate a little. Hansol’s sympathetic look is meant to soothe, but it only makes you feel a little bit worse.

The rest of your time passes quite uneventfully. Your days are relatively the same now – not like you are able to do much, anyways, with your injury. Hayun helps you out when she can, occasionally stopping to make small talk, but you are otherwise alone.

Mingyu and Wonwoo have decided that they would rather have Hansol help with the errands than waste away in a dark corner – you watch him lift bundles of firewood with a pang in your chest. At least he is accompanied by someone else, a boy named Chan who does not look a day older than him, and likes to make awkward conversation as they work.

You grow more anxious with every passing day, wondering why Muyeol’s men have not found you yet. Realistically, you should be thankful for each peaceful morning, but it does nothing but stir apprehension in your stomach. He may not be a good man, but he is a smart one. There are not many villages this side of the river, and you don’t think it will take him very long to find you.

Suddenly you think of Hayun, who has looked after you ever since you got here. You wonder if she, too, will soon have to face the aftermath of a razed home and a martyred husband, a family vanishing within minutes – a fate you would not wish upon anybody.

It is late one night, with Hansol away doing something or the other for Mingyu. You are moving your right arm back and forth, newfound strength surging into your muscles. With Hayun’s help, you can even stand now, but she is not here.

It takes you a few moments before you realize Wonwoo is at the doorway. He remains silent even as you raise your eyebrows, prompting him to speak. Instead, he just approaches you and gingerly places two sheets of paper as well as a brush and ink on the floor beside you.

“You may write to your sisters,” he says gruffly. “One of us will read it to ensure you are not communicating with the palace. Hayun will have it delivered tomorrow.”

You stare at the paper, not knowing what to say. He watches you with careful eyes, waiting only a beat or two before turning on his heel to leave.

“Wonwoo,” you call just as he’s about to step out. He looks surprised at the sound of his name; perhaps even offended, but he listens anyway. “Thank you.”

Something strange flashes in his eyes, but only for a moment. He does not reply, only sparing you a curt nod before walking away. You sigh, and wait until he’s gone to pick up the brush and dip it into the inkpot. There are important things to be said, and not enough time.

To Soonhee and Soonja –

How are you both? I am sorry I have not been able to write recently. Unfortunately, things have gotten quite hectic as of late. But never mind that. I have gone to the foothills for some important business – I will tell you all about it later.

Please, do not stray far from home. Above all, do not travel to the capital. Send Jihoon, if absolutely necessary. Nobody will recognize him. But do not go yourself. I cannot tell you why just yet, but please, you must trust me.

Speaking of Jihoon – how are my brother-in-law and my darling nephew, Soonhee? I have not seen little Sangmin since he was a newborn, but I will visit as soon as I am able. Have you picked up any new projects lately? Tell me all about it when I come home. I always love to hear about it

Soonja, I have made a friend who is quite like you. He is gentle but strong, and likes to eat plums in the summer. I find myself missing you very much when I speak with him. And the plums, I will bring some home for you. They seem to grow quite abundantly in these regions.

I find that something odd has been happening to me recently. I did not want to ask, but I feel that I must. Sometimes our brother comes to me in my dreams. He feels almost real. Soonja will not remember – but you must, Soonhee, you had been old enough, too. I never see his face; I cannot remember it. But he speaks to me while I am asleep, and I find myself aching when I wake up again. Does this happen to you, too?

I am not sure. Maybe I am going crazy. I have not been sleeping too well; I suppose that would do it.

Anyhow, I hope this reaches you without any sort of delay. Please do not send any correspondence to the palace – or do not send anything more, for that matter. It should not be very long before I am able to come home again, and then I will tell you everything sitting across from you over dinner.

Be well, and take care of yourselves. Give Sangmin and Jihoon my love.

Yours, Y/N

Wonwoo cannot even make it halfway through your letter before he passes it to Jeonghan, desperately tearing his eyes away from the words on the paper.

“What happened?” the older man questions, unfolding it carefully.

“I cannot,” Wonwoo repeats, shaking his head. “I know it is for our safety. But it feels too personal.”

“Oh, yes. How convenient that I do not have feelings, then,” Jeonghan says dryly, rolling his eyes. Still, he relents, scanning your letter. Satisfied with what he sees, he folds it up again and stands. “I will find Hayun. She should be able to have it delivered when she goes to the market.”

“Thank you,” Wonwoo nods. He likes that Jeonghan never really asks questions, seems to know exactly when to stop digging. It works out for the two of them; neither of them pry, and neither of them answer. And if Jeonghan had asked – what would he have said? Wonwoo does not enjoy feeling most of his emotions, let alone talking about them.

He had not planned on letting you write it in the first place. It was a simple decision, and Mingyu had quite agreed with him when he told him about it later over dinner.

But he had seen Wonjae’s face in the back of his mind, for a brief second. There was not a thing Wonwoo wouldn’t do if it meant he could write to him, or speak to him just once more. In the moment, he had not felt like depriving you of the opportunity he could never have.

Of course, he will not tell Jeonghan any of this. There are things he does not like admitting to himself, much less others.

Seungcheol arrives later that night, after everyone else is asleep. Wonwoo greets him silently, tells him to rest, but he is met with a stern demand to tell him everything. He fetches a bowl of water, sits Seungcheol down, and starts from the beginning.

“This is not good,” Seungcheol frowns. “It is only a matter of time before those same soldiers find their way to us.”

“We can handle them, can we not? We always have.”

“We always have. But that does not mean we always will. It is wise to exercise caution.” Seungcheol casts a wayward glance at the room where you and Hansol sleep. “What of them?”

“I would not worry,” Wonwoo assures him. “They have no weapons, and the girl is injured. I do not believe they are a threat.”

Seungcheol gives him a half smile. “It is good to have faith, Wonwoo. But do not trust blindly. Ever.”

I’m not, he wants to say. Petulant, like a child, and somehow that upsets him even further. Wonwoo wishes he was able to switch this part of him off, just like Jeonghan seems to do, but his mind does not appear to work that way.

“What do you think we should do?” he asks instead.

“Well, we will keep them here for now. There is not much else to be done.” He sighs, glancing up at the sky. “I am tired, Wonwoo. We will speak about this later. Good night.”

“Good night,” Wonwoo echoes, watching Seungcheol and his broad shoulders retreat into the house. He should be heading inside, too. But he does not move just yet, staying out for just a little longer before he sleeps.

When Wonwoo dreams, there are trees everywhere. Larches, like the ones he used to love to climb as a child. What a shame, that he had to grow up so fast. Wonwoo dreams, and there are fireflies. The nostalgic kind, that takes him to another time rather than a place. There is a warm fire, and a meal cooking somewhere off in the distance. If he listens closely, he can hear his brother’s laughter, just loud enough.

Sometimes, Wonwoo dreams of a different universe. Another timeline, perhaps the one in which Jeonghan and Haeun could have been happy together. In this universe, Wonwoo does not fight. He sits in the clearing with his brother on a breezy afternoon, listening to the bush warblers sing.

In this universe, Wonwoo is a fisherman, like his father. He teaches Wonjae how to cast the nets, and which spots along the river are particularly excellent for catching minnows. In his spare time, he reads, collecting books he likes from the market. Soon enough, he cultivates a small library of his own, a personal haven of sorts.

The worst part, however, is that this universe is not real. The river cracks, like glass. Fish scatter everywhere and the water goes dark. Wonwoo reaches out for his brother, but Wonjae has disappeared. The boat rocks wildly, and he has to squeeze his eyes shut out of the nausea it stirs in him.

This moment is when he wakes up. The image of his reflection in the shattering river always haunts him for hours. Like maybe it’s him that’s breaking, instead of the current.

He sits up in his bed, blinking the sleep away. Across from him, Chan rolls over, mumbling something intelligible. He has always been a heavy sleeper, which works out just fine for Wonwoo, who does not make much noise in general. The sky is still quite dark. Wonwoo peers out the window. It will be dawn soon, he realizes, catching the first hints of light at the horizon. No river to dip his feet in, no boat to cross it with.

Just as well. He turns over, pretending none of it matters, and tries to fall asleep again.

It takes you another week and a half, give or take, to be able to walk on your own. Hansol helps, an arm steadying you as you take careful steps.

This development is not welcomed by the majority of the others, particularly Mingyu and Seungcheol. Hayun just gives you a small smile and tells you she is glad you recovered without any complications. Oddly enough, you spend most of your time in the company of Jeonghan, who always drags Wonwoo along with him. It is quite tiring, even though you know it is merely a matter of security to have an eye or two on you at all times.

“Must you always look so surly?” you remark one afternoon. Wonwoo sits across from you in the room, having busied himself with a book, and raises an eyebrow at your question.

“Is that what you think of me?”

“Yes,” you say, emboldened by the challenging look on his face. “I think you choose to present yourself as quite a joyless individual. I did not know it was possible to embody a cantankerous grandfather in a young man’s body.”

“I must say, I have never been so openly affronted by my own hostage before.” His expression does not hold any of the offense that his words portray. Instead, he seems subtly amused, almost – as if this is just child’s play to him. It irks you even more.

“Really?” you scoff. “And how many women have you taken hostage before, exactly?”

Finally, Wonwoo sets his book down. Ha, you think to yourself. I win. He folds his arms, keeps his piercing eyes trained on you. He might have been beautiful, you realize, if you did not despise him so.

“Only those who are bold enough to set a target on my back,” he says, an edge to his deep voice. “You are the first. And I intend you to be the last.”

“How valiant,” you retort.

“How ignorant,” Wonwoo corrects, leaning forward. “You are not invincible. Do yourself a favor and stay off your high horse while you are here.”

You raise your chin, defiantly. “And if I refuse?”

Wonwoo says nothing, only holding your level stare. The heat of his hostility is unmistakable, his sharp eyes burning into yours. You only wish you could reach for your sword and slash the tantalizing column of his neck, the glistening steel against his skin. But your hands remain where they are and you sit in place, jaw clenched and temper boiling over.

“Are you finished attempting to telepathically kill each other?” Jeonghan hesitantly pokes his head through the doorway. “I come bearing news.”

Wonwoo turns his attention to his friend, finally. “What news?”

Jeonghan does not answer him. Instead, he trudges towards you, pulling a folded piece of paper out of a pocket and handing it over. You frown up at him.

“What is this?”

“I think you should read it first.” You don’t like the mildly troubled look on his face, but you follow his advice and open up the folds anyways. Immediately, you recognize the handwriting, and your breath catches in your throat.

Y/N –

I do not have much time to write this. I managed to get away and ride to your village, based on what little you told us. I am taking your sisters to a safe house further away from the capital, as well as Jihoon and the baby. I hope Hansol is still with you.

Those who attacked us had been palace soldiers; Muyeol’s men, every single one of them. This must have been planned – I thought about it every way, but I am not convinced it was an accident. It could not have been. We were never supposed to carry out this mission, Y/N. We were meant to die before even succeeding.

Seungkwan did not make it. He was shot in the neck, and I could do nothing to save him. I buried him near the riverbank with some peonies, just as he would have wanted.

Do not write back, lest it is intercepted. Be safe.

Seokmin

You do not say anything for a few precious moments. It is so much information all at once, on this tiny scrap of paper. How ironic that simple words have such power to change your entire world with one sentence?

Muyeol’s men, every single one of them.

“I knew it,” you mumble to yourself, crumpling the paper beneath your fingers. Dismay gives rise to anger in a volcanic chain reaction that ripples violently through your entire body. “I fucking knew it. Of course. How could I have been so blind?”

“You were unconscious,” Jeonghan interjects, unhelpfully.

The same man who had promised you many things in return for your unwavering loyalty, now targeting you – you are not surprised, and you do not have the right to be, either. The realization is ugly, but it is the truth. You had always known what kind of a person he was, but back then it had only mattered that you and your family were guaranteed safety. It is not like that, anymore.

Jeonghan just sighs. “I am assuming now is not a good time to say ‘I told you so’.”

“I told you so,” Wonwoo says flatly. You glare up at him, blinking the unshed tears away. Suddenly you hate him even more for being able to stand there unflinching, while you slowly lose everything and everyone.

“I wish I had killed you that night,” you tell him with quiet anger. “I never would have had to come here, and Seungkwan would still be alive. I am ashamed I did not have the courage to fulfill my task the first time.”

Wonwoo does not answer, just casts his eyes to the ground with his head slightly bowed. You want more than this absolute silence from him – something, anything in response to everything you throw out. But you get none, just his eyes avoiding yours.

You wait until you are alone to open up the paper again, the words blurring together on the page. Gently, you trace a finger along the characters of Seungkwan’s name, the memories rushing back like a flood. Never in a million years would you have thought you’d be remembering him like this, images flashing in your mind.

Seungkwan, who had liked to lighten things up with a joke or two and a contagious laugh. Seungkwan, who once swore to always have your back, and never broke his promise to the end. You had looked after him with such care, treated him like the little brother you never had. You remember teaching him how to shoot an arrow for the first time ever. It was raining that day, but he had insisted on going out to the grounds regardless. It is a comfort, you suppose, that he had gone down wielding that same beloved weapon.

Hansol does not take the news any better than you had. He does not believe you at first, reads Seokmin’s letter again and again until it finally sinks in that he will never hear one of Seungkwan’s spur-of-the-moment puns again. You want to reassure him, but you do not go to comfort him, recognizing his need for space.

They might not have been very close, but they had always taken well to each other, and they had been the same age. Now Hansol will continue to grow, and Seungkwan will be forever twenty-two.

Neither you or Hansol cry, but both of you come threateningly close.

The letter wears thinner the more you read it, but you cannot help but grasp onto Seokmin’s words – what if you lose him too? You try to soothe yourself with the knowledge that your sisters are safe, but your anxiety does not let your mind rest at all. It is suffocating, to sit in this room with nothing but your and Hansol’s grief and the echoes of a voice you’ll never hear again. With what little strength you have, you wander outside, limping slightly.

The wind is sobering, and you inhale a greedy lungful of the crisp mountain air, letting it linger in your lungs. The treeline is a comforting sight. Seungkwan had always loved nature. At least his soul will rest easy.

“Watch your step there,” Wonwoo’s rough voice comes from behind you. “You will fall.”

You’ve never whipped your head around faster. He stands, a bit awkwardly, hands laced together behind his back. His eyes linger on your injured leg warily.

“Careful,” you retort, “or I might think you actually have a heart deep down in that twisted soul of yours.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Must you make it your absolute mission to constantly antagonize me?”

“You are acting surprised – as if there is any chance on this earth of me tolerating your presence,” you tell him, settling on a wooden bench. To your surprise, he follows suit, perched gingerly on the other end.

“What was he like?”

“Excuse me?”

“Seungkwan,” Wonwoo clarifies. “Your friend.”

Hearing the name sends a pang to your heart, but you cannot help but give him a strange look. “Do you always pretend to have a conscience in front of your hostages?”

Wonwoo scoffs, the first real emotion you have managed to draw from him all night. “You are far too cynical for your own good,” he remarks. “It is truly a wonder how you ever managed to navigate society like that.”

“Do not underestimate me,” you say crossly, “I contain multitudes.”

Both of you fall silent again. The night speaks instead, with the occasional howling of a gust of wind, or an owl hooting in the distance.

“Seungkwan was one of my closest friends,” you murmur, emboldened by the cool breeze. “I would have trusted him with my life. I did, too, on many occasions. There was not a moment where he was not there for me.”

Wonwoo hums, in some sort of agreement. “That is a good friend, indeed.”

“He is. Was,” you amend, attempting to swallow down the lump in your throat.

“I am sorry for your loss.”

“I do not think I believe you,” you let out a mirthless laugh. “But I will pretend so for your esteem, and my own mood.”

He nods sagely. “You have my full permission to take my words purely at face value.”

“I do not need your permission,” comes your quick reply. Wonwoo seems to take it in stride, like that was precisely the sentence he was expecting to leave your mouth. You do not particularly like that he acts as if he has you all figured out. A dangerous thing it is, to be known by essentially a stranger.

“You will keep many heartwarming memories with him,” Wonwoo adds. “Those are forever.”

“I hope so,” you nod, trying to conceal your sniffling. “He loved oranges. God, he was crazy about them,” the words slip from your tongue before you can even think, “He would talk about going to the island for them all the time. And he dearly loved to sing. He was very good at it, too.”

“What kinds of songs?”

“Ballads, mostly. He and Seokmin would burst into song at such random times. I remember being annoyed,” your voice breaks, “I cannot believe I was annoyed. I would give anything to hear him sing again. But I used to scold him so much.”

“Well, it is always a loving heart that chides the most.”

You catch a stray tear on the tip of your finger before casting a wary glance at Wonwoo. He does not meet your eyes, but stares into the woods as if there is something there he longs for. His normally cold gaze shines softly – for the first time, you might even feel a pang of empathy for him.

“Is this another tactic I do not know about?” you ask instead. “Lulling women into a false sense of security, so that you can converse about their dead friends before slashing their throats?”

Wonwoo’s plush lips immediately form a scowl. “I am not so much of a ladies’ man as you might believe.”

“How do I know you are not lying? You certainly look the part!”

He opens his mouth to fire back with his own retort, but he stops short all of a sudden, a small smirk on his face instead. “Did you just call me handsome?”

You give him your most appalled look. “I called you the equivalent of a rake and that is how you understood it?”

He shakes his head, clearly amused. “I hope that was not an insult to my intelligence. I quite know a compliment when I see one.”

“I do not even know why I bother conversing with you,” you say incredulously, standing suddenly out of frustration. There is a half-hidden root before you, but you do not see it – your foot catches, and you stumble forward. On instinct, Wonwoo reaches out, catching your arm before you tumble to the ground.

His touch burns, invisible flames scorching the skin as his fingers encircle your wrist. You lock eyes with him for a mere moment, the surprise in his expression mirroring yours. But the instant passes, and you immediately rip your arm from his grasp.

“Do not touch me,” you say sharply, rubbing your wrist.

“I did not want to,” he defends, “You would have fallen instead.”

You flash him a deep frown. “I would rather faceplant into the ground and lose my two front teeth.”

Guilt flashes in his eyes, and you almost feel bad. Instead, you wrap your arms around yourself, shielding your skin from the cold. The warmth from Wonwoo’s touch is long gone; you find yourself craving the soft burn of his fingertips again. It is all so unexplainably wrong. You really should leave, before you say something you might regret. That sharp tongue has always been your double-edged sword.

But Wonwoo gets to his feet instead, gesturing towards the bench’s smooth wood. “Sit,” he says gruffly.

You arch an eyebrow at him. “I am not interested in taking your place.”

“I insist.”

“Why?”

He hesitates, just a little. “I thought you might want some time with yourself. Alone. Fresh air always helps, too.”

You want to find your most piercing words, fashion them into a venomous retort, and throw it at him – but nothing comes up. He is right, and it does not fail to get under your skin.

“You sound rather confident.”

For the first time, Wonwoo smiles. It is a tragically beautiful thing; the expression does not reach his eyes, and the very corner of his mouth remains slightly downturned. Grief seems to taint him like a shadow that refuses to leave, and for just this moment you forget just how much you loathe his existence.

“You are not the only one who has lost somebody,” he says simply.

“You know, then.”

He shrugs halfheartedly. “It has been quite some time.”

You ponder your next question for a moment before asking it. “Does time truly heal all wounds?”

His mouth opens with an answer, and then it closes again, plush lips forming the beginning of an unsaid word. You watch him consider your query carefully, and wonder just where his thoughts come from. A part of you wants to ask, spurred by curiosity; but at the same time you are not so sure you want to know. Perhaps you are hesitant to see him as he is – not your adversary, but just Wonwoo, carrying his own ghosts on those weary, broad shoulders.

“Only if you want it to,” he says finally.

Softly, a far cry from earlier. All of the bite has disappeared from his voice, replaced by something gentle and raw. His presence is no longer looming; he is simply there, like the sturdy oaks of the village you grew up in. It is a new feeling, and you do not like this strange ease.

But you think more about his answer as the words sink in. Is that why it had been so hard to let go of your brother? It was silly; laughable, even. You had not kept anything to remember him by, but he was always there in your dreams when you truly needed him. Had that subconsciously been your doing? How long would it take for you to let go of Seungkwan, too?

“Maybe I had not willed it,” you murmur, mostly to yourself. Wonwoo furrows his eyebrows.

“What?”

You meet his confused eyes. “Oh – nothing.”

“If you did not mumble so much, it might be easier to hear you,” he says, with all the attitude he can muster, and immediately you know that the precious truce-like moment has passed. You paste an equally irritated expression on your face, to match his.

“And I thought you were leaving,” you return sharply. “But you are still here.”

“That I am,” he observes quietly. “Well. Goodnight.”

He lowers his gaze to the ground and turns, footsteps growing farther as he retreats to the house. A conflicting feeling rises in your throat as you watch him walk away, shoulders just a little slumped – the stature of a man with a myriad of stories and no voice to tell them with.

Wonwoo’s eyes, full of misted secrets, flash in your mind once again. Involuntarily, you shiver at the memory. You had never before met a man as calmly infuriating as him. If that does not ultimately spell out danger, then you don’t know what does.

From somewhere between the thick trees, Seungkwan smiles down at you. Reassuring, like a warm hug that you don’t deserve, and it stings. You try to recall his soothing voice, and cry freely into the night’s embrace.

The restless feeling in the pit of Wonwoo’s stomach does not cease.

Instead, it festers, boiling over and into itself by the day. It grows, even when he wills it not to. And worst of all, it seems to heighten inexplicably when you are near, and he is rendered helpless. He is always reminding himself that no matter how familiar your words might feel sometimes, you are everything but – your cynicism and your instantly sharp tongue are just two of the many things he cannot stand about you.

Still, there is that pull. Like a magnet, but only worse. Against his will, a part of him cannot help but be captivated by the enigma that you present yourself to be.

And, of course, there is that other thing.

The thing that, as he sits and watches you tell your story to Seungcheol, becomes more and more difficult to deny. You are no less resplendent in the sun than you are in the night’s glow, he realizes. Perhaps this is what he deems most dangerous about you. In his mind, you are indisputably beautiful – in the way that one might look on in awe as a tsunami’s ominous wave rolls up to the shore, despite being fully aware of the havoc it will wreak.

Wonwoo is sure that if he ever called you a natural disaster to your face, you would attempt to take a knife to his throat. Either way, he keeps the thought to himself, guarded and untouched.

He watches as Seungcheol returns your weapon. Your eyes seem to shine a bit brighter once the sword is in your hands, slender fingers wrapping around the hilt like it is the most familiar thing in the world. Wonwoo cannot help but revisit an old memory as you touch the blade, almost reverently. He had been on the receiving end of that sword once, the cool metal drawing blood from underneath his skin. And he probably should feel a touch of apprehension now that you wield it once again, but strangely enough, there is no such emotion. Only respect, and wonder.

You promise Seungcheol something – he does not hear, too busy in his own loud thoughts – and the older man smiles gently. Belatedly, Wonwoo wonders what it is. Choi Seungcheol does not smile often, especially not with the events that have been happening as of late.

What he does not expect is for you to approach him, sword loose in your grasp. He tries to ascertain something, anything from your expression, but your poker face seems to be quite good. Finally, your lips break into a tiny smirk. Wonwoo’s heartbeat accelerates straight out of nowhere.

“What? Do not tell me you are frightened,” you say, a bit smug. “The blade is still sheathed.”

“That is a bold assumption you are making.”

“You seemed quite worried the last time this sword was pointed at you,” you continue. The wind whips your hair around, and you look viciously wild. It is a sight for sore eyes. “Afraid, even. Was that an assumption, too?”

There is challenge in your eyes. Wonwoo knows that this is effectively the equivalent of playing with fire, but he figures he still has space. It has not burned him yet.

“If it is a duel you wish for, then a duel you will get,” he says, lowly, “but it is in your best interest to wait until you are fully healed. That way you will at least have a fighting chance.”

You scoff, affronted. “Oh, my. These are the words of a man with severely misplaced confidence.”

He returns your inflamed glare. “And the delusion of a woman who stands on her own imbalanced pedestal.”

The air is charged, suddenly. Wonwoo fights the urge to look away and avoid the intensity in your eyes that he just cannot ignore. Eventually, he folds, turning away to clear his throat.

“At least make yourself useful and accompany Jeonghan and Mingyu when they go to hunt,” he retaliates, though it comes out with a little less bite than he originally intended. You only roll your eyes at him before you walk away, loosely braided hair swinging lightly amidst the breeze.

The days pass as they always do, for the most part. Wonwoo is no stranger to routine, and rarely does he find it monotonous. It grounds him, until you come in like a typhoon and leave his brain in a muddled wreck. But he lets it be, for his own sake. Admitting that your aftermath is not as ruinous as it seems feels like a sort of betrayal to the life he has always known. And so he lives with it, warring emotions brewing in his chest. He trains with Jeonghan, teaches Chan how to fight, and the sun keeps on rising.

Good things often arrive with pomp and circumstance, while unfortunate events tend to creep up silently and pounce when you least expect it. It is quite a sunny day, and Wonwoo finds himself feeling more at ease than usual. The tall grass brushes against his knees as he takes his steps, very silently.

And of course, there you are, close behind him. He had not originally intended on bringing you into the forest to hunt with him today, but Mingyu had accompanied his wife to the market, and Jeonghan had insisted on taking an off day. Reluctantly, and upon Seungcheol’s wish, he had asked you to come along.

From his side, you suddenly nock an arrow. Wonwoo pauses for a second to take the sight in – your sword suits you, but you handle the bow so elegantly, the wood smooth beneath your fingers. You close an eye, pulling the string back, and he snaps back to his senses.

“What are you doing?” he hisses, quietly.

“Shh,” comes your reply. “If you end up scaring our lunch away, I will not forgive you.”

Wonwoo searches the foliage for any sign of life, but comes up blank. “What are you even aiming at?” he questions, squinting. “At this rate, we will not have lunch at all.”

You smile then – a sly, knowing thing – and release the arrow. It hits something between the leaves, and the unmistakably distressed crow of a pheasant follows not soon after.

“See?” you tell him, wearing that smirk he detests. “Lunch.”

“Luck,” Wonwoo corrects. Still, he follows along, somewhat astonished. He had not seen anything; not a single movement or flash of color. He wonders if this, too, will remain a mystery.

The way you move through the forest is awfully reminiscent. You slip around the thick bushes and the tall grass, weaving between the trees easily. A part of his heart burns at this. The forest is his realm, not yours, but you have adapted quite seamlessly.

The alarm bells begin to go off in Wonwoo’s head when you are not too far from the house, just skirting the edge of the woods. He tilts his head, listening carefully, before turning to you. To his surprise, you look equally concerned.

“Do you hear that, too?”

“Yes,” you confirm. The sound of hoofbeats on dirt roads grows louder, as does the unease in his chest. He exchanges one troubled glance with you and breaks into a sprint with you following right on his heels.

The very first thing that Wonwoo sees is Seungcheol, standing with his arms folded. A fearsome glower sits on his face, and he is saying something, but Wonwoo cannot quite make the words out. Chan stands behind him, mouth set in a deep frown.

You gasp, suddenly. Wonwoo feels a tug on the edge of his robes, and his eyes trail down to see your fingers clutching the soft fabric.

“Palace soldiers,” you whisper, nodding towards the house. There are at least twenty, if not more. They have not drawn their weapons just yet, but even from this distance the tension in the air is palpable.

“We should go see what this is about,” Wonwoo urges. But you do not move, still crouching beneath the wisps of tall grass.

“I already know what this is about,” you tell him. Your voice is firm, but it’s the look on your face that gives you away. For the first time, Wonwoo sees a sliver of fear in your eyes, and the memories that seem to haunt you by night. “I cannot lose Hansol, too.”

Wonwoo’s heart clenches, and he briefly thinks of Wonjae. “You will not.”

“You do not know that!”

“You will not,” he repeats, insistent this time. “Hansol will be alright. We will go down and see what they want, and hopefully it is something we can reason with them about.”

He almost thinks it won’t work, but you stand finally, still uncertain. You just shake your head, mumbling something under your breath he doesn’t quite catch, but he does not pry any further.

Wonwoo hears your sharp inhale as you approach the scene, and feels a sudden pang of sympathy. He had not thought about how it would feel to be confronted by the very men you had worked alongside with, maybe even the same men who had fought for you, who had ended up turning on you in the very end. You could dissolve into enraged fury here and now, and he would understand.

“What is going on here?” he demands. The others have come out, too, and you make a beeline for the house, presumably trying to find Hansol.

“I do not know,” Seungcheol says quietly. “They have not told us anything.”

Wonwoo does not have any more arrows in his quiver, but he is hyper aware of the daggers he always keeps strapped to his belt. He scans the surroundings; the men have arranged themselves into a half-circle, surrounding them and effectively blocking off any possible escape routes.

From behind him, he hears your panicked voice. “Where is Hansol?!” you ask, desperate, but all Jeonghan can say is that he does not know. The distress in your question is all too familiar, takes him back to a time that had left him desolate and alone.

One of the soldiers shifts, eyebrows raised. He draws his sword, and instinctively, Seungcheol takes a step back.

“You,” he says coldly. It takes Wonwoo a few seconds to realize where exactly the blade is pointing. “It seems we have finally found the traitor.”

“That is bold of you to say. I am not the one who turned my back on those who were loyal to me,” you declare. “By that logic, Lee Muyeol is as much of a traitor as I am.”

One of the foot soldiers steps forward menacingly, and immediately Jeonghan’s hand goes to his sword. The man that had spoken earlier – presumably the captain, due to his robes – just chuckles lazily.

“Do not think we are unaware of who you are. You could be easily thrown into prison,” he says. It is the world’s most diplomatic threat. Wonwoo feels the hair standing up on the back of his neck. “But you are merely country bumpkins, and the second prince has never found much trouble dealing with you lot. Give us the girl, and you live.”

“Only I choose where I go. And I go where I please,” you reply coolly, stepping forward. Wonwoo shoots you a look, wonders if this is another one of those situations where your stubbornness is getting the better of you while he prays that it isn’t.

The captain laughs mirthlessly. “His Highness was certainly right about you. What a foolish decision, indeed, to employ a woman. And one with such a foul mouth as yours, at that.”

Wonwoo isn’t sure what exactly it is that makes him reach for his knives, but his fingers pull at his belt in an attempt to arm himself. The soldier in front of him already has his sword out, though, and before he knows it he’s dodging a well-time slash.

This is the exact moment he will remember as when all hell breaks loose.

Someone charges Seungcheol at full speed – a terrible idea, Wonwoo thinks, to attempt and tackle a man of that stature and build. Jeonghan has already drawn the first blood, deep red splattering all over the light blue robes he had chosen for the day, and Chan quickly follows suit.

You do not have a weapon in hand, but you deliver a strong kick to the gut followed by an elbow to the face that had to have hurt like hell. Wonwoo makes it a point to ask when you were trained in martial arts later.

Both of the soldiers that are on him are significantly taller, and stronger. He feels a sharp sting blossoming at the side of his cheek and doesn’t register the slow trickle of blood down to his jaw until later, instead driving one of his knives deep into a collarbone. The man lets out a pained groan, but he stays on his feet nonetheless.

Wonwoo almost uses his other dagger, almost. But for just a split moment, something stops him, and his hand hesitates. A mistake, for it buys his assailant time to pick up his sword that clattered to the ground sometime earlier.

Thwack!

The man freezes, eyes wide as an arrow pierces his chest. A patch of red blooms on his robes as he slowly falls to the ground. Wonwoo just blinks down at him, breathing heavily at the close call. Where did it come from?

The markings on the arrow look oddly familiar. The fletching is unmistakably Mingyu’s handiwork, recently made. Wonwoo glances behind him, scanning the rocky terrain, and sees a flash of movement, red cloth darting behind a tree. Slowly, he smiles to himself.

Hansol.

Another arrow comes just as quick as the last one, felling the second soldier faster than Wonwoo can retrieve his knife. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Jeonghan toss you your sword, and you catch it with a practiced ease, slashing it at another soldier in one fluid motion.

Wonwoo wonders if you should really be out here, considering your bad leg, but he supposes an extra layer of protection in the form of Hansol raining down arrows couldn’t hurt.

Somewhere, something is burning. Wonwoo can smell the crackling at the same time he eats a punch and the metallic taste of blood fills his mouth. He loses his footing and stumbles into a tree, rolling over as he narrowly dodges a stab and the blade lodges itself into the trunk.

In the distance, he can hear someone yelling his name. Faintly, like he’s in a world of his own. That familiar buzzing grows louder again, and he has to squeeze his eyes shut to stop it from rendering him absolutely immobile. This is the part he dreads, more than anything else. Once again, he wonders what Mingyu would do in his place, the kind of man Seungcheol would expect him to fight like. Even worse, the kind of person you might hate him for being.

“Wonwoo!”

Smoke billows into the air, and he barely manages to sidestep another blow. Without hesitating, he throws a dagger with all the precision in the world, and you whirl in out of nowhere, following up at the last second with a single powerful strike.

“Thank you,” he gasps, feeling every molecule of air in his lungs, “I am sorry, I–”

“No apologies,” you say firmly. Your cheek is bruised, lip split – blood is smeared across your face and stains your fingers as you yank his knife from another not yet dead body. Fearless as you are, as Wonwoo wishes he was. He wonders if this is what the goddess of war incarnate looks like.

“Behind you,” he calls out instead. You do not even bother to look as you sink your blade into the soldier’s abdomen, drawing it out as quickly as you had struck.

“Good call,” you tell him. He feels like his stomach might flip.

Wonwoo’s vision clears a little bit, head still spinning. The soldiers seem to be retreating, at least those who are still alive or somewhat injured; the last few are hasty to mount their horses, riding away in a frenzy. Smoke catches in his throat – why is there smoke?

“The house,” he croaks out, coughing violently. “The roof, it’s on fire.”

“I know,” you say, “A part of it caved, but nobody was inside. Chan is putting it out.” Then you frown, a particularly worried expression. “Wonwoo, what happened? Are you alright?”

“Nothing. Yes.” Wonwoo coughs again, clearing his throat, and tries to bring himself to his feet. “Where is Seungcheol? Is everyone okay?”

He lets you pull him up, against his better judgement. Aside from the fact that he can feel every wounded part of his leg, he is suddenly reminded again of the surprising coolness of your touch. True to your words, half of the roof is sunken in, the wood black and burnt – but it is nothing that is not fixable, if he and Mingyu have at it for an hour or two. Otherwise, he is satisfied to see there is no other damage to the house, and thankful that Hayun had not been inside.

He watches as Hansol emerges from his spot, perched on top of a boulder on the hill. You gasp, pulling him into a tight hug.

“Do not ever disappear on me again,” you say, sternly. “I thought they had found you.”

“No, I am sorry,” he shakes his head, bashful. “I should have fought with you. But I did not have any other weapons, and I was not sure what to do. I thought I could be more useful from a hidden spot.”

“You should not be sorry,” Wonwoo cuts in, “I cannot tell you how many times you nearly saved my life down here. You have excellent aim.”

Hansol takes the compliment with slightly red cheeks and a mumbled thanks under his breath. Wonwoo notices how you lean on him for support as you walk, wincing when you put more weight on your injured leg.

In the distance, Jeonghan and Seungcheol sit together, propped up against the fence. No – Wonwoo squints a little – Seungcheol is propping him up, one arm around Jeonghan’s shoulders and his other hand pressed against his torso. Chan stands above him, speaking frantically.

That cannot be right, he thinks, trying to shake off the dire feeling on his shoulders.

It is not until he gets closer that he realizes Jeonghan barely has his eyes open, lashes fluttering as he rests his head on Seungcheol’s shoulder. To Wonwoo’s complete horror, he understands that it is the deep red of blood that soils Seungcheol’s fingers where they rest over Jeonghan’s robes.

He feels you balk slightly beside him, and that is all the confirmation he needs.

The tears that have caught on Seungcheol’s lashes are unmistakable. Jeonghan himself sports a wry smile, and he has never been a better embodiment of the irony of life than in this moment. There is a small cut just below his eye, and it is clear just how much strength it pulls from him to take each precarious breath.

Wonwoo barely feels anything as his knees hit the ground. He does not know what to say, where to put his hands; he had not been given any time to prepare for what to do as he watches a dear friend breathe his last.

“What happened?” he manages, finally.

Seungcheol shakes his head, starts to say something but none of it comes out intelligible. Wonwoo swallows down his next question, sharp and prickly as it goes down his throat, and carefully takes Jeonghan’s outstretched hand in his instead.

“You promised,” Seungcheol says, clearly this time. But his voice still wobbles, thick with despair. “Before we started all this, remember? I made you swear never to take a blade for me. You promised, Jeonghan.”

The latter only smiles. “Do not be so dramatic,” he rasps weakly. “I did what had to be done.”

Jeonghan’s nonchalance never fails to pull a laugh out of everyone, but this one comes out half like an amused snort, and half like a sob. His fingers tighten just a little around Wonwoo’s, and he holds onto him like he’ll slip away if he doesn’t.

Every memory comes rushing back — each morning he had turned down going to hunt together, all the times he went to bed early saying he was too tired to train. Now he’s stuck wringing out all the time he could have had with him, collecting every precious second.

It’s a wrecking thought, the if only I had known.

Wonwoo slips back into the present at the quiet call of his name.

“Hyung,” he answers, softly. He waits for something, anything more — but no words come. Another laborious breath rattles through Jeonghan’s lungs. Seungcheol presses his face into his dear friend’s hair to hide his expression, but he is not fooling anybody.

In this moment, Wonwoo is not sure of anything. He does not even know where his tears end and the blood begins to pool beneath him. But he feels exactly the moment Jeonghan breathes his last, his fingers losing their grasp on his own hand.

Seungcheol knows it, too, lets the sobs finally wrack through his body. He had not wanted Jeonghan’s last moments to be filled with unpleasant memories, but he is left picking up all of the pieces.

A soft thud interrupts the moment. Mingyu is at the gate, Hayun at his side. Shock is written all over their faces and in the basket that rolls onto the ground.

Mingyu’s eyes are questioning. They have always been able to communicate like this, and right now Wonwoo knows exactly what he is asking. Suddenly, and selfishly, he wishes it was not possible.

He has to shake his head. No.

Jeonghan’s hand is still warm in his. A terrible trick by the universe, he thinks, to rip him away from the earth so cruelly. Bring him back, he wants to shout, but he knows it will not change a thing. It is all out of his hands.

Wonwoo lets another heavy tear fall onto his friend’s lifeless skin, and prays that Jeonghan’s final seven minutes are as happy as he deserves.

The weeks that follow are full of solemnity. Everyone carries a particular kind of guilt, balancing it precariously between their shoulders.

Nobody fixes the roof. It is the least of their worries, and you know this. If anything, it is a reminder – a memorial of sorts. You avoid looking at it, so that you are spared from the recollection of that day’s events.

It is a strange thing, grief. You had not known many things about Yoon Jeonghan; and yet you find yourself mourning him in the pockets of stray minutes you find in the day. Your guilt is different from the others – if the soldiers had killed you in the forest that day, he would be alive still. The universe has a cruel way of keeping balance.

Seungcheol, for one, carries himself like a ghost. You cannot get it out of your head, the way he had sat by Jeonghan’s body for hours and hours afterwards, as if his pleas would magically wake him again. He had seemed hollow, even as he placed the magnolia flowers Jeonghan had adored so much on top of his grave.

Wonwoo barely speaks at all. But where Seungcheol is a blank slate, he is a muddled canvas. You had once thought him emotionless, cold – oh, how wrong you had been. Sorrow hangs from every sharp corner of his body where it does not leave his mouth in the form of words, rolling off his shoulders and crashing against his calves. In his eyes lies an anguish you recognize all too well. An identical one rests somewhere, deep in your heart, and has for years.

Where the others fold in on themselves, Hayun unfurls. She tells you stories; of Jeonghan’s antics when he was younger, of Mingyu when they had known each other as children, and many more. It feels like a revival, and you listen intently as you help her with errands, wanting the full picture.

Occasionally, Wonwoo is already there when you walk in, ready to assist. He does not say much while Hayun talks, but the look he has always given you has changed. It is not so coarse now, smoother round the edges, and significantly less malicious.

Observant as ever, as he has always been.

The air is always thick with settled misery, and you find it difficult to fall asleep at night. Your nightmares wake you, and they are the exact same every time. It is always dark, always empty – you reach out, but for what you do not know. There is nothing there, and you always fall deeper into a black hole that seems to extend infinitely all around you.

Every time, you wake with a gasp. Hansol is always peacefully asleep beside you, dead to the world. You never manage to stay in bed through the sunrise. More than anything else, you wonder why your brother does not appear in your dreams any longer. It is your own personal distress, albeit silly. He is not even real anymore, but you take his sudden silence as desertion.

One day, you find a crumpled piece of paper fallen just behind a shelf. You pick it up to toss it out, but your curiosity gets the better of you at the last minute, and you unfold it carefully.

It is a simple sketch. Not one you have seen before, but after hours of observation, you would recognize the hand that drew this anywhere. The frustrated scribbles in a corner and light retracings are a dead giveaway.

There are footsteps behind you. You do not need to look to know that it is Wonwoo. Belatedly, you wonder when you learned what his presence feels like.

He nods, towards the paper. “What is that?”

You pass it to him. Like you, he recognizes it instantly. The first sound of amusement in weeks leaves his throat, a little snort.

“So very Jeonghan,” he says. You know exactly what he means.

Wonwoo’s eyes are subtly red and puffy. This you had seen not so long ago; you will never forget the way he had wept over Jeonghan’s body, tears streaming down his cheeks relentlessly. It was a sight you did not want to witness again, ever. Just being there had put your own heart in serious danger of cracking, if only a little.

Are you alright? The question almost slips from your mouth. But you already know the answer, so you just hold your tongue.

“Did you need something?” you ask instead.

“No.” Wonwoo shakes his head a bit, a habit you’ve noticed he’s developed to toss the hair away from his forehead. “Hansol wanted to spar a little. Thought it would take my mind off of things.”

You smile to yourself. Hansol had always been this way, knowing just the right thing to do. “And did it?”

Wonwoo thinks about it, tongues his cheek before nodding. You take in his figure – this tall, broad man rooted in hesitation in front of you. The cut on his cheek has healed well, you notice, leaving a scab behind. The bruise on his jaw is not yet gone, but the discoloration should dissipate within a few more days.

The moment hangs, suspended in the air. Neither of you move, but nobody says anything either. You watch him weighing his uncertainty, eyes shifting from the wall to the floor and back to the wall again. The awkwardness only grows by the second.

Wonwoo breaks the silence first. “How did you go on?”

“What?”

“After Seungkwan,” he clarifies. You wonder at how he says his name with a particular sort of reverence that has your chest warming at an inhumane level. “After the letter.”

“I did not have a choice,” you tell him, ruefully. “I have always been fighting, always running. It never stops. Seungkwan knew that, too. If I had given up, I am convinced he would have come back as a spirit to haunt me.”

The corner of Wonwoo’s mouth lifts slightly at your attempt at a joke. As the days blur past, you have come to collect those little smiles and pocket them away. Those rare moments have become tiny fragments you choose to cherish in your masked silence.

“There are so many regrets,” he confesses suddenly. “So many things I wish I had not said, or done. So many times we fought over such stupid things. It all comes back now.”

“It always does. But you cannot change the past.”

It had for you, too – but you suppose it must have been infinitely worse for Wonwoo, who had held Jeonghan’s hand as he drew his last breaths. You had, at least, been spared the agony of watching Seungkwan die. The realization sparks a newfound ache in your heart for all that Seokmin had to go through alone.

Wonwoo’s mouth opens again, and you subconsciously hang onto his next words. It is unexplainable how he sparks your curiosity, your intrigue, snagging your attention at every turn. Somehow you had each already begun to unravel yourselves to the other, whether you knew it or not.

“I must tell you something,” he starts. You nod, gesturing for him to go on. “Seungcheol has been planning something. Not just a resistance – a movement, for change. Something this country has not seen for many years.”

“That is good,” you agree, unsure where this is going.

“We are working with allies, small groups all over the country. It is all coordinated; we will reach the soldiers before they find us,” Wonwoo continues, determined. “We must remove Lee Muyeol from power for good. The people cannot continue to live like this. We are fortunate enough to be able to mostly live off the land, but thousands are left starving. It will not do. Even the young prince would be more just, more caring than his puppet ruler of a father.”

It dawns on you, slowly. “Jeon Wonwoo, are you asking me to help you stage a coup?”

He winces slightly. “It sounds horrible when you put it like that.”

“Alright, then. You are trying to oust the king’s brother from power, effectively also putting a dent in the king’s reign itself.”

“Infinitely worse, for sure.” He chuckles, then, a bit of mirth slipping into his eyes before he grows serious again. “I do not expect you to agree. But I want you to know that you have this choice before you, if you choose to take it.”

You fidget with your fingertips, weighing it in your mind, because you know that after all is said and done, Wonwoo is correct. Your own family had fallen victim to the violence that had erupted after food became a scarcity in the north, and it had torn your childhood apart. Suddenly you think of everyone you have lost – Seungkwan, Jeonghan, your brother whose face you cannot recall. A certain indignance rises to your throat at the very thought.

“You do not have to answer now,” Wonwoo repeats, and he turns to go. But you have already made up your mind in the time it takes him to reach the doorway.

“Wait!” you call out. “Wonwoo, wait. I want in.”

“What?”

You raise your eyebrows. “You should not ask questions if you are not prepared to hear the answer.”

“I heard you,” he confirms, voice gravelly. “But… you are sure?”

“Yes.” You fold your arms. “Why? You do not think I can hold my own?”

“What? Of course I do.” Wonwoo’s eyes soften, just a little, though his tone retains some of the attitude he always seems to have on standby while speaking to you. “I have watched you kill a man with no hesitation in one single blow. Do you think I am stupid, blind, or both?”

“I do not believe you would want me to answer that question,” you say sagely. You succeed in drawing an exasperated half-smile out of him again, and a part of you wonders why you enjoy it so much.

Wonwoo catches your gaze mid-chuckle. You cannot look away, and there is that inevitable pull again, the one that always leaves you a confused mess. A voice inside your head is screaming at you to tear your eyes off of his, but you do not, refusing to be the one to break first.

“We will discuss this more with Seungcheol. After dinner,” he says, at last. “Meet us outside. Do not be late.”

Wonwoo has begun to wonder if this is not as good of an idea as he originally thought.

You and Seungcheol frown at each other, clearly in a standoff. Wonwoo has been keeping time; the two of you have been arguing about the best route to the capital for the past twenty-four minutes, and he does not know how much longer he can listen to this.

“Following the river gives us the best chance at survival,” you point out, tapping the map that is spread out on the table. “I do not see what else is up for discussion.”

“It also makes us easier to follow and find. Do you want to get caught before even reaching the city?”

Wonwoo groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. No progress has been made at all – in fact, he thinks you’ve all taken quite a few steps in the opposite direction.

“Alright, hold on. We cannot take a total detour. That will waste too much time, and we will still be at risk of getting caught early. However,” he continues, even though Seungcheol is currently glaring daggers at him, “We cannot risk going along the river the whole way. Remember, we must travel on foot.”

“An amazing idea,” you mutter, arms folded.

Wonwoo ignores you and traces along a separate route with his finger, dragging it up and eastwards. This path dances along the riverbank before sharply moving out, staying concealed while making the most distance in the interest of time.

“This might be better,” he says. “Or if we set off towards the western mountains before swinging back. That could work, too.”

“I will think about it,” Seungcheol grumbles. You just shake your head indignantly. That, in itself, is a peace offering in his book. Wonwoo doesn’t complain and takes what he can get.

Time passes like this; slow, but grueling. Every second seems to weigh on his bones, shackles on his wrists and ankles. He does his best to ignore the dread pooling in his stomach and soldier on.

He visits Jeonghan every day without fail. Never at the same time as Seungcheol, who makes his visits in the morning – he goes at night, armored by the breeze. It is not much work, for they had buried him over the hill, under the magnolia tree he had loved so much. Sometimes when the wind blows through the branches, it is as if Jeonghan’s voice carries through the wind.

Wonwoo sits, knees hitting the dirt. The sun is low over the hill, flickering as it slowly sets.

“Well,” he starts. “At least Y/N and Seungcheol have stopped fighting now.”

He can almost hear Jeonghan’s response in his mind. The man would have had some witty comment ready, a clever response always at the tip of his tongue.

“We leave in a few days. Just the three of us. Mingyu did not speak to me for a week when I told him he was to stay back with Hayun and the others.” He presses his palm against the soil, remembers what it had felt like to hold Jeonghan’s hand for the last time. “But I do not think he is well enough for this journey, still. I know you would have agreed.”

Wonwoo has developed a habit of pausing between sentences. He does not know why. It is no longer a conversation, just a monologue that Jeonghan will never actually get to hear.

“I wish you were here,” he says finally, throat thick with a feeling he does not really want to name.

There are always many things he catalogues during the day, little tidbits of information he would have told Jeonghan immediately. A new family of rabbits up the hill, or a particularly pretty patch of wildflowers in the woods. But none of it ever matters, really, by the time he sits in front of the lonely headstone again. All of those words disappear again.

It all boils down to this. I miss you. I wish you were still here. Come back. Who am I supposed to tell about the birds when you are no longer with me?

It does not matter. The birds keep chirping, and the world goes on. Quietly, in its own way. The trees and the flowers will not remember Yoon Jeonghan the way Wonwoo does, sharp and playful and gently prickly in all of the right places.

Sometimes, you are there too. You always leave as he arrives, and Wonwoo used to wonder bitterly why you even bothered to come, but he thinks he understands now. Rather, he basks in your presence, knowing that under your rough exterior there is a woman who understands how it feels to constantly grieve.

He even asks you to come with him, the morning of your departure. It is still hours to sunrise, and he would be a little surprised that you are awake, if he did not already know that you’ve always had trouble sleeping. You look a little tired, and a little taken aback by his request, but you follow him anyway, rubbing the exhaustion from your eyes.

The silence is thick. He can sense that you are waiting for him to speak first, but he does not feel any pressure. Only patience.

“He was everything I had ever hoped to be,” Wonwoo says quietly, when his mind settles. You give him an odd look.

“You do not need to be Jeonghan,” you tell him. “Just you.”

“I looked up to him. I learned from him.” He clenches his fist, dirt crumbling beneath his fingers. “Chan deserves to have somebody like that, too.”

You meet his broken gaze. “And he already does.”

Wonwoo cannot seem to get enough of that look in your eyes. Sharp, but earnest. A rare thing, and so he tries to preserve every last second and archive it away in some safe corner of his mind. He commits the rise and fall of your shoulders to memory, filing away the soft curve of your lips for a later thought.

The goodbyes are quick, though Wonwoo does not like to call them that. He lets Mingyu hug him, warm hand patting his shoulder, and reaches out to ruffle Chan’s messy hair affectionately.

“I still wish you would let me come with you, hyung,” the younger grumbles, leaning into the embrace. “I can fight, too.”

“I know you can,” Seungcheol soothes him. “But that is why we need you here, in case they come again. You are more than capable.”

Hansol sighs to himself, but Wonwoo catches it anyway. He feels the same way as Chan, burned by the guilt of being told to stay back instead of fighting a battle he was complicit in. But you had told him it would be all right, and promised to return safely. Wonwoo himself made no such promises, and nobody had asked it of him. He knows better than to swear things he will not have control over. Your optimism sends a twinge of sadness to his soul.

He turns to Mingyu, who looks on with an unreadable expression, fingers gently intertwined with Hayun’s. “I hope you are not still upset with me,” he says gingerly.

“I could not ever stay upset with you.” Mingyu’s eyes are shiny, threatening to spill the tears. “Not at a time like this.”

Wonwoo knows what he means. This may well be the last time they speak. There is no telling what will happen at the capital, and who will come back alive. He wants to tell Mingyu not to worry, but the words don’t come, just an understanding nod. Between them, nothing more needs to be said.

The first hints of light begin to peek out as the three of you set off. The dawn emboldens Wonwoo, as it always has. He carries the small satchel of food Hayun had meticulously packed over his shoulder, tying the ends across his torso so he can move hands-free. Seungcheol has the map, currently unfolded in his hands, and you follow with a compass, darting between the trees silently.

None of you speak much – a given, for this sort of journey. Wonwoo trudges on quietly, occasionally mumbling a heads up for you when there is a loose rock or a particularly large root. He waits, always, for your quiet thanks to make its way back to his ears.

He does not dare look back. Not when the sunlight filters through the forest canopy at just the right angle and sets you alight. You are already bright, a blazing force. Wonwoo does not believe himself strong enough a man to behold you in all your illuminated glory. His already grieving heart hurts a little more at the sight of your brilliant eyes.

Instead, he keeps his eyes forward, takes in all the green around him. The forest revives him with every step, every gentle brush of his fingers against a tall blade of grass. Just for now, it allows him to forget – the blood, the blade, the battle. In this moment, there is no war; just the creeping vines and sturdy larch trees that have always been there, and will always be.

“Do you hear that?” you murmur softly. Wonwoo tilts his head, listens carefully. He can just barely make out the sound of a lively current, water splashing onto the stony bank. Seungcheol notices it, too, checking the map again.

“We are making good progress,” he says, satisfied. “This should not take us more than three or four days, give or take. We should arrive at the same time as the others.”

Wonwoo nods, knows exactly what others Seungcheol is talking about. People just like them, who had suffered the same things but worse, and decided to do something about it. Young men and women who had lost families and a means to put food on the table, who had not been as fortunate as they had. Those from the southeast, far from the woodland vegetation, would have had it the hardest.

Seungcheol turns, then, saying it is a good time to stop and eat. You make a beeline for the river eagerly, and Wonwoo follows along, light on his feet the whole way through.

The grass becomes sparser the closer he gets, giving way to rocky ground. The river runs fast, the current swirling up and crashing against the boulders studded alongside it. It is a beautiful sight, for sure, but Wonwoo is distracted by you gently dipping your fingers into the water and basking in the coolness.

“What are you standing there for?” you ask without turning. Faintly, he wonders how you knew he was there, but he approaches you still.

“You seem to enjoy the water,” he observes. You smile, lightly reminiscent.

“Well, I am from the north. Very landlocked,” you say. “I only visited the coast once, when I was a child. I barely remember it. But I do know that the current is a wondrous thing, as alluring as it is dangerous.”

Wonwoo has to bite back the words on his tongue, the ones that want to say that that is exactly how he would describe you. His downfall, his double-edged sword. But he would never say it out loud, knowing what he is to you.

Which begs the question – what is he to you? Not a friend just yet, not a captor anymore. Just someone to fight alongside with, just another person. Just Wonwoo.

Just you, you had told him earlier that morning. It warms him, from the inside. He has not forgotten at all.

Instead, he takes a seat on one of the large boulders beside you, rummaging through the satchel for a flask and something to eat. “Are you hungry?”

“Not particularly,” you shake your head. “But I would not say no to some water.”

He passes you the flask, as well as a small package. “You need to eat,” he says. “Seungcheol says we will not stop until sunset.”

Wonwoo watches you drink, sweat trickling down the column of your throat and pooling at the base of your neck, then looks away sharply. He doesn’t like how it makes him feel, to see you like this – so resplendent as you simply just exist in the world around you.

“Will you visit home again soon?” he asks instead. “You know, after…”

He knows you don’t need him to finish the sentence, the latter half left unsaid. You think about it, popping a slice of dried persimmon in your mouth.

“After,” you agree, swallowing. “I must. It has been too long since I have seen my sisters. Too dangerous, to go there again. I do not want to place a target on their backs.” Your eyelashes sweep your skin as you lower your eyes to the ground. “My presence has already caused two casualties. There cannot be more.”

Wonwoo’s heart aches. He had wanted so badly to blame you in the days following Jeonghan’s death, trying to find somewhere to place the anger in his chest. But he could not, in good conscience, hold you accountable for it.

“It was not your fault,” he says quietly.

“You do not need to say that. I openly blamed you for Seungkwan’s death, and this is the same thing.” A singular tear falls from the corner of your eye into the river below. Wonwoo looks away, to give you some semblance of privacy.

“I did not take offense when you said it.”

“You should have.” Your voice is thick with guilt. “I would have, if I were you. I was so cruel.”

“It is alright, ” Wonwoo says. “I understand.”

You look at him ruefully. “I understand, too.”

The two of you sit like that, side by side, basking in the gentle sunlight. Wonwoo looks on as you remove your boots, dipping your legs into the water. A tiny giggle escapes your throat as you watch the colorful fish that dart around, weaving between the reeds. It is a new sound. He tries his best to memorize it, while he can.

The moment does not last. The reverie is interrupted by Seungcheol’s voice calling out for you, and Wonwoo knows that it is time to keep moving. He packs up his satchel again, standing as you dry off your feet, and offers his hand to help you up the rocky slope once your boots are back on. You eye it warily for a few seconds before taking it, careful with your steps.

“Thank you.”

“No problem.” Wonwoo waits for you to let go of him first, the feeling lingering on his fingers. He turns to go, but you pass him the last dried persimmon slice, stopping him in his tracks.

“I did not poison it, if that is why you were hesitating,” you add, before softening a bit. “You did not eat earlier, either.”

Wonwoo can’t find the words to reply just yet. Instead he huffs a little laugh, accepting it graciously. The fruit is chewy and honeyed, but it sits on his tongue just a touch sweeter than he remembers. Whether that is real or his mind’s own doing, he does not know.

Emptiness, again. But it is warm this time, strangely familiar. You stretch your arms out around you, but there is still nothing.

Ah. There you are.

Immediately you relax, relief rushing through your body. What took you so long?

Patience, little tiger. An affectionate laugh, one you recognize all too well. It simply was not the time.

I thought you had gone. For good.

There is no response. Just that familiar tenderness curling itself around you and lifting you up. To where, you do not know. You cannot see anything above you, nor below. It is dark, everywhere.

Remember this, sister. When the truth shows itself, it will never do you good to hide from it.

What does that even mean? You nearly ask the question, but everything begins to spin relentlessly. Your vision blurs – not that there's anything for you to see – and the sheer pressure of it all forces you to tear your eyes open.

You are met directly with an unobstructed view of Wonwoo’s face. Even in sleep, he is rather beautiful. The soft dawn’s glow rests gentle on the slope of his face, leaving his sharp features illuminated. You sit up slowly, shivering when the cool wind hits your face.

This is not new to you. There had been many nights where you had slept beside Seokmin and Seungkwan, on all of those assignments you carried out over the years. Hell, you had even shared the floor with Hansol for the past month or so.

But this is different. You have to fight the urge to observe him closer, taking in the curl of his lashes and the mole that sits beneath his right eye. It is magnetic, and unsettling.

The dream has left you restless. You get to your feet quietly, to avoid waking the others, and duck out of the tent. Seungcheol had said it would be best to leave at dawn, but you had not felt like waking them just yet. They will be up sooner or later, you think, stretching.

You take the time to walk around a bit, taking note of the plants and flowers that are so different from the ones back home. The newness of it all is scintillating. The northern regions are dry, and unwelcoming to both flora and fauna alike. But here they flourish, reflecting bright colors into the surrounding forest. You think about another timeline where your adolescent years might have been filled with this kind of wonder, instead of the smell of burning wood and blood.

The seconds move on their own. You do not know exactly how much time has passed by, just that the sun is a bit stronger now, and you can feel the heat on your back.

A sudden call of your name has you flinching out of surprise. It is muffled by the thick forest, but it comes again, closer this time. Instinctively your hand goes to your belt, but you realize that you have left all of your weapons inside the tent.

There is a loud rustling behind you. You turn sharply, and a few twigs snap. Wonwoo emerges from the leaves, all wide-eyed and panicked. He just stares at you for a few seconds, chest heaving like he had been running.

You blink at him, confused. “... Good morning?”

“You are alright,” he breathes, fingers gripping one of his knives so tight his knuckles go white. It is more of a confirmation to himself than a question. He scans you, like he is checking for any sign of injury. “You disappeared. We did not know where you had gone.”

You arch a brow at him. “Are you okay?”

Wonwoo lets out a painstaking breath. His shoulders shake with relief, and something else. “I fall asleep with you next to me, and when I wake up, you are nowhere to be seen. Do you see the problem here?”

“No, because I am completely fine,” you explain, suddenly provoked. “I just wanted to walk a bit, stretch my legs.”

“How am I supposed to know that if it looks like you have simply vanished?” He folds his arms, jaw tight. “Did it not strike you to wake one of us up if you were going to stray so far?”

“It was not far,” you shoot back crossly. Your surprise is slowly beginning to morph into a specific frustration that only seems to rear its ugly head in front of Wonwoo. “If you did not think I could last twenty minutes by myself, you should not have asked me to come with you.”

Wonwoo frowns deeply. “That is not what I meant.”

“It sounds exactly like it.” You raise your chin, feeling challenged, and take a bold step forward. The ball has been tossed back to your side of the court, and the burning flame in Wonwoo’s eyes only feeds your temper. “I should have known you were the kind of man who underestimates everyone’s capabilities, except your own.”

The words come out much harsher than you intend, and it surprises even yourself. You see it as the sentence leaves your mouth, the flash of hurt in Wonwoo’s sharp, angled eyes. It’s gone before you can truly register it, replaced by something more intense than vexation that you cannot place.

“We are supposed to look after each other,” Wonwoo says, harshly. Yet there is a strange softness in his expression that you would have almost missed if you weren’t paying such close attention. “Your safety is a part of my responsibility.”

“My safety is my own responsibility,” you retort. When had you gotten so close? The mere inches that lie between you and Wonwoo are charged with an anger that eventually pools out into something else, something much more perilous. Your tone picks up all the sarcasm in the world as you say, “Help me understand, Wonwoo. Why should you care so much?”

It all happens so fast, and yet the seconds feel slowed down. You do not know who moves first – you take another step, he leans into you – but the moment Wonwoo’s mouth meets yours, something clicks. His lips are slightly chapped, a consequence of long travel and the dehydration that follows it. You take the opportunity to swipe your tongue across his bottom lip, biting gently, and the groan that leaves his throat is music to your ears. It delights you, the way he seems to melt into your touch, and you kiss him back with matched fervor.

“Why should I care?” Wonwoo’s head dips to your jaw as he repeats your question. “You are a force of nature. The sun and the moon and the stars, all at once. I know you do not need protection. And still my heart seems to ache, when you are not safe.”

“Wonwoo,” you breathe, unable to form any other thoughts. Your fingers tighten even more around the soft cloth of his robes, tugging him closer.

“You are so strong, so clever – so sharp with the words you use. Infuriating, but equally captivating. And that,” he says, dragging his lips down the column of your throat, “is the most dangerous thing of all.”

It is dizzying, so much so that you barely register the tiny sound of satisfaction that escapes your throat. Embarrassing, in any other scenario.

But it is Wonwoo, holding your face with all the gentleness that had not been there just five minutes ago, and so it does not matter at all. Not even as you tilt your head to the side, his soft hair tickling your skin, allowing him room to press an almost reverent kiss to your collarbone. The feeling burns, but in a way that feels like you are floating.

Wonwoo’s eyes are unreadable when he finally looks up at you. The air is fraught; you open your mouth but nothing comes out. All the words are stuck in your throat as you try to hold onto the sensation of his mouth against yours. You probably look a mess, and so does he – but he is a work of art even now, hair mussed and lips slightly swollen, cheeks flushed under the morning sun.

In the distance, you hear your name again. This voice is different, a bit rougher. As if on instinct, you and Wonwoo separate like repelling magnets, immediately putting a few yards’ space between each other.

“Seungcheol,” he says, not looking away from you.

“We should go,” you add quietly. He nods, but you cannot let go of the comfort you had felt in his arms. A strange, new feeling. Did you want more of it? What do you want?

You do not get to finish that line of thought. Seungcheol stumbles in, nearly tripping on a large root and steadying himself with one hand on a tree trunk.

“There you are,” he says, frowning slightly. “Are you okay? You were not there when we woke up. We were worried.”

“Wonwoo is here. I am alright.” You dare to glance over at him, just for a second. He watches you like you are the moon that rises in his night. “I should have woken you both, I am sorry.”

“All that matters right now is that we are all alive and well.” Seungcheol shifts his eyes between you and Wonwoo. Suddenly you are aware of how close you two are standing, and how it must look. You discreetly shuffle backwards, heat rising to your cheeks.

Wonwoo clears his throat, still avoiding your gaze. “Shall we get going? We should have already left by now.”

Seungcheol nods. “We will need to stop at a safe house right outside the capital to regroup with the others. It should not be too long a journey left, if we make good distance.”

You glance up at the sky. The sun is already quite high, growing brighter with each passing minute. To reach the capital by nightfall, you have no choice but to leave now.

It is with an unsteady heart that you make your way back to the tent, chest heavy with the implications of everything that has just happened. You cannot rid your mind of the memory, Wonwoo’s touch setting your body alight. Somewhere along the line you had begun to find him enchanting rather than irritating, reluctant affection replacing the hatred you had harbored so long ago.

You watch him smile at something Seungcheol says, light hitting his features just right, and wonder at how he had once been the man you were set out to kill.

Between your thoughts, you try to ignore the way Wonwoo’s hands gently brush against yours, knuckles knocking against each other. He doesn’t look at you, but you feel the same tension emanating off of his broad shoulders and bowed head. To say something now is to break the precious silence, and so both of you remain quiet.

Seungcheol hoists the supply bag over his shoulder and pulls out the map again. You press your palm against the ground, trying to memorize the sights and sounds, and set off further north.

To say that Wonwoo is losing his mind would be a violent understatement.

He had not known, really, what had possessed him in that moment. All he was thinking was you, you, you, as you had glared up at him fiercely with those eyes. It was a mixture of sheer relief at the sight of you, unharmed, and the utter tenderness that had risen into his chest that had set off his mind.

And you had kissed him back – he cannot forget how your fingers had tangled themselves into his hair, tugging gently. A part of him knew, he thinks, that that would happen. It had been evident in the way you had leaned into him, almost challenging him to do something. But he has never been the type of person to let himself hope on such high stakes; at least, not until now.

Seungcheol eyes him warily. “You look unwell. Did you not sleep enough?”

“I did,” Wonwoo mumbles, for lack of a better answer. He watches Seungcheol accept his response, before glancing back at you. The tension is palpable, and he only hopes the older man remains blissfully unaware of everything that had previously transpired.

“Well, I do hope you both are not at each other’s throats again. We cannot afford to have internal issues right now.”

Oh. That is how he chose to understand it. Wonwoo senses you stiffen behind him, bites back a quick retort about how he technically had been at your throat, and chooses to reply with a quiet hum of agreement. A few beats pass before he speaks again, only filled by the sounds of their quiet footsteps and the occasional songbirds’ chirping.

“What about you, hyung?”

Seungcheol gives a weak half-smile. “I am still walking,” he says. “Still moving, as always. There is no path but forward.”

Wonwoo knows he is not talking about their current journey. He had not spoken to Seungcheol much after they had buried Jeonghan. The older man had often preferred his solitude since then, shutting himself inside his room or throwing himself into busywork. Seungcheol has never been the kind of person to unburden himself unprompted. Wonwoo will never truly know if he does not ask.

“Is it any better?”

Silence. Seungcheol reaches into his pocket, and opens his fist to reveal a small magnolia flower. It is a bit wrinkled and worn, but still beautiful as ever.

“Not really,” he says. “It does not magically happen. Not unless you want it to, and it is stubborn even then.”

The message is somewhat cryptic, but Wonwoo knows just what he means. He senses the lingering grief that swims in the corners of Seungcheol’s eyes and knows that the conversation is over.

He does not get a chance to speak to you again until well past midday. It is hotter now, and with the tree cover slowly growing more and more sparse, there is no shade to seek shelter under. Wonwoo catches you fanning yourself with a hand as you take the new terrain in. He has always enjoyed watching you like this, full of that natural curiosity you like to indulge yourself in away from the life that demands your complete strength. A sparrow takes flight, and you follow its path with your eyes. You are beautiful under the bright sky.

You turn before he can announce his presence somehow, observing him for a moment before gently patting the spot on the rock next to you. Wonwoo does not decline it, settling carefully into the space you’ve designated specifically for him. He almost reaches out for you, almost.

“I can tell you want to say something,” you begin, sounding a tad amused. “Spit it out.”

Wonwoo has a thousand possible questions at the tip of his tongue. Should we talk about it? Do you feel the same? Will I be able to take it if you tell me it was all just a mistake?

“Are you ready?” he asks instead.

You shrug. “No such thing. If this is the last thing I do, I might as well throw myself in headfirst.”

“Do not say that,” Wonwoo murmurs. It is somewhere between a gentle rebuke and a plea. You turn to look at him, eyes brilliant and earnest, and he does not know what to do with himself. If he looks closer, he might see that there is a hint of affection that lies in your gaze.

“Why not?” You laugh dryly. “You know as well as I do that some of us might not make it back home alive. I am not so proud to assume that I might be one of the lucky ones.”

“I wish you would have a little more faith in yourself,” he says.

“Faith will not change a thing. If I am meant to die, it will happen.” You twist a dry blade of grass between your fingers. Wonwoo feels his heart twist in a similar way. “At least that way I might see my brother again.”

Wonwoo turns his head sharply, surprised. “You have never mentioned having a brother.”

You smile, but it does not reach your eyes. For such a usually joyous expression, you look rather despondent, mouth set in a thin line.

“Had,” you correct softly. “Even that is a stretch, I think. He left me with nothing but the sound of his voice and his name. I was so young, I cannot even remember his face. I will never know if we share the same eyes, or nose.”

Wonwoo thinks of Wonjae, briefly. He has always mourned the loss of the years they could have had, but he had never really thought to savor the memories they were able to make instead. He wonders how much more resilient he’d have to be, to honor Wonjae’s life with none of those moments intact.

“Tell me about him,” he says.

“There is not much to tell,” you shake your head, “It will not bring him back.”

“It is the only way you can keep his memory alive,” Wonwoo counters. “You can start with simple things. Like his name.”

A tiny grin curves your mouth upwards. “Kwon Soonyoung,” you say. “If you think I am a force of nature, you would have thought him a storm. A torrent.”

Wonwoo tries to ignore your recollection of his own words and focuses on the newness of the name. Powerful, and smooth as it is strong. “Like brother, like sister, then.”

“Well, of course. He was my twin. We shared a lot of things.” Subconsciously, you lean closer to him as you talk. “But he was older, by several seconds, and he never let me forget it. Little tiger, he used to call me. He was not even that much taller. I always told him to knock it off,” you huff, “but he never did.”

“That is a fitting nickname,” Wonwoo says, just a tad amused.

“He thought so, too.” You smile fondly. “He was obsessed with tigers – I remember this, at least. Very passionate, strong animals. I suppose I can see where the resemblance lies.”

“He sounds like quite the character.”

“He was. Or he might have been; I do not really know. He did not get a chance to grow into the person he wanted to become.”

Wonwoo hesitates just barely before asking his next question. “How did he…?”

You smile gently. “You can say it, Wonwoo. It has been over a decade.”

“Still. There are some wounds that time cannot heal.”

“I suppose that is true.” Wonwoo watches your shoulders tremble just a little, and takes the leap of faith, letting his arm rest around them comfortingly. He is half surprised when you do not reject it, instead melting further into his warm touch. “Soonyoung was always brave, almost to a fault. It cost him his own life, in the end.”

“You do not have to talk about it,” he says gingerly. “I should not have asked.”

“No,” you chuckle through the welling tears. Wonwoo wants so desperately to wipe them aside, to kiss the salty sorrow away from your skin. But he knows that if you do not cry about it now, you never will. “I have kept it to myself far too long. Even Soonhee and Soonja do not know what truly happened in those last moments. The royal guard arrived out of nowhere, and within minutes it was obvious that it was a losing battle. But I stayed back to help him, like a fool. I did not want to leave him behind.”

“I believe you are far more courageous than you think.”

“Not then. At that moment, I was being stupid,” you say, voice shaky. “I think I knew, even then, that he would not survive it. We were so young, and he had hardly been trained with a sword. I remember him yelling at us to leave while we could.”

“And you stayed.”

“I did. I thought there had to be some way we could all escape, for sure. But it became clear that it was not possible.” He watches you shut your eyes tightly, exhaling. “That was the first time I had ever lifted a sword in my entire life. I barely made it out. His sacrifice was almost for nothing.”

“But it was not,” Wonwoo points out gently. “You are still here. Still fighting. I am sure he would be proud of the woman you have become.”

“I hope so,” you whisper. “I try to live fearlessly, as he did. As brave as he was, even when he knew it was the end.”

Wonwoo hums, lets your words sink in. You had comforted him just like this, not so long ago. The memory is not lost on him.

“You do not need to live like your brother,” he says. “Just live for yourself.”

A quiet sob leaves your throat. He had not intended on saying anything that would make you feel even worse, but your head drops to his shoulder as your tears soak the fabric of his clothes. Wonwoo does not say anything, instead opting to rub his thumb in consoling circles over your skin. He feels his heart ache impossibly as you cry, but remains still. Sometimes, silence is the best remedy.

He waits until your breathing slows and your sniffling comes to an end to shift slightly, using the large misshapen rock behind him as support. Your head still lies on his shoulder, and he basks in the feeling of being someone you would let yourself lean on.

“Sorry about that,” you say softly, wiping your eyes.

“No need to apologize.” He rests his chin against the top of your head, doesn’t push any further. The two of you just sit together, taking in the moment before it is time for the inevitable trek to continue yet again. For the moment, the conversation is more or less over.

But Wonwoo grapples with the swirling feelings in his chest for far longer than that. You have him utterly curious, safely storing away each new piece of information he learns about you. Yes, you are one of the strongest people he knows – but when did that begin? What made you have to build up these sturdy walls? If anything, you only prove more and more admirable each time.

The more he learns, the more in love he thinks he is.

It is well past nightfall by the time the dirt path gives way to the paved roads of the capital and the surrounding towns. Seungcheol tells both of you to stay as quiet as possible and follow him discreetly down the bustling roads.

The safe house is tucked away in a more isolated part of town, far from the crowded centers with their night markets and food stalls. It is small and unassuming, with the lights dimmed inside. As they approach, Wonwoo can just barely make out hushed voices from inside.

Seungcheol raises a hand to the door, knocking in a particular rhythm. There is a few seconds of silence before it opens slowly, a shrewd-looking man at the door. He eyes the three of you warily.

“Name?”

“Choi Seungcheol. Fourth southwestern province.”

The man considers it for a moment before swinging the door open. It is warm inside, a sharp contrast from the night’s cool breeze. Wonwoo offers you his hand first, helping you up the steps and into the house.

He can’t quite hear what Seungcheol and the man are talking about. He only catches a name —Myungho, it sounds like. He’s got an interesting accent to his words, but only a light one. Wonwoo would not have caught it if it weren’t for the complexity of the words, consonants rolling over like waves.

“Tomorrow night is when we fight,” Myungho says quietly. “Make yourselves comfortable here, in the meantime.” Then his gaze flickers back to you, somewhat surprised. “You did not mention you were bringing a lady.”

Seungcheol raises his eyebrows. “Is that a problem?”

Wonwoo watches as Myungho’s eyes linger on you. Not judging, but evaluating. There is something in his narrowed eyes that seems like it should sting, but does not.

“Not at all,” he answers simply. “We will adjust sleeping arrangements accordingly. Would the lady prefer a separate area?”

“No need,” you say firmly. “I know space is a bit tight here. Just a corner will do. Thank you, though.”

Myungho bows his head. “Of course.”

Wonwoo follows you and Seungcheol further into the house. It is not so big, but there are not that many men inside in the first place. Just as well. There is a genuine concern for lack of safety in great numbers.

Suddenly, you gasp. “Seokmin?!”

One of the men by the kitchen area looks up at the sudden call of his name. Wonwoo watches as he rushes towards you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders excitedly.

Of course, this is no stranger. He recognizes the sharp nose and the shape of his side profile, has heard about the deep friendship you share with him, but still — a sharp pang of a feeling he doesn’t really like travels straight through his chest.

“I did not know whether you were alive,” Seokmin says, tears already spilling from his eyes. “I only had to hope that after losing Seungkwan, I had not lost you, too.”

You laugh, but Wonwoo knows the sound too well. That specific laugh is reserved for when you are trying not to cry. “You have not, Seokmin. I have been well.”

“And Hansol?”

“Hansol is well, too. He stayed back,” you explain. “I did not want to risk his life, as well.”

Seokmin sighs out of utter relief, then turns his earnest eyes to Wonwoo. There is a flicker of recognition in them.

“Oh, right. This is Seokmin,” you tell Wonwoo. He returns the polite nod, reaching out to shake his hand.

“Wait, I remember you,” Seokmin says, a bit sheepishly. He does not need to explain any further. It is all written in the slightly embarrassed expression on his face. Of course – as one of your most trusted men, he would have fought alongside you at every turn.

“You, too,” Wonwoo returns awkwardly. He glances between you and Seokmin, sensing there is much to be said. “Well, you both should catch up. I will be with Seungcheol if you need anything, okay?”

You grace him with a small, grateful smile. Somehow you glow even brighter, though the lights are dimmed. “Alright. Thank you.”

He bows, bidding Seokmin a good night, before meandering around the house. The smell of cooking stew rises from the kitchen, and he is suddenly aware of the hunger in his stomach. He pokes his head into the kitchen area and finds Myungho speaking in another language with the man chopping up radish on the counter. Seungcheol sits behind them, conversing with an older man with streaks of gray in his hair.

He raises his eyes once he registers Wonwoo’s presence. “All okay?”

“Mm.” Wonwoo takes his seat, perching on another wooden stool. “Y/N seems to be settling in well. She seems comfortable.”

“That is good.” Seungcheol gestures to the man sitting across from him. “This is Kim Minseok. He used to serve in the royal guard. He is retired now, but he has been extremely helpful to us in terms of intelligence and communication.”

Wonwoo bows his head in greeting. Minseok just laughs heartily, watching him with a mix of pride and amusement.

“Well, it is nice to finally meet you,” he says. “Choi here has told me all about you over the years. I had thought you were just a myth until now!”

Wonwoo flushes deeply. “All good things, I hope.”

“Ah, you worry too much. You are too young to be so cautious! Enjoy it while you can, eh?” Minseok takes another long sip of whatever liquid in his cup. “I hope to see this prowess Seungcheol speaks of soon enough, then.”

“Yes, of course, sir.”

Wonwoo zones out for the rest of the conversation, just letting in a few words here and there. They discuss strategy, and possible routes – he knows that none of that will truly matter in the end. There are only two ways tomorrow night will go, and out of those only one will prevail. It is already written. No matter how much Minseok or Myungho might want it, it will not change to their whims.

From the corner of his eye, he catches your reclined figure against a wooden chair. You laugh at something Seokmin says, eyes crinkling in that rare joy he so loves to see in your face. Wonwoo has never wanted more for all of this to be over sooner, just so that you might be happier, like this. No more fighting, no more spilt blood. Just you and your smile.

Myungho’s voice pulls Wonwoo out of his swirling thoughts. Seungcheol stands, pushing his stool out, and pats him on the shoulder gently.

“Come,” he says, offering a warm smile. It is one of the first Wonwoo has seen in weeks, and he savors it. “Dinner is ready.”

The stew is comforting, the heat warming your fingers through the ceramic of the bowl. You fold in on yourself even more, pulling your limbs closer to ward off the cold. Beside you, Seokmin is in a similar position as he spoons another piece of eggplant into his mouth.

You savor the taste carefully, mulling over everything he has told you so far. Of utmost importance was any sort of news from your sisters, and hearing that they were doing well brought you the most relief. Sangmin suffered through a fever, he mentioned, but he had recovered within a few days. That, thankfully, had been the worst of it.

Briefly, your eyes wander over to Wonwoo’s broad figure, listening intently as Myungho talks. His hair falls just short of his eyes, veiling his sharp brows and his tanned skin. A sight to see, under the low lights.

“You are distracted,” Seokmin observes, hiding a smile.

You tear your eyes from Wonwoo with a start. “No?”

“Oh, come on. You are not as closed a book as you think. And am I not allowed to be curious?” he asks. “You have told me quite literally everything, except for the man you arrived with. How can I not have questions?”

“I arrived with two men, Seokmin.”

“Yes, and only one of them has bothered to look in your direction twenty-five times in the past ten minutes. I am not blind, you know.”

This makes you sigh deeply, wondering if what he’s said is true. But it might very well be. You are not blind, either, as much as you would like to delude yourself into believing.

You do not tell Seokmin about the incident in the forest. That memory burns too bright to be shared. But you recount the slow evolution of your feelings towards Wonwoo, the slippery slope that had started as resentment and has now brought you to a precarious camaraderie.

You do not tell him about the strange new feeling in your chest, either. Or the fact that the deep-rooted affection in some corner of your heart has begun to sprout too prominent for you to ignore. This, you keep to yourself. If you do not say it, it does not have to sound as real.

Seokmin listens intently while you speak, as he always has. Nods along, as you describe the particularly difficult moments. He laces his fingers together once you finish, ever thoughtful.

“Well, he is quite handsome,” he says. “No complaints from me.”

“Seokmin!”

“Alright, alright,” he soothes, rubbing the spot on his arm where you had just hit him. “You are so violent. What sort of friend would I be if I did not give you my two cents, after all?”

You glare at him playfully. “An uninjured one.”

He holds both his arms up, feigning surrender. It draws another laugh out of you as you take another bite of stew, the flavorful spices dancing on your tongue. It is a sharp reminder for you to enjoy these happy moments while they last.

The house quiets down after most everyone has finished eating. You offer to help with the dishes, but Myungho insists that you sit, so you make yourself useful and towel dry the bowls after he washes them. Another man takes it upon himself to wipe down the counter, and the two of them chatter away in a vaguely familiar language as they work.

“Oh, dear. Forgive my manners,” the newcomer says suddenly. His accent is quite similar to Myungho’s, but a little less noticeable and smoother around the edges. “My name is Junhui. I live across town, actually, but I came over here to help however I can.”

“Nice to meet you,” you say, offering your own name in response. He smiles widely, eyes forming half crescents. “How do you both know each other?”

“Junhui and I are cousins,” Myungho explains. “But my family came here from China many years after his. My father was a paper merchant, and it was easier to find business here at the time than back home.”

You hum in understanding, taking in the new information. “You did not follow in his footsteps?”

“Almost. But I backed out, in the end.” Myungho smiles, his first of the night. “I did not want to sentence myself to something I knew I would detest. Instead, I moved up here to start a new life. I opened a restaurant here four years ago, along with Junhui.”

“That is a sharp pivot,” you remark.

“Perhaps. But you do not truly live until you dare to change.”

You look around the house again. If you squint, you can see it in your mind’s eye– remnants of a lively business, steaming bowls of soup and the chatter that comes with a well-fed crowd. The walls might have been painted red, decorated with small golden flowers. None of it is there now, only the ghosts of happy times.

“What happened?” you ask, quietly.

Myungho’s silence speaks volumes. Junhui sighs heavily, setting his towel down.

“Customers began to dwindle. It was not safe for them to be out so often, so of course it was not good for business.” He frowns as the memory sets in. “Eventually it was not enough to sustain ourselves. So we closed it down.”

“Royal intelligence was not fond of us, either,” Myungho adds. “There were many people who would gather here to discuss the government, and propose political change. Of course, none of it went under the radar. It was all rather frustrating for those in power.”

You watch as Junhui looks down at his hands as if he’s mourning those precious years. Everyone carries their own ghosts, grieving in a different way. But more than that, you feel guilty – you had, after all, fought on the side of those who abused their power and oppressed their people for years. The circumstances are beyond the fact. You are still complicit.

“That is terrible,” you say honestly. “I am sorry it happened that way. Truly.”

“No need.” Myungho smiles again, but it is sadder this time. “Nothing really ever dies, does it? We were not about to let the space go to waste. Now we operate out of here. It was two years ago, I think, that we started to use this house for… what do you call it?”

He fumbles to find the word for several seconds, before Junhui says something in a smooth Chinese dialect.

“Ah,” Myungho says finally. “Resistance.”

You understand, now. The spark in their eyes is one that has been burning for a long time, and it will not go out anytime soon.

“We are very thankful,” you tell him. “Without you both, this would not be possible.”

Junhui waves it off sheepishly, shaking the dark hair away from his forehead. “Alright, alright. That is not so. It has taken the effort and cooperation of many people for the movement to reach where it is right now.”

“Still,” you insist. “You have laid a sturdy foundation. Your work will not go in vain.”

“That is not something you or anyone else can guarantee,” he says sagely, “but I will accept the sentiment in the name of hope.”

You give him a wry smile. “Hope is all we have.”

Junhui mirrors your expression, but there is a particular weariness in his eyes. “I only wonder if it will be enough.”

The three of you finish cleaning up in silence, only broken by the occasional remark or stray joke, and you bid them goodnight when the dishes have been done and the kitchen is spotless. The others seem to be settling down, and you wander around for a bit before finding your spot beside a wall, just as you had requested.

The day weighs down on you, and you are suddenly aware of the soreness in your muscles from the days’ travel you’ve been doing. You lie down and let your body rest against the floor, reveling in the warmth of the heavy blanket. Apprehension pools in your stomach, but you try not to think about the events to come, instead focusing on your own steady breath.

You hear Seungcheol and Wonwoo speaking quietly before they lie down on their mats, too. The light goes out, and you close your eyes to feign sleep until you actually succumb to your dreams. However, you are not fooling anybody. Wonwoo shifts a little beside you, and you are painfully aware of the distance between you and him.

“I know you are awake,” he whispers. You peek out from under your blanket – you can barely see him in the dark, but your eyes adjust to the lack of light rather quickly. “You are quite terrible at pretending.”

“I did not ask for your opinion, Wonwoo.”

“I am giving it regardless.” He is quiet for the next few seconds, then says, “Having trouble sleeping?”

“What do you care?” He laughs dryly, a twinge of melancholy in his voice. “Please do not make me answer that question again. I do not think I can bear it.” Heat rises to your cheeks suddenly as the memory rushes back to you. It replays in your mind like a flashback, and you will your heart to slow itself. And yet, you savor the closeness, aware of the heat radiating from him next to you. “Sleep,” you say instead. “There is a long day ahead of us.” “You cannot say that as you look so deep in thought,” he counters. “Tell me what is going on that intricate brain of yours.”

You try to ignore the deepness of his voice and the rough edge it carries as you sort through your thoughts, attempting to find the words for them. There is no easy way to do it, but it feels a little better when Wonwoo is right beside you.

“I am afraid,” you confess suddenly. “As much as I try not to be. I spend my time wondering, what would Soonyoung do? And after that I wonder if I am capable of being half the person he was.” “You are,” Wonwoo says firmly. “And I know that you know it, too.” How strange a feeling, to have him pinpoint your exact thought so quickly! You peer at him, just barely making out his features, and grip the blanket just a little tighter. The realization that this could well be the last night you ever spend in his company is chilling. “I had a brother, too, once,” he continues softly. “I carry his ghost on my shoulders as I once carried him. But I cannot let that memory hold me back from fighting for what is important. And neither can you. Does that make sense?” You hum in agreement, letting it sink in. “You know, you did not strike me as the older brother type.” He wrinkles his nose. “What is that supposed to mean?” “Well, I thought you were an only child, for sure.” “Now you are just slandering me for the fun of it,” Wonwoo complains. A sudden laugh bubbles from your throat, spilling out into the silence, and you clap a hand over your mouth immediately to stifle the following giggles. He smiles, chuckling softly. “And you will wake everyone in this house, if you keep doing that.”

“Oh, be quiet,” you rebuke, settling back in. The weight of his previous words sits on your mind again. “You understand then, how it feels.”

“Mm.”

The two of you lie there, staring up at the ceiling of what used to be Myungho and Junhui’s livelihood. Silent understanding passes over you, like it always seems to. Your heart beats twice as strong somehow, when it is him that occupies the place at your side, and you fall asleep with that sense of security blanketing your mind.

Morning comes in the form of Myungho’s sharp voice. You quickly learn that as kind as he is, he does not seem to like coming off that way, and much prefers a steady routine. The floor is clear within minutes under his supervision, while Junhui gets to work on breakfast. You offer to help him, but he just waves you off, so you sit on the countertop and chat with him as the porridge cooks.

Wonwoo joins you both a few minutes later. You almost laugh at the sight of him – messy hair and tired eyes – and it warms your heart.

“There you are,” he says, voice still heavy with sleep. “I was wondering where you had gone.”

“Nowhere far. Just keeping Junhui company.”

“I see that.” He sits on the taller wooden stool, wincing as he rolls his shoulder. At your questioning look he says, “Definitely slept wrong last night. I think Seungcheol might have kicked me in his sleep, too. Multiple times.”

“Maybe you deserve it,” you shoot back playfully. Wonwoo’s mouth curves up into a knowing smirk that has your knees just a little weak.

“Anyhow, he seems very stressed,” he says. “I did not want to bring it up unnecessarily.”

“Everyone is on edge today,” Junhui agrees, stirring the porridge. “Even Myungho woke up in a terrible mood, if you could not already tell. Tonight is the night everything could change, for better or worse. Some of the men have already come to terms with the fact that this might be their last day alive.”

“But it might not be,” Wonwoo puts in thoughtfully. “Not necessarily.”

“That is true. But nobody knows.” Junhui sprinkles a pinch of salt into the pot. “Some feel it is better to resign themselves for the worst than to hope for the best. And who am I to tell them how to think?”

His words settle solemnly into the air, and he notices the sudden tension, clicking his tongue disapprovingly.

“Oh, do not be so serious. Would you want to live your last day in such gloom?” You shake your head no. “I thought so! Now get out of your head, and come eat this while it is still hot. I can see the gears in your brain turning already.”

You take the bowl he hands you gratefully, letting the warmth seep into your fingers. The first spoon of porridge is almost magical as it goes down your throat, and you savor the different flavors on your tongue.

“This is so good,” you tell him. “What did you even put in this?”

Junhui just winks at you. “Years and years of practice,” is all he will say. “Chef’s secret.”

The afternoon that follows is sweltering, at best. Sweat trickles down your back as you spar with Seokmin, wood knocking against wood as he parries your every strike. Wonwoo watches from the side, letting the last few drops of water fall from the flask into his throat.

“This weapon feels so wrong in my hand,” Seokmin says when you finally take a break, catching his breath. “I fear I am utterly dreadful with a sword.”

“Why did you not bring your bow?”

“I thought about it.” He shakes his head wryly. “It feels so detached. There is only so much you can do with limited arrows and such great distance. It is a great weapon, to be sure, but I feel quite useless at times.”

“Seokmin,” you scold, “you know you are one of the greatest archers I have ever met in my life. You are the opposite of useless.”

“But this is not the time to be passive. I wanted to do more.” Seokmin smiles wistfully, dangling the wooden sword from his fingers. “So I started training with one of Jihoon’s old swords. I am by no means perfect, but it will do.”

You pause for a moment, taking it in. He had never done anything but follow orders, both Muyeol’s and yours. And yet the guilt still hangs over his shoulders, ever present.

“Seokmin.”

“Yes?”

“You are certainly not dreadful.” You place a comforting hand on his shoulder. “It is new, that is all. And your skill is quite excellent for someone who has wielded a vastly different weapon for most of his life.”

A bright grin spreads across his face, a bit sheepish. “That is kind of you to say.”

“I mean it. Truly.” You pat his back gently. “Go rest, alright? You did well today.”

He nods and bows his head slightly. You watch his retreating back until he disappears behind the doorway, one hand on your hip as you bear the brunt of the midday sun. I need water, you think, walking back towards the rock Wonwoo’s sitting against.

He seems to know what you want before you have to ask, passing you a filled flask before you sit down beside him. “Good fight?”

“Definitely.” You take a long sip of the cool water. “Seokmin has improved so much. He used to hate it back at the palace. He only ever wanted to shoot arrows all day.”

“He seems very dedicated,” Wonwoo agrees. “That will serve him well in every regard.”

“Certainly.”

There is a heavy pause. Neither of you looks at the other. You can tell there are words at the tip of his tongue that he won’t say. But you do not comment on it; the same is true for you. You sit there beside him, watching the clouds hang in the sky, and savor the moment.

Eventually, you break the silence. “If I do not make it –” “No.” You give him a funny look. “You do not even know what I was going to say!” “I do,” he says quietly. “I feel like you have been meaning to say it for a while. But I was hoping I could delay it.” You soften at his words, intense tenderness squeezing at your heart. Gently you lay your head onto his waiting and ready shoulder, your chest rising and falling in time with his. “It is like Junhui said,” you tell him. “Nobody knows. Neither you, nor I. But I wanted to tell you, just in case.” “Don’t,” Wonwoo pleads. “You can tell me afterwards. We will have all the time then.” “You cannot be sure.” A small smile forms on your face despite yourself, and you tuck yourself further into him. “Listen, Wonwoo. I know you have detested me for a majority of the time we have known each other.” “I–” “I do not fault you for it.” You place a hand on his arm to calm him down. “If I said I did not reciprocate that feeling, it would be a blatant lie.” Wonwoo raises an eyebrow. “Are you seriously monologuing about how much you despise me right now?” This pulls a sharp laugh out of you. “You would know if you listened instead of talking!” “Alright, alright,” he concedes, amused. “Please continue.” You huff in acceptance, pulling your legs closer to your body. “If we do not have tomorrow, then you should know I have appreciated every gesture of kindness you have shown me, at every turn. For giving me space, when I needed it. For talking, when I needed that instead. You have always given me room to breathe.” “I would do it over and over,” he whispers, breath tickling the top of your head. “For you.” You sigh deeply, shutting your eyes and willing yourself not to cry. “Please, Wonwoo. It is far too soon to say that.” “It cannot be. I have been thinking it for quite some time.” He brings his hand to your wrist, fingers tracing light circles over your skin. “Only I did not know when to say it. Or how. But if we do not have tomorrow, as you said, then you should know this.” “I think I have known for a while,” you say soberly. Wonwoo lets out a quiet ha!, a half-laugh. “Even better, then.” You are about to vocalize the next witty comeback that materializes in your mind to dissipate the rising tension when a sudden noise breaks out back inside the house. You hear someone yelling for backup, doors slamming, and a pained scream – in that order. You exchange one worried look with Wonwoo, rising to your feet, and break into a sprint. Seungcheol finds you first, a rare panic in his eyes. He heaves a relieved sigh at the sight of you both, taking Wonwoo by the shoulders. “Where is Minseok?” “What?” Seungcheol repeats his question, more frantic this time. You watch Wonwoo shake his head, immensely confused.

“Hyung, what happened?” “Kim Minseok, that bastard,” he fumes. “I should have known. All of the signs were there. That lying son of a bitch handed over every single piece of information he had and ran for his life. He’s been working with them for years!” Shock ripples across Wonwoo’s face. You had not met the man, but you get the idea that even he had not seen it coming at all. “You must go,” Seungcheol urges. “Both of you. Find somewhere safe to stay for now. You cannot let them find you!” “No,” you say firmly, drawing your sword. “This is my battle. I am not going anywhere.” Wonwoo nods, knives already in his hands. “I cannot, hyung. I swore to fight with you. You cannot expect me to break it now.” There is sheer despair written all over Seungcheol’s face – but no time to do anything about it. A soldier steps through the doorway, swinging his axe, and you slash at his torso furiously. Blood splatters all over your clothes and the side of your face, the metallic scent quickly filling your nostrils. You turn and look at Wonwoo. The fierceness in his eyes mimics yours, and you feel a new confidence begin to rise into your chest. “Now or never,” you say. Chaos reigns inside the house. The walls are as red as they may have been four years ago – but with blood this time, instead of paint. Myungho is backed up against a wall, holding off two royal guards with his spear. You lunge, stabbing one of them in the side, and he quickly finishes off the other, returning your gesture with a grim nod. You do not know where Seokmin is. You do not think you could pick him out amidst the mayhem; everything begins to blur together impossibly. Only the metal of your blade remains clear in your vision as you defend yourself with everything you have left. The noise seems to lessen, just a little. You stumble outside, only to be met with a horrific sight. “Junhui!” You rush towards him, and he winces as you approach. He struggles to keep himself on his feet, one hand pressed firmly against a deep gash in his side. “Go,” he says weakly. “I will be fine.” “But –” “Go!” His hand comes away deep red, blood dripping from his fingers onto the ground. “We do not have time. You have to go now!” You stare at him for a few conflicted seconds, before tearing your eyes away from him and swinging wildly at the man behind you. But your footing is unsteady, and you slip on a stray rock. His dagger brushes the corner of your ear, and faintly you register the sharp sting that begins to blossom. When you catch your breath again, you come face to face with a pair of eyes that send chills down your spine. Muyeol’s expression reflects none of the panic that’s in yours. In fact, he seems almost amused at the look on your face, a satisfied smirk on his lips as he cleans off his sword against the tall grass. It has been so long since you’ve seen him, that you’d forgotten how disturbing his presence could be. “I thought my soldiers had finished you at least the second time around,” he says. The cruelty in his voice never fails to make you flinch. “But to see that you have joined these fools? Tch. I am wounded.” Your hand does not tremble, sword still in the air. “Drop the act. I am not so stupid as to be fooled by your words again.” “Oh, my.” He chuckles, an evil sound. “You were not fooled even the first time, my dear. I made no effort to hide my intentions. But you willingly carried out all the dirty work you were told to do.” “You held my family and their lives over my head,” you snap back. “I was not willing, then.” He merely shrugs. “I did what I had to do.” Anger bubbles up into your throat, and you lunge instinctively, bringing your sword down in what would have been a harsh strike. Muyeol parries it lazily, slicing your arm instead. You hiss at the sudden pain and come forward again, unable to stay calm. He clicks his tongue again. “Still the same,” he remarks. “I would have thought you learned how to control that inconvenient temper of yours by now.”

“You do not get to have to say in when I get angry!” You punctuate your last word with a furious slash. This one lands – the sound of blade against skin is satisfying, and you draw blood just shy of his collarbone. He looks a bit surprised. Good, you think. You deserve it. Muyeol seems to have as easily inflamed a temper as yours. He is much older, for sure, but his movements are rather fluid for his age. You are light on your feet, just barely dodging his well-timed strikes. “You should have died that day,” he snarls furiously. He feints with his right – and you fall for it, a short lapse in judgement. One strong kick sends you tumbling to the ground, and before you know it the edge of his sword is flush with the skin of your neck. “What a shame, then. But do not worry. I will be sure you meet your fate today.” “You will do no such thing.” Muyeol laughs, a deep rumbling that comes from his chest. It is a sound that you have learned to detest over the many years. “The words of a woman on her knees,” he muses, pressing the blade into your throat. You wince at the sensation of it piercing skin, feeling the first drop of blood trickle down to your collarbone. “Choose them wisely, would you? They may well be your last.” You open your mouth to give another sarcastic remark. But out of nowhere, a sharp dagger flies through the air just past your head, lodging itself squarely into Muyeol’s shoulder. He roars in pain; you take the short window of opportunity to grab your sword and lunge for his neck. This time, you do not miss. His dark eyes widen in momentary surprise – he loses his grasp on his own weapon, crashing to the ground as he struggles to draw his next breath. He falls with one arm outstretched, clinging to a last hope, and you might have taken it a year or two ago. Things are different, now. You regard him coldly, and you do not move. You wipe the side of your face, catching your breath. And you should have some remorse, but it is hard to find it for the man who had a hand in turning your life into a living hell. All you can feel is the subsiding rage, still coursing through your veins. Wonwoo is beside you before you know it. He does not ask anything. His eyes only shift between you, and Muyeol’s body on the ground. You meet his questioning eyes and nod slowly. “Wait. The knife,” you say, before he can get a word out. You crouch down, fingers closing around the hilt and pulling it from the lifeless shoulder. When you pass it to Wonwoo, your fingers brush ever so subtly, staining his fingertips dark red. “Thank you.” “Always.” His answer comes without hesitation. It bears relief, and something else you don’t dare name. “Are you… are you alright?” “Alive,” you say, huffing out a weak laugh. Wonwoo shakes his head, fingers coming up to swipe a stray drop of blood away from the cut on your face. You startle at the sight of his eyes welling up with tears, face battered and bruised, and it stirs up a whole torrent of emotions in your own chest. “You are so strong,” he says, thumb brushing your jaw reverently. “You did it. You are free now.” Your vision goes blurry as the weight of Wonwoo’s words sink into your soul. Tenderly, with all the care carried in his deep voice. You let yourself crash into him, fingers grasping his robes as his arms wrap around your torso gently, holding you close. For the first time, the weight that has been sitting on your heart for years feels lifted, light. You can even hear Soonyoung’s voice in your head now, quietly under the current. Live now, little tiger. Live the way you always wanted to. The sky bursts, and it begins to pour. The heavy drizzle takes the dried blood on your skin with it, but the open wounds still burn. It is no matter, not anymore. The white cotton of your clothes runs deep red, and your decade long battle is over.

There are quite a few more hurdles to go over, even after Muyeol’s death. None of them are easy to swallow down. The attack had resulted in more lives lost than injuries, a significant dent in everyone’s esteem. You are particularly shocked to see Junhui’s body among them, his cold hand in his cousin’s. It had not been so long ago that you had last spoken to him; it weighs on you still that you may have had a chance to save his life, if only you had listened to your gut. Myungho does not shed a single tear. Perhaps this is his way of mourning a loved one, in powerful silence. “I cannot control the passage of time,” he says quietly, over his dearest friend’s grave. Still he does not cry, but you think he might come awfully close. “We are all victims. Junhui’s fate has only collected him first.” You watch him murmur something softly in muffled Cantonese; some sort of farewell, perhaps. You will never know. It is very likely that you will never see Myungho again, even if he chooses to remain in town. “Thank you,” you tell him sincerely. “For everything. Truly.” He waves you off, wearing a faint smile. “No need. It was the least I could do for you all.” You wonder how he will hold up now, whether the little old house meant for two will feel a bit too lonely and large for just him. He might repaint the walls a bright red, but it will never be the same again. It is with a heavy heart that you regroup with Seungcheol and Wonwoo. The latter is tending to a small wound on his arm, wrapping the bandage around it carefully. You stop him and offer to do it instead. He lets you. “When will you leave for home?” Wonwoo swallows thickly. “Soon, I suppose.” “You will travel overnight?” Gently, you finish dressing the cut, but your fingers linger over his skin. “I do not think that is very safe.” “After everything we have done so far, this might be the least dangerous journey we make.” You take him in solemnly, allowing yourself to lean into him a little. Seungcheol takes note, but says nothing — turns away a bit, as if to give you a little space. “This will bring a new dawn to the country,” he continues. “The young prince Jisoo is said to be a fair and just man. He will be twice the ruler his father is. The council members are in overwhelming support of him, so the king will likely be pressured into abdicating.” “It is about time,” you agree. “I have quite high hopes for him.” “Mm.” Wonwoo turns his hand over so that his fingers are laced with yours, warmth seeping into your skin. “Will you go home now? I would imagine you have much to say to your family.” Family. You think of your sisters and Jihoon, and little Sangmin. Of Wonwoo, and how easily he seems to fit into your life, like the final piece of a puzzle. “Come with me,” you say. “Seungcheol, too. Stay the night, at least, and have a warm meal. Seokmin will be able to take us there.” He shakes his head. “Y/N, I cannot impose on your family like that.” “You would not be imposing,” you insist. “I am asking because I want you there with me, Wonwoo. Besides, I might join you both on your journey back. I want to see Hansol, and visit Seungkwan one more time.” Wonwoo’s firm expression softens as the last words sink in, thumb rubbing soft circles into your hand. “All right,” he finally concedes. He glances back at Seungcheol, who gives a willing shrug. “If you say so.” It is not so far to your sisters’ house, once you have bid your sad goodbyes to Myungho and the others. The familiarity of your surroundings slowly comes back to you as you follow Seokmin through the winding stone roads and grassy hills. Every step unlocks childhood memories you had shelved away, years and years ago. You point at a large pine tree nearby. “I used to sneak out and come here with Soonyoung all the time,” you tell Wonwoo. “We would play around, making up stories. He taught me how to read there, too.”

“Sometimes the stories you tell make me wish we knew each other as children,” he muses, chuckling softly. “That might have been nice,” you say, looping your arm in his. “But this is just as precious.” “That it is.” You feel Seokmin’s knowing eyes on you – he will say a range of things later, from ‘I told you so’ to ‘So you did think he was handsome!’, and you will laugh and tell him that sometimes love will find you even when you do not necessarily ask for it. He glances away, amused, and you have to resist the urge to click your tongue at him. The gate is drawn shut as you first approach, but you could not ever forget the familiar slope of the roof, and the tiny patch of flowers to the right of the main doorway. Seokmin calls out brightly for Jihoon, breaking into a jog, and you look back at Seungcheol and Wonwoo with a smile. “Home,” you say. Soonja runs out first, crashing into you with a loud squeal. You let her cling to you. It has been far too long since you have listened to her excited stories and endless chatter, and you hug her tightly. “I missed you,” she says petulantly. “You always take so long!” “I am sorry,” you chuckle, tearing up. “Really. But I will not be away for weeks at a time anymore. My work is done.” She brightens at this. “Promise?” You laugh, intertwining your pinky finger with hers. “Promise.” The sun is softer now, in the sky, and the heat does not burn as much anymore. You make introductions as the air settles into something more comfortable. The ghosts still linger, but they are not heavy anymore. You wear them like a warm scarf now, instead of shackles. It is a new kind of homage. The house is lively, with more people inside. Seungcheol and Jihoon seem to get along perfectly, discussing something between themselves, while Seokmin entertains Soonja’s endless questions. Soonyoung should be here, but his absence does not leave a hollow space quite like it used to. He is in every pillar instead, his life written into every single corner of the room. You sit with Soonhee, helping her here and there in the kitchen, updating her on the events that have occurred while you were away. “You have had quite a life so far,” she says, once you’re finished. “But I admire you for it, you know. You have never once let it stop you from anything. Never said ‘it is what it is’ and sat down. That is a sign of resilience.” “I did not have a choice,” you tell her. “All the same.” She smiles, reaching over to dust a stray piece of straw out of your hair. “You grew up faster than you should have. I always worried it would hold you back.” “And now?” “Now I see I did not have to worry in the first place.” Soonhee glances over her shoulder, back to the main room. Wonwoo sits cross-legged by Sangmin’s cradle, listening to the infant babble endlessly. He nods along as he smiles, pretending to hold the conversation. It is a tender sight. “I am curious about this man you have brought with you, though.” You flush deeply, not sure what to say. Soonhee notices and merely laughs, thinly slicing up a carrot. “I hope you know you are not as hard to read as you might believe,” she adds. “He clearly brings you a lot of joy.” Seokmin had said the exact same thing. You bring your hands to your cheeks, resting your chin in your palm. For as long as you can remember, there was always a torrent in your heart, restless emotions brewing and spilling over. But there is something about Wonwoo that allows you a rare peace, an ease that you had previously thought impossible. “He does,” you say quietly. “He learned to love me as I am, even when I did not want to know myself.” Soonhee gives you a knowing look. “You have found yourself a good man, then.” Everyone gathers on the floor to eat, a feeling you have not experienced in a long time. But you know that the wait was worth it. What better way to spend an evening than in good company, with good food? The soup is warm as it goes down your throat, and so is your heart.

Jihoon laughs at the sight of his son happily blowing raspberries into Wonwoo’s face – a funny sight, for sure. The latter just smiles contentedly, one hand carefully balancing the baby in his lap. “What can I say?” he shrugs, meeting your sparkling eyes. “I must be awfully good with children.” This pulls another round of laughter from everyone else, you included. Wonwoo’s gaze does not leave yours, even from across the room. Impossibly magnetic, but you no longer resist it. Instead, you let it tug at you, reveling in the feeling. It is not until all the dishes are put away later that you finally sidle up to him again, having stepped outside for some fresh air. Wonwoo sits on the front step, eyes turned up to the sky, and you carefully tuck yourself into his side. “Tell me what you are thinking,” you ask of him. He takes your hand in his, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “I am thinking about the nice weather we are having,” he murmurs. “And your sister’s small garden. Junhui would have been quite delighted to see it.” “He would have.” Your heart aches, then. “I pray that his soul rests easy. He was a good man.” “Me, too.” Wonwoo squeezes your hand, a way of comforting you. It will be alright. “But above all, I am thinking about how content I feel right now. My mind is at peace.” “Is that so?” “Mm,” he hums, thumb brushing against yours. “You cannot pretend to believe otherwise, Y/N. Not when you are with me. Not when you are the reason.” Warmth spreads throughout your body. You remain silent, no words coming up – but they do not need to. Even without saying anything, Wonwoo seems to understand your love. Quietly, carefully, as he is. As he always has been. It occurs to you now that perhaps this was what you had been chasing after your entire life. Serenity. From inside the house, Sangmin’s little giggles carry out into the open air, followed by his mother’s cooing and Jihoon’s satisfied laugh. The breeze is cool, but not too chilly – a perfect summer night. Wonwoo brings his head down to rest on top of yours, and you sit there taking in the peaceful quiet by each other’s side. You think you will be alright.

thank you so much for reading dotssotw! have a wonderful rest of your day! much love, hershey xx return to masterlist

#svthub #wonwoo x reader #jeon wonwoo x reader #wonwoo one shot #wonwoo historical au #wonwoo enemies to lovers #jeon wonwoo #wonwoo svt #wonwoo angst #wonwoo fluff #(🖊️) — hershey's writing

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