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@4kwp
you!!! are!!! not!!! running!!! out!!! of!!! time!!!
it literally doesn’t matter if you’re in your 20s or 30s or 40s or 50s or 60s or 70s or 80s or fucking 90s. if you’re still alive, you literally still have that chance in your hands. don’t let your mind or anyone or anything trick you into thinking otherwise!!!!
Love in the Time of Acne - Lee Chan
Pairing: bf!lee chan x f!reader (could be read as gender neutral as well, i just had a female reader in mind while i wrote)
Summary: you try to cancel a date with your new boyfriend after struggling with a bad acne breakout.
WC: 0.9k
CW: stupid tooth aching fluff. kisses. there is absolutely nothing wrong with acne and everyone is BEAUTIFUL despite it. chan is a great bf and really reiterates this to help reader’s insecurities. pet names (chan calls reader ‘pretty’, so no use of y/n).
A/N: i def got this idea bc i currently have a terrible acne breakout and am feeling INSECURE! so anyway uh here’s this silly drabble - dividers by @strangergraphics
It’s not often you have a bad acne breakout. And right now, as you get ready for a date with the man you’ve been seeing for a few weeks, you’re in full panic mode. Dotting all over your face are red, painful spots that just won’t go away.
For the past week, you’ve tried everything. Pimple patches, special face wash, different face masks, creams…you’re almost convinced you somehow made it worse. To top it all off, concealer and foundation doesn’t even seem to hide it, either. Truthfully, in the long run, those would probably just make it even worse anyway. If that’s even possible.
But you can’t show up to your date like this. You like Chan…like, a lot. If you show up like this, what if he thinks you don’t properly take care of your skin? Or he thinks it’s gross? You haven’t quite crossed the threshold of bare-faced dates, yet. And you definitely didn’t want to start tonight.
Pulling your phone out of your pocket, you’re quick to dial his number. It rings twice before he’s answering.
“Hey, pretty!” He exclaims. “Everything okay?”
“No.” You groan, burying your face in your free hand. “I think I need to reschedule.”
“Oh no.” Chan says, sounding sincerely disappointed. “Is everything ok?”
Chewing on your bottom lip, you consider telling him the truth. But really, the truth feels quite ridiculous. For crying out loud, who cancels over acne? You quickly suck in a deep breath.
“Ah, I just don’t feel very good.” You lie. Which, in hindsight, it’s not a total lie. Thinking about this date while you look like this is making your stomach turn over itself. “I just…really want to stay in tonight.”
Chan hums. “What if I come over there?” He suggests. “I can bring comfort food and we can just chill? Watch some movies?”
Panic washes over you. “No, no,” You quickly stand. “I’d feel really bad making you do all that—“
“You shouldn’t.” He gently interjects. “I’m offering. You’re not making me do anything. Unless there’s another reason you don’t want me over?”
Pressing your eyes closed, you suppress the groan that bubbles inside of you. Now you just feel bad. He’s being so kind, and you can’t exactly push him off without him thinking he’s done something wrong. He hasn’t done anything wrong—he’s perfect. You really don’t want to mess this up, especially over some acne.
Besides, surely there’s a way to hide it from him. Right?
“No, I’d love to see you.” You finally sigh. “Thank you, Chan.”
“Anything for you.” He coos. “Give me an hour, ok? I’ll see you soon.”
When Chan knocks on the door, you feel your heart trip over itself. And probably fall down two flights of stairs, as well.
Your hand hesitates on the handle before you open the door. He looks cozy, wearing his sweats and hoodie that you’d gotten for him a few weeks prior. In his hands, he holds a few bags with snacks inside of them. Chan’s grinning, but it immediately falters when he sees what you’re wearing.
“A mask?” He frowns as he steps inside. He sets his plethora of grocery bags on the table as you close the door again. “Why is your hood pulled up?”
“I just,” you pause, “don’t want you to see my face.”
The corners of his mouth twitch, like he’s fighting a smile. Pressing his lips together, he folds his arms across his chest. As he steps towards you, your breath catches in your throat. When he raises his hand towards your hood, you try to step to the side. He stops you, though.
“What’s going on?” He asks softly.
“Chan, I have acne.” You whine. “Bad. It’s everywhere. I look awful.”
A laugh bubbles out from him. “Is that why you wanted to cancel?”
You feel the blood rush to your cheeks. “Yes,” you mutter. “We haven’t been seeing each other for very long. I just didn’t want you to think—“
“You’re still beautiful to me.” He interrupts. “Acne or no acne. It’s part of being human, pretty. Now, can I please see you?”
You roll your eyes. Tentatively, you pull your hood down, and peel the mask off your ears. Before you can try to turn away anymore, Chan cups your face in his hands. His thumbs brush across your cheeks as he grins.
“Beautiful.” He promises.
Then, he kisses your forehead. He presses another small kiss to your temple, your cheeks, and then you realize…
“Are you kissing my pimples?” You can’t help but laugh as you try to squirm out of his hold. He doesn’t let you budge, though, as he wraps his arms around your waist.
“Mhm.” He kisses your nose. “Just reminding you that every part of you is beautiful. Besides, kisses make everything better. Right?”
You scoff. “You’re so corny.”
“If you hated it that much, you would’ve stopped seeing me after date one.” He winks. “Now, should we start our movie night?”
Sighing dramatically, you grab hold of the strings on his hoodie. “You forgot a spot though.” You pout, then pucker your lips out.
“Ohhh,” he nods. “My god, how could I?”
You giggle as he presses a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. He pulls away just barely, his eyes flicking up to yours.
“Better?” He whispers.
“Much.” You reply.
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The Heart Mechanic
genre: fluff, est. relationship. vernon is a mechanic because fuck yes. wc: 1.6k a/n: muhehehehheh. i hope the hansol nation enjoys this one 🫡 💋gonna tag eia @noniesgummysmile because she listened to me yap about this idea two days ago and enabling me. ily <333
It's a little past noon when you arrive at the downtown garage owned by your boyfriend. Sunlight spills through the trees shades, casting long shadows on the concrete pathway. Vernon is hunched over a car hood, his sleeves are folded upwards, highlighting the strain on his muscles as his veins bulge over while he puts pressure into tightening some screws. Sweat glistens on his forehead as he seems totally engrossed in work.
Vernon looks up as he notices footsteps approaching, a grin forms on his face, smiling as he sees you coming close, "hey baby" Vernon says as you walk in. You beam up at him, dangling a bag of snacks in the air.
"Look who's here." You smile walking over, leaning in as Vernon gives you a half hug.
"Sorry, got some mess over here." He says sheepishly as you look around the garage. There are tools and papers scattered all over. Not that you mind, the garage has always been like this whenever you come over.
"How long till you're done?" You ask your boyfriend leaning your weight against a pillar.
"Around 20 more minutes and I'm done?" Vernon shrugs as he spins the ranch in his hands, sending a wink your way.
You make a goofy face in return, flipping your hair off. Vernon laughs in response, the same familiar grin forming on his face.
"I'll be waiting for you over there then." You say as you walk to sit on a sofa at the corner. The fan is turned on and you sprawl yourself on the sofa deciding to wait for Vernon to complete his work before he can join you.
You've been scrolling through your phone, looking at your boyfriend working from time to time, the way his brows furrow as he fixes the broken car engine. Occasionally you talk to him, telling him about your day, and he's listening, humming as you go on. Today, it's taking him slightly longer to finish his work.
"And then…I was just petting the stray kitten but she decided to jump on my lap!!" You tell him excitedly about the little cat that comes visit you sometimes.
"Nonnie? Are you even listening? You ask when he doesn't respond.
"Oh uh yeah, what were you saying? He asks as he pops up from the other side of the car, where he was probably crouching down. Putting away his tools, vernon dusts off his clothes and stretches his arms, the movement accentuating his muscles. He looks over to you with questioning eyes, waiting for you to respond.
The words however die in your throat. You visibly gulp as you look over at him. Why is he looking so attractive when his hair is a mess and grease covers the front of his shirt. Even after dating him for so long, you still can't get over how handsome vernon actually is.
"Baby, why did you get quite suddenly?" Vernon says as he walks over to you. He takes his dirty t-shirt off and stands under the fan. His muscles and abs on direct display.
You look away when vernon notices you staring, the familiar smirk places on his lips.
"Nothing." You voice out, a little too quickly. "I was just saying you hate me because you kept me waiting for so long." You grumble folding your arms over your chest as you get comfortable lying on the sofa, suddenly very interested in noticing the scraping paint on the roof of the garage.
Your view however is obstructed rather quickly, and you find yourself caged between the sofa and your very handsome, very cocky boyfriend.
"Hmm." He murmurs. "Is that so?" Vernon asks you, his voice low and teasing as he tilts his head a little. He is too close to you. You can feel his breath, mingling with yours. You can feel him lowering himself on top of you. His lips brush lightly against your neck, as he places a feather light kiss over there. Feeling fluster by the sudden contact, you push him to the side. Standing up.
"Yeah. Totally. You were ignoring me right now. You definitely hate me." You say as you look back at him. You know you're just pulling his leg. Or trying to save face from how flustered you feel. By the looks of it, Vernon knows it too. He leans against the sofa head, legs stretched wide as he looks at your cheeks taking a slightly pink hue. Cute. He thinks to himself.
You walk over to one of the cars parked in the garage, standing there as you push a pebble to the side. "See that? oh how it feels to be ignored by my own beloved boyfriend" you all but pout up at him.
You're really cute like this, Vernon thinks to himself. Trying to act normal after seeing him shirtless as if it's not something you've been waking up to for ages.
"Okay." Vernon says humming to himself as he pretends to ponder. He discards his shirt to the side and walks over to you. Before you can even think, he is caging you between his body and the car.
"So I hate you huh?" He asks, looking directly at you. Hair strands cover his eyes, you can see the sheen of sweat on his forehead.
Once again you're rendered speechless as you stare at him, not being able to take looking at his eyes anymore, you look to the side. You can feel your ears running hot.
"Eyes on me babygirl." Vernon grabbing your chin and tilting your head so you look at him. His touch is surprisingly gentle despite the fact that his hands are calloused from working in the garage for hours. You look up at him, your eyes meeting each other, and Vernon can see the way your mind tries to hide your fluster behind that fake little frown.
"What" you grumble, though there is no fight in it.
"My girl just told me she thinks I hate her." Vernon says leaning impossibly close to you. His hand sneaks from your side to your back, moving under your tee shirt as he pulls you forward.
"Well," he drawls. "I can't have you going around thinking like that now, can I?" He asks with the familiar tease in his tone.
"Yeah, maybe you should kiss me to prove you actually care about me." You frown, lips down turned as you look at him.
"Maybe you're right. I should actually do that." Vernon hums, nipping at the skin your neck. He bites the skin as he leaves soft kisses to smooth the area. You're sure he's going to leave hickeys on you. Vernon's nose brushes against yours. He leans in, catching your lower lips between his own. He sucks on them softly. Your hands move from holding his back to grabbing his hair as you pull him down. A whine escapes your lips when you feel his hands trail lower and lower on your back, as you're pressed between his body and the car.
"Wait. What if someone sees us?" You asks breaking the kiss.
"Then let's give them a show baby." Vernon says catching you in another heated kiss.
Vernon kisses you like he is possessed. Like a man starved. Like you are the first meal he's had in days. Your lips move in rhythm, your lips part and his tongue finds it's way in, playing with yours in the same familiar rhythm. He continues to kiss you as his mouth swallows the little whines that escape you.
Your lips detach from his as you suck in a breath, but he's over you again, lips taking your own in another kiss, it's like he's conveying all of his love to you in the kiss. He leaves wet trails down your neck, pecking your cheeks. Rubbing circles around your back. He holds you close, his bare torso flush against your body. You pull him into another kiss, and he lest you take control. You kiss each other until that's all you can taste.
Vernon has his eyes closed as he holds you to him. His breath fans against your neck.
"Whoa. Ummm." You step back, looking at your boyfriend, his already tousled hair are somehow even more messy. His dark eyes look at you with the same emotion of love that he always carries for you.
"What is it, babygirl?" Vernon asks tilting his head. There is a teasing edge to his tone that tells that he has been enjoying your suffering.
"Can you not stare at me like that." You look at him with the best frown you can muster but your ears and cheeks are flushed. He's making you flustered. Damn him.
"Stare like what hmm?" Vernon asks but you're already just whining as you bury your face in his bare chest, holding your arms against his waist. "Ughhhhh. You're the worst."
Vernon has a cocky grin as he ruffles your hair, pressing his face against your head. "Keep saying that love. But we both know who's the flustered one here, he teases back." You try to stub your toe over his but he's fast, moving his feet to the side laughing at your attempt to hide how flustered you really are.
"Lest get you back home yeah?" He asks, as you lookup at him, still flushed, still pouting at him.
Vernon can't help but place his lips over yours, giving you another kiss. He loves you. He loves the way you act like you hate his touch, when it's the one thing you seem to crave. He loves kissing the shyness away from your lips. He's a man in love. And he won't have it any other way.
fuck i want him i want him i want him he's so hot
The Heart Mechanic
genre: fluff, est. relationship. vernon is a mechanic because fuck yes. wc: 1.6k a/n: muhehehehheh. i hope the hansol nation enjoys this one 🫡 💋gonna tag eia @noniesgummysmile because she listened to me yap about this idea two days ago and enabling me. ily <333
It's a little past noon when you arrive at the downtown garage owned by your boyfriend. Sunlight spills through the trees shades, casting long shadows on the concrete pathway. Vernon is hunched over a car hood, his sleeves are folded upwards, highlighting the strain on his muscles as his veins bulge over while he puts pressure into tightening some screws. Sweat glistens on his forehead as he seems totally engrossed in work.
Vernon looks up as he notices footsteps approaching, a grin forms on his face, smiling as he sees you coming close, "hey baby" Vernon says as you walk in. You beam up at him, dangling a bag of snacks in the air.
"Look who's here." You smile walking over, leaning in as Vernon gives you a half hug.
"Sorry, got some mess over here." He says sheepishly as you look around the garage. There are tools and papers scattered all over. Not that you mind, the garage has always been like this whenever you come over.
"How long till you're done?" You ask your boyfriend leaning your weight against a pillar.
"Around 20 more minutes and I'm done?" Vernon shrugs as he spins the ranch in his hands, sending a wink your way.
You make a goofy face in return, flipping your hair off. Vernon laughs in response, the same familiar grin forming on his face.
"I'll be waiting for you over there then." You say as you walk to sit on a sofa at the corner. The fan is turned on and you sprawl yourself on the sofa deciding to wait for Vernon to complete his work before he can join you.
You've been scrolling through your phone, looking at your boyfriend working from time to time, the way his brows furrow as he fixes the broken car engine. Occasionally you talk to him, telling him about your day, and he's listening, humming as you go on. Today, it's taking him slightly longer to finish his work.
"And then…I was just petting the stray kitten but she decided to jump on my lap!!" You tell him excitedly about the little cat that comes visit you sometimes.
"Nonnie? Are you even listening? You ask when he doesn't respond.
"Oh uh yeah, what were you saying? He asks as he pops up from the other side of the car, where he was probably crouching down. Putting away his tools, vernon dusts off his clothes and stretches his arms, the movement accentuating his muscles. He looks over to you with questioning eyes, waiting for you to respond.
The words however die in your throat. You visibly gulp as you look over at him. Why is he looking so attractive when his hair is a mess and grease covers the front of his shirt. Even after dating him for so long, you still can't get over how handsome vernon actually is.
"Baby, why did you get quite suddenly?" Vernon says as he walks over to you. He takes his dirty t-shirt off and stands under the fan. His muscles and abs on direct display.
You look away when vernon notices you staring, the familiar smirk places on his lips.
"Nothing." You voice out, a little too quickly. "I was just saying you hate me because you kept me waiting for so long." You grumble folding your arms over your chest as you get comfortable lying on the sofa, suddenly very interested in noticing the scraping paint on the roof of the garage.
Your view however is obstructed rather quickly, and you find yourself caged between the sofa and your very handsome, very cocky boyfriend.
"Hmm." He murmurs. "Is that so?" Vernon asks you, his voice low and teasing as he tilts his head a little. He is too close to you. You can feel his breath, mingling with yours. You can feel him lowering himself on top of you. His lips brush lightly against your neck, as he places a feather light kiss over there. Feeling fluster by the sudden contact, you push him to the side. Standing up.
"Yeah. Totally. You were ignoring me right now. You definitely hate me." You say as you look back at him. You know you're just pulling his leg. Or trying to save face from how flustered you feel. By the looks of it, Vernon knows it too. He leans against the sofa head, legs stretched wide as he looks at your cheeks taking a slightly pink hue. Cute. He thinks to himself.
You walk over to one of the cars parked in the garage, standing there as you push a pebble to the side. "See that? oh how it feels to be ignored by my own beloved boyfriend" you all but pout up at him.
You're really cute like this, Vernon thinks to himself. Trying to act normal after seeing him shirtless as if it's not something you've been waking up to for ages.
"Okay." Vernon says humming to himself as he pretends to ponder. He discards his shirt to the side and walks over to you. Before you can even think, he is caging you between his body and the car.
"So I hate you huh?" He asks, looking directly at you. Hair strands cover his eyes, you can see the sheen of sweat on his forehead.
Once again you're rendered speechless as you stare at him, not being able to take looking at his eyes anymore, you look to the side. You can feel your ears running hot.
"Eyes on me babygirl." Vernon grabbing your chin and tilting your head so you look at him. His touch is surprisingly gentle despite the fact that his hands are calloused from working in the garage for hours. You look up at him, your eyes meeting each other, and Vernon can see the way your mind tries to hide your fluster behind that fake little frown.
"What" you grumble, though there is no fight in it.
"My girl just told me she thinks I hate her." Vernon says leaning impossibly close to you. His hand sneaks from your side to your back, moving under your tee shirt as he pulls you forward.
"Well," he drawls. "I can't have you going around thinking like that now, can I?" He asks with the familiar tease in his tone.
"Yeah, maybe you should kiss me to prove you actually care about me." You frown, lips down turned as you look at him.
"Maybe you're right. I should actually do that." Vernon hums, nipping at the skin your neck. He bites the skin as he leaves soft kisses to smooth the area. You're sure he's going to leave hickeys on you. Vernon's nose brushes against yours. He leans in, catching your lower lips between his own. He sucks on them softly. Your hands move from holding his back to grabbing his hair as you pull him down. A whine escapes your lips when you feel his hands trail lower and lower on your back, as you're pressed between his body and the car.
"Wait. What if someone sees us?" You asks breaking the kiss.
"Then let's give them a show baby." Vernon says catching you in another heated kiss.
Vernon kisses you like he is possessed. Like a man starved. Like you are the first meal he's had in days. Your lips move in rhythm, your lips part and his tongue finds it's way in, playing with yours in the same familiar rhythm. He continues to kiss you as his mouth swallows the little whines that escape you.
Your lips detach from his as you suck in a breath, but he's over you again, lips taking your own in another kiss, it's like he's conveying all of his love to you in the kiss. He leaves wet trails down your neck, pecking your cheeks. Rubbing circles around your back. He holds you close, his bare torso flush against your body. You pull him into another kiss, and he lest you take control. You kiss each other until that's all you can taste.
Vernon has his eyes closed as he holds you to him. His breath fans against your neck.
"Whoa. Ummm." You step back, looking at your boyfriend, his already tousled hair are somehow even more messy. His dark eyes look at you with the same emotion of love that he always carries for you.
"What is it, babygirl?" Vernon asks tilting his head. There is a teasing edge to his tone that tells that he has been enjoying your suffering.
"Can you not stare at me like that." You look at him with the best frown you can muster but your ears and cheeks are flushed. He's making you flustered. Damn him.
"Stare like what hmm?" Vernon asks but you're already just whining as you bury your face in his bare chest, holding your arms against his waist. "Ughhhhh. You're the worst."
Vernon has a cocky grin as he ruffles your hair, pressing his face against your head. "Keep saying that love. But we both know who's the flustered one here, he teases back." You try to stub your toe over his but he's fast, moving his feet to the side laughing at your attempt to hide how flustered you really are.
"Lest get you back home yeah?" He asks, as you lookup at him, still flushed, still pouting at him.
Vernon can't help but place his lips over yours, giving you another kiss. He loves you. He loves the way you act like you hate his touch, when it's the one thing you seem to crave. He loves kissing the shyness away from your lips. He's a man in love. And he won't have it any other way.
revision history ft yoon jeonghan x reader
yoon jeonghan has always had an infuriating talent for being exactly one step ahead of you. whether it be exam scores, class rankings, or getting under your skin, he never seems to lose. it’s not a well kept secret how much you despise each other. unfortunately for you, your professor seems blissfully unaware of the history when he pairs the two of you together for your final project.
⋆.˚ ★ — university au, academic rivals to lovers, kms jokes, mentions of insomnia, the way i format my smau is LARGELY inspired by @xinganhao !!, more written content after dividers, more content under the cut!
From: [email protected]
Subject: Request for Reassignment of Final Project Partner
Dear Professor Min,
I hope this email finds you well. I am writing to respectfully enquire if it would be possible to request a change in partners for the final project.
While I understand that the pairings were assigned at random, I am concerned that my assigned partner, Yoon Jeonghan, and I may not be able to work together effectively.
To be completely transparent, I find him rather difficult to work with. I strongly believe we would both benefit from being assigned different partners.
Thank you very much for your time and understanding. I appreciate your consideration, and I look forward to hearing from you.
Kind regards,
Y/N L/N
— — —
From: [email protected]
Subject: ???
think you sent this to the wrong person
also, ouch :(
Sent from my iPhone
From: [email protected]
Subject: Peer Evaluation (Final Submission)
Course: ENG2041 — Contemporary Literature
Project: Final Research Paper
Peer Evaluation for Student: Y/N L/N
Attendance — 10/10
Y/N was never once late to our meetings. In fact, she was always annoyingly punctual and raised hell over me being late by a few minutes. Regardless, Y/N showed incredible discipline and never failed to show up to our meetings to discuss the project, even if she was half dead from the sleepless nights.
Contribution — 10/10
Y/N contributed equally to every stage of the project, if not the most towards the project. The success of this project is mostly owed to her, her sleepless nights and early mornings editing as well as revising the document and slides to ensure absolute perfection. Although, she refused to admit how my edits occasionally improved her work.
Communication — 10/10
Y/N responds to messages regarding the project inhumanely fast for someone who always has her head down in stacks of paper in her favourite spot in the library, specifically the seat next to the window that faces east. She had no issues stating her problems with my research, being firm in her opinions and communicating her concerns in a professional manner. As a result, our project quality had improved dramatically after I (begrudgingly) followed her feedback (though I’d never admit it to her face).
Work ethic — 10/10
Y/N has a work ethic like no other. While I admit that I was annoyed by her constant fixation on the minor details at first, I found myself growing to appreciate her attention to the details that many others, myself included, would glance over. I’ve grown to learn and admire Y/N for she doesn’t leave anything half done. She does everything with 100%, and it clearly shows in the project where everything had been carefully vetted, arranged and presented. I used to think rivalry meant proving I was better than her, but somewhere along the project and spending hours with her, I realised I had stopped trying to outdo her and started trying to become someone who could keep up with her instead.
Strengths
- Ridiculously hardworking
- Somehow always right
- Makes coffee taste less terrible
- Pretending not to laugh at my jokes
- Looks cute when focused
Areas for improvement
If I were to be very honest, there’s not much for Y/N to improve in. She’s somehow both an amazing student, friend and person all at once. Not many can say that, myself included. Many of our batch mates are quick to compare us, but I truly don’t believe I’m even remotely close enough to be compared with her. I’m truly grateful and honoured to have had her as my partner and my rival these past semesters. (Though, she wouldn’t die if she stopped assuming I was only trying to annoy her all the time.)
Additional Comments
Y/N,
I never minded being paired with you. Actually, that’s a lie, because I was relieved.
Truthfully, I spent most of first year trying to find reasons to talk to you. At the time, I was nowhere near your circle. I’m sure you don’t remember, but I had painfully tried to talk to you about your day while Professor Min was talking, and you had hushed me almost immediately in annoyance to focus on the lecture. I was taken aback, but had kept my mouth shut for the remainder of the class. From that day, I kept a respectable distance from you thinking that you had hated my guts— only to realise that you hadn’t even remembered me at all.
I was quite hurt, to be honest. However, the distance allowed me to realise how you drifted towards people like Wonwoo, Jihoon and Junhui. The type of students you could study with or rather the type of students you could compete against (though honestly I’m unsure where Soonyoung fits into that group of yours). It was then I realised that perhaps competing with you would’ve been the easiest excuse to talk to you.
Turns out, arguing with you over stupid things like answer schemes and grades was a terrible strategy, because somewhere between getting paired for the project, rewriting your introductions just to spite you, fighting over your unnecessary Oxford commas, and staying in the library until midnight together when everyone else was at frat parties… I forgot we were supposed to be rivals.
The project’s over now. Soon enough, our semester’s going to be over too. Eventually, we never have to see each other in this class again, and I won’t really have an academic excuse to keep texting you anymore, so I guess I’ll need to be honest instead.
I’ve been in love with you for a while now.
Not because you got along with me in the end, or because we ended up working really well together. I’ve been in love with you long before Professor Min decided we’d make good partners (for the project). The project just gave me more time with you than I ever thought I’d get, and it gave me more to fall in love with.
Final grade — 100/100
I would gladly partner with Y/N again, no questions asked. Maybe I’m a little biased, but Y/N is the most reliable person to choose for a partner. Maybe not just for another assignment, though.
So, I’d like to ask her;
Dinner this Friday? A proper meal, not a cup of instant noodles you dig out of your cupboard at 2am when you can’t fall asleep, not a lunch where I’m buying to save your body from collapsing. A proper dinner, a proper date where we don’t talk about anything academic related the entire night— my treat.
Yours Sincerely,
Yoon Jeonghan
— — —
From: [email protected]
Subject: Re: Request for Reassignment of Final Project Partner
Dear Y/N,
I hope you have been doing well.
Now that the projects have come to a close, I figured I’d finally reply to the email you sent me at the beginning of the project.
As you know, I wasn’t able to accomodate your request for a change in partners. At the time, I believed it was important to keep the assigned groups unchanged in the interest of fairness.
Having now read your final paper and watched your presentation, I have to say I’m rather glad I did.
The two of you complemented each other’s strengths remarkably well, and it was evident throughout the semester that your collaboration became increasingly natural. Your final submission was one of the strongest projects this cohort has produced, and I suspect neither of you would have achieved quite the same result had I approved the reassignment.
Sometimes the people we least expect to work well with end up challenging us in the ways we need most.
Congratulations once again on an excellent project, and I wish you both all the best moving forward.
Kind regards,
Professor Min
— — —
⋆.˚ ★ — bonus screenshots of jeonghan driving joshua insane for the sake of his crush 🙂↕️
m. list
thanks for reading! all writing belongs to surfeitstar, please do not repost without permission. reblogs are greatly appreciated:) — ©️ 2026
THE CUTEST I WANT HIM SOOOOO BAD
ミ★
perv!best friend!joshua x acting innocent!reader
cw: suggestive, cursing, shua failing at being nonchalant, mention of period sex, suggestive photos
masterlist
Serenity and the Sun (Part 10: Finale)
The Light We Build Wonwoo x f! Reader | Single Dad x Teacher Mature | Explicit | MDNI After stepping out of the shadows and onto the red carpet at his side, you must face the blinding glare of the public eye and the true weight of belonging to him. Part 9 Part 1
The morning light cuts through the gap in the curtains like a blade.
You've been awake for twenty minutes, maybe longer, lying perfectly still beneath sheets that still carry the scent of last night's champagne and his cedar soap. The city sprawls beyond the window, all glass towers and distant traffic, and somewhere in that sprawling digital universe, your face is everywhere.
Your phone buzzes on the nightstand. Again. It's been buzzing for hours.
You reach for it with a hand that feels disconnected from your body. The screen is a wall of notifications—texts from numbers you haven't thought about in years, tags on social media platforms you barely use, a string of emails with subject lines like "CONGRATULATIONS???" and "URGENT: Please call me."
The top thread is from your family group chat. Forty-seven unread messages. Your mother has sent a screenshot of some entertainment site's headline: Mystery Woman Steals Hearts (and Jeon Wonwoo) at Mingyu's Premiere. Your aunt has replied with a string of heart emojis and a blurry photo of you on the red carpet that someone captured from a livestream.
Your stomach lurches.
You open the article. It's one of the kinder ones—speculative but not cruel, curious but not invasive. "Fans are calling her the 'real-life Cinderella' after the former SEVENTEEN member made his first public appearance in years with an unidentified woman on his arm. The couple matched in pastel yellow, and Wonwoo's smile—rare and genuine—has sparked a frenzy online."
Cinderella. You almost laugh. Cinderella didn't have paint under her fingernails and a degree in early childhood education.
But the comments. God, the comments.
She's so pretty! They look amazing together!
I've never seen him smile like that. Protect her at all costs.
Who is she? What does she do? Does anyone know if she's in the industry?
A daycare teacher. You're a daycare teacher who spends her days singing the clean-up song and negotiating snack time treaties. You don't belong on red carpets. You don't belong in headlines. You don't belong in any of this.
The phone buzzes again. A text from your co-teacher: Ummmm are you seeing this?? Call me when you wake up!!
You don't want to call anyone. You want to crawl under the sheets and disappear.
Beside you, Wonwoo stirs.
His arm tightens around your waist, his face pressing into the curve of your shoulder. He's still half-asleep, his breathing slow and even, his features utterly relaxed. Without his glasses, without the tension he carries during waking hours, he looks younger. Softer. And still—irrevocably, undeniably—every inch the global icon.
The sharp line of his jaw. The perfect slope of his nose. The way his lashes fan dark against his cheekbones. Even in sleep, even rumpled and bare-faced and tangled in hotel sheets, he looks like he stepped out of a magazine.
You've seen the old photos. You know what he looked like on stage. The eyeliner, the choreography, the thousands of lightsticks waving in perfect synchronization. You know that millions of people have screamed his name, have waited in lines for hours just to catch a glimpse of him, have dedicated entire corners of the internet to documenting his every move.
And now they're documenting you.
The thought hits like a physical blow. You can't breathe.
You slide out from under his arm, moving with the careful silence of someone who doesn't want to be caught fleeing. The marble bathroom floor is cold against your bare feet. You close the door behind you, turn the lock, and press your back against the wood.
Your reflection stares back from the mirror. Messy hair. Smudged remnants of last night's makeup. The faint pink marks Wonwoo's mouth left along your collarbone. You look like someone who spent the night being thoroughly loved.
You also look like someone who is absolutely, completely terrified.
The cold water you splash on your face doesn't help. The deep breaths don't help. Nothing helps. The panic is a living thing, coiling in your chest, squeezing your lungs until every inhale feels like work.
You're a daycare teacher. A nobody. A girl in paint-stained overalls who happened to catch the attention of a man who used to command stadiums. And now the world wants to know who you are, and what happens when they find out? What happens when they realize you're ordinary? What happens when the novelty wears off and they turn on you?
Your hands grip the edge of the sink. The marble is cool and solid. Real. You focus on that. On the here and now. On the sound of your own breathing, ragged and too fast.
A soft knock at the door.
"Baby?" Wonwoo's voice is rough with sleep. "You okay in there?"
You squeeze your eyes shut. "Fine. Just—give me a minute."
A pause. Then: "Take your time."
His footsteps retreat. He doesn't push. He never pushes. That's one of the things you love about him—the patience, the steady certainty, the way he always seems to know exactly when to give you space.
But right now, even that feels like too much. Even his patience feels like a weight you can't carry.
The drive back to the suburbs is quiet.
Wonwoo handles the wheel with one hand, the other resting on your thigh. His thumb traces absent patterns through the fabric of your jeans—you'd changed out of the yellow dress the moment you got back to the house, pulling on your oldest, most comfortable clothes like armor. He hasn't commented on it, hasn't asked why you're being so quiet. He just drives, his expression calm, the radio playing something soft and instrumental.
The familiarity of the highway should be comforting. The strip malls and gas stations and exit signs you've passed a dozen times before. But everything feels different now. The world outside the window looks the same, but you feel like a stranger in it.
When he pulls into his driveway, the house looks exactly as you left it. The cardboard castle is still visible through the living room window. Miguel's tricycle is tipped over on the front lawn.
Home. This should feel like home.
Instead, the walls feel like they're closing in.
"I need to pick up Miguel from my aunt's," Wonwoo says, killing the engine. "You want to come with? He's been asking about you." He turns to you, and his eyes are soft, searching.
The question is simple. The answer should be simple. But your throat is so tight you can barely speak.
"I think I need a little time," you manage. "Alone. Just to—process everything."
Something flickers across his face. Concern, maybe. Hurt, maybe. But he nods, and his hand squeezes your thigh once before letting go.
"Okay. Take whatever you need. I'll bring Miguel back in a bit. We can talk then."
You nod. You don't trust yourself to speak.
He leans over and presses a kiss to your forehead. His lips are warm. Familiar. And for a moment, you want to grab him and hold on and never let go.
You get out of the car and you watch him drive away.
And then you go inside, find a piece of paper in the kitchen drawer, and write five words you never thought you'd write: I need a few days.
You leave the note on the kitchen counter. You grab your bag. You call an Uber.
And you run.
Your apartment is exactly as you left it.
Small. Cluttered. The plants on the windowsill are drooping, you haven't watered them in weeks. The sink has a single coffee mug sitting in it, and the faint smell of something forgotten in the fridge lingers in the air. Dust motes dance in the afternoon sunlight slanting through the blinds.
You drop your bag by the door. You don't turn on the lights. You don't check your phone. You just stand in the middle of your living room, surrounded by the life you built before Wonwoo, before the black envelope, before everything changed.
Then you start cleaning.
You wash the mug. You scrub the sink. You water the plants and throw out the leftovers and vacuum every inch of the carpet. You change into your rattiest sweats, the ones with the hole in the knee and the paint stain on the thigh. You pull your hair into a messy bun. You turn off your phone's notification alerts and bury it under a pile of laundry.
For the rest of the afternoon, you don't think about red carpets or headlines or the thousands of people who now know your face. You don't think about the way Wonwoo looked at you last night, like you were the only person in the universe. You don't think about Miguel's small arms wrapped around your legs, or the way his laughter sounds like bells, or the weight of the ring you know Wonwoo will eventually offer you.
You don't think about any of it.
You organize your bookshelf. You rearrange your kitchen cabinets. You scrub the baseboards until your knees ache and your hands are raw. You make a pot of tea and drink it standing at the window, watching the sun sink behind the building across the street.
And when the tears finally come, hot and silent and unstoppable, you let them.
You don't understand why you are feeling this way.
The days blur together.
The rest of the day passes in a haze of bad television and stale takeout. You don't check the news. You don't check social media. You respond to exactly one text—your mother, who you tell you're fine, just overwhelmed, please don't worry—and then you bury your phone under your pillow and pretend the outside world doesn't exist.
The next day, you finally shower. You wash your hair. You put on clean clothes. The woman in the mirror looks less like a ghost now. She looks tired, yes. Drained. But still standing.
You think about Wonwoo constantly.
You think about the note you left. The words you couldn't bring yourself to say in person. You think about whether he's angry, or hurt, or worried. You think about Miguel, who won't understand why you're suddenly gone. You think about the way Wonwoo's voice cracked when he said I love you in the hotel room, like the words had been locked inside him for years and he was finally setting them free.
You love him. You love him desperately. That's not the problem.
The problem is the cameras. The scrutiny. The way every move you make from now on will be observed, analyzed, judged. The problem is the weight of his world, the sheer scale of his shadow, the terrifying knowledge that you will never again be anonymous.
Can you handle it?
You don't know. You honestly don't know.
But you do know one thing: you can't hide forever.
Monday morning dawns grey and cool. You drag yourself out of bed at six, pull on your favorite overalls—the ones with the sunflower embroidered on the pocket—and drive to Shining Diamond Daycare with a knot in your stomach the size of a fist.
The school is chaos when you arrive. The annual showcase is today, the biggest event of the year, and the facility is already buzzing with activity. Parents are hauling in costume bags and folding chairs. Teachers are running around with clipboards and walkie-talkies. The main room has been transformed into a makeshift auditorium, with a stage at the front and rows of tiny chairs arranged in crooked lines.
You throw yourself into the work with a ferocity that surprises even you.
You hang streamers. You tape down extension cords. You mediate a meltdown over a missing tutu and help four-year-old Jun set up his magic trick props and somehow end up with glitter in places glitter should never be. The chaos is familiar. Comforting. It drowns out the noise in your head, the endless loop of anxiety that's been playing since the hotel room.
By the time the parents start arriving, you're too busy to think about anything except making sure the kids don't destroy the stage before the show even starts.
"Teacher!" Miguel's voice cuts through the din, high and bright and unmistakable.
Your heart stops.
You turn, and there he is—running toward you on chubby legs, his arms outstretched, his dark hair combed neatly for once. He's wearing a little button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled up, and his face is split in a grin so wide it makes your chest ache.
He crashes into your legs and wraps his arms around your knees.
"Teacher! I missed you! Dad said you were resting but now you're here!"
The knot in your stomach tightens. You drop to your knees and hug him properly, breathing in the familiar scent of baby shampoo and crayons. "I missed you too, sweetheart. So much."
When you pull back, he's beaming at you. "I'm gonna dance today! Dad said you'd watch!"
"Of course I'll watch." You ruffle his hair. "You're gonna be amazing."
And then you look up, and the world stops.
Wonwoo is standing at the entrance to the main room.
He's not wearing a baseball cap. He's not wearing sunglasses. He's not hiding. He's just standing there—dressed simply, a dark sweater and jeans, his glasses on, his hair slightly tousled—and every single person in the room is staring at him.
The whispers start immediately. Phones come out. Parents nudge each other, eyes wide with recognition. The ripple of awareness spreads through the room like wind through wheat, and you watch as the crowd parts, as conversations stall, as the collective focus of forty-some people narrows to a single point.
Wonwoo doesn't look at them.
His eyes are locked on you.
The walk toward you is slow and deliberate and utterly unhurried. He moves through the parting crowd with the same quiet, commanding presence you noticed the first time you really saw him, the day he took off his glasses and looked at you with that sharp, piercing focus. The "tired dad" persona is gone. The oversized cardigans are gone. There is only him—Jeon Wonwoo, the man who once commanded stadiums, the man who has spent years hiding from the world, walking toward you like you're the only thing in the room worth seeing.
The parents are filming. You know they're filming. You can see the phones out of the corner of your eye, the red recording lights blinking. Your coworkers are gaping. Somewhere behind you, your co-teacher drops her clipboard.
You can't move.
Wonwoo stops in front of you. Close enough to touch. Close enough that you can smell his cedar soap, see the faint shadows under his eyes, the determined set of his jaw.
"Hi," he says.
"Hi," you whisper back.
"I got your note."
The words land softly between you. His expression doesn't change. No anger. No accusation. Just a quiet, steady patience that makes your heart crack open.
"I'm sorry," you start. "I just needed—"
"I know." He reaches out, and his hand finds yours. His fingers lace through your own, solid and warm and sure. "I know what you needed. And I understand." His thumb strokes your knuckles. "But I need you to understand something too."
He releases your hand. Takes a single step back.
And then he reaches for the microphone stand at the edge of the stage.
A collective gasp ripples through the room. Someone's phone clatters to the floor. Someone makes a noise that's somewhere between a squeak and a scream.
Wonwoo taps the mic. The feedback whines for a moment, then settles.
"My name is Jeon Wonwoo," he says, and his voice—that low, resonant rumble—fills the room like a physical presence. "Most of you probably know who I am. Some of you might not. It doesn't matter." His eyes find yours. "I'm not here for you. I'm here for her."
The room is dead silent.
"I spent years hiding," he continues. "From cameras. From attention. From the person I used to be. I built a quiet life in the suburbs and I convinced myself that quiet was enough." A pause. "Then I met her."
He gestures toward you, and you feel every eye in the room swing in your direction. Your face is burning. Your hands are shaking. But you can't look away from him.
"She didn't know who I was," he says, and a small, wry smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "Still doesn't, really. Not the version of me that existed before. She only knows the dad. The one in the oversized cardigans." A ripple of laughter from the adults who know exactly what he's talking about. "And she liked him anyway."
The smile fades. His voice drops, more serious now.
"My world is loud. It's chaotic. It's terrifying sometimes. I know that. I know the last few days have been overwhelming. I know you're scared, and I know you had every right to take the space you needed." He takes a breath. "But I didn't step back into the light for the fame. I stepped into it because you gave me the courage to stop hiding. And I don't want a life—" His voice catches, just for a moment. "—I don't want a life where I have to watch you walk away."
Miguel tugs at your hand. You look down, and he's grinning up at you, his small fingers wrapped around yours.
"Dad has a question," he whispers, loud enough for half the room to hear.
And then Wonwoo drops to one knee.
The gasp that rips through the room is almost deafening. Phones flash. Someone shrieks. A child starts crying in the back, and another one yells "WHAT'S HAPPENING?" in the piercingly clear voice only a toddler can produce.
But you don't hear any of it.
You're watching Miguel reach into the pocket of his button-down shirt. His small fingers fumble for a moment, and then he pulls out a small velvet box. He hands it to his father with the gravity of a knight presenting a sword.
Wonwoo opens the box.
The ring inside is simple. Elegant. A single diamond set in a band so delicate it looks like it was spun from light. It's not ostentatious. It's not the kind of ring you'd expect from a man who used to be one of the biggest stars in the world.
It's perfect.
"Baby..." His voice is shaking now, just a little. His dark eyes are bright. "I know this is fast. I know we haven't done this the normal way. But I've spent so much of my life waiting for the right moment to do things, and I've learned that the right moment doesn't exist. There's only the moment we're in." He swallows. "And this moment—right here, in this ridiculous daycare full of folding chairs and glitter—this is the one I want. Because this is where I first saw you. This is where you first saw me. This is where everything started."
Tears are streaming down your face. You don't remember when they started.
"Will you marry me?" His voice is raw, bare, stripped of every defense. "Will you build a quiet home with me and Miguel, no matter how loud the world gets? Will you let me spend the rest of my life proving that the only space that matters is the one we make together?"
Miguel tugs your hand again. "Say yes, please. Dad practiced this a lot."
A sob-laugh tears out of your throat. The room is spinning. The phones are flashing. Somewhere behind you, someone is openly weeping.
You drop to your knees.
"Yes," you whisper. And then louder: "Yes. Yes. A thousand times yes. To all of it."
Wonwoo's face breaks open into something incandescent. He slides the ring onto your finger with hands that are not quite steady, and then his arms are around you, pulling you against his chest, his face buried in your hair. Miguel launches himself at both of you, his small body wedging between you, his laughter like bells.
The room erupts.
Parents are cheering. Teachers are crying. Children are jumping up and down, not entirely sure what they're celebrating but absolutely certain it's exciting. The phones are still recording, still capturing, still broadcasting this moment to every corner of the internet.
You don't care.
You press your face into Wonwoo's shoulder and you breathe. His arms are solid around you. His heartbeat is steady against your cheek. Miguel's small hand is still clutching yours, his fingers sticky with whatever snack he ate during intermission.
"So that's a yes?" Wonwoo murmurs into your hair.
You laugh, watery and giddy and utterly unmoored. "That's a yes."
"Good." He pulls back just enough to cup your face in his hands. His thumbs brush away your tears. "Because I already told my family."
"Jeon Wonwoo—"
He kisses you.
The cheers get louder. The phones flash brighter. But for a long, suspended moment, there is nothing but the warmth of his mouth on yours, the certainty of his hands, the quiet, unshakeable knowledge that you are exactly where you're supposed to be.
When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours.
"I love you," he says. The words are for you alone.
"I love you too," you whisper back.
And then Miguel lurches forward and demands, "Can I have a snack now?"
The laughter that bubbles out of you is bright and wild and full of joy. Wonwoo shakes his head, grinning, and scoops Miguel up with one arm. His other hand finds yours and doesn't let go.
"Come on," he says. "We have a talent show to watch."
And together—the three of you, a family in everything but name—you walk through the chaos of the daycare, through the staring parents and the clicking cameras, completely indifferent to the world watching.
Because you are finally home.
Months later.
The heavy hotel door clicks shut with a sound like an exhale.
Miguel is asleep in the room across yours, his aunt already settled in with a book and a cup of tea. A party downstairs is still going—you can hear the faint thrum of music through the floor, the distant laughter of guests who will keep celebrating long into the night. But you slipped away early, your hand in Wonwoo's, your dress trailing behind you like a white cloud.
The suite is dim. Candles flicker on every surface, their flames casting long, dancing shadows across the white rose petals scattered on the bed. The city lights glitter beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, the same skyline you stared at just a few months ago, when everything was new and terrifying and uncertain.
Now, you feel nothing but certainty.
Wonwoo is standing by the window, his back to you, his shoulders bowed with the weight of the day. His tie is already loosened, his jacket discarded over a chair. He's staring out at the city with an expression you can't quite read—exhaustion, maybe. Peace, maybe. Both.
"I'll be right back," you murmur.
He makes a soft sound of acknowledgment. Doesn't turn around.
The bathroom is all marble and warm lighting, just like the suite from the premiere. You slip out of your white dress carefully, reverently, letting the heavy satin pool at your feet. And then you look at yourself in the mirror.
Beneath the dress, you've been hiding a secret all day.
The lingerie is white lace and sheer silk and utterly, devastatingly indecent. The bodice clings to every curve, plunging low in the front and lower in the back, where delicate straps crisscross over your bare skin. The fabric is so thin you can see the shadow of what lies beneath. It's the kind of thing you never would have worn before Wonwoo—the kind of thing you wore specifically because you knew what it would do to him.
You take a breath. Steady yourself. And then you push open the bathroom door.
The soft rustle of the door make him turn.
Wonwoo freezes.
His breath catches audibly in his throat. His dark eyes sweep down the length of your body, tracing the sheer white fabric, the curve of your waist, the dangerous plunge of the neckline. The exhaustion in his expression evaporates. Something else takes its place—something dark and hungry and thrillingly predatory.
He exhales. The sound is unsteady.
"Mrs. Jeon."
Two words. Spoken low, reverent, with a weight that makes your knees feel unreliable. Your wedding ring catches the candlelight, and then you feel steady and confident again.
Then he crosses the room.
Two massive strides, and his hands were against the wood of the bathroom door on either side of your head, caging you in. The heat of his body radiates through the thin lace, and when his fingers hook into the delicate fabric at your hips, pulling you flush against him, you gasp.
"You wore this under your dress all day?" His voice is wrecked. His mouth hovers a breath away from yours. "Knowing I had to sit through a five-hour reception without touching you?"
You smile, slow and wicked. "I wanted to give you something to look forward to."
A growl rumbles in his chest. Then his mouth crashes into yours.
The kiss is desperate—nothing like the gentle promises at the altar. This is hunger. This is months of public restraint and private longing and the excruciating patience of a wedding day. His tongue sweeps into your mouth, and you taste champagne and want.
He doesn't take the lingerie off.
Instead, his fingers find the edge of the lace and shift it aside, and then his hands are gripping your thighs, lifting you off the ground. Your back hits the door, and you wrap your legs around his waist on instinct. The heat of him presses against your core, and you moan into his mouth.
"I've been thinking about this all day," he rasps against your throat. "All week. Every time you smiled at me during the ceremony. Every time you laughed at Mingyu's terrible toast." His teeth graze your pulse point. "You knew exactly what you were doing."
"Maybe."
The word comes out more breathless than you intended. He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, and the look on his face is utterly wrecked—desire and love and the wild, possessive certainty of a man who has finally, wholly, irrevocably claimed what is his.
"Tell me you're mine."
"I'm yours." You frame his face with your hands. "Your wife. Your partner. Yours."
Something breaks in his expression. Something fragile. He carries you to the bed, lays you down among the scattered rose petals, and sheds his clothes with unsteady hands. When he comes down over you, his weight supported on his elbows, his forehead pressed to yours, you feel the shudder that runs through his body.
"I love you." The words are a whisper, a prayer, a promise. "More than I've ever loved anything. More than I knew I was capable of loving."
"I love you too," you whisper back. "Now show me."
He enters you with one hard, desperate thrust that knocks the breath from your lungs.
The strokes are deep and punishingly hungry, each one driving you higher up the bed. His mouth never leaves yours—consuming your gasps, swallowing your cries, his lips moving against your own like he's trying to memorize the shape of them. His hands grip your hips with bruising intensity, and you welcome the ache, welcome the marks he'll leave behind.
His breathing grows ragged, hot against your skin. The rhythm becomes erratic, the careful control he's held all day finally fracturing. He buries his face in the curve of your neck, and you feel his lips form the words against your pulse point.
My wife. My wife. My wife.
You shatter around him with a cry that echoes off the hotel walls. He follows a heartbeat later, your name a broken groan on his lips, his body shuddering with the force of his release.
The world goes quiet.
The candles flicker. The city glitters. Somewhere distant, the reception continues, but in this room, there is only the sound of your mingled breathing and the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm.
He doesn't pull out. Doesn't move. Just stays there, buried inside you, his weight a comfort, his lips pressed to your hair.
"Forever," he murmurs. "You and me and Miguel. Forever."
You close your eyes and smile against his skin.
"Forever," you echo.
And outside the window, the world keeps spinning, but you are finally, completely, perfectly home.
Hi, it's me (pinkshua-mp3) from my main account!!
I CANNOT stop thinking about Wonwoo from your fic!! They make so much sense and it's making me delulu 😭
I love it and I'm obsessed and I can't wait for more of your Wonwoo fics!!
Ugh, I'm so in love with wonwoo wth
Omg hiiiiiiiii!!!! Thank you so much, you are SO sweet! <3
Writing Wonwoo puts me in such a delulu state of mind and I' so glad Lip Tint Stains & Hair Ties Wonwoo provides nourishment for your soul the way it does for me heehee!
Thank you so much for your kind comment, it really made my week!
Oh, what's this?
Surprise! You launched me right back into my Missing Wonwoo Super Bad hours (I never left) and I busted out this drabble this week :D
Lip Tint Stains & Hair Ties Bonus Drabble
౨ৎ summary: A glimpse into the future of our main couple. They are many, many years into their marriage in this fic.
౨ৎ pairing: Wonwoo x Reader
౨ৎ genre: childhood friends to lovers, established relationship, married AU, fluff, drabble, peachesndreams
౨ৎ word count: 2.3k
౨ৎ warnings: social gatherings, some PDA, Wonwoo taking it up a notch in public (for a cause—because he loves you), someone makes a pass at Wonwoo but bro is so not having it, the marriage is secured with copious amounts of super glue, duct tape, cement, preserved with resin & flowers, cushioned with bubble wrap for good measure, locked away in a safe with a case sensitive password, he's down BAD besties
౨ৎ author note: This one's for you, @pinkshua-mp3 MUAH (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧ For anyone who hasn't read the first fic, I do recommend reading it for context, but up to you!
Lip Tint Stains & Hair Ties
The gala was, well, a gala— expensive chandeliers glowing warm lighting atop silk and sequins, the tinkle of champagne flutes, and polite, superficial conversation that you mostly ignored, grateful for the arrival of your husband’s warm hand flattening against your lower back along with whatever excuse he spawned directly from his ass to escape. As always, Wonwoo was a gentleman both at home and in public, his crisply tailored suit a rich black that somehow broadened his imposing shoulders even further, and his dark hair swept back from his forehead in a loosely-structured, still neat style that accentuated his steeply angled cheekbones. You knew you’d be threading your fingers through the strands to free them back into his usual softly ruffled structure by the end of the night, the light waves left behind reminiscent of late nights pouring over class notes and abandoned reheated leftovers in college and nights just as late spent straining to meet deadlines early in your careers.
Currently, he was engaged (against his will) in conversation with one of his work colleagues— a pleasant enough man who couldn’t help but sneak glances at you with not even an attempt at veiled curiosity. It wasn’t anything new. Over the years, you had more than grown used to the range of expressions people displayed while attempting to understand the striking, quietly intense Jeon Wonwoo with the woman at his side. Oh well, the two of you made perfect sense to everyone who knew you. Plus, it wasn’t like the two of you appeared incompatible with one another— you made for a very pretty couple (others' words, not yours, of course).
“You’re so stunning.” He murmured against the shell of your ear during a brief lull, his smooth voice low enough so that only you could hear it, but it seemed to silence the music filling the background noise all the same. His thumb smoothed little circles into the silk fabric of your dress, the same soothing pattern as always. “I can’t focus on a single conversation.”
“You say that every time.” You teased, shaking your head a little as you peered up at him with a mirthful smile.
“Must be because it’s true every time.” His eyes were soft as they cradled your reflection in them, that private warmth that he reserved for you appearing. He’d foregone his glasses for the evening, so there was no barrier from the affection gleaming in his iris provided by the lenses. Your heart did that familiar flutter it had been doing since you were fifteen and he’d scrunched up the sleeve of his shirt to offer his forearm to you as a lip tester canvas.
The colleague excused himself (yay!), and Wonwoo took advantage of the opportunity to steer the both of you to a quieter, more reserved corner to find a moment to gather the remaining dregs of your social juice, his palm never leaving its place on your back. Just as you’d settled into the alcove, hidden partially by a large, probably fake plant, a figure approached your short-lived sanctuary with an intent neither you nor Wonwoo overlooked.
She was undeniably pretty, you’d give her that. Tall, elegantly styled hair, a gorgeous dress that suited her figure, and flawless makeup. Her confidence was in no way misplaced, but she was obviously accustomed to getting what she wanted, and judging by the way her eyes locked onto Wonwoo, she was in for an abrupt change of pace tonight.
“Jeon Wonwoo?” She extended a hand with a trained smile, a little too personal to be just business. “We met last spring at the—”
You checked out, feeling the tangible shift in the air as Wonwoo’s expression morphed into something polite but adamantly distant— the same mask he’d adopted in high school when people approached him with expectations he had no intention of fulfilling. “Yes,” he replied, eyes dull, and tone careful, tight, and utterly uninvested. “We did.”
The woman was certainly not in the business of taking hints, unfortunately.
“Sorry to interrupt.” Her smile widened as she stubbornly overlooked your presence, not that you wanted to be a part of this exchange very quickly destined for disaster. “I had some ideas I wanted to run by you. Private ideas.” She let the words settle, her intentions laced with a pretty, obvious bow tied front and center for everyone to see.
Ah, this was about to be embarrassing. You resisted a wince and wished there were a socially acceptable way to hide behind your hands at events like these when moments were too painful to watch.
The pressure of Wonwoo’s hand at your back increased just enough to signal to you that he was very much bothered, his long fingers twitching. He allowed the silence to extend, partially to reign in his irritation, and mostly to wait for the first hairline cracks in her audacity to appear. You fought the instinct to physically turn away from the scene, eyes flicking up to check in on your husband, finding a certain sharpness in his expression that you were thankful to not be on the receiving end of. His dark eyes lacked any luster as he glowered down his nose, a certain indicator that someone was about to learn a valuable, unforgettable lesson about crossing him.
You wondered who he'd picked that up from.
Wonwoo raised his hand without breaking his intense eye contact with the woman, and a passing waiter appeared instantly like a paid actor at his side. He smoothly plucked two champagne flutes from the tray, his wedding band twinkling as it caught the warm light and the bubbles floating up through the faintly yellow tinted liquid during the transfer.
Her eyes lit up at the move, and she stepped closer. A mistake. You winced for real this time.
“Wonwoo,” You breathed just so he could hear, a little apprehensive about whatever he was about to pull with two full glasses of alcohol in hand.
Finally, he turned to face you, his cheeks gleaming with the glow of his smile and his voice carrying through the low mumble of the gala.
“Darling?” The endearment tumbled out of his lips, soft and tender, like he always used it in public— which he didn’t. He hadn’t called you that earlier, and had been simply using your name all evening, proper and professional. This was personal. Your insides warmed all the same anyway.
Wonwoo leaned into you a bit as he pressed one of the champagne glasses into your hand, despite the fact that neither of you really drank outside of a few occasions, meaning he only swiped them for the purpose of becoming this woman’s karma. How petty and super hot of him. He took advantage of his free hand to curl his arm around your waist and pull you further into his side. Then, he twisted the dial to his overkill setting, tilting down to press a lingering kiss into your hair, his nose briefly brushing against your temple.
“Do you want to find a place for us to sit?” He asked, voice pitched to it’s mellowed setting for you, intimate like it was only the two of you present.
The woman’s smile turned positively brittle, frozen on her face, but far from reaching her eyes. Clearly, she’d been expecting a different outcome— had probably done this before; had probably succeeded before. But Wonwoo really wasn’t one for these kinds of games. Challenging his loyalty meant instant defeat.
When he eventually turned back to her, his gaze readopted his severe sharpness. Gone was the doting warmth he’d just showed you, in it’s place something impatient and cutting. The unimpressed tilt of his brows and tense line of lips spelled out ‘annoyed’ and ‘dismissive.’
“I’m afraid I don’t have time for private conversations tonight.” His tone was perfectly pleasant, but pointedly professional. “My wife and I were just about to find a table.” He cocked his head, his chin angled defiantly, and the gesture was so deliberate and barbed that the woman actually took a step back. “All discussions can occur through the proper channels. I’m sure you understand.”
And that was that. Lesson learned. Class dismissed. And all of it wrapped up in the tissue-paper-thin polish of politeness, but that’s your Wonwoo.
Her face flushed— whether from embarrassment or anger, you couldn’t tell— and she quickly made her excuses before retreating back into the crowd. As you watched her go, you couldn’t help but feel the warmth of satisfaction (and something decidedly hotter that would have to wait to be addressed) blossom through your bloodstream.
“You didn’t have to do that,” You said, smiling nonetheless. You discarded your drink on a nearby ledge, and Wonwoo followed suit. “But well played.”
Soft, gooey, adoring Wonwoo faced you again, a small smile of his own smoothing the sharp angles of his expression under your praise. “She was incredibly rude, and thank you. I learned from the very best.”
“Did you?” You teased, eyes widening in a playful display of interest as he leaned even closer to you, his warmth seeping into you with his contact.
“I did.” He confirmed, his smile sweetening by the second and eyes crinkling in endearment. “She’s stunning, by the way.” Evidently unable to resist your charm, Wonwoo stamped another kiss to your hair, then your temple, then the corner of your mouth. As he reluctantly pulled back, his half-lidded eyes lingered low on your lips. “You’re wearing that tint I like.”
You couldn’t help but laugh a bit at his ridiculous statement. “You like every tint I wear, Wonwoo.” You tilted your head up further though, letting him see another angle of the light pink sheen on your lips. His eyes traced every move, while you noted his thumb resumed its rhythmic little circles into the fabric of your dress.
His eyes darkened just a fraction, and you felt the heat of his palm glide from your back to your waist. “I do, and I bought you that one.”
“And?” You asked with a knowing grin, fluttering your lashes just to tease him.
“And I remember a promise. “He murmured, his mellow voice dipping into that register that spoke of promises of their own. “Something about letting me kiss it off.”
“We’re in public.” You reminded him, voice sing-song, but you were already angling your head for him as he continued to close the little distance, your palms sliding up the front of the smooth material of his suit.
“Convenient.” He replied, his other hand finding its place on your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin absently as he guided you to a routine, comfortable position. “This will be the perfect way to tell them to mind their business.”
And then he kissed you, deep, unhurried, and uncaring of anyone who may wander by your partially hidden alcove with only a possibly fake plant for coverage. He held you gently, steady, with the same care as your first kiss in his college apartment and with the same unspoken promise as when he kissed you on your wedding day. Around you, the conversation continued to buzz, the music never ceased, but you were more interested in him, in the familiar taste of his mouth, and the way his heart pulsed against your palms.
When he finally pulled back, his lips were kiss-plumped and stained faintly pink with the transferred lip tint, and he looked a bit flushed and oh-so-pleased with himself.
“I need to go reapply that before we sit down.” You said, breathless and laughing at his disheveled appearance. At least you were merciful and kept your fingers out of his hair, for now.
“You must be running low. I’ll get you another one.” A corner of his mouth quirked upward, nearing smirking territory, but still charming and endearing as ever as he shifted to rumble into your ear, “Anything for my wife.” The puff of his breath against the shell of your ear nearly sent the remainder of your decorum packing for the remainder of the night, but you decided against any more scenes in public.
Or, at least right there.
“Gosh, you must be overheating.” You pouted, fluttering your lashes up at him in factitious concern. “Lets get you some fresh air.”
Quickly, you tucked your hand into the crook of his elbow, and to his surprise (and delight) lead him not in the direction of the tables, but instead over to a quiet balcony that provided far more privacy than the fake-plant alcove. Both of you managed to dodge getting pulled in to any more meaningless conversations on your journey, and you’re pretty sure you caught a glimpse of the woman from before in the sea of people, her expression subdued. Honestly, you pitied her. She’d clearly never met someone like Wonwoo before— someone so utterly, completely devoted to his love that there wasn’t room for even the thought of anyone else.
You hoped she and everyone else learned that Jeon Wonwoo had never been for taking. He’d already given himself to you long before either of you realized or knew how to name it. Years had passed without that changing, and if Wonwoo had anything to say about it, it never would.
As the gathering inside proceeded, you and Wonwoo stole yourselves away on the balcony where the milky moonlight caught the edges of his face and softened his sharpness, and where he kissed the remainder of your lip tint off, slowly, thoroughly, and full of promise.
The following morning, you discovered a new set of three lip tints on your vanity, tied in a neat bow with a note in his tidy, distinct handwriting:
For my stunning wife. Looking forward to keeping our promise.
You giggled, then tucked the note away into the drawer of your nightstand, where all of his notes and most important words were housed.
✦Library Record #012 :: Boy, Friend
🧸 Ravenclaw!Vernon Chwe x Hufflepuff!Fem Reader
Title :: Boy, friend Classification :: Friends to Lovers Summary :: Everything Vernon does, that's just what friends do....Right? Word Count :: 5.5k words
series masterlist ✦ svt masterlist
Genre: Hogwarts AU • Friends to Lovers • Slow Burn • Fluff • Mutual Pining • Oblivious Idiots
Trigger Warnings: Mild blood purity discrimination (brief use of "mudblood")
A/N: First part of my series!!! Starting with my bias<3 Hope y'all enjoy it
You were standing outside the Charms corridor with your arms full of books, wishing you had asked Yunjin to carry half of them, when you almost crash into Rosalind, a pureblood Slytherin with a personal grudge against you because of your blood status. Great, out of everyone you could’ve bumped into, it just had to be her.
”Out of the way, Mudblood”, She says it quietly, under her breath, just loud enough that you hear it and quiet enough that no professor passing by would catch it.
You have had the word directed towards you several times before and by now you roughly knew how your body would respond to it: the small drop in your stomach, the heat that climbed up the back of your neck, and the practiced effort of keeping your face still so nobody gets the satisfaction of watching it land. You were already gathering yourself to take your books and keep walking when a voice, almost bored, comes from somewhere behind you.
"Didn't realize we were still doing that outdated shit."
You turn and so does Rosalind.
It was a boy from your year. You knew his name, though you had never really spoken to him beyond a passing greeting in the library. Vernon. He was simply standing there with his hands in his pockets, looking at Rosalind with a straight face.
Rosalind starts to say something about mixed company muddying the crowd. Vernon does not raise his voice. He only tilts his head slightly, eyebrow raised and says, "Funny. I was about to say the same about you."
Then he turns and walks away.
He does not glance back at her. He simply bends down to help you gather your books “Here you go”. You look at him with gratitude and your mouth opening and closing without any words coming out. “Oh..um, thanks..” He nods and walks down the corridor with the same unbothered pace he'd arrived in, his bag slung over one shoulder, and rounds the corner without a backward look.
You stand there for a long moment, too surprised and flustered, the books slipping slightly in your arms, feeling strangely undone. Not by the insult, you were already used to that. You were undone, instead, by the plainness of what he did. He didn't make a scene of it, nor tried to make himself the hero of the corridor. He just refused to let something ugly go unanswered.
That evening, you head to the library like you always do, intending to lose yourself in a Transfiguration essay and forget about the unpleasantness in the corridor. However, it does not work.
Every time your quill pauses, your thoughts drift back to him and you catch yourself searching the room before you even realize you're doing it.
He is there, seated near the window with a Herbology textbook open across his lap, entirely absorbed in whatever he is reading. The firelight catches against the side of his face as he turns a page, unaware that anyone is looking at him.
You find yourself watching for a moment longer than you probably should.
There is nothing especially different about him today. He is only sitting there, reading in comfortable silence.
...Was he always this cute?
The thought lands so suddenly that you nearly drop your quill.
"Absolutely not," you mutter under your breath, giving your own cheek a light smack before forcing your eyes back onto your essay. "We're not doing that."
Your face feels suspiciously warm anyway.
❈ ── 🍃 ── ❈
If someone asked you to name the exact day you and Vernon became friends, you would not be able to answer them. There is no single afternoon you can point to. It happened before you could realise.
It began, you think, with a seat.
You came down to the library carrying more parchment than you could comfortably hold, tired because of a double Potions lesson, and there is a seat near the window that seems to have been left empty despite the room being otherwise full. You sit without thinking much of it. It is only the following evening, when the same seat is empty again, that you glance up and catch Vernon sitting opposite to you, looking away too quickly, as though he had been watching the seat to see whether you would take it.
"Were you saving that for someone?" you ask.
"No, you can sit here" he says. Then, after a pause, he adds, "You always sit there anyway."
"I do?"
"You do."
“Oh, thanks Vernon”. You do not examine this too closely. You only sit down, and he goes back to his book with a nod in reply, and by the end of the week it has become, without either of you ever deciding it, the place where the two of you sat.
❈ ── 🍃 ── ❈
From there, things multiply slowly. He begins falling into step beside you on the walk to Herbology, without a word of greeting, as though the two of you had always walked together. In return, you begin saving him a place at the library table nearest the window.
You spend long stretches of time in silence together, and to your quiet surprise, you find that you do not mind it at all. He has a way of simply existing beside you that makes the quiet feel less like the absence of conversation and more like a kind of company all its own.
Neither of you ever calls any of this friendship out loud. It does not seem to need saying. It is simply what your days are shaped around now.
❈ ── 🍃 ── ❈
It is well into autumn before you catch yourself thinking something you immediately try to talk yourself out of.
You are in the library, having to sit at a table with a single same worn copy of a Transfiguration text owing to the upcoming exams. Without much options, the two of you squeeze into the table that was clearly meant for one person. Your shoulders brushing every time either of you turns a page. Beneath the table, your knees end up pressed together.
Neither of you shifts away. You are meant to be conjugating a difficult incantation, but for several long minutes you are far more aware of the warmth where his knee meets yours than you are of any of the words on the page in front of you.
You tell yourself this means nothing. Friends sit close together. It is a small table. There is nowhere else to put your legs.
"You don’t have to memorise the text, you know right?" His voice is quiet.
You blink, realizing you've been staring at the same paragraph for nearly a minute. "Y-yes I know."
"Wake me up when you’re done reading this page, Miss Sloth"
You nudge his shoulder with yours. "You're insufferable."
"So I've been told."
You find yourself chuckling despite yourself. At that sound, he looks up at you from the book. "Hold still."
Before you can ask why, his hand reaches across the narrow space between you, and his fingers brush lightly against your temple. He tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, eyes locked with yours as he does it. His thumb lingers for the briefest second against your cheek before he pulls away.
"There."
You stare at him, your breath catching slightly. What just happened
"What?"
"You had ink on your face."
"...That doesn't explain the hair,” you say under your breath.
"It was in the way." he says and simply returns to reading.
Meanwhile you spend the next several minutes pretending to study while your heartbeat refuses to settle. Do friends do that? Surely they do....don't they?
❈ ── 🍃 ── ❈
Vernon is running late after helping Professor Sprout with something in the greenhouses, leaving you alone long enough for Yunjin to slide into the seat across from you. She tears a piece off her toast before looking at you over the rim of her teacup.
"So," she says, far too casually, "how long have you and Vernon been together?"
You nearly inhale your pumpkin juice and a coughing fit takes over before you can answer.
"What?" you manage between coughs. "We aren't..." You shake your head, still trying to catch your breath. "We're just friends."
Yunjin opens her mouth to reply but instead, her eyes drift over your shoulder. You turn just as Vernon arrives, setting his bag beside him before sitting down next to you.
"You alright?" he asks, already reaching into his pocket and without waiting for an answer, he unfolds a neatly pressed handkerchief and places it in your hand. Then he pulls your empty goblet closer, fills it with water from the pitcher in the middle of the table, and nudges it gently toward you. "Here," he says quietly. "Drink slowly."
You mumble a small thank you, cheeks warming as you take the glass.
Only after you've stopped coughing does he begin serving himself breakfast as though nothing unusual had happened.
When Vernon looks away to butter his toast, Yunjin meets your eyes. One eyebrow lifts.
The expression is enough to let you know her exact thoughts. Sure. Just friends.
You look away first, having nothing to defend yourself anyway.
A few days later, you're leaving the library alone after returning a stack of books while Vernon waits outside for you.
As you're signing the register, Madam Pince glances over her spectacles. "Tell your boyfriend that if he's going to keep borrowing books on advanced Transfiguration, he ought to remember to return them on time."
You blink."My... boyfriend?"
"Mr. Chwe." She says matter-of-factly and stamps another return slip. "The two of you practically live in my library."
Heat crawls up your neck. "Oh... we're actually just friends."
Madam Pince pauses for exactly one second. "Hm." The noise is polite yet entirely unconvinced and she goes back to shelving books.
Outside, Vernon looks up the moment the library doors open. "There you are."
You leave feeling strangely embarrassed, just hoping that he doesn’t notice your blushing cheeks.
Later that week, you're waiting outside Charms while Vernon stays behind to ask Professor Flitwick a question.
Joshua happens to pass by. He slows when he notices you standing alone. "Waiting for Vernon?"
“Oh hello Joshua! Yes, he'll only be another minute."
Joshua smiles to himself. He adjusts the strap of his bag before adding, almost as an afterthought,
"I think it's kinda sweet"
"...What is?"
"The way you always wait for each other."
Your heart stumbles. "We're only friends Shua."
Joshua studies your face for a moment. Then, very gently, he asks, "Has he actually told you that?"
The question catches you completely off guard. Before you can ask what he means, Vernon steps out of the classroom.
Joshua's expression changes immediately. "Anyway," he says with an easy smile, "I'll see you both at dinner."
He walks away before you can stop him.
You spend the entire journey to the Great Hall thinking about those six words.
Has he actually told you that?
Told you what?
The strangest part isn't that people assume you're together. It's how naturally Vernon seems to fit into those assumptions without ever knowing they're happening. You begin to wonder, quietly, whether you are the only person at Hogwarts who is confused about what this actually is.
❈ ── 🍃 ── ❈
When Madam Pince finally announces the library is closing for lunch, Vernon gathers both of your books without asking and waits while you shove loose parchment into your bag. The corridors are crowded with all the students rushing towards the Great Hall. Without thinking, your fingers curl around the sleeve of his robe so you don't lose him in the sea of students. The moment you realize what you're doing, embarrassment floods your face and you let go. Before you could think much about it, his hand reaches your wrist to gently guide you through the crowd.
"Careful," he says as a group of third years barrels around the corner.
His fingers are warm on your wrist and you think he doesn't seem to notice what he’s doing. You are reading way too much into it…you notice far too much...
His hand stays there until the hallway opens into the courtyard. By the time he lets go, your skin still remembers his and you are beginning to think your heart has become deeply unreasonable.
Outside, the air has a sharp bite to it. You rub your hands together as the wind slips beneath your robes.
Without a word, Vernon unwinds the scarf from around his own neck and before you can protest, he loops it around your neck. His fingers brush beneath your chin as he straightens the ends. For one impossible moment, he is standing so close that all you can see is him. As he’s done with securing the scarf around your neck, his eyes lift to yours, offering you a small smile and suddenly you forget how to breathe.
Then he steps back as though nothing unusual has happened.
"I was fine," you manage to mumble out as you both continue walking. You spend the walk to the Great Hall trying to hide your smile into the scarf.
After lunch, the two of you drift back to the Ravenclaw common room to finish the assignment you had barely started. Claiming the sofa nearest the fire, you get comfortable on it trying to warm yourself up. Vernon walks behind you, removing his jumper and throws it casually on the armrest. You quickly lean over and grab it from the armrest, pulling it over your uniform. It hangs well past your fingertips.
He glances up once. "You've stolen another one."
"I’m just borrowing it. Please I think there’s a draft in here" you hug yourself, rubbing your hands on your arms.
"You said that about the last one too."
"I returned that."
"Yeah yeah, you did… only three weeks later."
You look away, unable to hide your grin. "It was too comfortable to return."
“Keep it” He only returns to his notes, completely unbothered, while you try to not look at him too much as you spend your time pretending to understand Ancient Runes.
❈ ── 🍃 ── ❈
Several hours pass as you both work on writing your assignments in silence. You stretch your arms up, fingers flexing as you let out a small yawn. “Finally...I managed to write a bit. Do you want to read it?”
“Hmm let me see” He shifts closer to read your essay over your shoulder and you become acutely aware of how close he is. Close enough to see the faint scar marking his eyebrow. Close enough to notice the way his lips part ever so slightly as he reads out your essay to himself.
“This looks like a good start” He looks at you.
His gaze is fixed on you and you wonder, absurdly, what would happen if neither of you looked away, what would happen if either of you leaned in just a bit closer. Your pulse pounds loudly against your throat as you struggle to get your head straight, unable to look away from the boy sitting beside you.
Your thoughts remain thoughts as Seungkwan enters with pumpkin tarts and the moment breaks. “Tarts for all!” He walks towards you both, and you shift slightly away from Vernon, clearing your throat. “Don’t forget to eat between your obnoxiously long study sessions” he says, offering you one.
Vernon reaches for another piece of tart on the plate, as though nothing had happened. Well nothing had, technically.
Poor you, now you will have to spend the rest of the evening wondering if you imagined the entire thing or not.
Thankfully, the portrait swings open before your thoughts can spiral any further, and Joshua walks in, balancing a stack of books against his hip.
"There you are," he says, walking towards the both of you.
“Didn’t I tell you we’d find them here” Seungkwan joins and takes a few books from Joshua, setting them on the table. "We checked the library, the courtyard, and even the Owlery. We were actually beginning to think you had disappeared."
Joshua's gaze lands on you, then on the oversized jumper and then finally on Vernon. The corners of his mouth lift knowingly. "So this is where you've been hiding."
You hurriedly begin stacking your notes. "I should probably leave you three alone. You haven't seen each other all day."
Before you can stand properly, warm fingers wrap gently around your hand. Vernon looks at you with quiet confusion.
"Why would you leave? We were in the middle of something."
"I just thought you'd want to catch up with them."
His thumb shifts absentmindedly against your knuckles as he gives your hand a gentle tug. "Sit back down. We've still got half an essay left."
The gesture is so casual that it almost makes it worse. You sink back onto the sofa, hoping the warmth creeping into your cheeks isn't too obvious.
Across the room, Seungkwan watches the entire exchange before slowly turning to Joshua. "I'm not saying anything," he murmurs.
Joshua smiles to himself. "I wasn't going to, either."
They both take the armchairs opposite you and the conversation slips easily from homework to Quidditch to Seungkwan's latest complaint about Professor Binns. You find yourself laughing far more than you contribute.
Seungkwan glances around before lowering his voice. "Apparently Mingyu rejected someone today." Joshua looks up in surprise. "Really?" "Not intentionally though," Seungkwan corrects with a sigh. "A girl asked if he wanted to go to Hogsmeade with her this weekend and he just smiled and said, 'Sure. Who else is coming?'" Joshua groans, dropping his head into one hand. "No..." "By the time someone explained it to him, she was already halfway back to her common room."
Vernon lets out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "Poor Mingyu." His smile is small, the corners of his eyes crinkling. You look away before he can catch you staring, but it doesn't really help. The warm feeling lingers deep inside your chest. Friends aren't supposed to make your heart race just by smiling. At least, you don't think they are.. Or I have been doing friendship wrong for years?
You do not say any of this to him. You are not entirely sure your voice would survive it anyways.
❈ ── 🍃 ── ❈
Finally the gruelling exam is over and you were on your way to find Vernon after your last class of the day, a habit so worn into the shape of your afternoons now that your feet carry you toward the usual courtyard without your having to think about it, when you hear his voice drifting from around the corner. He was talking to someone you did not recognize, his tone easy and unhurried like it always was.
You slow without meaning to. It’s not like you were trying to eavesdrop. You simply catch, as you pass, a question you do not quite hear the whole of, and then Vernon's answer, plain and unmistakable.
"Yeah. I've got a girlfriend."
You stop walking. Whatever comes after that sentence, if anything comes after it at all, never reaches you, because your ears have gone strange and rushing, and your feet were already carrying you backward before you have consciously chosen to move.
A girlfriend.
Not you. It cannot be you, because you have spent months insisting, to anyone who would listen, that the two of you were only friends, and he must have believed you, and so he must have found someone else in all this time, someone you know nothing about, someone he speaks of so easily and so plainly that it must have been true for a while now.
You do not stop to reason any of this through properly. You only turn and walk the other way, the scarf, his scarf, wound tight around your throat as though it might hold in whatever sound is trying to climb up out of your chest, and you do not look back to see whether he noticed you were ever there at all.
❈ ── 🍃 ── ❈
You begin finding reasons not to be where he expects you.
You take your meals early or late, timed carefully around whatever hour you know he will be elsewhere. You study in an empty classroom near the greenhouses instead of your usual table by the library window, and when Madam Pince notices the table sitting empty for the first time in months, she says nothing to you directly, though you catch her frowning at it once, as though the silence itself has become suspicious to her.
You give Vernon short, clipped answers whenever he catches you in a corridor. Busy. Sorry. Can't, essay's due. You do not look at him properly when you say these things, afraid of what your face might give away if you do.
He does not chase you down, not at first. He has never been the sort to make a scene, and some distant, grateful part of you is glad of that even as another part of you, unreasonably, wishes he would corner you and demand to know what is wrong, so that you would not have to be the one to say it first.
Instead, he only grows quieter. You catch him watching you sometimes from across the Great Hall, an expression on his face you have never seen there before. Not hurt, exactly, but something close to it.
Yunjin finds you in your dormitory a week into it, arms folded, entirely unimpressed with your excuses. "What happened?" she asks, "Don't tell me nothing happened because I'm not buying that for a second."
"Nothing happened," you say, which is nearly true, since nothing happened to you directly. You only overheard something you were never meant to hear, and it happened to break something in your chest that you had not realized could break so easily.
Yunjin sighs and sits down on the edge of your bed. "He asked me where you were after Charms yesterday," she says, gentler now. "Then this morning he wanted to know if you'd skipped breakfast because he hadn't seen you in the Great Hall. I don't think he has the faintest idea what's going on."
You do not answer that. You pull your knees up to your chest and stare at the wall, thinking miserably that of course he does not know, since the thing that is wrong is a girlfriend you are not supposed to know about at all. A whole life he apparently has that has nothing to do with you.
You keep the scarf anyway. You tell yourself you will return it eventually. You do not take off the hoodie either, and you find yourself crying quietly into the sleeve of it more than once, which is exactly the sort of thing you had promised yourself you would not become.
You avoid him for eleven days, but god does it feel a good deal longer than that.
❈ ── 🍃 ── ❈
Vernon doesn't go looking for you immediately. For the first few days, he assumes you are simply busy. But by the end of the week, he isn't so sure.
Joshua looks up from his book when Vernon drops onto the sofa opposite him in the Ravenclaw common room. He watches him for a moment before quietly closing the book over a finger to keep his place.
"You've been unusually quiet all evening," he says. "You haven't turned that page in the last ten minutes."
Vernon glances down at the open textbook resting forgotten in his lap before letting out a slow breath. "I don't think she's very happy with me."
Joshua studies him carefully. "What makes you say that?"
"She's been leaving before I can catch up after class. She doesn't come to the library anymore, and every time I ask if she wants to study together, she already has somewhere else to be." He pauses, his brow drawing together slightly. "She even tried to give my scarf back."
Joshua's expression softens. "Did something happen between you two? Did you argue about anything?"
Vernon shakes his head. "Not that I know of. I've been trying to think if I said something that upset her, but... I can't remember anything."
Joshua leans back against the sofa. "Have you actually asked her what's wrong?"
"I asked if she'd been sleeping enough," Vernon replies earnestly. "Then I asked whether she'd skipped lunch because she hadn't been in the Great Hall. Yesterday I asked if she was coming down with a cold."
Joshua waits for him to continue. When nothing else comes, he can't help smiling.
"Vernon... those aren't really the questions I meant. They're thoughtful questions, just not the important ones."
A small crease appears between Vernon's brows, before he can reply, the portrait swings open.
Seungkwan steps into the common room carrying two oversized mugs of hot chocolate. He takes one look at Joshua's amused expression and Vernon's troubled one before raising an eyebrow. "...Why do I feel like I walked into something?"
Joshua gestures toward Vernon. "Him."
Seungkwan crosses the room, hands one mug to Vernon, and drops into the armchair opposite them. "Alright," he says. "Start from the beginning."
Vernon recounts the past week with the same straightforward honesty he applies to everything else.
Seungkwan's teasing smile slowly disappears and the room falls quiet. Joshua and Seungkwan exchange a glance. Neither of them seems particularly convinced by anything they've just heard.
Finally, Seungkwan lets out a small sigh. "I think she's trying to tell you something."
Vernon looks between the two of them. "What?"
Joshua gives him an apologetic smile. "I honestly don't know."
"And neither do you," Seungkwan adds. "You've been trying to figure it out by yourself all week."
Vernon lowers his eyes to the untouched mug warming his hands. "So... what am I supposed to do?"
Joshua answers first. "You stop guessing."
Seungkwan nods. "And you stop asking whether she's eaten lunch."
Joshua smiles too before leaning forward. "Just find her. Sit down with her, and ask what's been bothering her. Then actually listen to the answer."
Vernon is quiet for a long moment, turning the advice over in his mind. Finally, he nods.
"...Alright." He sets the mug down on the table beside him and rises to his feet. "I'll go talk to her."
❈ ── 🍃 ── ❈
He finds you, eventually, in the courtyard beneath the beech tree, the same place you used to meet every morning before all of this fell apart. You are sitting with your knees drawn up, your face turned toward the lake so that he will not immediately see you have been crying.
He does not say anything at first. He simply lowers himself down beside you, close but not quite touching, and waits patiently, just as he waits for most things.
You break the silence before he does. "I'm sorry," you say, your voice trembling from the very first word. "I know I've been avoiding you. I know that wasn't fair to you. I should've just talked to you instead of disappearing like that."
He watches you quietly. "Okay," he says after a moment, his voice careful, almost cautious. "Can you tell me why you were avoiding me?"
A watery laugh escapes you. "I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I heard you. A couple of weeks ago, in the corridor. You were talking to that Ravenclaw boy."
He nods slowly, trying to remember.
"You said you've got a girlfriend."
Something shifts across his face, surprise perhaps. Whatever it was, you could not quite tell.
"And I didn't hear anything after that," you continue before you lose your nerve. "I didn't need to."
Your voice catches slightly, as you try to get the words out before breaking into another sob. Well, here it goes "I've been in love with you for months, Vernon. I don't even know when it happened exactly. It just... did. Somewhere between spending time together, it stopped feeling like friendship to me."
You laugh weakly through your tears. "I thought maybe you felt something too... I thought maybe it meant something to you as it did to me."
"And then I heard you say that." You shake your head.
The words come more quietly now. "So I figured I just had imagined everything. I thought I'd built an entire relationship in my head while you already had someone else."
"I kept thinking maybe if I stayed away long enough..." You wipe hurriedly at your face "...eventually it would stop hurting."
You let out a shaky breath. “But it didn't."
"I just wanted you to know why I've been avoiding you. I know you have a girlfriend, and I won't make things awkward anymore. I'll stop borrowing your things. I'll stop following you around after class." You manage a small, miserable smile. "I'll leave you alone."
Vernon has gone very still. He looks at you for several seconds, his brow slowly drawing together. "Wait." His voice is quiet.
"I'm trying to understand."
You look up at him, sniffling as you keep wiping your cheeks.
"You heard me say I have a girlfriend”
"...Yes."
"That's why you've been avoiding me."
"Vernon, I don't think that's the important part."
"No," he says gently. "I think it is." He lets out a slow breath, almost sounding relieved. "We've been talking about two completely different things."
You stare at him. "What are you talking about?"
"When I said I've got a girlfriend..." He says it with certainty, walking closer to you, "I meant you."
For a long moment, neither of you says anything at all.
"What," you croak out, "are you talking about?"
He looks at you with genuine confusion now. It wasn’t the look of bewilderment of someone who has no idea what's happening but more like that of confusion of someone realizing an assumption he had quietly lived with for months had never been shared.
He glances down at his hands before looking back at you.
"I gave you my scarf because I hated seeing you shiver. I left my jumpers with you because you always looked prettier wearing them."
A small, almost embarrassed smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.
"I walked you back to your dorm every night because I wanted to know you got there safely. I waited for you after class because I liked being the first person you looked for when the lesson ended. I made your tea every morning because I remembered how you liked it, and I saved you a seat because I couldn't really imagine sitting there without you."
"None of that means we were dating Vernon."
"What does it mean, then."
"It means we're friends," you say, though even to your own ears the word sounds thinner than it used to, worn down under the weight of everything he has just listed out. "Friends do all of that."
"Do they." He looks at you with genuine, earnest confusion, his brow furrowed as though you just told him the most absurd thing ever "I've never done any of that with a friend before."
"Vernon, you never asked me. None of it was ever official."
"I didn't think I needed to ask," he says quietly. "When people called you my girlfriend...I never corrected them because I thought you had already become that."
The silence between you stretches only for a moment. Then he smiles, small and sheepish. "I just didn't realize that I never actually told you."
You stare at him and your heart feels impossibly full.
"You are," you say, shaking your head through a laugh through the tears, "the biggest idiot I have ever met."
"I've been told that before."
"No," you murmur, stepping closer until there's barely any space left between you. "For someone so smart," you whisper, "you can be unbelievably stupid."
"So I've heard."
"Vernon."
"Hm?"
"Please...just shut up and kiss me already."
His answering smile is so warm it almost steals your breath before he ever touches you. He closes the distance slowly, giving you every chance to change your mind, and when his mouth finally meets yours it is not hurried at all. It is careful, almost searching at first, as though he wants to memorize the exact shape of the moment before he lets himself sink into it. One of his hands stays cradled against your jaw, his thumb moving in a slow, absent stroke along your cheekbone. The other slides to your waist, drawing you closer without any urgency behind it, only warmth. You feel the small, involuntary breath he takes when your fingers curl into his hair, feel him smile faintly against your mouth before he kisses you again, slower this time, like you had all the time in the world.
When you finally part, just barely, your foreheads still resting together, neither of you move to pull away. His breath is unsteady like you have never heard from him before, and you find that undoes you more than the kiss itself did.
When he pulls away, his forehead rests lightly against yours. “Will you officially be my girlfriend?”
You look at him properly then, the way you have not quite let yourself in eleven days, “I think this question was long overdue.”
He laughs then, properly this time, soft and warm, and something about hearing that sound after eleven miserable days makes your eyes sting all over again.
“Yes, I would love to be your girlfriend” You close your eyes, burrowing your face into his chest. For the first time in eleven long days, everything feels uncomplicated again.
The lake ripples quietly beyond the beech tree, and the last of the afternoon sunlight spills gold across the grass around you.
You stay there together until the air begins to cool, holding each other as though nothing had changed. Perhaps because, in Vernon's mind, nothing really had.
The only difference was that now, at last, the two of you understood the same story.
❈ ── 🍃 ── ❈
You come down to breakfast the next morning still half convinced you have dreamed the whole thing, until you spot Vernon already seated at the Hufflepuff table, saving you your usual place beside him like he always has, and your cheeks warm all over again at the sight of him.
You sit down. He does not look up from his toast right away, and then, without any ceremony at all, he slides half of it onto your plate, exactly the way he has done a hundred mornings before, and lays a peck on your cheek, "Morning, girlfriend."
You very nearly choke on your pumpkin juice for the second time this term. He glances up at last, and there it is again, that small, fond, faintly smug curve at the corner of his mouth.
Yunjin, across the table, does not even glance up from her eggs. "Finally," she says, to no one in particular, and returns to her breakfast as though nothing at all has changed, because as far as she and everyone else at Hogwarts are concerned, nothing has.
End.
📖 Before you leave Owl's Library, consider returning this record to the shelves with a reblog so other readers may find it.
tags: @kyeomiis
impossible days, sunset waves | yoon jeonghan
fluff | 1k words | no warnings
to celebrate jeonghan coming home… user haoboutyou is also coming home??? life has been tough but i’m tougher 💪
it is entirely jeonghan's fault that the two of you only arrive at the beach when everyone else was getting ready to leave.
by the time the train pulls into the station nearest the beach, the afternoon has already begun softening around the edges. the heat no longer sits heavily on your shoulders, and the crowd you've expected is already thinning. families are packing up picnic blankets while children drag their feet across the sand, bargaining for five more minutes in the water. somewhere behind you, someone struggles to fold an umbrella that's clearly won the argument.
you'd told him as much while the train rattled towards the coast, watching families with oversized cooler boxes board at earlier stops. when the two of you finally stepped onto the sand, the afternoon sun has already begun its slow descent, bathing the shoreline in a warm sort of glow that makes everything look softer than it really was.
"i don't know why i listened to you," you mutter, slipping your sandals off before they fill with sand.
jeonghan glances over his shoulder, a smile tugging at his lips. "because i have good ideas."
"you have ideas."
"they're usually good."
"they're usually convenient for you." he hums, neither agreeing nor disagreeing, and continues walking ahead with the tote bag hanging loosely from one shoulder.
you watch him duck instinctively around a little girl running after a beach ball before he veers closer to the water, where the tide packs the sand into something firmer beneath your feet.
as much as you hated admitting it, he'd been right.
you glance sideways. "...i hate that you're right."
jeonghan smiles to himself without looking at you.
"i know." curse his stupidly handsome smirk.
-
the beach feels slower than you remember. maybe it's because there's finally enough space to hear the waves over everyone else's conversations, or maybe it's because neither of you has anywhere else to be afterwards. the wet sand cools your feet while jeonghan walks close enough that your shoulders brush every few steps.
you don't think much of it when jeonghan slows down for the third time. the first had been because he'd spotted a shell half-buried in the sand, the second because he'd insisted a cloud looked suspiciously like mingyu's profile, and now he's crouching again, poking carefully at something with a stick he'd picked up somewhere along the way. you've already learned that hurrying him accomplishes absolutely nothing, so you stop a few steps ahead and wait instead. eventually, he looks up with the sort of expression that tells you he's forgotten you kept walking in the first place. "look," he says quietly, pointing towards a tiny hermit crab making its way across the wet sand. it takes all of five seconds for the little thing to disappear beneath a rock. somehow, that seems to satisfy him.
you don't say anything about it once he stands again. there isn't much to say, really. the hermit crab has disappeared, the stick in jeonghan's hand is abandoned somewhere along the wet sand, and the two of you continue walking like that small interruption had been a perfectly normal reason to stop. with him, you suppose it is. jeonghan has always had a way of making detours feel intentional, as if the day had been quietly waiting for him to notice whatever everyone else had walked past.
-
by the time you finally decide to sit, the sun has lowered enough that the water looks gold where it catches the light. jeonghan drops onto the towel first with a small sigh, one that sounds far too relieved for someone who has done nothing more strenuous than walk slowly and inspect beach wildlife. you sit beside him and open the container of fruit you packed that morning, only to find the pieces still cold. for a moment, you stare down at it, confused, until jeonghan reaches into the tote and pulls out a half-melted bag of ice with the calm expression of someone who’s just performed the greatest trick of all time.
"when did you buy that?"
"when you were looking for your sunglasses."
you pause. "... my sunglasses were on my head."
"i know."
there's no point arguing with him after that, not when he looks so pleased with himself and not when the watermelon is cold enough to make you forgive him almost immediately. the two of you eat straight from the container, passing it back and forth until the fork is mostly forgotten and jeonghan starts stealing pieces with his fingers. every now and then, the wind picks up enough to threaten the napkins, and he catches them without looking particularly proud of himself for doing so.
the beach continues emptying around you. somewhere behind you, the family with the defeated umbrella finally manages to fold it, earning a tired cheer from one of the children. jeonghan laughs under his breath, and when you turn to look at him, the sunset has caught on his face in a way that feels unfair. soft hair, softer eyes, the kind of expression that makes people forget he is usually the reason something has gone missing in the first place. he must feel you staring, because his gaze shifts towards you after a moment, curious but unhurried.
"what is it?"
"’s nothing."
his mouth curves like he doesn't believe you, but he lets it go. instead, he leans back on his hands and looks out at the water again, close enough that your knees touch. after a while, his pinky hooks around yours where your hands rest on the towel between you. not quite holding your hand, not quite asking to, just enough contact to acknowledge you're there.
you let him have it.
the sun sinks lower, the tide creeps closer, and jeonghan's shoulder eventually settles against yours like he has simply run out of reasons to keep the space between you. you think about teasing him for being tired after insisting this was the perfect time to come, but he looks too comfortable to disturb. besides, he had been right. the beach is nicer like this, quiet and half-empty, with the day folding itself away slowly around you.
you don't tell him that either.
he'd be impossible about it.
flirt ────୨ৎ──── y. jeonghan x fem reader
warnings: possessive!jeonghan, jealous!jeonghan, oral (m. rec), degradation, unprotected sex wc: 3432 authors note: thank you so much for 100 followers <3 also loving possessive boyfriend jeonghan so much i wrote this doozy
The restaurant is the kind of place that makes you feel like you're supposed to be someone else. Crystal stemware catching the low light, white tablecloths starched stiff enough to stand on their own, a pianist in the corner playing something soft and minor. You're wearing that black dress—the one that dips low enough in the front to make Jeonghan's jaw tighten when you'd walked out of the bathroom tonight, the one that rides up just a little when you cross your legs.
You'd seen the look; you'd smiled.
He's across the table from you now, handsome in his dark button-down, sleeves rolled to his elbows.
The waiter arrives, and you feel the shift in the air before you even look up. He's tall, broad-shouldered, with a jaw that could cut glass and the kind of easy smile that says he knows exactly how he looks. His name tag reads Suho.
"Can I start you with something to drink?" he asks, his eyes landing on you first.
You tilt your head, let your lips curve just slightly. "I think I need a recommendation. What's good here?"
Jeonghan's fingers tighten around his phone.
Suho runs through the wine list with practiced ease, but you don't hear a word. You're watching the way his mouth moves, the way his eyes keep dropping to your collarbone before snapping back up. You're leaning forward just enough to give him a better view, one elbow on the table, your chin in your hand.
"I'll take whatever you think is best," you say, your voice going a little softer, a little warmer.
Suho's smile widens. "Excellent. I'll bring it right out."
When he walks away, you turn back to Jeonghan. He's watching you, his dark eyes unreadable. The silence stretches thin between you.
"What?" you ask, all innocence.
He doesn't answer.
The wine comes; Suho sets it down with a little flourish, makes sure your glass is filled first, lets his fingers brush yours when he hands it to you. You let your fingers linger, thanking him like you mean it.
Jeonghan says nothing. His jaw is a blade.
Suho comes back to check on you three times before the appetizers arrive. Each time, you have a question. Each time, you lean a little closer. Each time, you touch something—the rim of your glass, the stem, your necklace, your hair—and watch his eyes follow.
You can feel the heat coming off Jeonghan across the table. The stillness in him. The coiled tension.
You order the steak, medium rare. The waiter writes it down, and when he asks if you'd like anything else, you pause just long enough to make it mean something.
"I think I've got everything I need," you say.
For now.
As soon as Suho walks away, Jeonghan starts.
"That's enough." His voice is quiet. Calm. That's how you know you're in trouble.
"What's enough?" You take a sip of your wine, holding it on your tongue.
"You know exactly what you're doing."
"I'm being friendly." You bat your lashes. "Is that a crime?"
His hand moves under the table. You feel it before you understand what's happening — his palm landing on your bare thigh, high up, fingers digging in hard enough to make you gasp. The pressure is sharp, precise, intentional. His thumb presses into the soft flesh at your inner thigh and you feel the bruise blooming before he even lets go.
You look at him. His face hasn't changed. He's still calm. Still composed. But his hand on your thigh is a vise, and his eyes—his eyes are dark water, deep and cold and hiding something hungry beneath the surface.
"Keep smiling at the waiter," he says, low enough that only you can hear, "and see what happens when we get home."
Your breath catches. Your body, traitor that it is, responds before your brain catches up. Heat floods through you, settling low and insistent.
He releases your thigh slowly, deliberately, dragging his fingers across your skin before pulling his hand back to his side of the table. You take a shaky breath. You pick up your wine glass. You try to steady your hands.
The steak arrives. Suho sets it down with a flourish, asks if there's anything else he can get you, and you open your mouth to say no, thank you, that's all—but what comes out is different.
"Maybe later." You let your eyes drag down his body and back up. "I might think of something."
The waiter’s ears go red. He clears his throat, mumbles something about being available, and retreats.
The silence at your table is a held breath.
Jeonghan sets down his chopsticks. He folds his napkin. He pulls out his wallet and drops enough cash on the table to cover the bill twice over, and he stands.
"We're leaving."
"I haven't finished my—"
"I said we're leaving."
He doesn't shout. He doesn't need to. The quiet in his voice is worse, sharper, a blade honed to a razor's edge. People at nearby tables are starting to look. You feel the weight of their curiosity like an itch between your shoulder blades.
You stand. You don't know why you're still smiling.
Jeonghan's hand wraps around your wrist and he pulls you out of the restaurant, through the lobby, past the hostess stand where Suho is standing with the check in his hand and a confused look on his face. You catch his eye as you're being dragged past. You give him a little wave.
Jeonghan's grip tightens. His nails dig into your skin.
The parking garage is cold and smells like concrete and exhaust. His car is parked in the corner, a black sedan with windows so dark they look like mirrors. He opens the back door—not the passenger seat, the back—and pushes you inside hard enough that you fall across the leather seat, your dress riding up, your hair spilling across your face.
He gets in after you. The door slams shut. The locks click.
The interior is dark and close and smells like him — expensive cologne and wine and something sharp underneath. He doesn't turn on the dome light. He doesn't have to. You can feel him looking at you, can feel the weight of his attention like a hand around your throat.
He reaches for you. His hand finds your jaw, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your cheeks, forcing your face up, forcing you to look at him. His thumb presses against the hinge of your jaw, hard enough to ache.
"What a fucking bad girl you've been tonight."
The words land like a slap. You feel them in your chest, in your stomach, between your legs.
You try to say something—some witty retort, some spark of defiance—but his grip on your face is too tight, and what comes out is a breathless, garbled noise.
So you do what you always do. You talk back anyway.
"What's wrong?" The words are mangled by his grip, but you get them out. "Can't handle a little competition?"
His eyes go flat. Darker. Something in them shifts and settles, and you know you've pushed him past the edge. He releases your face and you think for a moment that you've won; then he reaches for his belt.
The sound of the buckle coming undone is sharp in the silence of the car. Metal on metal. Leather sliding through loops. He pulls the belt free, lets it drop to the floor, and then his hands are at his waistband, unbuttoning his pants, pulling down the zipper.
"Looks like I need to teach you a lesson."
His hand finds the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair, and he pushes. Not hard enough to hurt, not yet; just enough to make his intention clear.
You know what he wants. Your body knows before your mind catches up, heat flooding through you, anticipation making your mouth go dry.
He guides you down, and you go willingly. You always do.
The first moment is always the hardest—the pressure, the instinct to pull back. But you don't pull back. You take him in, your lips stretching around his cock, your throat working against the intrusion. His hand tightens in your hair, holding you there, letting you adjust.
"Look at you," he says, his voice rough, frayed at the edges. "So eager to please. And yet so bad at listening."
You try to respond, but the sound comes out muffled, and he laughs—a low, dark sound that vibrates through his chest.
He starts to move your head. His grip guides the rhythm, his hips meeting the motion, setting a pace that's punishing from the start. Just the thrust of him deep into your throat, again and again, until you feel the gag reflex kick in, your body trying to reject what it can't handle.
Tears spring to your eyes. Your hands come up to grip his thighs, not to push him away—you know better than that—but to anchor yourself, to hold on as he uses you.
"That's it." His voice is a growl. "Take it. All of it."
You feel your mascara starting to run, the wet tracks sliding down your cheeks. Your throat is raw and burning and full of him, and every time you gag, he groans, his grip tightening, his pace quickening.
"When I'm done with you," he says, his voice strained, "you won't even be able to talk."
He's not wrong. Your voice is already gone, reduced to broken sounds around the intrusion of him. You can feel the pressure building in him, the way his thighs tense under your hands, the way his breathing turns ragged.
He holds you there, his hips still, his hand pressing your face down, forcing you to take all of him. You feel the rush of warmth down your throat, feel the way his body shudders with the release, and you stay where you are, pinned beneath his grip, taking everything he gives you.
When he finally lets you up, you gasp for air like you've been drowning. Which you have, in a way. Your throat burns. Your jaw aches. Your face is a wreck: mascara running in dark rivers down your cheeks, your lips swollen and red, your chin slick with a mess of spit and the evidence of what you've done.
He reaches for you. You flinch, but his touch is gentle now—his thumb sweeping across your chin, collecting the mess, gathering it up. He brings his thumb to your lips.
"Suck."
You close your lips around his thumb and taste him. When he pulls his thumb free, he holds your gaze. His eyes have gone soft at the edges, but there's still something sharp underneath, something unfinished.
"Don't think this is over yet," he says. "Wait until we get home."
He pulls away, zips himself up, gets out of the back seat. The door closes behind him, and you hear the front door open, the engine start.
You lie there for a moment, catching your breath, touching your swollen lips with your fingers. You can't wait.
The drive home is silent. The city lights slide across the windows, painting his face in stripes of gold and shadow. He doesn't look at you. His hands are steady on the wheel, his jaw set, his focus on the road ahead.
You sit in the back seat, your dress twisted, your hair a mess. You don't fix any of it. You know he wants to see what he's done to you.
He pulls into the underground garage. The gate groans as it closes behind you. He parks in his spot, cuts the engine, and sits there for a long moment, staring straight ahead; then he gets out.
He opens your door. He takes your hand. He pulls you out of the car and doesn't let go, his grip iron-tight as he leads you to the elevator, as he punches in the code for the penthouse floor, as the doors slide closed and you rise in silence.
The elevator dings. The doors open. His apartment door is three steps away. He unlocks it, pushes it open, and shoves you inside.
You stumble across the threshold, catching yourself on the wall. The door slams shut behind you. His hands finds your shoulders, spinning you around, pressing you back against the wood. His body is a wall of heat against yours, his hand coming up to cup your face, not gentle this time. His fingers dig into your cheeks again, forcing your lips into a pout, pushing them together until you look ridiculous, until you look like a chastised child.
"I warned you earlier," he says, his voice low and quiet. "But you wouldn't listen."
His eyes search yours. Looking for defiance. Looking for regret. Looking for evidence that his lesson took. You give him none of it.
Something in his expression flickers—hunger, maybe. The acknowledgment that you will never learn, that you will never stop, that this is the game you play and neither of you knows how to stop playing.
He grabs your wrist and pulls you through the apartment. Past the kitchen, past the living room with its floor to ceiling windows, down the hallway to the bedroom. He throws the door open and drags you inside.
"Strip."
You don't hesitate. You reach for the zipper of your dress, pull it down, let the fabric pool at your feet. You step out of it, kick off your heels, stand before him in nothing but the lace underwear you'd chosen specifically for tonight.
He looks at you. His eyes travel the length of your body, slow and deliberate, like he's cataloging every inch. His face gives nothing away. "All of it."
You hook your thumbs into the waistband of your underwear and push them down. You step out of them and stand before him, fully bare, your arms at your sides, your chin lifted.
"On the bed. Face down. Legs spread."
You walk to the bed and lie down, pressing your cheek against the cool sheets. You let your legs fall open. You can feel the air against your skin, can feel how exposed you are, how vulnerable, how wet you already are.
You hear his footsteps as he walks around the bed, feels the mattress dip as he gets on behind you. "I want you to count."
The first strike lands across your right ass cheek. The sound is sharp, the pain immediate and blooming, a line of fire that spreads across your skin.
"One," you say, your voice steady.
The second strike lands on the other side. You feel the heat building, feel the way your skin is already starting to redden.
"Two."
He's methodical. Patient. Each strike lands with precision, covering every inch of your ass and thighs until the skin is hot to the touch, until you're shifting and squirming against the sheets, trying to escape the relentless sting.
"Ten," you finally gasp, your voice breaking.
"Good girl. Now turn over."
You roll onto your back. Your legs fall open again without being told. You look up at him, your eyes wet, your breath coming in short, shallow gasps.
He looks at you. His gaze drops to where your thighs are spread open, to the evidence of exactly how much you've been enjoying this. The slick shine of you catching the low light.
"Look at that." His voice is rough. "Soaked. And I haven't even touched you properly."
He raises his hand again.
"This time," he says, "you count to ten again."
The first slap lands directly on you pussy; the sensation is overwhelming—pain and pleasure tangled so tightly you can't tell them apart. A sound tears out of you, half cry, half moan.
"One."
Your hips jerk off the bed.
"Two."
Each strike sends a shockwave through you. Your thighs are trembling. Your hands are fisted in the sheets. Tears are streaming down your face, mixing with the mascara that never got cleaned off, and you're counting through sobs, through wrecked breaths, through the relentless rhythm of his hand.
"Ten." The word comes out as a sob.
He pauses. His hand hovers over your raw, aching center. You can feel the heat radiating off your own skin, can feel how swollen you are, how sensitive.
"Look at me,” he orders.
You force your eyes open; the room swims. His face comes into focus above you, dark and beautiful and terrifying.
"You're going to remember this," he says. "Every time you think about smiling at another man, you're going to remember what happens after."
He undoes his pants. You watch, breathless, as he frees him dick, as he takes himself in hand and positions himself between your legs.
He pushes in.
There's no gentleness, no patience. Just the thick, burning stretch of him filling you in one brutal motion, overwhelming every nerve ending, forcing a scream out of your throat.
He doesn't stop. He sets a rhythm that's punishing, each thrust driving deeper, harder, his hips slapping against your raw, sensitive skin. You've lost the ability to form words. All that comes out is sound—broken, desperate, animal sounds that you barely recognize as your own voice.
"Scream all you want, baby." His voice is a growl in your ear, his breath hot against your neck. "I'm not stopping until you've learned your lesson."
Your nails rake down his back. Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him deeper. You're crying and moaning and clinging to him all at once, a mess of sensations. He pulls back and slams into you again, harder, deeper, and the noise you make is raw and wrecked.
"Say it," he demands. "Say what you are."
"Yours." Your voice is barely a whisper.
"You're my whore," he says, the word landing like a brand. "My slut. My little fuck toy who can't keep her mouth shut."
You moan in agreement. You'd agree to anything right now. You're lost in the rhythm of him, in the burn and the ache and the overwhelming fullness.
"My bad girl," he says, softer now, almost tender. "My beautiful, disobedient girl."
You feel the pressure building, the heat coiling in your core. Your body starts to tighten around him, your breath coming in sharp, broken gasps.
You try to hold back. You really do. But your body doesn't listen, never listens, and you shatter around him with a cry that tears through your throat, your vision going white, your entire existence narrowing to the pulse of pleasure wrecking through you.
He follows a moment later, a groan torn from deep in his chest, his body pressing against yours, into yours, filling you with his cum.
He collapses on top of you. His weight is heavy and grounding, pressing you into the mattress. His face is buried in your neck. His breath is hot and uneven against your skin.
For a long moment, neither of you moves.
Then he lifts his head. He looks at you—at the mascara tracks, the swollen lips, the red marks blooming across your thighs. He brushes a strand of hair out of your face, tucks it behind your ear.
"You never learn your lesson," he says. Not an accusation, an observation.
You smile at him, slow and tired and satisfied. "I know."
He almost smiles back. He catches himself, lets the expression settle into something softer, fonder. He kisses your forehead, your nose, your mouth — a kiss that's nothing like what came before, something careful and reverent.
He pulls out of you carefully, and you feel the loss of him like an ache. He disappears into the bathroom and comes back with a warm washcloth, cleans you up with careful hands, the same hands that left marks on your skin an hour ago.
He pulls the covers up over you. He crawls in beside you, his chest against your back, his arm draped over your waist.
"Next time," he says into your hair, "I'm not going to be so nice."
Your eyes are already closing. Your body is already sinking into the mattress. You're already thinking about what you're going to wear the next time you go out to dinner.
"Promise?" you murmur.
His arm tightens around you. His laugh is a low vibration against your spine.
You smile into the darkness. You never learn your lesson. That's the secret. That's the whole game. And neither of you would have it any other way.
BRO FOR THE LAST TIME
SQUIRT IS NOT PEE ITS WOMENADE‼️
jeonghan and his hands!!
jeonghan uses his hands skillfully.
oftentimes it’s his hand (singular btw) wrapped around both of your wrists that are hoisted above your head as he works his magic with his hips, or simply holding your head down firmly as you gagged around his cock, with a soft contrast of him stroking your hair lovingly.
he’s a hole inspection lover (!!) his thumb would press down lightly on your hole, being careful to not insert it, watching your arousal ooze out around his thumb. would use his pointing finger and his middle finger in a v shape to spread you open, cooing and teasing you about how “hannie won’t fit”. he’d also spit directly onto your cunt just to see it drip down your folds, collect it all with his three fingers in a scooping motion and use it as a lubricant to rub messy circles on your clit.
he loves seeing you taste yourself. after prodding and curving his fingers just the way he knows you like it, he’d bring his middle finger and ring finger up to your chin, and tap your bottom lip as a sign for you to open up your mouth. his pupils will darken and dilate as he watched your tongue swirl around, your mouth sucking and drooling around his digits. the pure thought of your arousal and his saliva mixed with your own now, would leave him slightly lightheaded. he’d slide his fingers our of your mouth in one swift motion, then bring it to his own mouth with a “mm” sound, savouring the milky, slightly tangy, taste.
jeonghan knew that his love for fucking you in public places could not coexist with his love of hearing your angelic moans. instead, he has grown a separate love for covering your mouth, choking you, or even pinching your nose with his slender fingers to ensure no sound escaped from you as he pistoned his hips. his hand did not only cover your mouth though; he could practically cover the whole entirety of the lower half of your face, leaving you squirming for breath. he loved this though—knowing that he had complete control over you in the moment, shushing you in your ear, “just a little longer baby~ you don’t want them to hear you, do you?”
a/n: i have received sooo many requests for more jeonghan, so here it is! i see jeonghan as such a service dom who loves using his fingers to pleasure you and to ensure you finish before he even starts also i’m just a girl with a hand fetish..
Great Pretender (Coming Home) | Y. Jh
Pairing: Player Jeonghan! x Chaebol Reader!
Genre: Elite Society AU, Political AU
Type: Slowburn, Healing Angst
Word Count: 16k
Summary: Jeonghan played a role he was never meant to keep. Until he finally found a place to call home—where the performance ended, and he could simply be himself..
Jeonghan was so fucked.
Completely, utterly, irreversibly fucked.
When he stepped out of the car, one he borrowed from Seungcheol, because no way was he pulling up to a charity event in his own, he expected something… intimate.
A modest gathering of well-dressed elites, or maybe… a quiet dinner with polite applause between speeches. That made sense. It fit the image he had pieced together of you—humble, grounded, refreshingly normal.
Oh, how wrong he was.
The moment he looked up at the grand entrance, lined with press and security, his stomach plummeted. Cameras flashed as reporters whispered among themselves. Then, right by the entrance, he spotted a display showcasing the event’s purpose—complete with a blown-up image of the host.
The prime minister.
Your father is the prime minister.
Jeonghan went rigid. The weight of realization crashed down on him like a damn tidal wave. His mind scrambled, trying to recall every conversation he had with you, every small clue he should have picked up on. The ease with which you carried yourself, your careful yet casual way of speaking, your quiet but unmistakable air of authority—it all made sense now.
Ji Y/n. Ji Jaekyung.
He should’ve connected the dots. He should’ve questioned why someone as well-educated and sophisticated as you chose to teach at a cram school. Instead, he had been too preoccupied judging your practical outfit and your unpretentious behavior during your first date. Now, he was standing in front of a nationally broadcasted event, fully aware that he had walked straight into the lion’s den.
And he still had time to run. He always ran.
Running was easy. It had saved him more times than he could count. But as his feet itched to turn back, he hesitated. Because now that he knew who you really were—now that he had seen you not as the prime minister’s daughter, but as someone warm, self-assured, and unexpectedly real—walking away felt... wrong.
He had promised you he’d come.
Jeonghan was no one. Just a man who navigated the world of the elite through charm and carefully crafted interactions. His life revolved around dating the daughters of the wealthy, women whose mothers he conveniently befriended in art and culinary classes. A charming conversation, a well-placed compliment, and he’d find himself indulging in designer gifts, chauffeured rides, and exclusive experiences. It was a delicate game—one he played flawlessly.
When the relationship inevitably fizzled out, he stayed just long enough to soak in whatever luxury he could before moving on. It wasn’t about love. It was about survival.
He had never met you before, only your mother, who had gushed about you during a cooking class.
"My daughter is really pretty! She's also a very intelligent woman. You two would get along well!"
And then that night, you stood before him—dressed in a crisp yet simple blouse and slacks. Your hair was slightly disheveled, and the faint sheen of sweat on your forehead suggested you had rushed to get here.
"Thanks for waiting," you said, a polite smile on your lips as you caught your breath. "The commute was a nightmare."
Jeonghan blinked. Commute? His past dates never commuted. They arrived in sleek black cars with drivers waiting outside.
With a deep breath, Jeonghan climbed the ballroom stairs, nodding at the suited staff by the door. He gave his name, expecting them to glance at a guest list and wave him through. Instead, they barely checked before stepping aside with smooth efficiency, as if he were someone important.
It wasn’t until he caught a glimpse of the guest registry that his breath hitched.
His name was written under the family list.
Not as a guest. Not as a friend.
Ji Y/n’s plus one.
A sudden weight settled onto his shoulders. His fingers twitched at his sides. He was no stranger to high society, but this was an entirely different league. A world of power, scrutiny, and unspoken rules.
He schooled his expression, squared his shoulders, and walked inside. If he was already in this deep, he might as well make it look like he belonged.
Your mother was the first to greet him, her poised smile barely masking the subtle scrutiny in her gaze. She wasted no time in informing him that you hadn’t arrived yet, her tone carrying a hint of exasperation as she sighed.
"That daughter of mine," she muttered, shaking her head. "Always prioritizing those students of hers over her father’s business. She should be here already."
Jeonghan hummed in response, unsure whether he should agree or defend you. He had barely opened his mouth when she looped her arm through his, effortlessly pulling him into the crowd.
Before he knew it, he was being paraded around the room, introduced to your mother’s circle of socialites. Wealthy figures, business moguls, and politicians—each one scanning him with polite curiosity, trying to place him in their world. Jeonghan smiled when necessary, nodded at the right moments, but his mind was elsewhere.
Then he saw you.
The moment you stepped through the entrance, the noise around him faded.
Gone was the casual, practical look from your date. Tonight, you carried yourself with quiet elegance, dressed in a modest but effortlessly stunning gown. The soft lighting of the ballroom caught the delicate shimmer of your makeup, accentuating the natural beauty he had already memorized.
For a second, Jeonghan forgot to breathe.
Because this—this poised, graceful version of you—was the one that belonged in this world. And he was just starting to realize how many time you had surprised him just by tonight
"Jeonghan," you called, your voice smooth yet carrying a warmth that was out of place in such a formal setting.
He straightened up instinctively, feeling more exposed than he ever had. You looked so different, so composed—so belonging in this world. And yet, your smile when you reached him felt exactly the same as the one from your date.
"You actually came," you said, tilting your head slightly, amusement flickering in your eyes.
"I did promise," Jeonghan replied, trying to appear unfazed. But the weight of his name being listed under your family’s guest list was still pressing down on him. "Though, I’ll admit, I wasn’t expecting… all of this."
You laughed softly, leaning in just enough that only he could hear. "You thought it’d be a small charity gathering, didn’t you?"
He exhaled, shaking his head with a lopsided smirk. "I really should’ve done more research on you."
"Probably," you teased, then slipped your hand through his arm with ease, guiding him further into the event.
"Come on, my father would like to meet you."
Jeonghan stiffened. Meet your father?
Yeah, he was so, so screwed.
*
"Your dating game has officially reached Ji Jaekyung level."
Seungkwan slid a file across the café table with the kind of flourish that made Jeonghan’s stomach twist. He knew that look—pure mischief, the kind that ended with him either losing money or losing his dignity. Probably both.
Jeonghan didn’t touch the file. Instead, he took a slow sip of his coffee, giving Seungkwan a blank stare over the rim. "You couldn’t possibly be threatening me. I practically rescued you in college, remember?"
Seungkwan scoffed. "Rescue? Please. You groomed me, hyung."
Jeonghan choked on his drink. "Don’t say it like that, you little menace." He set his coffee down with a thunk, glaring. "That makes it sound illegal."
Seungkwan only grinned, completely unbothered. He tapped the file again. "Go on. Open it. I promise it won’t explode. Just a little light reading. Oh, and a delightful photo of a power couple moment.."
Jeonghan sighed but flipped it open anyway, already bracing himself.
There it was. A nightmare in high resolution.
A perfectly timed shot of him and you, walking arm-in-arm out of the event, looking like a picture-perfect elite couple. Elegant. Respectable. Utterly fabricated.
Jeonghan tapped his finger against the page, then flicked his gaze up to Seungkwan.
"This—"
"Yes?"
"Burn this before I burn your entire journalism career."
Seungkwan burst out laughing. "Hyung, you can’t even burn calories properly. What makes you think you can burn my career?"
Jeonghan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He hated that Seungkwan had a point.
"You know," Seungkwan continued, stirring his drink with exaggerated nonchalance, "people are very interested in the life of the mysterious son of Yoon Group. And now that you’re linked to the prime minister’s daughter? Oh, the clicks, the engagement, the public fascination—it’s all very compelling. The media lives for this kind of narrative, and you, my dear friend, are the perfect headline."
Jeonghan let out a long, suffering groan, rubbing his temple. "You are insufferable."
"But I’m employed, though," Seungkwan shot back with a smug grin.
Jeonghan scowled. He knew where this was going, and he already hated it.
Seungkwan leaned in, lowering his voice to something much more devious. "How about a deal?"
Jeonghan really didn’t like the way that sounded.
"Help me get some inside details on the election," Seungkwan said smoothly, "and I’ll make sure this never sees the light of day. I can be very discreet. Your name? Wiped clean. No suspicions. No drama."
He paused, letting his words settle before adding the final blow.
"Especially from your family."
Jeonghan stiffened. His fingers curled slightly on the table, the weight of the threat pressing down harder than he wanted to admit.
Seungkwan just smiled knowingly.
Jeonghan exhaled slowly, narrowing his eyes. "You think I’d trust you with something this sensitive?"
For the first time in the conversation, Seungkwan’s expression turned serious. He met Jeonghan’s gaze without his usual playfulness, leaning forward until their faces were inches apart. Then, with all the dramatics of a third-rate romance drama, he reached across the table and placed a hand over Jeonghan’s.
"You can trust me this time, hyung," he whispered, eyes glinting.
Jeonghan stared at him for a long moment.
Then, with a heavy sigh, he muttered, "I hate you so much."
Seungkwan beamed, squeezing his hand like they’d just exchanged vows. "Love you too," he chirped before casually swiping a fry from Jeonghan’s plate.
Jeonghan sighed, yanking his hand away from Seungkwan’s grip like he had just touched something contaminated. He picked up his coffee and took a long sip, as if the caffeine could somehow prepare him for the rest of this conversation.
“For the record,” he muttered, “I just found out about her father last night.”
Seungkwan blinked. “You just—hold on.” He set down his drink, looking utterly baffled. “You’ve dated the prime minister’s daughter and you just found out?”
Jeonghan rolled his eyes. “I don’t Google people before I date them, Seungkwan.”
“You should start.”
“Noted.”
Seungkwan leaned back, still trying to process it. “But, she's like… I don’t know, humble?”
Jeonghan huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “That’s because she is.”
Jeonghan exhaled slowly, staring into his coffee like it held all the answers to his problems. “I might have to end things with her.”
Seungkwan raised an eyebrow. “You want to end things without ghosting her?”
He tapped his fingers against his cup, gaze softening for just a second. “She’s not caught up in all of it. She teaches because she wants to, not because she has to. She doesn’t use her father’s name to get ahead, doesn’t expect special treatment. She’s just… her.”
Seungkwan eyed him, a slow smirk forming. “You sound suspiciously fond right now.”
Jeonghan shot him a look. “Shut up.”
“I won’t shut up,” Seungkwan said gleefully. “Because this—” he gestured between them, “—this is very interesting. Yoon Jeonghan, the guy who never gets emotionally involved, actually likes someone?”
Jeonghan groaned, rubbing his face. “I will burn your career.”
Seungkwan leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. “Alright, hyung. Let’s make this easy for you.”
Jeonghan narrowed his eyes. “I doubt that.”
"Stay with her for a little while," Seungkwan said, his tone almost too casual. "Just long enough to get some information about her father’s election plans. I mean, she’s his daughter—she must know something useful." He tapped the file on the table, the sound deliberate, calculated. "And in return, I’ll make sure this never sees the light of day. Your family stays blissfully unaware."
Jeonghan exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. This was getting way too complicated.
Seungkwan, ever perceptive, leaned in, resting his chin on his hand. "Come on, hyung. You’re already halfway in. Might as well make it worth your while."
Jeonghan shot him a look. "You make it sound so easy."
Seungkwan grinned. "Because it is easy. You charm people for a living. Just do what you do best—stick around, ask a few innocent questions, and when it’s over, you walk away. No harm, no foul."
No harm. No foul.
Jeonghan exhaled through his nose. “So you want me to spy for you?”
Seungkwan grinned. “Oh, spy is such an ugly word. I prefer exchanging favors.”
Jeonghan clicked his tongue. “You’re a little monster.”
“And you like it.” Seungkwan shrugged. “Look, you’re planning on leaving her anyway, right? Might as well get something out of it. Once you give me what I need, you can walk away, clean and easy. No drama, no messy emotional entanglements. Just another chapter closed.”
*
“You’re Yoon Jeonghan, right?”
After the meeting with Seungkwan, there had been no real conclusion—no agreement, no refusal—just Jeonghan leaving with the weight of a choice he wasn’t ready to make. Not yet, anyway.
Then fate, in its twisted sense of humor, shoved him a little closer.
He’d crossed paths again with your mother during one of his classes, her arrival as poised and deliberate as everything else about her. Without much preamble, she handed him a neatly wrapped package—an assortment of meticulously prepared, nutrient-balanced meals from the town’s most exclusive chef. The kind of thing that cost enough to pay someone’s monthly rent.
It wasn’t just food. It was… an opening.
At that moment, Jeonghan realized something dangerous—maybe, just maybe, he could make this work. Keep the charade alive for a while. At least two months, enough time to enjoy the perks before he quietly severed all ties.
So when your mother invited him to her birthday party—completely unprompted, with you blissfully unaware—he accepted without hesitation. He didn’t tell you, of course. This was no longer just about you. The connection was shifting, evolving into something more strategic… a mutually beneficial arrangement between him and your mother.
He told himself it was just another role to play. Another part in the game.
A game he controlled.
Or so he thought.
And then—
“Yoon Jeonghan! Long time no see!”
He froze.
That was Kim Jeni. Senior high school classmate.
And she was standing in the middle of your mother’s birthday party.
Why is she here? Is she related to you?
His mind raced through worst-case scenarios like flashcards. What if she remembered too much? What if she casually mentioned his less-than-polished past to the wrong person? What if she recognized that he didn’t exactly belong here?
And seriously—why did she have to remember him at all? It had been years. People were supposed to blur into the background after high school.
But no. Here she was, smiling like they were about to swap embarrassing memories over champagne.
And here he was, wondering if tonight was about to turn into a very public disaster.
Jeonghan’s first instinct was to look away, pretend he hadn’t heard.
But that was how amateurs got caught—by making the wrong move at the wrong time.
So instead, he smiled. The easy, slow kind of smile that said of course I remember you, even though in reality, he barely did.
“Kim Jeni,” he said smoothly, sliding into the familiar rhythm of a man who’d never been cornered in his life. “You look… exactly the same.”
Jeni laughed, touching her hair in the way people did when they weren’t sure if it was a compliment. “I should hope so. Although, I did finally grow out of my bangs phase.”
He chuckled like he remembered it perfectly. He didn’t.
“What brings you here? Are you…?” He gestured vaguely toward the crowd, buying time.
“Oh, my aunt is friends with Mrs. Ji,” she said, tilting her head toward your mother across the room. “I didn’t expect to see you here, though. Still in touch with our old classmates?”
Danger. That question was danger dressed in small talk.
“I move around a lot,” Jeonghan replied lightly. “Not much time to catch up.” Which was true, if “move around” meant hopping from one wealthy circle to another like a very well-dressed nomad.
Jeni’s gaze sharpened—not hostile, just curious. “And here I thought you’d left all this behind.”
His pulse ticked up. “All… what?”
She smirked. “The social scene. The handshakes, the networking, the pretending to care about canapés. You used to hate it.”
Jeonghan gave an easy shrug, as if the question amused him. “Hate’s a strong word. Let’s just say I’ve learned to… appreciate the art of it.”
Before she could dig deeper, your mother swept by with a glass of wine, laying a hand on Jeonghan’s arm.
“Darling, there you are! I want to introduce you to someone.”
Jeonghan flashed Jeni an apologetic smile. “Excuse me. Duty calls.”
And just like that, he was pulled back into the current, leaving Jeni in the eddies of polite conversation.
Still, he could feel her eyes on his back—curious, maybe suspicious.
One wrong move tonight, and she could turn from a harmless blast from the past into a problem he didn’t need.
Jeonghan hated mirrors at events like these.
Not because he disliked his reflection—he’d sculpted that image to perfection—but because they had a habit of showing the man beneath the polish. And tonight, his eyes betrayed him. They were restless.
When Jeni drifted away, her perfume fading into the hum of conversation, a shadow trailed behind her in his mind. She’d been there—at that party, the one after his graduation. The one that ended his place in the Yoon family like a guillotine blade.
It had been a warm June night.
The kind of evening where expensive champagne flowed like tap water, and music bled into the gardens. She was there—the woman—draped in pearls and wearing a smile that could make a man think dangerous thoughts. She was also the second wife of one of his father’s board members, the kind of man who wore power like a tailored suit.
He hadn’t meant to kiss her. Or maybe he had. The line blurred somewhere between flirtation and defiance. But there had been a camera. A flash.
And in a family where reputation was currency, one picture was enough to bankrupt him.
“Leave quietly,” his father had said, not even looking at him. “Before you take our name with you.”
That was six years ago.
Since then, the Yoon son became a ghost—spoken of in murmurs between wine sips. A scandal in a silk suit.
He learned to live by trading charm for survival. Socialites were his currency now. Wealthy, restless women who wanted a man to make them laugh between luncheons and look devastatingly good on their arm. In exchange, they gave him access—rooms he had no right to enter anymore, deals he could skim a percentage from, networks he could weave into a safety net.
And the first time he’d met you, he’d assumed you were naïve. A daughter shielded by privilege, unaware of the games her parents played. But he’d watched you—just a little—and realized that wasn’t it. You weren’t ignorant of this world. You simply refused to play by its rules.
He couldn’t decide if that made you foolish or dangerous.
It intrigued him, in a distant, intellectual way. Not attraction—Jeonghan had long outgrown such things—but curiosity. The same kind of curiosity that had once ruined him.
So when your mother had invited him tonight, he’d said yes out of calculation. A good connection, a potential ally, a well-placed woman with influence. You were a variable, but not a threat. Not yet.
Except now, as the evening unfolded, you were nowhere to be seen.
Guests murmured your name lightly—something about work, or disinterest, or perhaps distance between you and your parents—but no one seemed certain.
Jeonghan swirled the wine in his glass, watching the room’s glow blur through the deep red.
He didn’t look for you.
But he did wonder—what kind of daughter avoided her own mother’s birthday party?
For a man who’d spent years mastering the art of appearances, that question alone was enough to make him uneasy.
*
By the time the orchestra switched to slower jazz and most guests had migrated toward the dessert table, Jeonghan had already pieced together what he needed to know.
You weren’t coming.
It wasn’t just that you were late—your absence had settled into the air, quietly acknowledged, politely ignored. Your mother laughed too brightly whenever someone mentioned you, deflecting with graceful excuses about your “tight schedule.” The kind of lie polite people told when they were embarrassed.
Jeonghan understood that kind of silence.
He’d lived in it.
He took another sip of wine, watching the reflections ripple in his glass.
He didn’t care where you were. He told himself that twice, just to be sure. You were another variable, a missing piece in a puzzle that didn’t concern him.
And yet—somewhere deep down, under the weight of years and cynicism—Jeonghan wondered what could drive a daughter to abandon a mother who still smiled for her in front of a hundred people.
He stayed until the cake was cut, clapping when everyone else did, smiling at the right moments, before quietly excusing himself.
No one noticed him leave.
The next afternoon, the same corner café buzzed with weekend chatter, the scent of roasted beans lingering in the air. Jeonghan arrived first, as usual, claiming his preferred seat by the window. He liked the anonymity the place offered—dim lighting, a soft hum of conversation, nobody who cared enough to recognize him.
He was halfway through his espresso when Seungkwan arrived, slightly out of breath, a camera bag slung over his shoulder and the same smug grin plastered on his face.
“You look like you didn’t sleep,” Seungkwan said, sliding into the seat across from him.
“I didn’t,” Jeonghan replied, voice flat. He stirred his coffee idly. “You told me to keep an eye on her family. I did.”
Seungkwan’s grin faltered. “And?”
“She didn’t show.”
The journalist’s brows furrowed. “At all?”
“Not a glimpse,” Jeonghan confirmed. “Her mother covered for her all night. Smiled, laughed, pretended nothing was wrong. But people noticed. They just pretended not to.”
Seungkwan leaned back, rubbing his jaw. “Weird. Ji Y/n’s not exactly the rebellious type. At least, not publicly.”
Jeonghan arched a brow. “You’ve done your research.”
“I’m a journalist, hyung. I research before I blackmail.”
“Charming as always,” Jeonghan muttered, setting down his cup.
Seungkwan ignored the jab. “So, what do you think happened? Argument? Scandal? Secret boyfriend?”
Jeonghan scoffed softly. “You think I care about that?”
“Usually, no. But you’re the one who noticed her absence before anyone else.”
He hated when Seungkwan said things like that—too perceptive, too accurate.
Jeonghan leaned back, gaze drifting out the window. “Her parents—both of them—they move like people who can’t afford to blink wrong. Every word, every smile, measured. And then there’s her.”
Seungkwan tilted his head. “Her?”
“She doesn’t fit,” Jeonghan said simply. “She’s polite, grounded, but not… conditioned. You know? Like someone raised in that world but refused to be molded by it.”
Seungkwan studied him quietly. “You sound almost impressed.”
Jeonghan’s lips twitched faintly. “I’m curious, not impressed.”
“Curious,” Seungkwan echoed, dragging out the word like it was an accusation. “That’s how it always starts with you. You get curious, then suddenly you’re knee-deep in something you can’t crawl out of.”
Jeonghan met his gaze evenly. “Don’t romanticize it. I don’t get involved.”
Seungkwan smirked. “You say that now.”
They fell into a brief silence, broken only by the clinking of cutlery and low music playing in the background. Jeonghan’s phone buzzed once—an unread message from your mother, thanking him for attending the party. No mention of you.
He stared at it for a long moment before sliding it face-down on the table.
“Whatever’s going on,” Seungkwan said eventually, lowering his voice, “it’s not public yet. But it will be. If the prime minister’s daughter disappears from a major event, the press will dig. I can’t stop that.”
Jeonghan didn’t answer immediately. He swirled the last of his coffee, expression unreadable. “Then let them dig.”
Seungkwan frowned. “You’re not worried she’ll drag you into it?”
“She doesn’t even know I was there,” Jeonghan said with a shrug. “And I intend to keep it that way.”
Seungkwan hummed thoughtfully. “You’re playing with fire again, hyung.”
Jeonghan smirked, finally standing and reaching for his coat. “Fire’s warm, though.”
Seungkwan’s eyes narrowed. “You’re planning something.”
“I’m planning to stay out of trouble,” Jeonghan replied smoothly. “But if she keeps disappearing like that…” He trailed off, glancing out the window again. “…I might need to find out why. For safety. Yours, mine, and your precious headlines.”
Seungkwan’s grin returned, slow and knowing. “Sure, hyung. For safety.”
Jeonghan ignored him, dropping a few bills on the table before heading for the door.
But even as he left, that image lingered—the way your mother smiled too brightly, the way your name sat unspoken between everyone.
For a man who didn’t care, Jeonghan found himself thinking about it far too much.
*
By the time Jeonghan returned to his apartment that night, the city outside had quieted. The glow of streetlights painted long shadows across his floor, and the half-finished glass of whiskey on his counter had long since gone warm. He stared at his phone for a long while, thumb hovering over your contact.
He shouldn’t.
You hadn’t texted him since before the charity event. He’d already decided to stay detached, to play this role carefully until he could slip out clean.
But curiosity—it was always his undoing.
He finally typed,
“Are you free tomorrow?”
The message hung there for a moment before he hit send. No greeting, no context. He wanted it to sound casual, like a man with time to waste, not one caught between intrigue and necessity.
He set the phone down and exhaled, running a hand through his hair.
Because truthfully, he didn’t just want to see you—he needed to understand.
A daughter who skipped her mother’s birthday in a family built on image and influence? That wasn’t rebellion. That was strategy.
And strategy always came with motive.
His phone buzzed.
One unread message.
“Depends. Who’s asking?”
A faint smirk tugged at his lips. You hadn’t changed—still sharp, still unbothered by his evasive way of speaking.
“The man who made it through your mother’s party alive.”
“You owe me coffee.”
A few seconds passed before your reply came through.
“I don’t remember owing you anything.
But sure. Tomorrow, 2 PM. Same café.”
Jeonghan set the phone aside, the small, humorless smile still lingering on his lips.
He told himself it was for Seungkwan.
For leverage. For the information that might keep his name out of a journalist’s headlines.
But beneath that, quieter and harder to ignore, was something else—an itch under his skin that demanded answers.
He glanced at the window, where the reflection of his tired face stared back at him.
“If there’s such a rumor like that in the prime minister’s family,” he murmured to himself, echoing Seungkwan’s earlier warning, “it’ll be lunch for the other party.”
And he couldn’t afford to be on the menu.
*
Jeonghan hadn’t meant to care about what he wore.
At least, that’s what he told himself as he buttoned the crisp white shirt that fit a little too perfectly across his shoulders. The navy trousers were pressed to a sharp line, his hair neatly styled back, and his wristwatch—an heirloom he rarely used—gleamed faintly in the café light.
He looked like a man who belonged somewhere better. Someone who hadn’t been exiled. Someone who still mattered.
The watch on his wrist pointed to ten minutes past the agreed time.
His other hand held his phone, thumb scrolling absently through old headlines, articles, and photos of you.
Ji Y/n — The Prime Minister’s Daughter Chooses a Life of Service
From Politics to Education: How Ji Y/n Stays Grounded Amid Power and Privilege
Each headline painted the same narrative: the ideal daughter, the humble prodigy, the perfect contrast to her family’s glittering political image.
Seungkwan was right. He needs to do some research before saying yes to a date.
Seungkwan’s voice echoed in his head.
“You’re too tempted by all the money and glory. You might be the most materialistic conglomerate son in the world.”
And Jeonghan had countered without hesitation.
“I was kicked out of the family, remember? I’m technically nobody’s son.”
It had shut Seungkwan up, but the words lingered even now—an echo of something he’d never quite recovered from.
The low hum of the café faded when he saw you.
You entered in a rush, phone pressed to your ear, brows furrowed, your expression tight with focus. You muttered something into the receiver, nearly colliding with a customer before catching yourself. The moment you hung up, you exhaled deeply—then your eyes found him.
Jeonghan stood automatically, hand lifting in a small wave. For a fleeting second, something unfamiliar flickered in his chest—relief, maybe. Or recognition.
You crossed the room quickly, still slightly out of breath.
“I’m so sorry, Jeonghan,” you said, sliding into the seat across from him. “One of my students fell from the stairs and broke his leg.”
Your voice carried that same calm warmth he remembered, even under stress. No embellishment, no dramatics. Just quiet concern.
Jeonghan’s brows lifted slightly. “Is he alright?”
You nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “He will be. I just came from the hospital.”
Of course you did. The prime minister’s daughter, tending to an injured student instead of attending a political luncheon. It didn’t make sense—and that’s exactly why Jeonghan found it so hard to look away.
He leaned back in his chair, studying you with the cool composure of a man who pretended not to care. “You’re quite dedicated, aren’t you?”
You smiled faintly, eyes weary but genuine. “Someone has to be.”
Jeonghan hummed, gaze dropping briefly to the faint ink smudge on your wrist, the kind teachers always had from grading papers. You didn’t belong to the world he’d seen in headlines. You didn’t fit the image. And that mismatch—it fascinated him.
He studied you a moment longer, curiosity tugging harder now. There was something in your tone—an edge beneath the politeness, a shadow behind the smile.
Jeonghan didn’t know yet if you were someone he could trust, or someone who could destroy him.
But for the first time in a long while, he wanted to find out.
The conversation had begun to flow more naturally than either expected. Between sips of coffee and light bites of cheesecake, Jeonghan found himself watching you more than he should—how your expression softened when you talked about teaching, how you smiled politely even when dodging questions about your family. You weren’t evasive, exactly. You just knew how to draw a line.
He liked that.
“You don’t talk much about politics,” Jeonghan remarked, stirring his coffee lazily. “That’s unusual for someone who grew up surrounded by it.”
You shrugged, lips curling slightly. “I prefer things I can actually change.”
A quiet laugh escaped him before he could stop it. “You sound idealistic.”
“I sound tired,” you corrected, smiling faintly.
Before Jeonghan could respond, a familiar perfume hit him—a sharp mix of jasmine and expensive regret.
“Jeonghan?”
The voice was sweet, practiced, and far too loud for the cozy café. Both of you looked up to see a woman in her forties approaching the table, dripping in luxury—diamond earrings, a glossy handbag that cost more than a small car, and a smile that belonged to someone who’d never been told no.
For a second, Jeonghan froze.
What should he call her?
A past companion?
A benefit from a darker time?
A victim of his own charm?
Whatever she was, she wasn’t supposed to be here.
“Wow,” she breathed, eyes raking him over with unhidden satisfaction. “You look more handsome than last year.”
You glanced between them, curiosity flickering behind your calm expression. Jeonghan straightened slightly, the easy mask sliding over his face. “Good to see you,” he said smoothly, voice stripped of warmth.
She leaned closer, manicured fingers brushing his shoulder. “I need to go, but call me if you need some entertainment, okay?”
Her wink was quick, practiced—too public to ignore, too intimate to explain.
Then she was gone, heels clicking like a punctuation mark on his past.
Jeonghan exhaled slowly, but before he could say a word, you let out a small, amused chuckle.
He looked at you, brows lifting. “What’s so funny?”
You shook your head, biting back a smile. “Nothing. It’s just… you didn’t strike me as someone who’d need entertainment.”
His mouth twitched. “I don’t.”
“Mm,” you hummed, unconvinced. “You just look like you used to.”
Her words, your tone—it all tangled somewhere in his chest. He leaned back, forcing a smirk to cover the discomfort. “You talk like you’ve known me longer than a week.”
You met his gaze evenly. “Maybe I’m just a good observer.”
That silenced him. For a moment, neither spoke—just the faint clink of spoons against porcelain, the quiet tension threading between curiosity and judgment.
And Jeonghan realized that for the first time in a long while, someone wasn’t dazzled or intimidated by him.
You were simply watching—reading him.
And that unsettled him more than any scandal ever could.
*
The relationship between you and Jeonghan had begun to bloom—unexpectedly, almost naturally. The two of you talked more often now, your texts weaving into his days like quiet background music. He wasn’t sure when it started, but he found himself looking forward to your messages.
It was ironic, really. Because when he wasn’t speaking to you, Jeonghan was living a life that couldn’t be further from yours.
His nights were spent drifting between yachts owned by bored socialites, women who craved charm more than truth. He knew exactly what they wanted and how to deliver it—a smile, a word, a presence. It was easy. Meaningless.
And yet, in between champagne laughter and the clinking of glass, his thoughts would always circle back to you.
What were you doing right now?
Had you eaten?
Were you still awake, reading, or lost in thought like you always were?
He hated how natural it felt to care.
“You look distracted, honey.”
A woman’s voice pulled him back. She was beautiful—of course she was—dressed in silk, her manicured fingers tracing the rim of her glass.
Jeonghan blinked, forcing a smirk. “Do I?”
She tilted her head. “You’re not feeling well?” she asked, recalling what he’d said last night about being under the weather—an excuse to avoid following her to her room.
The ocean breeze rolled over the yacht deck, soft but cold, brushing his hair and cooling the drink in his hand. He looked at her, sitting on his lap with the practiced ease of someone used to being wanted.
And suddenly, he felt sick.
Because in that flicker of a second, he imagined you there instead.
Crazy.
Absolutely insane.
You, with your clear eyes and deliberate words, would never set foot in this world. And even if you did, you would never look at him the same way again.
You were the Prime Minister’s only daughter—an emblem of grace, the family’s shining jewel.
And he…
He was the son who had been exiled.
Cast out after a scandal that nearly ruined his father’s reputation. He’d paid for it with his name, his home, and every shred of privilege he once had.
“How about going back to your family?” Seungkwan asked one night, his voice echoing through the line.
Jeonghan sighed, eyes fixed on the dark waves outside the yacht window. “It’s complicated.”
“Too complicated, or too cowardly?”
He chuckled dryly. “I’m still a man, Seungkwan.”
“Yeah?” Seungkwan shot back. “Then act like one. A man keeps his promises. You promised me a cup of tea and the full story about Prime Minister Ji.”
Jeonghan leaned back, running a hand through his hair. “And you promised to stop nagging me.”
“Not until you tell me why the Prime Minister’s daughter texts you at midnight.”
Jeonghan’s lips curved into a faint smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Because she doesn’t know who I really am.”
And maybe, he thought quietly, that was the only reason you still did.
The morning broke harshly—sunlight slicing through half-drawn curtains, the faint hum of the city seeping into the luxury suite he’d fallen asleep in. Jeonghan’s head ached faintly from the night before; too much noise, too much pretending.
His phone wouldn’t stop buzzing.
One call after another, a stream of names he didn’t want to see—women he barely remembered, old acquaintances from the club scene, and one from Seungkwan.
He rubbed his face, groaning. “What now…”
Then his screen lit up with a notification from a news outlet.
And his world stopped.
‘The Yoon’s Mysterious Son Revealed — Never Leaving the Scene: Living a Life Among Socialites’
The headline sat above a collage of photos—him on a yacht, laughing beside women in designer dresses, champagne in hand. The shots weren’t just candid—they were curated. Deliberate. Someone had been watching him for months.
The phone rang again.
“Jeonghan!” A familiar female voice burst through the line. It was one of the women from the article, her tone both scandalized and gleeful. “You didn’t tell me you were that Yoon! Do you have any idea how many reporters called me this morning?”
He hung up.
Another call came. Then another. Each voice brought the same mix of curiosity and accusation. His pulse quickened with every word, the weight of exposure sinking into his chest.
And then—Seungkwan’s name flashed on the screen.
Jeonghan answered immediately. “You wrote about me?” His voice was low but sharp, every word laced with accusation.
“What?” Seungkwan sounded genuinely startled. “No—Jeonghan, I would never!”
“Don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not!” Seungkwan’s voice cracked slightly, the sound of hurried typing in the background. “I just saw it too! It’s everywhere! Someone leaked your pictures. The article’s not even signed—it’s a ghost drop, probably from an independent outlet.”
Jeonghan stood up, pacing across the room, the floor cool beneath his bare feet. His thoughts spun faster than he could control.
He’d worked for years to stay off the radar. To bury the name Yoon Jeonghan under layers of half-truths and fleeting company.
And now, everything was out.
His hands clenched. “You told no one about me?”
“Of course not,” Seungkwan shot back, indignant. “You think I’d ruin my own source? Jeonghan, listen—this isn’t my doing. But someone knew where you were and who you were with. Someone’s feeding this.”
Jeonghan’s jaw tightened. He turned toward the window, the city sprawling beneath him, glittering and cold.
He hadn’t even finished processing the article when another call came through.
This time, the caller ID froze him mid-step.
“Secretary Min — Father’s Office.”
Jeonghan’s pulse kicked hard against his ribs. It had been years since anyone from that number dared to call him. For a moment, he considered letting it ring out, pretending he hadn’t seen it. But curiosity—or maybe masochism—won.
He answered.
“Kim— I mean, Jeonghan speaking.”
The secretary’s voice was clipped, businesslike, but there was a tremor beneath the tone.
“Mr. Yoon. The Chairman would like to have a word. It’s urgent.”
Jeonghan’s throat felt dry. “About what?”
There was a pause, then the quiet rustle of papers.
“About the news. Not only the one from this morning.”
His heart sank. “There’s another one?”
“Yes, sir,” the secretary replied. “Apparently, the Prime Minister’s daughter was mentioned. You were seen together at an event. The headline reads—”
Jeonghan could almost hear the man hesitate, as if choosing the least damaging way to say it.
‘Disgraced Yoon Heir Seen with Prime Minister Ji’s Daughter — A Scandal in the Making?’
He went still.
Completely still.
The ocean outside, the faint hum of the city, even his own breathing—all of it faded into a dull, buzzing silence.
“I see,” he said finally, his voice even, detached—like a man already used to ruin.
“The Chairman requests you come in immediately,” the secretary added, his words precise but cautious. “He said… if there’s even a grain of truth in this, it could cost both families dearly.”
A bitter laugh escaped before Jeonghan could stop it. “He cares about the family’s name now?”
“Sir, I’m just relaying the message.”
“Of course you are.”
He ended the call before the man could say another word. For a long moment, he stood in the middle of his room, the phone still in his hand.
It wasn’t just about him anymore.
Your name was in it.
You—who had nothing to do with his past, who had only shown him quiet kindness—were now tangled in his chaos.
And that realization hit harder than any headline ever could.
*
You swiped the incoming call from Jeonghan to the left without hesitation, the screen dimming just as your reflection caught in the polished surface of the dining table.
It wasn’t the first call you’d ignored tonight. Or this week.
You had done it deliberately, under Mrs. Ji’s strict orders.
“Don’t you dare mess this up,” she had said earlier, her voice carrying that cold, commanding edge she never let her socialite friends hear. The kind of tone that could freeze air.
Now, sitting across from her and the Prime Minister, you kept your hands neatly folded in your lap. You hadn’t touched the food. The clinking of silverware and the low hum of polite conversation between your parents filled the silence that wrapped tightly around you.
Mr. and Mrs. Ji looked perfectly composed, pleased even. They were savoring their dinner, their expressions calm and satisfied—the unmistakable faces of people whose plans had unfolded exactly as intended.
“With his son’s scandal, Yoon Daemun will never be able to enter politics,” Mr. Ji said, cutting through the air with calculated satisfaction. His tone was casual, but his words were sharp, deliberate. “The timing couldn’t be better.”
Mrs. Ji dabbed the corner of her lips with an embroidered napkin, her expression softening with the kind of smile she reserved for strategy. “We’ve prepared a statement for your response, Y/n. Make sure you show up in public looking… a little heartbroken, perhaps?”
You stared down at your untouched plate, the gleam of silver cutlery blurring in your vision.
‘Victim of manipulation.’ That was the phrase they’d chosen for you. The headline they had already fed to the press.
You—the fabricated daughter of the Prime Minister—were to be portrayed as the naïve woman deceived by Yoon Jeonghan, the disgraced heir.
It was all theater. Every word, every tear, every silence rehearsed. And just like every performance before, you would play your part. Because that was the role you had been chosen for.
It had been ten years since you first met Mr. and Mrs. Ji. Back then, Mr. Ji was merely a Seoul mayoral candidate, still polishing his image. They were looking for a bright, idealistic student from the National Seoul University to elevate their campaign—someone with a clean past, a sympathetic story, and a face the public could love.
They chose you.
A parentless girl raised in a foster home. No blood ties. No history. No one to ask questions. A perfect daughter for a perfect family.
“You’re Ji Jae Kyung's daughter? Woah…”
You could still remember the awe in their voices—the way their eyes gleamed with admiration. Compliments came easily, falling like confetti around you. Some went to him, the respectable politician who raised such a brilliant daughter with perfect manners and flawless grades. The rest went to you—the quiet, low-profile daughter of a man everyone wanted to impress.
But none of it was real.
It was all staged.
Every smile, every headline, every carefully constructed image.
And behind it all stood Ji Jaekyung and his wife—the masterminds who turned you into what the public wanted to see.
You were never their daughter.
You were the performance.
The story they wrote to complete their picture-perfect life.
Ten years later, the role still clung to you like a second skin. You’d played it so long, you weren’t sure where the lie ended—or where you began.
*
You were just about to put on your coat when a voice stopped you near the cram school gates.
“Excuse me—Miss Ji?”
You turned. A man you vaguely recognized from Jeonghan’s circle stood a few meters away, his expression unsure yet determined. The streetlight above flickered faintly, painting both of you in amber.
“I’m sorry for showing up like this,” he began, hands tucked into his coat pockets. “I’m Boo Seungkwan. I’m… Jeonghan’s friend.”
Your fingers tightened around the strap of your bag. “I know who you are.”
He nodded, a faint sigh escaping him. “Then I’ll be quick. I just—wanted to ask if what the news said about him was true.” His voice softened. “That he manipulated you. That he used you.”
You said nothing.
Seungkwan studied your face for a moment, as if searching for a flicker of the girl Jeonghan used to talk about—the one who laughed too easily, who didn’t care about names or titles.
“I don’t mean to be disrespectful,” he continued carefully, “but… Jeonghan doesn’t deserve this. He might have his flaws, but that’s not who he is.”
You looked down at your shoes, at the way the shadows of the streetlight split across the pavement. Every word he said pressed against the guilt you had tried to bury since dinner.
“He hasn’t been the same since the article came out,” Seungkwan said quietly. “He keeps saying it doesn’t matter, but we both know it does. That kind of lie—” He paused, catching himself. “Sorry. I shouldn’t assume it’s a lie.”
You finally met his gaze. His tone wasn’t accusing—just heavy with confusion and the quiet plea of someone who wanted to believe the best in his friend.
“I didn’t write it,” you murmured.
“I believe you,” Seungkwan replied almost immediately. “But maybe you can tell the truth. Even a little of it. It might help him stand again.”
His words lingered in the cold air long after he bowed politely and walked away. You stood there for a long while, watching his figure fade down the street, your throat tightening.
You wanted to tell him that it wasn’t Jeonghan who manipulated anyone.
It was you—
or at least, the version of you that the Jis had created.
You glanced at Seungkwan’s face — he looked too sincere, too out of place standing in front of a cram school after hours, holding nothing but good intentions. That made it worse.
“I think there’s a misunderstanding,” you said finally, voice calm but distant. “Jeonghan and I… we were just friends.”
Seungkwan blinked, as if trying to make sense of it. “Just friends?”
“Yes.” You tightened your scarf. “We met a few times, talked about work, shared coffee. That’s all.”
There was no tremor in your voice, but something in your eyes must have betrayed you, because Seungkwan’s expression shifted—disbelief shadowed with pity.
“I see,” he said slowly. “Then the pictures, the dinner, the event—”
“Coincidence,” you cut him off. “The press twisted it.”
He looked at you for a long moment, weighing whether to push further. But there was something in the way your gaze avoided his—composed, but fragile—that made him stop.
He exhaled softly. “I didn’t mean to bother you. It’s just… Jeonghan’s been through a lot. I wanted to understand what really happened.”
You froze for a fraction of a second.
But before he could say more, you bowed politely, murmured, “Good night, Mr. Boo,” and walked past him into the drizzle-soaked street.
He stood there for a while, watching as you disappeared into the blur of city lights. Something about your words didn’t match your expression—the kind of contradiction that Jeonghan had mentioned before.
When Seungkwan finally pulled out his phone, he hesitated before typing.
“She said you were just friends.”
*
The chauffeur’s eyes in the rearview mirror said everything Jeonghan didn’t need to hear. Pity. Disgust. Fear of being associated with the wrong Yoon. The mansion hadn’t changed — white pillars, too much marble, the smell of money and order. Yet when Jeonghan stepped inside, he could almost hear the echo of that night six years ago, the one that tore his name from the family register.
The housekeeper didn’t greet him. She bowed, eyes lowered, and walked away. In the dining room, his father was already seated, posture like a statue carved from ice.
Yoon Daemun, the man the country admired, the man Jeonghan could never please. “Sit,” his father said, without looking up from the newspaper.
The headline lay sprawled across the front page:
THE YOON HEIR SCANDAL CONTINUES — LINKED TO PRIME MINISTER’S FAMILY. Jeonghan took the seat across from him, his movements deliberate, controlled.
“So,” Daemun began, folding the paper neatly. “You managed to humiliate me again.”
Jeonghan’s lips quirked upward. “I’d say the timing was convenient for you. The Prime Minister’s name on the same line—good distraction for the party board, isn’t it?”
Daemun’s gaze sharpened, the kind that used to make Jeonghan feel twelve years old again. “Still the same. No shame. No sense of consequence.”
“You taught me that, didn’t you?” The silence that followed was heavy. Only the faint ticking of the antique clock filled the room.
His father finally leaned back. “Do you know what happens when your name appears next to a politician’s scandal?”
Jeonghan didn’t answer.
“It ruins both sides.” Daemun’s tone was calm, almost too calm. “But it’s not you they’ll remember. It’s me. The man who couldn’t control his own son.”
Jeonghan clenched his jaw. “I didn’t ask to come back.”
“No. You were summoned because I’m still cleaning up after you.” His father’s voice rose a fraction. “And this time, Jeonghan, there won’t be a next time. You’ve already cost this family enough.”
“I stopped being part of this family six years ago,” Jeonghan said quietly. “You made sure of that.”
Daemun stood. The air between them felt sharp enough to draw blood. “You’ll fix this,” he ordered. “You’ll meet with the press, issue a statement—say you lied, that it was all fabricated to harm the Prime Minister’s reputation. They’ll buy it if it comes from you.”
Jeonghan let out a humorless laugh. “You want me to destroy myself for your seat in Parliament?”
His father’s lips tightened. “For once in your life, do something useful.”
The words sank deep, the same as they always had.
When Jeonghan left the mansion, the night air hit him hard. He stood by the gate, hands trembling around a cigarette he didn’t light.
He had promised himself never to come back here again. And now, he realized, nothing had changed — not even the way his father still called him son only when it served a purpose.
Across the street, reporters were already gathering, their cameras flashing faintly in the dark. He straightened his collar, tucked his hands into his coat pockets, and walked away from the house without looking back. This time, he wouldn’t run. He would play the game his father started — but on his own terms.
*
An exclusive interview with Yoon Jeonghan appeared on the front page of The Daily Standard, written by none other than Boo Seungkwan — a name the political and corporate world had learned to both admire and fear.
The article was a masterpiece of restraint and precision. Seungkwan had fought tooth and nail with his editor-in-chief to have it published uncut. It wasn’t a defense piece, nor was it an attack. It was simply truth, stripped of bias — and that made it all the more dangerous.
“He was just a man looking for love one night,” the article began, “and somehow became a family scapegoat by morning.”
Through Seungkwan’s words, Jeonghan’s story unfolded not as a scandal, but as a slow dissection of how narratives were manufactured by power. The way a single whisper could become a headline. How a name could be tarnished to save another.
Every paragraph carried Seungkwan’s voice — calm, analytical, and sharp as glass. He wrote about Jeonghan’s fall from grace, about the exile that followed his first scandal, and how his father’s silence had been louder than public condemnation.
But what caught everyone’s attention wasn’t Jeonghan’s tragedy — it was the twist.
“Mrs. Ji herself had insisted Jeonghan meet her daughter,” Seungkwan wrote. “Even sent gifts, meals, and handwritten notes — tokens of gratitude, or perhaps, persuasion. Who does that for a stranger?”
It was phrased like a question, but the implication was clear. The spotlight had shifted — subtly, cleverly — from Jeonghan’s so-called manipulation to the Ji family’s orchestration.
By the second half of the article, Mrs. Ji was no longer the grieving mother of a deceived daughter; she was a woman who had played the public like a symphony.
The nation devoured the story. News anchors repeated excerpts with caution, as if afraid the words themselves might bite. Political commentators speculated whether Boo Seungkwan had overstepped, or whether he had just cracked open something no one dared to question.
And Jeonghan — sitting alone in his dim apartment with the paper spread across his coffee table — couldn’t decide how to feel.
The world was finally hearing his side of the story.
But the irony was, it didn’t feel like victory. It felt like standing in the eye of a storm that was only beginning to turn.
After the article, Jeonghan disappeared again — not in shame this time, but in pursuit of something real. For the first time in years, he stopped attending events with rich women's names printed on the invitation. No more charity galas where everyone smiled with their teeth clenched. No more private dinners where the wine was expensive but every conversation was a transaction.
He sold all of his luxury things and moved into a smaller apartment on the edge of Mapo. The windows were cracked, and the heater worked when it felt generous, but it was quiet. His kind of quiet.
He started from the bottom — as a project consultant for a small local architecture firm that took contracts no conglomerate would touch. His job wasn’t glamorous: long meetings, stubborn clients, coffee that tasted like burnt wood. But there was a strange comfort in it. Each blueprint, each rejected proposal, each late-night revision — it all belonged to him.
He refused to take calls from people who once claimed to be friends. When invitations from the “rich circle” arrived — networking parties, art auctions, political birthdays — he left them unopened. He no longer wanted to be someone’s favorite scandal, someone’s well-dressed pawn.
For months, Jeonghan worked in silence. He kept his hair shorter, his words simpler, his gaze level. He didn’t try to charm anyone anymore. He didn’t need to. People at work found him odd — polite, reserved, sometimes intimidatingly composed. They whispered about his past, about the man who once made headlines. But they couldn’t deny his efficiency. He had a way of solving problems others didn’t even see.
And when a construction site mishap almost cost the firm a major deal, Jeonghan was the one who stayed overnight, reorganizing the logistics report by hand. The next morning, his boss found him asleep on the office couch — tie loosened, pencil still in hand, a faint trace of graphite on his jaw.
For the first time, Jeonghan’s value wasn’t built on his last name. It was built on effort. Still, every now and then, he caught himself looking at the city skyline — the one his father’s empire had helped shape — and wondered if redemption meant cutting ties completely, or learning how to stand on his own without hating where he came from.
“Do you want to hear what I just found?”
Seungkwan’s voice came through the phone one quiet night. Jeonghan answered without much thought, assuming it was another late update — a joke, a story, something light to end the day.
But Seungkwan’s tone was different. Too steady. Too careful. “There was a report that Ji Jaekyung’s daughter had passed away.”
The words didn’t register at first. They hung in the air like smoke — shapeless, heavy, unreal. Jeonghan froze, the pen in his hand slipping onto the desk.
“What?” His chest tightened. His mind went blank — except for the image of you: laughing behind a cup of coffee, brushing your hair from your face, the way you used to hum when you thought no one was listening.
“Y/n… had passed away?” The words barely escaped his mouth, trembling, as if speaking them might make them true.
“It’s not what you think,” Seungkwan said quickly, his voice low. “It wasn’t her. Not Ji Y/n. The report says a girl — eighteen years old — died by suicide ten years ago. The attending physician confirmed it.”
Jeonghan’s pulse roared in his ears. “What are you trying to say, Seungkwan?” He spun in his chair, the room suddenly too small, too bright.
“I’m saying,” Seungkwan breathed out, almost afraid to finish, “Ji Y/n isn’t Ji Jaekyung’s real daughter.”
Silence. The world seemed to tilt — slow, then all at once. Jeonghan sat there, hearing nothing but the echo of that sentence. Every moment he’d spent with you — every glance, every half-truth, every piece of you he thought he knew — cracked open in his mind.
If you weren’t Ji Jaekyung’s daughter… then who were you?
*
“I wake up every day thinking I’m nobody’s child. Just myself, doing the things I’m best at — teaching, meeting my students, seeing my friends. That’s the real me.”
That’s the real you…
Jeonghan could still hear your voice — soft, certain, echoing in the quiet of his memory. It had started as a casual conversation, one of those late-night talks that drifted aimlessly until he’d asked, almost teasingly, “What’s it like to be Ji Jaekyung’s daughter?”
You laughed faintly before answering, “Whosever child you are won’t define you. Your own work will.”
Those words had stayed with him longer than he expected.
He’d spent years buried under the weight of his family name, letting it dictate who he was supposed to be. When the burden grew too heavy, he rebelled — escaping through decadence, luxury, and fleeting attention. Drowning himself in everything that dulled the ache of being a Yoon.
But none of it had ever defined him.
“Hyung, you’re one of the smartest, most quick-witted people I know,” Seungkwan once told him. “You just need to use it for yourself — not to prove anyone wrong.”
And that was what he finally did.
He started small — late nights, small contracts, learning the bones of the business from the ground up. Day by day, Jeonghan built his own name, one that carried no trace of his father’s shadow.
“This,” he murmured to himself one morning, staring at the blueprint on his desk, “this is what defines me.”
A few months later, his phone rang. It was Seungcheol.
“I need your help with a new building for our firm,” he said.
Jeonghan didn’t know it then, but that call would change everything — the first stone on the path that would carry his name further than his family ever imagined.
Katalk …
Seungkwan: You need to see this.
He frowned, clicking the link. The screen opened to a live stream — a press conference, crowded with reporters and flashing cameras. And there you were, standing behind the podium, composed but pale under the harsh light. The banner above you read:
“Prime Minister’s Daughter Addresses Identity Revelation.”
Jeonghan’s breath caught.
Your voice trembled at first, but you steadied yourself, eyes gliding across the sea of cameras.
“I was raised under the Ji family for ten years,” you began. “But I am not Ji Jaekyung’s biological daughter. The truth is—” you paused, swallowing hard, “the real Ji Y/n passed away ten years ago. I was… chosen to take her place.”
A low hum of whispers rippled through the room. Cameras clicked like rain. Jeonghan leaned forward, his heart pounding, his hand gripping the edge of the desk.
You exhaled shakily before continuing, “I was an orphan. I didn’t have a family or a name that mattered. I was offered a home, an education, a life that didn’t belong to me. And I was too young to understand what it truly meant.”
Reporters began raising their hands, their questions overlapping into chaos.
“Who orchestrated this?”
“Was the Prime Minister aware?”
“Why are you revealing this now?”
You didn’t flinch. “Because the lies have gone too far. And someone else has paid the price for them.”
Jeonghan could feel his chest tightening. You didn’t mention his name — but everyone knew who “someone else” was.
He could barely hear Seungkwan’s voice over the call when it came seconds later.
“She’s doing this for you, hyung.”
But Jeonghan couldn’t answer. His mind was spinning. You — the woman who once told him not to let his family name define him — were now standing in front of the world, tearing down the false identity that once defined you.
The screen flickered as the conference ended, replaced by a headline that felt like a scream in his chest:
“Prime Minister’s Daughter Admits to False Identity — Public Shock Ensues.”
The room was silent after the live broadcast ended.
Jeonghan sat still, staring at the frozen image on his screen — your bowed head, your shoulders straight despite the weight of everything you’d just confessed.
You didn’t defend yourself.
You didn’t accuse anyone.
You simply told the truth.
And somehow, that humility hit him harder than any scandal ever had.
He leaned back, running a hand through his hair, the city lights flickering against his tired eyes. For the first time, Jeonghan realized how small his own pride had been — all those years spent hiding behind charm, rebellion, and fleeting company. He’d called it freedom, but it was just fear wearing expensive clothes.
You, on the other hand, had stood in front of the nation stripped of everything — your name, your protection, your image — and yet you looked freer than he ever had.
“She doesn’t owe them anything,” he murmured under his breath. “And she still chose to be kind.”
It humbled him.
It changed something inside him that no lecture or consequence ever could.
That night, Jeonghan opened his window to the chill of the city air. The same wind that once carried gossip about his downfall now felt strangely cleansing. He poured himself a drink, not out of habit, but to think.
He replayed your words in his head, line by line.
“I’m just myself, doing what I’m best at.”
He understood it now.
It wasn’t about running away from a family name. It was about building a life so honest that no one could ever take it away again.
A small smile tugged at his lips. “You win, Y/n,” he whispered, half amused, half proud.
For the first time in years, Yoon Jeonghan didn’t feel like the son of anyone — not Daemun’s mistake, not society’s scandal. Just a man finally ready to start living right.
*
Jeonghan swore he wasn’t imagining things when his eyes landed on a woman he hadn’t seen in years, running across the school field with a group of children. His client—perhaps the principal, or maybe the chairman of the school foundation—kept talking, explaining how they wanted to preserve the school’s historical character.
“This school was founded before the war. We’d be grateful if your team could— Jeonghan-ssi?”
The two of them stopped walking. Jeonghan remained still, his gaze fixed on the field. His client probably assumed he was simply watching the children.
“Who’s that woman?” Jeonghan finally asked.
The chairman followed his gaze before smiling, seemingly misunderstanding the reason for the question.
“She’s new here. She moved from Seoul. Oh—aren’t you from Seoul as well?”
Jeonghan nodded absentmindedly. “Yes…” But he couldn’t tear his eyes away. He had seen it all unfold.
The media had talked about it relentlessly—and perhaps they still were. Ji Jaekyung had fallen from his political pedestal. It had become the nation’s biggest headline. Questions spread everywhere—from conversations between neighbors to comment sections and online forums.
How long had Ji Jaekyung replaced his real daughter with another girl to play the role of the perfect daughter?
Seungkwan had made sure to send Jeonghan countless articles and conspiracy theories. Some claimed the real daughter had been assassinated. Others insisted she had escaped years ago.
Jeonghan had eventually called him. “Isn’t a journalist supposed to be busy?” Seungkwan had stopped sending them. At least for a few days.
If Jeonghan was being truthful, he had been terrified for you. Proud—but terrified.
What you did was incredibly risky, especially so close to Ji Jaekyung’s election campaign. It wasn’t because you could ruin his chances of winning. It was because it could cost you your life. Ji Jaekyung had turned out to be a complete psycho—someone who wouldn’t even spare his daughter.
So Jeonghan had tried to find you. To contact you. Maybe offer whatever help he could. But he couldn’t. You had disappeared. And that frightened him even more. Because he had no idea whether you were safe or not.
Now, you were only a few strides away. Yet Jeonghan couldn't find the courage to walk over and say something as simple as hey.
Because hey was never simple when it came to you. It could never be, not after years of searching, asking around, following every lead he could find… And, perhaps, missing you.
Maybe Seungkwan had been right all along. Jeonghan really was a great pretender whenever your name came up.
"You know," Seungkwan had once said, "you deny it better when we talk about her than when your neighbor asks you to fix their toilet."
"She thought I was a handyman!" Jeonghan had shot back immediately. Another denial.
His phone rang while Jeonghan was driving home.
It was the grandmother from next door—the one who particularly adored, or perhaps nagged, him so much that he had started wondering whether she genuinely liked him or simply pitied him. Somehow, she had convinced herself he was a handyman with no real job, just a man who stayed home all day.
"Yes, Grandma?"
He was greeted by a suspiciously sweet voice. Too sweet. Not the usual one that told him to eat more or complained that he worked too slowly, but the gentle voice she reserved for her own grandchildren.
"There's a young woman who just moved in next door, and her gate isn't working properly. Could you help fix it?"
She continued, enthusiastically explaining what a reliable handyman he was.
For heaven's sake. He had studied engineering, not so his elderly neighbor could recruit him as the neighborhood repairman.
Jeonghan sighed. "I'll take a look. I'm on my way home anyway."
He heard her chuckle. She must be in a good mood, he thought. She had been oddly pushy yesterday while handing him containers of side dishes. Kind, as always—but with an unusual edge to it.
"Go check on her," she insisted. "She looked worried because the gate won't lock properly."
Very pushy.
By the time Jeonghan reached the house next door, he immediately crouched to inspect the gate. The lock was rusted beyond repair. It had needed replacing for quite some time. Pulling out his phone, he ordered a replacement lock online. He'd rather spend the money now than endure another week of the grandmother pestering him about it.
He was still standing by the gate, scrolling through the order confirmation, when the sound of footsteps behind him pulled his attention away from the screen. He turned, expecting to see the new homeowner. He was already rehearsing what to say—that the lock would hold for tonight, that he had arranged for someone to replace it in a few days, and that there was nothing to worry about.
But the words never came. His mouth went dry. His eyes widened. God really had a twisted sense of humor.
"...Jeonghan?”
*
After getting help from a very reliable lawyer, you finally received the compensation you had demanded from the Ji family.
It was finally time to find a place of your own instead of continuing to stay in the tiny studio apartment Minseo had generously lent you. You had been her unexpected roommate for almost three months now, and although she had never complained, you knew you couldn't impose forever.
Or maybe she didn't mind. Her boyfriend, on the other hand...
So, after weeks of searching, negotiating, and stretching your budget as far as it could go, you finally found a place at a reasonable price. A house, even. You can only afford a detached house in this economy if something's terribly wrong with it, you thought. The suspicion was confirmed the moment you saw it in person.
It definitely needed a lot of work.
...Or maybe your eyes needed fixing too, because standing in front of your new house was a figure you never expected to see again.
"Y/n?"
He sounded just as surprised as you were. Thank goodness.
"You're the handyman Grandma from next door was talking about?"
Jeonghan immediately shook his head. Then nodded Then shook it again, waving both hands in surrender.
"No—I mean... she thinks I'm a handyman."
You nodded thoughtfully. "That makes sense. She told me all about how you fix things around her house."
Jeonghan let out a defeated chuckle. He glanced between you and the old house before asking quietly, "So... you live here now?"
You stepped closer, following his gaze toward the weathered building. "Yeah." You sighed. "The listing forgot to mention it's one strong wind away from collapsing."
He studied the house for another moment, hands tucked into his pockets. "It's surprising someone actually bought this place."
"Because it's me, or because it's the house?"
The question escaped before you could stop it. The moment the words left your mouth, you wanted to take them back. Obviously because of the house. What a strange thing to ask.
Jeonghan looked at you. Then back at the house. Then at you again. "...Both." A beat passed. "But mostly because it's you.”
That night, your phone buzzed just as you were unpacking another box.
"Hello?"
It was your lawyer. Or rather, your old junior high school friend. Choi Seungcheol. He called to check on your settlement after the case had officially concluded, but mostly to give you an update on the Ji family's situation following the trial and the media storm.
"I'll send over the final documents," he said. "Legally, you're Choi Y/n now."
You laughed softly. "So... we share the same surname now."
"Hey, I don't mind." Seungcheol chuckled. "I told you before—it's an honor to handle your case. Having you share my surname? That's just a bonus."
Despite the joke, his voice carried genuine warmth. Seungcheol had been the first person to reach out after your televised confession. The moment he saw the broadcast, he called. The next day, he was standing at your door with a briefcase in one hand and coffee in the other.
"I'm taking your case."
There hadn't even been room to argue.
Known for his razor-sharp arguments and quick wit in court, Seungcheol had built quite a reputation as one of the country's most formidable young lawyers. And just as he had promised… He won.
You still weren't sure how to thank him properly.
"You helped me first," he said, as if reading your mind. "I'm just returning the favor."
Back in junior high, Seungcheol had been the stereotypical chaebol heir. Spoiled. Reckless. Completely convinced that money solved everything.
Until one afternoon, when a group of older students cornered him behind the gym.
You hadn't been strong enough to fight them. So you'd done the next best thing. You blasted a fake police siren from your phone. The bullies scattered before realizing it wasn't real. Seungcheol had laughed until he cried. Then he decided you were the coolest person he'd ever met.
"I also have a friend living near your new place," Seungcheol said, pulling you back to the present. "He's an architect."
"Oh?"
"Want me to introduce you?"
You glanced around the old house, where peeling wallpaper practically waved at you.
"He might actually faint when he sees this place."
"He'll probably renovate it for free."
You raised an eyebrow. "...For free?"
"Sure." His grin was audible through the phone. "If the two of you end up dating."
You sighed dramatically. "We both know I already have enough on my plate after everything that's happened."
"Fair point." His teasing faded, replaced by the quiet sincerity that had always made him such a dependable friend. "Then just focus on settling in."
You smiled to yourself. "I will."
"I have a feeling good things are waiting for you there."
*
Definitely not a good thing.
Seungcheol burst out laughing the moment he saw you and Jeonghan freeze like statues. His plan to visit his college friend, Jeonghan, and check in on his client, You, a week after you moved in had somehow turned into his favorite comedy show.
"How do you two know each other?" he asked, feigning innocence.
The moment Seungcheol had mentioned that his client lived nearby, Jeonghan's expression had changed ever so slightly. That was all Seungcheol needed.
Interesting.
He knew Jeonghan's history. He knew Jeonghan's "game." And judging by that reaction… Maybe you weren’t just another woman from Jeonghan's past.
Jeonghan let out a quiet sigh. "We met years ago."
"Yeah..." you echoed with a polite smile.
Neither of you elaborated.
Seungcheol looked from one to the other, a knowing grin slowly spreading across his face.
"Well then," he said, clapping his hands once. "Since we're all here, how about lunch?"
You smiled apologetically. "I'd love to, but I already promised to meet someone."
"No worries," Seungcheol replied easily.
After exchanging a few more polite words, you excused yourself and walked away. The moment you disappeared around the corner, Seungcheol slowly turned toward Jeonghan.
Then, with the biggest grin imaginable. "So..."
Jeonghan already knew what was coming.
"...Who was she to you, Yoon Jeonghan?"
He sighed so deeply it almost sounded painful before casually draping an arm over Seungcheol's shoulder.
"Let's get you something to eat first." He gently steered him toward the opposite direction. "You ask strange questions when you're hungry."
Seungcheol frowned in protest as he was dragged along.
"I do not."
"You do."
"I absolutely don't."
"You once asked a judge if he'd skipped breakfast."
"...He looked hungry."
Jeonghan laughed despite himself. "Exactly my point.”
Once the food arrived, the conversation drifted into comfortable silence. Jeonghan absentmindedly stirred his stew before finally speaking. "Do you remember lending me your car a few years ago?" he asked. "I told you I had to attend some political event."
Seungcheol frowned, trying to remember. "The one where you made me pick it up the next morning because you said you were 'emotionally exhausted'?"
Jeonghan let out a quiet laugh. "That one."
A beat passed.
"It was her."
Seungcheol froze, his chopsticks suspended halfway to his mouth. "...You're kidding."
Jeonghan shook his head. "I met her there. Mrs. Ji introduced us herself and invited me to the Prime Minister's event. I met her parents."
For a long second, Seungcheol simply stared at him. Then he slowly lowered his chopsticks onto the table. "Not her parents," he corrected quietly.
Jeonghan's smile faded. "I know." His gaze dropped to his bowl. "I only found out after everything was over."
A heavy silence settled between them.
Then Seungcheol's eyes widened as another thought struck him. "Wait..." He leaned forward. "So she was the woman from the scandal."
Jeonghan answered with nothing more than a small nod. He still remembered those headlines.
The photos of the two of you standing side by side. The articles that turned a few dinners and conversations into a fabricated romance. One picture after another, each one adding more fuel until the entire country caught fire.
"It didn't end well, then?" Seungcheol asked carefully.
Jeonghan gave a small shrug. "I don't even know if there was anything to end." He smiled bitterly. "Her mother was the one who insisted we meet in the first place."
Seungcheol leaned back in his chair, arms folding across his chest. "...That's strange."
Jeonghan looked up.
"What's strange?"
"I was her lawyer." His voice became noticeably more serious. "I know almost everything that happened inside that house."
He paused, choosing his words carefully. "Her relationship with Ji Jaekyung and his wife wasn't normal."
Jeonghan's brows slowly knit together.
"They forced her to become someone she wasn't."
"They dictated how she dressed, what she studied, who she met, what she said in public."
Jeonghan's fingers tightened around his spoon. The words lingered heavily between them. Neither spoke for a while. Finally, Seungcheol frowned, more to himself than to Jeonghan.
"Which is exactly why none of this makes sense."
Jeonghan looked at him.
"If Mrs. Ji controlled every aspect of Y/n's life, why was she so determined to introduce the two of you?"
Jeonghan replayed those evenings in his head. Mrs. Ji invited him to events. Mrs. Ji encouraged you to accompany him. Mrs. Ji smiled every time they talked. At the time, he had assumed she simply wanted her daughter to meet someone.
Now, that explanation felt too simple.
"There had to be a reason," Seungcheol murmured.
"A woman like Mrs. Ji never does anything without expecting something in return."
Jeonghan stared at the untouched food in front of him. For the first time in years, he wondered whether meeting you had ever been fate at all, or just another move in someone else's game.
*
“So,” Minseo began after swallowing a spoonful of soup, “your lawyer came to visit… and the ‘architect friend’ he mentioned turned out to be him?”
She calmly flipped a slice of beef on the grill as though this kind of ridiculous coincidence happened every Tuesday.
You nodded weakly. “Apparently.”
Living with Minseo for three months had stripped away every layer of privacy you once had. She wasn’t even your closest friend from university. Yet somehow, she’d become the one person who knew everything.
Minseo had been there the night you confessed the truth—not to the nation, but to her. That you weren’t Ji Jaekyung’s daughter. Never had been. Just an orphan the Ji family had paid to become one. You still remembered the way she’d stared at you, speechless, before quietly asking only one question.
“Where are you staying tonight?”
When you admitted you had nowhere to go, she’d answered without hesitation. “Pack your things. You’re staying with me.” No pity. No unnecessary questions. Just a spare key pressed into your palm.
“It isn’t supposed to be a big deal, is it?” Minseo said, pulling you back to the present. “Meeting him again, I mean.”
You rested your forehead against your palm, your elbow nearly knocking over your glass of water.
“I know…” You sighed.
“But I still can’t shake the guilt. I dragged him into all of this.”
Minseo looked at you for a moment before laughing softly.
“Girl, you told me he used to be a player with no direction in life.” She pointed at you with her chopsticks.
“And now? He’s an established architect. From everything you’ve told me, he rebuilt his entire life after the scandal.”
“If anything…congratulations?” She shrugged.
You stared at her. “What kind of conclusion is that?”
“My conclusion is that you accidentally gave the man a character-development arc.”
Despite yourself, a laugh escaped. Minseo smiled triumphantly. “There she is. You’ve been making that guilty face ever since the trial ended.”
The smile quickly faded from your lips. “I still ruined his life.”
Minseo shook her head. “No.”
She spoke so firmly that you looked up. “Your mother did. That woman intentionally introduced the two of you because she knew exactly who Yoon Jeonghan was.”
You lowered your gaze. “She was trying to get rid of his father.”
“Exactly.” Minseo pointed her chopsticks again, this time for emphasis.
“She leaked your photos together and controlled the narrative. She made him the villain. Every single step was planned.”
You quietly stirred your soup. The words settled between you.
“You weren’t the one calling the photographers.”
“You weren’t the one writing the headlines.”
“And you certainly weren’t the one trying to destroy a political rival.”
You remained silent. Minseo sighed before reaching across the table to nudge your bowl toward you.
“Eat.”
You obediently picked up your spoon. After a few bites, Minseo spoke again, much more gently.
“You know what I think? I think Mrs. Ji underestimated the two of you. She expected you to keep playing the perfect daughter forever.”
She smiled to herself. “But she never imagined her ‘perfect daughter’ would bring down an entire political dynasty with one press conference.”
A small smile tugged at your lips. “She definitely didn’t see that coming.”
“No.” Minseo grinned. “And judging by the way you described your reunion… I don’t think she expected you two to become neighbors either.”
You groaned, dropping your head onto the table. “Please don’t remind me.”
Minseo laughed. “Oh, I’m absolutely reminding you.”
She raised her glass. “To the terrible house…and even more terrible coincidences.”
*
On his way home, Jeonghan noticed a few familiar faces working on your house. They were contractors he had hired before—people whose work he trusted enough to recommend without hesitation. Seeing them there, he couldn’t help wondering which developer you had chosen. Apparently, it was one he knew well.
The fact that the two of you still hadn’t spoken since Seungcheol’s visit last month proved just how hopeless you both were. Or perhaps it was just him.
Every morning, Jeonghan rehearsed countless conversations in his head. A greeting. A joke. Maybe even an apology. Yet the moment he saw you, all he managed was a polite bow and a small smile. Pathetic.
Night fell.
He had just finished dinner when rain began hammering against the windows. Within minutes, the entire neighborhood was swallowed by darkness as the power went out.
Jeonghan didn’t even have to think. He opened a kitchen drawer, took out a few candles, grabbed an umbrella, and stepped outside.
“Grandma? I brought some candles.”
The old woman shuffled carefully from her room to answer the door, smiling as she welcomed him inside. While Jeonghan lit the candles one by one, she complained nonstop about the blackout.
“Is it already the rainy season?” she grumbled. “Why didn’t they announce it on TV? If it rains this hard every day, I’ll go crazy!”
Jeonghan laughed quietly. “I think the TV is the least of your worries right now, Grandma.”
“Hmph. Easy for you to say.”
As she continued talking, his eyes drifted toward the window. Your house stood completely dark. Not a single light. He glanced down at the few candles still left in his hand.
“Grandma, you’re all set.” He picked up his umbrella again. “If you need anything else, just call me.”
The old woman nodded.
“Nari? Are you home?”
A few seconds later, the door opened. “Jeonghan?”
You blinked at the sight of him standing on your porch, rain dripping from the edge of his umbrella. “It’s pouring. What happened?”
He held up the candles in his hand. “I brought these.”
It took you a second to realize the entire house was dark. “Oh…” A sheepish smile crossed your face. “I completely forgot the power went out.”
Jeonghan chuckled quietly. “I noticed.”
You stepped aside, opening the door wider. “Come in before you catch a cold.”
He hesitated for only a moment before stepping inside, carefully folding his umbrella near the entrance.
Your house looked even older from the inside. Half-unpacked boxes lined the living room. Rolls of wallpaper leaned against one wall, while paint samples and renovation sketches covered the dining table. It was messy—but lived in.
“I’m sorry,” you said, noticing where his eyes wandered. “I’m still unpacking.”
“It’s fine.” His gaze settled on the exposed ceiling beams. “They’re in better condition than I expected.”
“You can tell just by looking?”
“I’m an architect.”
“…Right.”
The corner of his lips lifted.
“So…”
You rubbed the back of your neck. “I guess you’re not actually a handyman.”
He let out a laugh. “I’ve been trying to convince Grandma of that for years.”
You laughed too.
For the first time since meeting again, the silence between you no longer felt heavy.
You took one of the candles from his hand. “Thank you.”
“It’s nothing.”
He lit the candle with a lighter from his pocket, shielding the small flame with one hand until it steadied. The warm glow slowly spread across the room, softening the unfinished walls and the distance that had lingered between the two of you for weeks.
Rain continued to drum against the roof. Neither of you seemed in a hurry to break the quiet.
“You’ve done a lot already,” Jeonghan said after a while, glancing around the room.
“I’ve had help.”
“The contractors outside earlier?”
You nodded. “They’re good.”
“I know.”
You looked at him curiously. “You’ve worked with them before?”
“A few times.” A small pause followed. “I trust their work.”
You smiled. “Good.”
The room settled into silence once more, but it no longer felt empty.
Between you, the candle gave a small, wavering pulse of light, its flame bending whenever the wind pressed against the old windows. The glass panes gave a soft, uneven rattle in their frames, as if the house itself were listening in. Outside, rain moved steadily over the roof and down the eaves, a constant hush beneath the occasional sharper tap of a branch against the siding.
Jeonghan’s gaze drifted toward the windows, his expression thoughtful in the candlelight.
“You should replace those before winter.”
You followed his line of sight, watching the faint tremor in the glass.
“I know. I've been telling myself that for the past two weeks.” A sheepish smile touched your mouth, small and apologetic.
He let out a quiet chuckle, the sound low and warm in the dim room. “I can make you a list.”
“You’ll charge me, won’t you?”
“I thought I was the neighborhood handyman.”
“Right.”
You tipped your head, pretending to consider it, though the corner of your mouth was already giving you away. “So… free?”
Jeonghan laughed, a little more openly this time, and for a moment the tension in the room loosened with it. “I walked right into that one.”
The laughter faded as naturally as it had come, leaving behind something gentler. For the first time, the quiet between you didn’t feel strained or careful. It simply existed, soft and unhurried, the kind of silence shared by two people who had run out of things to say and found they didn’t mind. The rain filled the spaces around you, and the candlelight moved over the table in slow, trembling gold.
“You’ve changed,” you said at last, your voice quieter than you intended.
Jeonghan looked up from the candle, his eyes catching the light. “I have?”
“You smile differently.”
He blinked once, as if turning the words over in his mind.
“I used to think you smiled because you enjoyed teasing people.”
“And now?”
“Now…” You hesitated, searching his face for the right shape of the thought. “It feels quieter.”
His gaze dropped to the candle flame, and for a moment the light softened the line of his mouth. “I got older.”
“I suppose we both did.” A faint smile crossed your lips, brief but real.
“You still bow every morning.”
“You never miss returning it.”
Another pause settled between you, but this one carried no sharp edges.
“I wasn’t sure if I should talk to you.” The confession slipped out before either of you could stop it, and once it was spoken, it seemed to hang there in the warm, dim air.
Jeonghan lifted his eyes to yours. “…Neither was I.”
A small laugh escaped you, half relief and half disbelief. “So we’ve been greeting each other like strangers for an entire month.”
“Apparently.”
“That’s embarrassing.”
“It is.”
Outside, the rain thickened, drumming harder against the roof. Somewhere beyond the windows, the lights remained dark, the world reduced to weather and shadow. You traced the rim of your mug with your thumb, the ceramic cool beneath your skin.
“I thought you hated me.” The words came out so softly you almost wished the rain had swallowed them before they reached him.
Jeonghan didn’t answer right away. He looked at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable at first, then slowly shifting into something more honest, more tired.
Then he shook his head. “I did.”
You went still.
He seemed to notice your reaction and continued before the silence could harden into misunderstanding. “For a while.”
His fingers tightened slightly around the mug, the warmth of it lost beneath the tension in his hand. “I blamed you.”
“I blamed myself.” His eyes lowered for a second, then lifted again, steady and clear.
“It was easier than accepting I had no idea what had really happened.”
You swallowed, the weight of his words settling somewhere deep and quiet inside you. “I wanted to apologize.”
Jeonghan’s gaze sharpened, as if that had reached him more than anything else you’d said. “I looked for you.”
Your breath caught.
“I couldn’t find you. I asked people. I even asked Seungkwan if he’d heard anything. He worried too, you know.” A small, reluctant smile tugged at his lips, softened by memory.
The room fell silent again, but this time the quiet felt different. It wasn’t the silence of distance or uncertainty. It was the silence of two people standing at the edge of something old and painful, finally beginning to see it clearly from both sides. The candle burned lower between you, its flame smaller now, but steadier somehow, as if it had settled into the shape of the night.
Outside, thunder rolled across the sky in a long, distant rumble. Inside, neither of you seemed to notice that the candles had already burned halfway down.
*
The final school bell rang just as Jeonghan and the principal finished their last inspection of the newly restored building. Jeonghan couldn’t help but chuckle every time a fourth grader came running over to complain.
“The tiles near the stairs are too slippery!”
“The sink by the football field is too tall!”
The principal immediately shooed them away with a laugh. “Off to class. You can file your complaints later.”
Jeonghan watched the children disappear down the corridor before turning to the principal. “They’re definitely the toughest clients to please.”
“They always are.”
“Teacher Y/n.” At the principal’s call, Jeonghan turned.
You stepped out of your classroom, your bag slung over one shoulder, clearly finished for the day. You bowed politely to both of them before smiling at Jeonghan.
“Amazing work, Architect Yoon.”
The principal blinked in surprise. “Oh!” He laughed. “I was just about to introduce the two of you.”
He looked between you and Jeonghan. “So… you already know each other?”
Jeonghan smiled and nodded. “Yes, sir. We’ve known each other for years.” He glanced at you before adding, “We’re neighbors.”
The principal’s eyes widened. “Neighbors?” He looked genuinely delighted.
“Then the two of you should’ve been going home together this whole time! No need for Teacher Y/n to take the bus anymore.”
Jeonghan smiled. “That works for me.”
You nodded, unable to hide a small smile of your own. “Then let me grab my things from the teachers’ room first. Excuse me.”
As you walked away, the principal let out a quiet sigh of relief before turning to Jeonghan. “To be honest, I still don’t understand why someone like Teacher Y/n chose our little school.”
Jeonghan raised an eyebrow.
“Her résumé is remarkable,” the principal continued. “We’re lucky she even accepted our offer.”
Jeonghan smiled to himself. “She’s always been like that.” He remembered the woman who had once told him that a person’s work—not their family name—was what truly defined them.
The principal nodded enthusiastically. “Exactly! She just came back from volunteering in Africa, and this was the very first school she applied to.”
He shook his head with an admiring smile. “Sometimes I wonder what kind of life she’s lived.”
Jeonghan watched as you disappeared down the hallway. A quiet smile settled on his face. “…An amazing one.”
The principal followed Jeonghan’s gaze before smiling to himself. “I suppose so.”
After parking the car, the two of you still had to walk another five hundred meters to the neighborhood. Jeonghan carried the box of materials you had brought home from school while you explained they were your students’ art projects.
For most of the walk, neither of you spoke. Then you turned to him. “I read it. Seungkwan did a good job.”
Jeonghan looked over and smiled. “He did almost too good of a job. My father must be pleased.”
“Your father is a good politician,” you murmured.
“He is.” A small smile lingered on his lips. “Not a very good father, though.”
You nodded. “That’s true.”
He looked ahead as the afternoon breeze rustled through the trees. “But… thanks.”
You turned to him.
“Because you were willing to tell the truth—even knowing how much it would cost you—my relationship with him finally got better.”
You smiled faintly. A month ago, Seungkwan had visited to ask for an exclusive interview for his feature, The Fall of Ji Jaekyung’s Legacy. It told the whole story. How the Ji family’s real daughter had been hidden. How you had been forced to take her place. How they had manipulated the media and used both you and Jeonghan in their attempt to bring down Yoon Daemun and several other political rivals.
“That was the least I could do,” you said quietly. “After everything I put you through.”
Jeonghan let out a small laugh. “Didn’t we agree to stop feeling guilty about that?”
You smiled apologetically.
“Besides,” he continued, “your mother was unbelievable.” He shook his head in disbelief. “How she even found out I was Daemun’s estranged son is still beyond me.”
You laughed. “I have no idea either. The whole family was… something else.”
Before either of you could continue, a familiar voice called from across the street.
“There you are!”
Grandma waved excitedly from her front yard. “I’ve been waiting for you two to come home!”
She pointed at Jeonghan. “Jeonghan! Help me with the plumbing. It stopped working again.”
Jeonghan groaned dramatically. “Grandma… I’m not a plumber.”
“You’ll figure it out.”
“I’m not a handyman either.”
Ignoring his protest entirely, Grandma grabbed his wrist and started pulling him toward the house.
You couldn’t hold back your laughter.
Jeonghan sighed in defeat before handing you his bag.
“Which pipe is it this time?”
As he rolled up his sleeves, Grandma happily led him inside.
“He complains every single time,” she whispered to you with a grin. “But he always fixes it.”
You smiled. “Grandma… He’s not a handyman. He’s an architect.”
Grandma blinked before breaking into a sheepish smile.
“I know.”
You looked at her in surprise.
She pointed toward the house next door. “There’s a big sign in front of his house.”
You laughed. “So you’ve known all along?”
Grandma simply shrugged. “Architects know how to fix things too.”
You glanced toward the kitchen window, where Jeonghan was already crouching beneath the sink, muttering to himself while trying to figure out the plumbing.
Maybe Grandma had been right after all. Some people didn’t just build houses. They made them feel like home.
End.
pairing: witch!joshua x witch!fem!reader
summary: Before Joshua, your life could best be described as feared, isolated and lonely. Now you had a community because of him, people that loved and accepted you despite the danger you were putting yourselves in for the future of your country. And maybe, if you see another day, Joshua would be yours too.
wc: 22,177
genre: non-idol au | fantasy au
rating: 18+ MDNI
tags: strangers to lovers, non-idol au, fantasy au, romance, fluff, smut the whole shabang, slow burn romance, very storyline driven so a lot of loose ends that will tie itself up later in the collection, usage of magic, explicit violence and mentions of death (one on screen death scene), unprotected p in v sex, fingering (f.receiving)
a/n: the further we get into the collection, the juicier it gets. im SO excited to be sharing the fics with all of you and i'm so grateful for the people who are following along! ^^ i hope you enjoy :D and so much thanks to @livmarauder for proofreading and sprinting with me alongside @yourislandgirl <3
listening to: let it happen - tame impala ; (don't fear) the reaper - blue öyster cult ; berghain - rosalía : house of the rising sun - the animals
On the day that fire burns blue, The One brings forth everything true. It is her that will rise and destroy what Talon once knew.
There was a strange feeling settling into his chest when he first stumbled across the organisation. Something about it had put him on edge, but he was willing to hear it out anyway. For people like him there was no such thing as community, but it was exactly what the organisation offered. For people like them, there was nothing like a safe haven, but they prided themselves on being exactly that.
Nearly convinced to join himself, he turned around at the last moment and walked away. He lived with the consequences of that action to this day.
He'd always had an inkling that nothing was what it seemed, but up until that moment, their intentions had merely been a speculation. Up until the message was transcripted, he was in the dark, comfortable and unknowing.
When he looked around, his confidants were silent. He could hear a pin drop. There was something etched into their faces that he hadn't seen before, not even when they arrived into his care.
Airu had the guts to speak up first on many occasions, but even they remained silent. Slumped in their seat, hand covering their chin and a part of their mouth, their eyes stared into nothingness.
"This is the first time they mention the 'One,'" Daphne cut through. Her eyes were like a clear crystal, shining in the light but almost unnoticable in the dark. "They preach it to us—" She interrupted herself with a tight smile. "them, but never to the outside."
His arms were crossed as he stared at the message. His mind was racing with possibilities but they flashed by him before he could process it, traded for the next like they were cancelling each other out.
"They're set on finding this person, then," Minsu concluded. "They're talking about someone that will arrive, not someone who has already joined."
The pressure on his chest lifted a little with one possibility eliminated.
His eyes darted to Airu, but they were still in their own head.
"If you look at it that way," Daphne spoke again. "I can't remember what they said about The One other than someone who will liberate us, and now we know that they're looking for a woman." When he looked at her, she had straightened her stance. "With the resources they have, they can get to her in no time."
"Which is why we need to be faster."
All eyes landed on him.
He looked at Minsu and shot a small smile. "I think I don't have to tell you what the next course of action is."
Minsu nodded and got up. "I'll get on it right away."
When he came back that following morning, he'd gotten his hands on a portrait. It was clear that it was all they had and on a continent as big as Talon, she could be anywhere. Minsu theorised that the possibility of her being in Qorath was slim, considering that there was little ground to cover for them here.
Chances of them ever reaching the Veiled Kingdom would mean that the collapse of Talon would follow quickly after. Nytheria was the thorn in everyone's eye, how he'd heard it being described. He'd never visited, but their history gave them all the right to act that way.
"I think I need to be in Thornmere," he finally said.
Minsu bobbed his head slowly. "Could be, but you're losing precious time if you're wrong."
"I'm actually pretty sure I need to be there." He nudged the younger. "I'll make up for lost time in the blink of an eye."
Minsu rolled his eyes, but a small smile tugged at his lips. "Go. There's no time to lose."
With the portrait in mind, he landed in the middle of a small town. The centre was swarming with people and there were overlapping yells coming from the distance. He stretched his neck as he moved along with the crowd, finding himself on a market.
All around him were vendors talking to the customers that were at their stands. He brushed past them, keeping his eyes on everything but the products. He'd spent hours wandering around the market, trying to find the person from the portrait that he memorised. The pressure in his chest was suffocting, but something told him that he came to the right place.
He left the market, following the road that brought him to the edge of town. There were a couple of houses, but the distance between them grew bigger with every house he passed. Kicking a pebble in the road, he felt his steps getting heavier.
Maybe he was just hoping too hard that he was right. That by sheer luck, he was in the right place at the right time and he could at least save the woman that they prophesized to be their saviour, compared to the many that were lost to the organisation.
He halted in his tracks when the door of the last house opened.
A woman walked out, her back faced towards him. A burgundy flowy dress hugged her plump figure, a corset accentuating her waist.
He looked the other way when she turned around and walked down the road. His eyes darted back up as she passed him and he offered a small smile. His heart stopped and he looked over his shoulder, but she picked up her pace.
He came to the right place after all.
“You cannot write this off as an accident, for it was a very deliberate move to make love to her.” You shook your head abruptly. "I will not involve myself in removing a human life, but if what your princess seeks is shelter..."
Vernon stared at you for a good second before his face flushed a furious state of red. “No. No! I have not–” His cheeks tinted a shade as red as your dress. “Gods, lady. What do you take me for? I am no animal!”
Blackspire's crown princess cleared her throat and you looked her way. Her cheeks were a light pink. "Vernon did not… um, insert himself. We are merely here for…" She paused and looked his way.
“A disguise,” Vernon added. “Your magic is strong enough to provide her with one.”
You arched an eyebrow and scoffed. “The princess didn’t even know your plan. I could be a spy for all she’d know, and believe me when I say that there are plenty.”
“This is important,” he insisted, your name rolling off his lips as a desperate plea. He was about to drop to his knees and beg at your feet if you didn’t know any better. “Will you help us or not?”
You eyes darted to the princess before landing on Vernon again. “You owe me. Again.” As you grabbed a book, you wandered to the kitchen. You had proved yourself on many occasions that your non-healing potions could be unreliable, but you weren't going to tell them that. Instead, you told them you were still improving.
It wasn't a complete lie, though.
As you rummaged through your cabinets for the right ingredients, their eyes burned into you. You swallowed and pushed the pressing feeling in your chest away.
Vernon came to you for a reason. It was dangerous and he knew the consequences of being seen with you, but no matter how much you tried to push him away, he always came back to you. You were almost tempted to call him a friend.
With a shaky breath, you closed your eyes and muttered the spell. The content of the pot glowed white and you sighed softly. As you poured it into a pot, you locked eyes with Vernon, who was watching you closely.
“This potion will wear off when you speak your real name out loud," you explained and gave the bottle to the princess. "Nobody will see your true form, except for Vernon. I made sure that he can see you at all times.”
She took it from you and glanced at Vernon. “If she tries to poison me, it’s on you.”
“I will take the fall, princess.” He bowed.
The look in her eyes made your chest sting.
You breathed a sigh of relief when the princess made way for a small, platinum blonde woman, eyes like the ocean peeking at you.
She smiled. "Thank you so much. I owe you."
You walked to your closet and reached for the back, pulling out a blue, purple and pink dress. You put them in a bag and gave it to her. "I don't wear them anymore, maybe it can help you."
The princess took it with a smile and nodded. "I won't forget your kindness."
You pressed your lips together and closed the door behind them.
Vernon was an idiot for seeking you out. He put the princess at risk — you didn't even want to know how or why the Blackspirian crown princess made it to Thornmere instead of sitting on the throne — and he risked his own life by associating himself with you.
You were not to be trusted. He knew that.
Over the following days, you stayed inside tending to your herbs. Your garden looked over the town's square, even though it was far away enough for people to keep their distance. Since they acted like you were a pest anyway, you didn't even bother to mingle with them. The only thing that kept you occupied was the market, where you bought vegetables, fruit and herbs every week.
When the day of the market came, you finally showed yourself.
You ripped your burgundy dress from the washing rack and covered it with a black corset. With your bag over your shoulder, you pulled the front door shut.
As you turned on your heel, a man was coming your way. Your heart stopped, but you pushed through the uncanny feeling crawling up your back. You walked in his direction, right past him like he didn't even exist to you. With calm strides, you made your way to the market.
You always lingered longer than needed, stopping by the stands that you had nothing to do with. You didn't do anything with wooden charms, but you admired the craftmanship that went into it.
Even though the vendors could not care for your opinion much, you still stopped to observe their goods.
As you made your way back, the man was gone. You breathed a sigh of relief and went back into the house, disappearing into the nothingness again.
You couldn't remember when everything shifted. When you were younger, you were surrounded by life. Your mother was the life of the party, your father a silent admirer of her spirit. Both had known the powers that you'd inherited and they taught you to embrace them, but they'd never prepared you for how the town would respond.
When they started to manifest, the people around you grew increasingly scared of what you'd be able to do one day. What your parents described as a blessing throughout your entire life had become your biggest burden.
And unfortunately, you couldn't stop them.
As you put the last of your vegetables on the fire, there was a knock on the door.
Your heart hammered in your chest as you hoisted yourself up. You tiptoed to the door and took a deep breath. Your hand trembled when you put it on the handle, pushing the handle down and peeking your head around the corner.
The man smiled at you, his black hair framing his face in silk curtains. His arms were crossed behind his back and his voice was soft and welcoming when he spoke.
"Am I interrupting anything?"
You swallowed and slowly shook your head.
His smile grew. "Glad to hear. My name's Joshua and I come here with a very urgent request."
"Whatever you heard, I can't help you," you said tightly and pushed against the door. "Good day."
"Your life's in danger." When your eyes fell on Joshua, his smile had faded. "I need you to come with me."
As you arched an eyebrow, you leaned against the door.
"I know you possess great powers," he continued and uncrossed his arms. "There's people out there that want to use them to their advantage, which is why I've come here to—"
You slammed the door shut and walked back to the kitchen. You stomped on the floor, boots clicking against the woodboard.
Joshua pounded on the door, but you ignored it, stirring the vegetables around in the pot. You added some water and let it sit, seating yourself in the chair with your spellbook.
Something that made creepy strangers go away, or turn them into hideous bugs perhaps.
When you were eating your homemade soup, there was another knock on the door. You didn't care how long he would stand there, he could wait for years and you wouldn't pay him any mind. It made you shiver that he knew about you.
The next day as you carefully peeked around the corner, he wasn't there anymore. You kept checking for every day after that until you were sure that he was gone. You tended to your garden, practiced your magic and reogarnised your cupboards.
You couldn't imagine what scared people off. Your magic was nature based, specifically focused on healing and using the earth to do so. Your parents called it elemental magic, and there were only a few people that were strong enough to wield all four elements; earth, water, fire and air. Your mother was one of them, loud and proud and fearless like she'd always been.
Your father was forced to bind his powers when they came after him. A pit formed in your stomach just thinking about it. You hadn't seen him using his magic since you were eleven.
Your parents were thoroughly convinced that you could do it too. The powers had never truly manifested with you and you were left with earth as your element. Grounding, stable and nourishing, that was your destiny in life.
Nothing more and nothing less.
You'd hoped that your parents were right. The elements, the world around you, it had always rumbled a fascination that you could not shake. You felt yourself drawn to the rain pouring out of the sky, to the fire crackling in your hearth, even by the way the wind blew through your hair. Whenever you flicked your fingers, it seemed to dance along with you, but you never followed through with trying again.
Instead, you found great satisfaction in helping others. Healing was something that had always come naturally to you, in any shape or form in fact. When your mother was upset over something, your remedy never failed to work. You credited your importance in her life, but she'd always told you it was something more.
A tear escaped your eye as you sat in the garden, the warm breeze dancing on your skin. Leaving your parents had left a gaping wound that would never mend. You didn't want to. Gods, it was the last thing that you wanted, but your parents needed to know you were safe.
You hadn't heard from them since your mother's last letter before winter came. Countless letters had gone unanswered since then, so you assumed the worst.
The next morning, you decided that the market would do you good. You never went so early in the morning, but you needed to clear your head. With the new stranger in town that seemed to have it out for you, you doubt you could.
There was no harm in trying, you assumed as you opened the door.
Joshua smiled up at you when you stepped outside.
You yelped and clutched your chest. "What—"
"Good morning," he greeted you and got up, brushing his pants off that was clinging to his slender legs loosely. "My apologies for startling you a couple of days ago, but I really need to talk to you."
You scoffed and clutched your bag, stepping on the gravel path. "No, thank you."
"I'm afraid this does not leave much room for choice."
You started walking down the road. There were crunching steps behind you that made your ribcage burn. With a deep breath and a roll of your eyes, you pretended he did not exist. Maybe by closing your eyes and making your wish, you would discover a new power that would make him fuck right off.
"Listen, I know you don't want to hear me out," he started.
With a scoff, you turned onto the market.
He called your name and from the corner of your eye, you saw him reaching for you. You turned around and held your hand out, but he already retreated his arm.
Joshua pushed his brows together before his face relaxed again. He shook his head with a small smile. "I didn't know you could do that."
"I did nothing," you said tightly and grabbed a bag of herbs. You slammed the coins on the table before he could insist otherwise and walked to the next stand.
"I know this must be scary, but at least hear me out," he spoke again, following you on foot. "I have everything to lose and nothing to gain by doing this, I can assure you that."
You shrugged before you turned to him with a smile. "Maybe you risked everything for nothing, then. I'm not interested in whatever you have to say."
Before Joshua could try to change your mind, you walked off. A vendor talked about you, but you tuned it out. Joshua tried once more when you ran into him at the vegetable stand and that was where you left him.
Something inside of you clawed at you when you did. Maybe Joshua was acting out of the best intentions and there you were, writing him off like you'd done with everyone else. He seemed genuine, he kept trying and he looked like he was incapable of losing his temper, unlike what you had almost done.
There was a pit forming in your stomach nonetheless. He might be preaching how he could save your life, but maybe his soft eyes, pretty smile and honey voice would lure you right into the danger he was trying to warn you about.
You pushed the feeling away and barricaded yourself into your home. You watched the clock while biting your fingernails until it stung. The wind blew a fresh breeze through your garden, but with every hour passing it seemed to grow stronger. The hearth was nearly in flames by the time you got to dinner, as if it was too strong to contain itself.
When you looked out of the window, it was pouring. The ground underneath you rumbled, buzzing through your body.
The knock on the door made you jump. A strike of thunder followed, then a muffled voice, but it drowned out by the rain tapping against your window.
You opened the door and your breath caught.
Water dripped from Joshua's hair and nose, his clothes stuck to his body. "They predicted nice weather today," he teased lightly.
"They had it wrong, then." You were about to close the door, but he grabbed it. With a sharp inhale you turned away, your heart hammering on the beat of every step you took inside.
Joshua followed you, but when you turned around, he froze in his tracks. His neck twitched and the smile on his face seemed to cost him more effort than usual.
You arched your eyebrow. "Well?"
He opened his mouth, but it was nothing more than a breathless whisper.
You scoffed and turned away from him.
"Please…" he said hoarsely, almost inaudibly. "let… me… go…"
You froze, flinching when there was a loud thud behind you. You let out a shaky breath and closed your eyes. Tears stung behind them, desperately clawing their way out as you tried to collect yourself.
Joshua coughed loudly, and when you turned around he was crawling up from the floor.
You hurried over to him and helped him up, putting him down on your couch. You avoided his curious looks and swallowed. "Let me make you some tea."
Without room for Joshua to protest, you put the kettle on the fire. You mixed chamomille with tumeric and muttered to the cup, watching it light up. You walked back with the cup of tea and gave it to him. "Drink up. It'll help with soreness."
He offered you a warm smile and wrapped his hands around it. "Thank you."
You brushed the folds of your dress and sat down next to him.
"You have elemental magic, don't you?"
You looked up at him curiously.
He set the cup in the palm of his hand and within seconds, it started floating. The tea stayed in the cup perfectly and when it came back down, he took a sip.
You watched in awe. "You're…"
Joshua smiled again. "I recognise your struggles, and it pains me to see how isolated you are. Not only do I want to get you to safety, but I want to give you the chance to be among your own people."
You swallowed. "What's the danger?"
"Have you ever heard of the Coven of the Silver Star?"
The name sounded familiar, you just couldn't place the feeling settling in your chest. You shook your head and shifted in your seat.
"They're based in Qorath, and they're under protection of the Royal Family," Joshua started and took a sip of tea. "As the name suggests, it's a group of witches just like us. They promote themselves as the place for us, to teach and guide us through our powers, to give us a sense of community."
His brows knitted together, his lips pressed into a thin line.
"You…" You cleared you throat. "…don't look like you're going to say something nice about them."
"I have reason to believe that they're not a coven at all, and when we received a message through one of our spies, I knew that I was right all those years, and that all the efforts I've been making haven't been in vain."
"What do you think they are, if not a coven?"
Joshua put the empty cup down.
You awaited an answer that didn't seem to come. You pressed him again, but he wouldn't budge.
"They believe in the legend of 'The One', their saviour and their salvation," he continued, leaning back in his seat. "Before I came here, we found out who that person is."
Your stomach turned.
Joshua offered you an apologetic smile. "I would never dare to disrupt your life as it is, but for your own safety…"
"You are very kind to say that, but I think you and I both know that coming with you is better than the life I'm leading right now," you replied tightly. You chuckled bitterly. "Everything's better than this, even if that Silver Star club would get a hold of me."
"That's exactly what they pry on, which is why we wasted no time to get to you first." Joshua got up and looked at you. "You can pack some belongings, if you'd like. Travels are not long so you have time to process all of this."
You cocked an eyebrow, but all he did was smile. You bobbed your head and walked to your bedroom, hoarding all the dresses and corsets that you could find. You packed your herbs and potions. Your fingers trembled as they laced in between the fabric of your mother's scarf, stuffing it in your bag.
When you looked at your garden, you could feel yourself shattering.
"There's a chance to grow some where we are," Joshua sounded behind you. "We can use them."
You nodded and hung your bag over your shoulder.
He held his arm out and you took it. "Ready?"
"Yeah, let's just go before I change my mind."
It didn't last more than a second before your living room switched out for an office.
Joshua let go of you and leaned against the desk, a wood so dark it was almost black. It was completely smooth, unlike the furniture in your house. You looked around and through the big windows, you looked out over a forest, trees perfectly aligned.
A pit formed in your stomach. Even if you wanted to, there was no turning back anymore.
Joshua had let you settle in for the week, assigning you to a room where you could stay for the night. Because you couldn't sleep, you'd taken yourself out for a tour and the next moment you had with Joshua, you trailed after him bobbing your head along to his explanation.
He showed you the personal quarters — you could pinpoint the hallway where you got lost on multiple occasions — introduced you to some of the residents and made sure you knew where the living quarters were. It was complete with a kitchen and a space to lay down and unwind, as if you'd stepped into a big inn instead.
Joshua took you to the gardens, where someone was bowed over the herbs and plants. He turned to you. "If you need anything, you can just grab it from here. We all share this space, despite having little healers amongst us."
You nodded and folded your hands over each other.
He motioned his head to the door and smiled. "Let me introduce you to some more members of our network."
Despite the eerie feeling settling in your chest, you followed him. Back through the hallways, but you took a left instead, back to the office you arrived in the day before.
Instead, Joshua opened another door. When he stepped in, three people turned around.
Your eyes immediately fell on a woman with eyes as blue as the Thornmere sky, her dark auburn hair in a thick braid down her back. She offered you a warm smile before she turned to Joshua.
"You managed to locate her," she spoke so soothingly, you feel your worries drifting away. "Well done, Joshua."
"Without your help, I wouldn't have been able to." Joshua's eyes darted to the man next to her. He bowed his head, which the man returned.
His gaze landed on you, but he looked away when you locked eyes.
"Welcome to the hideout," the last one spoke. When you turned to them, they wore a bright grin, strands of red and black hair falling in front of their face. "We'll take good care of you, don't you worry."
"Daphne, Minsu and Airu are my closest confidants," Joshua explained. He puffed his chest out a bit and there was a twinkle in his eyes you couldn't place. "Without them, I couldn't have done any of this."
"What exactly is 'this?'" You asked.
From the corner of your eye, Daphne shot him a glare.
"I couldn't exactly tell her that out in the open," Joshua said calmly. "You don't know what ears were listening."
Airu waved their hand. "Before you start arguing like divorced parents again," they cut in and turned to you, "we're spies. And witches. Spy witches. Spit—"
"We run an underground network that is set to dismantle the Silver Star," Minsu interrupted them and offered you a small smile. "And what Airu said is correct. We're all witches." He patted their shoulder. "Fire magic. You'll notice that it's very fitting for their personality."
"I'm a water witch," Daphne spoke up. "I recently found out I can heal with it."
You smiled and nodded.
She returned it warmly and glanced at her friends.
Airu slapped Minsu's back, who shot them glance. "Necromancer."
"So you can…" You made a kill motion.
Minsu chuckled softly. "My magic involves the usage of the death, through corpses and spirits."
You turned to Joshua, who was smiling.
"I hope you'll feel at home here." He pushed himself up and waved his hand. "We'll leave you to it. Let me know if you find something."
Airu saluted him, but Minsu pulled them back into work. They winked at you, to which you chuckled.
You followed Joshua to his office and stood in front of his window. You felt yourself drawn back to the forest, observing how the tree tops blew in the wind, how the leaves clung unto their branches as if it was nothing. You watched how all of them moved in the same rhythm like it was rehearsed.
You looked at your own hands before tucking them underneath your arms.
"A little too perfect, aren't they?" Joshua stood next to you. "Qorath has never been so keen of mistakes, and its scenery reflects that sentiment."
You hummed. "There is no way in which all those trees can be so perfectly aligned. And the way they're moving, it's unnatural and so…synced? Like they're just a replica of each other."
"You'll come to find that Qorath is unusually perfect." He pointed at the end of the forest, where the trees started thinning out. Right at the top was a tree that moved along with the wind. Not just the tip, not the leaves trying to stick to the branches, it moved with its entire being, unafraid to make the leaves dance in the breezes. "You just have to look for weak points."
You peeled away from the window and cleared your throat.
Joshua turned around to sit in the windowstill. "I want to formally apologise to you, about how I came to your doorstep unannounced."
"And for not leaving me alone," you added.
He rubbed his neck, his cheeks flushing a light pink. "And that, yes. It was very improper of me."
"A bit, yeah." You balanced on the back of your feet. "So, what will happen now that I'm here? You seem to run a very oiled machine in here."
Joshua chewed his lip. "You're at risk if we put you out there. I'm afraid the best I can do for you right now is giving you shelter and protection."
You swallowed the lump in your throat. With a tight smile, you excused yourself and stepped away from him. "I'll be in my quarters if you need me."
"Maybe you can join us for dinner tonight," Joshua suggested. "I'm sure they won't mind."
"I'll think about it." You offered a nod and turned on your heel. "Thank you for the invite, nonetheless."
"Always."
You made your way to the quarters and closed the door behind you. It was small, but it had everything you need: a bed, a desk, even a small closet to store your belongings.
On the desk was a small pile of papers and a quill, but the time when you touched it, you couldn't bring yourself to put the words onto the paper.
You kept looking at it, until the nagging feeling suffocated you. You turned away from it and laid down on the bed, swallowing the tears that had traveled with you since you left your own home.
If it could even be called home.
Your real home was like stepping into a comforting hug. You could remember your parents gushing over the powers you would possess when you were four years of age, but despite the burdens they placed on themselves, you could only feel the warmth spread through your chest. They never failed to make you feel heard and seen, even if your powers would never manifest at all.
They did when you were seven, right around the time most of the powers would completely manifest. In one of the coldest winters you remembered, without much thought, you had made the flowers in your garden bloom. It'd become evident to you and your parents that you had inherited your mother's powers.
Your real home was in the north of Thornmere, right at the border with Nytheria. You'd always been able to look over the mountains in the safety of your cabin, wondering how they got so high. You imagined yourself being on top of the mountain when you closed your eyes at night. One day, you would be so high up, too.
Childlike wonder, your mother had called it. In truth, that fascination had never left you after all those years. You often thought of that mountain and everything that went on behind it, even though you'd never seen it before. One day, you hoped you would.
When you walked into the kitchen, the four had already gathered around the table.
Daphne was the first to notice you and offered you a warm smile. "Please, join us. Dinner's just ready."
You inhaled the scent of a broth and hummed. "It smells nice."
"Joshua's specialty."
You glanced at the man, who'd replaced his black suit with the white collar with a loose blouse and a wide linen pants. His hair was fluffy, as if he'd just washed it, compared to how composed he normally wore it. Nothing about Joshua in that moment screamed that he was planning on getting back to work anytime soon.
"I'm glad you're joining," he said with a smile. He waved his hand before pouring another bowl. "I made enough for all of us."
"Such a mum," Airu teased.
You sat down next to them and their bowl was in front of your nose.
Their smile was small, but genuine. "Rookies first."
You nodded and pulled it towards you, letting the smell engulf you. Dinner was silent on your part. The most you'd done was answer questions that they fired your way, but most of their conversations were about their days, about things they heard and saw.
Work was off the table.
Daphne excused herself when she was done and dusted her flowy dress off. "I have to get some medicine to the children's wing. There's a bad flu again."
You wiped your hands on the napkin and got up. "Let me take care of it."
She offered you a small smile. "There's no need, love. Make sure you're settled in first." She turned on her heel and walked towards the door.
"I'm a healer."
Daphne's hand was on the doorhandle, but it stayed there. She looked over her shoulder and nodded. "Alright then. Follow me."
You excused yourself with a bow and followed her out. "Let us stop by my quarters first. I brought some potions and herbs."
"You possess powers of the earth," she concluded, to which you nodded. She smiled. "It suits you."
You nodded at her and grabbed your bag. As you fell into step with her, you spotted a tattoo of a star in her neck. As you opened your mouth, you were interrupted by a loud scream.
Daphne ran towards the wing and you had no choice but to follow her. She pushed through the doors and froze.
A handful of children, you guessed them no older than ten, were gathered around a bed. You could easily look over them to see a boy, lips almost as blue as ice. His forehead was covered in sweat.
You glanced at Daphne, whose eyes glimmered. As you put a hand on her shoulder, they shot to you like a deer in headlights. "Get the kids away from the bed, okay? I'll see what I can do."
She nodded and walked over to them, putting on a smile and leading them away to a couple of beds away.
You put your bag down by your feet and sat on the edge. When you felt his forehead, he was burning up. Your fingers pressed against the pulse in his neck, but it was barely there.
"Hey," you called out softly. "I'm here to help you."
The boy opened his eyes slowly.
You rummaged in your bag and grabbed a small bottle of light brown liquid. Your trembling hands wrapped around it and the bottle lit up. "I need you to take this for me, okay?" You helped the boy up and took the cork off. "Can you open your mouth for me?"
His jaw unclenched and you poured it in gently, pushing his jaw back shut. He winced, but you told him to swallow. He retched.
"I know, it's very bitter, but you will feel a lot better in the morning." You put the empty bottle back in the bag and caressed his cheek. "Get some sleep. Daphne and I will make sure the other kids know you're okay."
"Thank you," he croaked, his voice a bare whisper. Within seconds, he'd drifted off to sleep.
You looked at Daphne, who had a small boy in her lap. "He'll be okay."
She smiled and nodded. "Thank you."
You walked over to her and the kids and sat down next to her. "He had a very bad flu, but he will feel much better in the morning."
"The kids are still a little shaken," Daphne told you. "We should stay here until they're calmed down."
Your heart jumped when your hand suddenly touched a soft skin. You looked down and a girl traced the folds of your dress. You guessed her around six years old, long black hair in a high ponytail. Her big eyes — still wet from tears — twinkled when they locked with yours.
"You have a pretty dress," she said softly.
"Thank you." You offered her a smile. "I like yours, too."
She returned it shyly and let go of you, sniffling softly.
"Would you like a hug, love?"
She nodded and laid her head in your lap. You picked her up instead and let her press up against you, nuzzling her face in the crook of your neck. You rocked her from left to right gently and hummed. "Don't say no to the sad feelings, dear. They'll only come back stronger."
"I was very scared," she muttered.
"And you have all the right to be sad about that. It was very scary to see." You wiped her tears away as she looked at you. "How are you feeling right now?"
"Better." She smiled weakly. "I'm Yui, what's your name?"
You told her your name and she pressed herself against you again, muttering it back to you.
"Let's get you to bed," Daphne announced. "We'll come to check on you in the morning."
Yui climbed off your lap and shot you one last smile, and a sense of familiarity settled in your chest.
You returned the smile. "Goodnight, Yui."
She ran back to her own bed while you grabbed your bag from the floor, following Daphne out of the wing.
"I didn't know you housed so many children," you said.
"They're mostly saved from parents in Silver Star, or here with older siblings," Daphne explained. "It's not ideal and my heart breaks for them, but Gods know where else they would end up if we didn't take them in."
You hummed and crossed your arms.
"Let's join the others for a drink." She pushed through the doors of the living quarters. "I'm sure we can both use it."
You followed her regardless of your appetite. The room was dimly lit, but you recognised the silhouette of Joshua sitting by the window, a glass in his hand. When you shut the door, he whipped his head around.
"The kids are okay," Daphne told him. She tilted her head slightly. "Are you?"
"I'm fine, Daphne. Thank you." A small smile decorated his face and he put the glass down. "Did something happen? You look… troubled."
She opened her mouth, her eyes darting to you.
"One of the kids laid in bed with cold sweat and blue lips," you answered and folded your hands. "They were a little shaken up by it, but they're okay now. Back to sleep, I assume."
Joshua nodded. "Did you give him anything?"
"One of my potions." You waved your hand. "I use it against the flu all the time and it works like a miracle," you added quickly.
"And the kids love her already," Daphne said. When you looked her way, she grinned.
His smile grew. "Don't be afraid to help them more often, if they need you."
You nodded and motioned to his drink. "What are you having?"
"Homemade elderflower liquor."
"I'll have that, too."
Joshua nodded and got up from the chair. He told Daphne to sit down and poured two glasses. He held them out to both of you and grabbed his own. "Here's to a new chapter for Vault Nine."
You all raised your glasses and as you took a sip, you enjoyed the alcohol burning your throat. You couldn't remember when you dipped out, just that you wanted to look presentable the next morning. Your head pounded lightly as you hoisted yourself in a white blouse and black pants. You accentuated your waist with a black corset and did your hair the usual way.
And a potion or good measure.
As you were on your way to the children's wing, you heard footsteps behind you. You looked over your shoulder and smiled. "Good morning."
Joshua fell into step with you, his attire back to its usual black suit with the white collar. "Good morning, how are you feeling?"
You held up a potion bottle. "Good."
"So that means you were feeling bad before." He nudged you with a grin. "Isn't that considered bending the rules?"
"If I'm able to, why wouldn't I?"
Joshua chuckled. "Very good point." He opened the doors to the children's wing, pressing himself against the door. "After you."
You smiled and walked in, looking around the dormitory. The kids were already up, running around and laughing or they were on the beds talking to each other. Your eyes fell on the sick boy, who halted in his tracks when he saw you.
He offered you a bright smile before one of the other boys tapped him. He shouted and turned around to chase him.
Your name was called and you whipped your head.
Yui skipped over to you, her cheeks flushed red and her chest rising and falling heavily. "You made Vince better!"
You smiled. "I did."
Before she could open her mouth, Vince jogged up to her. His eyes fell on you and darted to Joshua before he looked back at you.
"You look like Yin and Yang," he pointed out.
Yui gasped. "Oh! She's Yin!" She pointed at Joshua frantically. "And Shua's Yang!"
You looked back at Joshua, who was smiling.
"I guess we do," he said and ruffled the boy's hair. "I'm glad to see you out of bed."
"The potion was gross, but it worked." Vince turned to you and smiled. "Thank you."
You returned it with a nod and watched how he walked off with Yui on his trail.
"So, Yin,"
You deadpanned Joshua, but the smile on your face was undeniable. "Yes, Yang?"
He chuckled and gave you a playful push. "I think Daphne was right when she said the kids love you."
"I think love is a strong word for someone they met last night," you countered and walked out of the dormitory. "They take a liking, that is all."
"All of us do."
You froze, and when you looked over your shoulder, he didn't even seem remotely remorseful. With a hard swallow, you walked out of the children's wing but his words stayed with you, no matter how hard you tried to shake them off.
After Daphne had practically disappeared for the day, you assumed she was busy. When she didn't show up for dinner and the frown etched into Airu and Minsu's faces, you took matters into your own hands.
You went into the garden for fresh herbs and took them back with you, combining them with the herbs from your own collection. As you knocked on Daphne's door, you heard shuffling on the other side of the door.
When you called out to her, it stopped.
Daphne opened the door and it was like a burden lifted off her shoulders. She smiled weakly and stepped aside. "Is there something you need?"
"I was hoping for the other way around, actually," you admitted with a small smile. "I haven't seen you today, so I came to see if you were alright."
She swallowed and shut the door. "Yeah, I'm fine." Upon the silence, she shuffled around.
"Can I interest you in herbal therapy?" You held the branches up. "It'll calm the mind, relieve your worries a little."
Daphne observed them closely before nodding slowly.
You sat down on the ground and patted the soft carpet. You muttered to yourself and a bowl appeared in your hand, which you put the herbs in. Your fingers brushed them gently when you let them go. Before you could even ask for a lighter, there was a flame.
You exchanged a glance with the older woman.
"You don't have to tell my anything, but you can if you wish to," you said instead. "All you have to do for me is close your eyes and focus on yourself. Let the scents guide you."
Daphne winced. "Gods, they are strong."
You chuckled. "You'll get used to it."
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
"Would you like to talk about what's on your mind?"
"I feel guilty for freezing up on you last night," she answered softly. "I just… I don't know what came over me, but something transported me back to…" She paused and you could hear her breath catch. "I escaped the Silver Star about a year ago, and it still haunts me. The scared looks on their faces, the way they were are circled around Vince, it was like I was there again."
You rested your hands in your laps. "Did it resemble something you experienced in Silver Star?"
"It was like a ritual, something they do when they let go of members they do not deem worthy anymore." Daphne rolled her shoulders back and shuffled in her seat. "Everyone's there to watch, like it's a warning to everybody what happens if you step out of line, or if you don't follow the rules."
"And the way the kids stood around Vince…"
"Gods… I could only think about what I saw in there."
You told her to take a deep breath. "You're doing well, Daphne. Would you like to continue?"
She opened her eyes and a tear escaped. "They're dangerous, love. If Joshua tells you to stay low, follow his advice. We have no idea what they want to do with you."
You swallowed and nodded. "Okay, I will."
Daphne sniffled and smiled at you. "You're a good one. It would be a shame if someone like you got wrapped up in such a twisted environment."
"What exactly drew you in?" You asked.
"Where I lived, magic was a curse." She shrugged lightly. "I was not welcome in my village, and at one point my parents wanted to bind my powers. At least I could live a normal life, but I chose to ignore their wishes. I didn't want to be hidden… or… or be ashamed of who I was."
Daphne smiled through her tears. "Wouldn't you have done the same? If they came at your doorstep, telling you that your own people were waiting for you to join them?"
You swallowed, looking the other way.
"We can't blame the people for believing it. They pry on the vulnerable and lonely like that."
"If you weren't first…" You sighed and rested your chin on your knee, your eyes darting at the older woman.
She nodded in understanding before scooting over to you. "Thank you for the herbs. I feel better."
"You can ask if you need it another time." You dimmed the flame and got up. "Take your rest, alright? We'll see each other in the morning."
Daphne had returned to her usual duties after breakfast. It had been just you, her and Airu, Joshua too busy to join and Minsu nowhere in sight.
You joined Airu in their office and closed the door. "You wanted to speak to me."
"I need you to understand the gravity of your presence," they said, their voice rid of its usual playfulness. "If they can't find you, and they won't, they know that someone is working against them. They already have their suspicions of the local government, but we're completely independent from them."
You nodded. "I see."
Airu leaned over the desk. "The Silver Star is not just a simple villain in this chapter of our lands," they continued, their sharp eyes gazing at you like a hunter and its prey. "Their goal is much bigger than us witches. If anything, we're simply pawns in their game. You, however," their finger nearly poked your chest, "are their Queen. That was how it was prophesized. And if you're familiar with that branch of magic, you know the dangers of relying on divination."
"It's merely a fraction of the future," you said. "Whatever prophecy they might have seen, it will be only a moment that can still move in a thousand different directions."
They flashed a grin at you. "You know your magic, rookie."
"My father used divination until he bound his powers," you said. "He taught me everything I needed to know."
There was a sliver of recognition in Airu's eyes. "The Silver Star won't rest until their prophecy will be fulfilled."
You stood straight with a single nod. "So tell me what I should know about them."
"They're based here, in Qorath." They waved their hand to the map on the wall. "They reside where the Royal Family does, although we have reason to assume that it's actually the Silver Star. We just lack the evidence."
You observed the map, where the spot was marked with a star. "So they're pulling some strings to appear separate from the royals."
"Probably, yeah." Airu stood next to you and pointed at the castle. "Our theory is that they're puppeteering a fake King and Queen. The real Royal Family has been wiped out when Silver Star seized power and since then, they pretend that the land is ruled by a King and Queen while in reality, it's them."
You bobbed your head and looked at them. "Are you from here?"
"Born and raised." They nodded. "I've seen it all. They are too…"
"Perfect."
Airu looked at you in surprise. "Yeah, actually. It has always rubbed me the wrong way."
You hummed and stepped away from the map. "Do you have any information on what goes on inside?"
"Aside from the royals, they have a council," they told you. "Five high ranking members of Silver Star, each powerful witches. A lot of them are in the dark arts, but there's also an elemental witch. We're still trying to figure out what she can do."
Airu sat down at their desk. "They are like the leaders, but they all take advicd from who they call 'The One'. It's like an entirely new religion was created, apart from the Gods we already answer to."
"And that is me." You shuddered when they nodded. "I don't even know what they see in me, but the thought that I'm that worshipped irks me."
"Us all." They trapped you under their gaze, as if you were going to be killed for moving even a muscle. "They're launching an attack on Blackspire soon, when 'The One' has finally joined their side. The moment that happens according to them is three weeks from now."
"The attack?"
Airu nodded. "That means they're actively searching for you. We have to be wary."
"If it's not a coven," you wondered out loud, your eyes darting at them, "what is the Silver Star?"
"A cult." Their fist was clenched to the point their knuckles were white. "They take everything they can touch and rip it apart, families and lives alike. If I don't live to watch them burn, then this was all for nothing."
The conversation with Airu had stuck with you all the way through dinner. Minsu was still absent and by the way Daphne, Airu or Joshua didn't even remotely bat an eye, it was a common occurrence.
You were already seated when Daphne put the meat on the table. The other witches had joined, but everyone had split off into their own little groups.
Joshua was munching on a piece of meat when you turned to him.
"Where is Minsu?"
"Spying," he answered.
You raised your eyebrows. "He's inside?"
"How else do you think we get our information?" Airu grinned at you. "We can't call ourselves a spy network if we don't spy on them."
"And you all keep preaching to me how dangerous they are," you mumbled and stirred the vegetables.
The table fell silent, but you ignored it and ate your plate clean. All of them had looked at you funny at least once without reciprocation.
You opted for some time alone after dinner and sat behind your desk. The quill felt familiar in your hand, the branch smooth and comfortable to hold. You dipped it in the ink and put it to the paper.
Wherever you are, no matter the distance between us, I think of you every day. If you are able to, please give me a sign that you are safe. It has been a while since I heard from you.
Much love,
Your beloved daughter.
You put the quill down and stared at the words on the paper, drying up right in front of you. You grabbed the scarf from your bag and inhaled the scent, which was merely an afterthought since the last time your mother wore it.
You tore the paper, folded the letter together and placed it on the scarf. There was such a pressure heaving on your chest that it was easy to bleed your sorrows onto the paper. You wanted to tell your parents everything; from Joshua who stood on your doorstep to the network that was working against a cult.
The thought made the adrenaline pump through your veins and sent chills down your spine all at once. If your parents were that sought-after — there was no other reason why your father would take such drastic measures — there was no doubt in your mind that they knew as well.
You opened the letter and grabbed the quill again before you folded it back together. As you muttered the words, the letter lit up and before it disappeared with the blink of an eye, like it was sucked into a completely different dimension.
The herbs in your closet were rearranged as you went over everything you learned so far. It was a cult, based in Argentum. They resided with the Royal Family, or were the Royal Family, if you were to believe Airu. There was a council of five witches, but they all answered to a deity called 'The One'. But the deity was real. In fact, it was going to be you, according to their prophecy.
You slammed your closet shut and made your way to Joshua's office. No answer came when you knocked on the door and the door was locked. His quarters were your next stop, but he wasn't there either. When you arrived at the living quarters, the silence was welcoming and comforting. It was later in the evening, most of them would be asleep or in their own quarters.
Joshua was in his chair with the homemade liquor, the glass against his lips when you walked in. He downed the content in one go.
Watching him swallow, the way he was slouched in his seat with his legs spread and his sleeves rolled up, it made your breath catch.
You waved your hand. "Do you…"
He shot up and shook his head. "No, not at all."
You sat down across from him and placed your hands in your lap. You tilted your head and scanned every inch of his face, the way his lips were pressed together and his eyebrows hung low over his eyes. They were sunken, and drained.
The dim light that hit his face made him light up nonetheless.
"Are you alright?" You asked.
Joshua smiled softly. "You don't need to worry about me. I'm okay."
Against your instincts, you let the conversation dry out and looked out of the window. Even in the darkness, the trees danced in their perfect rhythm. You hummed. "Are you from Qorath?"
"Blackspire," Joshua answered. "I came here for the same organisation I'm now trying to dismantle."
You turned your head.
"Something didn't sit right with me so I backed out, and I quickly learned that it was the right decision." He pulled the cork out of the bottle and poured himself another glass. He held the bottle out to you, but you shook your head.
"How long have you been doing this?"
"Seven years now, I think." He stirred the glass. "It didn't start out this way, but I'm happy to be doing this for other people as well."
"A lot of our decisions don't end up how we made them."
Joshua leaned back in his seat, his fingers gripping the top of his glass as his arm hung over the edge.
You shuffled in your seat and cleared your throat. "I don't mean to pry…"
A small smile tugged at his lips and he closed his eyes. "I can assure you that I feel fine," he raised his head, "but if you have something on your mind?"
You shrugged and leaned on your thighs.
Joshua nodded and looked out of the window.
"Can you remember what your life was like before all of this?"
He turned his head back to you, his eyes scanning you curiously.
"Before I moved into that small cabin where you found me, I had a completely different life." Your gaze flicked to him and you saw him swallow. "It starts fading away from me the more time I spend away from it."
He nodded slowly, almost like he was afraid to say something else. He took a huge swig and let the glass rest in his hand.
You moved closer until your fingers brushed the back of his hand. "I have been here for a week, almost two, and I have learned nothing about you other than that you're the boss and you like to drink elderflower liquor late at night on your own." You offered him a small smile. "I know we started on the wrong foot and my behaviour has been hostile towards you, but I promise, I want to know more about you. You brought me here to safety after all."
You nudged him. "And I just learned you're from Blackspire."
Joshua looked away from you and chewed his lip. "I just…" He shook his head. "I don't really like to talk about it. It hasn't been serving me any good since I came here, reminiscing on the past."
"Yet, something has been troubling you about it."
"You're very good at this."
"I have my experience."
He stared ahead of him and rubbed his chin. "I was born in Blackspire, but nothing special. Just a witch disguised as a merchant, traveling around the lands to sell his goods at the markets, which were homegrown vegetables and fruit. The money was scarce, but we had enough for our necessities."
"Was it just you and your parents?" You asked. You watched how he exhaled shakily, followed by a weak shake of his head.
"An older brother."
You offered a weak smile.
"Our powers were different," Joshua continued, but his voice trembled. "I inherited mine from my mother, but my brother… he's just like you. Nature was his biggest source of inner peace, while I went out and about, often landing myself in situations that he would get me out of."
He chuckled softly. "One time, I got myself to the other side of the lands and just by the vibrations of the earth, he managed to locate me and got me back."
You tilted your head. "Is that how you were able to find me so quickly?" You stifled a laugh. "We got back here like time hadn't even passed."
"It barely had." Joshua inhaled sharply. "But I don't like to use it anymore. Not when I don't have to."
"Thank you for using it for me."
"I couldn't put an innocent life on the line." He shrugged and down the last bit of his drink. "I hope you got what you hoped for."
Before you could even utter a word, he got up and snatched his glass from the table. You got up as well, but Joshua left the living quarters without looking back.
His eyes widened in surprise when you stood in his office the following morning. He quickly closed the file on his desk and got up. "Good morning."
You had your arms crossed, trapping him under your gaze.
Joshua stepped away from his desk. "Before you say anything—"
"I'm not here to lash out at you," you interrupted him and leaned against the doorframe. "It was somewhat improper to leave without another word, but you must have your reasons for leaving so urgently that — despite my curious nature — I will not ask for."
Joshua bowed his head. "That is much appreciated, thank you."
"I am here, however," you stepped in, "to talk business."
He waved his hand.
"I can be of value to your cause."
"I'm very sure of that as well, which is why I won't put you right into the crossfire," he explained, the gentleness of his words crawling into your head like a soothing lullaby. "You have to understand that they have eyes and ears everywhere, and they know more about you than they let on. We have to be careful."
You pressed your lips in a tight smile. "Joshua, I am well aware that I'm at risk, but I'm still well in my right to decide to which extent I want my involvement to go and I'm telling you right now," you stepped up to him and looked him right in the eyes, "you're wasting resources by trying to shield me."
Joshua swallowed, his breath catching. "I don't want anything to happen to you while you're under my care."
"I can still care for myself, thank you."
His eyes clouded over, your name rolling off his lips in a way that sent chills down your spine. "I've spent the past seven years trying to dismantle them and you cannot begin to imagine how many people I've watched losing themselves to their message, or who got discovered and never returned. I cannot forgive myself if the same would happen to you."
You stepped closer until there was no distance left. "I will not let my abilities go to waste because you are too scared. I don't care if you send me out into the field or you'll give me something here. You will give me a task to fulfill so the Silver Star will burn. Once and for all."
Joshua stared at you. It was impossible to make out whether he was going to wrap his hands around your throat and squeeze or he was remarkably impressed by your sudden lack of care. One way or the other, the way his eyes burned into you, made you shudder.
He crinkled his nose and stepped back. "Alright, then. You'll work under me."
You deadpanned him. "Seriously?"
"You want to see them burn, I'm giving you the opportunity to do so." He held his hand out, and your eyes locked in a challenge. "Do we have an arrangement?"
You wanted action, you wanted to be in the crossfire. They were looking for you, after all. Why didn't they use you as bait? Or did they send you in, pretending that you had arrived for them? They worshipped you with every breath you took, wouldn't that make you the perfect person to spy on them?
The job Joshua had made up for you on the spot — or he was going to burden you with the stuff he had no time for — was unideal at best, but you feared it wasn't going to get any better than that.
With one simple handshake, your fate had been sealed.
There was a tension in the air when you first worked with him. Neither of you seemed entirely satisfied with the conditions you'd created for yourself; if anything, Joshua wanted you completely shielded from the things they were doing.
He found out that you already knew about the Silver Star's intentions, that you could only define it as a cult — even despite Airu's confirmations that it was, you didn't tell him that — and that the practices inside were dangerous, to say the least.
It was hard to pinpoint what led Joshua to such protective measures, as if he was going to lose you if he let you out of his sight. You had no doubt that it was why he let you work under him, whatever that would entail.
And from the bits and pieces he'd already told you before he shut his mouth completely, you had a feeling that his brother was involved.
Joshua kept himself occupied with decoding messages from the inside. Minsu was not the only one that had infiltrated the organisation. With him were three others that sent back messages, varying from simple daily routines to more details about their top.
At first, you just hung around in his office. Joshua appeared to be unsure of the tasks he wanted to assign, but if he did, he didn't show any desire to act accordingly.
You excused the first day as a day to settle in.
The next morning, Joshua wasn't even in his office. After turning the entire network inside out, you found him in the garden gathering herbs. You marched up to him, but halted in your tracks.
Instead, you left him alone and lend the second day to a sudden grief about his brother. You took the day to think about your parents as well.
From there on, every day that passed would be without excuses. Joshua was back on track, but all you did was watch him do his job. Once again, he seemed unsure — scared, even — of what he could let you do and you knew the words 'rearrange my office' were on his mind.
He knew better than to treat you as his maid.
You helped him decode a couple of messages by writing down its meaning when Joshua was too busy pondering over its meaning, but that was about it.
After a week of enduring your impatience, you still weren't doing anything meaningful.
The air grew thicker until you felt something snap.
"When you told me we had an arrangement, I best hope that didn't entail playing pretend with me," you told him tightly.
Joshua didn't respond, working through the code that he got from Minsu.
Your fingers were burning up when you stretched them. "If you really didn't want me to do anything, you would've fought harder but you didn't."
"We'll discuss this tonight after dinner."
You clenched your fists.
Joshua looked down and his eyes widened.
"What?"
He nodded his head at your hands.
The flames danced when you lifted them. "I…"
"I guess you were right when you said that resources are going to waste." Joshua pointed at you. "You're letting them go to waste, too."
You closed your hands and took a deep breath, the heat around your hands disappearing. "Are we even now?"
Joshua smiled weakly. "I'm not exactly used to working with someone."
"You're just a wuss."
He blinked a couple of times, to which you smiled. He clicked his tongue and stepped aside. "Alright, so Minsu sent a message about the Divine Priestess."
"Divine Priestess?" You asked. "Is that their leader?"
"We think so," Joshua answered as he scribbled the message down. "It has always been unclear what their top looks like, it seems to change every so often, but this is a name that keeps coming back."
"Would it be reasonable to assume that this Divine Priestess is leading everything, and the Royal Family, the Council, they're all a distraction from her?"
His head turned to your way. He narrowed his eyes and straightened his posture. "Elaborate."
"If we were to assume your theory about the King and Queen is correct," you started and pointed at the name, "who is to say that the Council is real? For all we know, the Divine Priestess could be orchestrating everything."
"It's plausible," he said with a hum and scribbled it down. "Thank you for your input. I think we can ask Minsu to find out more about it."
You nudged him. "You do know how to collaborate."
Joshua rolled his eyes playfully and closed his book. "I'll make sure to get the message back to Minsu. He'll be gone tonight."
"I'm going to check on the kids." You patted his shoulder and slipped out of his office towards the wing. You opened the doors and walked right into Airu sitting on a bed.
They looked up and waved at you. As they got up, a girl's voice told them to sit down. Yui popped up from behind them and shot them a glare.
"For a small girl, you have a loud voice."
"Not funny, Ru. I was braiding your hair."
You chuckled and sat down with them. "Yeah, Airu. You should sit still."
Yui shot them a gummy smile. "See? Yin gets me."
They waved her off and Yui continued on their hair. "How's working with Joshua?"
"Better. I cussed him out." You hummed. "What are you doing here?"
"I came to check if Yui wasn't terrorising the other kids."
"Mean," the little girl called from behind them, to which they grinned.
You looked from the oldest to the youngest and suddenly it dawned on you why Yui looked so familiar before.
Airu shrugged. "Sometimes you have to give your siblings some tough love, Yui. You'll understand when you're older."
Yui scoffed playfully, making you chuckle.
They turned to you, but she snapped their head back to the front. "I'm looking out for her, have been since our parents got wrapped up in the cult."
"Gods, Airu. I'm—"
"There's no need to say you're sorry," they interrupted you. "I'm not looking for pity."
You offered a small smile and placed your hands in your lap. "I know you're not. I just wanted you to know that I admire your courage and determination, by being here and making sure your sister is okay."
Airu's frown disappeared. They lowered their eyes and cleared their throat. "I don't see it as anything else than my responsibility."
"Done!" Yui popped into view with a bright smile. "Do you like it?"
They smiled. "I love it, thank you."
She deadpanned her older sibling. "You didn't even look."
"I don't need to. I know I love it."
That brought a smile to Yui's face. She pressed their cheeks together before pressing a big kiss to it. She slid off the bed and ran through the doors to the garden. Through the window, you watched her join the other kids in playing tag.
Airu looked on as well and hummed. "She can barely remember them. I have to keep their memory alive."
"Sometimes that's all we can do," you replied, to which they sighed.
"Ain't that the truth, rookie."
You offered them a warm smile and pulled the younger against you.
The doors opened and Joshua walked in. He halted in his tracks when he saw the two of you and shot you a small smile. "I… Forgot you were here."
"Rookie mistake," Airu told him with a grin. They got up and dusted their pants off. "Well, I'm going to make sure the kids won't kill each other. Some have discovered they can use magic and they are testing the limits."
They shot you a grateful smile and rubbed your shoulder before turning on their heel.
"I'm here for you, actually."
You looked from Airu to Joshua.
Joshua rubbed his neck. "I don't want to put you on the spot here…"
"She can hear it." They crinkled their nose. "What is it?"
"Minsu was able to locate your parents. Alive." He swallowed and offered a small smile. "I hope you have trained for this. It won't be easy."
They nodded and shuffled in their spot. It didn't take more than a second before they ran up to Joshua and flew around his neck.
He melted into the embrace and held them close. When he locked eyes with you, his brows were pushed together.
Your father told you to not climb the tree in your backyard when you were a child. It was dangerous because you would fall out and end up with a broken leg. You climbed the it anyway, wanting to see how high you could reach. To see what the world above had to offer you. Nothing had happened, until a branch broke on your way down and you fell. You landed on your feet and although it stung, your leg was okay.
A couple of weeks later, you woke up screaming in pain. After careful observation from your mother, she concluded that you had a fractured bone from the impact of your landing.
Minsu had tried. He'd tried until he was practically on his knees begging them not to go. He'd narrowly escaped discovery after locating Airu's parents, only the Gods knew what would happen to Airu themself.
Airu was determined — unsurprisingly — and went to the location that they were spotted at, disguised with help of your potion. As the hours passed and dinnertime came around, Minsu had nearly grabbed his bags when they suddenly stood in the living quarters. Their cheeks had been wet with tears, their eyes so bloodshot that you wondered what else they'd been doing.
Even for someone as unfazed as them, the Silver Star had a way of getting under their skin. Their parents had taken them through everything, they'd even forced their hand and made them stay for a ceremony.
You could only think of Daphne when Airu described the scene and with the recent information of the Priestess, you'd taken a mental note to dive into Joshua's notes.
With a bowl of herbs and a portion of good luck from Daphne and Minsu, you stood in front of Airu's quarters that night.
You knocked on the door softly and called out to them.
It took a while before Airu opened the door, their cheeks stained with tears. "I'm fine, thank you."
"I might have something that can help you take your mind off today."
"I love you and I know Joshua will string me on a tight rope for saying this, but I'm not interest in guru practices."
You set a foot in the doorway before they could close it. "I want to help, Airu. You're obviously plagued by today."
Airu observed you from head to toe before swinging the door open. They plopped down on their bed and watched you settle on their floor. "So, what are you going to do? Bless my room?"
You concentrated on your hands, but nothing was coming out. You tightened your muscles until they trembled, but all it produced was a small sparkle.
"Shit," they slid on the floor with you, "you can wield fire?"
"And air, I accidentally slam doors around here all the time." You shook your hands. "I just… I can't do it actively. The fire happened when I was angry at Joshua and hasn't come back since then."
"Emotionally driven magic is dangerous," Airu told you and opened their palm. A small flame danced in their hand. "You need to feel it inside of you to be able to channel it. Let your soul drive the magic, not your emotions."
You swallowed and opened your palm. "What if I set your room on fire?"
"We'll ask Daphne to put it out." They placed their hand on their chest. "Focus on what's in there."
You closed your eyes. Your mind wandered to your old backyard, to the big tree that you used to climb as a child. To the herbs blowing in the wind.
"Cute stone, but think of the other element."
You thought of the fire crackling in the hearth, the hours you spent in front of it watching it dance specially for you, the way you moved your hands and it would move along with you.
Your palm heated up and when you opened your eyes, the stone was replaced by a flame.
Airu's eyes were widened in surprise. "You turned the stone into a flame! Do you know how awesome that looked?"
"I had my eyes closed, so unfortunately not." You held the hand by the herbs until the flame was carried over. Your eyes flicked up at them. "Now it's your turn to close your eyes."
They did as they were told and hummed. "The scent is… nice, actually."
"Lavender, chamomile and passionflower." You crossed your legs and placed your hands in your lap. "You just focus on the herbs, you don't have to tell me about anything that burdens you, but I know from experience that it can help."
"All I can think about was how weird it was to be there with them," they started, their brows knitted together. "They… they just treated me like they would with anyone else but they were so different from how I remembered them."
"How do you remember them?"
"People who fought for their lives for our freedom and existence," they answered. "They thought, by joining the Silver Star, they would see a better life for me and my sister, but for all of the other witches as well. They weren't vulnerable as much as they were blinded."
You saw their fist clench from the corner of your eye. "Are you angry at them?"
"I was barely eighteen." Their eyes open and to you, spitting almost literal fire. "They told us to pack our bags and go with them, but I refused. I knew something sinister was going on, but my parents were already in too deep. They wanted to take Yui with them, but I told them I would burn the house down with us in it if they tried. Yui was merely a year old and I… I couldn't do that to her."
They chuckled bitterly, their eyes glimmered when the light fell on them. "I don't even know why I bother to let them live in Yui's memory. They don't deserve it."
"Why do you want to go in there?"
"So I can convince them to escape, for Yui. I don't care what lengths I have to go to. They have to be saved before they take part in the ceremony."
You offered a weak smile and nodded. "As long as you come back for your sister, you are well in your right to try."
"I will." They nodded and grabbed the bowl from the ground. "Do you mind if I keep them here?"
"Not at all." You got up. "Thank you for trusting me, Airu. I really appreciate it."
"You just make it so easy to do so." They bumped your hip. "Good night, Rookie."
Your father often showed you what his abilities could lead to, and as a child it was the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen. All you could do now was watch, knowing that the trajectory of fate wasn't something to tamper with.
And sometimes, it was better to do nothing after all.
Since you joined Vault Nine, you'd grown fond of the living quarters. So much so that you felt the walls closing in on you if you spent any longer than two hours in your personal quarters.
You were in the kitchen, bowed over a pot. The herbs were boiling in a brown liquid and a bitter scent penetrated your nostrils until you nearly gagged.
Lavender would do the trick, before nobody would drink it at all. You watched it dissolve before you muttered to it. The content of the pot lit up in a bright white before it returned back to its usual state.
You divided it over the empty bottles and dissolved the rest. As you were grinding the calendula, the door opened.
Joshua smiled and stepped in. "I thought I smelled something coming from here."
Your cheeks flushed and you pointed at the pot. "This is the last thing, I promise."
"You can take your time. I'll wait."
Your heart jumped, racing in your chest like it had somewhere to be. You watched how Joshua walked over to you, joining you behind the counter.
"What are you making?"
"Healing potions," you answered and poured the bowl of calendula in the boiling water. "These are for injuries, calming as well as anti inflammatory."
Joshua bowed over the pot, so close that you could smell the strawberry, white flowers and oud on him. Sweet, fresh and captivating, unable to pull away from. His eyes flicked to you and your breath caught, your cheeks flushing even hotter.
"We are lucky to have you here," he said softly, a warm smile tugging at his lips. His hand was on the small of your back as he reached over for a bottle. "Let me take one of those to our spies. One has a fever."
The heat pooled in your stomach as you nodded. "Of course."
His lips brushed against the shell of your ear and you shuddered. "Come to my office after you're done," he whispered. "I need your help."
You watched him peel away from you, clutching the small bottle in his hand. He tugged on his jacket, revealing parts of his bare chest. You swallowed and nodded. "I will be there as soon as I wrap up here."
Joshua nodded and grabbed the door handle. He looked over his shoulder before he left.
You didn't know how fast you needed to get out of there. If you didn't know any better, you would've left the potions for what it was. You were clueless to your sudden desires, but you credited it to your curiosity. He carried himself a kind of way when he came in, an uncharacteristic way that was. It was not more than natural to want to find out what he was up to.
You delivered the potions to the spies, telling them you'd be back to check on them before they went to sleep. Daphne offered you a thankful smile, but you were out of the wing before she could hold you up.
You fixed you corset and brushed the folds of your dress before you walked into his office.
Joshua was hovered over his book, his brows knitted together as he wrote. Strands of black hair fell in front of his face and you imagined yourself tucking them behind his ear, smiling at him when he looked up at you.
He would wrap his arm around your waist, pull you into his lap and his hands…
You cleared your throat, making him look up.
You couldn't help but notice the white blouse instead of the black jacket. You were sure it was a one time thing. Joshua and his jacket were inseperable, apart from his night attire you hadn't seen him in anything else.
He smiled. "Thank you for being here so quickly," he said and waved his hand. "As my right hand, I need your help making sense of these codes."
You tilted your head with a hum, a knot forming in your stomach. "I… Of course."
"Please, take a seat."
You did and he shoved the messages your way. They laid in your hand while your eyes flicked at him. The air had shifted again. That or you had imagined the way he behaved in the kitchen earlier. Nonetheless, something about Joshua had changed from when he found you in your cabin.
No longer was he the mysterious man trying to shield you from a force that you were unaware of, and no longer were you a damsel in distress to him. You wondered if that was how he'd viewed you in the first place, or that was just what you assumed wrong about him.
The ceremony has succeeded and the Divine Priestess has regained her strength.
"Airu has seen one of these up close," you said. "It's like a sacrificing ritual, something that happens willingly, but Daphne described it as something they do when they don't deem you worthy anymore."
Joshua's head came up. "You talked to Daphne about this?"
"She confided in me, yes, after what happened to Vince and the kids." You hummed. "Maybe they gather members they deem as unworthy — or too powerful, or even dangerous, perhaps — and convince them to give their life to the Priestess."
Joshua ran a hand through his hair with a sigh. "It's very upsetting to have to say it, but I think you're right."
"If she actually rules everything, and the Council and royal family are a pretense, she has to have a source of magic to turn to."
Joshua stayed silent, but his eyes flickered in a way you hadn't seen on him before.
"You and I both know that energy drains if you keep using so much magic at once, so if she has to keep looking for resources…"
"It has to run out eventually." Joshua blew his cheeks. "Gods, this is becoming more sinister by the day. I just fail to understand how we couldn't have found out this information before."
"These are unstable times," you said. "They're using it to their advantage and get as many people on their side as they can, especially now that the Blackspirian Crown princess has disappeared and the land will be under attack."
Joshua placed his hand over his heart. "Let us hope they will live to see another day."
You hummed. "We have a week until they attack and I fear their search for me won't stop anytime soon, since they can't find me anywhere."
"They're growing more and more suspicious of our spies," he told you. "They don't say it out loud but we have all the reason to assume that they're linking them up to their inability to find you. Minsu has even reported that they visited your cabin to find you're not there."
You opened your mouth, but Joshua shot you a look. You deadpanned him. "Maybe I can convince them not to attack, you just have to send me out there."
"No." Joshua took the messages back. "We have to find a way to dry out the Priestess' source of power."
"We have to get them out of there, then," you said and grabbed a piece of paper. "The spies are going back tonight. Give them the task to smuggle them out." You got up. "We can ask Daphne for people. I'm sure she knows a couple of names they can convince to come to us, start from there to thin out the organisation from the inside."
When Joshua stayed silent, you looked at him. There was that same twinkle in his eyes you saw in your first days, the smile on his face reaching his eyes.
You cleared your throat as the heat flushed to your cheeks. "My apologies, I got a little carried away."
"I'll get the message out."
Your head snapped up.
"There's a conviction in your words that I've never seen before, at least not when we first met." Joshua reached over and placed his hand on yours. "I believe you have found a new source of power inside of yourself. It makes you shine brighter than before."
"Are you flirting with me?" You teased.
He shrugged, a small grin tugging at his lips. He took the paper back and grabbed his quill. "Let me write the message. Thank you for your help."
You observed him. Any sign would do; flushed cheeks, avoiding eye contact, even a minor twitch of his lips, but it was like you weren't even there anymore.
As you got up, he lifted his head. His eyes scanned every inch of you until there was nothing left to look at anymore. "Where are you going?"
"I'm not of any help here anymore, so I will stock the potions in the children's wing," you announced and brushed the folds of your dress.
Joshua opened his mouth, but closed it. He smiled and nodded. "Let us meet at dinner tonight, then."
Even Daphne had raised her eyebrows when he walked in without his jacket, but she hadn't said anything. Neither would you.
Something hung in the air then, and that something bled into everything you and Joshua did together. Even a simple conversation made your knees buckle, your eyes wandering wherever he went to.
You walked into the children's wing and the eerie silence that fell over the dormitory made your heart drop. There was a loud scream and your head whipped to the window, a burden lifting off your chest.
In the middle of a crowd of children was Joshua. Still wearing his white blouse and a bright smile, still being his usual gentle and friendly self, but something was different once again.
With small steps, you made your way outside and hovered in the doorframe.
"There's only one rule in this game," you heard him tell the children. As soon as the last word rolled off his lips, he was gone.
The children were silent for a while. Heads turned to each other and soft mutters filled the front part of the garden.
A loud whistle silenced them.
You looked around curiously, your eyes landing on a figure tucked between the branches of a tree. Even from far away, you could see the grin on his face. You blinked and he was gone again.
Joshua appeared in front of the children again. "Catch me if you can."
The children erupted into roars as he made a run for it. At least a dozen footsteps bouldered after him, but Joshua disappeared again, popping up at the edge of the vegetable garden.
"We should split up!" Vince yelled. "He can teleport!"
The group broke off into four little clans, all running into a different direction. Vince ran straight towards the vegetables, but Joshua disappeared again.
You walked into the garden and sat on the porch by the window.
He sat on the roof of the playhouse, his legs dangling off the sides.
"That's unfair!" You heard Yui yelling at him. "Some of us are small!" She groaned when he disappeared again and trailed after the older girls.
Joshua popped up in every inch of the garden; between the herbs, in the playhouse, he even teleported himself up the roof. He was in the greenhouse, near the back entrance, everywhere and nowhere at once.
You watched with a smile, warmth spreading through your entire body.
Joshua appeared in the tree again, higher than he was before. He stayed there when all the children were gathered at the bottom. "What are you going to do now?" His voice echoed through the garden.
Yui flew into the air.
You shot up from the bench. You looked up at Joshua, but he just sat there watching. Your eyes scanned every one of the kids until you saw Vince, holding his hand up with his palm out. The higher he raised it, the closer Yui got to Joshua.
Yelps turned into giggles and soon, she sat in Joshua's lap.
Vince lowered his hand with a nod.
Joshua disappeared out of the tree, rejoining the children while Yui held his hand.
"Can we go again?!" Yui shouted and the children cheered.
He chuckled. "Let's do it another time, before my energy runs out. I need to get back to work anyway."
"Or are you going to Yin?" She batted her eyelashes at him with a sweet smile.
Joshua tapped her nose with a smile. "Yin is probably busy. She's taking very good care of all of us and that takes a lot of time."
"You should take care of her." She nodded determinedly.
"I will, dear." He stroked her hair and excused himself.
The children resumed to their playtime while Joshua came your way.
You waited for him, arms crossed and grinning. "You hear that? You should take care of me."
Joshua shot up, his cheeks flushing a shade as red as your dress. "Were you watching the whole time?"
"I'm happy to see you had fun with them." You bumped his hip before following him inside. "They have the power to let us be carefree again, don't they?"
"Yeah," he offered you a smile, "they do."
You halted him and placed your hand on his arm. "I was serious."
Joshua tilted his head.
"I am happy to see you like this. Less…"
"Stuck up?"
"Guarded."
He swallowed and dragged his foot back and forth.
You squeezed his arm lightly and smiled. "When I came here, I didn't know what to expect and to be surrounded by such… love, and care, it's the greatest gift of all. I have you to thank for that."
He wrapped his arms around you and you melted into his chest. And slowly, the pieces started to fall into place for you and him.
The network had been overridden by fear when one of the spies came back barely clinging onto their life. There was no doubt in your mind that the Silver Star was catching on and it could only mean how dangerously close to the truth you were getting.
You and Daphne spent the entire night doing everything you could to save her. She would be out for a couple of days, but she was alive. It was Minsu's example to Airu what could happen to them, but he proved himself incapable of changing his mind. Vault Nine had never been so close to the dismantling of the Silver Star, they made sure to leave their mark.
Daphne stayed with Minsu for the rest of the night, while you visited the children. The news had reached them as well and one of the members struggled to keep them calm. He sent you and Joshua on your way.
Yui clung onto you immediately alongside three other children.
Your heart shattered, but you kept yourself together for them. You kneeled down in front of them. "She will be okay. Daphne and I have taken good care of her, but she will need rest."
"We're scared…" Yui whispered. A tear rolled down her cheek. "Will they get us, too…?"
"We will protect you with everything we have," you told her. "And if they will get here anyway, you will hide like we talked about yes? Daphne will come and get you when it's safe."
You got up and brushed your dress off. "Alright, who wants to hear a fun story?"
The kids strolled your way, their eyes peeking at you curiously. They sat down in a half circle. Yui was at the front, holding one of the girls' hands.
"Once upon a time, there was a witch," you started and waved your hand.
The children gasped.
You looked next to you and a small figure had formed right where you hand was, shining a bright blue. Your eyes darted to Joshua, who was at the back of the room.
"She lived in a cabin near the woods, with a big tree in her backyard that she loved to climb." You waved your hand carefully and the figure was replaced by a tree, where she was hanging from one of the branches.
The children giggled.
"She had powers of the earth, and over the years she learned that she could do more than that," you continued. "She had the gift of healing. Healing wounds, healing plants, and healing people."
You glanced at Joshua, but looked away again. "But people were scared of her, scared of the things she could do, so she hid."
You created another figure, making the two meet with a wave of your hand. "One day, she met another witch, who saw more in her than she ever did. He made her see that she'd always been destined for more, to do and be more. She was surrounded by people like her, who made her feel pride instead of shame."
The figures disappeared and you closed your eyes. You thought of the crackling hearth, of the warm breeze, of the rain tapping against the window and the tree in your backyard. When you opened your eyes, the elements danced in your hand. When you looked at Joshua again, you smiled.
"She realised that she always had it in her."
The dread settled deeper into your bones with every second that passed. The urgency that Daphne rushed into your quarters with, the fear that flickered behind her eyes, you hadn't been able to shake it.
You had watched how she fell into Minsu's arms, who held onto her like she would disappear as well. They'd looked at you with such desperation and hope that all of your worries had disappeared in an instant. You couldn't afford yourself to crumble, not when they were already doing so.
Joshua showed little, if anything at all. His eyes flicked to you and he nodded. The words that left his mouth were as much a plea as they were an order. Four simple words that snapped you right back into focus.
'Do everything you can'.
You closed your eyes and hovered your hands above their body. They burned the closer you came to their abdomen and you swallowed. You placed your hands on their lower belly and beams of white seeped into their skin.
A faint breath of relief rolled off their lips.
When you felt again, your hands still burned. Their chest rose and fell in such weak motions that every one could be the last, every muscle in their body gradually relaxing.
You straightened up and it didn't take more than a simple look for them to understand.
Daphne collapsed to the floor in loud sobs.
Your eyes flicked to Minsu, who had one fist balled while his other hand stroked Daphne's hair. He gazed at you before looking at them. He peeled away from the older woman and walked up to the table.
You placed a hand on his chest and looked up at him.
Minsu scoffed and pushed your hand away, holding his own above the body.
"Think about what you're going to do now," you told him. When he didn't respond, you bowed your head. "Who is going to take their place? You?"
"If that brings them back, yes."
"You know it's not what—"
"You don't know what Airu would've wanted!" Minsu yelled. His eyes glimmered as his lip quivered. "How could you have known?! You've been here the shortest out of all of us and suddenly you know everything?!"
Joshua stepped forward, but you shook your head.
When you looked at the necromancer, his hands were glowing. "You know the rules, Minsu. The balance of nature is not something to tamper with."
"It'll find a way to repay me," he said tightly and closed his eyes.
"Airu never had plans to come back."
You snapped in Daphne's direction.
She wiped her tears and sniffled, scrambling up from the ground. She trailed over to Minsu, fresh tears rolling down her cheeks. "Airu never wanted to come back from this, you know that as well as I do. If they couldn't get their parents back, they would die trying."
Soft sobs escaped Minsu's lips. "I can't leave Yui all on her own… Airu needs to come back… For her…"
Daphne wrapped her arms around him and placed her head against his arm. "Bringing them back would only result in worse, dear… Leave them be…"
Minsu's pleading eyes locked with yours.
You offered him a weak smile and shook your head.
He ripped himself out of Daphne's arms and stormed out of the room. When she wanted to go after him, Joshua stopped her.
"Let's get the news to Yui before she hears it from someone else."
Daphne nodded and shot you a small smile before leaving the room.
You looked at Airu and crossed your arms over your body. "I didn't have the heart to tell them that there was nothing I could do apart from easing the pain."
Joshua slid a hand on your shoulder. "In that moment, it was everything."
You turned around and nuzzled your head in his chest, letting yourself be engulfed by him.
His fingers brushed through your hair. "Minsu tried to change their mind on many occasions, you know," he told you. "We all knew this day was coming, and inevitably, I think Yui knew this as well. She's a smart girl, and we will all take good care of her."
Your eyes welled with tears. "Gods, this is not how I wanted to spend my day."
"I think that makes all of us." He lifted your chin and cupped your cheeks. "Thank you, truly. Even if it was just to ease the suffering, I know that Airu would've appreciated your efforts."
You looked at Airu again. "We should fare them a proper goodbye."
"Airu wanted us to celebrate them."
"Then that's what we'll do." You peeled away from Joshua and walked up to their body. "We can bury them, but as a Fire witch, I can imagine that they would prefer to leave this land the traditional way."
Joshua pushed his brows together, to which you smiled.
"You'll see tonight."
In the garden, the network had gathered around a wooden construction you made with some of the kids, Airu on top of it. You stood in front, Joshua next to you with Yui holding his hand. The kids sat at the front, the adults standing behind them watching in an odd mixture of curiosity and grief. Only in the eyes of other Fire witches, you saw the recognition and most of all, appreciation.
"Thank you everyone for gathering here on such short notice," Joshua started. "This is not the occasion we would like to meet under usually. And in all honesty, it's still so early to truly grasp what has happened for all of us, I can imagine."
He glanced at you before his eyes flicked to the rest of the group. "I still want to take a moment with all of you to say goodbye to Airu." He looked down at Yui and smiled at her. "Would you like to tell us anything fun about your big sibling?"
Yui nodded. She let go of Joshua's hand and took a small step forward. "Airu is very funny," she started. It didn't take more than hearing her small voice for some to break out into tears. "Sometimes they think they're the funniest person on Earth, but I don't think that's true."
You chuckled weakly, along with the crowd.
"They visit every day and play with us. Sometimes, they stay so long that Minsu has to come get them because they forgot to work." Yui looked up at Joshua, who nodded at her. "Airu is also very sweet, and they do everything to protect me. And they make delicious cookies!"
He ruffled her hair. "Good job, dear." His eyes locked with yours and he nodded, taking Yui to the side with him.
You looked around the crowd. "The sight of what's behind me is probably a bit confusing to most of you," you said. "I didn't know Airu as you did, but I could see how proud they were of their heritage, of their powers and of their identity. When I just came here, I remember how Minsu told me that it would make sense and he was right."
Your eyes flicked to Minsu, who stared at the ground. "Airu embodied what being a Fire witch is all about: passion, adventure and determination. Albeit a bit stubborn, as well."
The crowd murmured and chuckled softly, followed by a choir of sniffles.
"And I've been here only a short time, but long enough to recognise how beloved they were in this network, and how great the impact of their passing will be on all of us."
You glanced at Joshua holding Yui in his arms.
He offered you a nod.
"To honour their memory and their legacy, we're going to do something that is traditional in the community of Fire witches." You locked eyes with some of them and smiled. "It would be my greatest pleasure if they could join me in doing this, for Airu."
Three came forward, one of which you recognised as one of the spies.
She nodded at you and stood in front of the altar.
You stepped aside with a smile, but they beckoned you. You laced your fingers together and stood in a half circle around the wooden altar. You closed your eyes and chanted along with them, the sensation burning in your chest as you watched the altar go up in flames.
The crowd was completely silent, watching the fire engulf Airu. The fire burned for the rest of the night as you lifted everyone's spirits by music, dancing and keeping the passion of Airu's legacy alive. And amidst all the celebration that they would've wanted, two new people had found their way to you by following the flames, as if the community had felt the loss of one of their own.
And when you finally had a chance to greet them, the resemblance had been uncanny.
You hadn't seen Minsu in such a frantic state before, not the way he was when the new people showed up. He had been yelling at Joshua all morning and you heard it all the way from the garden, where you were gathering the ash.
You put everything in an urn that you'd made.
"Thank you."
You jumped up, clutching your chest with a chuckle. "Gods, you scared me." Your face fell upon seeing the two people and you cleared your throat. "My sincere condolences for your loss once again. This must have been a strange sight to walk into."
"We held hope that they would've held out," the woman spoke. Her eyes were sunken in the back of their head, hair tied into a bun that nearly fell apart. Her body loosely hugged by a white dress with silver embroidery. Her breath was shaky when she exhaled. "Goddess, what have we done…?"
Her husband placed a hand on her shoulder as he looked at you. "We cannot do anything to erase or change the past, but we can redeem ourselves at Her mercy by doing what's right."
Your stomach turned upside down.
He held his hand out to the urn, but you held it against your chest. He smiled weakly. "I understand. Our redemption has yet to come."
You watched as they left the garden, the woman's cries fading into the hallway.
You made a mental note to speak to Joshua when you had the chance.
After a week, there was no news of the attack.
Minsu had gone back inside the Silver Star and you soon discovered that — once again — they found themselves in troubled waters with the Divine Priestess.
"That makes the time to strike right now," you said to Joshua. "She's weak. We can take her."
Joshua arched his eyebrow. "And who is 'we' exactly?"
"Me, anyone who wants to join. Who else?"
"I've told you before—"
You waved your hand. "I won't hear it anymore. I've waited long enough in hopes you would change your mind, but we can't just sit here and wait, Joshua. Sending Airu back barely clinging onto life was a message, and there's no doubt in my mind that their parents are our next."
Joshua run a hand through his hair and clenched his jaw.
You hated the way the heat pooled in your stomach.
"I have spoken with them on many occasions," he said gently, "they seem distraught, and most of all, lost. That's what we're here for."
"Then you know that they keep clinging onto their beliefs a little too hard. They're looking for redemption now, at my hands."
He shook his head quickly. "We're drifting away from our point, and mine stands."
"Mine, too." You turned on your heel. "I will leave tonight, and we will end this once and for all."
Before you were out of the office, Joshua's hand wrapped around your wrist. "I will not hear your pleas anymore. You have waited long enough now and we can't afford to wait any longer."
"I can't let you go so easily, not anymore."
Your breath caught, but you avoided his lingering gaze. "You have to," you whispered.
Joshua tightened his grip. "It would destroy me if something would happen to you. Their hold on everyone is so strong and I would never forgive myself if you suffered the same fate." He chuckled. "Gods… in all honesty? I don't know what I would do without you here, or who I would be. Change is already around us, and it's because of you."
He let go of your wrist, his hand moving to caress your cheek. "I have laid awake many nights, but since you have joined our forces I can't remember the last time that my mind was plagued with every little mistake I have made in my life. It's like you reside there, cradling me to sleep without a worry in my mind. Everything is you, and frankly, you are everything."
You felt yourself sinking when you looked up, the world that resided in his eyes swallowing you whole. There were no words that would ever describe the way you pressed your lips to his, ratio making way for desire and desperation. You had never realised the gravity of your statement until you melted into Joshua's touch the way you were meant to.
You clutched onto his white blouse, gripping it so tightly that your knuckles turned the same colour. As if he could come any closer, you pressed yourself against him. His hands traveled over your bare shoulders, brushing your hair to the side, leaving a trail of heat against the cold air.
He pulled away from you and kissed your neck instead, tongue swirling against your pulse. Your fingers laced in his hair and you tugged it softly, electricity shooting all the way to your core.
You lifted his chin and kissed him until your lips bruised. You felt your feet lift, light as a feather, as if the ground beneath your feet disappeared. You held onto his collar as you looked around.
Everything floated in the air, including you.
Joshua's chest rose and fell heavily as his eyes widened. "I…" He set you back on the ground and sat in his chair, pulling you on top of him.
"Let's hope I don't bury us underground," you said and kissed him again. You straddled his lap, your heart spiking when he moaned in your ear.
His fingers tugged at the cord of your corset until it came loose. His blouse followed and your nails trailed his bare chest, his muscles tensing underneath your touch. His hand traveled downwards while the other rested on your back, all the way up your inner thigh.
You lifted your hips, your eyes locked with his. His fingers slid inside of you, his thumb rubbing your clit. A wave of pleasure crashed over as you lowered on his fingers, your grip on his shoulders tightening. Your lips parted in a soft moan when you moved up and down.
"Fuck, you look so good like this," he said breathless. His lips found your neck again and your skin caught on fire.
The knot in your stomach tightened, making you throw your head back.
"Do I make you feel good?"
You responded with a moan, your climax crashing over you like a tidal wave. Your legs trembled when he pulled his fingers out.
"And that was just my fingers," he whispered against your lips. "I imagine what a mess you'll be after my cock and I get off on it."
You tugged on his pants, to which he chuckled.
"Eager?"
"Impatient," you shot back.
Joshua lifted his hips. His cock sprung free and the tip already leaked. He brought his hand down, but you pushed it away.
You stroke the length, twitching under your touch while you trapped him under your gaze. "You didn't need much to get so hard like this."
His breath caught, but he composed himself. The flicker in his eyes was desperate, nonetheless. "It was enough to see riding my fingers until you came."
You let the tip tease your entrance and bit your lip. "And that just your fingers," you whispered and sank onto his cock, feeling your core flutter.
Joshua's hands gripped your hips in a last attempt to keep himself composed. His hair stuck to his forehead, his chest rose and fell in heavy motions and his eyes pierced through you. He closed them when you brushed your hands through his hair.
You moved your hips up and down in a fatal rhythm, skins clashing against each other and your moans increasingly louder and needier. The deeper you felt him inside of you, the deeper you drowned in him.
When your lips connected in a last kiss, everything else around you died out. Your orgasm thundered over you until you saw stars. A broken moan escaped both of your lips and you crashed into his chest.
Joshua caressed your back and gently lifted your hips. Your thighs squeezed together when he pulled out, the heat pooling in your stomach. Your feet hit the floor, silky smooth under your touch. You looked down and tilted your head.
You plucked a flower from the ground and watched it fade in your hand. The rest of flowers disappeared like they had never even existed at all. When you looked at Joshua, your cheeks flushed. "Oops."
"Good to know that this happens."
"For future reference."
He chuckled and tucked a lock behind your ear.
You looked at him while he did. "Joshua, I—"
There was a knock on the office door.
Joshua hummed. He reached to the side and stretched his arm for his blouse. "Give us one moment," he called out and hoisted his arms through the sleeves.
You came off his lap and fixed your dress, tightening your corset around your waist.
He pressed a kiss to your lips and opened his book, his hand resting on the small of your back as he hovered over it.
You followed his example and kept your eyes on the letters dancing in your sight.
"I'm sorry to interrupt," you heard Minsu. Your cheeks flushed.
"What can I do for you?"
"We have to strike now if we want to stop them, Joshua." The pleading in his words struck a chord with you, making you look up. He held a letter in his hand. "I was able to intercept this message from the Council to the government of Qorath. They're going to launch an attack before dawn tomorrow."
You clenched your jaw and looked at Joshua, dread seeping into your bones.
He kept his eyes straight ahead, rubbing his chin absentmindedly.
"Joshua."
His eyes darted to Minsu.
"Now is our chance," he said urgently. "We have to do something."
"We don't have the forces."
You balled your fists, the crackling fire pulsing in your ears.
"Then I will gather them," Minsu told him determinedly. "Our window of opportunity is slim, and taking them by surprise is no option anymore."
Joshua shook his head. "I can't let you do this, Minsu."
"Then close your eyes and ears, because I will not let Airu's passing be in vain." Minsu turned on his heel and a blue light reflected in his face. He halted in his tracks and turned back, but his eyes were on you, blown wide open.
You gazed at him, the fire burning your hands.
"On the day that fire burns blue, The One brings forth everything true," Minsu muttered. His face hardened and he pointed at you. "You are going to destroy the Silver Star. It was prophesised and I'm not one to shy away from fulfilling prophecies."
Joshua grabbed your wrist when you wanted to walk out. He didn't say anything for a while, taking you in like you were the only thing in the world. He kissed your lips delicately and cupped your cheeks. "When you're done with them, search for a man with a golden ring around his neck," he whispered to you. "Tell him his little brother said hi."
The castle was on a suffocatingly high mountain, untouchable above the rest of the city.
From the large window, you looked out over Argentum in all its perfect glory. You refrained yourself from biting your nail, keeping up the appearance that you held yourself together while your heart was about to explode out of your chest. You were completely in white, a flowy dress that reached the floor.
Minsu was by your side, wearing a white cloak with silver embroidery. He held his head high, but his finger tapped against his palm in an unsteady rhythm. When the door opened, he whispered to play along and bowed.
You remained standing, staring right in the eyes of five similarly dressed witches. They all halted in their tracks.
"Council," Minsu greeted them stoically. "I have found her at last."
You looked from one to the other, but nothing seemed to indicate what you had learned before. They looked normal, sounded normal, there was no sign that anything was fabricated, or rehearsed in the slightest.
When you looked at the witch at the very end, his eye twitched. You turned your attention to him and took a step forward. "Good evening."
He immediately bowed.
You turned back around. "I was disturbed for this. Whatever do you need me for, if all people can do is bow at me?"
"Our apologies, Your Divinity," the tallest man said quickly. "We have prayed for your arrival for months, and as you can see we did our best to make your welcome unforgettable."
You lifted your nose in the air and waved your hands. The council came in motion and you followed them through the castle. You passed the Royal Chambers, but they were empty. They showed you the gathering spot for members, where they prayed and made offers to you.
You stomach turned when a statue of your own face stared back at you. They introduced you to members, who fell at your feet like you were their salvation.
When you looked over your shoulder at Minsu, he gave you a small nod.
"I have seen enough," you declared and brushed the folds of your dress. "Bring me back to the meeting room."
The Council formed a shield around you as you made your way back to the south end of the castle. The smaller of the men trailed next to you.
His eye twitched again.
You trapped him against the wall, the vines circling around his arms and neck. As the plants squeezed, he didn't move a muscle, dissolving into thin air.
When you looked behind you, the rest had disappeared as well.
"It can't be long until the Divine Priestess expects us," Minsu told you and grabbed your hand. He ran to the cellars and knocked a rhythm on the door.
From the other side, Daphne appeared.
You wrapped your arms around her neck and she returned the favour. "I'm happy to have you by my side."
"I can't pass up the opportunity to watch this place burn," she spoke and smiled at you. "And your water magic still sucks."
You bumped her hip and followed the two through the dark hallways. As your eyes adjusted, you saw Minsu reaching in his pockets. Something shimmered against the faint light in the distance, followed by a rattling sound. A door opened and Minsu hurried you in. He closed it behind him and pushed you through the hallways until you ended up in front of a big door.
All three of you looked at it.
"This is it, then," Daphne said, her hand squeezing yours. She looked at you with a small smile. "We're right behind you, okay? Nothing can happen to you."
Your heart pulsed in your ears. This was the moment you'd been longing for since you came, but your feet were unable to move. You weren't sure whether the adrenaline that pumped through your veins was excitement or fear, maybe a disastrous mixture of both. You were waiting for the moment that somebody suggested to turn back and leave all of this behind.
You remembered the way Airu laid on that table, how you watched their body go up in flames merely a week before. You remembered Minsu coming apart at the seams, the way he nearly sacrificed himself so that Airu could come back.
There was a burning sensation behind your ribcage when you thought of all the children that were in their dormitory, anxiously awaiting the moment that the Silver Star would dismantle your operation instead. The fear in their eyes as you came to comfort them, until there was no story left to tell them anymore.
You thought of Joshua's endless efforts, of the way he was scared to see anyone go in and not return, just like his brother had done. His brother, if he was even alive at that point.
You stretched your fingers and rolled your shoulders back. You observed the door one more time before you waved your hands. It exploded out of its lock, falling forward with a loud bang.
High upon a throne, tucked near the back of the room, was a figure. A white dress fell over the throne almost ethereally, a big star dangling in the setting sun. It got up at your entrance, long and slender. The swaying of her hips with every step, her bare feet clashing against the stone stairs, you had trouble to look away.
She stopped right in front of you and lifted your chin. Her cheeks were sharp, a pair of doe eyes trapping you where you were standing. Her slender fingers traced your cheeks as a smile decorated her soft face.
She stepped back and bowed until her head nearly touched the floor. "I have prayed for your arrival since the day it was prophesised," she spoke. Her words held a beat of excitement to them that made your stomach turn. "All the sacrifices I have made were all in your name, and now you are standing before me and I can't help but feel I haven't done enough."
You looked down at her and lifted your index and middle finger simultaneously.
The woman rose to her feet, but kept her head bowed.
"Have you ruled this community in my name?" You asked.
She nodded. "With so much love and gratitude."
You nodded and observed her one more time. You stepped back and waved your hand.
Daphne waved her arms and the particles in the air formed a big ball of water around the Divine Priestess. She pushed her hands forward and the water hardened up into ice, trapping her there.
The Priestess chuckled bitterly. "And that after everything I've done for you, sweetheart. I have built an Empire in your name, a solace for all of the witches that are scrutinised, and made out to be vile, and cruel when they're not. Are you really going to let them all down?"
"I am part of a haven as well, and we certainly do not feel as if we should take over an entire continent to prove we are worthy of existing." You walked up to the woman. "And maybe you shouldn't rely so much on prophecies the next time," you whispered to her. "You will be blinded by your own mind."
Amidst the ice, something red started glowing, but the more Daphne pushed back the fainter it became.
"We killed the Council." You shrugged. "We have counted on your weakening powers so the job is much easier for us." Behind you, the vines started to crawl up the block of ice. "Silver Star is going down once and for all."
"I can't hold her much longer," Daphne said to you. When you looked behind you, the blue glow around her hands was fading. "Be ready, sweetheart. It's going to be messy."
You shot Minsu a look. "Take her out of here and save as many people as you can. I'll handle this."
The ice fell down in big waves, nearly sweeping you off your feet. The Priestess took that opportunity to send a flame your way, but you thought of being taken away by the breezes of the wind, floating on the clouds and you flew in the air.
The Priestess followed you and used her fire to create a whip, but you countered with a rock shield, pushing it her way. She was too late to dodge it and clattered back to the ground. A sharp pain shot through your ankle when you landed, but you scrambled up before she did. You wiped a stream of blood from your nose and rolled your shoulders back.
"I've waited for this moment," you limped up to her, "since I was recruited. And still, I feel somewhat merciful despite everything you've done."
She spit some blood on the ground and got up slowly. "Maybe that is the wrong feeling going into this fight." She trapped you the same way Daphne had done to her before. "I have built all of this for you, so you could lead us to greatness and now look at you, corrupted by the wrong side."
You wriggled back and forth, but it only tightened around you. You clenched your fists as you glared at her. "You have never done this for me. There is no doubt in my mind that you hated the prophecy and did everything to delay my arrival. You've never searched for me until you had to, before you would lose your own followers over the promises you made for them."
"You have quite the mouth for someone who has hidden away for so long." The Divine Priestess walked up to you. "Just like the rest of them, you are a nobody. It is why your parents told you to leave and why the village never liked you. You are something they're scared of, such unexplained powers you possess."
Images of the blue hearth flashed, a burning sensation around your hands that was unbearable. You tried to wriggle yourself out one last time, but to no avail.
"You should've stayed in that cabin, where you were safe. And alone. All of this… mingling, has done you nobody any good."
The ice around you evaporated. A sea of blue flames shot from your hands until they engulfed the entire room. Everything around you went up in flames and the screams of the Priestess echoed through every cell of your body. The last thing you remembered was seeing her burning body clattering to the ground before the world around you went black.
A sharp pain shot through your head when you sat up. The mattress formed a dent where your body laid, and the faint scent of lemongrass entered your nose. You got up from your bed and tiptoed out of the room. You stood by the door of the garden, and through the window you could see how your herbs had turned brown. Your vegetables had rotten or been completely eaten away by whatever animal had found them.
You turned on your heel and walked to the living room. The crackling fire made your heart drop and you held your hands in front of you, taking careful steps forwards. Your head pounded and spun all at once, turning your stomach upside down.
In the kitchen was a man, his back turned towards you. His hair was gray at the roots and thinning out at the back, his stump posture covered by a brown jacket and similar pants. He turned around and a pair of deeply brown eyes twinkled in the late afternoon sun.
Your eyes welled with tears as you ran up to him. You fell into his embrace. "Papa…"
"My sweet bug," he muttered in your hair and pressed a kiss to it. "We are so relieved to see you are awake. When we got your letter, we were so worried. We came to your cabin immediately, to find you were not there."
"I'm so sorry," you sobbed. "I'm so, so sorry."
"You saved our community, my darling. I would never ask you to apologise for any of that." He lifted your chin and smiled. "I heard you took after your mother after all."
When you opened your mouth, the door to your cabin opened as well.
Your mother dropped the basket and ran up to you, muttering your name as she cried in your arms. "Oh, my sweet child. I'm so happy to see you."
You eased into her tight embrace and laid your head on her shoulder. Your eyes flicked to the last person, lingering in the doorframe.
Joshua offered you a smile and closed the door behind him.
"We tried to take care of your home as much as we could, but as you can see…" Your mother's eyes wandered to your garden, making you chuckle.
"You never had green fingers, it's forgiven."
She smiled at you and wiped your tears away, pressing a long kiss to your forehead. "I am so proud of you, bug. Our people can live to see another day."
You looked at Joshua. "What about the people inside?"
"Most of them got out," he answered. "The most loyal ones died in the fire alongside the Priestess. The castle went up in flames."
You nodded and stepped away from your mother.
"Let us tend to your garden," your father took the basket from her with a smile, "we'll be there if you need us."
You watched how they walked into the garden and the warmth spread through your chest. When you looked at Joshua, the feeling died out. "I'm sorry I couldn't get to your brother in time."
"You have done everything you could to stop the Priestess," he told you and cupped your cheeks. "We were lucky to pull you from the flames. Daphne nearly killed me over going in, but it was worth it."
Your eyes flicked to his arms. The skin was raw, burning a hot pink. "Joshua—"
"I may not have found my brother, but I couldn't sit and watch you go as well." He offered you a small smile. "I love you. I love you so much that I couldn't bear the thought of doing nothing. Even if it was a mere attempt, I could learn to live with myself."
"I love you, too," you whispered through your tears. You chuckled and your voice got louder. "Gods, Joshua, I love you in spite all of the chaos and suffering we have been through since we met. I don't know if I can ever love someone else."
"I hope you won't," were the words that Joshua kissed you with. His lips moved against yours deeply passionate, but tender all the same. He held you like you would shatter completely, but his grip was firm like he didn't want you to leave.
You held onto his blouse and let yourself drown in him.
"We all sought shelter over the lands," Joshua muttered against your lips. "I hope I can stay with you because your mother already gave her blessing."
"Let me sleep on that."
He smiled and gave you a last kiss before peeling away. "The kids are safe with other members. Minsu has taken Yui with him and once everything has settled down, we will reunite to celebrate."
You placed your hands on his shoulders and rubbed them. "For now, we can lead normal lives again."
"I can't wait." Joshua smiled and tucked a lock behind your ear. "How do I do that, again?"
You chuckled and slapped his chest. "First, you make yourself likable for my parents so you'll be a part of the family. Otherwise I have no choice but to kick you out of there."
"I'm already eligible to marry you in your mother's eyes. I think I have nothing to worry about." Joshua squeezed your shoulders. "Let's join them in the garden. The weather is nice outside."
You were happy to be a family again, but the greatest joy was giving Joshua one to be a part of. And you hoped that, now you lived to see another day, he would find his own one back.
🏷️: @livmarauder ; @huiimoon ; @mochisdayone ; @frayaatiny
95liner (seungcheol, jeonghan & joshua) and their hand placements
seungcheol: in the curve of your hip
seungcheol likes to keep you close at all times; whether manoeuvring you through a crowd at the airport, on in the comfort of your own home. there will be a firm grip on your hip, sometimes on both sides as he bounces you up and down on his cock with no difficulty.
jeonghan: on your cheek
jeonghan loves to caress your cheek; to feel your soft skin as he peppered you with kisses. it felt good, to notice you lean your head into his hand, to know you felt safe in his touch. it also felt good, to be able to easily wipe the tear that ran down your cheek as he coaxed another orgasm out of you.
joshua: on the nape of your neck
joshua held the back of your neck gently as he kissed you for the first time after a fancy dinner date. Ever since then, he has become obsessed with mindlessly rubbing your nape as he scrolled on his phone next to you, massaging it after your long day at work, and holding your head down by your nape as you gagged around his cock prodding at the back of your throat.
a/n: another finished draft!! it’s winter where i live so i have been really thinking about hand placements of svt members 😌
100 Days with the Devil (part one)
🔞 18+ 🚨 minors and blank blogs will be blocked masterlist • part one • part two
When you inherit your parents' unpaid debt to the Devil, you're given two choices: serve their eternal sentence of servitude in Hell or negotiate a contract of your own. Surprisingly, choosing the latter and accepting a position to become his live-in assistant doesn't exactly dole out the torment you expect it to. As Hell begins to feel more like home than Earth ever did, both you and your impossibly ancient boss find yourselves navigating a far more confusing negotiation: falling in love.
PAIRING: devil!junhui x assistant fem!reader WC: 20.6K / 40K (complete) TAGS: crack, humor, roommate/boss to lover CW: implied demisexual reader, corporate hell, power dynamic, demons, kidnapping, mentions of alcohol, mentions of vomit, mentions of eternal servitude, bad parents, reader has abandonment/attachment issues and is clingy, god is a woman, mentions of torture and people in hell, brief appearance of a cult/cult leader, mention of the orange man, jealous junhui, possessive junhui, kinda toxic junhui in pt2 but bruh he's the devil so SMUT (IN PT. 2): marked at start and end, unprotected piv, creampie, virgin reader, possessive, fingering, oral f. receiving, sniffing? lol, his eyes turn completely black during oral, hickeys, biting, lotus, missionary, idk lmk if i missed anything A/N: mad bc this is DONE and tumblr just doesn't want to let me post bc it exceeds the 1000 block limit. and i'm way too lazy to ctrl+shift every fucking paragraph in this. so. two parts it is. you can see when the next part will be published in the second A/N at the end. anyway, this was supposed to be ready by jun's birthday but work decided to ruin my life. belated happy bubonic boy day. this is based off a dream i had on june 14, 2025; i know bc i wrote it in my notes app the morning after LOL. this is needlessly long and reads like a sitcom with a lot of filler episodes but idc i love devil hui bwahahaha. enjoy love ya bye.
DAY ONE
"AND THIS WILL BE YOUR LIVING QUARTERS. DO YOU HAVE ANY QUESTIONS?"
You stare up at the man, baffled. The stranger who was waiting for you in your living room when you drunkenly stumbled home could not look any less bothered if he tried. He had been seated in the secondhand armchair you bought off Facebook Marketplace, and he looked way too expensive to have his ass touching something you kept telling yourself had no business being resold to you. He was dressed head to toe in black—all impressively the same exact shade of black, a feat you had yet to master—looking like he had stepped right off a runway and into your dingy apartment, which was probably the only reason you hadn't immediately screamed.
His eyes flicked over to you lazily as your door slammed shut behind you and you tripped over your heels, catching yourself on the corner of your kitchen island before realizing you weren't alone. He had one leg crossed over the other and one hand shoved into your last bag of ghost pepper chips as he stared at you like you were intruding on his space. Then, he withdrew his hand, shoved his pepper dusted fingers into his mouth, sucked briefly, wiped his fingers onto your armchair, then snapped. Your bag of chips promptly disappeared and he stood up. It wasn't even his presence or the chips disappearing without an explanation. It was his height that startled you back to your senses.
You weren't short by any means, but the man towered over you anyway, and you came to the sobering realization that being trapped in a space with a man that size would lead to very horrible things. Well, you were correct. Because before you could even finish inhaling to let out the loudest scream you were capable of, he was in front of you, huge hand clamping over your mouth and squeezing your cheeks together. What you were sure was a Guinness World Record-worthy scream became a pathetic squeak.
The sound, infuriatingly, made the man smirk, your eyes coming down to the small mole right above his lip. He raised a single eyebrow at you before stating your full government name. "That you?"
Your wide eyes must have answered the question for you because he didn't wait for verbal confirmation.
"Lovely." And then somehow, you were here. Wherever the fuck here is. Maybe you blacked out on the way. Maybe you're too drunk to remember how you got here. Either way, here is where you are now.
"Do I have any questions?" you shriek, stomping a foot. Your heel clacks against the pretentious black marble flooring, and you have half a mind to kick them off and throw both at the man's head. "You not only kidnapped me, but you kidnapped me while in my clubbing clothes, bro."
You look down at yourself, disheveled from a night out trying desperately to be sober enough to wrangle other, drunker friends to stay together. Your dress is no longer hugging you in places it was at the beginning of the night, your knees are scraped from where you ate shit trying to chase a friend down the street, and you're sure your hair is trying its best to become a suitable bird's nest.
"Jasmine threw up on me tonight," you inform him, mouth twisting in disgust at the small darkened spot on the edge of your dress where the birthday girl had missed the toilet by a mere inch. "You couldn't have let me change first?"
You startle when he snaps and you feel silk against your skin. You look down to find yourself in a black pajama set, perfectly fitted to you, the bottoms falling just shy of the floor and the sleeves just long enough to make sweater paws if you want them but short enough that they aren't a hindrance.
"Ew," you mutter. "I didn't even shower."
"Luckily for you, you have an en suite," he points out, nodding at the door across the massive bedroom.
"I don't have toiletries."
"You'll find it appropriately stocked."
"But what about my skincare?"
"Again. Appropriately stocked."
"You don't even know my skin concerns."
"Oily on the chin and T-zone, dry everywhere else. Terrible hormonal acne during your period or when you're stressed," he recites like he studied this information. Your mouth pops open in either awe or humiliation—you're not even sure. "You struggle with water intake throughout the day so you'll find a litany of moisturizing products in there. Also, maybe you should start using retinoids." His eyes go to your forehead. "You crinkle your eyebrows a lot. You'll get fine lines soon."
You gasp, slapping a hand over your forehead. "You asshole."
"I'm the asshole giving you all the skincare you could possibly ever want."
"You're the asshole kidnapping me!" you scream the last two words, finally losing your patience.
You thought your best bet would be finding a way to escape wherever you are once the man left you alone, but the mere mention of fine lines kicks you into fight or flight. You swing your tiny shoulder purse at his stomach as hard as you can, satisfied when you hear a soft oof from his lips. You shove past him, your new bunny slippers slowing you down considerably as you stumble down the pristine hallway. You only get to the corner before you slam into what feels like a wall, eating shit for the second time tonight.
"Ugh," you grunt as your ass meets the floor and you're laid out flat on your back. "Ow." You groan, hand coming to your ass while the other attempts to prop you up. You open your eyes to find the stranger crouching down in front of you, amused at your weak attempt at freedom. You glower at him as you massage your butt. "I hate you."
"And you're only going to hate me more," he mutters. The words give you pause. "You have free reign in my home." He stands now, tucking his large hands into the pockets of his slacks. "You can try to run but you'll find you can't. So you might as well get comfortable, and when you've finally come to terms with your circumstances… we'll talk."
Without another word, he disappears right before your very eyes.
DAY FOUR
For three days, you tried everything you could to escape.
You found your phone in your purse and tried calling your friends. They answered and you could talk, but as soon as you tried to tell them you'd been kidnapped, your mouth would suddenly be incapable of moving—like your lips had been glued shut. Terrifyingly enough, on your third call, you walked to the vanity in your room and found your mouth just gone any time you tried to say anything that had to do with the stranger and his house of horrors.
The most horrific thing being that it has no windows or exits. Every single door you've found and tried in this laughably huge house has led to a bedroom, a study, a library, a home theater, a gym, or a space that made no sense to you—one with nothing but racks and racks of clothes and shoes from what looked like every, single period of time in history, ever. Another stuffed to the brim with huge stacks of papers that reached the ceiling. Another with A/C blasting hard, presumably to keep the furniture completely crafted from ice inside rock solid.
The house made no sense, but in that way, it made perfect sense that it belonged to the weirdo that kidnapped you. Now, it's day four, you know the house like the back of your hand, and all your phone calls are spent pretending like you're fine while Stella tells you about her piece of shit boyfriend and begs you not to tell Marisol so she won't hate him any more than she already does. Please. If you're going to tell Marisol anything, it's going to be about your piece of shit kidnapper.
But beyond calling for help and finding an escape, you find that you're fresh out of ideas to find your way out. And sensing that, the stranger appears at your bedroom door first thing when you wake up, a small smirk on those pink lips as he leans against the doorframe, long, lean and dressed in a different variation of the same, black outfit. This time, with a winter coat that comes down to his ankles dramatically.
"Good morning. Kind of."
You scoff, pulling your eye mask back down over your eyes. "It's the middle of summer, you psycho."
"Had some business in Australia."
You freeze for a moment before shoving up one side of your eye mask and peeking at him. "Australia."
He nods. "Yup. Heard of it? Odd place with huge spiders and opposite seasons. Quite cold there right now." He pushes himself off the frame and walks to the foot of your massive California king-sized bed, where he sheds his coat and carelessly throws it on the bench.
You'll give it to him. You've been living like a queen while here. You hate to admit that if he had simply asked nicely, you probably would love to live here with him despite knowing nothing about him—you're not known for your logical or sound thinking. You simply survive the day, and surviving here would be nice. But the sheer audacity of forcing you to be here without your consent drives you to unprecedented levels of stubbornness. Levels of stubbornness that convince you it would be much better living in your tiny, sad apartment in your seedy neighborhood than here, in this mansion, with products that have your skin glowing like it never has before.
When you don't respond to his rhetorical question, he asks something more serious. "Are you ready to have a proper conversation now?"
You blow a raspberry and laugh, making a show of pulling your mask back down and snuggling deeper into your 1,000-thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets.
"Perfect, I am too," he says sarcastically, the duvet ripped off you violently within the same breath. You shriek at the sudden cold. The psycho keeps his house freezing at all times, which means when you're not looking for the emergency exit, you're either always buried under several blankets or in the sauna down the hall. You hear the snap of his fingers and your eye mask disappears.
You gasp. "What is wrong with you?"
"Everything here is mine," he reminds you. "Or have you gotten so comfortable, you've forgotten you've been kidnapped?" He snorts at the word like it's a ridiculous thought even though that's literally what he did. He seats himself on the edge of your bed, crossing his legs and holding his hand out. As soon as he does, your bag of ghost pepper chips materialize in it.
"Hey!" you lean over to grab them, unperturbed by the way things just appear and disappear at his whim. He quickly holds them out of your reach, his expression bored as your face stops just shy of his. You glare at him. "Those are mine."
Though his expression doesn't change, his dark eyes suddenly flash a bright, angry red, and you struggle to refrain from flinching.
"Hm," he hums, smirking as you slowly lean away and he brings the bag back down to his lap. He smugly throws a chip into his mouth, crunching slowly before swallowing. Your eyes come down to the insane Adam's apple of his bobbing at the motion. You purse your lips and look back up. "It doesn't surprise me that those heinous parents of yours never taught you how to share."
The words pull all the fight and anger out of you immediately. Your shoulders deflate and you look at him with wide eyes. "My… what? You knew my parents?"
The man nods once. "Unfortunately. Really vile duo, weren't they?"
It's an understatement. Your parents should've never had a child to begin with, but your mother thought doing so would keep your father interested—a fact she never failed to remind you of. She never wanted you, never wanted to be a mother, never wanted someone to raise. All she ever wanted was to keep your father's attention, and you did, for a few years at least. Then, you turned four, and his fascination with being a parent waned, and the two of them deemed you old enough to fend for yourself while they carried on with their lives like they never even had you. You were left at home for hours at a time, teaching yourself to make cheese sandwiches with the microwave, and self-soothing with the TV when it would get dark and you were scared to be alone.
When they were home, you were a pseudo-maid, cleaning up after your mother and bringing your father beer after beer as he demanded them. You knew the brands and how to use a bottle opener before you even knew how to read. Sometimes, you caught yourself enjoying the time they were away more than when they were back, but then the sun would set, and you wouldn't be scared anymore or crying yourself to sleep, and you'd decide it was better than having to be alone.
It wasn't until they hadn't returned for almost a week, leaving you near-starved and dehydrated, that you finally went to the neighbor for help. You were in the foster system the next day, and you never saw your parents ever again. You've been without them far longer than you were ever with them, and still, their fingerprints are all over your life: your stunted education, your desperate need to be around your friends, your avoidance of an empty apartment, apparently this guy. Really, his house of horrors was a reminder of how much you despised being left to your own devices. Maybe that's why you were constantly on the phone even if it meant you couldn't ask for help.
"Um… how?" you ask, dumbfounded.
"They called to me one night," the stranger confides in you between bites of your own chips. Even as he talks with a full mouth, he manages to look just as regal. "Begged for a better life—all the money they could dream of in a land far from where they were, away from everything and everyone they've ever known."
It doesn't take a genius to figure out that he's talking about you.
"They didn't have anything to offer in exchange," he tells you, not bothering to explain why they would be asking him for anything at all. "They wanted to sell their souls, but what the fuck am I supposed to do with something so… ugly…?"
The word comes out of his mouth with a sneer, and you nod like you understand. You kind of do. Everything about the man is very pretty, down to his nail beds and his shined shoes. What would he need from two deadbeats like your parents?
Wait. Their souls?
"So they offered me something more pure," he says, the bag of chips disappearing once more. He plunges his thumb into his mouth to suck the ghost pepper dust off, and you find yourself a little entranced as it pops back out and he does the same with his index finger. You sigh as you turn toward your nightstand and pluck a tissue from the box and hand it to him. He frowns. "Uh, thanks."
"And what was that?" you ask as he wipes his saliva off on the tissue instead of whatever furniture is available to him (in this case, your 1,000-thread-count sheets).
"Their daughter."
You were expecting it. You hadn't been sure what to make of all this; half of you was convinced you were still blackout drunk, passed out somewhere in a bathroom stall while Jasmine puked her guts out. Maybe you were having a very elaborate dream. Or nightmare. But hearing him speak now, you believe it. You wouldn't put those two idiots above summoning some kind of demon to get them out of their gambling debts and make them rich—allow them a life among the elite. And you wouldn't put it past them to trade you for it.
You were expecting it. But still, it feels like another knife through your heart when he confirms it.
"I'm not a fucking monster, though," he says, snorting. You raise an eyebrow at him.
"But… I'm here…"
He nods. "I told them they can't just sell their child to the Devil. So—"
"The Devil?!"
"—I settled on servitude. I would just enslave them at the end of their contract for the rest of eternity."
You balk at him—the Devil. The Devil likes black oxfords and ghost pepper chips.
"But then…" he sighs, inconvenienced. "They died."
"They're dead," you repeat, the words coming out more like a statement than the question you meant for them to be. You find that you don't feel anything about that. You never even got a chance to love your parents. It doesn't feel like you've lost anything. You were always alone; still, the confirmation that you truly are now is odd.
"Mhm," he confirms, the tissue disappearing into thin air as he leans back on his hands. "Can you believe I made those two rich beyond their wildest dreams and they somehow still got into trouble with loan sharks?" His head lolls to the side to look at you. "Unlike you, they were actually kidnapped." He shrugs before adding an important detail. "And murdered."
"Oh," you breathe.
"Yes. Oh. But I still needed to collect payment. And unfortunately…"
He lets you connect the dots on your own. "I'm their only next of kin."
"Precisely," he nods once. "You've inherited their debt."
"So… you're… enslaving me?"
He looks at you with disgust. "What? No. I said I'm not a fucking monster."
"But you kidnapped me."
"I did not."
"You did."
"Let's not get into the semantics of it all," he says, waving a hand dismissively as his eyebrow twitches with irritation. "I am not enslaving you. I am here to offer you a contract."
"A contract."
"A contract." A piece of paper—sheer and made up of glittery red particles—materializes between the two of you, hundreds of lines of red print appearing one by one before you as he speaks. "You may serve your parents' sentence—"
"Enslavement."
He rolls his eyes. "Fine. Yes, enslavement—though I am giving you a choice!"
"Wow, what a gentleman."
"Or," he raises his voice slightly to get you back on track, "you can make your own contract." He nods at the piece of paper. You frown.
"But I didn't ask you for anything."
"Yes, but it will release you from your parents' debt."
"By putting me into my own pile of shit?"
He smirks. "Oh c'mon. I think I deserve more credit than that. Have I not been an incredibly generous host to you thus far?" He spreads one, long arm out to gesture to your bedroom—more like a large apartment in the corner of his mansion.
"A generous host during my stay in your prison?" you ask, snorting. "Sure." His face falls into a flat expression that you ignore as you lean forward to read the beginnings of your contract.
INFERNAL SUCCESSION OF DEBT
Contract ID 666-4 This Agreement is entered into between:
THE DEVIL, King of the Infernal Realms, Lord of Temptation, Prince of Darkness, Keeper of Eternal Contracts, Hereinafter referred to as "Employer," "His Infernal Majesty," or "Boss";
and
Y/N L/N, Sole Living Descendant and Responsible Party, Hereinafter referred to as "Employee".
PREAMBLE
WHEREAS, Employee's parents entered into a legally binding contract with Employer in exchange for wealth, prosperity, favorable stock performance, and several luxury vehicles;
WHEREAS, said parents were obligated to surrender themselves for eternal servitude upon collection;
WHEREAS, said parents have inconveniently perished before collection could be completed;
WHEREAS, Hell's Collections Department has determined Employee to be the sole inheritor of all outstanding debts, obligations, curses, liens, penalties, and miscellaneous infernal paperwork;
THEREFORE, Employer has graciously offered Employee the following alternatives:
OPTION A: In fulfillment of the obligations incurred by Employee's deceased parents, Employee shall enter the service of the Infernal Realm for all eternity.
Duties shall include, but are not limited to:
Processing approximately 4.8 million forms per day
Responding to customer complaints from damned souls
Sharpening ceremonial pitchforks
Serving as a chew toy for baby hellhounds during training exercises
Untangling chains in the Pit of Eternal Knots
Operating the Soul Intake Window during holiday rushes
Rewriting contracts damaged by hellfire
Cleaning the Room of Despair every third Tuesday
Escorting lost souls to the appropriate department
Conducting annual inventories of screams
Working closely with Minghao from Accounting
Employee acknowledges that eternity is a super long time and that the above list is not-at-all exhaustive.
OPTION B: Accept employment under Employer for the duration of Employee's natural mortal lifespan, after which Employee shall receive a permanent position with benefits.
You look back up at the Devil. He watches you with an unreadable expression.
"What's the catch?"
"You'd have to read all 666 pages of your contract to find it."
You narrow your eyes at him. "You don't think I'll do it." He neither confirms or denies. "I will. I will read all 666 pages."
"Fine by me," he says, shrugging one shoulder and standing. "But after you read them and decide on either option A or B, you'll have another contract to sign for terms of your servitude or your employment. I'm sure you can guess how many pages each are."
You feel the ambition leave your soul. You roll your eyes and shake your head. "Sit your ass down."
He smirks and follows directions.
"I assume they went to Hell, no?" He nods. "Why can't you just go find their souls and make them serve their sentence?"
"Debt must be collected before death and the souls are admitted into Hell and sorted into the proper circles of punishment, where they'll be doing something very different for all of eternity." He shakes his head regretfully. "Your parents are currently being fried in vats of oil over and over again. If they had survived until debt collection, they would've remained human for eternity, serving me even as their increasingly brittle bones repeatedly broke under the weight of their chores."
He smiles wistfully at what could have been, and you wince. "Um. Okay... well, what would my duties be for option B?"
The Devil nods to the space next to the contract, where an employment agreement appears, lines appearing one after the other just like the original contract. You groan.
"What the fuck is wrong with you? Why is Hell a corporation?"
His eyebrows rise. "What else would Hell be?"
You pause, ruminating on the thought. "Okay, good point."
You sigh and skim the employment agreement.
POSITION
Employee shall serve as: Executive Assistant to His Infernal Majesty
Responsibilities include, but are not limited to:
Maintaining Employer's schedule
Screening calls
Organizing contracts
Overseeing scheduled plagues, wars, famines, etc.
Managing infernal correspondence
Other duties as assigned
Employee shall reside in Employer's primary estate for the duration of employment. Position will require 30% travel.
COMPENSATION
During mortal employment, Employee shall receive:
Free housing
Free meals
Free skincare
Access to infernal healthcare
Unlimited coffee
Following Employee's natural death, Employee shall receive:
Permanent demon status
Comfortable accommodations
Full retirement benefits
Choice of station
WORKPLACE CONDUCT
Employer shall not:
Steal Employee's soul
Curse Employee without written notice
Sell Employee to rival supernatural entities (or anyone else)
Employee shall not:
Summon competitors
Sign contracts on Employer's behalf
Open portals without supervision
Feed eldritch horrors after midnight
TERMINATION
This Agreement may only be terminated by:
Employee's natural death
The collapse of reality
Mutual agreement
A successful legal challenge upheld by three (3) cosmic authorities and at least one (1) archangel
INHERITED DEBT RESOLUTION
Upon execution of this Agreement:
Employee shall be considered to have satisfied all obligations inherited from their parents
Employer shall permanently cease collection efforts
Employee's parents shall remain classified as "Paid In Full"
The rest of your mortal life is a long time. You know very well that by agreeing to this, you're literally signing a deal with the Devil. It's sad and pathetic to acknowledge, but if this new life is anything like the last three days have been, it's already a huge upgrade from how you were living prior to your home invasion.
You lean away from the contracts and take a deep breath before nodding once. You can make it an even bigger upgrade.
"I want an unlimited budget for interior decorating of my living quarters," you start. His eyebrows rise to meet his hairline.
"You're negotiating with the Devil?" he asks, clarifying that he understands your intentions.
"Sure am," you confirm before shooting off your demands one after the other. "I want my apartment kept and paid for as a place to unwind when needed, and I want unlimited visiting rights to Earth. I want all my bills paid for and the newest Samsung any time I want to upgrade my phone. I want backstage passes to any K-Pop group of my choice at any concert I want. I want an expense account and a black credit card to match."
"We—"
"And I don't care if you don't use credit cards in Hell. I want a black credit card. And I want it to be metal and heavy. The fancy one."
He clamps his mouth back shut and nods for you to keep going.
"I want full autonomy over my soul while mortal and after death," you emphasize. "My employment does not mean you own me."
"How many times do you want me to remind you I am not a monster?"
"You're the literal Devil."
"Yes, exactly!" he agrees. "Not a monster!"
You scoff, unsure of how to even respond to that. "You don't own me!" you repeat.
"Yes! Of course! I do not own you! Obviously!" he says, appeasing you. "Go on."
"I also want protection from… whoever your enemies are."
He raises an eyebrow at you. "My enemies?"
You shrug. "Like… God or whatever."
He grins—a genuinely amused one. It's heart-shaped and wide and it's not befitting for the Devil. He looks like someone you could cuddle, not someone who could eat your soul for dinner after finishing your ghost pepper chips. "You, humans, have a very ill-conceived idea of Heaven and Hell. God is not my enemy. She is my colleague."
The smile that envelopes your face is uncontrollable. "She?! God is a woman?! I fucking knew it!"
"Of course she is," the Devil scoffs. "Why would a man be kept in charge of Heaven? That's absurd."
"Hm. Agreed," you say, a little suspicious of having something you both agree upon. "Okay, so no enemies…"
"None," he says, yawning. "Unless you consider damned souls enemies."
"Well, I want protection from anything that can hurt me."
He looks at you like you're dumb. "You'll be living with the Devil. You will be at my side at almost all times of the day. I am the protection."
"What if you hurt me?" you point out.
He rolls his eyes. "It would be counterproductive to hurt my own employee. If you haven't yet wandered into my contracts room, go find it later and you'll see how badly I need an assistant."
You try not to choke on your own spit as you think about the weird room stuffed full of paper. Does he expect you to do something with that…?
"Anything else?" he asks. "You've been so frugal with your demands. Are you sure you don't want to be a billionaire? The ruler of the free world?"
You ignore his sarcasm and shrug. "Is that possible?" He glares at you. "Okay, then no. I don't want those things. But I do have one more demand."
"Oh, goodie," he sighs. "What?"
"On the point of employment until death…"
The Devil laughs, the sound mocking. "That one is not negotiable, darling. It's either eternal servitude or employment until your mortal death—which is what you would be doing anyway if it weren't for your scumbag parents. One is definitely better than the other."
You glare at him. "I'm not going to play Devil's maid until I'm 100 and you're laughing at me as my bones are turning to dust."
"Per your employee agreement, you will have access to infernal healthcare, a perk that would not have been offered to your parents," he points out. "It might surprise you to know it's much more generous than whatever the hell you humans are offering these days. I assure you, your bones will never turn to dust."
"I want to remain as I am," you inform him, not taking no for an answer. "I will work for you until death, but I will remain as I am. No growing pains, no aches, completely healthy in the body and mind I'm in now until I die."
He fixes you with a hard stare for several moments, but you're determined to get your way. You don't avert your gaze and you don't give in. He sighs deeply through his nose. "Fine. Accepted."
The employment agreement changes before your very eyes, reflecting your negotiations, and you're pleased to see every point you argued written onto the paper in glittery red.
"Oh! And I refuse to call you Your Infernal Majesty."
He shrugs. "Okay."
"Okay…"
"What?"
"What do I call you?"
"Oh. Jun. You can call me Jun."
"Okay. I guess you have yourself an assistant, Jun."
He smirks, raising an open hand to you. You take a breath before you slip your hand into his, his slender fingers closing around you and shaking. On the final shake, he squeezes and you feel a just barely tolerable heat bind the two of you together for several seconds. Bursts of bright red lines glow around your joined hands, frantically circling them before they escape to the pieces of paper between you. Jun releases you just as you realize the lines have become both of your signatures on the contracts.
"It's done," he says, eyes flashing red again. "You, Y/N, have just signed a deal with the Devil."
And because you're not one to let a man intimidate you—Devil or not—you smile right back, lean in, and remind him in a theatrical whisper, "You're as stuck in here with me as I am with you."
When the arrogance painted all over his face falters the tiniest bit, you wink and throw yourself off your bed, finally ready to start your day at a bright and early 2 p.m.
"Don't you go regretting this now, Junnie!"
DAY TEN
Hell is exactly what you expected it to be after seeing Jun's contracts: a corporate abyss. It's an open floor plan with unassigned desks, harsh overhead lighting, and a water cooler where a demon is stationed, their only task to make awkward small talk with the parched, tortured soul that comes up to it hoping for a cup. The demons, of course, have the time of their lives, scheduling meetings that could have been emails, demanding overtime of salaried souls, asking for things that were already given to them several days ago and promptly lost upon receipt.
You don't fully understand it. Before you were taken away from Earth, you were working as a full-time bartender. In fact, the only reason you and your friends hadn't gotten kicked out that night for being belligerently drunk was because you were being belligerently drunk at the club you worked at. Before that, your only foray into corporate life was as a customer service representative answering phones and talking to angry people who had nothing but free time to scream at you. You lasted exactly one week, and that's all you need to at least appreciate why it's the model for Hell.
And for the last few days, you've been following Jun around it, soaking in all the information you need. For example, Jun is in "the office" during most "daylight" hours (Hell doesn't have windows so how are you supposed to know when daylight is?), and usually brings his work back to the home you now share. Unclear if he sleeps at all.
He doesn't spend time around the damned souls—not that they even realize who he is as he walks by. He pays them no mind, letting his demon subordinates take care of tormenting them. Instead, his time in the office is spent attending meetings with high-ranking demons, archangels, and occasionally, God herself. If he's not in the office or at home, he'll be traveling. Unclear what he'll do on his trips, but you assume it's something akin to what he did for your parents. He assures you each trip will only be a few hours and that he'll call if that changes. You assure him you don't care.
Today is the first time you won't be shadowing him. Jun unceremoniously dropped you off at the mail room without so much as a goodbye, muttering something about picking you up at the end of the day. You didn't have time to point out that you have no idea when that is. And hours later, it seems that it still isn't the end of the day.
"So… who are you…?"
You look up from the mountain of envelopes you've been tasked with going through. Apparently, the Devil receives a lot of mail, and apparently, Jun is above simply throwing all of them into an incinerator. It turns out when people can't get a hold of God, they turn to the next best thing. And the next best thing insists that you read every last letter and decide whether it's worth responding to.
The demon talking to you entered the room just a minute or so ago. He's a man who looks to be about your age, though you're under no delusions that he actually is. For all you know, he's millions of years old. His spiky blonde hair is currently pointed to your right as he tilts his head at you curiously. "Actually, what are you…?"
You squint at him. "I'm human…" you gesture down at your lack of black leather, dressed like the pink Care Bear threw up on you as a quiet form of protest against the dreadfully drab aesthetic Hell insists on. "Obviously."
He nods. "Right… but… you're not dead."
"No," you say, using more force than needed to slice through the next envelope with the letter opener you were given—a knife with a handle shaped like a devil's tail. A tail you noticed Jun does not have.
The demon winces and you're glad for it. Just because Jun is convinced you're safe doesn't mean you are; the more of them who believe you'll shank them with a letter opener for breathing funny, the better.
"I am not dead."
"What's your—"
"I'm working," you cut him off icily, making a show of stabbing the letter opener into the wooden table and straightening the paper in front of your face. The man next to him snorts but says nothing, simply grabbing the mail he came in for and leaving.
"So you work in the mail room? Do we hire humans to do that now?"
You roll your eyes behind the piece of paper. You don't answer.
"Do you know whose mail you're going through…? Because it's His—"
"Jun's," you sigh, slamming the piece of paper down and shoving it toward your throw pile. "I am reading Jun's mail." You fold your hands in front of you on the table and lean forward to give him all the attention he obviously wants. The demon's eyes widen, leaning back the tiniest bit.
"Y-you can't just… say his name like that," he whispers to you, eyes sliding back and forth. The mail room is full of demons, and it isn't until he looks around that you realize all of them have frozen in place. You frown as you follow his gaze.
"Jun?" you repeat loudly, resisting the urge to smirk when more of them gasp.
"Stop!"
"Why?" you ask, snickering as you reach for the next envelope and rip it open without the help of the letter opener. Dear Satan, you read. "Is it like Voldemort here? Scared to say your own boss's name?"
"Pfft, no one here is scared to say 'Voldemort,'" he says, rolling his own eyes. "Rowling will be here as soon as God decides it's time for her to retire from Twitter. And life."
You hum in approval. "Good to hear."
"It's just wise to be a little more respectful when referring to His Infernal Majesty."
You smile. "Yeah, I'm not calling him that."
"Your funeral."
"Or yours," you say, pointedly looking at the letter opener stabbed into the surface right now. You look back at him and his eyes are on the tool too. "Think Jun would be happy about you distracting his personal assistant from very important work?"
The demon balks at you, but you return your attention to the letter. Dear Satan. "You're his assistant?" You hum in confirmation. "Oh wow. That's… wow. Um, I'm Soonyoung."
"I didn't ask."
"Are you sure you aren't a demon?"
You look up at him without putting your letter down. "I'm sure, Soonyoung." Your eyes flick back down to the letter. Dear Satan, you read for the third time.
"Well, you would make a really good one," he tells you. Your fingers crinkle the letter, twitching in as they try to keep from completely crumpling it in frustration. "Is that why His Infernal Majesty hired you? How did you two meet?"
"Soonyoung." It seems like the entire room freezes and the demon's eyes widen at something behind you. You look over your shoulder to find Jun standing in the doorway, his arms crossed and his brows pulled down. The other demons not named Soonyoung immediately flee the room. "Are you bothering Y/N?"
You huff. "Sure. You can give him my name."
Your boss smirks but ignores you. "Leave her alone. If I hear my name one more time, I'll make you work a shift in Accounting." You raise your eyebrows. No wonder they're so afraid to say his name. It literally summons him.
Soonyoung pushes himself off where he'd been leaning on the table across from you, immediately leaving the room and bowing to your boss and muttering apologies as he goes. You snort, turning back around and reading your letter in full for the first time.
Dear Satan,
If you're real, prove it.
You nod, taking a piece of paper out to write your response. Just as you finish, you hear Jun's voice—much closer this time—and you startle.
"Interesting."
"Holy shit," you breathe, leaning back to look at him reading over your shoulder. "I thought you left."
He reaches past you, allowing you to get a whiff of his cologne. Something that smells woodsy and spicy. He takes your pile of letters and responses and reads them aloud.
"'Dear Satan, if you're real, prove it,'" he reads. His eyes go to the piece of paper with your response. "'No.'"
He stares at you but reveals no indication of whether or not he approves. He puts the two pieces of paper down on the table next to you and moves on.
"'Dear Devil, did the dinosaurs go to Heaven or Hell?' 'They went to Heaven. What kind of fucking question is this?'" Papers down.
You think the twitch of his lips is a smile threatening to break through. He succeeds in hiding it if it is, and he just keeps going.
Dear Satan, should I text my ex?
I am the #1 advocate of free will. But know that if you do, I will haunt you for the rest of your mortal life and you will never find love. Ever.
Dear Satan, if you help me pass my AP Chem test, I will owe you my life. P.S. For my records, does this count as a legally binding contract?
No, it does not. Go study and never write here ever again.
Dear Satan, does my cat work for you? I love her, but sometimes, she does things that make me wonder. I don't think she sleeps. She just watches me. All the time. I also feel like she can maybe talk and is hiding it. Is she secretly a demon?
Jun pauses, eyes sliding to you, though you're unsure why. You hold his stare, but he just redirects his attention back to your response.
Probably. What's her name?
He seems to decide that's enough, calmly putting the pile of papers down with the others. "Hm." You don't know what it means and he doesn't clarify. Instead, he asks, "Hungry?"
You gasp, your work immediately forgotten. "Yes! Does Hell have sushi?"
"No. We only have the blood and organs of sinners here." You crinkle your nose but he doesn't say that he's joking, and it makes your stomach turn. "But Earth does. And I believe you negotiated unlimited visitation rights." You nod. You did. You absolutely did. "Come on. My treat for a good first day spent on your own."
"It's your treat no matter what," you mutter, standing up and leading the way out of the mail room, trusting your responses will be sent out by someone who isn't busy stuffing their face with sushi. "I literally have free food written into my employment agreement."
"You can never just let me have the last word, can you?"
"Nope. Get used to it."
DAY SIXTEEN
Your adrenaline spikes when the phone on your desk, right outside Jun's corner office (the only place with windows and a killer view of racists burning alive at all hours of the day), rings. You squeak with excitement as you answer it.
This should be nerve-wracking for you; your one week in customer service scarred you enough that the sheer sound of phones ringing sent anxiety crawling up your spine. But here, answering the phone meant all kinds of fun possibilities.
It could be a teenager calling via Ouija Board. It could be someone summoning Jun to sell their soul. It could be a demon needing help as a priest exorcises them from a possession. It could be God.
"You've reached Jun's desk. How may I help you?"
"Wrong." Your joy flatlines at your boss's voice. "I told you, you can't use my name when answering the phone."
"I'm not calling you whatever silly title everyone else here insists on calling you," you grumble.
"That's fine. I don't give a shit. Just don't use my name," he says. "I already hear everyone on Earth muttering about Satan. We don't need to add my Hell-given name to the mix."
You sigh. "Fine. What do you need? I've already taken care of your mail and schedule for the rest of the week, I have your requested reports from Accounting, and the Hellhounds have been caught. They're eating their midday snacks now."
"What snacks? You know that cannibals upset their stomachs. If they throw up, you will be cleaning it up."
"First of all, no. I won't." You've already seen the messes the Hellhounds are capable of, and you'd rather Jun eat your soul than have to clean up after one. "Second of all, I know. I gave them some family annihilators."
"Perfect. Thanks. Tell Soonyoung if he loses them one more time, he'll be fed to them next."
"Got it," you say, taking mental note to threaten the demon next time he comes around to annoy you. "So why are you calling? Did you forget whose debt you're collecting today? It's—"
"I know," he cuts you off. "Just checking to see how it's going since this is your first full day without me in Hell."
You frown at nothing in particular. "The Devil does check-in calls…? Oddly considerate."
You can practically hear Jun's glare through the phone. "No. The Devil is making sure you haven't completely run his empire into the ground."
"I am but a measly human," you sigh dramatically. "If I have the power to run a supernatural empire that predates time itself into the ground, it's probably a really bad empire."
"Hm." He clearly refuses to tell you that you have a good point. "I also called to let you know I'll be late tonight so you don't have to worry about working after you leave the office. I'll see you at breakfast."
You told him you didn't care if his trips made him late or if he even wanted to go out and do his own thing after; you aren't his mother or his wife, and you can probably discern this information from his calendar without him calling. But now that it's actually happening, you realize you care a tiny bit. Mostly because in the last two weeks, the two of you have gotten into a routine of sorts.
You woke up, usually from your duvet being ripped off and your eye mask being sent into whatever other dimension Jun sent things to, and you'd sit down for breakfast, going through everything your boss was doing for the day. Jun didn't need to eat, but he joined you anyway, occasionally having a bowl of cereal since you made it clear you never want to see him eating the blood and organs of sinners in the house. Then, he'd take the both of you to work, where you would do whatever it is the day demanded of you, before heading home and having dinner. If he had a trip that day, he still made it home in time to sit with you, eating whatever it is you made in the generously stocked kitchen.
You'd kind of forgotten to be afraid of being alone because you never were anymore. Jun was always there, and if he wasn't, you were either busy working or asleep. The thought of coming back to the house without him, having to eat dinner by yourself, and not having anyone to talk to gets your heart racing faster than usual.
"Hello?"
"Okay," you say, nodding even though he can't see you. Maybe if you force your body to agree to it, your mind will follow suit. "Have fun collecting those souls."
"Thanks," he says slowly.
"Is that all?"
"Yeah, I guess."
"Okay then. Bye."
You don't wait for him to respond, hanging up and immediately standing to make your way back to the house while the clock tells you it's still daytime. Maybe if you fall asleep earlier than usual, you'll bypass the terror you already feel creeping in.
DAY TWENTY-THREE
"Junnie!" you call without turning over your shoulder.
You have to keep working on securing catering for the 1,700 demons who will be gathering for an "Innovation & Disruption: Bringing Medieval-Style Torture to the Modern Age" seminar in a few days. You don't even know how to get blood and organs catered. And never mind having to arrange accommodations for the demons that insist on bringing their eldritch horrors with them.
You hear your boss's usual grunt of acknowledgment. "Time to get going to that cult summoning if you want to make it on time!" You glance at the CCTV feed in the corner of your screen. "They're almost done drawing the pentagram!"
He groans but you hear the unmistakable sound of his chair rolling away from his desk and creaking as he stands anyway. A few moments later, he's standing next to you. You pause your catering research to look up at him.
"I don't assume the demons would want to have Subway or something at this seminar?" you ask.
"No." Jun's mouth curves into a small smile. "No, they probably do not want Subway."
"Shame." You shrug and turn back to your computer. "Well, have fun with the nut jobs! Remember, Risk & Assessment flagged the cult leader for us; his possession score is very high, so if you find him insufferable—and I'm sure that with your patience, you will—feel free to ring me and I'll send you a demon to torment him a bit."
"Noted," he says, chuckling a little. "And just so you know, I'll probably be late again."
You deflate a little. It's been a week since the last time Jun came home late from work, and you're still working out the stress knots it put into your shoulders.
"Oh." You try to think of what you'll do to stave off the panic this time since sleeping early didn't do it for you. When you realize your boss is standing there, scrutinizing you and waiting for a proper response, you say a pathetic "sounds good."
"Hm. I was actually thinking you may be more help coming with me tonight than staying here," he says suddenly. "Or at home."
You straighten up and try not to look too eager at the invitation. "Wait. I can come to the summoning?"
"Sure. Why not?"
"Is that allowed?"
He stares at you blankly. "I'm the King of Hell."
You roll your eyes, your heart rate slowing down as your anxieties subside. "A simple 'yes' would have sufficed."
The second you and Jun make landfall in the middle of the cult's pentagram, there are fanatic screams and people in ridiculous cloaks falling to their knees and sobbing. You don't try to hide the revulsion on your face, flinching away when a follower crawls to you on their hands and knees, wailing and reaching for you. You inadvertently curl into your boss's side. You mutter a quiet apology when you realize you're touching him, but he ignores it, stepping between you and the enthusiastic follower.
"Hands to yourself," Jun hisses at the person, who immediately backs away.
The space becomes significantly warmer at that, and it only dawns on you now why your home is kept so cold. It never occurred to you that of course the Devil will run hot, and you feel that heat radiating from him now with nothing to quell it. The cult members must feel it too because aside from the overenthusiastic one, they give the two of you a wide berth.
Once you acclimate to the audience, you notice you're suddenly in a cloak reminiscent of the grim reaper's.
"What the hell is this?" you ask, lifting an arm and looking at the way the cloth drapes off of it.
"Summoning uniform."
"Then why don't you have one?" you ask, raising an eyebrow at Jun's all-black get-up: a crisp button-down, slim-fit slacks, and a jacket with shoulders adorned with a smattering of crystals, making it look like he's wearing the sky itself.
"I'm the Devil." Which seems to be his answer for everything. Your next complaint is drowned out by the deep and bizarre bellowing of a man on a tiny stage that quakes under his weight.
"Welcome, Our Unholiness!" You assume the man shouting is the cult leader. He wears a goat head that looks so realistic, you sorely hope it's just a mask and that the man is not wearing an animal corpse right now.
"Wrong!" you immediately call, making Jun frown at you as you step back around him, tripping a little when your foot catches on your cloak. "Fuck, ow." You yank at it violently before standing straight and addressing the man. "Accepted titles include King of Hell, King of the Infernal Realms, Lord of Temptation, Prince of Darkness, His Infernal Majesty, or The Big Bad Lord of Doom and Gloom."
"No, nope. Not that last one." You smile at him when he narrows his eyes at you. If you get the cloak, he gets the silly title.
"O-oh. Uh. Everyone, let's welcome… His Maj—"
"Infernal Majesty."
"His Infernal Majesty!" he shouts.
The crowd around you erupts into cheers, and you take the moment to look around. Your boss has been summoned to what looks like a remote compound in the middle of the desert with small concrete buildings scattered around you. The people around you look starved, dehydrated, and unclean. No wonder the Devil has been summoned; this is not a cult leader that leads very well.
"Enough," Jun says, his voice barely rising over the cheers but reverberating through the crowd anyway. It falls silent laughably fast, forcing you to stifle a giggle. "Why have you summoned me?"
"Satan, we—may I call you Satan…?" the goat head tilts toward you like he's asking you for permission. You nod and he turns back to your boss. "Satan, we have summoned you here today in the hopes that you will lend your devoted children a hand."
"I am nothing if not a provider," Jun says in a bored voice. You tilt your head and shrug before nodding as you ponder that statement. You suppose it's true. You have been living a very luxurious life since you moved to Hell.
"Oh, thank you, Satan," he sighs in relief, bowing his head and stumbling a little when the weight of the goat head makes him wobble. "We request a great boon of you."
"A boon," you echo in a whisper, mostly to yourself.
"Our tithes are declining."
"Tithes." Words you will have to Google upon returning home.
Jun's eyes flick down to you briefly before he responds. "Get on with it."
The abruptness throws the leader off, causing him to stutter. You buy him more time by stating, "As you can imagine, Ju—Satan! Satan is incredibly busy. Many summonings to tend to. Many plagues to schedule. Many damned souls to devour whole. Many—"
"He gets it," Jun cuts in.
"Right, of course!" the leader agrees. "Apologies! We would like to request monetary support."
"In exchange for?" the Devil asks, an eyebrow cocked at the man.
"For…?"
Jun glances at you and you nod, frowning when you realize for the first time that you are no longer holding your tablet. You gasp, patting your entire body before you find the needlessly deep inner pocket of your cloak. So deep, your tablet basically rests at your ankle.
"This is deeply humiliating," you mutter at your boss as you bend over to scoop it out. "Who was this made for—Shaquille O'Neal?"
"No," Jun answers, more amused than you've ever heard him. "It's mine."
You pause in your bend, cranking your neck to look at him upside down. "This is your grim reaper cloak?"
He nods, clearly suppressing a laugh. You roll your eyes, shaking your head as you continue digging your device out of the infinite pocket. You straighten back up when it's finally in your grip.
You quickly tap through for the handbook you haven't needed until now.
"Where deals with the Devil are concerned," you read aloud, projecting your voice so everyone can hear clearly, "the Devil accepts servitude of his chosen length, negotiable; a percentage of all future profits no less than 20 percent, negotiable; your luck for an amount of time of his choice, negotiable; the feeling you get when a song gives you chills, non-negotiable; your first-born child to be collected upon their 30th birthday, non—hey!"
You frown at that point and turn to your boss, your back to the cult leader. "What?"
"What the hell do you need a first-born child for?" you hiss in a whisper only he can hear because above all else, you are still very professional. "Your assistant position is already filled. You already have a first-born child that you have collected!"
Your boss's mouth curves into an arrogant smirk that you want to rip off his mouth. "First-born children are a hot commodity in Hell."
"Oh, are they?" you laugh humorlessly. "So where are they?"
"Where are they?"
"Yeah! Where are they?" you ask, unsure what you'll even do when you find out. Now that you've been in your position long enough to really appreciate its perks, the thought of being kicked to the curb fills you with a fight instinct so strong, you could choke on it. "Hiding them in the attic? Basement? In a closet I haven't found yet? Or did you build them a separate house? You have multiple offices? Multiple assistants?"
"Um, can we get back to the—"
"One minute!" you shout without turning back to the cult leader.
"Are you jealous?" Jun asks, his voice equal parts confusion and cocky. When your only answer to that is a glare, he exhales a breathy laugh and shakes his head. "The document you're reading from was last updated decades ago, darling. I assure you I have no other assistants and am not looking for any more—at least not until your contract with me is over."
"I want that added as an amendment to my agreement," you say through gritted teeth, noting to yourself to reach out to Demon Resources when you get back.
"Unnecessary, but we'll—"
"The Devil will not be accepting a first-born child!" you announce, three times as loud as you were before as you spin back around, kicking when your cloak tangles around your legs. "Keep your useless children to yourselves!"
"No children, got it," the cult leader nods. "Well… you see, we were not prepared for a proper offering tonight, as we assumed that as children of the Dark Lord—"
"Lord of Temptation or Prince of Darkness," you correct him, shaking your head.
"Er, yes. As children of the Prince of Darkness… we assumed we would just… um, receive? A gift? As loyal followers?"
Both you and Jun remain still, falling quiet at the assumption—you because you're unsure if your boss wants you to correct him, Jun because you assume he's debating whether he should kill someone or laugh. The leader laughs a little nervously, swaying back and forth and wringing his hands. It's a hilariously silly picture with his goat head still on.
"Correct this idiot before I summon a Hellhound," Jun mutters to you, turning away from the leader and taking a seat. A comically large throne appears under his ass at the perfect moment. He props his head in his hand in immense disinterest.
"You summoned the Devil," you point out the obvious. "If you were looking for handouts based on loyalty, you probably should have thrown your allegiance behind God—which by the way, did you know she's a woman?"
"Oh. Uh, that's… yeah, that makes sense."
"Right? We thought so too," you say, nodding and glancing at Jun briefly over your shoulder. He nods once, blinking slowly in the way he only does when he's finally starting to tire and needs to rest. You turn back to the leader. "If you would like Satan's financial support, he will need more than the promise that you'll continue to live in the desert, starving and unbathed. He will need something he can actually use." You point at his mask. "By the way, the goat head does nothing. He does not like that."
Jun speaks behind you, confirming. "I do not. I hate it."
The leader immediately rips the head off, chucking it away from him with so much force, it bounces several times and disappears into the darkness not lit by the torches that surround the pentagram. He's younger than you assumed he'd be, and he's sweaty and red from staying in the goat head.
"What will you be offering the Devil tonight?" you ask. "Would you like more examples of gifts he will accept?"
"Um, no, I think… I think we can offer, uh, servitude?" his followers groan, but he doesn't change his answer.
"Wonderful," you nod, making note of it in your tablet. One of Jun's famous contracts materializes in front of the sweaty man, the glow of it painting him even redder. "The Devil will award you with just enough money to keep this Burning Man-inspired cult thriving as long as at least one member present here tonight is alive. In exchange, His Infernal Majesty will collect their souls for eternal servitude at the end of their natural-born lives."
There's an uproar of protests as you finish reading the terms.
"Well, wait, hold on! You said this was negotiable."
"Indeed."
"Okay, so let's negotiate!" You watch him expectantly, waiting for said negotiation. "Right, um, yeah. So. Uh. If servitude is eternal… maybe our financial support should also be of unlimited nature?"
"'Maybe'?" you ask, raising an eyebrow.
"It should! It should!" he corrects himself. "Limitless money forever, regardless of whether or not the members here tonight are still alive, in exchange for our eternal servitude upon the end of life."
You watch as Jun's signature starts to scribble on the contract, signaling his acceptance of the agreement. You frown and shake your head. "Denied!"
Jun makes a sound of surprise as his signature stops mid-air.
"Limitless money forever, independent of tonight's members, in exchange for your current and future members' eternal servitude upon end of life—regardless of length of cult membership."
The silence that follows is tense, the cult leader chewing his lower lip as he thinks it through and his followers clearly ruminating on what limitless money can do for them.
"The Big Bad Lord is due for another engagement shortly," you inform him, earning you an annoyed grunt from your boss. "Please make your mind up quickly."
"Deal," he answers, nodding confidently. "Deal!"
You smile as you watch Jun sign on his dotted line. Your boss suddenly appears before the leader, outside the pentagram meant to keep you both contained and the summoners safe from you—obviously a myth. Once summoned, Jun is free to do as he pleases wherever he pleases. Everyone gasps at his reappearance, the leader flinching violently. Your boss extends his hand just as he did to you a month ago. When the man shakes it, the same red lines bind the agreement, and the cult leader's name and signature appear on the contract.
"Enjoy your boon, Lee Seokmin," Jun says, voice low and dangerous. "Don't go dying too soon. I'll be back to collect."
The Devil doesn't waste any more time on the cult, whisking the two of you away and back to your shared home.
"That was fun!" you exclaim, clapping your hands and giggling. "Much more fun than staying at home alone."
Jun snorts but keeps his face carefully blank as he goes to the pantry and grabs a bag of ghost pepper chips. "Yeah?"
"Definitely. Thanks for inviting me."
"I was right."
"Hm?"
"You were a lot more helpful going with me than staying back here," he clarifies, opening the bag and chomping on the snack, which he now keeps an unlimited stock of for both of you. "I should've known you'd be good at negotiating." He throws you a look of fake contempt. You smirk. "I think you should come with me to all my summonings."
You shrug, trying not to reveal how relieved you are about late nights alone not having to be a worry for you anymore. "Sure. I will make myself available."
"So generous…" Jun comments, mouth slanting in amusement. "I'm going to turn in. You good?"
You frown. "Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?"
He watches you for a moment more before shaking his head. "No reason." He looks down at your cloak and nods. "Keep it for the next summoning. Night." He turns and lazily stalks off toward his suite on the other side of the house from yours.
DAY TWENTY-SEVEN
You're getting the hang of Jun in a way you never really understood any of your previous bosses. Before, your managers were people who just told you what to do and gave you minuscule raises once in a while, but being the Devil's assistant demanded knowing him on a level more intimate than you were expecting.
Because why do you know that eating too much human food will have him in the bathroom for ungodly amounts of time? It turned out that your restriction of blood in the house was actually ruining his digestive track. You're not totally uncaring, though; you now allow the Devil his blood consumption—strictly from opaque bottles. Organs, on the other hand, will never be negotiable.
You know that his favorite thing to listen to to relax after a long, stressful day is the tortured screams of damned souls drowning in the river of boiling blood. He likes falling asleep to the screams of damned souls being quartered. If he needs to hunker down and really concentrate on work, the screams of the racists burning alive right outside his window are his preferred background noise, which is probably why his office is where it is.
Jun actually hates having to negotiate. It took that first trip and a handful more to realize that he's fairly quick to accept the first offer he's given unless it's a particularly nasty human being. Since you've started accompanying him, though, you've been getting him a lot more promised benefits than before. So far, you're most proud of convincing a human to sign over her whimsy once 10 years passes. You think it will really brighten up the place once Hell receives it.
There are a lot of devilish stereotypes you've also debunked during your time with him. He has no horns or tail or wings that he's hiding. Everything you see seems to be all of it. His skin has never been red or any other color aside from the golden tan it is now. The Devil does not have an advocate, as he finds people who relentlessly challenge ideas simply for the sake of it exhausting (though, as the ruler of Hell, he does have the privilege of everyone being too scared to challenge anything he thinks or says anyway). He doesn't rely on the worship of anybody on Earth, and he doesn't care to lure pure souls to Hell; he only makes deals with the people he knows belong with him. That inspired an hours-long conversation in which you demanded he assure you your deal was the exception and you do not belong here in Hell with him.
Why? Don't you feel like you belong here? he asked, smirking. You fit right in, darling.
That might be true, but I don't belong here, right? Like, I'm not an evil person. I would've gone to Heaven if not for my terrible parents. Right?
Will you leave me alone if I agree?
JUN.
One thing you're learning now is that your boss tends to be perceived very differently by his demon subordinates. Where you see a particular and sometimes bratty individual, others see a man they need to appease lest they get their heads cut off. Where you see a softie who cuddles with his pets upon returning home, others see a king with an army of Hellhounds starving for the chance to tear them to pieces. Where you see someone who has become your own personal barista in the mornings, others see someone they're too afraid to ask even the smallest of favors from.
Exhibit A: Soonyoung.
Who is currently hissing at you to come meet him around the corner, away from your desk and away from your boss's door. You look over your shoulder quickly to find Jun deep in reviewing the piles of contracts you left for him this morning. You roll your eyes as you stand, dragging your feet lazily as you shuffle over to where Soonyoung is practically crouching to keep from being seen.
"What is it, Soonyoung?" you sigh. He waves for you to bend down and you ignore him, not bothering to crouch to match his height. "You have one minute. The purgatory's auditorium was double booked for the new hire orientation and the monthly angel-demon networking mixer, and I have to find a solution that will not only please Jun but God. I'm this close to suggesting we go to Earth and book a Chili's."
The demon doesn't even pretend to listen to your mini rant, practically speaking over your last few words. "Do you think you can ask His Infernal Majesty if I can have the next full moon off?"
You cock an eyebrow at him. "Why would I do that?"
He looks around nervously. "Um. Because you're pure of heart and soul? And you like me?"
"First of all, only one of those two statements is true," you inform him, enjoying the way he frowns as he tries to figure out which it is, "and second of all, I meant why would I need to do that?" He stares blankly at you. "Ask him yourself."
He scoffs. "Are you crazy?"
"Yes. Next question."
The answer clearly catches him off-guard, and he stammers over several syllables before standing straight and shaking his head. "I can't ask him myself."
"Why not?"
He opens and closes his mouth several times but offers you no valid reasons. He shrugs pathetically before finally admitting. "Because he scares me!"
You look at him incredulously. "Jun… scares you."
"Don't say his name!" he shriek-whispers, frantically grabbing your wrist and pulling you even further down the hall and away from your desk. He stops just outside the copy room, where a damned soul is slapping the broken copy machine. "Of course he scares me."
"The man who needs to be reminded to eat lunch and take his vitamins despite being older than the world itself scares you."
"Yes."
"The guy who gets ghost pepper chip dust all over his fingers and wipes them on whatever surface is closest to him scares you."
Soonyoung doesn't seem to find an issue with that the way you do but he still nods. "Yes."
"The dude—"
"Yes!" he nearly shouts. "Yes! No amount of ridiculous things you say right now are going to convince me to not be scared of him! I am scared of him!"
The soul at the copy machine finally gets fed up and walks out of the copy room, screaming and nearly falling over, their papers flying every direction, when Soonyoung instinctively bares his teeth and growls. They run the rest of the way back to their desk, abandoning the papers they dropped.
You bend down to start collecting them and snort when you find meaningless doodles done by one of the executives whose office is on this floor.
"You see a very different, non-scary version of him, okay?" Soonyoung continues like he didn't just scare the shit out of someone himself. "You're not scared because you don't have to see him when Hell is down on damned souls for the quarter, or when I breathe wrong around him."
You raise your eyebrows. "And this is my problem, why…?"
"It's not a problem," he says, grinning mischievously. He squats down to help you pick up the papers. "It's an advantage! You're his favorite employee! If you ask him if I can have the day off, he'll say yes!"
You pause, looking up at him and laughing. "Me. His favorite employee. After one month."
"Yeah, don't rub it in, new kid," the demon grunts, rolling his eyes. "Some of us have been kissing his ass for centuries, and you walk in and suddenly own the place. But worry not. I'm choosing to view this as a beautiful opportunity, rather than something to be jealous of."
"Sure," you follow, nodding as you continue to gather the drawings that never saw the copy machine. "You still haven't given me a good reason why you can't do it, though. Your fear is not a good reason."
He groans. "Yes it is!"
"It isn't."
"Okay, I mean. On top of that, he'll just say no."
"Why do you think that?"
He stares at you blankly. When he realizes it's a sincere question, he licks his lips and sighs. "Dude. It's been a month. You haven't had a single day off and you haven't noticed?"
You frown as you pick up the last piece of paper. You stand and think about it. "Oh my god…"
"I thought about asking God a few centuries ago too," he says, misunderstanding you. He stands and takes the pile of papers from you. "Didn't work out. Turns out they have no say in each other's teams, and His Infernal Majesty doesn't like it when demons go over his head."
"Naturally," you mutter. "Not what I meant, though. I just didn't realize I'd been working so much."
"Yeah, yeah, time flies when you're having fun," he says, waving a hand. "Anyway, I really need the day off to go to Earth."
"And do what?"
His face lights up now. "I was summoned by a hot witch the other day, and I want to pay her a visit during the full moon."
"Ooooh, a date!" You lean in, actually interested in where the conversation is going now. "What are you going to do?"
"I don't know about a date," he says bashfully, cheeks turning pink. "I just want to see—"
"Soonyoung. How many times do you want me to threaten your life for distracting my assistant?"
The demon squeals, all the papers the two of you picked up exploding into confetti as they rain down around you again. You sigh, staring as they fall to the ground, deciding immediately you will not be gathering them a second time. You look to your left to find Jun suddenly standing next to you, hands in his pockets as he stares daggers at the demon. You narrow your eyes at your boss and think, yes. Yes, you would probably be scared to be on the receiving end of that look.
But you're not so you aren't. You smile.
"Hi Junnie," you greet him. His eyes flick down to you and he shoots you a flat expression at your usage of the juvenile nickname in front of his demon. "Soonyoung has a favor to ask you."
The man in question shoots you a panicked and betrayed look before grinning nervously at his boss, who turns his attention to him now. He continues giving him that stupid grin for several seconds, failing to say anything until Jun raises one eyebrow.
"Well?"
"Oh! I, um. I was wondering if—if I could have, uh—"
"Spit it out."
"If I—um, couldhavethenextfullmoonoff." He swallows nothing. "Please."
You roll your eyes at the anxiety-riddled request.
"Absolutely not," Jun says immediately, inspiring a small, stunned gasp from you. You don't think you've ever heard him deny someone of something. But then again, you've never heard anyone ask anything of him. "You know how busy full moons are."
"No, yeah, for sure, I'm so sorry," he rambles, bowing his head a few times before giggling nervously and waving a hand. "That was so silly. Yeah. Dumb of me. I was actually just kidding. Got you! So silly. Ha…"
"Oh, come on!" you whine on behalf of Soonyoung, who looks at you with wide eyes and shakes his head quickly, silently begging you to shut up. Jun looks down at you, turning to face you completely. "That's so mean! He asked nicely!" You pause, shrugging. "Nicely enough. Why can't he have the day off?"
"Because it's the full moon."
"Okay…" you elongate the word. "And there will be many more full moons. This is just one, and you have thousands of demons. When was the last time Soonyoung had a day off?"
Jun suddenly averts his eyes, clearing his throat uncomfortably. You turn to Soonyoung, who refuses to answer. You frown at your boss.
"He's… he's never had a day off…?" you ask, making it clear how appalled you are at the idea. Your lip curls up in disgust and you look him up and down judgmentally. "What kind of boss are you?"
You gawk at him as his cheeks begin to turn red.
"You don't give your employees days off? Ever? How old are you, Soonyoung? Like a million years old?"
"Okay, relax," he mutters.
"A million years, and no days off? That's really horrible, Junnie. You should be embarrassed. I am very disappoi—"
"Soonyoung, go ahead and take the full moon off ," Jun practically barks at him, taking your arm in his grip at the same time. "Enjoy your day off, and stop talking to my fucking assistant or I'll have you as a midday snack."
The last thing you see before Jun turns you around and guides you back down the hall and away from Soonyoung is the huge, grateful, and excited smile on his face. You giggle, the sound cut off by a startled squeak when you hear the demon bellow at a damned soul.
"What the hell are you looking at?! Pick these papers up and make me a thousand copies!"
When your boss releases you back at your desk, you sit down, already back to figuring out the purgatory auditorium issue. It takes a few seconds for you to realize Jun isn't going anywhere, though. You pause, looking up at him and tilting your head.
"What is it?" you ask.
"I am a great boss."
"Uh," you exhale in a laugh. "Yeah. I know."
"Do you? Because you—"
"Oh, Junnie," you sigh, rolling your eyes as you return your attention to your computer. "Soonyoung just deserves a day off." You're not sure that statement is true, but you'll be damned if anything stops you from getting the first date gossip you're guaranteed now. "I know you're a good boss."
"Hm."
"Hm," you mimic him, smiling a little. When you look back at him, his eyes are narrowed like he's not sure you're telling the truth. "I wouldn't be willingly working seven days a week if you weren't a good boss, okay?"
"Okay."
"Okay."
"Alright."
"Mhm."
"I'm just gonna—" he points at his desk, not bothering to finish his sentence as he disappears back into his office.
DAY THIRTY
You know something is wrong when you wake up on your own naturally, something you haven't done since you accepted the position with Jun. You frown from under your eye mask, hand coming up to rip it off your face. You slowly sit up, finding every single blanket and the duvet still atop you, and your eyes find the clock on the wall, finding that it's almost a full hour after your usual wake-up time.
"My alarm didn't go off," you mutter.
Jun is your alarm. Jun didn't go off. You shove the blankets off you, shivering a little as you slip off the bed and tuck your feet into your bunny slippers. You shuffle out of your bedroom, poking your head into the hall to find it barren and silent.
"Jun?" you call quietly, knowing he'll hear it regardless. He doesn't answer. You walk further out into the hall, going to the kitchen to find it empty. The coffee machine wasn't touched either, even though it's always on and ready in the morning.
Your anxiety spikes as you start to wonder if he left in the middle of the night without letting you know. You scramble back to your room for your tablet, pulling his calendar up and staring at it in confusion when you find nothing different than when you left it last night.
Meeting with Archangel Joshua Marketing Team pitch Block for contracts Block for collection Monthly Satan/God touchbase (leave 30m for travel to Purgatory) Hellhound training check-in Block for contracts 1:1 with Chief Torment Officer
His meeting with Joshua would've started five minutes ago, so maybe he was just running late and needed to go without you? When has he ever run late? You're not even sure he slept. He's had meetings much earlier than that and he never failed to wake you up and sit down for breakfast. You decide the only way you'll find out is if you head to the office and see if he's there. You're one leg into your pants when your phone starts ringing.
"Thanks for calling Hell. You've reached the Devil's office. How can I help you?" you half-grunt with your phone tucked between your ear and shoulder as you pull your pants on.
"Do you have any idea how busy archangels are?"
"Joshua!" you gasp, immediately forgetting your pants and leaving them unbuttoned as you take your phone into your hand. "Is Jun with you?"
"Funny," he says in a way that suggests he doesn't find that funny at all. You get the feeling you won't find what he says next humorous either. "I was about to ask you the same thing. He hasn't shown for our meeting, and while he's the most vexing person I've ever met, he's also never been late. I can only really wait ten more minutes before I have to go appear as a hallucination to some humans and ask them to build a home for the less fortunate."
You groan, free hand applying pressure to your temple and eyes squeezing shut. "You know what, just… go do that. I'm sorry about this. I accidentally double-booked him. Totally my fault. I'll work with your admin to reschedule. Sorry again." You figure you'll take the fall to keep Jun away from scrutiny until you can find out where the fuck he is.
"'Kay. Don't let it happen again," he sighs dramatically.
"Okay, relax, you glorified gnat with feathers," you scoff, continuing to get dressed. "I said sorry. Y'know what? Don't call me for these things in the future! Have Seungkwan do it next time. I don't want to be subjected to your whiny, little rants."
Joshua makes a noise of disbelief before laughing. "Wow, you're the perfect assistant for Satan. For the record, I was totally kidding. I got to sit here and do nothing but doom scroll, so I don't mind. But I will have my assistant call next time. Sorry for bothering you."
"Good. Don't let it happen again." You don't allow him a response, hanging up and gathering your things as you hurry to leave for the office.
But as you exit your room, you hear your name, called so softly, you would have missed it if you hadn't paused to make sure your tablet was on you. You freeze, frowning in the direction of the sound.
"Jun?" you call, mindlessly setting your bag down in the kitchen as you walk toward your boss's suite. You find his door at the end of the hall, a deep, dark blood red, open just a crack. You knock lightly, and when you don't hear anything, you poke your head through.
And there he is, your missing boss, still cocooned in his bed, his favorite Hellcat and Hellhound sleeping at his feet, the former passed out atop the latter.
"Junnie?" you call again. He groans this time.
"Y/N…" he murmurs, not moving an inch or opening his eyes.
You tiptoe into the room, making a kissy face at Key when the hound's tail starts wagging at the sight of you. The movement makes Lock slide off the dog, meowing helplessly as she does. You get to Jun's bedside and wince when you realize how sick he looks.
The Devil is pale, sweating with a sickly sheen, and looking so weak, it's the first time you've thought he could believably pass as human. You reach out to press the back of your hand to his forehead, but he swats it away.
"Hey!"
"Don't," he whispers, voice hoarse with fatigue. "Fever. I'll burn your skin off."
"Oh," you mutter, immediately taking your hand back. "You're sick. I didn't know the Devil could get sick."
"Demon Flu," he says, eyes fluttering open just enough to peek at you. "Soonyoung sneezed in my face the other day."
"Oh!" you blink at him in surprise. "Ew! Good to know! I will make a note to send him to the Hellhounds to serve as a chew toy for the day."
"Week."
"Got it," you say, nodding. You fidget a little, looking down at your boss with pity. He looks so helpless and sad and cute. You fight the urge to run your fingers through his damp hair. "What do you need? What can I do for you?"
"Nothing. I'll be down until 3:33 a.m. tomorrow," he informs you.
"Specific."
"Just… do… assistant things," he says pathetically, fingers twitching when he tries to wave his hand dismissively.
You can do that. Your first order of business is getting him a tall glass of water and force-feeding it to him until he has rivulets of water very distractingly dribbling down his chin, neck, and between his pecs, where it disappears under the covers.
Then, you get him a cold compress, screeching in surprise when the towel crackles and steams upon contact with his forehead. When that warms up within a minute, you try getting him an actual ice block, chipped straight off the furniture of his weird ice room. You take his moan of relief as a good thing and quickly get to work butchering the ice room until you have an endless supply of blocks for Jun's sizzling forehead.
When you're done with that, you make him the hot pot you made yourself one night and noticed he had several helpings of, spoon feeding it to him despite his several protests. After two slurps, though, there isn't much of a fight, with Jun relaxing back into his pillows and happily allowing you to feed him as he lets his eyes close. You pause, wondering if he fell asleep, but he immediately whines for his next spoonful.
"You're a baby when you're sick."
"I could die."
"You literally couldn't."
He slurps his latest spoonful of broth. "Feels like it."
"Mmm," you hum, smiling at how endearing he is when he doesn't have the energy to put up his big, bad act.
"Y'know…" he rasps, "when I said do assistant things, I meant at work."
"My work is making your life easier, no?" you counter, letting go of the spoon to pick up the chopsticks and pluck meat out of the broth for Jun to eat. He practically purrs when his mouth closes around the chopsticks, and you struggle not to watch his Adam's apple as he swallows. "So I am doing assistant things at work."
Jun opens his eyes, able to open them wider than he was when you first found him. "Just work, hm?"
You set the chopsticks down and pick up the spoon to chase his bite down with broth, but his fingers circle around your wrist, stopping before the spoon can touch his lips. His grip is hot but it doesn't hurt—not how you imagine his face would. "You're full?"
"Why are you feeding me?"
You raise your eyebrows at him. "Because you're sick and need to eat…?"
Jun's eyes narrow infinitesimally, but he releases your wrist, allowing you to feed him more broth.
"Not used to being cared for, are you?" you observe, chuckling. "Big, bad Devil has never been spoonfed?" Your boss rolls his eyes but doesn't entertain you by acknowledging your question.
After a few more bites, his long, slender fingers gently push the bowl away, and he shakes his head, muttering a quiet thank you as you set the food aside on his nightstand. You stand, pulling his blankets up even higher when you see him shiver.
"You don't have to do all this," he sighs as you shove your fingers under his back and legs, tucking his blankets in along his entire body until he looks like an oversized, swaddled baby. "It's not in your employment agreement. Go work."
"I will," you say, rolling your eyes at his stubbornness. "And you realize I can help you without being contractually obligated to, right?" you ask, laughing and collecting all the dishes you need to bring back to the kitchen. "You don't need to have me sign my soul away to get me to care, Junnie. I know I don't need to do any of this. Consider it a friend-slash-roommate helping you."
You finish cleaning up and don't allow him the chance to retort or protest, immediately turning away and calling Lock and Key to follow you out of the room.
"Come on, kiddies," you coo as his pets exit. "Your daddy needs to rest." You glance back up at Jun, who stares at you hard with a deep frown on his face. "Call if you need anything. I'll stay nearby and check on you in an hour!"
DAY THIRTY-SIX
Jun has been weird around you for the last week. It's like that dumb flu of his altered his brain chemistry and made him cold and detached.
There was no more going into your room to wake you up; now he has a shrill alarm clock appear to scream in your ear like a demented banshee, disappearing every time you try to smack wherever its snooze button is. He no longer sits for breakfast with you; now, he tells you he needs to be at the office ahead of you and will simply meet you there. Thankfully, he allows you to continue accompanying him to his summonings, but with how weird he's acting, you wonder if it would be better to just face your fears and be alone.
You attempted to talk to him throughout the week, trying not to take it personally when all you got were one-worded responses or grunts or blank stares.
Three days in, you started slacking a little to force him to say more than one word to you. You scheduled meetings so he'd show up ten minutes late. You sent a Hell-wide email promising everyone a four-day work week if quotas were met. You even threatened to release the lower-level sinners from their torture chambers to cause trouble for the archangels. All that got you was a severe glare, and a notice from Demon Resources that one more mistake would get you on a performance improvement plan, which you were informed would involve giving the Hellhounds baths alongside the damned souls in charge of that.
It's clear that Jun is in a mood—probably the aftereffects of the mysterious Demon Flu you can't catch. You've resigned yourself to riding it out, accepting that even the Devil is prone to tantrums and mood swings.
The phone on your desk rings, and you heave a tired sigh before answering.
"Hi. You've reached the desk of The Supreme Lord of Sulkiness," you greet loudly, ignoring the series of choked coughs that erupt from your boss's office behind you. "How may I help you?"
"Oh, uh…" the voice pauses like they're checking something. "This is His Infernal Majesty's desk, correct?"
"Yep, that's what I just saaaaid," you sing-song. "Now how can I help you?"
"This is the front desk. We have an archangel on the line that insists on speaking with His Infernal Majesty."
You roll your eyes. "Who is it?"
"Archangel Brayden…?"
The idiot is the biggest pain in your ass. You're not even sure why he constantly asks after Jun when Joshua is the archangel appointed with all relations having to do with Hell. It's probably a weird power play in Heaven that you're not privy to, but you've been dodging him for days now.
"Tell him he's not available."
"He is threatening to visit for the third time this week."
"Jesus Christ," you mutter.
"You want me to transfer him to Christ?"
You frown deeply at that. "What? We can transfer him to—wait, what?"
"You said—"
"Never mind, just—ugh," you groan in frustration, resting your elbows on the desk and cradling your head in your free hand. "Put him through."
"Will do." The line cuts to the agonized screams of damned souls as you wait for her to transfer him to you.
"Hello?" his dumb voice drifts through the receiver.
"Hi. You've reached the desk of—"
"Who am I speaking to?"
You clamp your mouth shut, rolling your lips between your teeth to keep from immediately snapping at him. When you're sure you won't, you state your name.
He still manages to say it wrong, but you don't bother correcting him. "I need a meeting with Satan."
"And why is that?"
He laughs arrogantly. "That's between me and him."
"Well, he's busy."
"I haven't even given you my availability."
"Don't need yours. I have his, and he's busy." You tack on "for the rest of time" for good measure.
There's a loaded silence long enough that you wonder if you've effectively driven him into hanging up. Of course, that would be too easy. "You really don't want to mouth off with me."
"Excuse me?" You huff a laugh of disbelief. You swear some of these angels are bigger assholes than the demons crawling around here.
"You heard me," he seethes. You feel your self-control dissolving by the second. "Now you can either transfer me to your boss like a good, little demon slave—"
"I am literally none of those four things."
"—or," he near-shouts over you, "you can put me in his books. This is a very important meeting, and I'd hate for you to have your soul ripped apart for failing to schedule it."
"Listen here," you hiss, "you repulsive, pretentious, foul excuse for an—"
"Brayden."
You freeze as Jun's voice cuts into the call. You turn toward his office to find him leaning against his desk, arms crossed over his chest and legs crossed at the ankles. His eyes slide over to you and he lazily lifts a hand and beckons you over with two fingers. You quickly hang the phone up and stand, entering Jun's office in time to catch the archangel bumbling nonsensically on speakerphone.
He nods at the seats in front of him and you take one, slowly lowering yourself as he speaks.
"I don't believe we've met," Jun says, interrupting his stuttering.
"Um, no, we haven't! I just wanted to schedule a coffee chat to introduce myself!" You glare at the phone. A coffee chat is his very important meeting?
"What a fucking tool," you murmur.
"A coffee chat," the Devil repeats.
"Yes. I figured Hell is a huge place. Maybe you need two archangels to serve as point. I'd love to put my name in the ring—"
"And you thought threatening my assistant was the best way to do it?" Jun asks, face blank as he stares at you.
"Oh, no," he says, laughing like it's a joke, "No, no, definitely not. I was not threatening her."
"Hm."
You've grown accustomed to Jun's many variations of hm. There's his thoughtful hm. The hm when he's trying not to smile or laugh. His angry hm. The that-is-the-dumbest-thing-I've-ever-fucking-heard hm. A hm reserved especially for when Soonyoung annoys him. This one isn't one you're familiar with.
"What was it you were saying about her soul being torn apart?" Saying the words again makes Jun's eyes turn a deep red. His hands turn into fists, making the veins running up his forearm pop.
"I was joking!" Brayden insists. "I was totally joking. She and I joke like that! We—"
"Lie to me one more time and I'll have God cast you out of Heaven so fast, you won't know how you ended up in my Hellhound's digestive system."
The line falls silent, and your body does interesting things in reaction to the words—the most obvious one being the odd ache between your legs. You fidget a little, finger slipping into your collar and pulling a little as you begin to feel warm.
"How long have you been an archangel, Brayden?"
"Uh, well, heh," he laughs nervously. "So, I'm not quite an archangel yet. I'm—"
Jun cuts him off with a sharp, terrifying laugh. "And now you never will be," he informs him. "I'm sure both Archangel Joshua and God will agree that you aren't fit for that role."
He squeaks in protest. "I—"
"Wow, how productive!" Jun says with feigned glee. "Look at us, we had a great chat and we didn't even need to waste time breathing each other's air or ruining the joys of drinking caffeine."
"Uh, I, um, sir—"
"Have any other demands you'd like to make?"
"No," he answers immediately. "No, I… I don't. I'm sorry. I—"
"Perfect," he says. "Now if you'll apologize to my assistant, we can get on with our lives. And make it good, Brayden. I don't like to repeat orders."
"I'm so sorry," Brayden grovels, sounding like he's on the verge of tears, if not fully crying already. He sniffles and his voice cracks on his next words. "I don't know why I was acting like such an asshole and bothering all of you when I had no business going over Archangel Joshua's head like that. I'm sorry, Satan."
Jun narrows his eyes. "I don't want your apologies."
"I'm sorry, Y/N."
"Hm," he accepts it. "Then I think our business is done. And Brayden?"
"Yes?" his voice trembles.
"If I hear that you called anyone here in Hell again, let alone my assistant," he starts, eyes flashing a bright and violent scarlet now, "I will personally come up there, pluck you right out of the fucking sky, and take my sweet, sweet time flaying you with a dull butter knife—wings and all—before I tear your soul apart, piece by agonizing piece myself."
There's a loud sniffle followed by a whimper on the line, but the ache inside you is so strong now, you can't even enjoy the sound.
"And if you think my friendships with your superiors will stop me, you are so sorely mistaken." His pause is pregnant with tension, his eyes boring into you as he lands his final threat. "I have absolutely no problem with starting a war over you."
The words send a chill down your spine, and you cross your legs tightly to keep from twitching at the sensation. You grip the arms of your chair and avert your eyes from your boss, trying to understand what the fuck is happening to your body right now. You quietly blow a breath out through your mouth when the sensation doesn't let up.
As expected, the angel doesn't have a proper response to that.
"Good talk, Brayden," Jun says sardonically. "Don't let me hear your voice ever again."
He reaches over and presses a button on his phone, ending the call. He looks back to you, his eyes finally fading back to that deep, comforting brown. He sighs, seeming suddenly and significantly less sure of himself than he was on the phone.
"Um," he clears his throat, coughing a little as he grips the edge of his desk with both hands. He looks down at his lap and inhales deeply. His breath is spicy with the smell of your chips on his exhale, blowing strands of your hair away from your face. "Sorry."
"Why?" you laugh in disbelief. The sound must unwind something in him because his posture relaxes and he looks back up at you. "That was amazing!"
He snorts, shaking his head at himself. "Yeah, well. It's going to result in a lot of discussions with God and Joshua, so… please find something on their calendars."
"Got it, boss," you say, standing to return to your own desk.
Before you get far, though, Jun calls your name, the syllables sounding weird from him—much softer and gentler than you've ever heard him be. It almost triggers your fight or flight for some reason.
"Yeah?" you ask slowly, eyes flitting about the room nervously.
"You don't have to stay on calls like that for my sake," he tells you, crossing his arms again, this time like he's almost trying to protect himself from you. "I know you took the blame for me missing all my meetings while sick, and I know you try to deal with all kinds of bullshit because you don't want people to think the Devil hired someone without a backbone."
The words strike a chord with you that you didn't realize even existed. Did you do that? If you think about it, you can see why your boss would think so. Day in and day out, no matter how much attitude you gave to whoever you were talking to, you still stayed and dealt with the problem so that the others would find you reliable—so that they wouldn't have to bring it to Jun.
You also took the blame for the missed meetings because Jun's health wasn't anyone's business, not until he made it clear it was okay to share with others, anyway. No one needed to know he missed a few meetings without notice.
"So… don't do that," Jun says, sighing. "Assholes—whether in Heaven or Hell—they're always going to try and give you a hard time because they're too scared to say it to my face. And I know without a doubt that you can handle it, but… you're not my shield, okay?"
"Okay."
"I know you were about to rip that prick a new asshole," he continues, making you smile, "but I want you to feel like you can do that from the jump if you need to. Next time, just tell him to fuck off. Or hang up. Or bring me in. Whatever. If anyone has an issue with the way you work, they can talk to me. Just… don't sit there and take it."
You nod slowly. "Alright, I won't… thanks."
"Mhm."
"Hey, Junnie," you say suddenly, taking advantage of his sudden willingness to talk to you now. He hums again, nodding for you to go on, his eyes skimming every surface of your face. It isn't until this moment that you realize he hasn't properly looked at you in a week. "Um. Are we good?"
He frowns. "What do you mean?"
"You've just been…" you trail off, shrugging. "I don't know, a little cold lately?" You hate how pathetic and whiny it makes you sound. "And if it's because I did something wrong, well, I would just like to remind you that our agreement can only be terminated by my death, the collapse of reality, or mutual agreement."
The corner of his mouth twitches upward, but his expression stays serious and he keeps taking his time watching you. So much time, you start to wring your hands nervously. Finally, when he seems to be finished with studying every last millimeter of your face, he shakes his head.
"You haven't done anything wrong," he assures you, sounding tired. "I was just feeling weird. I'm okay, though. We're okay. You don't have to worry about termination. You've made it clear I'm stuck with you."
You grin, nodding. "Good. Because I have grown very accustomed to my unlimited interior design budget and my 1,000-thread-count sheets."
He snorts, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, I'm sure you have. Now go schedule me a coffee chat with God and Joshua for tomorrow, please. Move things around if you must. I'm sure Brayden has gone crying about it to Mommy by now."
You laugh. "Will do."
You leave his office feeling lighter than you have all week.
DAY THIRTY-SEVEN
Jun: where tf r u Me: have a dr appt!!! Jun: what why r u ok Jun: i'll come over Me: no it's ok it's just a check-up Jun: liar we don't do check-ups in hell Me: yeah well i am human and i need a check-up Jun: u sure ur ok? Me: yes! i'll be in the office soon. Jun: fine… if a few hellhounds find u just send them back Me: bruh Me: did you give the dogs my scent to find me??? Jun: u never wake up before me let alone leave the house before me Me: you could have just called Jun: k wtvr noted Me: 23 HELLHOUNDS IS NOT A FEW JUNNIE WTF Jun: SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP JUST SEND THEM BACK
"His Infernal Majesty seems to be very… protective over you," the doctor observes, still clearly annoyed with having 23 fire-breathing Hellhounds at her door.
You wave a hand and laugh uncomfortably. "Oh, he's just a very concerned and, uh, considerate person."
The doctor just stares. "The Devil. Considerate. Right."
"Um. So anyway," you clear your throat, desperate to change the subject. "Do you have experience with humans?"
"No, but I will do everything I can to ensure you leave healthy." Her voice is stern and uncompromising, and you suddenly feel like you're in a principal's office rather than a doctor's. She sits down on a rolling stool, scoots closer to the table you're perched on, and mutters, "Wouldn't want more Hellhounds plowing my door down, ready to melt my face off because the Devil's charge was unhappy."
You shift on the table a bit uncomfortably but smile. It's clear that she will not be forgetting about the 23 Hellhounds sent to her office just because a human wasn't in bed when the Devil woke up anytime soon. Not while you're still in her office, at least.
Jun wouldn't do anything to her anyway. You'd probably just go to a doctor on Earth next time if Hell's medical services weren't sufficient.
"So what brings you in today?" she sighs, crossing her legs and folding her hands over her knees.
"Right, so I experienced something weird yesterday," you start. "I had a stressful workplace issue and my body reacted very unexpectedly, and I now require medical attention."
The doctor frowns, rolling closer to you on her stool. "Okay, if you're comfortable, can you describe the stressful event and how your body reacted?"
"Well, an angel was harassing the front desk so they had him talk to me, and then he started saying all this foul shit—"
"Brayden."
Your eyebrows shoot up. "Yes! How did you know?"
"He's called every department of this Devil-forsaken hellscape," she says, shaking her head and rolling her eyes. "How is a demon doctor supposed to get an archangel a meeting with the Devil?"
You scoff. "Well, he's not an archangel, and it was just a coffee chat."
The doctor snorts, and as you watch her terse personality start to melt, you deem it safe to dive into the full story. By the end of it, she's clapping and giggling, a massive difference from when she was forced to face 23 Hellhounds.
"Wow, that's very attractive of His Infernal Majesty."
You frown. "What?"
She raises an eyebrow at you. "You don't think so?"
"Uh…" You're stumped.
It's not that you've never found anyone attractive… actually, it absolutely is that you've never found anyone attractive.
You tried dating but stopped years ago when you recognized that you were doing it because you felt an obligation to. All your friends were dating or in long-term committed relationships—or at the very least, sleeping around. Dating apps seemed like something you were supposed to do. You quickly shut that idea down. Romance wasn't a hole you've felt in your life so it's not one you lingered on or thought about often. Sure, you knew when people were beautiful or handsome or hot or cute—you know without a doubt that Jun is all of the above. But attraction is harder. You're not sure you've ever felt it.
"You've never felt attraction." Your eyes widen at the demon physician.
"Can you read minds?"
She snorts. "No. I can read your face." She narrows her eyes at you and nods. "And I think I know what happened to you."
"But I haven't given you my symptoms."
"Let me guess," she says, crossing her arms and scooting her stool back so she can lean against the counter behind her. "Elevated heart rate, flushing, perspiration… maybe some pain in the abdominal area or… lower."
You stare at her. "Are you sure you can't read my mind?"
She smirks. "I'm sure, human." She sighs. "You're going to be perfectly fine. Though I do recommend you explore options for therapy."
You startle. "What? Why?"
"Because what you felt was arousal," she reveals, "and I'm guessing you might need someone to process those thoughts about your boss with and it will not be me."
You choke on nothing, triggering a coughing attack that lasts embarrassingly long. When you finally stop, your chest is heaving and the doctor is staring at you blankly.
"Are you done?"
"Coughing? Yes. With you? Absolutely not," you inform her, ignoring the way she sighs like this is an inconvenience. "What do you mean arousal?"
"I mean, you found His Infernal Majesty's defense of you attractive and your body responded accordingly. Very strongly—much more strongly than anyone else probably would—but accordingly."
Your face turns Hellfire hot, and you wish the dogs had barbecued you while they were here.
"You have nothing to worry about as far as your health is concerned. These feelings are very natural." She thinks for a moment before adding: "For humans. Demons are better at discretion."
"But… he was just being nice… why would that be attractive?"
She shrugs. "The bar is in Hell, literally."
"Oh god…" you murmur. Is this what happened to your friends when they insisted that a man paying half the bill after ordering several cocktails to their one water was modern day romance?
"I will say…" she starts, looking a little hesitant as she does.
"You can say it," you encourage her. "I won't tell anyone. HIPAA, right?"
"One, that's an American thing, and two, that's meant to protect the patient's privacy, not the other way around."
"Whatever," you sigh. "You get it."
"Between us girls," she says, even though you two aren't even of the same species. It makes you smile. "I understand why your body would react the way it did. It is quite nice to feel protected and safe."
"Protected and safe," you echo quietly.
"Mhm. Has anyone ever made you feel that?"
The answer comes to you fast. No. No one has ever made you feel protected or safe. That has been your own responsibility since you were four. Still, it takes you a moment to answer because you realize that although that would've been the answer a few months ago, it's more complicated now.
Now, the answer is: no. No one has ever made you feel that way. Not until Jun.
"Can I have a referral to that therapist?"
She smiles. "I'll give you a list of recs, but this isn't that putrid Hell hole you call Earth; you don't need a referral to seek healthcare."
"Right."
When you get into the office and Jun apologizes for the Hellhounds and asks if everything was fine at the doctor's (and if he needs to throw anyone into a vat of boiling oil), you feel your symptoms again. And you know Hell's doctor is right.
DAY FORTY-TWO
Hell is closed tomorrow, and it's all thanks to you. You hope that you'll be included in some sort of history book for this. Every demon you've come across has made it clear that you deserve to be anyway. Because after the debacle with Soonyoung's day off and a single complaint you made to Jun about how Hell doesn't have enough paid holidays, the underworld now has Demon Appreciation Day (DAD!), an unprecedented day off for all of Hell's employees as a thank you for their hard work terrorizing humans.
Unfortunately, it also means the damned souls get a break from torment, but Jeonghan, Chief Torment and Innovation Officer, has assured Jun he's already on it, figuring out ways to automate torture for one day so that the worst human beings in history do not get a break ever again.
"What are you going to do for DAD?" Soonyoung asks the current watercooler demon on shift as soon as she's done small talking a damned soul to tears.
"I'm going to abstain from speaking to anyone." You smile at the answer as you get your own cup of water.
"Oh," Soonyoung chirps, nodding slowly. She glares at him and he immediately walks away, beckoning you to hurry. "We don't want to mess with Jeongyeon when her social battery is dead." You wave bye to her and she winks at you. You know very well her social battery is always dead around Soonyoung no matter what. "Anyway, what are you, our amazing Queen of DAD, going to do on your day off?"
"Queen is a little excessive," you say, not very keen on taking a title that would encroach on any of Jun's millions, even as a joke. "Maybe mayor."
Soonyoung clearly doesn't like the suggested edit, scoffing. "No. Queen is fitting."
You roll your eyes. "Sure."
"What? It is! You're the reason we have our first mandated day off ever!" the demon reminds you. His mouth twists into a mischievous smirk now. "Plus, with all the rumors going 'round, 'queen' is perfect for our king."
You stop in your tracks. "What?"
He giggles so obnoxiously, you slap his arm more out of reflex than anything else. He gasps, rubbing the spot dramatically. "What?! I'm just the messenger! Everyone is talking about it."
"About what?"
"About how His Infernal Majesty must be in love with you if he's willing to create an entire day off just for you."
The words make your stomach jump into your throat. Ever since your appointment, you've been paying extra attention to your feelings, and you're convinced you actually have no idea what anything feels like. Have you ever properly known what you were feeling? What is a feeling anyway?
When Jun ripped the blankets off you in the morning, did you feel annoyed, furious, or helpless?
When Jun wordlessly handed you your coffee, did you feel grateful, enamored, or nothing at all because you were still half asleep?
When he wrapped his long ass fingers around your wrist to travel to Earth for summonings, did you feel giddy, excited, or grateful that you wouldn't be alone at home?
When Soonyoung says that there are rumors that Jun is in love with you, do you feel confused, anxious, or endlessly irritated with the demon?
Since you haven't had a chance to see a therapist, you pick the last one.
You scoff. "It isn't for me, you idiot. I just floated the idea by him."
"And any idea you float by him becomes a fully fleshed out thing by the end of the day."
"Okay, so he's a good and receptive boss."
His eyebrows rise at that. "He's the Devil."
Touché. "It's ridiculous."
"That he loves you to the point of invention? No, I d—"
You shove him into the wall, effectively making him spill his water all over himself. "Hey! You can't just go hitting people f—"
"Actually, I can!" you correct him, walking away. "Jun explicitly gave me permission to do whatever the fuck I want! So take it up with him!"
What a ridiculous rumor from an even more ridiculous demon.
Of all the much cooler rumors that could've been made, that one is the one they settled on? If you knew that's the news that would be spreading, you would've started your own rumors about yourself. Like you're actually God's super cool daughter and this is just a nepotism internship before you become the heiress of Heaven. Or that Hell is just a simulation being run by a crazy scientist named Jun and your arrival marks the imminent end of the experiment—an antichrist of sorts. Kind of poetic.
But the Devil being in love with his assistant? Both impossible and cliche and scary to think about because you don't think you'd be able to pick up on it even if it were possible.
When you return home, you're debating telling Jun about this rumor just to watch him stutter and squirm and turn red (and maybe make plans to disembowel a demon or two), but that's all forgotten when you find your boss back early from a meeting with God he took in purgatory. And endearingly enough, he's sprawled across the couch with both Lock and Key on his stomach and leg respectively, all three of them fast asleep.
You grin, taking several photos before you pocket your phone and watch his chest rise and fall, slowly coming to the realization that Jun needed this break too. You've never seen the man nap, and up until the day he got sick, you were still convinced he never even slept at all. If he's taking a nap, you know it's because he badly needs it. You're determined to leave him be, but you hear your name just as you're about to leave the living room.
"Hey," you greet him, smiling at how confused and sleepy he looks as he lifts his head and stares at his pets. "Sorry, did I wake you?"
He shakes his head, letting it plop back onto the couch when it's clear Lock and Key have no intention of moving. "No, I've been napping long enough," he says, his voice deep and gravely with sleep. You shift your weight from foot to foot as he continues speaking, settling for squeezing your thighs together when your sudden discomfort isn't alleviated. Oh god. Is this arousal again? "God cancelled last minute." He yawns, mouth opening comically wide. "Something about a miracle gone wrong."
"Ah," you nod, walking over to the three of them and taking the empty sectional by his head while you try to get yours to shut up. "What are your plans for this rare afternoon off then?" you ask. "And for DAD?"
Jun tilts his head up to look at you. "Stop calling it that," he deadpans.
"No," you say simply. "It's my holiday and I will call it what I want."
You expect him to point out it isn't your holiday; after all, you aren't even a demon. You're just the catalyst behind something that was a long time coming. But the argument doesn't come. Instead, your boss sighs and straightens his head again, staring at the ceiling.
"Fair enough, I suppose."
You raise your eyebrows, smiling. You're about to point out he basically just agreed that it's your holiday when you hear Soonyoung's stupid voice in the back of your mind. He created a holiday for you. Is that not a man who loves you?
You shudder, shaking a little like that will exorcise the demon from your subconscious.
"You okay?" Jun asks, looking back up at you.
"Huh? Yeah." You struggle to wipe the frown off your face before looking down at the Devil. "Want dinner?"
"Hot pot?"
"I've made hot pot several times this month," you groan. "Are you not tired of it?"
He looks at you like you're crazy. "No?" He sits up abruptly without removing Lock from his stomach first, and the cat releases an ear-piercing yowl before jumping off him. Key follows suit as Jun pulls his legs away and plants his feet on the floor. "You humans tire of things so fast. It's why you're all so vulnerable to temptation."
"Pfft. Me? Prone to temptation?" You pause and think of all the material things you've forced Jun to buy you under the guise of it being absolutely necessary for your productivity as his assistant. You shrug. "Okay, yeah. That is true."
Jun smirks and shakes his head. "Come on. Let's eat."
You nod, following him as he gets up ahead of you and walks into the kitchen. You slow at the door when you find him leaning his back against the fridge, his arms crossed and his lips pursed. He's blushing slightly, and he looks like he almost regrets doing this.
"Happy DAD, I guess."
The kitchen is decorated in every possible shade of pink you've ever seen—balloons, streamers, tinsel, confetti, a sign that says Demon Human Appreciation Day! And in the middle of the kitchen island is a cake, and just looking at it, you know it's not like the blood-based desserts that the demons around here like to indulge in.
"I never had a meeting with God," Jun mutters. "I just had you put that in for me. I was actually meeting Joshua to get this. It's angel cake. Actual angel cake. They use stardust sugar, moon milk, morning dew, and cloudberries. Figured you'd prefer this over devil's cake… actual devil's cake."
You stare at it, decorated beautifully with piped frosting and fresh berries. It's a pale pink—so pale, it looks white compared to the other shades that litter the space—and its frosting just barely glitters under the light. The top reads, Best Human Ever.
"Of course, the angels chose the message. To be clear, I would never call you the best."
You're finally snapped out of your daze at the words, which prompt you to roll your eyes. "Yes because you would use something much better. Like Most Perfect Human Ever, right, Junnie?"
His blush deepens and he glares at the wall across from him. "No."
You look around, stunned by the display of appreciation, especially for someone who was technically just fulfilling her part of the contract. You've never even gotten a birthday party thrown for you, and the happiness you're filled with threatens to strangle you. You swallow the knot forming in your throat, thinking that maybe DAD is your favorite holiday.
"Can I hug you?"
"Absolutely not."
"Oh come on!" you whine, already walking to him with open arms. "You can't do something so kind and cute and wonderful and not accept a hug!"
He backs away from you, hands splayed in front of him to keep you away. "The Devil doesn't do hugs."
"The Devil probably also doesn't have a history of showing his assistant appreciation," you point out. "Or securing her an angel cake she's going to eat in one sitting!"
Jun pauses, frowning. "One sitting?! It's meant to serve 10 people!"
"Give me a hug!" you shriek, jumping at him.
He, of course, disappears. You stumble into the space he was just standing in and gasp in mock offense at being evaded. You spin around, pouting, and find him right behind you, glaring. You sigh.
"Okay, if you're really not consenting to a hug, I will not force you into one. But if you're just being an emotionally constipated weirdo, I would ask that you suppress that for DAD and allow just one—" You hold up one finger for emphasis. "—hug. Please."
Jun's Adam's apple bobs as he swallows nothing, his eyes zoning out on something above your head. He shakes his head and sighs. "Fine. One hug, bu—oof."
You don't wait for him to finish his sentence, hugging him so tightly, you immediately start sweating from the heat radiating through his clothes. But you don't care, tightening your arms around his waist and pressing your cheek as far into his chest as it will go. You're on the verge of tears and your boss doesn't need to see it.
When he realizes you fully intend on making your hug last more than a millisecond, a single hand comes up to rest on your shoulder, thumb hesitantly sweeping back and forth in a comforting caress.
For the first time in several days, you don't bother to check in with your feelings and you decide maybe it's time to stop. Because this just feels nice, and if it feels nice, then that's all you want to know. Everything else is noise that threatens to pop this bubble of safety you're in—Jun's arms. You decide then that the nuances of your happiness are none of your business as long as you are happy. Happy. Something you're starting to think you've never fully been now that you've truly experienced it here, in Hell.
"Thank you, Junnie," you mumble against his chest. You know it's easy to tell you've been brought to tears from the way your watery voice trembles, but thankfully, the Devil doesn't point it out. "You don't know how much this means to me."
He sighs, squeezing your shoulder. "I think I do." After a moment, he adds: "Thanks for everything you do for Hell… and for me. You are very…" He clears his throat uncomfortably, "… appreciated here."
You smile, sighing as you finally pull away from him, wiping at your eyes discreetly as you do. "Thank you. Now let me make you hot pot and let's eat this cake."
You turn away fast to hide your glassy eyes, missing the way Jun rests a palm to his chest where you had just been pressed against him.
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A/N: again, this is already done and tumblr just kept me from keeping this a one shot bc of its 1000 block limit bc it HATES ME! i've queued the next part to release this wed 7/1 so pls stay tuned! :)
