About
My name is Daeeun (she/her), and I'm in my 20s. I'm a Capricorn Sun !
My ult groups are ATEEZ, GOT7, and Red Velvet. My biases in those groups are Wooyoung, Yugyeom, and Yeri respectively.
I take requests! It doesn’t matter which group you request for, I will gladly do some research and write your request. :) You can find the guidelines for requests down below.
Masterlist : Here
REQUEST GUIDELINES
I write for any group, but I reserve the write to decline a request or part of a request for any reason.
I will not write
Graphic sexual assault, pedophilia and incest, animal abuse, glamorisation of any mental health or physical ailments, any material that may encourage sasaeng actions, and rape.
Please don’t ask for frequent updates on your request—I do my best to write as quickly as I can. You can inquire about the status but please try not to ask without reprieve.
If you want to send in a porn w/o plot request, please send it to @daddyfordaeddy ^^ That blog is my pwp blog. Any smut requests sent to this blog will be posted there.
Summary: Wooyoung has always believed that if someone is still breathing, they're worth saving. So when he finds a stranger half-buried beneath the desert sand, bringing them home isn't really a choice. Convincing them to stay might be.
-
This was written for a collab with some lovely members of @lapydiaries <3 @potatomountain [No More Running] @sanjoongie @anyamaris [Guardian's Oath] @pars-ley @defwoodz @flurrys-creativity @an-annyeoing-writer all wrote amazing stories (which I will link as they post)
Wooyoung hasn’t seen a sandstorm like this in a long time. Though the storms are a common occurrence, this time he can hardly see an inch past the tip of his nose. Even the goggles he has on do little to clear his line of vision. If it wasn’t for his extended training with that wretched government, he’s sure he wouldn’t be as good at navigating with limited sight as he is right now. At least one good thing came of that time in his life.
The wind howls around him, making it feel almost as if he’s walking underwater, but he’s sure he can’t be far from the safe house. Thank God for the cable wire he connected to the building so he can follow it back easily. Almost there.
Still. He hasn’t worked out much since he took over the safehouse, and carrying someone’s dead weight is tough. It feels like hours have passed when he finally lugs the person to the door, fumbling with the lock for a moment before he finally manages to haul them inside and down the secondary hatch, miraculously not dropping them down the ladder. With a groan and final push, he gets them right side up on the worn leather couch and he finally can get a good look at them. She’s a young girl, can’t be much older than him, and her face is almost serene, if not for the slight crease between her brows. He doesn’t recognize her at all, and it makes anxiety churn in his gut.
He takes one more step forward when something catches on his foot and he stumbles forward, almost falling flat on his face. Frustrated, he looks down to see a large lump half-buried under the sand. He almost passes it by, but on closer inspection, he blanches. It’s a human. Against his instincts, Wooyoung hooks the wire to his belt before he bends down and scoops the body up, then starts his trek back up. As much as every part of his brain screams at him to leave whoever they are, he doesn’t think he could stand having another death on his hands.
As he starts cleaning the sand off his outerwear, he can’t help but think about the worst possible scenarios, and memories of his past flash through his mind. Wooyoung’s breaths grow heavier, and he sits at the kitchen table with a thud. It’s been a long time since he’s thought of the bright lights and smell of coppery metal that haunt him. It takes him a long time to get his breathing under control, even longer to wave away the memories filling his mind like haze. He really needs a drink.
With great reluctance, Wooyoung forces himself up from the chair and stumbles over to the cabinet, pulling out a bottle of old bourbon and taking a swig. He doesn’t bother fetching himself a glass, it’s not like anyone can see him right now. It takes him a little, but he can finally feel his heart settle, and he returns to his kitchen chair. This time, he just contemplates what to do with the unconscious person on his couch right now.
Out of curiosity, Wooyoung steps closer. She must be around his age, but the crease between her brows speaks of more stress than people his age should be under. He would know, he thinks his forehead wrinkles have made a permanent home. A worn jacket rests on her shoulders, covered in sand, and he silently bemoans the state that will become of his washing machine.
He reaches out, dusting off the majority of it, careful not to wake her. The lapels are faded, but his hands pause as he brushes over an almost completely worn through lapel. Wooyoung brushes his fingers over the ridges of an insignia, but the shape of it is familiar. Too familiar.
With a jolt, Wooyoung yanks his hand back. He knows that symbol all too well — he wore it for a time. Government.
His hand shakes as he reaches out again to readjust the lapel, trying to see it more clearly. The jacket is clearly worn, almost falling apart, but he can’t help but fear for his safety. What if she was sent by the military to stake out the base and just got caught in the sandstorm before she could find him? He knows deep down it makes no sense, but he can’t stop his mind from wandering.
But despite the panic, he can’t help but not feel a single lick of regret in his bones for taking her in. He could be wrong. And this house is for caring for people. Not for leaving them out in the deadly weather because of some deep-sated fear. After a moment, he wipes her face of the grime and sweat beading her forehead, and takes a seat once more to wait for her to waken.
He doesn’t have to wait long. Her eyes open slowly, adjusting to the light before she bolts up, the jacket falling loose around her shoulders. Her eyes dart around before they finally land on him, and something unreadable flashes in her eyes. “You—this place?” her voice is rough from the sand that entered her airways, and she coughs.
Wooyoung hands her a glass of water, eyes studying her carefully. “This is…my home,” he explains-without-explanation. “I found you in the sandstorm.”
She frowns, taking the glass and sipping it, hesitant gratitude in her eyes. “…Thank you.” There’s a long pause, where both parties seem wildly uncomfortable.
“…What’s your name?” Internally, Wooyoung panics. He doesn’t know what to ask. He doesn’t want the jacket to be a warning sign. But he needs to know, to figure it out somehow.
She immediately shrinks into herself, lips pulling into a frown. “…what’s it to you?”
Wooyoung’s lips immediately twist. “Are you kidding me?”
She frowns. “It’s a valid question. You’re not entitled to my personal information.” Her lips twist into a little pout, very out of place on her calculating gaze.
Wooyoung gapes. “I dragged you out of a sandstorm. You are occupying my couch. It absolutely gets me a name.” He gives up before she can argue back. Because, as much as Wooyoung is loath to admit it, he understands it. He’s a stranger, anything could be held over her head. “Fine, whatever. Don’t tell me. Is there something I can call you?”
“Nothing,” she responds just as quickly, and Wooyoung feels like ripping out his hair.
“That is not how conversations work.”
It’s almost like she has a response waiting. “It seems to be working just fine.”
Wooyoung can’t help but be amused. There’s no way to argue with her on this either. At all. And he respects it. “Okay. What were you doing in the sandstorm?”
“I was just wandering.”
“Wandering?” The incredulity in Wooyoung’s voice is very audible.
“The sandstorm happened in the middle of my wandering. Is that a crime?” She’s insanely defensive, and Wooyoung can’t seem to make heads or tails of it.
With a sigh, he leaves that conversation alone for now, lest they go in circles until nighttime. “Well, they usually last at least a few hours. There’s no way you can go back out there today. You already probably inhaled enough sand that you’ll be coughing it out for at least a week.”
This time, she nods, rubbing the centre of her chest absentmindedly. “…Yes. Thank you for helping me. You didn’t have to.”
Wooyoung frowns. “Are you kidding me? You were practically half-dead when I found you. Was I supposed to just leave you to your fate?”
Something flickers in her eyes. “You could have. It wouldn’t have changed anything, I wager.”
Wooyoung scoffs. “You can’t wager on that. You needed help, so I helped. That’s a change if I’ve ever seen one.” The corner of her mouth twitches, and Wooyoung barrels onwards. “Things change. That much I know.”
She looks at him like she wants to argue, eyes narrowed, lips pinched. But she doesn’t. Instead, she lays back down, and Wooyoung knows that’s all he’ll get out of her for today. He stands.
“I’ll prep some dinner.”
She shifts, sitting up and swinging her legs to rest her feet on the floor. “I’ll help.”
Wooyoung holds up a finger. “You. Are half dead. Rest.” For the first time since waking up, she listened.
-
Over the next few days, neither of them pushed. Wooyoung stopped asking questions she wouldn’t answer, and the stranger stopped trying to leave the moment the sandstorm cleared. They settled into something that wasn’t quite comfortable, but no longer uncomfortable either.
Wooyoung found out early on she was quiet…but also incapable of leaving anything where he had put it.
“…Is that a third shelf?” It takes Wooyoung a minute to notice it at first.
That wasn’t entirely true.
He saw the stranger hammering the brackets into the wall the moment he entered the safehouse after fetching supplies. He just ignored it until the sound and curiosity became too much to handle. About two minutes later.
The woman spins around, eyes wide before she schools her expression into neutrality. “Yeah. It’s to organise,” she mutters.
Wooyoung sets down his bags, rolling his shoulders slightly to relieve the ache. “Yeah,” he mimics her tone of voice. “That’s what shelves usually are for. But why are you building one? Did…did I even have one lying around?”
She shoots him a look. “This is why you need a shelf. This was lodged behind your desk, along with—” she checks the pocket of the toolbelt…which he had lost weeks ago “—seventeen screws. Also this belt was under the couch. I hope you don’t mind I’ve been using it.”
He stares. He can’t help it. “Uh—yeah. That’s fine. Thank you.” He mindlessly wanders to the kitchen, rummaging through the drawers and sink.
“The kettle is in the cabinet next to the stove. The one with the broken door.” He opens the cabinet and pulls out the worn kettle, thanking her. Then it hits. The guest misunderstands his face. “I can fix the door after I put this shelf up.”
Wooyoung shakes his head, then again. “That’s not what I’m confused about. I just—why?”
“Your organization skills are abysmal.”
It’s the only explanation she gives, and yet, Wooyoung doesn’t feel the need to ask for more. He just accepts it. “Yeah. This is the most organised it’s been in probably months.”
“Mmh. It was bothering me.”
-
It turns out the shelf wasn’t the end of it.
Over the next few days, his cabinets stopped squeaking, his cutlery drawer became alphabetized, Missing screws reappeared in suspiciously convenient places. He didn’t notice at first, not when he was preoccupied with finding out more about this stranger in his home.
A few days later, Wooyoung wanders around, trying to find the Allen wrench he had needed for approximately six projects, and couldn’t find. He enters the kitchen, brows furrowed, looks up, then just stops.
He was looking for that hex key for days. And his guest is just...spinning it between her fingers as she erases and recompletes the crossword from years ago. "You are such a magpie." The words slip from his mouth without him thinking about it.
She looks up. “What.”
Wooyoung rolls his eyes, holding out his hand. She places the hex key there immediately. “A magpie. You’re always taking my shiny things and reorganising them…or pocketing them. But mostly reorganising.”
Almost immediately, her cheeks flare red and her lips twist. “No, I don’t,” she says quickly, too quickly.
“You organised my silverware drawer by size and by, and I quote, fanciness. I still don’t understand how that category works. You somehow materialised a third shelf to put all my screws into. You have my hex key I have been trying to find for the past three days. And I know you knew I was looking for it because you were helping me find it.” Wooyoung counts off his fingers. With each tick, she shrinks lower in her chair.
“It’s helpful,” she mutters, and Wooyoung closes his eyes for a brief moment and smiles.
“…It is. You’re still a magpie, though.”
She glowers. “Why not ravens? They also collect shiny things and they’re cooler.”
“That’s just it. You’re just cute,” Wooyoung laughs, and dodges her hand trying to smack his shoulder. “Thank you for finding it, though.”
She settles back in her chair and picks up the pencil again, returning to her crossword. “Mmh. It’s nothing.”
“Hey, Magpie?”
“…What?”
“Do you also happen to have my pocket knife?”
“It’s in your coat. Don’t call me Magpie.”
“Thanks, Magpie.”
“…You’re welcome.”
Magpie’s lips twitch before settling into a frown, and she doesn’t look up. The nickname stuck, and she is not happy about it. But despite that, whenever Wooyoung uses it, she answers. Before long, he forgets she was just his guest. She is Magpie, and she knows what he’s looking for. Usually because she’s the one who moved it.
-
The moment San arrives, Wooyoung’s lips quirk up. It’s been a while since he’s seen San, and he can’t lie and say he wasn’t worried. He of course, worries for the rebellion and its members as a whole, but there’s a special anxiety he reserves for those working as inside men. He can feel the ache in his chest already.
“Wooyoung, good to see you,” San smiles brightly, drawing Wooyoung out of his thoughts. No matter everything, San somehow always manages to make Wooyoung relax. “You look well.”
Wooyoung laughs, letting San pull him into a bone-crushing hug. “Well as I can be, you mean. No need to lie.” He knows the bags under his eyes are a little heavier than usual, the way he can’t sleep the night through even on the best days.
But then again, San isn’t one to dwell on Wooyoung’s past. He always knows exactly what is needed. “Sure, but you’re smiling. That’s gotta mean for something, right? Now come on, who was the one you wanted me to meet?”
San keeps his arm around Wooyoung’s shoulders, and Wooyoung doesn’t mind the weight of it. “Magpie, come meet San!”
Magpie pops her head around the corner from the kitchen before shuffling out and smiling stiffly at San. “Nice to meet you,” she says, voice soft as always. “San, right?” She eyes his get-up, but San seems to take no offense.
“That’s right. I knew Wooyoung from way back, and decided to drop in on my favourite idiot.” Wooyoung clicks his tongue, slapping at San’s chest. “Magpie, huh?”
She rolls her eyes, but there’s a fond smile on her face. “Just because I like organizing his mess, Wooyoung decided to torment me with that nickname. But…I think it suits me.”
For the briefest moment, Wooyoung stills. Then he shakes his head and refocuses on the conversation at hand. There’s a glint in San’s eyes as he grins wider. “I think it does too,” he teases. “But Wooyoung does need someone to clean up his messes. Looks like you got the job.”
Wooyoung huffs, pretending to kick at San’s shin. “You didn’t come all this way just to fuck with me, San. Come on, you said you’d help me fix up the airlock hatch.”
Magpie shrugs, blinking a few times, and returns to the side kitchen, and Wooyoung tugs San over to the heavy metal door. “I want to replace the hinges and fix the gasket seals,” he says, rummaging around and pulling out the toolbox.
“So, you only wanted me here to fix the door, I see,” San teases, but reaches out and practically snatches the toolbox from Wooyoung. “You know you’re not supposed to carry heavy things.”
Wooyoung laughs, nudging his shoulder against San’s. “It’s not that heavy. But be my guest. Might as well, since I have a big strong man here to help me.”
San sticks out his tongue at Wooyoung, who pointedly ignores it. “Still.” But he doesn’t push.
As they start fixing up the door, Wooyoung glances towards Magpie, who is humming as she chops vegetables. “So…the jacket…” he begins under his breath, and San looks over, assessing.
“I don’t recognize her or that jacket,” San murmurs, watching Magpie with careful eyes as he threads in the new rubber seal. “It’s old, too. Most of the officers of that rank will get their jackets replaced every few years. She’s much too young to have been part of the government for that long. She can’t have worn that thing officially; you would’ve remembered her.”
Wooyoung nods, screwing in a few loose bolts before wiping the hinges with an oiled rag to keep it from squeaking. “She wasn’t anyone’s wife. Or child, for that matter. And you’re sure no one is on any sort of espionage mission?”
San snorts. “Wouldn’t you actually remember then? They would’ve crossed your desk at some point.”
Wooyoung nods slowly, eyes not leaving his guest. “Yes. And I don’t recognize her either. Do you really think it could just be something she found?”
San sighs, slowly stretching, his bones cracking. “I couldn’t tell you, Wooyoung. It could very well just be something she scavenged. Those guys lose their jackets all the time the moment they step foot onto the actual premises. But she very well might be a government defender. It’s hard to tell just from a jacket. Ask her.”
Wooyoung must have been making a face, because San laughs. “Wooyoung, you can’t run a safehouse without talking to people. Come on, you used to be so good at getting information from people.” He realizes what he says a moment late, pausing before shaking his head with a sigh. “I'm sorry. But really. You can’t just deduce this time. You’ll need to talk to her.”
“Yeah…I know...” Wooyoung’s voice trails off, and he rubs furiously at a particularly stubborn rust patch. The silence between the two linger as they fix the rest of the door, rather than discuss further. There’s not much else San can say this time.
They both glance at Magpie, before standing up. “Thanks for coming all the way out here, San,” Wooyoung smiles crookedly. “Get back safe, but you know that you’re always welcome to stay the night here.” It’s an offer they know San won’t take. He never stays anymore. Nothing that could potentially endanger Wooyoung. Wooyoung tells him constantly it isn’t his fault, but guilt…guilt is a stubborn thing.
San smiles at him and nods before carefully climbing up the ladder and into the open. The moment the door seals shut behind him, Wooyoung sits back down on the couch with a heavy thump. He’s already tired. Not just physically, but from trying to untangle the moral dilemma of keeping Magpie around.
Before he has much time to deliberate, Magpie calls out for him. “Can you help me with the soup?” Wooyoung gets up almost immediately, fighting the headache that threatens to overcome him. Help. He likes doing that. It’s better than just mulling over his choices.
San’s reassurance should have been enough. But it wasn’t. Wooyoung tried convincing himself it was, but instead of that, he just cleaned. Then cleaned some more.
-
Mingi was never one for surprise visits. If he said he was coming, then he would come. Which meant the closer the date crept, the heavier the guilt settles in Wooyoung’s stomach.
Wooyoung was sick of chores already. He refilled the water tank, restocked the food, and attempted to refill the water supply before Magpie took the tank from him and told him, with the same tone she used when organizing his screws, that he was resting. Wooyoung didn’t mean to fall asleep after that. But his body ached, and the couch was so soft after she patched the cushions. He needed this. He ran himself ragged the past few days, but he hadn’t meant to. He was just trying to get everything prepped before Mingi visits. He still…feels guilty. He knows San’s words should’ve been enough. But years of fear just don’t disappear. He needs to hear something solid. Something only Mingi can provide. He hopes Magpie won’t hold it against him.
But when he wakes up, there’s a blanket draped over him, and a warm bowl of clam chowder on the coffee table. Magpie sits at the kitchen table, now occupied by a wordsearch book that he marked over a million times.
Strangely, he doesn’t feel the need to comment. No quip, no teasing smile. He just sits there, his heart warming. This? This feels…right. He begins to sit up, but his spine protests, and he flops back down. Magpie glances up briefly. “You shouldn’t have done all that alone,” she murmurs, almost too quietly. Yet, Wooyoung doesn’t feel admonished, not like he would’ve weeks before.
Before he can dwell, a knock sounds. Several knocks. Very heavy knocks. Wooyougn knows who it is before the brash voice even speaks. “Woo! Open up! Wake your ass up. It’s not that early. No one else is around.”
Guilt floods him again. Mingi. Magpie looks at him curiously. “A friend?”
“Yeah.”
-
Wooyoung and Mingi sit awkwardly at the kitchen table. “So…” Wooyoung starts, glancing at the closed door where that little goosy woman who Mingi brought along showers. He can see the curiosity in Magpie’s eyes from across the room, and he mirrors that feeling. But he won’t pry. Not into Mingi.
Mingi raises one eyebrow, his sharp gaze intensifying. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Wooyoung. You know what my answer is going to be.” He straightens his glove, that perfectly raised eyebrow not moving an inch. “The jacket is enough to incriminate her. I say toss her out to where she belongs. And that’s kinder than killing her, since I can tell you have no intention of listening to my advice.”
At his words, Wooyoung pouts. “That’s not true.” The taller man levels him with a look. “Okay. A little true. But I don’t know…I feel like it’s plausible she just picked it up from somewhere. Can’t you just use your adrenaline and read her energy?”
Mingi pushes up his sunglasses, staring Wooyoung down over the rims. “Look. You wanted me to come and analyse her. So listen. I can’t make you decide the same way I would, but at least just listen. She…she’s strange.” He pauses. “Not like you. Not wrong like you.”
Wooyoung flinches. Hard. “Hey, man,” he laughs weakly. “Not cool.”
Mingi rolls his eyes, but his expression softens the slightest bit. “Shut up and listen, asshole. I just mean…your vibe has always been messed up since you got back from fucking asshole county. But I got used to it. With hers? It’s there. It’s strong. I just can’t read it.” He shakes his head. “It’s like I don’t know what I’m looking at.”
Wooyoung’s lips quirk up into a mirthless smile. “Can you tell if she’s government?”
“No,” Mingi answers truthfully, then exhales slowly. “That’s the problem.”
There’s a long pause. Wooyoung doesn’t know what to say, and Mingi just looks at him. For a tad too long. Wooyoung squirms. “…Yeah,” is all Wooyoung can muster out, and he just wants the conversation to be over. “…Do you need to stay the night?"
Mingi doesn’t respond at first, then he sighs. “You’re keeping her, aren’t you.” It’s not a question, because they both already know. Mingi huffs out a dry laugh. “Yeah. I’ll stay.”
-
Mingi keeps himself scarce, usually talking to Goose in quiet but snippy tones. Wooyoung and Magpie much more polite conversation with her, but in the end, everyone ends up doing their own thing. Magpie continues organising, shying away from Mingi’s intense gaze as he tries to figure her out.
It’s late at night, and the little Goose is resting on the couch, Mingi’s arms wrapped protectively around her despite the harsh way he refers to her. Wooyoung honestly forgets he’s there. He and Magpie sit quietly around the dining table, the only sound light snores from the couch and the scratching of her filling out her crossword once more.
Then Wooyoung’s radio crackles. An outpost he once ran supplies to needed extra hands to fix up the bridge, broken from the sandstorm Wooyoung rescued Magpie from.
“You’re going to go out again?” Magpie stares at him like he just told her he’s going to strip naked in front of her.
“They need my help.”
“But why?” Her voice is taking on an edge he hadn’t heard before. Frustration. “You helped them before, already. You need to help yourself.”
Now it’s Wooyoung’s turn to stare. “Help isn’t a one time thing. You have been organising my spice rack for days.”
She frowns, tapping her fingertips on the table. “That’s different.” She doesn’t expand, and Wooyoung can feel frustration rise.
“How is that different?”
“The spice rack doesn’t get people killed.”
Wooyoung’s blood runs cold. “That’s how you feel?”
“That’s what I know, Wooyoung.” Magpie sounds so, so tired, but Wooyoung just can’t accept why. How can she be tired of fighting? How can she look at everything happening and decide the answer is to stop? “You know what happens when people keep telling themselves the suffering is worth it? They stop seeing the people who are suffering.”
His jaw tightens. “And you think I don't see them?”
“I think you see them so much that you don't know when to stop,” she says softly. “And that’s what you need to do. You can’t keep putting your life on the line for people who won’t even know your name.”
“And what, pray tell, am I supposed to do?” Wooyoung asks, frustrated. “Leave them to die?”
“You’re supposed to live,” Magpie replies as easily as she pours him a cup of tea. And Wooyoung’s world halts.
He can hear blood rushing to his ears, his mouth suddenly dry. “Live? Live while innocent people die from the government’s schemes?”
“Innocent people have died because of the government, yes. But the rebellion doesn’t solve pointless casualties.”
Wooyoung lets out a long-suffering sigh, “No,” he assents tiredly. “But doing nothing doesn’t stop them either.”
Magpie shakes her head, shoulders relaxing like she’s relieved he’s agreeing. He wasn’t. “Everyone always thinks their casualties are necessary.”
Something burns in Wooyoung’s chest. “Necessary?” He doesn’t mean to sound so sharp, so bitter. But that word twists his heart and he can’t stop, won’t stop running his mouth.
“You think I don’t know what casualties look like?” he snaps, his hand curling into a fist, his nails digging into his palm. The pain doesn’t ground him. “They experimented on me. They ruined me. They pumped that shit into my body until there was barely anything left that worked. And when that didn’t work, they threw me into a cell to rot.
He laughs once, but there is nothing funny about it. “Only God, if He’s real, knows how I got out. So you can’t—you won’t tell me I don’t understand the costs.”
He stops. His lips pinch tight. And he pushes his chair back, legs scratching against the hardwood floors, and he stands. Mingi sits on the couch, most definitely awake, watching him with careful eyes. Wooyoung had spent years trying to bury those memories, and somehow, she had dragged them into the light with one word. And, although not his proudest moment, he turns and storms out.
Wooyoung doesn't know how long he was gone. But it was long enough for him to get to the outpost and help until his gut stopped churning, begin the journey home, and then feel sick to his stomach at the sorrow in Magpie's eyes as he told her about things he hadn't let himself think about for years. Guilt mixing with relief because he helped people who needed it, but he left the person he hurt sitting at home and worrying. Because he knows she worried, and that’s why she argued.
When he's back, he expects an empty house. The lights are off anyway, the door locked tight like he had left it. But she's sitting on the couch. Her eyes are red, and Wooyoung doesn't want to know if it's from tears or a lack of sleep. But she's here. She's here, and her bag is still shoved under the desk, and her crossword is still laying on the kitchen table.
"...Where's Mingi?"
"He left."
They stare at each other for a moment. Then Magpie looks down, then Magpie shifts slightly. Making room for him on the couch. And Wooyoung doesn't reopen the fresh wound. Instead, he drops his bag and just collapses into the couch. For tonight, that’s all they need.
-
They don’t talk about it. Wooyoung doesn’t want to. Magpie doesn’t want to. And somehow, they’re both okay with that. Life resumes in small ways. Sometimes, he can’t help but wonder about Magpie, and how she became so cynical, but then she pushes a cup of warm tea into his hand and his train of thought falters.
Her bag remains packed, but it doesn’t move from its spot. Every morning, Wooyoung can’t help but glance to make sure it’s still there. Magpie moves like she lives comfortably, and he doesn’t want to do anything that might jeopardize that. Because as much as he doesn’t want to admit it, he likes having her around.
Sometimes, when he hopes she doesn’t notice, he will just watch her do her crossword, or tinker with the toolbox, or make a pot of soup. And he has to fight the smile from appearing on his face. One evening, as she props her chin on her hand and absentmindedly erases a clue, he sits opposite her, mirroring her pose.
“Magpie?” She doesn’t look up, and he laughs softly and tries again. “Magpie.”
This time, she looks up, chewing on the end of her pencil. “Mmh?”
“Is there anyone who still uses your real name?” He regrets it the moment he says it. Her shoulders tense, her eyes squinting almost imperceptibly before she looks to the side and then back at him. The apology is on the tip of his tongue when she speaks.
“Not anymore.” She tries to smile, but it falls flat. There’s a long pause when Wooyoung thinks she has ended the conversation just like that, but then she clears her throat and fully sets the pencil down. “…It’s YN.”
“Oh.” Wooyoung slaps himself mentally for that reaction. “I like it.”
Magpie stares at him for a long moment, her lips twitching as if deciding whether to smile or frown. “Yeah. I…I miss it, but I like Magpie too.”
Wooyoung’s lips pull into a smile. “Then we can stick with Magpie.” He suddenly needs fresh are and stands, scraping his chair on the floor. “Want to help me do a supply run?”
Magpie laughs this time, shaking her head. “No, thank you. I think I’ll start on dinner instead.”
Disappointment lingers in Wooyoung’s chest but not for long. “Okay. I’ll be back.”
She doesn’t hesitate in her response. “I believe you.”
She was right. He came back that evening. Then the next. And the one after that.
The next few days blur together.
Yeosang drops by with Silver in tow, filling the safehouse with conversation Wooyoung hadn't realized he'd missed. Mingi returns not long after, somehow even grumpier than before. Magpie and Silver disappear into the kitchen over soup, while Wooyoung catches Yeosang up on the latest patrol routes and the bar raid.
For the first time in a long while...The safehouse feels full.
Magpie is convinced Mingi doesn’t like her, but at least he looks at her without as much suspicion now. And Goose is happy enough to join the conversation without Mingi breathing down her back. Wooyoung is in the middle of preparing dinner for a nice little reunion when a little beep catches his attention.
Wooyoung freezes. He knows that beep. In a flash, he’s practically leapt over the kitchen island and scrambled for the desk, blatantly ignoring the looks everyone shoots him. “Fuck—” Wooyoung hisses as he deciphers the coded message. He knows exactly who is on the other end, exactly the situation they’re in. “Fuck.”
Magpie is already standing beside him, hand resting on his shoulder. “What is it?”
“Sa—” he pauses, glances at Silver, at Goose. “One of ours needs help.”
Automatically, he reaches for his bag, hoisting it onto his shoulder. He turns, staring at the tracker screen, walking towards the sealed door.
Then he pauses, raising his head. Looking at Magpie. Looking at…looking at YN. She stares right back, eyes dull, but she says nothing. She doesn’t protest. She just stands there, resigned.
“Mingi, can you take this one? Use the radio, it has a tracker.” Wooyoung suggests it before he can even think, already tossing the old radio to the taller man, grateful for his reflexes. “I…I have to stay back.”
Mingi pockets the remote. “You sure?” he asks, more as a courtesy. He’s already halfway out the door, Goose on his trail.
Yeosang quickly trails behind him. “We’ll fix it, Wooyoung. Count on us. We’ll bring them home,” he says softly, promising Wooyoung exactly what he needs to hear, Silver hot on his heels. And then they’re gone. The hatch is closed. The radio static fades, the safehouse is...quiet.
Wooyoung stands there, his bag still hanging limply off his shoulder. He doesn’t set it down for a long time. “I’ve never done that before,” he says, hearing his voice like he’s underwater. He laughs wetly. “I feel awful.”
YN hesitates. “…Are you going to regret it?”
This time, Wooyoung turns to look at her, the way she chews on her lip, her hands clasped behind her back. “I will. No matter what I would’ve chosen, I would regret it. But…but I want to stay.” Neither of them move.
Then, the moment Wooyoung’s shoulders relax fractionally, YN blurts out, “I need to tell you something.” Like it’s her last chance.
Wooyoung shuts his mouth and immediately sits on the couch. YN remains standing. “I…I have adrenaline. Always have for as long as I can remember. I just…never knew how it manifested until much later.”
She smiles, but there’s not a hint of joy behind it. Nor sadness. It’s just her face. “I thought everyone did it. They would talk about what-ifs, what could’ves. I thought I was human.” Her entire body tenses. “Then one of them came true. My parents, I saw them…saw them get caught in a sandstorm. It happened three days later.”
Wooyoung feels like he’s been dunked in cold water. “All those times…” he replays it all. Her zoning out for a few seconds. The way she never slept in one sitting. “You see the future.”
Her lips twist into a crooked smile. “Not one future. Just possibilities.” She breathes out slowly. “Most of them never happen. Some do. I never know which. That is the worst part of it all.”
And it all falls into place like a puzzle. Why she was so adamant against choosing, why she feared leaving, why she feared staying. “YN…—" she flinches “—Magpie. That sounds lonely.”
She almost shakes her head, but she stops, and agrees. “Yes. It was. I stopped choosing because I thought, I hoped, maybe fewer people would disappear.” She laughs again, closing her eyes briefly. “Are you afraid of me?”
Wooyoung immediately shakes his head. “I’m more afraid of how long you’ve been carrying it yourself.” This time, she chuckles genuinely. It’s still sad, but it’s real.
“That’s a very you answer.”
“Mmh. Yeah. I know.”
-
The next morning, Wooyoung wakes to find a mug of tea waiting where he always sits. Magpie is already bent over her crossword, erasing a clue with the same absentminded concentration as always. When he murmurs a quiet, "morning," she doesn't flinch anymore.
Instead, she looks up, smiles, and silently scootches her chair over to make room for him. “There’s oatmeal in the pot,” she hums, glancing back down at her crossword.
Wooyoung doesn’t grab a bowl first. Rather, he sits next to Magpie, peeking over her shoulder. He watches her diligently fill in the letters quickly, lips pursed slightly. “Haven’t you completed that a billion times already?” he asks, plopping his chin on her shoulder.
Magpie pauses for a moment but lowers her shoulder for him to relax more. “Yeah. But if I get too bored, I just make up my own clues and answers,” she explains absentmindedly, scratching out another stray pencil mark. “Then, once enough time has passed, I’ll erase everything and start again.”
A loud laugh escapes Wooyoung, but he quiets soon after, reaching out to point at one of Magpie’s makeshift clues. ‘Returns Home (8)’. “What’s the answer to this one?”
Magpie hums, filling it in silently. Wooyoung.
He immediately lifts his head to beam at her. “I’m one of your answers?” Despite the face she pulls, his heart warms.
“I ran out of words,” she mumbles, and Wooyoung doesn’t press. The heat blooming in her cheeks is enough for him. For a moment, he’s overcome with the urge to press his lips there. The thought surprises him enough that he clears his throat and stands.
“I need to run to grab some supplies and fill the water tank. Want anything?”
Magpie doesn’t look up, but Wooyoung can hear the slight smile in her voice. “Maybe some vegetables? I think I’ll make soup tonight.”
“You got it,” Wooyoung smiles, brushing his fingers across her shoulder as he walks past to grab his bag. “I’ll be back before sunset.”
This time, she looks up, something amused in her eyes. “You’ll try,” she corrects, and Wooyoung laughs.
“I’ll try.”
After that, "I'll try" becomes their compromise. More often than not, he keeps his word. He comes home with vegetables tucked beneath one arm and whatever odds and ends he'd managed to barter for beneath the other. The lights are already on by the time he reaches the safehouse, and dinner is always waiting. He doesn’t know how she does it, how it always is the perfect temperature when he gets home. But he thanks her every time, happy to see the smile on her face when he hands her some fresh fruit.
Then one evening, he’s late. The supply run took longer than expected, and he was eager to be home. But as he was packing and counting his purchases, he notices one thing laying haphazardly on the wooden table. It took some time to convince the trader to part with it, but extra coin never hurt.
Wooyoung doesn’t even realize the sun has gone down fully, his steps automatic, but as he swings the door open, he sees Magpie. She’s sitting on the couch, eyes unfocused as she mindlessly scribbles in the corner of her crossword. The pot sits on the stove, simmering on low heat. It’s almost picturesque.
The moment he takes a step inside, Magpie’s head snaps up. She looks him up and down, assessing. Only when she deems him alright do her shoulders relax. “…The soup’s been kept warm,” she murmurs.
With a quiet, almost apologetic sigh, Wooyoung steps closer and holds out the crossword book. “Here. I saw it on the way home.”
He watches as Magpie reaches out tentatively, her fingers brushing the cover before she takes it and flips through. “You bought me another one?” she asks, her voice small but filled with gratitude and a hint of surprise.
The corners of Wooyoung’s lips quirk up. “You looked like you were running out of room.” He pauses. “Did you eat yet?”
Magpie pauses, before she smiles. “Yeah. But…I think I’m hungry again.”
They eat together that night in a comfortable silence, the new crossword abandoned on the table between them. Before long, it joins the rest of the books laying on the worn coffee table, and the house is peaceful.
The quiet doesn’t last long. A few days later, the others return, with San in tow. Wooyoung almost falls to his knees in relief seeing that his friend is alive, despite the exhaustion written on San’s face. They don’t linger long, just long enough to grab extra supplies and reassure Wooyoung. There were still settlements to rebuild, patrols to organize, and much needed rest for everyone. But before they left, San rested a hand on Wooyoung’s shoulder, a small smile on his face.
“You made the right choice.”
Wooyoung freezes. Something in his chest finally loosens. Before he can think twice, he beams and throws his arms around San.
“I’m glad you’re here.”
San chuckles, returning the hug. Then they pull apart, and Mingi steps forward, solemnly handing the radio back to Wooyoung. He doesn’t say much, the look in his eyes stormy, but he thanks Wooyoung quietly and trails out. Yeosang sidles up and smacks Wooyoung’s shoulder, a tired grin on his face. “We’ll return with some damn good alcohol next time,” he promises, and Wooyoung laughs shakily.
“You better.”
Wooyoung smiles despite himself. “Guess it’s just us again.”
And then the safehouse is empty save for Magpie standing quietly in the kitchen, watching him. She meets his eyes, before turning back towards the stove.
Magpie hums in agreement. “Come on, soup’s ready.” Wooyoung nods and begins to set the table without another thought.
The safehouse settles again. Tea in the mornings, supply runs in the afternoons. Dinner waiting until the door creaks open and Wooyoung pokes his head around the door with a smile. More and more crosswords piling up.
One morning, Wooyoung wakes before dawn. He glances at Magpie, still curled up around a pillow on the spare mattress, and smiles slightly. Quietly, he starts dressing, glancing over every time he hears her shift, afraid he’ll wake her up.
Then, as he reaches the door to the main room, he hears her smack her lips and he turns to see her sitting up, blinking at him. “You’re up,” he laughs softly.
“Mmh. You’re leaving earlier than usual,” she says in between yawns.
Wooyoung laughs, walking over to neaten her hair automatically. “Yeah. I want to be home earlier today. I’m heading to the relay tower to get some spare antennae and I'm hoping to find some replacement relays, wiring, maybe a signal amplifier if I'm lucky.”
Magpie hums. “Okay. Be safe.”
“I’ll try. But you should go back to sleep,” Wooyoung laughs at the way her eyebrows scrunch.
She smiles, eyes already closing again. “I’ll see you later,” she murmurs, curling back around the pillow.
Wooyoung stills. It's such an ordinary goodbye that, for a moment, he almost misses it, but the smile that splits his face almost hurts. He fights to keep his voice level, moving his hand from her face. “Yeah. I’ll see you later.”
-
The house is far too quiet. No chattering, no friendly arguments, just silence and the flip of each crossword page. The sun remains freshly risen, and it feels like the clock hasn’t made one more tick. Wooyoung had only left an hour or so ago, when the sky was light but the sun was still hidden. You shuffle in your seat, erase another letter, look up at the clock, take a sip of your now-cold tea.
You’ve cleaned everything, sorted and resorted the cutlery drawer, And yet, you can’t seem to sit still. How long has Wooyoung been gone, anyway? You shake your head, trying to chase away your worries. He’s fine. He can handle it. He always comes back.
It feels like something crawls up your spine, and you stand abruptly, the chair scraping against the dull hardwood floors. You can’t sit at home idle anymore, you’ll go insane. So instead, you rummage through your bag to grab only the necessities before borrowing one of Wooyoung’s long scarves to block against wind. You don’t even know where you’ll go, but you can’t sit in silence and just wait a moment longer.
Without even thinking, you begin the journey to Yeosang’s bar, remembering the route from what Wooyoung has told you. It’s a long journey, but you’ve walked farther. So, off you wander.
As the sun is starting to reach its high point, you make it to the bar, staring at the heavy doors before you pull it open and step inside. The interior is kept dim, but the racks on racks of alcohol remain lit up. You see Yeosang wiping down some glasses, his face impassive. When he looks up, his expression doesn’t change save for a single eyebrow raising. “Magpie? What brings you here?” Another head pops out from behind the shelves. Silver waves with the rag still slung over her shoulder before returning to wiping down the counter. Yeosang looks around. “Where’s Wooyoung?”
You offer them both a weak smile. “He went to grab supplies. I…” you pause. Why did you come? You wrack your brains for a good excuse. “I wanted to let you know, Wooyoung received notice the government patrol is no longer at the canyon outpost.”
Yeosang hums. “"Thanks. Saves Woo another trip.” He sets down the glass with a clink. “Want something to drink before you head back?”
“…Sure.” As you settle onto one of the barstools, Yeosang begins mixing a drink, and Silver walks around the counter to join you. “How’s San doing?”
Something in Yeosang’s smile turns…almost sad, but not quite. “He’s resting right now. But he’ll recover.”
You nod almost automatically. The silence is thick, not with tension, but something not quite comfortable. Right now, all you want to do is finish your drink and start the trek back home. Silver doesn’t seem to mind, engaging you in conversation.
“So, you came here for some company?” Silver leans in conspiratorially. Even when you shake your head, she laughs and winks, like she knows your deepest desires. “Don’t give me that look. Come on, drink up. Yeosang is actually pretty good at mixing drinks.” Yeosang shoots her a look, but it’s tempered by the genuine affection in his eyes.
As you take another sip, the radio on the far end of the counter begins to crackle. “...Repeating today's weather bulletin. Storm front advancing from the western dunes. Estimated impact: Sector One in forty minutes, spreading east quickly. Any travellers still outside are advised to turn back while visibility permits.”
Yeosang hums, setting a glass down. “That’s near the relay tower. It’s lasted many sandstorms before, but I hope it’ll last through this one. The settlement nearby relies on that junk tower.”
Everything in you freezes. “Relay tower?” you repeat, voice tight. For half a heartbeat, sand claws at your face, swallowing you whole. Someone is calling a name you can’t hear, the sound of metal groaning before the telltale signs of it collapsing. Yeosang lifts his head to look at you, but you’re already halfway out of your seat, rewrapping your scarf around your head.
Something shifts in Yeosang’s eyes. “Wooyoung’s there?”
“Yes. He said he was going to see if he could get spare parts.” You swing your bag over your shoulder and straighten up only to see Mingi standing in front of you, his broad shoulders blocking your view of the door. You don’t even know when he got here.
“Why’d you let him go?” His voice is sharp as he looks you over. Silver opens her mouth to object, but Yeosang gives the slightest shake of his head.
You look down, then back up. “I asked him to choose to live. I can’t punish him for listening.”
Something in Mingi’s eyes change, although he still looks at you warily. “Then why are you going now, after everything you’ve said?”
Your mouth opens, but you shut it soon after. “Because…” Any other time, you would’ve just said it’s because you owe Wooyoung. If you asked him, he would say that debt had been repaid many times over. “Because this is my choice. I may not agree with him, but I want him safe while he does what he loves.”
Mingi huffs, studying your face for a long moment, as if expecting hesitation. Fear. An excuse. But he finds none, and exchanges a look with Yeosang. “About time.” He glances at the radio, still cracking out weather forecasts. “Come on, we should get going. Every minute we're standing here is another minute he's out there.”
At that, you pause. “You’re coming with me?” you ask, narrowing your eyes. “But you don’t like me.”
A crooked smile creeps up on Mingi’s face. “I don’t. But I want Wooyoung safe more than I don’t want to see you.” He hoists your bag onto his shoulder without you even asking. “And I have a car.”
You stare. “That rickety old thing I saw on my way here?”
Yeosang laughs, even as Mingi’s glare intensifies. “Mingi’s car is more reliable than you’d think. And he knows the route well.”
Silver’s lips quirk. “But you’ll need a bag to handle his driving. There is no such thing as a speed limit when he’s behind the wheel.”
Mingi glowers. “There are no speed limits in a sandstorm.” With a wave of his hand, Mingi starts walking toward the door. “Don’t worry, I won’t hover. I’m going to go help the outpost nearby, since they’ll be hit pretty hard.” He pauses, glancing back over his shoulder at you, clearly waiting.
You scramble to follow, and Silver glances back at Yeosang, exchanging a nod, before she hops off the stool and moves to walk beside you. “I’ll come. Someone’s gotta keep Mingi in check. And…” her voice trails off before she replaces the pensive look with an easy smile. “There are kids—people at the settlement. I can’t just…leave them.”
Mingi tsks, but doesn’t argue. Instead, he leads you to the rusted car and wrenches the door open for you and Silver before moving to the driver’s side. “Let’s get a move on.”
-
At first, Wooyoung thought it was just the wind. He was unscrewing the transmitter to take home when the wind stopped. After a quick glance out the window only to see nothing, he continued working. He grabs the transmitter, shoving it into his bag before beginning the descent of the creaking staircase. He would like to stay longer, but when the air itself seems to come to a halt, he knows that’s when it’s time to go.
Then he hears it. The whistle of wind before it melts into a constant roar. His head snaps to the west only to see that the horizon has disappeared behind a wall of swirling sand. He scrambles down the stairs, reaching the door to the interior and slamming it shut behind him just as the sand pelts against the metal. The relay tower has weathered many a storm, and so has he.
He'd ridden out storms before, knows them well enough. Some passed before the tea in his thermos cooled. Others lasted long enough for the sun to disappear entirely. The only thing they had in common was that nothing ever told you which one you were in.
Wooyoung leans against the thin metal wall, checking his watch. Four minutes pass, then twenty, then forty. Then an hour, two, and although he can’t see it, he knows the sun is almost touching the horizon, especially as the windchill sets into his bones. The storm has shown no signs of easing. He looked at the doorway. Wait another hour...or head home. His eyes drifted to his watch. Around now, YN would probably have finished today's crossword.
He waits one more minute before gathering his supplies and moving to wait by the door. Once the wind lulls slightly, he tightens the scarf around his mouth and trudges out.
Fifty paces. When he glances behind him, the relay tower is still standing strong, although he can see the antennae wobble. It’s hard to trudge up the dunes, but he bites through the wind threatening to shove him back to the bottom.
The sand finds every bit of skin it can reach, pelting him. When he tries to glance at his watch, he can barely see the minute hand due to the thick layer of dust covering it that seems to replace itself when he tries to wipe it. So, he begins counting each second.
By the 500th, or maybe 600th second, Wooyoung doesn’t know how long he’s been out here. He’s passed the fence that blocks off the canyon from the relay tower. He knows he needs to move east from it, but when he stops to orient himself, the wind shoves him to his knees.
With difficulty, he staggers to his feet, and looks behind him. The relay tower is no longer in sight, which is good. But when he looks forward, he can’t see anything either. But he was supposed to reach the gate to Sector Two by now—or did he pass it already?
Wooyoung breathes out sharply to try and dispel the sand from his nose and lips, although he knows it only allows more to enter his system. But even just the few seconds without the grains in his mouth is relieving. He’s trying hard to keep a hold of the spare parts he came for, but he knows he’s lost some already. His whole body aches and groans in protest as he tries to take one more step. He slumps to the ground, head landing against the edge of the fence. Just one minute, he tells himself. One more minute, and then he can get up and go have a nice, warm meal. One more minute.
He doesn’t remember how long his eyes were closed, when he slumped over and sand covered his entire torso. But he does remember when something crashes into his side. He barely reacts. Then someone is digging, brushing sand off his shoulders.
"...Wooyoung?"
He blinks awake, then jolts up. The clouds are gone, the sun setting in golden and orange colours behind a familiar silhouette. “What are you doing here?” Wooyoung asks past the mouthful of sand and internal gratefulness YN had pulled him out from the sand bank. “I thought…I thought you didn’t meddle.”
He berates himself silently for the question. He had told himself not to pry, but something in YN’s eyes made him blurt out the question without thinking twice. She looks at him for a long moment before she sighs, tugging at his arm to help him up. “You would’ve made me a liar.”
Wooyoung stares at her. “What?”
YN huffs, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I said I’d see you later, but you were half-buried under a bunch of sand. I’m not keen to become a liar.” Wooyoung opens his mouth, but you beat him to it again. “And I don’t think I could do it anymore. Be alone, I mean.”
The last bit is mumbled, and Wooyoung almost doesn’t catch it. But something warm blooms in his heart and he leans just a tad closer. “YN, you…” his words catch in his throat. “Thank you.”
Finally, the gratitude he feels from the depths in his bones, and YN’s lips quirk. “Of course, Wooyoung. It’s…you know…”
She catches herself, and Wooyoung frowns, looking at the way she seems to fight with herself. “What is it?” She looks away, and Wooyoung waits.
Her shoulders slump. “I was going to say I’d always be there for you,” she says, voice quiet, but not dull. “But I don’t know that. I don’t know where we’ll be tomorrow. Or next month, or after that. But…But I’ll always want to.”
For once, Wooyoung doesn’t try to convince her to make a promise. He finally, truly, understood. It had never been about unwillingness. It had always been about certainty.
“…Let’s go home?”
Magpie pauses, then smiles resignedly. “Yes. Let’s go home.”
[ex-husband!wooyoung x ex-wife!reader] 𓈒𓏸.°•
smut minors dni 18+ warnings in each part
after fourteen years together and one kid, you finally grew the balls to divorce your husband, wooyoung. you should've known better, that it wouldn't be so simple─ he loves you too fucking much to let you go that easily.
WIFEY [PART ONE] 9K WORDS
─── it was a work trip, only one weekend away from kyungmin, you think wooyoung is fully capable of taking care of your son for a few days... but then wooyoung is there, presenting in front of the crowd, your world is crumbling beneath your feet, and his coworker is still trying to get into your pants.
CLOCKWORK [PART TWO] 9.7K WORDS
─── you had a good thing going: the sun goes down, your son goes to bed, and wooyoung comes over and takes care of you the best way he can, the only way you want him to. until he asks for one date, which unravels everything he's kept hidden for the past year.
BROKEN CLOCKS [PART THREE] 19K WORDS
─── you left wooyoung because he was never there, he was never present. always working, never with you and your son. the only thing he left you with, was a choice― one you never thought you'd have to make.
[ex-husband!wooyo x ex-wife!reader] 𓈒𓏸.°• part two to wifey | smut minors dni 18+, raw p in v, creampies, breeding, sweet talk, dirty talk, mommy/daddy, nothing too crazy i turned up the plot this time | 9.7k
there are some special appearances in this from @chimivx 's friends ᢉ𐭩 if you're curious about yunho's wife n kids, read tcmc ‼️ if you wanna know everything about wooyoung and aurora, how yunho and aurora came to be, if you're curious about the lore at all, pls start here :) thank you plum for letting me write a story from your story, i love your people very very very much, almost as much as i love u u terrifying mastermind genius ₊˚⊹♡
Like fucking clockwork.
You close the door to Kyungmin’s room quietly, hearing the soft noise of the latch clicking into place, face scrunching together, silently praying that you don’t hear his small voice call you back inside.
At the same time, Wooyoung’s key turns in your front door, heavy, deep brown wood groaning open. On silent feet he ushers himself inside, closing the door quietly behind him, lips tucked between his teeth to enforce the silence.
From the top of the staircase, you see him dressed in oversized charcoal at the bottom, kicking his sneakers off his feet while throwing his phone, wallet and keys on the entryway table. Skipping down the stairs, you forgo greeting him, whispering, “Be quiet, he just went down.”
“He’s eight,” Wooyoung whispers back, “you still tuck him in?”
“He begs me to,” your brows knit together, “he doesn’t beg you?”
“No,” his lips spread in a grin, “he’s a big boy at my house.”
You scoff, “Shut up, he’ll always be my baby.” Leading him into the living room, you keep your voice low, louder than a whisper, “We have to be quiet.”
“You have to be quiet,” he corrects you, tone teasing, smirking as you lay back on the couch. The TV is on but muted, the lamp in the corner coating the living area in dusky orange even if the sun had gone to sleep hours ago.
“I am quiet,” you pout as he crawls over you, wasting no time, crouching between your parted legs, a hand falling to the back of the couch for purchase as he pecks a short kiss to your lips.
“Don’t tease tonight,” you grab hold of his hoodie, pulling him close enough for your lips to touch, “I don’t have it in me to fight for it.”
He smiles, kissing you again, parting your lips with his own, hands moving to the armrest to keep him steady as he lowers his hips into you. You gasp into his mouth at the friction, your tiny shorts doing nothing to shield you from his weight.
“Then don’t fight,” he moves to kiss your jaw, your head tilts to let him in, his breath is hot against your skin, “lay there and behave for once.”
Your hands find his neck, his cheeks, pulling him back up to kiss you deeper, head lifting off the pillow, calves hooking over the back of his thighs. He makes a grumbled noise, tongue licking into your mouth like he was searching for something, one hand falling from the armrest to tug at the hem of your hoodie, pushing it upward.
“Off.”
One word, a singular order, you sink further down the couch after pulling it off your body in a rush, throwing the pillow beneath your head to the floor, giving him space to plant his elbows above your shoulders.
“Don’t wait,” you murmur into his mouth, “I can take it.”
He hums, taking your bottom lip between his teeth before he answers, “You don’t know how to take it.”
“Then I’ll fucking learn,” your feet tug at his sweatpants, spine bending toward him, “get inside me.”
“Antsy,” he sits back on his knees, pushing his sweatpants and his briefs down in one quick motion. “Like I haven’t been fucking you right or something.”
“You haven’t been here in a week,” you argue, pushing your shorts down to your ankles, kicking them on the floor, “you haven’t been fucking me at all.”
“I had our kid for four of those days,” he pulls your thighs over his, sliding his cock through your folds, “I didn’t see you at my door after he went to bed. On his own, might I add.”
You loose a shaky breath as his tip collides with your clit, hips bucking up towards him, “Shit, I was busy, Wooyoung. What about those three days then?”
He pauses, glancing up at you, “You serious?”
“Yes?” You blink, “What were you doing? You had Friday, Saturday and Sunday.”
He laughs, lining himself up, holding his breath as he pushes inside. Your lips part in a silent scream, head tilting backwards to dig into the couch cushions, hands clawing at your own thighs for something. He stills once he’s fully seated, chest heaving, veiny forearms reaching for your ankles.
“So fuckin’ tight,” he grinds out, voice tight with restrain, pushing your knees up to your chest. “Careful what you say, wifey. Might think you want me for real.”
“Regretting,” you squeak, eyes screwed shut tight, “s’big.”
He’d laugh again if your pussy didn’t look so pretty trying to keep him in. Walls fluttering around the base of him, your clit pulsed, begging for attention already, he started a slow, deep grind of his hips, making sure he filled you up all the way with each one.
“So wet for me, mommy. Didn’t even have to touch you,” he keeps his palms splayed on your thighs, bearing his weight as he leans forward, pressing a kiss to the arch of your foot that dangles in the air.
You whimper, face scrunching in pleasure, core clenching around him, he kisses up to your ankle, grazing his teeth against your skin, your hands shoot for his wrists, his forearms, just to hold them. Forcing words out, you say, “Been waiting for this, for you.”
“A whole week,” he picks up the pace, voice leaning into condescending, “must have been so hard.”
Your breath catches, eyes rolling back, a soft moan tumbling off your tongue, “Fuck, ‘t was. It was.”
“Quiet,” he reminds you, “or I’ll stop.”
“You won’t stop,” you mutter, fingers tightening over his wrists, a challenge.
At that he stills, sitting back on his calves, leaving just the tip inside. “I won’t what?”
Jaw clenching, your hips follow him, he lays his palms over bone to keep you still. You stay like that for a moment, a game of chicken, eyes locked on his that stare at you expectantly. Obedience, silence, submission, he loves you bratty, he’s a brat himself, but when it comes to fucking you open on your couch just past nine at night, he expects you to listen.
“Fine,” you shift against the cushions, “fine, you win.”
He pulls you onto his cock by your hips without a word and you have to slap a hand over your mouth to force yourself silent. The angle, the ease in which he mounted you onto him, your eyes slammed shut, gasping out a broken sound into your palm, he fills you up perfectly, carving into you like you were built to take him and him only, it’s war to not cry out in pleasure.
“Fuck,” under his breath, low, he tells you how good you feel in one blurted word. You roll your hips against him, meeting his thrusts, curved cock dragging along the front of your walls with each grind.
“More,” you plead, grabbing for him, “kiss me.”
He crawls over you, elbows beside your ears again, pressing his lips to yours with a softness reserved for you. His hips slow, your ankles crossing over his back, pushing his hoodie up with your heels just to feel more of his skin against you.
“Yes,” you whisper, breathing the same air, bodies moving together now, “just like that, daddy.”
His forehead meets yours, a quiet noise of pleasure rumbling from his chest, “‘m not gonna last.”
You kiss him again, tongue slotting between his lips, hands tugging at his roots, body moving in the shape of his, the only thing you can hear is your breath singing in harmony and the slick sound of your bodies conjoining.
Six weeks of Wooyoung breaking you down on your couch, your kitchen counter, your living room floor, once against the wall just outside of your hallway bathroom. You don’t know what it is, you haven’t spoken any more of what it means, what comes next, the only thing you know is that you can’t stop.
“Want me to fill you up? Fuck you full?”
You’re nodding, tongue catching on his lips, delirious with pleasure, your body ached for him. Burned for him. Only him. Always him– till death do you part.
“Yes, daddy,” you whisper, voice pitched and whiny.
His hips stutter, he tucks his head into your neck to muffle his groan, fingers tightening in your hair that’s sprawled out around your head like a blanket. Losing his rhythm, his slow deep strokes turning shallow, quick– chasing a high he found so easily with you.
Your toes curl over his back, chin tipping up when you feel the warmth spread, the heaviness, the feeling was indescribable. Claimed, owned, like he was marking his territory, it made your stomach swirl with affection, enough to pick his head up by his hair and kiss him again.
Your hips rock, he whimpers. “T-too much, jagi, no.”
So warm, you glide against him, too slippery for there to be any resistance. The sound you make is small but it says everything you can’t, that you need more, you aren’t done.
“D’you wanna sit on my face?" You hold his flushed cheeks instead, doe eyes staring up into his dilated pupils, begging. He shakes his head, “Can’t fuck you again, can’t.”
“Pussy,” you smack your teeth, “are you serious?”
“I’ll make you cum in under three,” he feeds you a peck of his lips, “promise.”
“Mommy?”
Both of your heads turn toward the staircase, the small voice that couldn’t see you from the platform at the top. It takes all of a millisecond for you to push Wooyoung away from you and jump off the couch.
“Coming!” You call, grabbing your shorts from the floor. Pulling them up your thighs, clenching hard to keep Wooyoung inside, you hiss at your ex, “Don’t fucking leave, you owe me.”
“Yes, mommy,” he nods, grin amused and lazy, “duty calls.”
You run up the stairs to find your brown-haired boy standing at the top, one of his fists rubbing at his eye, his favorite Frozen pajamas already pulled up and twisted at each and every hem. Before you have a chance to speak, he asks, “Who’s here?”
“No one,” you speak quietly, softly, turning him around by his shoulders, guiding him back into his bedroom. “Come on, baby, bed time.”
Five minutes of staring at the ceiling feels like a fucking lifetime until his tiny breaths turn slower, deeper. Creeping out of his bedroom once more, closing his door even softer than you did the first time, you nearly sprint down the steps to find Wooyoung still half-clothed.
“Now what if I brought him down here?” You stand before the couch, hands on your hips.
“Why the hell would you do that?” He quips, leaning forward to grab you by the hips, pulling you back down to him. “He’s asleep?”
“Out like a light,” you throw your arms over his shoulders, taking your spot in his lap. “You promised me something.”
“Is that all I’m good for?” His brows raise and the question takes you by surprise.
Wiping the smirk off your lips, your arms lower a little, disarmed. “Sex?”
“Yeah,” he sits up a little, shifting where you sat on his lap. “We’ve been sneaking around for over a month, I haven’t pressed the date thing because you’ve never been one to break your promises and–”
“You were serious?” You push your brows up to your hairline, cutting him off. To make it clear, you repeat, “You seriously want to take me on a date.”
His head cocks to the side, “You didn’t think I was serious? Of course I want to take you out.”
“We’re divorced,” you argue, leaning back, adding space between you.
“I’m aware,” he says, as if he really means no shit. “You’re on my lap right now, I’m still dripping out of you, are you planning on fucking me after the sun goes down for the rest of our lives?”
“Not for the rest of our lives,” you shake your head a little, brows knitted together, confused.
“Oh, then until you’re over it?” He blows amusement through his nose. “We made a tiny human who’s upstairs right now and I’m suddenly disposable?”
“That’s not what I meant,” you rub your palms over your face, sucking in a deep breath. “I just thought this was, like, an agreement. I didn’t think either of us wanted anything more, I’m sorry if I misread the situation.”
“We’d have a chance to talk about it if you didn’t kick me out as soon as you came.”
“Wooyoung,” you gasp sharply, offended, “I do not do that.”
His brows raise, forgoing a verbal response. You think back on the past six weeks, remembering each and every night you’ve shoved him out of your front door as soon as he pulled his pants up, the memories flash through your mind like a medley. Your lips flatten, cheeks heating, guilt and shame forming in the pit of your belly.
“I’m sorry,” you say quietly, just above a whisper.
“You really don’t want anything more?”
He sounds wounded and your heart cracks beneath your ribs. His brows are upturned, mismatched eyes rounded out, pink lips still swollen from earlier almost pouting. You swallow, taking a second to be honest with yourself and your feelings… This works. The last six weeks have worked so effortlessly, so easily, you’ve been spending your days bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, so fulfilled you haven’t even considered what comes next. If anything comes next.
“I haven’t been this happy in awhile,” you reply honestly, “I think I don’t want to fuck anything up, our sex life wasn’t this consistent when we were still married, it’s nice.”
His fingers squeeze your hips, pulling you closer to him, a small smile forming on his full lips. “All I want to do is take you out one time, jagi. We don’t have to put any pressure on it, let’s just go out for dinner, have a few drinks and talk. It’s been a long time since we’ve just talked.”
It puts a smile on your face, too. You run a hand through his hair, locks of coal soft between your fingers, “Okay, let’s go this weekend.”
His face lights up, “Really?”
You snort, “Yes, really. I’ll get a babysitter for Saturday and–”
“I’ll bring him to Yunho’s,” his hands slide up to your waist, under the hem of your tank, leaning forward until his chest brushes against you. “He hasn’t seen Aden in awhile, maybe they can have a sleepover.”
Your hands find the base of his neck, pulling him flush to you, “A sleepover?”
Wooyoung’s lips find yours, a small kiss, his hands traveling upward, cupping your breasts beneath your tank, “Maybe we can have a sleepover of our own.”
You gasp into his touch, brows furrowing in pleasure, “Please.”
“You can have me all night,” he reaches for the hem of your tank, pulling it swiftly over your head before his hands go right back to toying with your chest, pressing his thumbs over your nipples as he says, “We can fuck in our big, comfortable bed, all night if you want to. Just like old times.”
You moan softly, quietly, head going fuzzy like he’d cast a spell on you, “Let’s go up there now.”
He keeps his eyes on yours as he leans forward, tongue poking out to circle over your nipple before his lips wrap around it, sucking harshly. You suck in a sharp gasp, face twisting in pleasure, hips grinding into him beneath you, “Fuck, Wooyoung.”
“Saturday,” his voice is low, gravelly, it sends a shiver up your spine. “Tonight you get to ride my face.”
You can’t argue. Not when he brushes his nose over your spit-soaked nipple, giving you a perfect view of the curve of cartilage, already imagining bucking your hips against it.
Immediately you’re climbing off of his lap, pointing to the rug beneath your feet, “On the floor.”
“Whatever you want, mommy.”
“Damn.”
It’s loud enough for the neighbors to hear. On your porch, fist over his lips, his brows are scrunched like he can’t believe his eyes, he looks you up and down three times before he whistles.
You snort, rolling your eyes, pulling your front door closed behind you. “Shut up, Wooyoung.”
He steps backwards, down one of your cement stairs, watching as you bend over slightly to lock your front door. Voice amused, he continues, “All dressed up for lil’ ole me? The dreaded ex?”
You turn around with a smile, “I’m keeping my word.”
His hand goes over his heart, frowning, “That hurt.”
“Shut up,” you shake your head, fighting your amusement as you move to step down, following him, he keeps his feet planted where he stands, an unmovable force.
Then he cracks a grin. “What, you’re not even gonna kiss me hello?”
You cross your arms over the front of your dress, sleek and red and hugging every inch of your body you want to be hugged. You got it on sale, an outfit you’ve been saving for the right occasion, you can’t believe tonight, of all nights, is the night you took it off the hanger.
You can’t believe you pulled it out for Wooyoung.
“Good things come to those who wait,” you sing, “if you’re on your best behavior maybe you’ll get a kiss goodnight.”
He groans, head tipping backward, eyes squeezing shut, “You’re gonna make me hard.”
“I hate you,” you laugh, pushing on his chest, making him tumble backward a step. You follow him down the staircase, towards his still-running SUV in your driveway, “Where are we going?”
He said to dress nice, two days ago in a short text-exchange that started off with you asking if he forgot to drop off Kyungmin’s backpack, which you found in the corner of your living room approximately nine seconds later. Two texts back and forth before he reminded you of your date tonight, that he’d already made the plans with Yunho and Aurora, Kyungmin would stay over at their house tonight to have a sleepover with their son, Aden.
Yunho was Wooyoung’s friend from college, living only fifteen minutes from where you lived on the outskirts of the city, suburbia with a good school district, which is where Kyungmin had met their son, Aden, the second of four. You wondered how they did it, you had your hands tied with only one.
“It’s a surprise,” he walks to the passenger side, opening the door for you.
“Wow,” you raise your brows, “such a gentleman. Who even are you anymore?”
He holds an arm out for you to grab as you climb in, “I’m just a husband taking his sexy ass wife out to dinner, that’s all.”
“Ex-husband,” you correct, “ex-wife.”
He leans against the door with a smile, “Whatever you say.”
He looks good. Dress pants on his legs, tailored, all his dress pants are. A button-up, rolled up on his veiny forearms, showcasing his tattoo, the top two buttons undone. Dressed in all black so his golden skin gleams in each pocket where it shows, fuck he knows how to dress himself and God it pisses you off. His hair is styled, down, tucked behind his ears, it frames his face effortlessly, beautifully, part of you wants to ask if you can make a pit-stop in the backseat.
It’s a thirty minute drive, filled with the same soft rock playing from his speakers, he talks over it the whole time. From Kyungmin to work to his apartment, which he nags at you that you still haven’t seen the inside of, the conversation is as easy as it always is. Bickering, of course, but you’ve been bickering since you were twenty-two. Fifteen years of partnership, of friendship, of learning each other down to particles and atoms, awkward silence has never existed between you.
A fancy restaurant, one that just opened in the city, dim lighting and red velvet and black leather, you couldn’t tell if you were supposed to eat dinner or each other. Side-eyeing Wooyoung as the hostess brought you to your table, the moment she left you quirked a brow, “Is this foreplay?”
He grabs the drink menu, “It can be if you want it to be.”
So shameless it makes your lips part. “Are we in a restaurant or a sex club?”
“I’m pretty sure it’s a restaurant,” he doesn’t look up over the menu, “but we could make it a sex club if you want to make it a sex club.” You snort, reaching over to steal the drink menu from his hands. He scoffs, “No way you’re reading that as if you aren’t gonna nurse one margarita until it’s tequila-water.”
“Shut up,” you grumble, “maybe I’m in the mood for something different.”
You quickly scan the specials, the list of bottles they carry, different brands of wine they have. Pursing your lips, you quickly realize you’re not in the mood for something different.
Shoving the menu back into his hands, you mumble, “Fine.”
He laughs, a high, amused giggle, “You’re so predictable.”
“You just know me,” you huff, “not predictable.”
When the waiter comes by, Wooyoung not only orders his beer, but he orders your margarita, too. Casamigos, salt on the rim, you don’t correct him because you’re as predictable as they come. Your cheeks heat up anyway, you might be predictable but he remembers and it sends a streak of heat up your spine. Whatever.
You’re reading the menu, or trying to with your bottom lip caught between your teeth, seeing words but not ingesting any of them. Maybe you should just let him order your meal for you, too.
“What’s bothering you?” He asks, and you glance upward like he’s ripped you out of a trance.
You purse your lips, shaking your head a little, defensive. “Nothing.”
“I’ve known you for over a decade,” his lips curl at the corner, “I’ve lived with you, I’ve loved you, you’re the mother of my son. Is it so crazy that I know you? One year spent apart out of fifteen is nothing.”
You can feel the heat in the tips of your ears, you forgot he knows you down to your thoughts, too. A small sigh escapes you, “Do you wanna start now? Before there’s even any food on the table?”
He leans forward, smile mischievous, “Hey, there’s bread.”
You push air out of your nose, amused as you sit back in the upholstered chair. “It’s just stupid. We’ve only been divorced for a year, and look at us. We’re in a sex club that has a kitchen.”
His lips thin before he answers. “Did you really think we’d stay separated?"
“Yes?” Your head tilts with the question. “Did you not?”
“No,” he answers honestly, “I’ve been working on myself a lot this past year. All the time spent away from you, Kyungie, it’s given me space that I never wanted. Space I’ve filled with things to better myself, for him, for you.”
“What, did you get a promotion or something?” You quirk a brow, “Work stuff?”
He smacks his teeth, “I went to therapy.”
“You went to therapy?” Your brows meet your hairline, “Like, the couch and everything?”
“No, she made me sit on the floor,” he muses. “She actually has a brown, leather chair. She helped me figure a lot of my shit out, that way when it was time for me to propose the idea of us seeing each other again, it’d be different. I’d be different.”
“Woo, I had no idea,” your heart picks up speed in your chest. “I didn’t even know that you were this… bothered about us separating, to be honest.”
His face scrunches up in disbelief, “That’s bullshit.”
“I’m serious!” You argue, “The divorce process was so smooth, I guess over time I got it in my head that it was smooth because it was mutual.”
“It was never, not even for a second, mutual.”
“You made it easy,” you shrug, picking up your margarita, taking a sip. “You never told me the details, I only knew what I found out from your mother. She never mentioned therapy.”
“You knew what I wanted you to know,” he sets his menu down in front of him. “It’s not like we were exactly on speaking terms, you didn’t give me the opportunity to fix anything while we were still together, either.”
Your stomach churns. “I gave you a lot of chances, Wooyoung.”
“Not enough,” he argues, not sternly, earnestly. He picks up his beer. “You gave up on me.”
“I gave up on being a single mother in my own marriage,” your voice is low, quiet. Your throat feels tight.
The waiter comes, Wooyoung orders for the both of you, something you would’ve chosen for yourself. Your thoughts are too loud for you to pay it any mind.
“I’ll have to live with the fact that I made you feel that way until the day I die,” his face is solemn, his words so honest your heart feels like stone in your chest. “But I thought I was doing the right thing, setting us up for our future, setting our son up for his future. For a long time I couldn’t understand why that wasn’t enough for you.”
“But you understand now?”
He nods, “Strangely enough, you making that deal with me at the conference, about having San speak, it might’ve been the final piece that put everything together. I feel like I can see it clearly now, and it feels so fucking stupid looking back.”
“Yeah?” Your lips curve at the corners, “Did your therapist enjoy my ultimatum?”
“I think she thinks we’re childish,” he laughs a little, “she doesn’t say that, but I can kinda feel it. Like we’re still kids playing at being adults.”
“We are,” your smile widens, “but now I keep wipes and snacks in my purse instead of lipgloss and condoms that we never used.”
“Don’t talk mommy to me right now,” his face scrunches together like you pressed your foot against his crotch. “We’re still in public.”
You stare at him over the salt on the rim of your glass, taking a sip of your margarita before you mumble, “I don’t think anyone here would be bothered.”
“I want to try again,” he wipes the smile off his face, voice a little louder, stronger. “Just to lay everything on the table, I’ve been wanting to try again and if a hookup at a work conference is the start of it unfolding, then so be it.”
You take a second before responding. “Do you really feel like I gave up on you?”
“Yes,” there’s no room for uncertainty, the agreement is crystal clear. “But I know I pushed you to that point, and I know in the end it was my fault. I should have been around more to help you. Just to have been there.”
Your bottom lip quivers, he catches it as soon as the first twitch tugs at your mouth.
“No, no crying,” he reaches his hand across the table, searching for yours. You tangle your fingers with his, his palm warm, fingers encasing your hand within his own perfectly like you were made for each other. “If you’re open to trying again, to giving me another chance, it’ll be different this time. I’m different, but I still love you, I still want to be beside you.”
You wipe at your eyes before tears fall past your waterline, “I love you too, but I did my makeup for this.”
“And it looks beautiful,” his lips curve, “but it’s just gonna get ruined later, anyway.”
“Why would it–” You meet his eye, the mischievous glint. “Oh, fuck you.”
“Hopefully I’m lucky and you will fuck me.”
“Is sex all you think about?” You laugh, then tease him, “Is that all I’m good for?”
He glares across the table, “Too soon.”
“You’re the one who said we were gonna roll around in my bed all night.”
“Once upon a time, it was our bed,” he releases your fingers to point at you, “and I know it’s lonely in that big ass bed without me.”
“Who’s to say I’m lonely?” You taunt, “Maybe there’s been plenty of men warming my bed since we separated.”
“You,” he says it like it’s obvious, “at the conference you said there was no one else, so unless you lied, you’ve spent over a year alone, in that bed, playing with yourself and wishing it was me.”
You think everyone in the restaurant could hear the gasp that erupted from your chest. Wooyoung’s head tips back in laughter and you curse under your breath, whisper-shouting, “We’re in public, Jung Wooyoung.”
“The mom-voice makes it funnier,” he’s still laughing, a hand over his mouth, “scolding me like I’m five. Fuck, do you remember when Kyungmin drew all over the wall in the living room? With fucking Sharpies?”
You groan, digging your head into your palms, elbows propped up on the table. “Still to this day I fucking hate the feeling of Magic Erasers.”
“You sounded just like that,” he takes a deep breath to control his laughter, then puts on his best you-voice to mock you. “Jung Kyungmin, we color in coloring books, not on the walls.”
The memory makes you smile, even laugh a bit under your breath, “It’s only funny now because I got the Sharpie off the wall.”
“It was funny then, too, trust me.”
The food comes hot and perfect, neither of you speak for the first few bites, until Wooyoung catches you staring at his plate, at his food. Mid-bite he pauses, popping a brow, “Want to try?”
You smile, and he smiles back, reaching over, fork in hand. The sound that leaves you is almost fitting for the restaurant you’re in. “I like yours,” you mumble, putting on your best doe-eyed look, making him snort.
“I’d be mad, but I’m too nostalgic,” he hums, satisfied with a smile on his cheeks he reaches over to grab your plate, switching it with his own. “Can I pretend I ordered mine for the sole intent of giving it to you?”
“No,” you hum happily, “it’s better that you gave yours to me. More romantic that way.”
He shakes his head, “First day back and you’re already spoiled.”
“Technically I still haven’t agreed,” you shrug, eyes on your food, about to take another bite before you realized Wooyoung had paused entirely. Looking over the table, you giggle at his deadpanned face, brows flat, lips flat, his entire face flat.
“Not funny.” He tightens his lips again. “Are you agreeing? Do you want to give me another chance?”
“Is this an immediate answer kind of thing?” You ask, food still halfway to your mouth, “Or can I get back to you on it?”
He purses his lips like he’s deciding the answer for himself before he gives you one. Eventually, when your bite is swallowed, he answers. “I guess you can think about it.”
“You guess?” Facing your plate, your eyes flicker across the table.
“Do you understand how long I’ve been waiting?” He doesn’t sound aggressive or forceful, or like he’s urging you towards an answer. “I had you for fifteen years and I just spent over an entire year without you.”
“You say that like I didn’t spend a year without you, too,” you argue, “you aren’t alone in that feeling, Wooyoung.”
“I just want my life back,” his voice settles into something just above a whisper, too raw for the crowded restaurant. “I want you, I want Kyungminnie, I want to come home.”
You swear you can see an entire year of pain in his eyes. Chocolate that’s usually melted, milky sweet, a delicacy, is deepened into something dark; hardened with time spent apart, changed with a life lesson that needed to be felt in order to be learned. He’s the same but he’s different, you can feel it, you know it.
All you can do is pray he doesn’t disappoint you again.
He keeps his hand on your thigh the entire drive home.
Quiet for once, the calm before the storm, you use the silence to think about your time spent apart, how it affected you. He was right, alone in your king-sized bed, but more than that you’ve learned so much about yourself in the year spent away from him. Kids fresh out of college, thrown into the workforce, pregnant before your first paycheck, court-signed documents without a big party to follow, your adult life has been spent entirely by his side.
You’ve learned strength. You’ve learned to trust yourself. You’ve come to fall in love with yourself, by yourself, the you that wasn’t half-Jung. Despite the tears, the nights drowning in self-doubt, of not knowing what the next day would look like, you did it.
And now he’s back, and he promised that he changed.
You don’t know whether or not to trust the tiny voice in the back of your mind, you don’t know if it’s nerves or a gut-feeling. But when you turn your head to the side, to the man you’ve spent fifteen years loving, adoring, his chiseled jaw and his curved nose and the veiny, tattooed forearm that’s attached to the steering wheel, it’s easy to admit that you want him to come home, too.
You missed him. You miss him, and he’s beside you.
You miss him making the bed in the morning, having coffee on the pot downstairs, already prepped for you. You miss him shoveling the driveway in the winter, mowing the lawn in the summer. You miss him taking out the trash. You miss him fixing a toy when Kyungmin breaks it. You miss him doing your fucking taxes. You miss him doing the dishes after you cooked dinner, you miss him stealing the dishes out of your hands when he cooked dinner.
You miss the mundane things.
You miss the way he kisses you goodmorning, when he gets home from work, before bed, randomly, mid-day on a Saturday. You miss him making Kyungmin laugh. You miss the way his skin feels on yours, the way he finishes your thought before you’ve finished it, the way he makes it so easy to believe that it’s possible to love another human so much.
You miss him present most of all.
“If I agree,” you speak into the silence, his fingers add the slightest pressure onto your thigh. “You swear you’ll be around?”
“Yes.” The word is final. “I’ve made the changes already. You’re my priority.”
You don’t answer, you let the words sink in. It’ll take time, learning to believe him, learning to trust his words again, but something settles in your chest, in your gut, something calm. It reminds you that you can still be yourself, you can still be strong, you can still trust yourself, you can still be in love with yourself– but he’s here to love you, to trust you, to lean on you for strength, too. There’s something about it that’s comforting, that’s right.
The house is dark when you walk through your front door. You forgot to leave the lights on, the lamp in the corner of the living room, the one above the kitchen sink. So scatterbrained about being out with Wooyoung, about your kid sleeping at someone else’s house, you huff a curse as soon as the darkness welcomes you home.
While you turn the lamp on, without a word he’s in the kitchen, turning on the other above the sink.
And for some reason that’s enough.
Maybe it’s how he looks, doused in twilight, standing in the kitchen he designed. Shadows finding home in the structure of his face, the tattoo on his forearm, the veins that swirled around it, blending into the vines, rippling each thorn of the rose. Maybe it was just the fact that after all this time, seeing him here, in your kitchen that you left exactly how it was the day you kicked him out, reminded you just how deeply you love him. That even though you’ve spent a year apart and you’ve learned to love so much about yourself, the part of you that you love most, is the half of you that’s him.
You hope he feels it as you kiss him, standing in the space between the two counters, the long, skinny walkway between the sink and the island. Your arms around his shoulders, his find your waist, sliding down to your hips, then behind you, taking two fistfuls of your ass.
You squeak into the kiss and he turns you, scooping under your thighs to lift you, placing your ass on the kitchen counter. You don’t break the kiss, feet hooking around his back, fingers curling into his roots, tongue sliding between his lips like you were the one coming home.
He hikes your dress up, warm palms searing the skin beneath fabric, slipping under the hem just to rest there like he couldn’t deny himself feeling you any longer. You’re panting into his mouth, sizzling under his touch, you whisper, “I need you.”
He pulls away, putting an inch between your faces, “Here?”
“I don’t care where,” your hands find his cheeks, holding him close, “I need you, Jung Wooyoung.”
His eyes flicker over your features like he’s reading your thoughts and it takes him all of a second for his fingers to dart to the hem of your dress. You lift yourself so it pools around your hips, reaching forward for his button-up, getting only three unbuttoned while his fingers work the button and zipper of his pants. Both of you panting, heartbeats uneven, your feet stretch to reach the opposite counter, palms planted on the one you sat on, shifting yourself to the edge as Wooyoung frees himself from his briefs.
Your tongue pokes out to wet your lips, tasting remnants of your lipstick and his saliva on your tongue. The lack of a rebuttal from him, of snarky, taunting comments– this was different than him filling you silently on your living room couch. One hand moves your thin, lace thong to the side as the other grips his length, prodding at your entrance, making you gasp.
He fills you quickly, slipping inside with barely any resistance, the two of you moaning out in relief and pleasure. He grumbles out a curse, reaching the hilt, hands finding your hips, fingers bruising into your skin.
“Jagi,” he whispers. “Wanna give you a baby.”
Your eyes meet his and he’s looking at you like you’re the only person in the world. Like nothing else matters except you and him, like the outside world melted away, like you haven’t built and ruined a life between you. Like it was fifteen years ago and you’d just opened the first page of your love story.
“Do it, then,” you whisper back, eyes glossy, throat tight. “Give me one.”
“Can I?” He asks, face stone, as if you couldn’t feel his cock twitch inside you. He wasn’t asking permission, he was questioning the possibility.
Counting in your head, you wait a moment to reply, “Yes. Slim, but yes.”
He grins ear to ear, that same shit-eating grin he wears when he gets what he wants whether he fights for it or not. Then he moves, a shallow, promising thrust, grinding into the deepest spot inside you, making you hiss out a curse.
“Have to fill you,” his eyes find your meeting, watching himself as he barely thrusts, keeping himself buried. “Nice n’ deep. Make sure it takes.”
Your head dips backward, arching into him, skin catching on the glossiness of the counter you’d wiped down before you left the house. “Please.”
He grunts, fingers searing your skin, picking up his pace. “Fuck, need to see you pregnant. Belly full of my fuckin’ kid.”
“Wooyoung,” your voice is breathy, shaky, full of arousal as you moan his name, it makes him grunt out a curse, hips slapping against yours, reverberating through the room, bouncing off the stainless steel appliances.
His hands on your hips use the strength of his arms to lift you, pulling you off the counter with too much fucking ease. He slips out of you before your feet hit the floor, but he’s back inside you as soon as your back presses against the cool wood of the kitchen floor, freshly mopped this morning, knowing he’d be here tonight.
His lips are on yours, your legs hooked over his back, panties thrown somewhere you didn’t care to see. His shirt is open, still over his shoulders, trapping you between the open panels like it was shading you from something, anything that wasn’t him.
His hair feels silken between your fingers as you tug at his roots, keeping him as close as possible, never close enough. Murmuring words into each other’s lips, the sound of his skin hitting yours muted it, like the two of you were stuck in a time-warp, a lovesick bubble you entered fifteen years ago.
Pressure builds with each thrust, your moans growing in pitch, and Wooyoung keeps his eyes on yours, his bottom lip touching yours, assessing, watching, feeling, waiting for you to crest your peak without any stimulation to your clit. His eyes flare when your breathing catches, keeping his rhythm unfaltering, his angle locked, muttering yes, yes as you approach the high only he can give you.
He groans when he feels the pressure blow, as you clench around him, the heels of your feet digging into his back, he catches your lips between his own to feel everything, all of it, all of you.
The silence says everything. You’re stuck in euphoria as his cock drags over that same spot inside you, his head dropped down to your shoulder, your nails clawing at his back as he takes you for everything you’re worth. Every drop of pleasure, every emotion, you handed everything over to him, put it in his palms, let him cradle it– had you ever even taken it back for yourself?
“Gonna give you a baby,” he mutters into your skin, voice jagged like the edge of a blade, a man slicing a promise into your skin. “Gonna give you a girl this time. Pretty like her mama.”
“Yes,” it’s a whimper, a plea. “I love you, please– I love you.”
He grunts, heavy and rough, hips smacking yours with fervor, picking up his pace, weighting his thrusts. He picks up his head, palms finding your cheeks, holding your scrunched up face between them before he presses his mouth to yours, and you can taste the I love you too on his tongue.
Into his mouth, weak, soft, you utter, “I missed you.”
And why the admittance brought tears to your eyes, you aren’t sure. But they fell to his thumbs and he seemed to understand even if you didn’t, kissing you deeper, tongue slotting into your mouth as if he was soothing your scars.
He finished inside you with a low grunt that vibrated through you and into the hardwood beneath, cock hilted, buried so deep you weren’t sure where you ended and he began. You wanted to stay there, full of him, in the bubble you’d fucking missed being in, but his phone ringing on top of the counter had you both moving before you could breathe.
“Yunho,” is all he said before he pressed the phone up to his ear, still panting, brows furrowed. You stood up, dress falling over your hips, thighs wet and legs jelly, you leaned an arm over the counter for stability, silent enough to hear Yunho on the line.
Yeah, he threw up… Asking for you… Rory took his temp, he has a fever… He’s on the couch now… Okay, see you soon…
Wooyoung hung up with a sigh, “Rain check for rolling around in our bed?”
You cracked a smile, “What’s your schedule looking like on Monday?”
Wooyoung snorts as he tucks himself into his slacks, fingers working his buttons, “I’ll drive.”
Aurora had the door open before you’d made it up the steps of their front porch. “Sorry for cutting the date night short.”
Her sad smile was full of apology, she had one arm on the door as she held it open for the two of you. Pajama pants on her legs, slippers on her feet, her oversized tee that said Nasara University had one shoulder cut off. Hair tied in a bun on top of her head, bare-faced, so effortlessly gorgeous you felt self-conscious even if you were still in your red dress.
“Thanks for taking care of him, Ro,” Wooyoung replies. “Yunho said he’s on the couch?”
Ro. A nickname you haven’t heard before. Storing the info for later, you followed Wooyoung inside, taking note that their house was full of everything warm and cozy. Toys littered the floor, picture frames on the walls, nothing was tidy or put together. Not dirty, but… Lived in. Like six people lived here and not one of them was hiding the fact. The TV on and playing an old cartoon from when you were all kids, three out of Yunho and Aurora’s four sat on the living room floor just before Kyungmin who was curled up on the couch, blanket covering his body.
You stayed back while Wooyoung crossed the room, saying hi to the kiddos before scooping Kyungmin up in his arms. Aurora spoke while you watched him, “Yunho’s upstairs with the baby, she woke up when the kids started screaming about throw up.”
“Sorry,” you scratched the back of your head, cheeks flaring heat. You hoped you didn’t smell like sex. You also hoped she wasn’t thinking about the fact that you and Wooyoung are divorced and together right now.
But she just waved her hand, “Please, don’t be. She’s a terrible sleeper anyways, and all four of them were playing dress up in June’s room. She was bound to wake up sooner or later.”
“Dress up?” You cracked a smile.
“June has the time of her life dressing up her siblings,” she smiled with you, “and I think Aden enjoys it more than she does. They call it Fashion Runway, and Kyungmin was the star tonight, just so you know. June and Aden said he’s their new muse.”
You snort, not a lick of surprise on your face, “I need to see this.”
“You guys should come over more,” she offers, looking at Wooyoung as he returns with your gray-faced son’s head on his shoulder. “We should do the things the cool families do, hangout while the kids hangout, conjoined vacations and shit. We live so close and we never do anything.”
You look at Wooyoung who nods like he was brushing her off. “Yeah, sure. Don’t you wanna wait til’ Sunnie gets a little older?”
Her brows furrow, “No?”
“Sunnie’s a cute name,” you turn to her. “I didn’t know that was her name. How old is she?”
“Her first birthday is next month, I invited you guys, he didn’t tell you?” Her brows furrow further as you shake your head. Her eyes thin as she glances at Wooyoung, “Sunnie’s short for Woosun. Named after her godfather who apparently doesn’t want to come to her first birthday party.”
You will your face into staying neutral, like you knew Wooyoung was Aurora’s daughter’s godfather. “Woosun’s a gorgeous name.”
“Yunho came up with it,” her smile is proud, and if she could see yours, the one you’re hiding behind your stone features, you think she might be terrified of you. Your eyes find Wooyoung’s and he looks as gray as Kyungmin, face dropped, fear rippling in his chocolate brown eyes.
“Thanks again for taking care of him, Aurora.” You barely hear her response as she gives you a side-hug. She smells clean, like grapefruit and vanilla, a hint of baby formula like she’d just finished feeding Woosun. Woosun.
You don’t speak until after Wooyoung buckles in Kyungmin, your son still somehow knocked out in the backseat, head lolled to the side. Wooyoung tugged on the seatbelt twice, making sure it was locked, keeping him in place. You see the glitter on him then, on his eyelids, his cheeks, his hair, he’s in clothes that aren’t is. God, did he throw up on his own clothes? You didn’t even notice, nor did you ask for his clothes back. You’d have Wooyoung text her tomorrow.
Seated in the driver’s, he flips the engine, eerily quiet. Waiting for you. So you start.
“I thought Yunho was your friend from college.”
He takes a steadying breath before he speaks, “He was, is. But I’ve always been friendlier with Ro.”
“Ro,” you repeat, lips scrunching together. Your head shakes slowly, “Define friendlier.”
“Baby, we went to college together–”
“Don’t baby me,” you snap, keeping your voice quiet to not wake up your son, “you just tried to give me a daughter and then I find out you’re the godfather of someone else’s?”
“I was going to–”
“You were going to tell me nothing,” you snap again, hearing your heartbeat in your ears. “You used to fuck her, then? In college? Is that why we’ve never hung out with them?”
“It was more than that,” his voice is defensive, curt. Your lips snap shut, eyes widening a fraction. “We were together for a while, but it was… complicated. Everything about that time was complicated.”
“She named her fucking kid after you,” your voice is quiet but not any less venomous. “You know everything about me. Everything. And after fifteen years, I’d expect to know everything about you. Why keep it a secret?”
He keeps his eyes on the road, even if they blaze with emotion; fear, guilt, shame, remorse. “I don’t know if I can even explain it, she’s– she’s special. Different from a girlfriend or a hookup, we went through a lot of tough shit together.”
Eyes widening further, throat tightening, you can taste the salt lining your eyes. Your voice comes out hoarse, “She’s so special that you couldn’t tell your wife about her?”
“There’s nothing I could say that wouldn’t make you feel like this. She’s married, happily, with four kids. If you knew our history you wouldn’t want me around her.”
“And that’s more important? Being around her? Than me knowing the truth?”
“No,” he shakes his head tight. “No, it’s not. I spent a lot of time at their house while we were separated, and the three of us got really close again–”
“So that’s why she said we should all hangout,” you laugh a little, it’s dry, lacking amusement. “She wants to know what the wicked ex-wife that divorced you is like.”
“No,” he counters, voice raising, exasperated. “I never said anything bad about you, fuck. After the conference I talked to them, and she needs a girlfriend. I basically pimped you out to her, to be her friend.”
“Pimped me out to a girl you used to date. Fuck. Go through tough shit with.”
“We weren’t close during our marriage,” he argues, eyes flickering up to check on the still-sleeping Kyungmin through the rear-view mirror. “I sought them out after you divorced me, I needed a friend, and I knew Kyungmin and Aden were in the same class, I– they helped me.”
“Your ex-girlfriend and her husband helped you. Did they invite you into their bed? Help take your mind off your sad, divorced heart?”
“I’m not going to talk until you stop seeing red. Calm down and then speak to me like an adult.”
Crossing your arms over your chest, you stare out the window, and let the tears fall.
Kyungmin lay on the couch, asleep again after another round of emptying the contents of his stomach into the same stained bowl you use for popcorn on movie nights. You and Wooyoung sat on the floor on the other side of the coffee table, staring at him. So small, his face looks so peaceful, in a deep, hopefully dreamless sleep. He changed your lives eight years ago. Forced you into an adulthood you weren’t prepared for, the greatest blessing you didn’t ask for. A gift.
“Think he has the flu?” Wooyoung asks after too long of staring at the boy you created in silence. His hands stretched behind him, legs in front of him, body sagged with exhaustion. It’s been a long day.
“Maybe a stomach bug,” you reply through a sigh, sitting with your arms curled around your knees. “Time will tell. If his fever’s still up tomorrow, I’ll take him to the doctor.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“You don’t need to.”
“I’m his father, I want to.”
You swear, it’s grumbled, irritated. You can still feel the stickiness between your thighs, almost like it’s taunting you now. Telling you good job, you get to have another baby with a liar!
“I didn’t mean for this to happen.” Wooyoung’s voice is grave. “Aurora is harmless. I don’t love her, I’m not into her, there’s nothing left between us but friendship.”
“You’re missing the point, Wooyoung. It’s not about her, it’s about the fact that you kept it from me for fifteen years.”
“It wasn’t relevant for fifteen years. But it’s relevant now, and I’m telling you.”
“Because you were put in a situation where you had to tell me,” your head snaps to the side, glaring at him. “You should have told me when we had the whole exes conversation over a decade ago, or maybe when you found out Aden was in the same class as Kyung, or when she named her daughter after you, or when she made you the fucking godfather. You had a million-and-one chances to tell me.”
Wooyoung sighs, “It was a wound I didn’t want to reopen back then, but I should have. I’m sorry.”
“It feels wrong,” you look back at Kyungmin, a frown on your lips. “Knowing you had a relationship with these people deep enough for them to name their child after you, and I don’t know any of it. It makes me feel like I don’t know you, like there’s a side of you that you’ve kept from me all these years.”
“Do you want to know the full story?” He glances sideways, and the look you give him is an obvious yes. He sighs, “Fuck. Alright.”
And you sit there, for an entire hour as he reveals a side of himself that you’ve never gotten a glimpse of. Partying, threesomes, Aurora, men– so many men, and even though that part didn’t take you by surprise, it did make you wonder. The tough shit was about her, Yunho surprisingly, her father, her own personal issues that Wooyoung had adopted like his own and helped her through. Living with his cousin, switching his major, supporting his mother, all the fucked up people who went to his university that married each other. You wondered how well they turned out.
“Her and Yunho, made for each other. Their kids were a blessing, and they started younger than we did. Then kept fucking going.”
It made you laugh a little, and as the sound hit his ears, he finally cracked a small smile. Glancing at you, he muttered, “I did love her, I loved everything about her. But our relationship, me in her life, it was for a purpose, y’know? And when it was fulfilled, after I’d done what I was… destined to do or whatever, her life got a lot better. She got better. Everything got better, actually.”
“You were all too young for all of that shit.” It’s all you could say. All you could muster up seeing Wooyoung’s life twenty years ago pass through his eyes, listening to him describe it like it happened yesterday.
“I know,” he heaved a sigh, laying back on his elbows. “But then I met you and I thought it was my turn to be happy. To feel like I had it all figured out.”
“Then I got pregnant.”
He laughed, a rich, light sound. “Then you got pregnant.” He sat in silence for a moment, glancing at your son on the couch, before he bit his lip in contemplation. “I have something else to tell you. Since we’re being honest.”
Your heart dropped, skin feeling icy-hot. Nervously glancing at him, your voice comes out shaky as you ask, “What?”
“We’re still married.”
You blinked. “No we’re not.”
“Yes we are.”
Fingers meeting the floor on either side of you, you shook your head, warning, “Wooyoung.”
“That’s why the divorce process was so easy,” he isn’t looking at you, his eyes stay on Kyungmin, unblinking. “Because I never filed for it.”
“I filed for it,” you counter.
“With my lawyer,” his eyes meet yours. “Who I paid generously not to file.”
“What? I–”
The walls felt like they were closing in. He continued, “I thought it was hasty. That you would regret it, or that you didn’t mean it, or that I’d fix it, I don’t know. I couldn’t stomach the idea of us not being together, so I faked it.”
“You pay me child-support, Wooyoung.”
“I know,” he shrugs, lips thin. “I just… I don’t know. I didn’t think we’d stay apart forever.”
You stare at him for a moment, a thunderstorm brewing beneath your skin. “Get out.”
His head snaps to the side, eyes wide, “What?”
“Get out,” you repeat, firmer. “Get the fuck out.”
“Wait– Let me explain, I–”
“Jung Wooyoung get the fuck out of my house.”
“I love you,” he argues, voice strained, turning his entire body to face you as you start standing up. “With my entire heart and soul. I can’t live without you any longer, without him, please talk to me– please talk this out, please–”
“I’m filing first thing tomorrow morning,” you bite, voice so fucking harsh and venemous you can’t believe it came from your lips. “With a different lawyer, my own fucking lawyer. You better hope and pray that I’m not fucking pregnant.”
and make sure your comments are kind!!! “I love this so much!” and “this is amazing! I’m so excited for what happens next” are more likely to get your favorite fics updated than “when will we get the next chapter?”
I do not own any of these fics, I just enjoyed reading them! Most of these fics are smutty, so please, no minors! ⭐️ = My absolute favorite fics! This is part 5 because I couldn't tag anyone else in the last ones.
"Ao3 should allow multiple kudos" "I want to be able to leave more than one kudos"
COMMENT ON THE FUCKING FIC
I SWEAR TO GOD NO ONE COMMENTS MUCH NOW WHEN THE ONLY WAY TO SHOW APPRECIATION FOR A SINGLE CHAPTER IS COMMENTING AND I AM NOT HAVING THIS BULLSHIT BE LIKE TIKTOK WHERE NO ONE EVER COMMENTS POSITIVITY
FOR FUCKS SAKE JUST COMMENT ON THE FUCKING FIC YOU DON'T NEED A MULTIPLE KUDOS BUTTON YOU NEED ACTUAL WORDS
TRUST ME ON ANY WEBSITE OR APP I POST COMMENTS AND WORDS ARE 10X BETTER THAN ANY PLAIN LIKE AND WORDLESS REBLOG IF YOU LIKE SOMETHING LEAVE WORDS
◇Pairing: tyrant emperor! Wooyoung x advisor! gn! Reader
◇Genre: royal au, angst, hurt/no comfort, toxic relationship, M for mature
◇Warnings: Wooyoung hurts the reader (not super graphic, just grabbing and throwing them into an armchair so they sit down), manipulation, mention of death and war, brief implication of sex but not shown or spoken about after that.
◇Word count: 2362
◇Summary: Wooyoung has changed. You don’t recognise him.
This is part of a deal with @sanjoongie ! An attempt to get me out of writing block (I wrote all the fics within 1 week of the deadline because I am big dumb)
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The council chamber reeks of sickly-sweet incense. Golden torches flicker against the carved stone walls, throwing Emperor Wooyoung’s shadow long and jagged across the floor, as if the room itself bows to him. He lounges on his throne with a predator’s ease, wine-dark silk spilling around him like blood, and his smile sharp enough to cut.
“You hesitate again,” he murmurs, eyes narrowing on his most trusted advisor, you. The one voice in the empire who dared speak against him, the one he could never bear to silence. The one who stood by him since he was a mere farm boy ready to die for his land that was ravaged by a king who cared for none of it. “Tell me, do you mistake caution for wisdom? Or are you simply too afraid to admit that I am right?”
Your lips part, but Wooyoung is already rising, every movement deliberate. He steps down from the dais, closing the distance until there is barely a breath of space between you. Silently, the council filters out of the room, knowing they would be killed if they dared wait a moment longer.
“War is not madness,” Wooyoung continues, his voice low and coaxing, almost tender. “It is inevitable. It is the fire that will burn away the rot choking this world. And I—” his gaze softens “—I want you to be at my side when the flames begin.”
You frown. “But Your Highness, this war is not necessary. We have a strong, faithful alliance. A war would break trust.”
The emperor’s eyes flash dangerously at your words, a muscle twitching in his jaw. In an instant, the tender look vanished, replaced by a cold, calculating stare. “Trust breeds complacency, YN. Our strength has made us soft, forgetful of what it takes to maintain power.” He turns to pace, each step measured and purposeful. “Those alliances are chains, binding us to the whims of lesser men. War will remind everyone why they fear our name. Why they need us.”
Wooyoung stops abruptly, whirling to face you again. His gaze rakes over you, possessive and assessing. “You question me because you lack vision. But I see the future clearly—an empire forged in blood and fire, with me as its unchallenged master. And you…” his voice drops to a purr. “You will stand beside me as we reshape the world. Your mind, your counsel, they are tools I cannot afford to lose.” His long, slender fingers brush along your jawline with deceptive gentleness. “Don’t fight it, YN. Embrace your place at my side.”
Your hands curl into your heavy robes. “A war waged in hunger will not unite the empire—it will break it. How many lives must burn to satisfy inevitability?” you ask quietly. “The empire is prosperous.”
Wooyoung’s laughter echoes through the chamber, a sound both familiar and terrifyingly foreign now. One hand reaches up to cup your cheek, forcing your attention back to him. “Prosperity,” he scoffs, pulling away just as quickly, turning to the window where blood red light spills over distant mountains from the setting sun. “Prosperity is an illusion, painted by those who profit. If the countries are ours, we will not have to rely on other men.”
His words grow smoother, laced with venom as he whispers, “But tell me, advisor—you’ve always had such faith in the kindness of men. What makes you believe the other kingdoms’ alliances aren't merely a shield behind which they plot betrayal? They wait, watching.”
“Your Highness,” you swallow hard, trying to find the right words. “I know there are those who would seek to undermine you. But war breeds nothing but more enemies. If we take over their kingdom, they will hold more resentment. Keeping away from war will protect you in the long run.”
Your voice trails off as you see the hardening glint in his eyes, and you step closer, reaching out hesitantly. “Wooyoung, please. Remember why you fought in the first place. To make things better, not to destroy what’s left.” Your touch barely grazes his arm before he jerks away, as though burned. His jaw clenches tight, as if he is a caged beast sensing weakness. For a moment, raw fury flashes beneath the mast. But then, just as swiftly, it vanishes, replaced by something colder than ice.
“Why did I fight?” he repeats softly, stepping back into the shadows cast by towering tapestries. “For power? No. For justice? Not anymore.” His fingers tighten around empty air. “And certainly not for some hollow ideal of ‘better’.”
He turns sharply, face half-hidden in darkness. “You talk too much about the past, YN. Too much about remembering who I once was. But people change.”
And somehow, that hurts more than anything else. “I…” your voice trails off. “Then I believe my time working with you is over, Wooyoung. I cannot, in good conscience, sit idly by.”
Silence falls thick and heavy. Then, his entire body tenses. Not in anger, but in something darker, more calculated. A slow, predatory smile spreads across his face, teeth glinting in the dim light like knives ready to strike. “Oh, no,” he hums, circling slowly, arms spread wide as if welcoming you to a trap. “That can’t be true, can it? After everything we’ve built together? All the secrets shared under moonlight? All the whispers exchanged late into the night?” His steps stop inches from you, breath warm against your skin. “You wouldn’t leave me alone now, would you,
sweetheart?”
You shudder at his closeness, at the promise in his words. “Those were different times, before the weight of the crown changed you. This path you’re choosing, it leads to ruin. For yourself, for the empire,” you manage to say, voice trembling slightly despite your best efforts. “Please Wooyoung. I don’t want to abandon our dream, but…but if I must, then I will.”
His expression shifts subtly, pupils dilating. For a heartbeat, there’s a flash of something vulnerable again, something human buried deep beneath layers of manipulation and cruelty. Then it’s gone before you can blink, swallowed whole by whatever monster has taken root inside of him.
“I’m not asking for permission,” he growls, grabbing your wrist with bruising force. “You’re mine, whether you realise it or not. And I don’t let go of what belongs to me. Not ever.” His grip tightens painfully, knuckles whitening against your skin.
You gasp in shock at his sudden roughness. “Wooyoung! You’re hurting me!” you try to pull away, but his grip is like iron. “Please, you have to listen to reason! This isn’t you—the man I fell in love with would never—” You break off your words, your free hand coming up to cover your mouth. In that moment, seeing the cold, possessive look in his eyes, you’re truly terrified of how far he’s fallen from the man he used to be.
Wooyoung doesn’t say anything at first. His thumb presses cruelly into the pulse point of your wrist, feeling the frantic beat of your lifeblood. The action sends painful pressure up your arm, but he doesn’t release you, instead savouring the way your flesh will bruise beneath his grasp. “That man,” he says flatly, dragging you closer until your bodies press flush against each other. “That man died years ago. Just like everyone else who thought they knew me. Don’t pretend you loved anything real.” His other hand lifts to trace your cheekbone, fingertips trailing across your skin.
You shake your head frantically, fresh tears springing to your eyes at his cruel words. “No, that’s not true. I loved you, the real you. The kind, compassionate man who wanted to help people!” You summon your courage and meet his gaze defiantly. “You may have changed, but I haven’t. I still care about you, even now. Even like this.”
A harsh laugh escapes Wooyoung, devoid of warmth or amusement. His fingers dig deeper into your skin, scraping painfully against your skin. “There’s nothing good left,” he sneers, leaning in to hiss into your ear. “Only the strong survive, and I’ve become stronger than anyone could imagine. Stronger than you ever believed possible.”
His hand releases your wrist abruptly, sending you stumbling back a step. As you catch your balance, he crowds you once more. “You should be grateful,” he continues, voice low and menacing. “Grateful that I allow you to serve me still, that I permit you to share my bed. You’re nothing without me, YN. Nothing at all.”
You stagger back until you hit the wall, trapped between cold stone and his seething presence as you stare up at him in despair. “I won’t be your prisoner,” you whisper hoarsely, shaking your head. “I won’t let you twist me into someone I’m not. If serving you means losing myself, then I chose to leave.”
With a burst of desperate strength, you shove past him, ignoring the way he reaches for you. You stumble for the door to your chambers in desperation, for a reprieve of the nightmare version of the man you once loved. But you don’t get far. Wooyoung’s hand slams against the doorframe mere inches from your fleeing form, blocking your escape. The wood splinters beneath his grip, shards raining down onto the marble floor. “Leave?” he echoes, incredulity dripping from his tone. “You think you can just walk away after everything we’ve shared? After all I’ve given you?”
His gaze rakes over your trembling figure, drinking in the sight of your unshed tears, your fear, your defiance. A twisted smile curls his lips. “No, my dear advisor. You belong to me. Body and soul.” With a vicious tug, he drags you down to your room. “You won’t see the light of day for as long as you continue these treacherous thoughts, YN. You’re mine.”
The heavy wooden doors slam shut behind you as Wooyoung throws you into your chambers, the rooms almost as opulent as his, but like a gilded cage now. The faint glow of candles scattered throughout casts eerie shadows on the walls, making the furnishings seem sinister and foreboding.
Wooyoung hauls you across the room, your feet scrambling uselessly against the plush carpet as you struggle to stay upright. “Wooyoung, please,” you sob as he shoves you down into the armchair, “Youngah. Please…don’t do this to me. Don’t keep me here. If you love me—if you ever loved me, let me go.”
Wooyoung’s breath hitches, just for a fraction of a second—an imperceptible crack in the armour he’s built around himself. “You…you still call me that. After all these years. After everything I’ve done.” He leans down, capturing you between his arms. “Do you know what that meant to me? Before the crown, before the rebellion, before…”
His gaze snaps back to you, sharp and hungry once more. “You think you can toy with me like this? Play on the past to soften my resolve?” He leans in close until his breath ghosts over your lips. Any other day in the past, this would have made you exhilarated. But now, you just recoil, pressing back against the chair, trying to put as much distance between you as possible.
“Wooyoung, please. I’m scared, okay. Scared of what you will do. You’re not thinking clearly, not acting like the man I once knew. This obsession with power, conquest…it’s destroying you, destroying us.” Your voice cracks on the last word, the weight of your desperation and sorrow threatening to consume you. “I love you, Wooyoung. Please don’t take that away from me.”
Tentatively, you place a hand on his shoulder in a futile attempt to calm him. Although his
muscles tense, he remains still, frozen by the sheer audacity of your words, the raw emotion
pouring from your voice. For a long, aching moment, he simply stares at you, his expression an impenetrable mask. Then, slowly, almost imperceptibly, his shoulders begin to tremble. At first, you think it’s with rage, but as the seconds tick by, you realise he’s laughing. A silent, mirthless laugh that shakes his entire frame.
“Love me?” he finally manages, voice rough with disuse. “You dare speak of love when I am drowning in blood and betrayal?”
You let out a soft breath. “I…I don’t know all of what you’ve seen, what you’ve lost,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “You’ve saved me from those realities. But I’ve seen the man you used to be. The one who cared, fought for others.” Your hands tremble as you grip his arm tightly. “I want to keep fighting for you, Wooyoung.”
His laughter dies as suddenly as it began, leaving behind a heavy, suffocating silence. For a long moment, he remains utterly still, hardly seeming to breathe. Then, with a movement so swift it’s nearly a blur, he grabs your wrists and throws them off himself. “You foolish girl,” he hisses, face inches from yours. “Still clinging to hope, to faith in a man who ceased to exist long ago. I am not the farm boy you once knew. I am the emperor, and I will do whatever it takes to maintain my power.”
And yet, even as he speaks, you feel a tremor run through him, a second of hesitation. His eyes search yours, dark and fathomless, as if seeking something long lost. And his gaze remains, even as he backs away from you.
“You…you will stay here until you see reason. That war is inevitable,” he mutters soullessly, as if convincing himself. “Do not defy me again.”
With that, he slams the door shut behind him, leaving you in your room alone. You don’t know what will happen, and you don’t know when you will see him again. But a spark of hope ignites in you.
You had seen it. Even for just a moment, he faltered, and you were returned to that moment ten years ago, when he looked at you with love and life in his eyes, and promised he would make the then-kingdom a better land to live in. And as you remember, you know that he was right.
You wouldn’t leave him alone, for as long as you continue deluding yourself into believing he could change. And Wooyoung knows it.
hehehe im so glad u liked thiss!! its one of my fave thing ive written and dare i say one of my best? i hd a lot of fun workng on the characterisation of wooyoung
ᯓPairing: wolf shifter! Wooyoung x doe shifter! f! reader
ᯓGenre: fluff, slight angst, smut, shifter au, strangers to lovers, M for mature (18+)
ᯓWarnings: mention of blood/injuries, traps, being hunted (not sexy)
ᯓWord count: 6967 (nice)
ᯓSmut warnings: fingering, multiple (two) orgasms, dirty talk, unprotected sex (you are not a deer or wolf hybrid do not do this without preparing for it), knotting, yn complains but it's lighthearted and she's happy about it
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Part 4 the final part of my deal with @sanjoongie hehe <3 finlly done after putting it off for so long lol
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The pain is shooting up your leg as you trudge along, the heavy metal trap scraping the dirt behind you. You managed to wrench it off its chain to escape the heavy footsteps of the hunter, but you know it won’t be long until he finds you due to the trail the metal is dragging along the forest ground.
You can’t even bring yourself to stop moving, despite the pain coursing through you. Your ears are flattened against your head, your eyes blurring with unshed tears as you huff quietly from the strain. You don’t even know where you are, the sharp scent of blood mangling your sense of smell.
You don’t even register the large grey wolf standing in front of you until you hear it growl low in its throat, its piercing grey eyes narrowed straight at you. Its lips curl in disgust as it takes a menacing step forward, its muscles rippling beneath its dark fur.
“Stupid creature, wandering into my territory like this,” it snarls, its voice a guttural rasp. “Can’t you hear the hunters? They’ll gut you if they find you like this.” Despite his harsh words, there’s a flicker of reluctant concern in his gaze as he notices the bloody trap dragging behind you.
You can barely form words, letting out a helpless bleat. The wolf’s words don’t register in your mind, and all you can think of is the impending doom meant for you. Giving up, you collapse to the ground, crashing against a tree as you pant heavily.
The wolf hesitates for a moment, then cautiously approaches your fallen form, its tail twitching warily. It sniffs at you, detecting the metallic tang of blood mixed with the musky scent of your kind. There’s no way it can’t tell you are a deer shifter now. With a grunt, it reaches out with a massive paw to gently nudge you with it.
“What use would I have for a broken, bleeding prey?” it mutters under its breath. But instead of turning away, it crouches down, using its teeth to carefully remove the mangled trap from your leg. The wound is deep, but not life-threatening. The wolf licks the gash clean, then begins to apply pressure with its tongue to stem the bleeding.
You whimper softly as the wet heat of its tongue washes over the throbbing cut, your body trembling from the shock of the pain. You’re too weak to pull away, your eyes fluttering shut as you focus on breathing through the discomfort. When you open your eyes again, you see the wolf watching you intently, its expression unreadable. You bleat once more before attempting to get up, but your torn up leg gives out again, and you land painfully on your stomach.
With an exasperated sign, the wolf settles beside you, nudging your side with its muzzle. “Slow down, foolish deer,” it commands gruffly. “You’re not going anywhere far anytime soon.”
It turns and pads back towards its den, expecting you to follow. Once inside, it nods towards a pile of soft furs. “Rest here. I’ll go clear your tracks and return when the sun sets.”
With that, it disappears into the back of the den, leaving you alone amidst the cosy nest of pelts. The warmth seeps into your chilled bones, and despite the lingering ache in your leg, you find yourself drifting off to sleep. As exhaustion claims you, you let out a contented sign, feeling the warmth envelop you like a comforting embrace despite the terrible pain crawling up your leg. Just before slipping into unconsciousness, you bleat softly, a thank-you.
Days pass in a blur of rest and recovery for you. The wolf – who you soon learnt he was a shifter as well, screaming when you woke up that very first night to see a human in front of you – tends to your wounds, changing the dressings and bringing you fresh water and berries. He keeps a close eye on you, ensuring you don’t wander off or cause yourself further harm.
As you regain your strength, your interactions become less strained. The wolf grows more accustomed to your presence, enjoying your soft bleats as he tends to the fire. However, he never lets his guard down and remains fiercely independent when you try and assist him in small ways.
One evening, as the moon casts a soft glow over the den, you watch him with wide, curious eyes, studying him intently as if trying to unravel his stoic façade. “What are you looking at, doe?”
You tilt your head. “What is your name?” you ask quietly. “I don’t think you ever told me.”
The wolf’s ears perk up at the question, a rare flicker of surprise crossing his features. “My name is Wooyoung,” he replies gruffly. “And it’s not important. You should focus on healing. Not asking unnecessary questions.” There’s a hint of defensiveness in his tone, as if revealing more about himself goes against his natural inclination for solitude.
Despite his snappy reply, Wooyoung continues the conversation, perhaps drawn in by your innocent curiosity., “Why do you want to know my name, anyway?” he asks, his voice a low rumble.
You hum, limping over. “You saved me,” you say as if it was a fact of nature. Your head lowers to meet his gaze. “I want to be able to thank you with your name, Wooyoung. I am called YN.”
Wooyoung’s expression remains guarded, but a faint glimmer of appreciation sparks in his eyes at the mention of gratitude. He nods curtly, acknowledging your gesture.
“I suppose ‘thank you’ will suffice,” he says, his tone still gruff but lacking its usual edge. “Just remember, I did what needed doing. Don’t go make a habit of getting caught in traps, YN.” There’s a hint of annoyance in his words, but it’s one tempered by a deeper understanding – one that recognizes the inherent fragility and resilience of life, especially in the wild. As the silence stretches between you both, you become acutely aware of his proximity, the warmth emanating from his large form and the way his chest lifts with every breath.
You hesitate for hardly a second before settling down beside him, leaving enough space for him to remain comfortable. “You’re nicer than you think,” you say quietly.
Wooyoung’s jaw clenches at the comment, his hackles rising slightly. “Don’t flatter me, doe,” he growls, his voice tinged with discomfort. “I just…I do what needs to be done.”
But despite his protestations, Wooyoung can’t help but steal glances at you, taking in the soft rhythm of your breathing and the peaceful expression on your face as you blink sleepily. As the night wears on, you slowly shift, body melting into your human form, a rare occurrence. Normally, you remain in your deer form for faster healing, but it’s a showcase of trust and vulnerability to sleep in such a defenseless form.
Despite the differences between you, there’s nothing but security and safety he’s offered you, and this is your attempt at showing your gratitude.
Time passes and you heal slowly. While you still struggle with a heavy limp and can’t roam far, you can move more freely now. But despite your best efforts to be friends, Wooyoung keeps a distant watch. He just observes you from a distance, his gaze always sharp with a mix of concern and wariness.
But as days turn into weeks, Wooyoung finds himself drawn to the den more frequently, but a deep-sated need to ensure your safety. You catch sight of him watching as you struggle to navigate the forest, your limping gait a testament to the lingering effects of your injury.
One evening, you gather the courage to limp over to where he sits by the door, watching out the window. “Wooyoung?” you call for him quietly.
Wooyoung’s ears prick up at the sound of his name, his attention snapping over to you. He eyes you approaching, taking in the set of your jaw and the tremble in your steps. He frowns, leaning forward, his body coiled tight like a spring. “What is it, doe?” he rumbles, his voice a low growl. “You shouldn’t be putting weight on that leg.” Despite his gruff words, there’s a note of concern beneath the surface that you can pick out.
You tilt your head. “May I sit with you?” you ask sweetly, trying to appeal to his protective instinct.
Wooyoung’s expression softens at the pleading look in your eyes, and pride blooms in your chest. He nods curtly, gesturing beside him. “Fine, but be careful not to jar that leg,” he warns. As you settle down, he shifts to accommodate you, his broad shoulder pressing against yours in a subtle display of affection.
The warmth of your body seeps into his, and you can feel him relaxing against you. He looks back out the window, his gaze lost in the twilight as your gentle breathing fills the silence. After a few minutes, you take initiative and rest your head on his shoulder, nose pressed into his warm neck. It’s a motion of trust and care, and he freezes at the touch. But as the seconds stretch on, Wooyoung relaxes, his hand coming to rest tentatively on your back, offering silent reassurance.
“Don’t get used to this, doe,” he murmurs, his voice low. “It’s just temporary.” Even though his words are gruff, though, you can tell he savours the closeness.
You smile, nuzzling further into him. “Thank you, Wooyoung. It means a lot to me,” you whisper, voice filled with gratitude.
Wooyoung swallows audibly. “You’re welcome, doe,” he trasps, his voice thick. “Just don’t read too much into it. I’m just doing this because I have to.”
Despite his words, Wooyoung’s hand remains on your back, a silent promise of continued support.
As the seasons change and winter’s chill sets in, Wooyoung allows your affections to continue, and he begins to slowly reciprocate. He begins teaching you the ways of his territory, protecting you from the stray coyotes and bringing you the sparse vegetation still growing.
Despite his initial reluctance, you know he’s come to rely on your presence just as much as you rely on his. He still maintains his aloof demeanour, but there’s a newfound warmth in his gaze whenever it lands on you. You don’t push, and you know he appreciates it.
One particularly frigid morning, as you trudge through a blanket of snow, Wooyoung suddenly stops., turning to you urgently. “Stay close and be quiet,” he whispers, his voice sharp with worry.
You snap your head over to look at Wooyoung, stepping closer to him, both of you immediately shifting to your animal forms. You can smell the sharp tang of metal and you freeze, remembering the same smell of the trap that had damaged you months ago. The one you still limp from.
Wooyoung’s hackles rise as he sniffs the air, his keen senses alerting him to the presence of a hunter nearby. His pride screams at him to investigate, to learn more about the hunters, but he hesitates. There’s not just him to worry about now, not with you on the line.
He glances behind at you, and you can see your fearful expression reflected in his dark eyes. With a heavy sigh, Wooyoung makes a decision, his loyalty to you overriding his own curiosity. “Stay behind me, doe,” he instructs. “We need to head back to the den.”
You nod, staying close to his warm body, ears perked up and scanning the trees. You can hear the creak of metal underfoot and your heart races faster. Wooyoung moves cautiously, sniffing the ground, before he stops abruptly. You bump into his hindquarters, peering around him to see what he’s found.
There’s a gleaming metal trap on the ground, the look of it different from the one that was attached to you before, but the scent is familiar, the telltale signs of recent use making you shudder. The metal is cold to the touch, and the scent of oil and blood hangs heavy in the air. Wooyoung growls low in his throat, a mixture of anger and concern. “It’s a new one,” he mutters, “and it’s baited. Likely meant for deer shifters. They must’ve known.”
He looks back at you, his expression grim. “We need to destroy it. Stay put while I disable it.”
Without further ado, he shifts to his human form and begins to manipulate the intricate mechanism, using his deft fingers to loosen the springs and disengage the trigger. The process is delicate, requiring patience and precision, but he’s determined to render the trap useless.
As you stand there patiently, your ear flicks as you hear the soft crunch of snow. “Woo-“ you have no time to finish your warning when a shot rings out and you drop like a rock, red blooming on your left flank and dripping into the snow. A bleat of pain rips out of your lungs.
Time seems to slow as Wooyoung spins around, his eyes widening. The sound of the gun echoes through the forest, followed by your agonised cry as you collapse to the ground. In a flash, he’s by your side, immediately shifting to cover your body with his massive form. He sniffs the air, trying to pinpoint the location of the hunter, but all he can detect is the metallic scent of blood mingled with your terror.
“Doe…YN…” he croaks out, voice trembling with rage. Without hesitation, he drops down to lick at the wound, his tongue warm and soothing against your damaged flesh.
You try and fail to hold back your tears as you whimper, but Wooyoung’s comforting touch eases some of the agony. You attempt to stand, but fall once more. “Wooyoung, you can’t stay here. The hunter is still near…”
Wooyoung’s eyes flash with anger, clearly wanting to confront the threat head-on. But he knows you’re right – engaging the hunter would put both of you in danger. With a heavy growl, he nudges you towards a nearby thicket. “Get to cover, doe. I’ll draw him off.” Before you can protest, Wooyoung turns and bounds away, his powerful legs eating up the distance as he puts on a show of aggressing, barking and snarling loudly to attract the hunter’s attention.
You can’t do anything but crawl painfully through the underbrush, trying to make yourself as small as possible, vision blurring from blood loss and shock. You can hear the distant sounds of Wooyoung’s efforts through the trees, his fierce howls echoing. As you lay there, you know you must leave for the den immediately, before his efforts are in vain and the hunter makes you both his prey.
You carefully stand on shaky legs, shifting to your human form. It’ll be harder to move quickly, but the smaller size makes hiding easier. You press your hand to the wound to staunch the blood as you limp towards the direction of Wooyoung’s den.
Each step is like agony, but you push as much as you can, grateful for the snow that has started to fall, hiding your tracks and any blood that slips past your fingers. But as the cold bites through you, you collapse. With a last burst of effort, you shift back to your deer form to stay warm. You’re not far from the den, but you can’t bring yourself to move, crimson blood pooling in the white snow.
What feels like hours pass, your consciousness slipping in and out, when a familiar presence settles next to you. “Doe…” you can hear Wooyoung whisper desperately. “Hold on.”
You bleat quietly, lifting your head slightly before it flops back down. “Wooyoungie,” you murmur, “are they gone?”
“Yes, doe, they’ve gone,” Wooyoung murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. “But we need to hurry. Can you stand?”
He gives your flank a gentle nudge, urging you to stand. There’s not much time – every second counts if they’re going to make it back to the den alive.
“No…” you mumble weakly, eyes closing. “Tired…”
Wooyoung whimpers softly, laying his head down on your lap. “Then we wait here, doe,” he says quietly. “Together.” It’s a silent promise that no matter what, he will stay by your side.
You open your eyes blearily, gazing down at Wooyoung. There’s something tender in his gesture, a vulnerability you’ve never seen before. “Thank you, Wooyoung,” you whisper, gathering what strength you can to nuzzle into the soft fur on his head.
Wooyoung’s eyes flutter close as your head rests on his own, leaning into your caress. For a moment, the pain and fear are gone from your mind, replaced with the simplicity of this quiet, intimate moment. The sun dips below the horizon, casting the forest in a soft, golden light, and you both remain intertwined. Time loses all meaning, and the world fades away to just the two of you, bound together by a loyalty that neither can break.
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With his slow, careful attendance, the gunshot wound in your flank has stopped its bleeding thanks to Wooyoung’s licking, but the pain lingers. You lift your head wearily, but immediately become more alert. “Wooyoung,” you call out, bleating quietly to rouse him. “Smoke.”
Wooyoung’s ears perk up at your words, his nostrils flaring as he takes in the smoke scent wafting through the forest. He growls softly, rising to his feet with a grunt of effort. His muscles ache from staying in one position for so long, but he pushes through the discomfort.
“Can you walk now, doe?” he asks, bending his head to nudge you to your feet. His eyes roam over your body, assessing the damage before meeting your gaze.
You shake your head, legs quivering. “No,” you say. “Maybe…”
Bones crunch and crack as you shift to your human form. There’s blood smeared over your leg, but you’re standing a bit more steadily. “Maybe like this, but I’m not going to be fast…”
Wooyoung watches, aware of the pain etched on your face. “I can carry you, doe,” he offers, dipping low to allow you to climb onto his back. “Just hang on tight.” He looks at you still as softly as ever, despite the tension in his body.
When you hesitate, Wooyoung prods you with his nose. “…Okay,” you concede after a moment. “But tell me if you want me to get off. I can walk if it’s too much.”
Wooyoung nods, and the moment you settle on his back, he takes off at a brisk pace, keeping you as steady as possible. It’s dark out when you finally reach the den, deep in the heart of the forest. Wooyoung carries you inside, gently setting you on the soft bed of pelts, checking you over for any sign of exacerbated injury. “Are you okay, doe?” he asks, his voice soft.
You whine at the loss of his body warmth. “Tired,” you mumble out. “Can you…cold…” You furl into yourself, a shaky sigh leaving your mouth.
Wooyoung’s heart clenches at your request, immediately settling beside you, curling protectively around you, providing warmth and comfort. “Rest well, doe,” he murmurs, nuzzling his head against yours.
You shuffle closer, pressing into his broad chest as your breaths puff across him, little whimpers and bleats leaving your mouth. Wooyoung stirs slightly, pushing himself even closer to you. “Don’t worry, doe,” he whispers, voice thick with affection. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
Despite everything, it’s a breakthrough in your relationship, both of you knowing no matter what, there’s no way you can let each other go.
As winter slowly recedes and the promise of spring fills the air once more, your wound heals again, and your limp becomes less prominent. Wooyoung awaits your awakening every morning, his tail thumping happily if you wake with a smile.
Although it’s never talked about, you begin weaving a blanket together, preparing for the next winter together. Wooyoung watches, a proud smile on his face whenever you take a moment to glance shyly at him. For the first time since you met, you allow yourself to believe, just maybe, you might have found your true home.
As the months pass, you settle into a comfortable routine, spending your days slowly making Wooyoung’s den homier and more suitable for a deer, and your nights in his arms. Your bond grows stronger every day, your connection deepening in ways you never would have expected with a wolf.
One hot summer day, as you both sit by the babbling brook that runs behind your home, you turn to Wooyoung. “…you know…fall is approaching,” you begin to say, shifting in your seat nervously as you peek at Wooyoung’s expression.
Wooyoung raises an eyebrow, leaning back against a large rock and crossing his arms over his chest. “And what about fall brings it to your mind, doe?” he prompts, his voice filled with amusement. “Planning on picking berries? Or perhaps hunting squirrels?”
You scoff, smacking his arm playfully. “Shut up, you’re so mean.” You pull your hand back, nerves returning. “Well, I don’t know if it’s the same for wolves, but…” you trail off, looking away as you try to compose yourself.
Wooyoung chuckles at your hesitation, reaching out to gently stroke your arm, the touch soothing. “What is it, doe?” he asks, his voice dropping to a soft murmur. “What are you trying to ask me?”
In one breath, you spill it out with your eyes squeezed shut. “Mating season is coming up for deer and I want to spend it with you.”
To understand your babble, Wooyoung has to strain, but once the words click, he blinks in surprise, his eyebrows shooting up in disbelief. But his grin widens, revealing his sharp canines. “Is that so?” he teases, giving you a playful nudge. “And why would you want to do that, hmm? Trying to find some excitement during mating season?”
You groan, hiding your face behind your hands. “Stop teasing!” you whine. “I just want to be with you! Is that so much to ask, for you to hold me and kiss me and –“
You slap a hand over your mouth, gasping. “I’m going back inside. I think I hear – uh – the blanket needs to be finished!” Scrambling to your feet, you make your escape back, into the den.
You can feel Wooyoung watch with a fond smile as you flee, chuckling under his breath. “Mating season indeed,” he mutters loud enough for you to hear before rising to his feet and stretching languidly, following you back in.
He finds you busily weaving again, walking up behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you close. “YN,” he murmurs into your ear, breath warm against your skin. “Don’t run away from me. I want to hear more about these plans of yours, doe.”
You squirm in his grasp, cheeks burning. “You heard me,” you mumble, refusing to meet his gaze. “I want you to…well…you know.” You cut yourself off again, the flush spread to your neck.
Pulling you tighter against him, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck, Wooyoung chuckles. “Is that so?” he murmurs, his voice tantalising. “And just what do you think I should do, hm?”
He moves his hand lower, tracing the curve of your hip and sliding down to your thigh. His touch is feather-light, yet it sends sparks of electricity down your spine. You let out a squeak, tail twitching in response to his touch. “You know, like…uh – um…” you stutter, your face growing even warmer. With a sigh, you grumble half-heartedly, “You’re mean. I take it back. I’ll spend it by myself.”
Wooyoung lets out a hearty laugh at your feeble attempts to resist him. He turns you to face him fully, cupping your soft cheeks gently. “Oh, no you don’t, doe,” he murmurs, leaning in to press a tender kiss to your lips as he murmurs, “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”
His tongue presses past your lips, exploring the warmth of your mouth. As you kiss, Wooyoung pulls you closer, the hard bulge in his trousers pressing against you.
“Perhaps we should practice for it right now,” he rasps, pulling away for air, and you squawk, pressing your face into his shoulder in embarrassment.
“Greedy wolf,” you huff. “Can’t even wait until fall.”
Wooyoung chuckles at your feigned annoyance, his hands roaming over your body. He pulls you closer, pressing you against his arousal. “But doe,” he murmurs, nipping at your earlobe. “How else am I supposed to prepare for such an important event?”
You breathe in sharply. “Jerk yourself off?” you suggest, sticking out your tongue. “You should work on your patience, silly wolf.”
Hands tightening on your hips, Wooyoung laughs. “Oh, I have plenty of patience, doe,” he purrs, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. “But sometimes…a man just needs a good fuck.”
He pulls away from you, stripping off his clothes before sitting on the soft, pelted bedding. “Come here, doe,” he beckons, patting the empty spot beside him.
You cross your arms, tapping your foot. “No fair,” you complain. “You’re always so bossy.” Yet, you comply and strip out of your clothing, tossing the ball of fabric at his head before crawling into his lap and straddling his thighs, holding back a smile at his sputter of indignation.
“I’m not bossy,” Wooyoung protests as he tosses the clothes aside and tugs you closer by your hips when you crawl into his lap. “You’re the one who wanted this.” His cock twitches despite the teasing, throbbing with anticipation. He slides a hand down, stroking himself slowly as he looks up at you.
You make a face. “I wanted this during mating season, when I’m all prepped and ready to take you. Now I gotta stretch myself out to have your stupid knot. It’s so much work.” Despite your complaining, you reach down to shove two fingers up your pussy, biting your lip at the feeling.
Wooyoung grins at your complaints, his grip on his cock tightening. “That’s not a bad thing, doe,” he hums, watching as you touch yourself atop his lap. “Getting all stretched out for me.”
His other hand moves to tease your clit, circling the bud with his thumb. “And don’t worry about the knot,” he adds, his voice dropping to a low growl. “I’ll make sure you’re ready for it.”
At his words, your legs clench and you whimper, head dropping down into the crook of his neck. “Can you help?” you gasp. “Can’t get deep enough…”
Wooyoung hums at your plea, dipping his head down and nudging at your cheek until he can press his lips against yours, tongue pushing into your mouth. “Let me help you, doe,” he coos, voice husky with desire as he pulls away from your lips reluctantly. His hand moves down to your clit, circling the sensitive bud as he feels your breath quicken. “Just relax. Let me take care of everything.”
He slips two fingers into your wet heat, curling and twisting to hit all the right spots. His thumb continues to circle your clit, adding to the pleasure coursing through you, your breathing ragged. You can’t help but rock your hips back and forth, grinding down needily.
“Yes, YN, just like that,” he growls, leaning down to capture one of your nipples in his mouth. Sucking and nibbling on it, he fingers you relentlessly. “Come for me. I want to feel you tighten around my fingers,” he demands, teeth grazing your nipple.
It’s as if his words sparked the immense heat in your core, and your nails dig into his shoulders. “Wooyoung!” you cry out, pleasure rippling through you. You slump against him, panting heavily as you can feel your pussy flutter rhythmically around his fingers.
Growling in satisfaction, Wooyoung slows his ministrations, allowing you to ride out your orgasm before pulling his fingers free.
“Better?” he asks, brushing a strand of hair away from your flushed face. “Ready for the main event now, doe?”
You nod weakly, breathing still uneven. “Yeah,” you sigh, laying your head on his chest. “Give me a moment…I didn’t expect to come already.”
Wooyoung chuckles, stroking your back gently. Although he’s still hard, he waits patiently, pressing his lips to your temple. “Take your time, doe,” he murmurs. “We’ve got all night.”
You lay there for several minutes, catching your breath, thankful for the reprieve he’s granted you. He continues comforting you with his touch, letting you rest for as long as you need before you push yourself up, looking down at him.
“’M ready,” you say softly, and Wooyoung grins up at you, eyes dark with desire. He pulls you down for another heated kiss, tongue sliding past your lips in a tangle of tongues.
“Then come here, YN,” he murmurs into your mouth, reaching down to guide his cock to press against your hole. “Ready?”
At your nod, he pushes slowly inside, groaning as your heat envelops him. “Ah, doe,” he moans, burying himself inch by inch into your cunt. “So fucking good.”
You whimper, mouth dropping open as he slowly thrusts into you. “So big,” you whine, eyes squeezing shut before you open them again. Despite your half-hearted complain, you continue wriggling down onto his cock, the hot length spearing into you. Wooyoung grunts, his hands gripping your hips as he pulls back slightly to thrust back in, just a little deeper.
“God, you’re tight, YN,” he sighs through his nose, his voice strained with pleasure. “Your pussy is killing me.” He moves to cradle your ass, lifting you up and down on his cock. His thrusts become more desperate, cock swelling and knot starting to form.
You whimper, hips slowing as you become overwhelmed. Wooyoung continues to thrust up into you, unbothered. “Fuck, it’s not going to fit,” you whisper.
“Just relax, doe,” Wooyoung rumbles, his voice laced with lust. “Let your body adjust. You can take it.” His cock throbs against you, the knot throbbing insistently, demanding entrance.
You bite your lip, tears pricking at your eyes. “I’m trying! It’s hard,” you complain.
Wooyoung’s thrusts slow as he pulls you down to kiss you gently. “It’s okay, YN,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice soothing. “Just take it one step at a time. Breathe with me.” He takes a deep, steadying breath, nosing against your neck as you follow suit.
Grumbling, you manage to sink a few more inches down. “Stupid wolf knot. How do female wolves manage this every spring?”
Unable to help chuckling, Wooyoung tugs at your ear gently. “They’re used to it, doe. You’re not. But you’re doing great.” His cock twitches inside you, the need making his head spin. “Just a bit more, doe,” he encourages, his grip on your hips tightening.
You grunt, squirming to try and get comfortable. “This is never happening again. Ever.”
Stroking your cheek, Wooyoung hums fondly, nudging your nose with his own. “Yes dear,” he teases, “whatever you say.”
Despite your discomfort, you begin to relax around him, and Wooyoung begins to thrust again, his movements slow and deliberate. “You’re doing great, YN,” he praises, his voice low and appreciative. “Doing so well taking my cock.”
Slowly, painstakingly, you start to sink on his dick again but immediately pull back up. It doesn’t hurt, but just the knowledge of how fat it is makes you hesitate. “You’re practically halfway into my stomach. Are you sure I’m not already taking it all? How much cock do you even have” you whine, trying to stall.
Wooyoung grunts, his thrusts becoming more forceful as he feels your reluctance. Before you can blink, he grabs your hips and pushes you down, impaling you on his cock almost all the way to his knot. “There,” he growls, his voice laced with satisfaction. “Now you’re taking it all.”
Your body jerks as he presses into you, taking his entire length. “Shit, Wooyoung,” you whine. “That was mean.”
Wooyoung chuckles at your complaints. “You asked how much more,” he reminds, his tone light. “And now you know. Now let’s see if we can get my knot in.”
You shake your head half-heartedly, although you already have started grinding down again. “It’s too big,” you whine. “It won’t fit. I’m barely fitting the rest of you in me as is.”
Wooyoung grunts, his thumbs stroking circles on your hips. “Shh, doe,” he murmurs, voice back to being gentle. “It will. Just give it some time.” His cock throbs in you, the knot swollen fully. As he thrusts again, each movement forces the knot further inside you.
Thanks to the slick coating your cunt and his precum, the knot soon pops in and you keen, body tensing and trembling as you collapse against his chest. “You suck,” you gasp, pressing your face into the crook of his neck. “I take back my request to spend my heat with you.”
“Don’t be like that, doe.” Wooyoung murmurs, although his eyes crinkle in amusement. “It didn’t hurt, right? You were ready. Now I have you all to myself.”
You grunt, but you know he’s right. And now that he’s fully seated in you, you’re eager for more. “You’ve always had me all to yourself, greedy wolf,” you murmur. “Now are you going to come or not?”
“Always so impatient, doe,” he laughs. “But fine.” Wooyoung pulls you in for a heated kiss, cock throbbing as he grinds impossibly deep. With a low groan, he thrusts again, knot catching on your hole before he plunges back in, sending tingles down your spine. “Ah, YN, so fucking good,” he whispers, pressing kisses to your cheek and neck.
Digging your nails into his shoulder, you whimper. “Come inside me,” you demand, rolling your hips against his. “I want it, Wooyoungie.”
Wooyoung grunts at your words, his movements becoming erratic. “Ah, doe, I’m close,” he rasps, voice hoarse. “God, gonna fill you up till you’re fucking dripping.”
With a final thrust, he buries himself deep within you, his dick pulsing as he comes, head thrown back. You gasp, body shaking as you crest over the edge again, the hot ropes of cum filling you up and making you whimper and sob in ecstasy.
As your pussy clenches around his length, Wooyoung holds you close, stroking your back as he rides out his orgasm. “That’s it,” he murmurs. “Such a good girl for me, doe.” He kisses the top of your head, his heart pounding in his chest.
The two of you lay intertwined for several minutes before you push yourself up, nuzzling into his cheek and pressing a kiss to his cheekbone. “You look pretty,” you mumble shyly.
Wooyoung tightens his hold on you, returning the kiss to your forehead. “Why thank you, YN. You’re not so bad yourself,” he hums, voice softer than you’ve ever heard before. His hand moves to cup your breast, thumbing over your nipple absentmindedly.
You giggle and squirm under his touch. “Stop that. I’m stuck to you until your knot goes down. Don’t I deserve some rest?”
Although he grumbles playfully, Wooyoung strokes your cheek affectionately. “Rest then,” he relents, pulling you onto his chest as he lays back, closing his eyes. The sound of your combined breathing fills the den and it’s not long before you fall asleep.
When you awake, Wooyoung still sleeps, his knot soft. You smile to yourself at the sight and slip off his length and pad over to the corner, picking up the moss blanket to lay over his body. You watch him for a little longer before turning away to prepare some soup, drinking your serving and setting a small bowl by the fire to keep warm for Wooyoung.
Carefully, you tiptoe out of the den to gather some berries. It doesn’t take long, but when you return, Wooyoung is awake and sipping at the soup. “Oh, you’re up,” you beam, setting down the basket and moving close to kiss the top of his head. “I meant to be back before you got up, I’m sorry.”
Wooyoung turns his head as you approach, his ears perking up at the sound of your voice. He sets aside the bowl of soup, reaching out to pull you into his lap. “No need to apologise, YN,” he murmurs, nuzzling into you. “You did well. Though I must say, I missed having you in my bed.” His hands move to caress your sides, brushing over the swell of your chest.
You giggle at the feeling, wriggling in his lap. “You take a wolf’s knot one time and they’re all over you,” you tease. “Silly predator animals.”
Wooyoung growls playfully at your teasing, his teeth grazing your neck. “Careful, doe,” he warns, his voice rumbling in his chest. “Or I might just have to remind you what happens when you challenge a wolf.” He pulls you flush against him, his cock stirring to life once more despite the recent mating.
Leaning up to kiss the corner of his mouth, you can’t hold back a huff. “You’d think you’ve got a rut coming up, Wooyoungie. Are we sure it’s my mating season coming up and not yours?”
“Maybe I am, doe,” Wooyoung admits, his voice softening as he cups your face. “Never had a mate before. Guess I don’t know how to control myself around you.”
He leans in, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue pushing in eagerly. You melt into the kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Well, I suppose I should be flattered,” you murmur against his lips, “even if you are insatiable. But you can’t fuck me this morning! My ass still aches.”
With a chuckle, Wooyoung breaks the kiss. “Okay, YN,” he promises, his voice gentle. “We’ll put a hold on it. Unless you change your mind.” His hand slides down your side, fingers dipping beneath your thighs to tease the sensitive flesh between them.
You squeak as his fingers circle your clit. “No way in hell. It was hard enough to even walk outside this morning. I can’t deal with it again. Brutish wolf.” Despite your protests, you snuggle closer to him, kissing his cheek.
“As you wish, doe,” he murmurs, his voice playful. “We’ll stick to gentler activities today.” Her captures your lips in another kiss.
Humming contentedly, you enjoy the gentle press of lips. After a few moments, you pull away, gazing up at him. “Could I mark you?” you ask shyly. “I’ll just bite you a little. It won’t hurt, I promise.”
Wooyoung pauses, his gaze meeting yours. A flicker of surprise crosses his features before he schools his expression into neutrality. “Mark me?” he repeats, his voice carefully neutral. “Why do you want to do that, doe?”
Your face flushes further, and you look away. “It’s a deer thing. Makes sure my body will register you as my mating partner. It’s okay if you don’t want to.”
A blush creeps over your cheeks, and Wooyoung stares at it for a moment, his expression softening. “I didn’t say no, YN,” he murmurs, tilting his head to expose his neck. “Do as you please.”
You hesitate, then lean in, pressing a soft kiss to the base of his neck. “Thank you,” you whisper. Then you stink your teeth into his flesh, careful not to break skin. You only hold the bite for a moment before releasing him, lapping lightly at the spot to soothe it. There’s a slight outline of your teeth, and you can’t help the swell of pride in your chest at the sight.
Wooyoung remains still for a few more seconds after you pull away before reaching up to trace the bite mark. “So,” he murmurs. “Does this mean you’re mine now, doe?”
Smiling sweetly, you curl back into his embrace. “Mmhm. It won’t hold for very long, but I can just mark you again when it fades. If you’d like.”
A small smile pulls at Wooyoung’s lips, his hand moving to cup your face. “I’d like that, doe. Very much.” He leans in to peck your lips, the quick kiss lingering before he pulls away. “Wolf mating marks…they’re different. More intense. They leave scars. Yours—deer marks? They’re softer,” he muses, stroking your hair idly.
You nod. “Deer aren’t built for permanent bonds,” you explain. “Our matings are seasonal. Not lifelong.”
There’s a long, pregnant pause before you look up at the wolf shifter. “Would you want a permanent bond? With me?” You’re almost too scared to suggest it, but the softness in his eyes gives you courage.
“A lifetime is a long time, doe,” he murmurs, his voice soft and hesitant. “Are you sure you want to bind yourself with a solitary wolf?” There’s a vulnerability in his voice you haven’t heard before, and you can see the hope in his dark eyes.
“Yes,” you reply simply, without hesitation. “You’re not alone anymore, Wooyoung. Not if you don’t want to be.”
You hesitate, ears folding back slightly as you shift nervously in his lap. “…do you want to be?”
Wooyoung stares into your eyes, searching for something, something you don’t know. But he finds it, letting out a slow exhale and relaxing. “No,” he admits quietly. “I don’t want to be alone anymore. Stay with me, doe. Let me make you mine.”
Unable to help it, you beam, throwing your arms around him and peppering his face with kisses. “Of course I’ll stay,” you murmur. “I love you, Wooyoung. And I’m never letting you go.”
Wooyoung wraps his arms around your waist, holding you close as you shower him with affection. A genuine smile spreads across his face, transforming his usually stern features into something warmer. “And I love you, doe. My beautiful, stubborn deer.”
HEY DAY WHAT IS MILF SAN 🎤the world would like to know
The world = Topaz 🤣🤣
Here is an excerpt lol
He’s attractive, you aren’t about to lie to yourself. But you can’t stop thinking of all the negatives, and it sinks into your bones and you know you will never have the courage to ever ask him out. So, you content yourself with just watching him and smiling softly from a distance as he interacts with your daughter.
When he glances up at you, a smile on his face and longing in his eyes, you quickly turn away, unsure how to react. Instead, you leave Surin and San to their lesson, stepping back to the kitchen to clean up a bit.
Hope you enjoy cus I doubt this is coming any time soon 🤣🤣🤣
