summary: Your parents set up a competition for all the knights in the kingdom and said whoever wins it wins your hand. Your childhood enemy has entered just to piss you off but what happens when he unexpectedly wins?
warnings: hurt/comfort, angst, tooth-aching fluff
Knights and noblemen from the entire kingdom had made an appearance. They had trained, bartered and bought their way into this competition. All for your hand in marriage. It wasn't that they were after. This long line of eligible men weren't your true loves. When they looked at you, they saw the crown. A shining symbol of money and power. Marrying you was just a technicality. An added responsibility they each of them would ignore the moment the wedding ceremony was finished. You would rot away in that castle just as your mother had. And there wasn't a thing you could do about it.
The first pairing stepped forward. An experienced knight that everyone knew by name. The crowd roared and cheered him on and he soaked up every moment. His opponent matched him in size but not popularity. The match was over in a few moments with Mr. Popular coming out the victor. “Who's next?” He shouted, his confidence growing by the second.
Some of the other knights instinctively stepped backwards, not wanting to risk the almost certain humiliation of going against such a distinguished knight. You sighed heavily as you watched the other men look around at each other, unsure what to do.
“I'll take you on, big guy.” A voice rang from the crowd with a familiar tone. You leaned over your balcony to see him, Seungmin, stepping into the ring. His gloved hand gripped tight around the handle of his sword and he moved his feet into practiced positioning.
Seungmin was exceptionally skilled as he was irrefutably stubborn. He had been asked by many to join their individual cause and help them fight, but Seungmin always brushed them off. Must have enjoyed the company of free drink and free women more than fighting for his kingdom. What a pig. You turned your nose and your back as Seungmin readied himself. But you still peered over your shoulder still, figuring it would give you some sort of entertainment to see him get his ass kicked.
Seungmin raised his sword in proper knightsmen etiquette, signaling that he was ready to begin. Mr. Popular stepped forward as well. He was noticeably taller than Seungmin. “Are you sure? I don't want to embarrass you in front of such a beautiful princess.” The knight boomed, gesturing to you in the balcony above the arena. Seungmin turned his head towards you and smiled. A smile you knew all too well. A smile that promised more mischief was to come. He bowed to you like a gentleman. You rolled your eyes in response. “Ready when you are.” Seungmin said, addressing the knight. Although his eyes never left yours as he spoke.
“It's not like I killed him.” Seungmin laughed as he pulled off his remaining armor. You stood together in your father's study. The entire kingdom was already filling up the castle with cheers of congratulations. The halls were echoing with Seungmin's name. In a panic, you pulled him in here to try to get an explanation out of him. “Do you realize what you've just done?” You were searing with anger. Seungmin moved to a small shelf with a bottle and some glasses and poured himself a drink. “Of course I realize it.”
You groaned in frustration as he moved casually. “You really do hate me, don't you?” You snapped. Seungmin sat across from you in a lounge chair that was almost always reserved for your father. He swirled a glass of wine, his long fingers clinging to the rim. A slow smirk spread across his lips.
“Is that what you think? That I hate you?” He said finally, standing up from the chair and making his way to you. He closed the gap between the two of you almost instantly. Like he was impatient now. Like waiting any longer to touch you was no longer an option.
Your body reacted immediately, stepping away from him and inching closer to the wall behind you. “Yes, that's what I think.” You whispered. Your voice was breathier now, like Seungmin had willed the air out of the room. His armor was gone now. But more than the iron helmet and the steel plates that he carried heavy while he battled. He was stripped away now. His broad shoulders and muscular arms filled the tunic that billowed and swayed as he moved. He looked vulnerable. Like the boy that threw rocks at your window in the middle of the night to tell you to sneak out. The boy who picked on you when you wore your fanciest dress. The boy that pulled your hair and ran away. “I don't hate you,” his eyes were hooded and dark. His pupils dilated from the dim lighting of the candles. “If I hated you, I would've let one of those fucking pricks win.” He took a long sip of his wine. His eyes stayed locked onto yours. “What do you mean?” You tilted your head, genuinely taken back by his response.
“Do you really think I'd let one of those entitled assholes marry you? Do you think they care about you? Do they know your favorite food? Or how you sneak desserts from the kitchen before dinner is served? Or that you are terrified of thunderstorms? No. And they will never care to learn those things. I can't leave your happiness up to someone else. That is my responsibility.”
Your breath was short and shallow like you needed to cry, or scream, or run away. “Your responsibility?” You snapped back, unsure of what you were feeling anymore.
“That's right,” Seungmin brought his hand up to your chin, gripping it firmly so you would really hear him this time. “ You're my responsibility.”
You wanted to push him backwards, scream that you are no one's responsibility. You wanted to tell him that you don't need anyone for anything… but your heart pushed past your head and grabbed the steering wheel, aiming you directly into his arms. Your hands cupped his face and pulled him into a deep, longing kiss. A kiss that started hard and desperate but then slowly turned into something more delicate and soft. His mouth would move into yours and your lips would respond the same. His hands made their way through your hair, down your neck and finally rested on your hips. Every breath you took mingled with him. The kiss never breaking in fear that this was all a dream and the moment you stopped you'd awake in your bed married to someone entitled asshole.
Seungmin grabbed you by the back of your thighs and pulled you up and around him. He held you so close to his chest you could feel his heart beating. His lips moved down from your mouth and lined your jawline and neck. Soft pecks gave way to hungry bites. Smooth caressing of his fingers gave way to impatient scratching and pulling. You reflexively rut your hips into him, the clothes between you seemingly like the worst torture imaginable.
“Where's Seungmin? I have to congratulate my new son-in-law!” Your father demanded from another room. You pulled back and in an instant so did Seungmin. He continued to hold you, your foreheads pressed against each other as you both attempted to slow your breathing back to normal. Your eyes flickered up to his and with a smile he knew what you wanted to say. He knew you and you were his now. His princess. His responsibility.
Title: "Chosen by the Devourer": Stray Kids fanfiction
Pairing: Felix x Reader Female
Genre: Dark Fantasy | Horror Romance | Folklore Fantasy | Monster AU
Warnings: Human sacrifice, possessive love, manipulation, dark themes, moral ambiguity.
Summary: In a forgotten village at the edge of an ancient forest, a young woman is offered as sacrifice to a monster who wears human skin. But the creature in the woods does not want her blood—he wants her devotion.
The village bells rang only for death.
You learned that early—how their sound scraped against the sky like a warning rather than a prayer. When they rang for you, slow and deliberate, no one wept. No one protested. The women shut their shutters. The men avoided your eyes.
The monster in the woods demanded blood.
And you had been deemed suitable.
They dressed you in white so the blood would show. A thin shift, old and fraying, meant for burial rather than survival.
“You brought this upon us,” the elder hissed as they dragged you toward the woods. “The monster has grown restless.”
You knew what that meant.
For weeks, livestock had been torn apart and left half-eaten. Deep claw marks had been found on the church doors. Shapes moved between trees at night—too tall, too fast. The Devourer was awake again.
And you were the price.
At the forest’s edge, they forced you to your knees. Mud soaked into the hem of your shift.
“May he be satisfied,” they whispered.
Then they fled.
The woods swallowed them whole.
You stayed there long after the echoes of their footsteps vanished, chest tight, breath uneven. The forest felt aware—not watching, but waiting. As though something ancient had already circled your fate long before the villagers tied the rope.
“You smell like fear.”
The voice came from behind you.
Low. Smooth. Intimate.
You twisted around.
He stood impossibly close, crouched like a predator examining prey that hadn’t realized it was caught yet. Golden hair fell loose around his face, pale freckles dusting skin too flawless to belong to a mortal man. His eyes glowed faintly in the dim—warm, almost kind.
Almost.
“You’re early,” he murmured. “They usually run farther before leaving them.”
You tried to crawl back, but roots rose from the ground, curling around your ankles, pinning you in place.
“Please,” you choked. “Just kill me quickly.”
Felix smiled.
“Oh, little offering,” he said softly. “If I wanted you dead, you wouldn’t still be breathing.”
His fingers brushed your throat—light, testing. You flinched, heart hammering beneath his touch.
“So fragile,” he whispered. “And yet they thought you would appease me.”
“What are you?” you asked, tears slipping free.
He tilted his head, studying the way your fear trembled through your body. The forest leaned in. For a moment, his human shape flickered—something vast and monstrous pressing against skin not meant to contain it. Horns ghosted into existence before vanishing. Claws brushed your jaw without breaking skin.
“I am hunger,” Felix said. “I am the promise they made and never intended to keep.”
His hand slid down to the rope binding your wrists. With a flex of his fingers, it snapped like rotten thread.
Freedom should have felt like hope.
Instead, dread pooled in your stomach.
“You’re not sending me back,” you realized.
“No,” he agreed. “I’m keeping you.”
The forest opened for him, roots and branches parting as though bowing. He lifted you effortlessly, cradling you against his chest. You could feel his heartbeat—slow, powerful, not quite human.
“I don’t take sacrifices,” he whispered against your ear. “I take what is mine.”
You struggled weakly, but his grip tightened—possessive, unyielding.
“Don’t fight me,” he warned, voice darkening. “I would hate to hurt you before you understand.”
His home lay deep within the woods—a den of stone and bone, lit by unnatural fire. Skins and trinkets hung from the walls. Old things. Human things.
You trembled as he set you down on a bed of moss and fur.
“You should hate me,” Felix said, kneeling before you. “You should beg. You should scream.”
He leaned closer, breath brushing your lips.
“But you won’t.”
Your body betrayed you—heart racing, breath hitching, fear twisting into something dangerously close to longing.
He smiled, slow and knowing.
“They left you to die,” he whispered. “I chose you to live. To belong.”
His thumb brushed beneath your eye, catching a tear.
“Mine,” he said.
The word settled into your bones like a curse—and a vow.
Outside, the forest roared softly, roots tightening around the village paths far beyond reach.
drifting from town to town was a life you took to far too easily. you’d stay in one place for a short period of time only to move on to the next village in need of a witch. then, one wrong move and you’re stuck dealing with lee minho and his wolf pack.
playlist | part II | part III
pairing: werewolf!lee know x witch!reader
genre: fantasy, comedy, angst, fluff, werewolf au
warnings: blood/gore, magic/witchcraft, threats, violence, manipulation, threats of war, corrupt government, mentions/depictions of scars, depictions of panic attacks, an oc used for villainy purposes, i.n is kind of an asshole for a while, mentions of ruts and heats, smut (fingering, oral, marking, slight voyeurism, dirty talk, praise kink, lee know being possessive, slight edging and orgasm denial, unprotected sex (wrap it up people), missionary, counter sex, light choking)
wc: 14.4k
adrenaline coursed through your veins, various flora and fauna blurring past your vision. the pain of bare feet on tree roots and rocks barely registering as you dart between tree trunks that had taken root in this forest long before even you were born. the cloak around you whipped in the wind as shouts and screams echoed behind you, forcing you to move faster around the terrain. arrows suddenly whip past your head, arms coming up in an attempt to shield yourself from their stinging tips. an arrow grazes past your hip and sends a spark of pain across your skin while knocking you off balance, legs slipping out from under you and sending you tumbling down a hill. you scramble to your feet at the bottom as the sounds of soldiers' shouts draw near, ignoring the screaming in your lungs.
you're only a few feet into your sprint when searing pain radiating from your ankle forces you to join the fallen leaves on the forest floor. you bite your tongue to keep the scream bubbling in your throat down, eyes darting to the bear trap now latched to your foot. ice floods your veins in panic, your nimble fingers attempting to wretch yourself free from the metal teeth of the trap while the kings guard draw ever closer.
"over here!" a guard shouts to his companions from behind you, dangerously close. your head snaps up in time to see him charging straight towards you, arm held high above his head as the blade of his sword reflects the light of the full moon over head. your bloodied hands lift up, magic dancing just below the skin of your finger tips, before a blur of white and gray tackles the guard. the magic curling at your fingertips dissipates while high pitched howls, gruff growls, and thunderous barks pierce your ears. screams from your pursuers are quick to follow the cacophony of animalistic sounds encompassing you.
you realize now that you had crossed into werewolf territory. you knew they were in the area not far from your cottage, but you hadn't realized their borders spanned this far into the woods. somehow, in the commotion of the wolf pack's hunting chorus, you had managed to drag yourself behind a tree, chest heaving with spent energy. your adrenaline high was fading now, the pain in your ankle and hip worsening in the next moments of silence. black dots threaten the edges of your vision while you catch your breath, fingernails digging into the skin of your palm in an attempt to keep you from succumbing to unconsciousness. rustling branches from a bush of witch hazel a few feet in front of you cuts through the silenced forest. icy blue irises meet your own as a massive wolf the color of night steps out from the pointed branches. the moment they do, a spark of fire ignites from somewhere within your chest and your breath hitches. through blurry vision, you watch the wolf stop only a few feet from you before your world goes dark.
the smell of musk and earth hits your nostrils when you wake next, flinching slightly when rays from the sun greet your corneas. a soft groan escapes your dry throat while a hand comes up to rub at your face. flashes of memories from before your unwelcomed slumber has you shooting up from where you lay, eyes darting around frantically. you're not in your cottage on the edge of the forest, yet your eyes find some of your belongings in a neat pile beside the door of the room.
the room's cedar walls are carved with designs of the stars and, near the floorboards, tribal designs of two wolves can be found where the walls meet. the door to the room has a crescent moon burned into its face, allowing you to wonder little about where you are. the furniture in the room is simple compared to the carvings on the walls. shelves and cupboards line a couple of the walls while a desk sits in the corner, its chair currently set beside your bed with a basket of healing herbs and tinctures resting in it.
pain from your ankle throbs suddenly through your observation of the room, breaking through your thoughts. you grasp the bedsheets that had been strewn over you in your slumber, quickly tossing them off of you. your ankle is wrapped in strips of white cloth that have large dots of crimson where your injury lays beneath. blood is smeared on your ripped pant leg near where the bear trap caught you and you begin checking the rest of you. you find more bandages on your hip where the soldier's arrow had grazed the skin there, the cloth of your once white shirt now untucked from where you had previously had it. at least whoever treated your injuries did so with decency for your unconscious state.
the sound of a door shutting without care echoes from somewhere else in the home, snapping you from your thoughts. the lilting voice of a man outside teases whoever had just entered while you grab your cloak from off the bed post near the head of the bed. a set of footsteps echo down the hallway to your room as you pull the hood of the cloak over your head to hide your features.
"checking on him again?" a melodic voice snickers from elsewhere in the house. you prepare a quick force spell just as the doorknob turns.
"shut up, i'm changing his bandages," the male outside your room huffs, features turned down the hall to his companion. dark irises meet yours when he opens the door, that same spark from last time igniting deep in your chest and your breath hitches. the male before you freezes in the door way, eyes flashing a familiar icy blue hue for a moment. the world around you blurs as if the two of you were the only ones in it before refocusing when your force spell goes haywire. forcing the man in the doorway to duck, your magic slices through the decorative pots on the wall behind him. the shattering of pottery catches the attention of the other occupant in the house.
"minho?!" they yell in concern, footsteps thundering through the home. the one in the doorway - minho - just sighs with a roll of his eyes and enters the room like you hadn't nearly decapitated him seconds ago. you eye minho warily as he walks towards you and you move yourself back into the corner of the bed. his hands are already moving around the herb basket next to you when his blonde companion reaches the doorway with a look of concern. the blonde's hand rests on the doorway while his gaze darts between the two of you, anxiously.
minho moves the basket off the chair before sitting in it. he offers up the medical tincture in his hand so you can see what's inside the bottle, words of comfort to his companions leaving his lips, "i'm fine, chan. you worry too much." a sigh of relief exits the blonde in the doorway before the front door bangs open and closed again, multiple voices now echoing off the walls.
"the fuck was that noise?!"
"is everyone okay?!"
"what happened?!"
"i'll deal with them while you handle that," chan huffs to minho before turning towards the six boys currently in the other room. "yah!" chan yells to them as he closes the door to the room, leaving you and minho alone together. minho recaptures your attention when you catch him moving to sit on the edge of the chair. one hand holds out the bottle of liquid medicine for you to hold while the other hovers over your wounded ankle. his gaze catches yours under your hood in an attempt at asking permission to touch you without breaking the silence that had settled over the room. your eyes search his for any ill intent, anxiety about what burns in your chest when you look at him still lingering in the back of your mind. you nod slowly after weighing your options and shift your leg a little closer to his hovering hand, your fingers cautiously taking the tincture from him.
minho begins to unwrap the bloodied bandages around your ankle, his cool fingers brushing your skin and making you hiss under your breath. he stills and a soft "sorry" falls from his lips before he continues his ministrations. once the bandage is off, the dark haired male leans over to the herb basket again to retrieve something else. a clean, white cloth is produced before he gingerly takes the tincture back from you. minho uncorks the potion and the scent of turmeric, calendula, and yarrow hits your nostrils before he puts some of the concoction to the cloth. "this is going to sting, okay?" minho's voice is just barely above a whisper as if he were afraid you'd bolt if he was any louder. and, to be fair, you're not sure if he's wrong right now.
a whimper slips past your lips when the cloth touches the swollen skin around your ankle and your grip tightens into the sheets below you. minho cleans the wound as quickly and thoroughly as he can, trying to ignore the ache in his chest every time you gasp or hiss in pain under your breath. a quiet crash followed by chan yelling can be heard somewhere off in another part of the house. a relieved sigh leaves you when he sets your ankle down gently on the bed and minho leans back into the basket, looking for some clean bandages to rewrap your wound with. you take this moment to study his features. minho is handsome - his jawline is strong in a way that reminds you of the warriors written about in your favorite ancient literature while his lips make you think the moon goddess sculpted them herself. another round of boisterous bickering can be heard from elsewhere in the house before someone shushes the source.
minho's gaze moves to meet yours when he feels you staring at him, but you're quick to move your line of sight back to your wounded ankle, pretending you weren't just admiring him. you miss the smirk that plays on his lips for a second before his expression is neutral once again. his hands are quick to wrap up your ankle. a loud yelp and more scolding sounds a bit closer to your door before it's moved deeper into the house. minho sits back in his chair once his hands still and his eyes glance down to your side where your arrow wound is. you shake your head at him and he notes how your jaw tightens when you do so. he sighs through his nose, but nods in silent understanding.
"no! hyunjin! changbin!" chan scolds from down the hall again before your door is swung open by two figures. you react out of instinct and let another force spell whip towards the two. luckily, they duck and another mark is added to the wall behind them, the scent of magic suddenly making the air thick. you hear whispers of "not the wall!" and "he's a witch!" from down the hall. the figure on the right stands slowly first, the ribbon tying some of his long, raven colored hair back now loosening its grip on the strands. his lanky figure is draped in simple, but elegant clothes. if you didn't know you were in werewolf territory, you would have thought he were of noble blood. his cohort, a stockier male in a sleeveless shirt and flowy pants, stood next with his mouth agape in shock.
"what the hell was that?!" the muscular one yells in disbelief. chan is quick to grab the back of his shirt, pulling the male back slightly with a yelp. "i believe that was clearly you scaring the poor kid, changbin!" changbin is quick to try and escape chan's hold on his shirt only to be caught in a headlock by what you're starting to realize is their alpha.
"how were we supposed to know he was gonna throw magic at us?!" the princely male defends his companion boldly only to shrink under chan's gaze. "hyunjin, just shut up before you make it worse for me," changbin chokes out from between chan's bicep. they stay like that for a moment before chan lets changbin go, shoving him into hyunjin who instinctually yelps. "go," chan sighs, hands on his hips before he turns his attention to minho, "you, too."
"but-" minho begins to protest before chan holds his hand up. "no, go. you can talk to him afterwards." minho gives you one last look before he looks back at the blonde with a determined fire in his eyes. chan sighs again, but relents, "at least move, so i can sit down." a small smile tugs at the corners of minho's lips for a second before he stands, allowing chan to take the seat beside your bed instead. minho shifts slightly to lean on the door frame, allowing the other six wolves from the living room to peer into the room now.
"sorry 'bout those two," chan chuckles to you, a hand sheepishly rubbing at the back of his neck, "they mean well, they're just… enthusiastic." chan ignores the quiet whine from changbin as silence settles over you, stretching for longer than it should.
"what's the matter? wolf got your tongue?" one of the younger looking wolves quips from the doorway. this wolf has streaks of blonde in his dark brown hair that match one of the other wolves and it makes you wonder if the two are related somehow. the rest of the pack starts howling with laughter at seungmin's words despite the glares from both chan and minho. "kim seungmin, i swear-" minho growls at the perpetrator before being cut off by the second youngest. "what? i was trying to ease the tension. it's not like he's actually…" seungmin trails off when he notices you staring at him instead of laughing.
"…no way, you can't speak, can you." it's not a question, but you shake your head anyways. the rest of the pack are quick to turn against seungmin, suddenly yelling at him about how insensitive his joke was while chan's face falls into his hand with a soft smack. minho shifts to stand, looking like he's going to swing at seungmin at any second. the chaotic scene draws a small chuckle from your chest that allows minho to relax back against the doorway, effectively preventing the younger wolf's punishment.
"hang on, i think there's some parchment in the other room," another wolf comments before scurrying off to look for the item. he returns moments later with the parchment and a writing quill in hand, entering the room with light footsteps while you observe him carefully. this one, similar to chan, is blonde, but his shoulders are not nearly as wide as his alpha's. you note that the freckles adorning his cheeks look similar to the constellations etched into the walls of the room. he offers you the items you need and you tentatively take them, using the wall to scrawl on the blank paper before showing it to them.
"thank you for treating my wounds."
minho's gaze softens as he reads your words before he feels an elbow from jisung beside him, drawing his attention. jisung gives the older wolf a quick wiggle of his eyebrows which makes minho half heartedly swat him away. the younger cackles to himself quietly at the reaction. chan ignores them and continues, his demeanor shifting when his face gets serious. he leans forward in the chair, "you're welcome. but i have to ask, why were you being chased by the king's guard? the peace treaty between wolves and the empire is still new and the tension between us and them is still a… delicate situation." your gaze drops from chan to the parchment in your lap. you know very well how fresh those wounds are. you take a moment before you lift the paper again.
"i was searching for some ingredients for a spell when they found me. they tried to rob me, so i ran." it's a weak lie, you know that, but you can't risk them knowing the truth. a protective growl emanates deep from minho's chest at your words, making you look at him. his face was still as neutral as it was when he was treating your wounds, but you catch how his nostrils flare angrily. chan clicks his tongue in disappointment for a moment and your heart pounds in your ears. he sits back in the chair, arms now crossing over his chest. "why does that not surprise me," chan comments under his breath, making you relax. "you're welcome to stay with us until you've healed up," chan smiles at you, his alpha mask slipping away now before he turns towards the door, "felix, hyunjin, why don't you show…" he trails off, realizing you never mentioned your name. you fumble with your inked quill clumsily for a moment before writing your name hastily on the parchment, something that has the tiniest of smiles slip onto minho's face.
"yn. why don't you two show yn around a bit?" chan finishes after reading your name aloud, "i'm chan, by the way." he reaches out to shake your hand which you hesitantly take. the tension in the room melts away before the rest of the boys file into the room now to greet you. "i'm jisung!" the boy who had elbowed minho earlier grins at you, "let me know if minho hyung is an asshole and i'll whip him into shape."
"says the one who got scared by a lizard the other day," minho shoots back from his spot in the doorway with chan now beside him. "that lizard was huge!" jisung defends before he's nudged out of the way by seungmin.
"anyways, i'm seungmin and the moody one over there is jeongin," the boy points to the younger one behind him who's glaring at you, "sorry, by the way, for the distasteful joke." you let out a quiet, breathy laugh and respond on your paper, "it's okay. you didn't know." seungmin sheepishly stares at the paper a moment before he's being picked up.
"yeah, yeah, yeah, you're very sorry, now move," changbin grins impatiently, practically tossing seungmin into jeongin behind him with a yelp from the youngest, "i'm changbin! let me know if you need anything heavy moved." you tilt your head quizzically at the muscle man to which he just laughs like he knows something you don't before he's tackled to the floor by jeongin and seungmin in revenge. hyunjin steps over the three wrestling wolves as he approaches you with a kind smile, "i'm hyunjin. you won't have a dull moment while you're staying here, if you couldn't tell."
"you make that sound like a bad thing," the boy who handed you the parchment and quill earlier chimed in, a smile pulling at his freckled cheeks, "i'm felix. it's nice to meet you, yn! hyunjin and i are the ones showing you around."
"take the wrestling outside!" chan suddenly cuts in to scold the three on the ground. jeongin and seungmin cackle when they remove themselves from changbin, the pair of wolves rushing out of the room with the older one hot on their heels. jisung laughs after them as he, too, exits the room after the trio.
"shall we go?" felix drew your attention back to your conversation. you look at felix questioningly, curious as to how you'd move given your current ankle injury. felix's grin widens before he lowers himself to the ground, his back to you. hyunjin sidles up next to him with his hand out stretched towards you. you hesitate for a moment. "your chariot awaits," hyunjin jokes, sensing the hesitation, before you take his hand and gingerly moved from your corner to the edge of the bed. felix gently grips your thighs and gingerly helps you onto his back, lifting you up from the bed once your arms were secured safely around his neck. the two almost immediately start yapping to you about how much they know you'll end up liking the place. minho moves to follow after the three of you, ready to accompany you on your tour of the grounds.
the weight of chan's hand on his shoulder stops him and chan shaking his head when minho looks back at him. "we need to talk."
"oh, i guess you haven't seen the rest of this house, huh?" hyunjin hummed absent mindedly as the three of you moved down the hallway. you shook your head in response, eyes trailing across the living room. it was small, but cozy. there's a coffee table in the center of the room that has all manner of books strewn about its surface. a couch stood near by with a soft checkered blanket neatly folded over the back of it while the sun beat down on its cushions. clearly, it had been placed there with the idea of sunning whoever laid on its surface in mind. your eyes wander the open floor layout to the kitchen, cooking utensils and various pots and pans hanging above the wash basin. a plain, wooden dining table isn't far from the counter top against the kitchen wall, a set of nine chairs sat around it. it was simple, but it told a story. behind the kitchen stood four floor to ceiling windows etched with different colors, a screen door nestled between the panes of stained glass. overgrown foliage and varying crops stick into view from the quick glance you caught from behind the door, a gentle breeze rattling the wooden frame as if beckoning you to tend to whatever interesting plants lay behind it. but, you were being escorted out the front door before you could try to get felix or hyunjin's attention to ask about it.
the sun is high in the sky when you, hyunjin, and felix step out of the house sat nestled between two massive oak trees. you assume it's likely some time in the afternoon based on the positioning of the blazing ball in the sky. and your assumption is correct when you hear jisung yelling something off in the distance about going out to catch some deer with changbin for lunch.
there are a total of eight other houses forming a circle in the clearing around you. each building has its own personality to it and has a varying amount of floors. there's one home with an easel in it's front yard, a weathered stool not too far from it. another with a rope hammock hanging from the branch of a tree near the balcony of it's second story. some of the houses stick to just a single story while others have two. one house, however, bears three stories on its foundation and a wrap around porch. it has enough room to house all eight pack members and still have room for eight more. in the middle of all the homes is a makeshift firepit with eight different seats settled around it. hyunjin's proud voice breaks you from your observations when he points to the house next door, the one with the easel and stool outside. "that house is mine. we're neighbors, so don't hesitate to stop by if you need help with anything." despite hyunjin's words, you can't help but catch the guarded tone that comes out and you know he doesn't really mean the help he offers. it's a formality, not an invitation. there is no trust in his voice, but you nod anyways.
the duo banter a bit as they walk along the path beside your temporary home, felix weaving tales of misadventures the pack have had together. occasionally, felix has to readjust you from the spot on his back to ensure you don't fall off while he moves. it's a ten minute walk to your next destination - the lake. it's massive when it comes into view and you're shocked you hadn't stumbled upon it the night prior, before your run in with the king's guard. at the end of the worn path lies a pair of alcoves that cradle the shore line. as you get closer, you realize that while the main alcoves are natural, but there are smaller ledges within that are man made. they have all manner of soaps and perfumes slotted between the dirt.
"this is the last stop of our encampment," felix grins at you, "all wolves need a good bath with a view, so we figured this side of the lake was the perfect spot for both." you nod in understanding, a soft smile pulling at your lips. "it's not much, but it's home," hyunjin adds, a wistful look on his handsome features. the three of you take a moment to soak in the peaceful atmosphere of the area, water gently lapping at the shore near hyunjin and felix's feet. your sharp eyes scan the horizon, mind already cataloging the plants on the opposite shore that you could use for spell components and potions. it helps take your mind off the throbbing in your hip from being on felix's back for so long. you shift uncomfortably on felix's back and hyunjin's eyes dart over to felix's. the two share a knowing look that has you puzzled before moving in tandem with one another back up the hill, hyunjin's hand hovering gently behind you in case you fall.
you reach the clearing where everyone's houses stand just as minho and chan exit the big pack house, a lazy smile on chan's face while minho's brows are knit together in an expression you can't quite read. just as the two hit the bottom step, minho looks toward you and his expression evens out. you stare at each other while felix and hyunjin's words become quieter with each passing second, despite your proximity. you're searching minho's gaze for any answers to the lingering inquiries in your mind and he's searching yours for any recognition as to what's happening to the two of you. chan's hand grips the back of minho's neck in a silent farewell before the alpha leaves. if minho felt it, he didn't acknowledge it, too preoccupied with staring you down. your eye contact doesn't break until hyunjin shuts the door to your new home with a slight bang. you have a feeling these boys don't know the word gentle when it comes to doors.
it's been a month since your arrival into the pack of stray kids and, between minho diligently checking for signs of infection and you pumping a healing spell into the wound daily, your ankle has been healing quite nicely. you were now able to put some pressure on the limb without much pain, but you're still unable to walk without help. luckily, a few days into your stay, minho had brought you a makeshift crutch, dismissively mentioning he had fashioned it for you out of the trunk of an old apple tree. you noticed the blush dusting the tips of his ears when he told you, your heart skipping a beat at the gesture.
despite your good relationship so far with minho, the rest of the pack were still wary of you and you can't exactly blame them. historically, witches and warlocks alike did nothing to ease werewolf suffering when humans began their assault on all manner of magical folk only a few centuries ago. most humans still fear the howls of wolves in the forests neighboring their homes while the few witches and warlocks that remain live lavishly among nobles and royalty. though you've never given the pack a reason to distrust you so far, they don't trust easily. some more than others. you can see it in the way eyes follow your movements when you're hobbling down the stairs of your porch in the morning for breakfast. you see it in the way hyunjin moves his canvas out of your sight when he's painting or goes inside his home entirely when you pass by. you see it in the way changbin stands a little straighter when he spots you, like he's preparing to defend himself and his pack from you. you see it in the way seungmin's words trail off while talking to the others upon your approach. you see it in the way chan's smile never reaches his eyes when he's speaking with you. you see it in the way jisung's hands subtly shake when passing food to you during meals. you see it in the way jeongin constantly glares at you from across a room as if you'd slaughtered his entire family. felix is the only one other than minho who doesn't seem bothered by you, treating you as an equal rather than a potential threat. and it bothers you more than it should. your heart clenches when the quiet distrust rears its head and it makes no sense to you. you don't know these people, why does it matter what they think? but, you can't ignore the discomfort settling into your chest about the situation.
that's how you ended up on the edge of the wolves' territory in the middle of the night, knife in hand as you carve protective wards into the bark of ancient trees. by the time you're able to limp back to camp, the sun is beginning to crest over the horizon. chan exits the pack house just as you reach the edge of the first home in the clearing, making you pause. he takes in a deep breath and feels calm, the wards settling into the woods around the two of you with the wind. you continue forward when he nods. chan meets you at the steps of your home. he places a hand on your shoulder, giving you a tired, but grateful smile when he notices how exhausted you look. for the first time, the smile reaches his eyes and you know you've earned his trust. with a quiet "get some sleep", the alpha's hand falls away from your shoulder. he watches you closely to make sure you don't trip while heading inside before turning and heading back into the pack home, no longer worried about his early morning patrol.
gaining chan's trust now meant you could gain the others' trust more easily. your next target is seungmin and jisung. you noticed the blank stares the two would give when you held up your parchment to speak with them or laugh awkwardly at "my ankle hurts" as if you were telling an unfunny joke. you figure out fairly quickly that neither of them know how to read. you enlist the help of felix to change that at first before realizing that felix, although can recognize enough words to get by, he can't fully read either. which means you now have to get creative. at first you start writing things down and showing them the object. you start with an apple, then move to stick, then move to drawing more abstract words like human and wolf. seungmin takes to reading easier than jisung does, but that doesn't deter the older wolf. if anything, it pushes him more. in combination with teaching them to read, you start trying to communicate with them outside of the paper, gesturing and moving your hands in ways that help them understand what you were trying to express. it doesn't take long before not only seungmin and jisung can understand you, but the whole pack can, too.
the other's trust comes a little less on purpose after that. hyunjin was fortunately easy. you had overheard him gushing to changbin one day about a flower that grew on the east side of their territory. the flower had hyunjin practically swoonin over its sweet scent, describing what you assumed to be jade vine. a few days later, there's a vile of the flower's perfume beside hyunjin's bathing supplies. hyunjin noticed it had mysteriously appeared there after one of your weekly baths. then, hyunjin took notice that there would be new, fresh paint near his easel when he would run out of a color and your hands were slightly stained that same color for days after. changbin's trust comes when you're trying to fix up the green house behind the stained glass windows in your kitchen. it had been a day where your ankle ached had ached all night, keeping sleep just out of reach. changbin had come in to inform you dinner was ready only to find you sitting in the dirt angrily hacking away at a stubborn weed with a knife. he placed a hand on your shoulder before grasping the plant at its base and ripping it out for you. he attempted to hand it back to you, a look of confusion on his face when tears rolled down your cheeks. he sat next to you in the dirt and patted your head while you silently cried in frustration. it clicked to both wolves that someone who cries over dirt and mixes scents and colors wasn't someone looking to harm their pack.
there was still one left who hadn't begun to fully trust you - jeongin. though the outward hostility towards you had eased since gaining the other pack member's trust, you still caught an occasional glare or scoff from him. when you started teaching seungmin and jisung to read, you'd sometimes catch seungmin teaching jeongin what he had just learned from you. additionally, you liked to think your sign language lessons with the pack helped ease the distrust the youngest felt for you. despite the slow progress, jeongin's issues with you started to bother the others. at first, if someone saw jeongin glare at you, they'd glare back or nudge him in silent warning. once - and only once - minho had caught a scoff come from jeongin at something you had said and a deep, territorial growl rumbled over the group. nobody in the pack had ever growled like that to one another before, not even chan when he was pissed off. nobody blamed minho, though, as jeongin had been instigating this for weeks. later that night, you and jeongin had agreed just to give each other space in order to keep the peace between the pack. you two would be cordial with one another, but that's as deep as it went.
"you're spacing out again," minho's voice suddenly shook you from your thoughts about the past month. you were currently sitting on the porch of the same open floor home you'd been staying in while with the pack, a book open in your lap. you were quick to save your place before signing back to him, "sorry, i was thinking."
"does it hurt?" minho joked. the wolf plopped himself in the space beside you. his knee brushing your thigh sent sparks across the skin beneath your pant leg. you shook your head in response to his question, a small smile forming on your lips. you two sat in silence like this, just soaking in each others presence for a while. you did this most days, actually. you never conversed with one another past a greeting or a bit of light teasing, but being next to minho just felt... right. like you'd known him your whole life and words were never needed. you peered over at minho and watched him for a while. his eyes were closed and the afternoon sun hit his features in such a way that it made him look god like. you studied the way his nose would twitch when the light summer breeze changed direction, the way his lips would tilt upwards when his keen ears caught laughter from his pack members. your eyes trailed down to his throat where his adam's apple bobbed gently when he swallowed, then your eyes caught the missing top button on his shirt. a little bit of his collarbone peaked out from it and you wondered what it would feel like to have his chest against yours, feeling his heart beat against your own.
the tug on minho's shirt caught him by surprise, his eyes darting to where your fingers were smoothing the fabric in order to shield his bare chest from prying eyes. minho felt giddy now that there was proof you felt the same mating pull he did. your hands left his shirt to return to your book and he almost let out a whine at the loss of contact. a pensive calm set over the two of you again as you began to read your book once more and minho closed his eyes go back to sun bathing.
"there's a full moon tonight," minho commented after a while, focusing his gaze on you, "we're going out in the forest tonight." "is that why i haven't been hearing a whole lot of wolven mischief today?" you joke and minho lets out a laugh that has your heart skipping. you shut your book before hesitantly adding, "will you be going?" he nods and a look minho can't read settles onto your face. he doesn't like it. "don't look so disappointed, i'll come back," he reassures you, patting your cloaked head lightly. "i know."
you stare at minho a moment before standing, offering him a hand which he accepts. now that the both of you are on your feet, your hands move in a question, "will you help me with something before you go?"
the trek back to your cottage on the edge of the wolves' territory doesn't take long and, as much as you would like to think you're leading the way, you know minho actually is. he holds his hand out to you when you two reach a small stream, helping you cross over it without getting your injured ankle wet. the warmth from his hands feels like it'll burn your skin when it makes contact with your own, your stomach doing flips. you both stare at each other, holding eye contact for what feels like an eternity, before you give minho a quick "thanks" and remove your hand from his. minho almost deflates at the loss of skinship, but stops himself when he remembers you likely don't fully understand what's sparking between the two of you. he wants to tell you. god, does he want to tell you, but chan's words play in his head on repeat. let it come naturally and the rest will fall into place. there's something in the tone chan used when he said it that makes minho's skin crawl just thinking back on it, like chan knows more than he's letting on. but, minho trusts his fellow alpha.
turning on his heel, minho continues to follow you to the old, rundown cottage in the distance. "you seemed like you knew where you were going just a minute ago," you finally manage to ask him. "this used to be the old pack house," he answers simply.
"there is no way all eight of you crammed yourselves into that tiny ass cottage together."
minho chuckles at the thought of eight barely adult wolves stepping over one another in the old cottage. "no, that was when chan, jisung, and i were teenagers. changbin and hyunjin stayed with us, too, for while," minho supplies you before adding almost absentmindedly, "this was all long before seungmin, jeongin, and felix came along, though." you shoot minho an incredulous look after doing the mental math; five werewolves in a house that would fit maybe three of them - comfortably - has you baffled at how they hadn't killed each other long ago. minho shrugs at you, "we made it work and nobody got seriously injured." you sigh at minho's words, suddenly feeling like you'd aged ten years with this knowledge, before another question pops into your head.
"wait, chan's the alpha of your pack, right? does that make you an omega?"
"good question, but no. i'm, also, an alpha. so is changbin and jeongin," minho responds nonchalantly. his answer only makes more questions swirl around your head since, from what you understood of werewolf hierarchies, there was only ever one alpha in a pack at a time and the rest consisted of varying degrees of omegas and betas. minho can practically see the steam coming out of your ears while you try to piece the information he'd given you together.
"pack dynamics are weird," he shrugs simply to you.
before you can say anything else, minho nudges the door of the home open with his foot. pages of books rustle when the breeze from the entrance hits them, kicking up dust that makes minho almost immediately sneeze. you giggle at him and he shoots you a playful glare, making you put your hands up in mock truce. "so, what d'ya need my help with?" minho inquires while you busy yourself around the room.
"i know you're not as strong as changbin-," a growl radiates from minho's chest at your words, causing you to snort. "but, can you help me carry some books back?"
"is that all i'm good for? free labor?" minho teases you and you roll your eyes at him. "if i'd known you were going to be dramatic about this, i would have asked for hyunjin's help instead." you move over to one of the bookshelves to pick up an ancient tome you had placed there when you're suddenly hyperaware of minho's arms beside your head. you turn to look at him and your heart skips a beat when you recognize the possessive look in his suddenly ice blue eyes. minho leans his face closer to yours, hearing your breath hitch when his chest brushes your own and his lips brush the shell of your ear. "don't even think about it."
before you know it, minho's on the other side of the room with one of your books in hand before he tosses it into an empty crate not far from him. your face burns with embarrassment and a hand grips the collar of your cloak. you really need to figure out what's happening between you two and fast otherwise you're afraid your heart will explode.
it's dinner time when you and minho reach the edge of the clearing. the scent of spiced meats from an evening hunt and boiled vegetables from your greenhouse wafts its way into your nostrils, making your stomach groan in hunger. minho thinks it's cute. you would rather die than acknowledge the playful look he gives you about it.
"yn! minho! hurry up or changbin's gonna eat your half!" jisung shouts from the edge of the firepit, hands waving in the air to emphasize his words. you go to grab the crate of books from minho only for him to move them out of your reach, "you heard jisung, go or you'll go to bed hungry." you huff at him, but comply and make your way towards the others. minho, on the other hand, makes his way towards your house instead.
"is anybody else seeing way minho looks at yn? or is it just me?" hyunjin comments wistfully as he watches your interaction with their second in command.
"it has to be the mating pull, right? otherwise the two wouldn't be eye fucking each other all the time," changbin mutters through a mouthful of food. jeongin fake gags though nobody is quite sure if it's because changbin's has half chewed food in his mouth or because the mention of minho having some form of sex with you is repulsive to the youngest.
"eye fucking is not what the mating pull does. and don't talk with your mouth full, you're gonna choke," chan scolds his fellow alpha, tactfully changing the subject upon your swift approach. chan is quick to stand and walk over to where you've sat yourself between jisung and felix, two stacked plates of food in one hand and his own half eaten plate in the other.
"the larger portion is minho's," chan informs you when you take the plates from him, "he's gonna need the fuel for the full moon tonight." you nod at him and chan returns to his seat just as minho comes down the stairs of your home, taking quick strides over to your group. he seats himself in the space between you and felix, taking his plate from your hands. his fingers graze your own and you feel those same sparks under your skin, your mind drifting to what you had caught on the tail end of the group's pre-dinner conversation. the mating pull, you make a mental note to look it up in one of your books later.
conversation between the pack flows easily whilst you eat. since gaining their trust, it's become tradition that, during dinner, a pack member tells you stories of their misadventures prior to you coming around. tonight, it's jisung's turn to tell you the story about the time he, chan, and changbin had accidentally stumbled upon a hunter's camp. apparently, the trio had to disguise themselves as really big dogs in order to live amongst the hunters before they could make a break for it. you catch movement in the corner of your eye while jisung is very animatedly recounting the chase the hunters gave when they figured out no dogs get as big as werewolves did. you watch hyunjin sign something to felix about the story from across the light of the fire. felix quickly stifles a laugh, putting his fingers to his lips, and it makes your chest swell with pride.
the moon begins to streak light over the forest as dinner, and jisung's story, concludes. you're enthralled as each pack member's eyes begin to glow various shades of golds and oranges. you note that, other than minho's blue, jeongin has an odd shine to his eyes. a ruby red color coats over jeongin's once chocolate irises and the color reminds you of a memory you wish you could forget. you see the pack off soon after. seungmin shouts over his shoulder to you, "don't get stuck in a bear trap while we're gone!" you snort and choose to flip him off which he quickly returns before jeongin's hand pulls him deeper into the forest by his collar.
once the eight wolves are out of view, you enter your home and light a candle. you bring the light over to the kitchen table where minho had set the books from the cottage, careful not to extinguish the flame. you take a moment to sort through the books and put them in order on a nearby bookshelf. it doesn't take long before you reach into the bottom of the crate for the last book, confusion washing over you when you pull it out. you don't remember owning this book. the leather bound book is old and weathered with age, the cover of it no longer keeping the pages weighed down. to someone else, it would look like all the other tomes of old you own. but, to you, the parchment is foreign and it unnerves you.
upon opening the cover, you're even more confused when the title of a children's story greets you. the moon goddess and her children. all magical folk know this story, it's the story of werewolf origins. you thumb through the pages as curiosity grips your mind and instead of a picture book, you find paragraphs of ancient lore hidden within. chan's voice from earlier and you mouth the words "mating pull" before flicking through the books pages for the words. you're surprised to find what you're looking for in the third chapter of the book.
"a wolf may only ever have one mate per life time," the book reads, "the moon goddess made the strings of fate decide who needs their other half. many will feel the mating pull, but none will find the end of the string until the time is right." in the margins is a note written in foreign cursive, "what happens when a human mate dies before the mating connection can be completed?" a shiver runs up your spine at the words and howls echo in the distance. you slam the book closed, chest heaving as if you had been running a marathon. something about this book makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up and you can't stand the thought of being in the same room as this strange book right now. you hobble over to your room and grab a clean set of clothes before practically bolting out the door and down towards the lake.
there's a slight breeze that rattles the bushes around the lake as minho approaches it for a drink, pink tongue lapping the cold water into his furry muzzle. he's already tired from running around with the younger ones - he and chan had been taking turns keeping them preoccupied and out of trouble - and staying awake for most of the day to spend time with you. your smile comes to mind for a moment and he swears he can smell the bergamot and witch hazel that clings to your skin. raising his head from the water, he realizes just how close to home he had unintentionally wandered. he turns to start heading back to his pack before movement in the trees catch his blue eyes.
minho's pupils dilate when he spots you heading down to the lake bed, a set of fresh clothes in your hands. he's quick to duck down low to the ground, wanting to give you a playful fright. his paws are silent in the underbrush as he begins to follow you. a tree blocks his line of sight on you for a moment and he moves to find a better angle. minho freezes when he spots you again, cloak lying on the ground while your fingers unbutton the front of your shirt. i should leave, minho thinks, but he's frozen in place. maybe it's because his rut cycle is close, maybe it's because you're his mate, but he can't seem to bring himself to turn around to go. you undo the last button of your shirt, shrugging it off before lazily tossing it off to the side somewhere. minho's breath catches in his throat at the scars etched down your arms and your back. runes are carved into your skin and they almost seem to glow under the light of the full moon. some runes look older than others and there are varying degrees of depth to them. the lean muscles in your back reveal a scarred rune in the center of your spine that seems to glow a brighter blue than the others do under the moonlight. magic bubbles just beneath the surface of its jagged edges. your hands move to the waist band of your pants and you shed them, revealing more runes on the skin underneath. minho's ice blue eyes scan every detail of the runes as if trying to commit their shapes to memory. most of the runes are in placed in locations you can reach and he thinks back reading about a coming of age ceremony over your shoulder a few weeks ago. he assumes it's likely a ritual you may have gone through when you were younger. but the fur on minho's back suddenly raises as you step waist deep into the calm waters of the lake, a sinking feeling settling into the pit of his stomach when he realizes the glowing rune embedded in your spine was put there by someone else.
a lone howl sounds from the west, breaking the silence over the lake. to you, it must sound like the boys having fun in the light of the moon, but, to minho, chan is calling him back with light worry in his vocalizations. you turn towards the noise and minho can see the scars under your pectoral muscles, confirming what he'd pieced together about you days into your stay here. minho moves silently in the underbrush while your attention is else where, returning quickly to his pack.
you don't know how long exactly you stay in the calming confines of the lake's waters, staring up at the moon in search of answers to the questions swirling in your mind. your mind races about the book inside your home up on the hill, about what this strange connection is between you and minho, about why jeongin glares at you, about everything. you have no answers for any of it and you hate that. the moon starts to dip below the horizon and you realize you've been in the lake all night, your fingers and toes having pruned long ago. you exhale through your nose in a defeated sigh before ducking beneath the lake to wet your hair one last time. you're quick to head back to shore after that, putting a fresh set of clothes on just as the sun hits the tops of the trees. by the time you make it back up the hill, you can faintly hear eight boisterous werewolves returning from their night with the moon. you make it in the door of your home just as they hit the edge of the pack home, slipping inside and shutting the door as quietly as you can. you turn to face the rest of the room and your eyes immediately find the book on your kitchen table. the ominous feeling returns to your chest.
you move through the room over to the book, a glare set on it. you lift your hand to your chest, fingers shaking slightly, and hesitantly reach for it's torn cover. "what's that?" minho's voice nearly sends your soul to the ceiling. a loud squeak making your throat itch uncomfortably and you start coughing. you hadn't heard him enter despite the boys not knowing what closing a door quietly is. minho is suddenly appearing by your side with a glass of water and his hand between your shoulder blades while you struggle to contain your coughing fit. he rubs your back as the liquid slides down your throat, his eyes locked in on the supple skin there as if in a trance. the thought of his lips against the muscles there crosses his mind before he shrugs it off as pre-rut brain.
"sorry," he whispers to you shyly, ears pink with embarrassment, "i thought you heard me knock." you wave your hands at his words once you finish your water, ignoring the slightly metallic aftertaste lingering on your taste buds from your coughing fit. "it's okay. i was just thinking."
"you do that a lot," minho chuckles, moving his hand from your back to take the now empty glass in your hands for you, "did you sleep well?" you hesitate before replying to the wolf, "if not having to put up a silencing spell over my window from how loud chan and hyunjin snore counts as sleeping well, then yes." minho knows you're lying, but it lets it go and instead chooses to chuckle at your words. "well, if you're up for it, i'm going to be cooking breakfast for everyone. you're welcome to join me in the kitchen." you give him a sheepish look. "don't tell me you can't cook..." he sighs and you just smile awkwardly in response. "c'mon, then," minho chuckles, offering out his hand, "a cooking lesson awaits." it's small, but you give him a genuine smile as you take his hand. the book on your kitchen table is long forgotten in favor of spending time with minho.
the rest of the pack gathers in the dining room while minho teaches you some basic cooking skills, making you comment on how similar to making potions it is only for minho to mock faux offense at the comparison if only to tease you. chan watches the two of you fondly as you move about the kitchen together, a tightness he can't explain settling into his chest. he's quick to shrug it off when felix nudges him, speaking in their native tongue, "they look good together, don't they?" the eldest nods, "yeah. i think yn is a good fit for..." he trails off, but felix grins at the implication in chan's loss of words. "so, you'll let him stay?" felix asks, switching back to everyone's common tongue. minho's ears twinge red and his hands stutter while he cuts vegetables from the kitchen. "i don't see why not," chan shrugs, sitting back in his chair, "this house was built to hold everybody, after all." the other wolves cheer at their head alpha's words while jeongin lets out a soft groan followed by someone kicking him under the table.
"so, you were just playing hard to get," jisung pokes at chan's cheek, the older swatting his hand away. "yes," chan thinks for a moment, "and no. there were other other factors i had to take into consideration, but, ultimately, it's not really my choice. it's the moon's." a mug is raised to chan's lips and a long sip follows, the other boys quieting for a moment.
"speaking of the moon," jeongin finally speaks up, a mischievous grin growing on his face, "does anybody else wanna talk about hyunjin running back with that pack of weasels biting his ankles last night?" the group howls in laughter with their discussion shifting towards the event, much to hyunjin's embarrassment. later that afternoon, minho is searching around for you, his heart beating quickly as the impending fate of his rut begins to set in. he wants to explain to you the distance he's about to have from you isn't personal, but he's unable to locate your whereabouts. you're not reading on your porch, nor are you anywhere in your home. he checked down by the lake, knowing you liked to sit the by calming waters when the pack's endless energy became too much. he thinks maybe you've gone back to the old pack house for more books, but there's no sign of you or anyone around the premises. minho's ready to panic on his trek back to the clearing when his nose catches the scent of bergamot and witch hazel on the wind. his sense of smell guides him to a field of wildflowers on the edge of his pack's territory, a field he hadn't realized existed until now. the wind makes the marigolds and lavender dance in between the rows of sage and rosemary. minho finds you beside a plot of forget-me-nots, your breathing even as you slumber with a book as your pillow. a soft smile graces his lips and he kneels down on the balls of his feet, fingers gently brushing a few stray flower petals from your cheeks. his hands move under your sleeping figure before he lifts you up into his arms. minho stills when you begin to stir only to lean into his touch more, fingers hooking onto his shirt tight. he places a fleeting kiss to the crown of your head before his eyes wander to the book you were reading. though some of the ink on the pages are too faded for him to read without dropping you, he can make out some of what's written on the parchment. his smile grows when he realizes it's a historical book about werwolves and he knows you'll be just fine while he's in rut.
the days that follow the night of the full moon are unusually quiet. minho hasn't left his home since he brought you back from your afternoon nap and it worries you. you'd tried to ask the felix about why he's been under house arrest, but he gave you a sheepish look before telling you to ask hyunjin. hyunjin, on the other hand, shrugged and said he wasn't sure, but the guilty look in his eyes told you he was lying. you asked changbin next, figuring maybe an alpha would have more information about it. changbin simply changed the subject as if you hadn't asked him at all. after that, you tried seungmin, who you assumed would be his usual honest self, but he waved you off with a "he's fine" instead. huffing at their secrecy, you sought jisung out since he was the closest with minho. at first, jisung shrugged and told you he didn't know. when you pressed him further, he squeaked out something about chan having the answers you seek and scurried away to join changbin at the lake. unfortunately, the head alpha wasn't much help, either. when you asked him, he only patted your head, told you not to worry, and sent you away with something from the pack snack pantry.
that's how you find yourself in front of jeongin's door after dinner on the fourth night of minho's sudden disappearance. your hand raises to knock on the wooden slab only to freeze in place. you and jeongin aren't exactly on good terms. sure, you've both stayed cordial with one another since minho had snapped at him. but, he wasn't exactly your biggest fan. you're lost in thought as to how you're going to approach jeongin until the door suddenly opens and the youngest stands on the other side with a glare. "are you gonna stand there with your mouth open? or are you gonna come inside?" he snaps at you before stepping further into his home. you stand there before hesitantly crossing the threshold into jeongin's house.
the inside of his abode is warm from a smoldering fire. candles illuminate various trinkets and bobbles hanging on the walls and the earthy scent of incense catches your nose. jeongin's home is neat, but lived in. an empty glass sits in his wash basin and there's crumbs from a mid afternoon snack still on the kitchen table. jeongin stands against the entrance to his kitchen, arms crossed sternly over his chest when he raises an eyebrow at your prying eyes. "it's cozy in here. it suits you," you comment, trying to ease the tension between you two. he scoffs, "you didn't come here to make small talk, we both know that. you're here to ask about minho hyung, right?" your hands fall back to your sides and you nod, a look of disappointment at his crossness with you melting over your face. he ignores it and rolls his eyes, "he's in rut." your blank expression makes him groan. "for someone so damn smart, you sure are stupid..." he mutters to himself before continuing, "a rut. its when a werewolf's hormones go haywire and the wolf gets... agitated. they have a hard time controlling themselves, especially when their mate lives across the way from them." you don't think jeongin meant to say that last bit out loud, but he doesn't show it if he cares or not. his words make something in your head click. mate, like soulmate. the realization that you and minho are bound together by the moon's bond, that you two are soulmates, hits you like a ton of bricks. jeongin's sigh breaks you from your revelation, "go home, yn. minho needs space right now and i don't want you in here ever again." you nod and jeongin turns to leave before stopping when your hand catches his sleeve gently. he whips around, ready to yell at you for touching him, but your hands move before he can get any scathing words out.
"thank you."
you quickly exit the dwelling, leaving jeongin with a conflicted feelings swirling beneath his chest. you head back home with a new understanding.
three more days pass before minho steps out of his home, the effects of his rut subsiding. it had been hard to keep himself from seeking you out in the seven days he was locked away. granted, chan made sure he was taken care of, bringing him food and water when needed. but, it took every ounce of self control and patience in minho not to tear his front door from its hinges in order to get a glimpse of your figure. on days where your scent wafted into his nostrils, he had to bite his hand so the pain would bring his head back down to earth. minho rubbed lightly at the marks between his wrist and thumb, the skin there tender and irritated. early morning sun shown down on the congregation of pack homes as minho makes it down the stairs of his porch. a chill is already on the wind, signaling summer's reprieve. the pack was buzzing about despite how early it was, making the second oldest wolf wonder why everyone was so busy. nobody seemed to notice him yet and he took this chance to observe. dark eyes danced lazily around in search of you. it didn't take minho very long to spot your silhouette rounding the corner of felix's home, the blonde talking your ear off about something he couldn't make out. minho's eyes raked slowly over your figure and something felt different about you, something softer, lighter. he assumes it must be a lingering effect of his rut now that he's found his mate.
"minho!" jisung grinned at him, forcing said male's eyes to dart over to his best friend, "how ya feelin'?" "like shit, thanks," minho grumbles, shoving his hands into his pockets, "what's with all the commotion?" "we're going into town," jeongin grins excitedly from where he and seungmin are stacking empty crates onto a wagon. "what for? didn't we stock up on supplies like... two months ago," minho inquires, puzzled as to what the pack could possibly need from the humans so soon. he's trying to do the math in his head, baffled at how four months worth of food and medicine could be gone in two. "well, someone," chan speaks up, giving changbin and jeongin a pointed stare, "ate up most of our supplies. and with another mouth to feed, we've had to make more food than normal. besides, i think we all need a little bit of fresh air." the two culprits look away like they hadn't heard the pack alpha.
"there's fresh air all around us, what could a stinky human village give us other than tar in our lungs?" seungmin complains from where he now sits beside the wagon. "that's not how that works," you chide the younger wolf. "didn't you mention you needed stuff from the village, too, ynie?" changbin nudges you, moving you closer to minho's proximity as he wanders to join your group. minho nearly growls at the nickname in jealousy. "yeah," you confirm before expanding on the topic, "i need some herbs for samhain. it's not for a few months, but there are things that i need to dry in preparation." "what's sandhand?" hyunjin whispers over to jisung louder than intended, earning himself a soft smack to the back of the head from chan who was now standing beside them. you let out a breathy chuckle, "not sandhand, samhain. the autumn equinox." murmurs of understanding suddenly pass over the group and your smile faulters slightly when their excitement doesn't match your own. "what all does samhain entail?" minho pipes up when you start to deflate, his curiosity genuine, though the added bonus of watching you talk about your passions creates incentive as well. you grin at him and move your hands up to begin your rant about the old witchy traditions. chan is quick to interject, however. "why don't you tell us on the way? that way we're not stuck returning home after dark," chan suggests, impatiently, before everyone piles into the back of the wagon. minho holds out his hand for you to take when you approach the wagon. you stare at his hand a moment before taking it. if you notice the bites on his hands, you don't say anything about it. you're sat between minho and hyunjin when chan calls from the driver's seat of the wagon, "everyone ready?" a chorus of confirmation echoes out over your pack before the wheels lurch forward and your journey begins. conversations between various pack members flow like a river and you're nudged by one of the two sat next to you to start your discussion of what exactly samhain is.
you tell tales of the bonfires you and your fellow witches would burn on warm sandy beaches and dank river beds, of the sweet apple cider and spiced pumpkin seeds you would offer to your ancestors. you speak of the elaborate animal masks children would wear while elders divined what the next six months would bring their covens and teenagers on the cusp of adulthood would get their first runes. you explained that thinning of the veil amplified your magical abilities and, sometimes, you'd be able to hear the words of loved ones no longer in this world. you even recounted the time you swore you saw the moon goddess smiling down at you from her perch in the sky. "there's no way you saw her," jeongin scoffs at you in disbelief. "i was still a kid, so maybe it was my imagination," you acknowledge, but your grin only widens with your next statement, "but i think it really was her." "ohhh, i think i get it," hyunjin interjects, "it's kinda like a witch version of what we do during the full moon." you nod excitedly at hyunjin in confirmation. "honestly, it sounds kinda fun," chan chuckles from the front, arm slung over the back of his seat, so he could be included in the conversation. "aren't you supposed to be driving?" jeongin chides. "changbin's got it," the blonde shrugs. "wait, is changbin pulling the cart?!" you ask, incredulously, before standing slightly. sure enough, a massive umber wolf stands at the opposite end of the wagon when you peer past chan. if it weren't for how his tail wagged happily whilst pulling the eight of you along, you would worry for changbin's health. it's then that the cart goes over a particularly large rock on the forest floor, causing you to lose your balance. everyone braces themselves and your injured ankle gives out from under you. you wait to bounce your face off the floor, but a pair of strong hands shoot to your waist in an attempt to steady you. another rock gets tossed under the wagon's wheel and you're knocked back into a solid chest. "changbin!" chan shouts in warning from where he was nearly thrown off the side. a low grumble from the wolf in front is all chan gets in response and you think it sounds almost like a laugh. "you okay?" minho's lips are beside your ear, hands still at your waist until you nod. your face feels hot at the contact. he lets out a chuckle and moves you out of his lap, back into your seat. you wipe your sweaty palms on your trousers and try to still the beating of your heart. you think you hear jeongin and seungmin gag through the heart beat in your ears.
it takes your group two more hours before you reach any semblance of a road. the edge of the forest draws closer and the wagon comes to a stop in the underbrush a few feet from the roadway. chan gets out first to unhook changbin from the cart, the younger of the two immediately laying flat in the grass with heavy panting once freed. "minho, i'm gonna stay with changbin til he's rested up, so you're in charge of the pups," chan calls while everyone else unloads. "got it!" minho replies, leaning over chan's seat to check on changbin. hyunjin stretches out beside you while he waits for everyone else to get out, "i hope the apothecary lady's there today." "which one?" jisung snorts from beside him. "the one that always smells like dahlias, duh," hyunjin replies, arms around jisung's neck while a hand ruffles his hair. jisung shoves hyunjin's hands away from his head with a pout before following behind felix to exit, muttering under his breath about personal space. hyunjin follows after with a sharp laugh and minho expects you to follow soon after. instead, you suddenly grab his hand and it sends a shiver down his spine. his dark eyes meet yours under that damn cloak you always wear and your eyes flicker from his down to where your hand gingerly grips his own. your fingers ghost over the teeth marks on his skin before you let go and get up. minho's brows knit together in confusion. he doesn't have a moment to dwell on it, however, when felix goes to race jeongin to the village. "not so fast!" minho growls, "grab a crate before you race." the boys groan, but do as they're told. once your group is far enough away, chan turns to changbin's wolven form, "you hit those rocks on purpose."
the village market is small compared to the ones you're used to. but small in size doesn't mean lacking in quality. your group of seven is dispersed into pairs once minho gives everyone their shopping lists and a crate to carry. hyunjin and felix are paired together to grab fruits and vegetables while jeongin and jisung are instructed to gather materials to replace old clothes and blankets. minho puts himself with seungmin to collect all the other miscellaneous supplies before turning to you. you've already migrated down into some of the stalls, looking at jewelry in one of the many booths. a small smile tugs on his lips when you pick up one of the anklets there, the intricate charms laced around its edges jingle lightly against one another on the simple gold band. "you have great tastes," the shop keep grins at you, hoping to make a sale off of you, "it has a partner as well." the old woman is quick to pick up another circlet nearby as minho approaches. the band on the partnered set is smaller, likely to be worn as a bracelet rather than an anklet. the charms are different on the two pieces, but they tell a story that goes together. you smile when you spot a howling wolf charm on both accessories. "how much?" minho asks the old shop keep. "five gold," she grins at the both of you, making minho cringe at the price. you look up at him and frown. "maybe a different day," he smiles to you apologetically, your hands already setting the jewelry back down on the table. a pout forms on your lips as minho ushers you over to a different stall where seungmin is currently haggling heatedly with the shop keep.
an hour or two passes and the pack's errands are nearly complete, the market now suddenly bustling with people crowding the stalls. you choose to stand back from where minho and seungmin are currently arguing with one of the other customers over the last herb at a stall. you laugh quietly to yourself at the two before your eyes are turned to people watch instead - a tired young man at one of the stalls yawns while his head lulls to the side on the cusp of sleep. a group of children run past with a ball rolling beneath their feet. a couple speak in hushed voices and giggles, their hands intertwined while they walk. you spot a mother wrangling her two sons while their father holds an infant in his arms, smiles on all of their faces. for a moment, the scene makes your heart twinge in longing. longing not for a family, but for belonging. you yearn for a sense of purpose to be renewed within you. you move your gaze from the family quickly, eyes now falling on a store front that has "apothecary" written on its door. there's a faint symbol below the script, a witch's rune staring at those who know to look for it. you think back to what hyunjin said at the beginning of your trek about a woman smelling of dahlias and you move towards it, eager to see what the building has to offer you.
a bell rings when the door opens and you find yourself the only customer in the store at the moment. "welcome," a young woman's voice calls from behind the counter. you nod at her in greeting. "is there anything i can help you find?" she inquires, eyeing you warily when you don't verbally respond. instead, you walk up to her and produce a list from your pockets. she reads it a moment and grins at you, "ah, i recognize a samhain list when i see one. give me just a moment, hun." she's up and past the door leading to the back in a second to gather your supplies, leaving you alone again. you catch a whiff of dahlia perfume on her and smile, knowing hyunjin will be happy if he comes by. your eyes wander the shop while you wait. it's full of various plants, potions, and tinctures. a fern sticks out of a pot near the door while petrified roots of adder's tongue and begonia sit in jars on one wall. the other wall has books lining dustless shelves that beckon you to them. your hand instinctually ghosts over the delicate spines of the books, titles you've already read or own flying by. you stop on the last book on the fifth row, the familiar script on the spine is worn with age, but still legible. you pull the book of curses out from its spot on the shelf and take it in your hands like an old friend, heart suddenly pounding in your chest. a shaking finger peels the cover back and your handwriting stares back at you, property of one yn yln. please return if found. the young woman comes out of the back and sees which book you're holding, "ah, good choice. there's no actual curses in that book, but it's good if you're looking to break one. i can add it to your purchase if you'd like." while her hands busy themselves with wrapping up your order, you turn to her slowly. it takes a moment for your brain to register what she said to you before you nod, hands still trembling when you place the book down. you pay for the items before you grab your list back from her, miming writing to ask for a quill. she happily gives it to you, believing you'll ask her for something else. you frantically write down a question as your panic rises the longer you stand in this shop. "who sold you this book?" "ah," she responds, a hand coming up to her chin while she thinks, "it was a younger girl, maybe in her twenties? she had dark hair and the most unusual looking eyes, even for a warlock. said its owner was on their death bed and she had no use for it." you want to vomit at her words. "when?" you scribble in response. "a couple weeks ago, i think. why? do you know her?" you don't reply. the panic and fear in your chest causing you to bolt out of the shop. you slam into a warm chest when you exit, a sharp yelp coming out of the person in front of you. "yn! oh shit, what's wrong? wait- where are you going?!" you ignore hyunjin and felix's calls as you race down alley ways and side streets, searching for the safety of the forest.
you charge down the road to the forest, the ankle you had injured screaming at you. you don't stop. you can't stop. not until you're legs give out from under you and you've collapsed onto the ground, chest heaving painfully. panicked sobs rip violently through your body as you lay amongst dead leaves and roots coming up for air, your breathing quickening its pace while dark spots dance at the edges of your vision. one of your shaking hands grasp at your chest while the other grips the dirt below you. roots and vines from nearby trees creak and whine as they curl around your trembling body, your magic reacting protectively to your emotional state. you think you hear your name being called off in the distance somewhere. your hands move to cover your ears, eyes squeezing shut. you're on the verge of passing out when the roots and vines of your mini dome creating an entrance, your magic reacting to something approaching. when they finish, your mate crouches down to investigate the inside. the image of you curled up on the forest floor, hyperventilating with tears cascading down your cheeks, has minho feeling light headed. somehow, he manages to stay calm. he crawls into the protective shell with you and the roots quickly repair themselves shut. "yn," he calls to you quietly. you shake your head in response and he pushes further, "yn. listen to my voice, love. it's me, it's minho." your eyes open at his name and he lays down with you. he reaches for your hand, his calloused palm moving your soft fingers to rest on one of his pecs. you go to rip your hand away from his, but he holds it firm. "hey, hey, hey, it's okay," minho is quick to soothe you, "just focus on my heart beat, 'kay?" your wild eyes stare into his, your pupils blown wide with fear, before you close them again. minho's heart beat is soothing, the steady thumping in his chest making your muscles relax. "good," he praises you, "now breathe with me, baby." minho doesn't wait for you to reply, instead taking a deep breath before exhaling slowly. you match him on the second breath until the faint feeling in your legs goes away. "that's my good boy," minho whispers, pulling you closer. one arm wraps around your waist and the other wipes tears from your reddened cheeks. your eyelids flutter open, the protective barrier retreating back into the soil of the earth. the two of you stay like this for a while, soaking in each others body heat and presence. your faces are close to one another and minho has the fleeting idea to kiss you, claim your lips for himself. he lets the idea go and stands slowly with you. you sniff and wipe your eyes with the heel of your palm one last time, your other hand never leaving minho's. you didn't realize how much time had passed until your eyes shoot to where the sun is preparing to kiss the horizon. "c'mon," the wolf beside you instructs, his hand tugging you along, "everyone's waiting." you go to move and groan at the pain shooting through your ankle. you look down and see the ankle you had previously injured now swollen. minho sighs and releases your hand. you feel cold at the loss of his touch before he warms you again, placing you on his back. the scent of mint and petrichor makes its way into your nostrils, your arms locking around his neck, and you find yourself suddenly exhausted. your eyelids droop and, before you know it, you're lulled into the land of dreams.
chan is cursing himself as he paces through trampled underbrush. you and minho haven't been seen since you nearly tackled hyunjin outside of the apothecary. he's lucky seungmin had been beside minho when felix approached the two, words of your distraught state sending the second in command sending minho scrambling into the surrounding area after you. chan has half a mind to send a search party for you both as the sun gets lower in the sky. "you're gonna burn a hole in the ground," changbin mutters to his friend from where he sits on the ground, fists clenched together as if he were holding himself back. "i don't understand why we can't just leave yn's ass and go home," jeongin complains dully from his seat on the edge of the wagon. "dude, what the fuck is your problem?!" seungmin scolds the youngest before chan can, "you've been nothing but cruel and mean to yn since he got here. and he's done nothing to you, but be nice." jeongin glares at his brother, nostrils flaring angrily, "maybe it's because you're all too trusting of some witch that randomly showed up, claiming minho is his mate." "that's not what happened and you know it," seungmin growls at jeongin, "yn has tried time and time again to get to know you - to know all of us. he's tried to bond with you and get to know you and every single time you snap at him like the dirt under your fucking paw! do you see the look on his face after you snap at him?! do you see the way his shoulders tense when you're being an asshole?! no, you don't! you have your head too far up your-!" "enough!" chan bellows at the two siblings. a tense silence lingers in the air between everyone, a few members of the pack shrinking back slightly. "seungmin, don't curse at your brother," chan sighs before turning to the youngest, a stern look set on him, "jeongin, he's right. yn is part of this pack now, whether you like it or not. you could at least learn to be kinder to him." jeongin glares at chan for a moment before his gaze moves away from everyone, his arms coming to rest on his chest. a heavy sigh comes from the eldest before he turns his line of sight back to the horizon just in time to see minho carrying you on his back through the trees. jisung, felix, and hyunjin race towards the pair and changbin relaxes with a shaky sigh. the worry blooming in chan's chest ebbs away only to spike back up when he sees you slumped over minho's dirt covered clothes. he only relaxes when he sees the steady rise and fall of your back. the group quiets when they see you sleeping and seungmin helps minho place you into the back of the wagon. chan stops minho as the second eldest goes to grab a blanket that jeongin had bought at the market, voice low, "what happened?" minho looks away, fists clenching so hard on the edge of the wagon chan fears he may break the wood. "i... i don't know," is all the eldest receives before his hand is shrugged off. minho slips your head gently into his lap once the blanket is placed over you. changbin shifts with jeongin and the two take up pulling your cart back home.
nobody speaks on the journey back. some are too afraid they'll wake you and others are still trying to come down from heightened emotions.
Summary: A mysterious circus arrives in your town. You are mesmerized by it and totally captivated by the Illusionist.
a/n: I wrote at last 🥹 Please forgive me for any mistakes. Enjoy!
The circus arrived out of nowhere.
It appeared overnight with tents of black and gold spiraling into the sky, strung with fairy lights that glimmered like the stars. The air thrummed with something alive and magical, making the townsfolk whisper of it over their morning coffee.
Your tiny little seaside town was drenched in fear and fascination. How did no one hear a single thing? Those elaborate tents obviously needed some work being set up. Didn't it?
There were no posters or fliers. It was just… there.
You wanted to go witness what lay beyond the gates of black and gold. You asked your mother, and she dismissed your excitement, calling you childish. But then there was Minho.
Minho worked for your mother, helping her manage the family business. And you knew that at some point in your life, you'd be marrying him. It was an unspoken fact. Your family grooming him to take over the family business, and including him in literally every family event was proof enough.
He treated you like a friend, but you knew that he obviously felt more. Unfortunately, you didn't. But today, you were desperate.
So, you begged Minho to take you. He’d frowned, his brows knitting together in that way that made him look older than his age. But he relented when you pouted, and your eyes filled up with unshed tears.
The night was heavy with mist as you ventured past the gold and black gates, Minho’s hand warm on your lower back. The air was thick with the scent of caramel and smoke and something floral.
You wore a simple dress, pale blue with tiny little daisies. You followed the crowd into the main tent, taking a seat close to the stage, your eyes wide with awe.
Then he appeared.
The Illusionist stepped onto the stage, his black suit hugging his frame, the golden embroidery catching the light in a way that made him seem less man, more…magic. His hat, tilted just a little, shadowed his eyes, but you could feel them - dark, piercing and completely holding you in his grip.
His movements were liquid, each gesture deliberate, as if he were weaving spells with his hands. Golden ribbons turned into doves. Doves turned to confetti. And confetti bloomed into a rose dusted with gold.
The crowd gasped as he made things happen with a flick of his wrist or the snap of his fingers. But you? It was like you couldn't breathe. Your eyes clouded, as if under a spell. Your chest felt tight as the illusionist’s gaze flickered to you, just for a moment. As if he were seeing you for the very first time. As if he didn't just perform just for you. As if he didn't wait his entire life… for you.
He saw the hunger you didn’t even know you had. The hunger he had buried deep inside him as he searched crowd after crowd for you. He'd finally found you.
He smirked, a slow, dangerous curve of his lips, letting you know that he saw you, and a flick of his wrist, had the gold dusted rose landed on your lap, ending the show.
The crowd spilled out into the night and you let Minho lead you away, his thumb brushing your knuckles as he told you that he'd be traveling in the morning. You nodded, but your mind was elsewhere. Back in that tent, under Illusionist’s spell.
What you didn't see was the shadow that lingered at the tent’s edge. Hwang Hyunjin, the Illusionist, watched you go, his hat tipped low, his eyes glinting like a predator’s in the dark.
The next night, you resisted the urge to go back. It clawed at you from the inside, stubborn and insistent. But you stayed in your bed. And it may have been the most difficult and painful night of your life.
But the next night, you caved. You didn't understand what it was, but if you didn't go, it felt like you'd die.
Minho was still traveling, and your mother wouldn't take you. So you waited for everyone to go to bed, before jumping out of your window, and running towards the circus. It called to you, its pull stronger than you could explain.
You realize that the illusionist's act was already done for the night. You couldn't help but feel disappointed as you stepped into the empty tent. You felt silly all of a sudden.
You turned to leave, but stopped still. You felt him before you saw him. You turned slowly, fully expecting to see him, but yet, your breath hitched.
He emerged from the shadows, and seeing him up close - his high cheekbones, full lips, and those eyes…it completely disarmed you.
“You came back,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing, his eyes taking you in, the way you were panting. “Did you run all the way here just for me?”
You swallowed, your throat dry, but you lifted your chin, defiant despite the heat flooding your cheeks. “I wasn’t planning to come,” you said, but the words felt hollow.
Hyunjin laughed, a soft, wicked sound that made your skin prickle. He stepped closer, close enough that you could smell him - smoke and something sweeter.
“Liar,” he whispered, his breath warm against your ear. “You couldn’t stay away.”
Your heart stuttered, but you didn’t step back. His fingers brushed your wrist, light as a feather, and you shivered, your body betraying you.
“Who are you?” Ok, so it sounded silly as soon as you said it.
“You know I'm an Illusionist,”
“I don't think your mother named you that.”
“She named me Hyunjin,”
“What do you want from me?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.
He tilted his head, his eyes glinting with something dangerous, something hungry.
“What do I want, Y/N?” He leaned in, his lips so close to yours. “I want to see what happens when you stop fighting it. When you let go of this life you’re pretending to love.”
You stared at him, your heart literally struggling against your ribcage to burst out as he said your name. Because you wanted to say yes to everything he said. But you thought about Minho. You knew he liked you.
“There is someone -” you started, the words sounding weaker than you meant them to.
Hyunjin’s smirk didn’t falter. He stepped back, just enough to give you space to breathe.
“You don't love him,” he stated. “Tell me, darling, does he make your heart race like this?”
He reached out, his fingers grazing your collarbone, before settling right over your heart, sending a jolt of electricity through you. “Does he make you crave him?”
You couldn’t answer. But honestly, you didn’t need to. The truth was written in the way your body leaned toward him, in the way your lips parted, aching for something you couldn’t name. He saw it, and his smile, triumphant.
“Would you believe me if I told you I've been looking for you?” He asked, his voice low. “Crowd after crowd after crowd. I've searched for you. Across oceans. Everywhere. And now you're here.”
“Hyunjin -”
He closed his eyes, as if hearing you say his name physically hurt.
“Say it again,” He demanded.
“What?”
“My name. Say it again -”
“Hyunjin,” His head tipped back, and you could see what appeared like strands of gold glow in his neck.
You didn't know what you were seeing. You didn't know what to do, but when he looked at you again, you knew whatever he asked you next, you'd say yes.
“Do you trust me?”
You shouldn't. You didn't know this man. But you trusted him with your life. So you nodded.
Hyunjin raised his hand, and you froze when frim his fingertips came golden threads, as fine as spider silk. The glow filled the room as they moved like they were alive, slithering through the air and wrapped around your wrists and neck. You gasped as they sank into your skin, painless but warm, threading through your veins like liquid fire.
You felt them, pulsing under your flesh, all through your body - a connection so intimate. Your eyes widened as the glow around Hyunjin’s neck dimmed. And the threads running from Hyunjin's fingertips to your body merely went invisible rather than cut or separated.
“What did you do?” you whispered, your voice trembling with a mix of fear and intrigue.
He stepped closer, his breath warm against your cheek.
“Binding you to me,” he said softly, his eyes glinting with possessiveness. “You feel it, don’t you? Me, inside you.”
And you did. The threads weren’t just on your skin—they were deeper, woven into your very being, binding you to him completely. You could feel his heartbeat, faint but steady, echoing alongside your own. His emotions - hunger, need…love?
It was overwhelming, like he’d slipped into your soul and made himself at home.
“Why?” you managed, your voice barely audible.
“Because you belong with me.” That's all he said.
He raised his hand again, and the threads tightened, not painfully but enough to make you gasp, your body arching toward him instinctively.
You could clearly feel his desire coursing through you. It was intoxicating, to say the least. It made your arms and legs feel heavy. Your vision blurred. Hyunjin had his arms open when you fell into them, unconscious.
When you woke up in your bed the next morning, the threads stirred within you, a warm, teasing ripple that started at your wrists and spread like wildfire. You gasped, your body tensing as the sensation deepened, like invisible fingers tracing the curve of your spine.
You knew it was him, teasing you. You could hear his voice, a soft raspy whisper, “You feel me, don’t you?”
“Stop it,” You hissed, humiliated at how much you wanted it. With a huff, you were off the bed. You busied yourself with your household chores, determined to not give into him so easily.
But Hyunjin was relentless, his magic now lived inside you, coaxing shivers from your body that you couldn’t suppress.
By night time, you had decided not to go to the circus. Not tonight. It was your rebellion, your desperate attempt to claw back some control from Hyunjin’s spell. But the threads stirred under your skin and every time you closed your eyes, you saw him. His wicked smirk and his teasing gaze.
It was late and you were curled up on the couch with a book you couldn’t read. The words blurred, your focus stolen by the threads, which seemed to hum with a quiet irritation, like they knew you were defying him. You told yourself you were stronger than this, stronger than him. But Hyunjin didn’t take rebellion lightly.
It started as a ripple, a soft tug at the threads. You froze, your breath catching as the sensation grew, warm and teasing, like a fingertip tracing the curve of your neck. You set the book down, your hands trembling. Ok, so this was a bad idea.
But the warmth spread, curling low in your belly, igniting a heat you’d never felt before. Your body tensed, a soft gasp escaping your lips as the sensation sharpened, like invisible hands sliding up your thighs.
“Hyunjin,” you whispered, your voice shaking. The air grew heavy, the candle flickering wildly as the sensation shifted, no longer teasing but demanding. It was like his hands were on you, mapping every inch of your skin. Your dress felt too tight, your skin too sensitive, and you pressed your thighs together, trying to tame the ache building inside you.
But he wouldn’t let you.
The threads pulsed again, and it was like he was there, his breath hot against your ear, his fingers ghosting over your hips, your waist, lower. You arched against the couch, your head falling back, a whimper slipping past your lips as you felt him down your folds and your clit.
Your hands clutched the cushions, your body trembling as the threads worked you.
“Stop fighting me,” his voice whispered from inside you. “Close your eyes, feel me.”
The words pushed you over, and the pleasure crashed through you like a storm, blinding you. You cried out as the orgasm tore through you. It was too much, too intense, leaving you shaking and breathless. Your skin glowed, flushed and damp with sweat.
You collapsed back, panting, your heart pounding so loud. The threads fell quiet, but their presence didn’t fade.
You didn't want to fight it anymore. Hyunjin was inside you, in every pulse, every heartbeat, and the thought both terrified and thrilled you.
Fantasy AU | 1.5K Words | Mystical, Adventurous, Invention |Bangchan x AFAB Reader
TW: fantasy peril, accidental dimension travel, isolation, fire/electrical accidents, emotional distress, and mild language.
Summary: When an invention gone wrong sends you through an experimental dimension-travel machine, you're unexpectedly transported to a mysterious world far from home. Lost in a magical forest inhabited by fantastical beings, you must navigate an unfamiliar realm with only a dying camera to remind you of where you want to get back to. As you form new friendships—including with a man who captures your attention—a growing threat casts a shadow over the land, forcing you to confront challenges you never imagined.
"So what do you think 's going to go wrong with this one?" Jae asks as the two of you get off the bus to walk towards the warehouse Mina spent most of her time in.
"Don't say that," You nudge him, careful not to spill the tray of coffee in your hands. "She's gotten a lot better with her inventions."
You didn't even believe yourself when you spoke. Mina...had a background in creating different machines, and then the three of you would most literally watch them go up in smoke the moment she turned them on. There wasn't a singular doubt in anyone's mind that Mina wasn't a genius, and only at the age of 26. She just had a hard time bringing her ideas and creations out of her head and into the real world.
Her current invention didn't have a name like the others, but she'd been working on it for the better half of a year, way longer than anything she'd made before. She had called you both the night before and asked you to meet her at the warehouse first thing in the morning. Reluctantly, you agreed and promised to bring caffeine for everyone, not that she needed any more anyway. You couldn't remember a recent time when she had blinked, much less slept.
You hear her music before the warehouse even comes into view, too loud to understand words. She said she understood them just fine, but you knew it was just another way to keep herself awake. Getting closer, you could see the decently sized building, a gift from her parents for when she went off to college to be an engineer...little did they know she dropped out over a year ago and still hadn't told them. She had hoped one of her inventions would take off and they'd be too blindsided by her success to care about her dropping out.
Inside, everything was illuminated by giant LED lights hanging from the rafters. At first glance, Mina was nowhere to be found, but a few more steps inside, and you saw her walk out of a large metal dome. It was the size of an SUV and made entirely out of scrap metal. It was easily 10x larger than anything she'd shown you before.
"Mina, I mean this as your friend," Jae starts, dropping his bag by her crowded desk. "What the hell?"
You snickered and nudged him. Mina didn't take any offense; if anything, her smile grew larger as she approached, removing her black gloves. Her hair was tied up on top of her head, messy and dark with streaks of purple. "You like it?"
"What is it?" You ask, walking closer and examining the outside. Nothing special...just a big hunk of metal.
Jae poked his head inside the dark doorway and looked at you, shaking his head like he couldn't figure it out either.
"It doesn't have a name yet, but I'm calling it Project 52, and I can tell you what it does!" She squeals in excitement, bouncing on her heels with her hands clasped underneath her chin.
Her smile was contagious. Even with her dark circles and her obvious lack of rest, she was still a ball of energy and excitement. "Tell us then!" You laugh, handing out coffees.
She skipped over to the laptop right outside the machine. When she opened it, numbers and letters covered the screen, completely foreign to both you and Jae. Then, through the window before you, a light barely lit up the inside of the machine. There was nothing inside.
"So, I think I figured out how to access an alternate dimension." She said it as if it were the most normal statement on earth. Like you'd asked her what she wanted from her favorite lunch spot.
"Did you?" Jae asks sarcastically, propping himself onto her desk, sipping away at his straw. You shot him a glare, causing him to throw his free hand up in defense.
Again, Mina didn't notice. "I did! Last week was my first time trying it. I sent a bottle cap."
"How do you know you didn't blow it up?" Jae asks, and you couldn't even scold him because you were thinking the same thing. She had a track record of causing fires and small explosions in the past.
"Because, Jae," She says matter-of-factly. "Nothing blew up. It just...vanished. So I tested it again with bigger items like a baseball and a stuffed animal."
"Okay...so say it does work. How do you know you aren't sending these things to, like... Sweden?" You counter. You wanted to believe she'd created something amazing...you really did. But an alternate universe? It was impossible.
There was no such thing. All there was was what you could see. Unfortunately, that is how things are.
"I don't know." She admits and then holds up a small GoPro, no bigger than her palm. "So, I'm sending this."
"A camera?" Jae asks.
"Yes! I'm going to turn it on and send it out to wherever the other items have gone...and hopefully we'll be able to see what it sees." She explains. "I just need to get it fired up."
"Do we need to find shelter?" Jae half-jokes, sliding off the desk.
Mina rolls her eyes. "No, just cover your ears because it's really loud...and maybe cover your eyes too."
"Oh god, Mina." Jae whines.
"Mina, how can I help?" You ask. You wanted badly to support her. Before the two of you became friends all those years ago, you saw how people treated her. She'd always been creative and strongly outgoing, and because of that, she was seen as an outcast. You wanted her to know that there were still people who believed in her as much as she believed in herself.
"I'm glad you asked," She smiles, handing over the camera. "I need you to simply turn it on and put it on the platform inside."
"Easy enough." You nod, take the camera, and step inside the dome. It was still dark when you shuffled around. Your shoe hits a bump, and with the dim lighting, you can make out what looks like a black plate on the floor.
"Mina, is this it?" You call out, holding down the power button for the camera and smiling small when the red light comes on.
"That's it!" Her voice muffled through the thick metal.
Without further ado, you kneel down and place it on the plate. "Like this?"
Unbeknownst to the three of you, while Jae leaned over Mina to watch you through the small window, his coffee slowly dripped onto the switchboard connected to the invention.
"Is it-" Mina begins to call out to you when sparks begin to erupt from the keyboard. The machine whirs to life, startling both of your friends and causing them to stumble back in shock. It was loud...very loud, and the light emitting from it was blinding.
Jae dropped his drink completely, needing his hands to block the sound from ringing through his ears. Mina did the same while trying her best in the chaos to unplug it.
A small fire broke out along the power lines, making the sound slowly begin to diminish. Mina ran for the extinguisher as Jae ran out of the warehouse for safety.
A few minutes later, everything fell silent. The machine had stopped and gone completely dark. The fire was out, and now only a thin sheen of smoke covered the room.
"It's fine." Mina coughs, waving her hands through the smoke. "It's out, guys."
Jae pokes his head back into the building. "Is everyone okay?"
"Yeah," Mina calls back, frowning at her now destroyed project.
"Y/N?" Jae calls out, slowly stepping into the room. "You okay?"
No answer.
Alarm bells quickly went off in their heads as they ran to the entrance of the machine. Jae used his phone's flashlight to illuminate the room, and what they saw sent chills down their spines.
Or...who they didn't see, to be exact.
"Where is she?" Jae panics
Mina steps inside and finds that it is completely empty, and that's when it clicks. "The camera."
"No one cares about your stupid camera, Mina! Our friend is gone!" Jae panics, continuing to call out for you.
"Jae, the camera!" Mina shouts, running out of the machine and to her laptop.
"Mina, have you lost your mind?" Jae was full-blown hyperventilating now.
"Wherever the camera went, she went with it," Mina explains, desperately trying to get the screen to turn on.
"Or they both were abliterated." Jae cries out, looking up at the ceiling, hoping maybe you had gotten up there somehow in the chaos.
"Oh my- Jae, come look!" Mina squeals.
"Mina, I don't-"
"COME LOOK!" She demands with a wide and proud smile.
Reluctantly, he walks over, and his eyes widen when he sees the screen. The camera had made it to wherever it was sent. It was toppled on its side, facing trees...or what looked like trees. The trunks were dark, almost black, but from the light they reflected blue. The tops and surrounding foliage were a very dark teal, as was the grass, which swayed gently like water.
"This looks like a desktop background." Jae mumbles, completely mind-blown.
"Where is she?" Mina mumbles, silently cursing herself for not building it into a camera with robotic legs.
Before Jae could begin to fear the worst, they heard a quiet groan on the speakers. Then the camera shifted and rose, exposing more of the strange forest.
A/N: I've had this idea for a very long time, and I think it's time to put it into words. I'll still be working on Wasteland, but I've been having daydreams about this plot for months. I hope you all enjoy it!
Apocalypse AU | 2K Words | Changing, Sad, Bittersweet|Bangchan x AFAB Reader
TW: graphic depictions of death and decay, zombie apocalypse / undead violence, death of family members (mentioned), infant distress and peril, parental death, pet death, themes of grief, loss, and trauma, survival horror elements, emotional distress and hopelessness, mild gore (rotting bodies, implied decomposition), depictions of starvation and neglect (infant), and possibly a curse word or two.
Summary: Four years into the apocalypse, survival depends on silence, suspicion, and never answering sounds in the dark. Living alone in a homemade shelter van, you have learned that caring is a liability—and that some sounds are meant to be ignored. But when something impossibly small and human breaks the night, you must decide whether it’s a trap… or the last echo of a world already lost. Either choice could cost you everything.
It was unusual for you to be driving this late at night. The windows were slightly down, just enough to let a cool breeze in. Chris hummed along as if anything was coming from the busted radio. Moon snored away in his car seat, enjoying the feeling of a fresh diaper, clothes, and a full belly. His dark hair was getting longer, curling toward the bottom of his head. He talked more these days, or at least tried to. He loved to interrupt your conversations when he was awake, just babbling on and on. The two of you never shut him out, instantly answering his short pauses with, "Oh yeah?" or "You don't say."
Chilli had slowed down a lot over the past few months, not as active as she once was, bouncing around the van, sitting by the windows, watching as the trees passed by. Now she stuck to your side like glue, purring any and every time you touched her soft fur. You knew it wouldn't be long before you'd have to part with her...with the only thing you had left of the life before. You tried ignoring the inevitable. Chris tried to help, telling you she was just tired of being on the go all the time, that once you found the haven, she'd act just like a kitten again.
And Chris...you still hadn't confessed to him, but your feelings had grown immensely. He'd also grown more protective, insisting on doing multiple sweeps of the area whenever you'd park for rest. Recently, he'd begun to do supply runs on his own, insisting that he wouldn't feel comfortable taking Moon along now that he's trying to talk. But you knew what it really was...he was worried about losing the family he just found. You knew by the way he looked at the three of you that he felt something similar...but neither of you dared to speak up.
It was dark out, now that electricity was long gone, with no one to maintain it. The van's headlights were dim and flickered.
"There!" Chris shouts, making you jolt.
Before you could scold him for almost waking the sleeping baby, you followed his finger to where he pointed. Barely visible in the overgrown treeline was a road accompanied by a cracked sign.
You squint. "That?"
Chris nods, heart in his throat. "That's the road. I've seen pictures- drawings of it."
The haven.
He slows the van off the main road and turns on the man-made path. The tires of the van easily tear through weeds and fallen branches.
Your pulse climbed with every yard you took. You'd followed rumors of the safe haven before leading you to empty buildings, burned-out campgrounds, and traps.
But this road...it had shoe prints, and not ones of walkers who dragged their limbs along. People. Real people, like you.
Ahead you could make out a fence. Reinforced but not military. Watch towers from salvaged debris.
Smoke from fires and a hint of light.
Chris looks over at you, hands squeezing the steering wheel tight. "Ready?"
"No," you say honestly.
This is all the two of you had talked about for months... finding others in your same situation and joining them to find some semblance of normal. But now? You weren't sure if you were ready to give up this new normal you'd created with him and Moon. It was terrifying to know that once you got on the other side of the fence...everything would change.
"...yeah," he agrees, reaching over to give your hand a reassuring squeeze.
He'd be there. Moon would be there. Chilli would be there. Things would be okay. You had to believe that.
Right outside the gates, you look up toward one of the towers and swallow hard as you see a face peering down at you. Their flesh remained healthy, and no hanging off their skull. It felt like seeing Chris for the first time all over again...you weren't alone.
"Engine off." The man from the tower shouts. Chris nods, twisting and removing the keys.
Silence floods in.
A few seconds later, a loud creaking sound and the gate slowly begins to open, revealing multiple human figures.
Moon was awake now, babbling, unaware that the four of you had just entered something that hadn't existed in your lives for almost five years.
An older woman approaches caustiously, a kind and welcoming smile on her face. Her hands were visible and empty, no weapons.
"Welcome," she smiles. "You've made it."
Neither of you knows how to verbally respond, so you just smile back and nod. You feel something wash over you, but you don't know what to call it. Relief? Or fear.
Chris gets out first, then goes around to help you with Moon and Chilli.
Once inside the safety of the compound, people begin to swarm you. They're mostly young, close to your age...but they look healthy.
The questions come quickly, but they're not unkind.
"How long has it been for you?"
"Is it just you guys?"
"Are you hurt?"
Then-
A man calls out a question from the group. He's your age and very easy on the eyes. He grins, "Are you two a couple?"
You answer at the same time.
"No."
Your answers hit the air too fast. Too sharp.
You catch glances of one another but quickly look away.
"We just survive together." You add.
"Yeah," Chris agrees. "Safety in numbers."
"And the baby?" A younger girl asks, probably 14 years old.
You hold Moon tighter.
"We found him," You swallow sadly. "His parents didn't make it."
Soft, mournful coos pass through the group. The older woman from before, gently pats your back.
"Well," she says, "you're safe now. All of you."
Safe.
The word feels unreal, like you're still in a dream.
. . .
They led you to the older woman's hut, not that it looked like that...it was more of a small, wooden home. Solid.
They had you wait, gave you both portions of a hot meal, which you ate in silence. What were you supposed to say to one another anyway?
A while later, she returns and ushers you both to follow her toward the other tiny shelters.
"This one is yours," she says, opening the door.
Inside: a bed. A lantern. Blankets.
"We'll have one of our carpenters build a crib for the little one tomorrow." She assures.
You enter, expecting Chris to follow.
But the man from earlier gestures past you. "And yours is just over there.
You blink. "His?"
"We house adults separately unless they're partnered." He explains as if it were obvious. You felt embarrassed for assuming otherwise.
"Oh."
Chris rubs the back of his neck, looking from you to the man.
"That's fine?" The man asks.
Chris nods, "Yeah, it's fine."
Fine.
You nod quickly so as to not let on how you truly felt about it.
You'd slept pressed against him on a too-small mattress for months. Fought walkers by his side. Shared quiet moments...a baby. But you never-
Never labeled anything.
So this was the new normal.
Chris sets Chilli down in the hut, which she happily runs to jump on the bed and curl up. "You'll be good?"
"Yeah," you say.
You both hesitate at the door for a moment as if there's something that needs to be said. Neither of you says it.
He nods and leaves with the other man and the woman, closing the door.
The room is warm and safe. Moon fusses and Chilli purs.
You sit and tend to him, combing his hair with your fingertips, staring at your new bed that felt so empty even though it was full.
You hadn't realized how much of your sense of being okay was tied to Chris' presence.
. . .
You meet San officially the next morning. The man from last night.
You're outside in what you assume is the courtyard with Moon strapped to your chest, trying to figure out how to use the water pump.
"Need a hand?"
He's tall. Clean. Confident and friendly in a way that tells you he hasn't been alone for years.
"I got it," you say.
He smiles like he finds your need for independence cute.
"All the newbies say that."
He lingers, but you don't notice it or the way his eyes stay on you longer than they should, taking you in like a mental photograph.
Chris, however, does.
He's across the yard, earning his stay by helping put together the crib for Moon. He watched as San cracked a smile at something you said, once you get the water to pour into a pitcher.
His jaw tightens, but he convinces himself that it means nothing, you aren't his to care for. You said so yourself.
Later that evening at dinner, San sits beside you, leaving no space for Chris.
When Chris does come in, claiming a seat across the long table, Moon spots him and reaches with arms outstretched, expecting.
He takes the baby happily.
San watches.
"You're sure the two of you aren't together?" He asks again, moving out of the way slightly for you to prepare your plate and a bottle for Moon.
"I'm sure," you say, focused on getting just the amount of formula into the top.
San leans back in his seat, a satisfied smile on his face. "Good to know."
Chris doesn't sleep well that night. He lies in his hut alone with a half-built crib to his side. For the first time since he met you, being safe feels worse than the apocalypse.
. . .
Slowly, you fell into a routine, and toutines are supposed to mean safety and comfort. But no one tells you how lonely it is.
It was just you and Moon in the small room now. Chilli had passed during the night a week ago, her body curled tightly into your side. You took her behind the shower rooms and laid her to rest, leaving a wild flower upon her grave. You mourned alone. You wanted to tell Chris...to find comfort in him...but you knew you couldn't. So you stayed silent, fixed your face, and headed back.
Mornings start with the large bell beside the gate ringing loudly.
It startles you every time. You aren't used to being summoned by anything besides danger. Moon wakes to it now, too. No crying, just confused, blinking, and squirming around. He'd slowly figured out how to crawl, waking you up before the bell some mornings with a gummy smile.
You stood from your bed, leaning over the crib and cooed at him. You scoop him into your arms and nuzzle at his neck with your nose just to hear the sound of his laugh. He smelt like soap. You still haven't gotten used to that.
You step outside with everyone else, him sitting bundled up on your hip.
Everyone is bustling around, getting ready for the day. Some are starting fires for breakfast while others chat idly nearby.
Coexisting without constant terror.
You catch Chris walking across the yard near the woodworking stations. You always do in the morning...it's his routine. He's talking with the perimeter crew, a map spread across the hood of a truck. His sleeves are rolled just above his elbows, a few scrapes from working on things for the community, and not fighting for his life. His hair was clean and tied back messily.
He looked as if he were built for this kind of life.
Moon spots him too, but he wasn't as discreet.
"Da!" he shouts, arms launching into the air.
You want to run and hide the second Chris' head snaps toward the sound.
Your eyes meet, and he smiles, causing your world to narrow and spin.
It was small and soft...something he didn't give others. The moment breaks, and he nods instead of walking over. Then he turns back to the map.
You make yourself believe that he's busy...he's always busy, and that's fine.
You begin to walk away, hoisting Moon higher on your hip. "It's okay, we'll talk to him soon." You assure the baby...or is it you?
. . .
San wastes no time in finding you near the laundry lines. He always seems to know where you are. Like another instinct of his.
"Morning," he says, taking the basket of clean clothing from your hands before you can protest.
"You don't have to-"
"I know," he grins. "I want to."
He's good at that. Making his help feel like kindness instead of duty or obligation.
Moon was sitting on a blanket on the ground nearby, playing with his stuffed bunny.
San beams, walking to him. "Hello, big guy!"
Moon beams, reaching for him without hesitation.
You're too busy hanging wet clothing to notice Chan, walking past with the troop, gear slung over his shoulder...standing behind a second too long to watch the exchange.
Things were different now. You weren't living shoulder to shoulder in a van, wondering when you'd find food next...this is the new normal.
A/N: I'm not the happiest about how this turned out, but I hope someone enjoys it. Writer's block is working against me, and I'm just not inspired right now. Maybe I'll watch some apocalyptic movies to get me in the mood! Thank you for reading!
Apocalypse AU | 1.3K Words | Hopeful, Soft, Bittersweet|Bangchan x AFAB Reader
TW: graphic depictions of death and decay, zombie apocalypse / undead violence, death of family members (mentioned), infant distress and peril, parental death, themes of grief, loss, and trauma, survival horror elements, emotional distress and hopelessness, mild gore (rotting bodies, implied decomposition), depictions of starvation and neglect (infant), and possibly a curse word or two.
Summary: Four years into the apocalypse, survival depends on silence, suspicion, and never answering sounds in the dark. Living alone in a homemade shelter van, you have learned that caring is a liability—and that some sounds are meant to be ignored. But when something impossibly small and human breaks the night, you must decide whether it’s a trap… or the last echo of a world already lost. Either choice could cost you everything.
You know it's a dream because it's warm. Sun through sheer curtains is warm.
You're in a bed that smells like fresh linen, something you're surprised you even remember after all this time. They're soft. Clean. Your legs are tangled around a fluffy white duvet that's heavy in the best way.
The light pouring into the room is comforting. It's morning, you can tell. You sit up in the bed, looking around the room. It's clean, spotless even. There's a dresser across from the bed, lined with photos of memories you knew weren't yours, but somehow you were in them. A nightstand sat on either side of the frame, one with old books stacked and the other with a half drank glass of water.
And then you hear it-
Laughter.
Your heart stutters as you stand to your feet, slipping on a pair of baby blue slippers waiting for you. You notice there's no weapons, no bag packed and ready to go at any moment. No exit plan. Just, home.
You hear the noise again, a baby squealing happily. You follow the sound, smiling to the point of your cheeks starting to ache. It leads you down a small hallway, one room open, allowing you to see a nursery with green walls and a handmade wooden crib right in front of a big window. A familiar bunny plush sat beside it in a rocking chair.
You continued down the hall to a staircase, stepping slowly so as not to slip. At the bottom is a room that resembles a life you barely remember. A couch, well-loved with a blanket laid over the back, pillows tossed lazily onto the cushions. A coffee table with a remote, discarded magazines, and a plastic toy car. Sunlight filled every empty space.
And in the middle of the floor, sitting up on the soft, woven carpet was Moon. He was chubbier, older, and sitting up all on his own. He clutched a star-shaped teether in one fist and what looked like a cheeto puff in the other.
Across from him sat Chris, legs folded beneath him, as he steered around a matching red car, trying to keep Moon giggling.
This wasn't apocalypse Chris. He was wearing a soft cream sweater, matching pants, and fuzzy socks. His hair was clean, and the tension he usually carried was gone. He was unaware of his surroundings, unaware that you were watching.
His head snaps up as you walk closer, but not with alarm, with joy as if he'd been waiting for you. "There you are," he confirms.
Moon squeaks with excitement, all but dragging himself to you. You drop to your knees, arms outstretched to greet him with a hug, kissing his full cheeks. "Hi, hi."
He grabs your face with his own hands, squishing your cheeks together.
Sticky. Warm. Alive.
You breathe it all in like oxygen.
Chris hums in contempt. "How did you sleep?"
The question is normal. But it almost brought you to tears, it was something so simple, but you hand't heard it in so long.
"Good," you sigh happily. "Really good."
He leans over and, without thinking, presses a short kiss to your temple. It was so casual, like muscle memory for him, like he's done it a thousand times.
Your brain goes silent, but your heart doesn't.
This is what you were supposed to have.
You see quick flashes after that. Like a film show, out of order and too far to reach. Cooking in a real kitchen, clean food you didn't have to kill or force yourself to eat. Dusting snow off of Chris's bright colored winter coat after a morning walk. Moon sleeping on your chest as you rocked him to sleep in a clean and safe nursery.
No walkers.
No running.
No counting down the days.
Just happy.
And just like that, it clicks.
You love him. Not in the frantic, "we might die tomorrow" or "end of the world" way...but in the ordinary way. The kind that grows roots and stays.
You're awakened this time for real by a large bump. Not violent, but the van hitting potholes on a forgotten road. Your eyes open to the sight of your belongings strapped together in a corner, hoping they wouldn't topple down.
It smells like dust and stale clothing.
You push up on your elbows to better see your surroundings. It's midday, the sun is bright but not as harsh as it would be in the morning. Looking out the window, you watch as overgrown trees pass by, the cracks in the asphalt, making the road bumpy.
Moons carseat was buckled into the passenger's seat. He was awake, eyes focused on the window, silently taking in his world. You frowned, you'd wished you could somehow single-handedly fix it for him, give him something beautiful to grow up in.
In the driver's seat was Chris, one hand on the wheel and the other resting against the cold, barred window. His sleeves were rolled up, exposing the scars from years of living off the land, trying to survive. He was focused, eyes trained on the road ahead.
You crawl forward to Chilli, who sat at the end of the bed, soaking in the sunshine pouring in through the front window. You brushed your fingertips through her fur, enjoying how, even though it's the end of the world, her fur stayed just as soft.
Chris hears you moving around and turns his head slightly to give you a smile. "How did you sleep?"
You froze at his question, flashes of your dream playing quickly through your thoughts. He'd never asked that before...not in real life.
"G-good." You stutter, playing it off as tiredness. "Do you want me to drive a while?"
He scrunches his nose and shakes his head. "No, it's alright. We stopped a while when you were napping. I used the restroom and stretched my legs. You good? We can stop."
"No, no, it's okay." You brush him off, stretching your legs out in front of you."I," You swallow, wondering if you should say anything at all.
He looks at you expectantly, patiently.
"I had a dream."
"Yeah? Was it a good one? You were smiling in your sleep when I checked on you earlier." He explains, eyes still on the road.
He checked on you? Your heart swelled for no reason. Of course, he did; he couldn't care for Moon and Chilli on his own.
"I was?"
"Yeah, which was strange because you don't usually do that." He chuckles, like what he was saying didn't have your cheeks burning. Something as silly as inferring that he paid attention to you even when you were sleeping.
"Oh." Was all you said.
"Anyway, your dream? I assume it was a good one?"
"Yeah...it was different." You explain carefully.
"Different how? Do you remember it?"
Yes. Yes, you do. It was so vivid, so very real.
"No, the details are fuzzy now. No walkers." You choose instead. The last thing you wanted to do was scare him. Now is no time for love. Now is the time for surviving.
He nods, not pushing any further.
After that, the conversation turns towards what you had to make for dinner. You decided on beef-flavored noodles. Along your stops, you found a campsite, the tenants long gone, but in their abandoned vehicle was a propane oven with two unused bottles of propane. You'd used it once already, eating a rabbit Chris brought back after one of his leg-stretching walks. You never thought you'd be the type to be okay with eating a defenseless animal, but survival changes you.
You continued to chat well into the evening, parking at a clearing, a place easy to keep watch at. Chris sat by the doors of the van making your noodles while you kept watch. You were reminded of the kitchen in your dreams, how easy it would have been to make something as simple as cereal without needing someone to watch your back.
As you layed down that night, bellies full, you stared at the ceiling of the van. The various doodles you hated at first but had come to love. There are no warm colored walls, no blooming garden, no guarantee of tomorrow.
But there were four strong and steady heartbeats in the van. And for right now, that's all that mattered.
A/N: I know it's been a while since I posted anything, but this "bonus chapter" has been sitting in my drafts for a while. I'm going to try to work on chapter three today. A lot has happened lately, one of those things being that I switched jobs, and this one takes up a lot more of my time. My fiancé and I are also house-hunting, which has been fun but also time-consuming. Please be patient with me as I try to work on a new routine for myself. I hope you enjoyed this short chapter of Wasteland and look forward to more.
Apocalypse AU | 2K Words | Vulnerable, Found Family, and Comfort |Bangchan x AFAB Reader
TW: graphic depictions of death and decay, zombie apocalypse / undead violence, death of family members (mentioned), infant distress and peril, parental death, themes of grief, loss, and trauma, survival horror elements, emotional distress and hopelessness, mild gore (rotting bodies, implied decomposition), depictions of starvation and neglect (infant), and possibly a curse word or two.
Summary: Four years into the apocalypse, survival depends on silence, suspicion, and never answering sounds in the dark. Living alone in a homemade shelter van, you have learned that caring is a liability—and that some sounds are meant to be ignored. But when something impossibly small and human breaks the night, you must decide whether it’s a trap… or the last echo of a world already lost. Either choice could cost you everything.
You'd already been coexisting with your new "family" for a month. The van was crowded with the four of you living within its metal walls. But even with the cramped quarters, it was better than before. It was comfortable.
You'd gotten to know Chris a lot. He was kind, protective, and determined. You loved having someone else to drive the van, and you got farther with splitting the job. The two of you would talk for hours while the baby, whom you found out was a boy, and mutually agreed to call Moon, slept soundly in a "borrowed" carrier with Chilli standing guard nearby.
Moon was a quiet baby for the most part; he slept most of the day and then stared at the ceiling of the van, where Chris (against your pleas not to) drew colorful drawings with markers, insisting that it was good for his developmental growth. He would usually wake you both up before the sun, not crying- just restless sounds. Soft complaints about the world he was born into.
You're a light sleeper now, you were anyway once the apocalypse began, but now is different kind. You're alert, so overly aware of him. It blew your mind how quickly you both fell into a routine with this little person, given the circumstances.
You wake up to the little coos, whipping your head around in search of them. You feel a slight panic until you see him curled up against Chris's chest, nestled comfortably, eyes looking around the dimly lit van.
Chris's hand sat protectively on Moon's back as the other was extended out toward his weapon of choice- his crossbow if he ever needed it.
You sit up in the van, running your hand through Chili's fur, humming in delight as the old cat stretched out and stood up to nudge against you. Mornings in the van were definitely your favorite. They were peaceful, and just for a moment, they made you feel like you were camping and not trying to survive.
You check the time and see that it's already 8:30 in the morning. You should have been on the road by 6:00. Not that you had anywhere to be, you truly had all the time in the world. Plus, you couldn't lie, you enjoyed the peacefulness of long mornings, especially now.
"Chris," You speak up, leaning over to take Moon from his chest and give him a break. It's not the calling of his name that stirs him awake, but the feeling of the little one being removed from his care. His eyes shoot open, and his hand instinctively reaches for the crossbow.
"Slow down there, big boy," you laugh, fully taking Moon into your arms and checking his diaper. Wet, as it is most mornings.
He relaxes when he realizes there is no threat. He uses his now free hands to run his fingers through his long, dark hair. He was a sight to see, always, but especially first thing in the morning with his puffy eyes and disoriented look.
"I suppose I'll get ready and then we'll get going?" He hums, grabbing his bag of clothes and toiletries.
You nod, laying Moon down on his designated changing mat. "I'll get Moonie cleaned up and fed."
He nods, grabs his crossbow, and exits the van, shooting a walker from a distance almost immediately. Walkers weren't so much of a scary sight anymore, not when you had someone watching your back. They were just a nuisance now, an inconvenience.
Chris closed the door behind him and stayed beside the van, close enough that you could hear him singing made-up songs to himself. It was one of the things you'd come to find comfort in. Some nights before bed, the four of you would get comfy in your respective spots, and either you would read a few chapters from your current book or he would sing. You liked to wonder what he would be doing now with that talent, had the apocalypse not turned everything sideways.
You got Moon changed and prepared a bottle. You liked to think the two of you had gotten good at tending to him. It was rough at first; neither of you knew the first thing about taking care of a baby, especially without the help of the internet. But after looting an abandoned baby store and finding a parenting book, things got easier. You learned the best way to feed a baby is to have bottles at the ready. Every night, one of you would rock him to sleep, and the other would prep bottles. That way, when Moon cried during the night, all you had to do was add formula, shake, and serve.
When Chris got back in the van, now in a fresh(er) set of clothes and his teeth brushed, you handed the baby over to him. "I'll take the first shift." You smile, referring to the driving.
"You sure?" He asks, already nestled into the bed, one hand holding the bottle and the other scratching the top of Chilli's head.
"I'm sure, plus it looks like you have your hands full." You gesture, and he chuckles. He was right where he wanted to be...given the circumstances.
You drove for a while in mostly silence since Moon had fallen back asleep. Chris stuck to reading his book while you watched the road. "It's nice today. I think it would be a good day to do a supply run."
"Yeah?" He hums, looking up from the book, a cheap pair of drugstore reading glasses at the tip of his nose.
"Mm," you nod, entering a once bustling city, now barren and occupied by its undead citizens. "Moon only has a few diapers left, and it's only getting colder out. He needs better clothes."
Chris agrees, getting the baby harness strapped onto his chest while you searched for a store appropriate for what you needed. "Perfect!" You hum, seeing a faded pastel building a bit ahead with safari animals peeling off the windows.
Once you were parked, you did a quick visual sweep of the area and spotted a few walkers, but nothing you couldn't handle. You turned to the back and saw Chris carefully strapping Moon into the carrier. When he got the carrier from the first store, you didn't understand why he had to have it.
"For training." He had explained. "The kid's gotta get first-hand experience on taking out walkers."
His joke had rubbed you the wrong way in the beginning, but now the thought of you having Moon with you at all times was more comforting than not. You liked to think he was safer against Chris's chest than in the van with Chilli.
You made a bowl of food for Chilli while the three of you stepped out, giving her a kiss on the head before closing the van, locking the doors, and clipping the keys to your coat.
As you neared your first two walkers, you laughed lightly to yourself. The image of the two of you walking into a children's store with a baby strapped to his chest and a crossbow being aimed at an almost dead guy...it was comical. If anyone had told you this would be your reality...you wouldn't have believed it for a second.
Taking them out was a breeze; you had your technique down. Youd pull the attention toward you, and Chris would take them out. Thankfully, there were only six of them, or else it could have been a lot harder. Especially with the time it takes him to reload and aim his weapon.
You enter the store, and Chris makes a joke of waving at one of the walkers that's forever stuck behind a checkout counter because she doesn't know how to open the gate boxing her in. It was both funny and sad...you could just picture the poor woman who was attacked while just doing her job, and now this is her reality.
You grabbed a shopping cart, staying near Chris as you paced up and down the aisle, surprised by the lack of walkers you'd seen. You collected a few cans of formula; it had expired, but it was what you had, and Moon had to eat something. Chris grabbed a few gallons of water and a few boxes of diapers, some wipes, and then groaned while you sorted through baby clothes.
"He's not even going to get to wear all of these. He's going to grow out of them quickly." He whines, opening a package of pacifiers to calm the fussing baby.
"So what? This is the apocalypse, Chris and I'd like to be prepared. Plus, we aren't paying for these." He continues to grumble and wander off down the aisle to where a basket of stuffed toys lies untouched for years.
"He loves it!" Chris grins, catching your attention as you throw a pack of burp cloths into the already full basket. You couldn't imagine being a parent when money was actually monetary.
He was holding a stuffed bunny, one of its long, soft ears being gripped to death by Moon. "I'm getting it for him."
You laughed and shook your head. "It's still free, Chris."
You scan the aisles a while longer, Moon fast asleep on Chris's chest. By now, you have two carts, and Chris is throwing handfuls of stale Gerber yogurt melts into his mouth as a snack. You decide to call it done once you throw a car seat on top of the pile and walk towards the doors, Chan once again acknowledging the walker stuck at the checkout, wishing her a nice day.
Chan handed you, Moon first thing, and kept watch while you strapped him into the passenger's seat in his new car seat. You felt way more comfortable now, even though the roads weren't as dangerous as before. You were loading things into the van when you heard a quiet wind and a click.
"Where did you get that?" You laugh, turning to see Chris aiming a disposable camera at you, taking a picture once again.
"I found them with the baby books!" He smiles, leaning over to take a picture of Moon while he sleeps.
"You're never going to be able to develop those." You remind him, shoving the cart away and wincing when it smacks into an abandoned car.
"You never know, there was a time when we couldn't before." He shrugs, gesturing for you to hurry and get inside the van. You roll your eyes, but he's right. He shuts the door, and you allow yourself to grin at the thought of having them developed one day, it would mean you'd at least gotten to a time where someone could sit and develop without the looming fear of being attacked.
You drive for a while, snacking on canned meat and hard fruit snacks. You read aloud, Chris sang, you chatted, Chris pumped gas, you napped, and then the sun began to set. "Alright, I think it's time we settled."
You yawned, nodding, and watched as he parked the van. You helped him cover the windows and make your shared bed. "I'll take Chilli to use the restroom while you get your pajamas on."
You nod, helping him harness her. You'd been surprised how easily she took to him. It was like she'd known him all her life and not just a month. Once the van door clicked shut, you stripped off your clothes from the day, frowning at how gross you felt. You'd for sure need to find somewhere to shower tomorrow. You did one more diaper change and feeding with Moon before laying him down in his makeshift bed for the night.
Chris took longer than usual to come back, and you almost went to look for him. What if he'd run into a group of walkers? What if Chilli got spooked and ran off? What if-
The van door sliding open takes you out of your thoughts. Chilli leaps onto her pillow (Chris's pillow) while Chris climbs inside. "It's cold out, but these guys are thriving."
You tilt your head while he locks the doors up, arming the diy locks. When he turns, you gasp. He's holding a fist of wildflowers. "I thought they'd look nice in here."
You nod, taking them and admiring the different colors. How something so beautiful could grow in a world so dark, you'd never understand. You put them in a bottle of water, propping it into a cup holder.
Chris gets ready inside the van this time while you get your book ready for the night. Once he's settled in, you begin to read, slowly lulling both of you to sleep.
The cold wakes you up. Not all at once, but as it creeps in, seeping slowly under the layers of blankets. You made a mental note to figure out how to better insulate the walls. Your eyes open to the darkness, searching for Moon to check on him. He's breathing, mostly warm aside from his little cheeks.
It's too quiet, like a loud quiet. Slowly, you raise Moon and tuck him between you and Chris. You burrow back down in the covers, Chilli curled up under the blanket by your feet, content.
You listen. You can hear the moaning. Walkers were close, and there were multiple. You imagined them surrounding the van, somehow smart enough to figure out how to undo the many locks from the inside. You knew you were more than safe, but it didn't feel like it.
You had many nights like these, paranoid and scared. You never brought them up to Chris; you didn't want him to worry, but you wondered if he had them too.
Fingernails scraped down the side of the metal, making a chill set into your bones. Then the thuds, their bodies falling against the cold metal. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to think of anything else.
Then a warm hand startles you from your living nightmare. "They close?" Chris whispers, pulling the hem of the comforter up onto your exposed shoulder.
You nod.
"You're safe," he assures, using his strength to pull both you and Moon a bit closer; even Chilli gets drawn in. "M'not gonna let anything happen."
He says it while mostly asleep, but you believe him. You knew even when he was barely awake, he meant he'd do anything he could to make sure the three of you were safe and taken care of.
You allowed yourself to relax, to ignore the walkers and enjoy the feeling of being in a family again, no matter how unconventional.
-
A/N: I hope this is good. Again, I didn't proofread, and I probably wrote "Chan" instead of "Chris" a few rimes but I had to bust out this second chapter before I went to sleep. I hope everyone enjoyed! I'm starting a tag list, so if you'd like to be a part of it, please let me know.
Apocalypse AU | 3K Words | Vulnerable, Lonely, and Angsty |Bangchan x AFAB Reader
TW: graphic depictions of death and decay, zombie apocalypse / undead violence, death of family members (mentioned), infant distress and peril, parental death, themes of grief, loss, and trauma, survival horror elements, emotional distress and hopelessness, mild gore (rotting bodies, implied decomposition), depictions of starvation and neglect (infant), and possibly a curse word or two.
Summary: Four years into the apocalypse, survival depends on silence, suspicion, and never answering sounds in the dark. Living alone in a homemade shelter van, you have learned that caring is a liability—and that some sounds are meant to be ignored. But when something impossibly small and human breaks the night, you must decide whether it’s a trap… or the last echo of a world already lost. Either choice could cost you everything.
November 8, 2024
Today marks the fourth year of the apocalypse. You couldn’t quite remember the dates for anything else anymore, your birthday, holidays…but the day everything went south, you remember clearly.
-
You were home early from college, spending a few weeks with your family before the holiday. You woke up to the smell of breakfast-burning in the kitchen. You didn’t think much of it; your Mom was known for being forgetful. She had probably started cooking and then realized she forgot to turn her hair tools off, and so forth. You brushed it off, starting your day as usual, going to the restroom, starting the shower, brushing your teeth, and-
The scream was what made you drop everything and head for the living room, heavy textbook in hand as a weapon. It had been your mother's scream, and halfway down the stairs, your father’s followed. There was commotion and then silence. You waited anxiously on the stairs, frozen in place. Then you heard movement, could see a shadow cast across the wall, getting closer. “Mom?” You whimper out, hoping you’d see her turning the corner.
The scream you let out was nothing like any sound you’d made before; you were staring in pure terror. It was man- well, what used to be a man. Maybe a neighbor? You thought maybe you’d recognized him, or pieces of him. His flesh was rotting, almost falling off the exposed bone of his face. Even at the distance you held from him, you could smell him, and that alone made you want to barf. He crept toward you, dragging his legs behind him when the bottom step brought him to his knees.
When your legs finally began to work, you bolted back to your bedroom, your family cat, Chilli, hot on your heels, bolting into the room as you slammed the door shut. Frantically, you pushed your bedframe in front of the door with ease, something you wouldn’t be able to do on a regular day. But today wasn’t one of those days. You could hear whoever it was at your door, moaning and groaning, scratching lazily at the painted wood.
You weren’t sure how much time you had, but you knew you weren’t about to waste a second of it. You dumped your school bag, throwing in essentials like your toothbrush, toothpaste, warm clothes, a can of wet cat food, the green water bottle you’d received on your birthday, and a recent family portrait that sat on your nightstand. You managed to coax Chilli into a cat backpack that you had purchased only a week ago for outings, never having used it before. The groaning was doubled now, another had joined, and your door was holding on for dear life.
You opened your bedroom window, looking down and seeing your neighbors running in horror from other…creatures? Some neighbors lay still in their yards, gone. Cars were abandoned on the streets. These were images you knew you’d never be able to scrub from your mind. You secured Chilli onto your back and your bag of essentials onto your chest, carefully stepping out onto the sill. With a deep breath, you swung for your roof. You didn’t know where you’d go from there, but at least you’d be safe.
Once you were perched onto the shingles, you brought your knees to your chest and wept into your pajama pants. What was happening? You hadn’t grabbed your phone in the chaos, and by the sounds of it, the whatevers were already in your room. You watched your Dad's car from where you sat, waiting and hoping to see him and your Mom sprint out…they didn’t.
You sat through the screams and yelling, covering your ears and shaking from the cold for most of the day. Once the sun began to lower and the streets got quiet, you decided you’d die of hypothermia or hunger if you stayed put. So carefully, you began your descent down the side of your house. You could see through the window into your parents' bedroom. The door was closed, the bed was made, your Mother had her clothes for the day layed out neatly on the duvet. It broke your heart to see that sh,e too had no clue what was going to happen. Your feet hit the ground, crunching the dying grass beneath you. You couldn’t bring yourself to glance into the downstairs windows, too scared to know what you would see.
By the back door was an axe, one your Father had used the day before to cut wood for the fireplace. You took it. You’d never used an axe before or any kind of weapon for that matter, but with the situation at hand, you felt as if that was about to change. You began a quiet, slow walk down your street, keeping to the back and side yards so as not to be seen by whatever they were. Walkers maybe? That’s what you’d call them.
Nightfall came faster than you thought it would, and here you were, hiding several blocks from the one place you’d called safety since you were just a little girl. You could hear the groaning, but couldn’t see where it was coming from. It wouldn’t be long until it found you, though. You acted as fast as you could, trying to open car doors that were either locked or had no keys. And then you found the van. It was red and looked like it belonged to a plumping company at one point, but now the logo was faded and impossible to read. The keys sat nestled into the gap between the center console and the driver's seat. You climbed inside, looking into the back to see empty cleaning materials and discarded trash. Safe.
You’d never driven a vehicle as big as this one before, but you doubted you’d get in trouble for any traffic violations you were sure would happen. It had half a tank of gas and started up just fine. Once you were locked inside, you set Chilli free, but she didn’t go far, climbing into your lap to curl into a ball. You started the heater and let your head rest back against the seat. Your stomach ached with hunger, and your throat was dry, but you were safe, and you weren’t completely alone. This was just day one. It would be over soon, right?
-
Now here you were, four years later, sitting in the same van, now completely yours. You’d managed to make it a home. It had a bed just big enough with plenty of blankets and pillows from abandoned home goods stores. You had a cooler with plenty of food to keep you going for a week. You had a stash of water, even a cat tower for Chill, who, at her old age, got around just great. The two of you had adapted to this new and lonely life.
The van was armoured now, steel plates covering the windows, and every door except for the side and driver's doors were welded shut, bars on the windows. Your array of weapons stayed handy by your bedside and your passenger's seat. You parked in an area you deemed a safe zone, shutting off your headlights and covering your windows to keep in the light of your battery-powered lamp. You ate another can of cold pasta, dabbing a bit into Chili's food bowl. You spent most nights curled up in your bed, Chilli on your chest, reading any and every book you could find on your supply runs. And then you’d fall asleep, just like tonight, book falling to the side, forgotten by your tired frame.
It was deep into the night when you heard it. The crying doesn’t fit in this world anymore, so small and frail. Too innocent. Your hand reaches instinctively for the knife tucked beneath your mattress, heart slamming, breath held. You don’t move, just listen. Wind. The metal of the van creaks, and then-
A baby.
The cries sounded drowned out and exhausted, but very real. Your brain wanted to reject the sound. Walkers moaned and snarled. But this wasn’t that. This was a newborn, hiccuping through gasps. You squeezed your eyes shut to try to ignore it. You were not brave; you just wanted to survive.
Opening your eyes, you could see Chilli staring back at you, expectantly. It was like she knew what you were going to do before you did. “It’s bait.” You reason, knowing good and well she’s a cat, and she doesn’t understand. “It’s a trap. The walkers, they’re getting smarter.” You didn’t even believe yourself. Just a few days ago, you watched one walk into a wall, back up, and do the same thing again, repeatedly. They were losing intelligence if anything.
Chilli continued to stare, not moving, just knowing. You let out a drawn-out sigh and nodded, grabbing your boots and slipping them onto your socked feet. “Damn it.” You climbed over your bed into the driver's seat, removing the blankets that blocked the window,s and winced as you started the loud engine. The last thing you wanted was to attract attention. You left the headlights off, using the moonlight and the sound of the cries to direct you. They were getting weaker, and it broke your heart.
The now whimpers were coming from a tree line on the side of the highway, a path you knew the van couldn’t take. With a sigh, you put on your coat and grabbed a gun from your glove compartment. “Okay, I’ll be back soon. Don’t open the doors for anyone.”
Chilli didn’t react; it was like she knew it was a pitiful joke to make yourself feel better. You stepped out into the cold night and closed the van, locking the doors and clipping the keys to the inside of your coat. A quick in and out, just like usual. Except this wasn’t usual. You didn’t leave the van at night. You didn’t go into the woods. And you certainly didn’t go after the cries of infants.
The sound was barely audible, but it led you to a hut hidden in the trees; it would have blended in if it weren't for the faint light coming through the cracks of rubble. It was built solely with wood scraps, tarps, and desperation. You watch and listen carefully for movement, but only the cries come. You swallow and push open what you assume is the door and step in. The smell hits you like a truck.
Rot.
Feces.
Your body tenses, looking around the makeshift shelter. The light was coming from a lantern that had been turned over, casting ominous shadows on the blanket-covered walls. In one corner was a mattress; two limp bodies lay lifeless under blankets. They had to have been gone for a few days by the looks of it. You lifted the blanket to cover their faces, giving them peace in death. You weren’t sure what had happened, but you didn’t want to hang around long and find out.
Finally, you moved over to the makeshift cot where the cries were now loud and clear. A baby, swaddled warmly with tear-stained cheeks. It couldn’t have been more than make a month or two old. You were sure it was cold, starved, and lonely. You set the gun down and fall to your knees, reaching into the bed to untangle its little body. The smell was evident that it hadn’t been changed in some time. You picked the baby up, holding it to your chest. It was so small and fragile. You began to shush and coo it, rubbing its back in an attempt to quiet it down, to soothe it. “I got you.”
You rubbed your finger over its cheek, causing it to blindly search for it. It was starved. “Please tell me they have something for you.” You layed the baby back down, searching through their belongings until you found a bag with a teddy bear on it. Inside was an empty bottle, formula, half a bottle of water, and some diapers. Not much, but enough to help.
They tried.
They tried so hard.
Your throat burned at the thought of them trying to care for something so fragile in a time when taking care of yourself was an everyday battle. You begin to make the bottle for the little one who shouldn’t have to exist here, when you hear it. A branch snaps, and you’re quick to grab your weapon, guarding the baby with your body.
You expected the worst when the door came open, but instead of a walker, a man stepped in. He was young with long dark hair, wielding a crossbow. You didn’t flinch, keeping your weapon aimed.
His voice is hoarse, like this is the first time he’s used it in four years. “Is it yours?”
You shake your head, nodding towards the couple on the bed, but not taking your eyes from the stranger. “Theirs, I assume.”
“Are they…” He doesn’t say it, but you know what he means. You nod.
“Gone.”
“Oh, kid…” His demeanor breaks, seeing the baby squirming in discomfort. “Does it have food?”
You nod towards the half-made bottle beside you. He nods slowly, realizing you weren’t going to lower your weapon until he did. So he took a chance and placed the bow on the floor. You followed shortly after, grabbing the bottle and getting it made. Cautiously, you pick up the wailing baby and finally place the bottle in its awaiting mouth, stopping the cries.
“Poor thing was starved.” The man frowns, watching as the little one sucked hungrily on the nipple of the bottle, hands tightly wrapped around your wrist like it was scared you’d take it away. It was truly heartbreaking.
“You got a name?” The man asks, beginning to look through the deceased couple's things, throwing items he finds useful into the tote slung over his shoulder.
“You first.” Names feel dangerous. Heavy. Even now, when they haven't mattered in years.
“Christopher,” he says. “But- most people call me Chris. Well, they used to.” He falters, zipping up his bag. “And yours?”
You hesitate, watching his expectant face. What did you have to lose? “Y/N.”
“Well, Y/N. That baby won’t make it alone.” He nods at your arms, where the infant was finally becoming content, eyes fluttering shut.
“I know.”
“You won’t either,” he adds. Not unkindly.
“Wow, thanks for the confidence.” You huff out humourlessly.
“I meant with a baby.”
You couldn’t argue that. You were already vulnerable with a cat; a baby in addition would only make things harder. Looking down, you could already see the trust it had in you, the dependency on protecting it.
“So what do I do?” You frown, looking at the stranger as you gather your things and the babies from the ground.
“I’m headed North. I’ve seen posters hung up along the way that there’s a haven.” He explains, pulling out one of the said posters. It was the back of a cereal box, with writing scribbled poorly in marker. “You can join me. Both of you.”
You meet his eyes, and you know hope is dangerous,s but it’s all you have left. “How do you know there are people even still up there?”
“I don’t. But I’m willing to find out. Do you want to come with me? Are you alone?”
“I have a cat. It’s just been the two of us for four years.” You swallow, even giving that information felt like too much, whereas five years ago, you couldn’t shut up about telling strangers about Chilli. Now she was all you had, “And you?”
“No pets. It’s just been me for the last three years.” His gaze softens. Three years? You wondered if losing the ones you loved was easier on day one or a year into the war. You wanted to ask what happened…but you didn’t.
“I have a van. There’s room for two more.” You spoke without thinking. All you could focus on was knowing you had a chance of having someone to talk to that would actually respond, and you couldn’t risk losing it.
“That settles it. We’re a family, then.” He laughs. You know it’s meant to be a joke, but deep down, the word makes your eyes sting. You’re strangers, but the thought that maybe you had a chance at a family in your future made you feel a bit stronger.
Four years into the apocalypse, and you’d finally found a reason to fight for a better future. For something permanent. Inside the ruined hut, a baby finishes their bottle, and two people who thought they were done caring decided to try and save what was left.
A/N: I don't expect this to get as much attention as my other writings, but I hope someone reads it and enjoys it as much as I've enjoyed creating it. This isn't like my usual writing, and I definitely plan on making chapters out of this, so please let me know what you think or ask questions if you have them. This has also not been very well proofread or edited.
୨୧ summary: you hate chan because your boyfriend hates chan, and you’re pretty sure he hates you too. so when he proposes a fake dating arrangement after you get cheated on, you accept only for the revenge plot. but that doesn’t exactly go as planned, because maybe you two never really hated each other after all.
୨୧ pairing: student!bang chan x fem!student!reader
୨୧ genre: college!au, enemies to lovers / fake dating, a lil fluff, a lil angst, smut MINORS DNI
୨୧ word count: 20.6k
୨୧ featuring: jaehyun of nct and mina & jihyo of twice
୨୧ warnings: 18+, cheating (not between reader and chan), mentions of alcohol, explicit language, poor communication, some arguing, overuse of italics (sorry!), oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected sex (pls dont do it), breast play (+ one slap !), creampie, multiple orgasms, spitting, dirty talk, teasing, pet names (baby, princess), afab reader
୨୧ author's note: let's play a game of how many tropes can i fit into one fic! i did all of my college courses online so not too much on me and my unrealistic depictions pls… also obviously this is not an accurate portrayal of jaehyun, i love that man down okay!! and i got a lil lazy midway through this and rushed it to get to the smut lmao sorry!
You hated parties.
You hated parties because they were loud, because spaces with that many bodies on top of each other were too suffocating, because men always tried to hit on you with boozy breath and wandering eyes.
Now you hated parties because they made your boyfriend want to stick his tongue down other girls’ throats.
Jaehyun had managed to destroy nine months within three minutes – that’s the length of time you’d convinced yourself you’d spent standing there, unable to avert your gaze from the horror unfolding in front of you. Three whole minutes that he hadn’t even noticed your presence, too preoccupied. Too focused on kissing this random girl like he had something to claim, as if you weren’t enough. And worst of all, he hadn’t even cared enough to bring it somewhere private. They were in a corner of the living room, tucked away but not hidden. It had only taken a little bit of squeezing between partygoers and quick apologies to make your way to them.
They had gathered a crowd, too. A few spectators, voices meant to be whispers – drunk people can’t seem to mind their own volume.
“Yo, is that Y/N?”
“Nah, I just saw her getting a drink.”
“Shit…she’s gonna be so pissed.”
At least the alcohol hadn’t made them completely brainless. You were, in fact, pissed. There was the unmistakable heartbreak too, but you weren’t going to let anyone see that. Instead, you blinked back your tears and cleared your throat to make sure the words didn’t get stuck. Each step you took towards him made it more real, until you were close enough that you knew he could hear you over the raging music.
“What the fuck are you doing?” you hiss, far from an actual question. Your voice still broke on the last word, and you hoped he hadn’t noticed. As soon as he registers that it’s your voice, his girlfriend, Jaehyun tries to push the girl away, feigning disgust. It’s almost pathetic in a way, his little act.
“Shit, Y/N,” he curses. “I didn’t mean to – fuck, I didn’t mean for this to happen, I just – ”
He stumbles on his words as if his mouth wasn’t working perfectly fine just seconds before. When he tries to inch towards you, you step back, refusing to allow him the comfort.
“You’re fucked, Jaehyun,” you say flatly. That’s as much of your energy as you would give him, at least for now. He’d embarrassed you enough by kissing another woman in the middle of a party; you decided against escalating your humiliation by shouting at him and causing a scene. You turn on your heels and begin pushing through bodies again, away from him, and you can tell he’s following. You can hear your name, barely reaching your ears but definitely there.
Once you make it out of the most concentrated pool of people, he staggers soon after and latches onto your wrist. The same fingertips that used to run across your skin so gently now felt like betrayal and poison.
“Let me go,” you snap. His grip loosens slightly, but he still holds you there, determined to defend himself.
“I fucked up, I know, but please just hear me out,” he begs, as if he has the right to. His excuses are the last thing you want to hear right now, and you know that’s all they would be. Stupid excuses for a stupid “mistake,” and it makes you sick to even think about listening to him explain why and how he ended up making out with another woman in the corner of a party he asked you to go with him to.
“No! Fuck you, seriously,” you spit, words laced with venom you prayed would hurt him even a fraction of the way he hurt you.
And perhaps they did, or at the very least stunned him, because he drops your arm entirely. Now, you take the final steps towards the door, reaching for the handle. He tries to follow you again, unsatisfied, unrelenting. “And if you follow me out this door, I promise you I’ll never speak to you again.”
That stops him in his tracks. Maybe gives him some hope that if he just lets you cool off for the night, you’ll let him explain in the morning. Regardless of how he perceives it, you lunge at the opportunity to escape, finally making it out the door and into the crisp night air. It hits your skin viciously, your skirt and halter top offering little protection from its bite. You’re cold, heartbroken, and, worst of all, not even nearly drunk enough to mask it.
Without the vivaciousness of the party, you can only see Jaehyun kissing her in your mind, can only hear the hushed whispers of the onlookers, replaying on a torturous loop. You’d only made it down the steps of the house before the tears began to fall. Now you let them, assuming you were away from prying eyes.
Unfortunately, you hadn’t noticed someone standing right next to the door while you and Jaehyun had your little spat. A certain someone who would get far too much enjoyment out of such a scene. You had been followed once more, but this time not by your stupid cheating ex boyfriend, but by his equally as stupid “rival.” It was still a mystery to you why they hated each other, and at this point, you didn’t care at all to find out.
“Those were some harsh words,” he chuckles, and you don’t even need to turn around to recognize the voice. The same way you don’t need to turn around to know he’s smirking. You hurriedly wipe your eyes, careful not to smudge your makeup; the last thing you need is him to see you crying, another thing for him to derive sick pleasure in. You wouldn’t dare grant him that.
Because it was an unspoken relationship rule that an enemy of your partner is an enemy of your own. So, for no real reason other than the fact that Jaehyun hated him, you hated Bang Chan.
“Fuck off, Chan,” you snarl, quickening your pace. It doesn’t matter, since he catches up to you in a few short strides. “Why the hell did you even follow me out here?”
He steps in rhythm with you, making it clear he had no intentions of leaving. Not until he got what he wanted, whatever that may be. The satisfaction of seeing you broken? The chance to remind you how shitty Jaehyun is and how great he is? You aren’t sure, but you keep walking anyway.
“I just didn’t expect to hear you say such things to your boyfriend,” he answers. His emphasis of “boyfriend” makes you both angry and repulsed, then bitter and devastated. Nine months of your life gone in minutes, and now you had the displeasure of dealing with Chan on top of it.
You scoff and finally stop, turning to face him for the first time. His eyes twinkle with something devious, and it infuriates you. “He’s not my boyfriend. Not anymore.”
“Oh?” he draws his head back in shock. He’s silent for a moment, and you fold your arms across your chest, glaring at him in a way he finds cute more than intimidating. “I’m surprised you two lasted this long, actually. Figured it was about time for Jaehyun to do what he does best.”
You blink at him incredulously, his careless words cutting deep. There’s no reason anything he says should bother you, but there’s something about it that stings. And Chan notices, too, watching your entire face shift from rage to sorrow. Your features soften in a way he’d never seen before – you’d only ever looked at him with hatred and annoyance – and it deflates him.
“I don’t know why you two don’t get along. Seems like you should be best friends – you’re both fucked up,” you retort quickly, though it comes out as a strained whisper.
Chan hates being grouped with him, especially in your mind where Jaehyun now seems to be synonymous with evil. He never expected to be giving you of all people an apology, but he figures he needs to. For his own consciousness, of course. Definitely not because he felt an odd pang in his chest when you looked at him with something other than disdain for once.
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said all that. Are you alright?” he asks cautiously. He never thought he’d be so relieved to see someone roll their eyes, but when you do, he swears he feels ten times lighter. Your hostility he could navigate, but your sadness was uncharted territory; he was glad to be back to familiarity. And since you hadn’t walked away from him yet, he takes the chance to dig deeper. “What did he do?”
“Like I’d want to talk to you about it. Just give it a few hours, you’ll hear about it from someone, I’m sure,” you shrug, trying to pretend that you’re unbothered. That you don’t care that you’ll likely be the talk of campus, the woeful ex-girlfriend people will look at in that pitiful way they look at small, broken things.
As much as you hate Chan, you’re grateful he isn’t looking at you like you’re small or broken. He’s looking at you the same as always, like you’re a challenge, a puzzle he hasn’t yet solved. Maybe that’s why you decided to keep standing there, holding more of a conversation with him than you’d likely ever had before.
“Probably. But I want to hear it from you. So tell me, what happened?” he asks again.
He doesn’t say it with demand or snark. It sounds almost unsettlingly genuine. It sounds like someone that isn’t Chan, or at least the Chan you’re familiar with. You hesitate, conjuring up another smart remark, but you let it die in your throat.
“He fucking cheated on me. He was making out with some girl in front of everyone. Can you believe that?” you chuckle sarcastically, forgetting who exactly is standing before you. “Nevermind…I’m sure you can believe it. God, I’m so stupid.”
“No, you’re not stupid,” he says adamantly. “He’s stupid. An even bigger idiot than I thought, actually.”
It angers him more than it should that you’re degrading yourself over Jaehyun’s horrible decisions, and he has a fleeting thought of going back and telling him off for it. And as the thought passes, he can’t understand why. He knows you hate him. He knows you have likely been fed lies and half-truths by Jaehyun for months. He knows he shouldn’t care about any of this. He can’t seem to figure out why he does.
“I just can’t get that image out of my head. It’s making me sick,” you mumble, and it replays all over again. The ear-splitting music, the crowd, his lips on hers, that look on his face when he saw you. All your emotions bubble back up to the surface and come out as a loud groan, though internally you just want to scream until your throat is raw. “I wish I could make him feel even half of what I feel right now.”
The idea that pops up sounds ridiculous in his head and likely even more so said aloud, but his mouth opens before he can stop himself. “Well, maybe you could,” he trails.
“I know it may be hard for you to believe, but I’m actually a good person,” you sneer. “I would never cheat.”
He laughs dryly and you furrow your eyebrows in confusion, awaiting an explanation. “Believe me, I know you’re just a perfect princess,” he mocks, and you’re certain if you roll your eyes any harder they’ll get stuck like that. “But who said anything about cheating? Besides, you’re not together anymore,” he reminds. “And there’s only one thing I can think of that would drive him just as mad.”
You’re intrigued now, though doubtful there’s anything that could reflect the same level of hurt you currently felt. Anything rational, at least. Still, you wanted to hear whatever silly idea Chan had, if not for your own amusement.
“Which is what?” you question.
“Being with me,” he answers, too quickly, too plainly, as if it was something entirely normal and not an absolutely insane statement. When your eyes widen, he continues, waving his hands urgently to indicate you had gotten the wrong impression. “Okay, not for real, Jesus. Like faking it, you know? Just for him to see and lose his mind.”
That was quite possibly the last thing you expected, and you’re forced to laugh at the absurdity of it. You wait for him to join in, to tell you he was joking just to fuck with you. That would have been the Chan thing to do. Instead, he stares at you, a half-smile playing on his lips.
“Yeah, okay, you’re insane,” you scoff.
“Is it that insane?” he says smugly, poking his tongue in his cheek. “Think about it, imagine how pissed he’d be seeing us together.”
For a moment, you can’t help but realize how attractive he actually is. It’s not that you hadn’t noticed before – you had perfectly functional eyes – but now being single and also inches away from him, it was an unavoidable fact. It made you almost begin to consider his idea. Almost.
“Yes, it’s insane! Just because I gave you five minutes of my time on a shitty night doesn’t mean I want to talk to you ever again, let alone pretend to date you.”
“Oh, Princess Y/N gave me five minutes of her precious time, thank you so much,” he quips, and this time he’s the one to roll his eyes. “Whatever, I gave you a guy’s perspective on how to get back at him. You’re not gonna get any better revenge than that.”
“And what do you get from it?” you ask, certain there must be some mutually beneficial aspect beneath it. There’s no way he would suggest something so outlandish without thinking of his own gain, and you know that’s true when he grins wickedly.
“Just the satisfaction of seeing his face when he realizes he lost his girl to the one person he hates more than anything.”
You aren’t sure why you hadn’t grasped that from the beginning. All Chan wanted, as always, was to get under Jaehyun’s skin, to take something of his, to win. The idea is still crazy, and far more theatrical than you’d usually approve of, but you’re a lover scorned.
Then, you think back to the unspoken rule, the sole reason and origin of your hatred for Chan. Jaehyun hadn’t even followed relationship rule number fucking one: don’t cheat on your girlfriend. So, you figured you could break some rules and allow some theatrics.
“Okay. Okay, fine, I’ll fake date you or whatever,” you huff, trying to ignore his triumphant smirk. “But nothing weird, alright? And once it’s all over, we go back to hating each other.”
He throws his hands up like it’s offensive you’d even insinuated it. “Believe me, that’ll be no problem,” he agrees.
“Good,” you say simply, a forced tight-lipped smile on your face.
“Good,” he repeats.
The silence that falls over you two is uncomfortable, only disrupted by the sound of the wind lifting leaves along the sidewalk and the faint thumping of music. You can still see the house down the road, and it makes you wonder if Jaehyun is still inside and if he went right back to her. Suddenly, you feel the need to get home and cry in the shower with your carefully-curated sad music playlist.
“Well…I’m gonna go back to my dorm now,” you finally speak, shifting on your feet awkwardly.
“I’ll walk you,” he offers without a second thought.
You can’t help the way you exhale a little too harshly. Truthfully, you just wanted a short walk on your own to process all of the nights’ events, including the proposal you’d just accepted. And you had already spent more time than you’d like with Chan for one night (although you know you’ll have to spend much more now).
“Uh, no thanks. I don’t think we need to start the whole fake dating thing right now,” you reject bluntly.
He pinches the bridge of his nose and shakes his head, trying to stop himself from saying the wrong thing. He’s just trying to do a nice thing, the right thing, but you have a way of getting under his skin. The next few weeks are surely going to be a challenge. “It’s not for that, Y/N,” he sighs. “It’s late and dark out. Just let me make sure you get home safe, please?”
The roads are lit only by streetlights and the moon shining above, and you shiver from both the chilly air and the thought of making the walk to your dorm alone. You’d expected to be going home with Jaehyun, definitely not on your own in the middle of the night.
“Fine,” you agree reluctantly. “But can we just walk in silence? Not really in the mood to talk anymore.”
You deliberately exclude that you feel like if you keep talking, you’re going to break. You’d kept a relatively strong front – far stronger than you thought you’d be after being cheated on – but it was slowly crumbling. Maybe it was all the adrenaline that kept your emotions contained, because now everything was slowing down and soaking in.
“Sure,” he nods, following closely behind when you turn and begin taking steps forward. Your dorm is ten minutes away, and you walk side by side, arms occasionally brushing against each others. You only make it about two minutes in before he stops, shrugging off his jacket. Then, he holds his hand out, gesturing to it when you stare dumbly.
“Here,” he offers. “You’re freezing.”
There’s no denying that he’s right, but that didn’t mean you were going to wear his jacket. You could survive a few more minutes of the cold, even though your skin was covered with goosebumps that hadn’t gone away since you’d first left Jaehyun at the door. “I’m not wearing your jacket, Chan,” you shove his hand back.
Before you can start walking again, he drapes it around your shoulders, ignoring the glares you send his way.
“Do you always have to be this stubborn?” he groans. “You’re literally shaking, but God forbid you wear my jacket.”
You click your tongue and pull your arms through the sleeves anyway, mumbling a grudging “thank you.” The newfound warmth was a great comfort, and you’re so wrapped up in it you don’t notice the way he steals short glances over at you. His eyes drag down your body, drinking in how his jacket sits on your shoulders like it belongs there. How the sleeves fall past your wrists and the hem lines your thighs, still mostly exposed from your skirt length of choice. How you look good wearing something of his.
And then he curses himself for even thinking it, tearing his eyes away even though he really doesn’t want to. He clears his throat loudly, awkwardly, trying to ground himself, and you look over wordlessly. Any words you were going to say get caught in your throat when you notice how muscular his arms are now that they’re no longer covered.
Still, neither of you speak again, both thinking silent thoughts that you’d never let the other know. Once you arrive at your dorm building, he walks you all the way to your door despite your protests, muttering something about you being stubborn yet again.
“Thank you for walking me home,” you force out, gratitude sounding like exasperation. Your back is pressed against the door, hand wrapped around the handle. All you want is to throw yourself in bed and sob and sleep at this point, but Chan’s presence keeps you in the hallway.
He nods, combing a hand through his hair, wondering when it became so difficult to think of the right words to say to you. “Try not to think about him too much tonight, alright?” he sighs. “I know that’s hard, but just try to get some sleep or something.”
Such gentle advice sounds odd coming from his mouth, and he waits for your sarcastic reply. Counts on it, actually.
It doesn’t come. Instead, you smile at him weakly, telling yourself you simply don’t have the mental capacity to go back and forth with him anymore. Not that you were actually hating him a little less.
“I’ll try,” you assure. “Oh, yeah. Here.”
You pull off his jacket, the one that had begun to feel a little too comfortable, and fold it over your arms towards him.
“Keep it. You can wear it around or whatever,” he suggests indifferently. It would make your fake relationship more believable, but beyond that, it would appeal to that small part of him that enjoyed seeing you in it.
Fuck, what had gotten into him?
“I won’t,” you sass, bringing the jacket back to your chest anyways.
He runs his tongue along his teeth, chuckling. “Of course you won’t. So stubborn.”
“Stop calling me that.”
“Stop being that,” he shoots back.
Seemingly, you’d met your match. Someone who could keep up with your quick retorts, your mouthiness. And it came in the form of a man your ex boyfriend hated, a man you hated. You weren’t sure why that made it all the more exciting for you.
His gaze lingered, a curious glint in his eyes. He was trying to piece you together bit by bit, but you were a more difficult puzzle than most.
“Have a good night, Chan,” you say, finally turning the handle. When the door swings open, he finds himself looking around unintentionally, another opportunity to figure you out. He can see a few plushies on your bed, posters lined on the walls, and framed photos he can’t quite make out. There’s probably some of you and Jaehyun, and he hopes those are long gone by the next time he ends up at your dorm.
You slip inside hastily, and he realizes he’d been too engrossed in examining your room to respond. The door comes to a close in front of him.
“Yeah, you too,” he breathes out when you can’t hear, standing there just a few moments longer.
Once inside, you wait to hear the sound of his footsteps padding away, and when you do, you crack. The pictures of you and Jaehyun sit on your bedside dresser, mocking you, and you slam them down against the wood. You’re partially inclined to throw them against the wall and hope they shatter, but you don’t particularly feel like cleaning up glass shards through tears.
At least you let the teddy bear he gifted you stay on your bed, unharmed. An innocent soul caught in the crossfire, a child of divorce even.
“Fuck Jaehyun, fuck parties, and fuck this whole night,” you curse, though it comes out in choked sobs. And fuck Chan, your brain wants to say, but you bite it back. He had walked you home, given you his jacket…and become your fake boyfriend (soon to be, anyways) within the span of thirty minutes. Still, he was annoying, arrogant, impossible-to-deal-with Chan.
As much as every fiber of your being yearned for the soft comfort of your bed, you trudge to your bathroom and start the shower, making sure to put on your playlist while the water warms. Because if you were going to be heartbroken, you were at least going to be heartbroken while listening to Cigarettes After Sex.
After thirty minutes of crying and scrubbing your body of any traces of Jaehyun, you finally step out and decide to check your phone for the first time since everything had completely unraveled. Apparently getting cheated on was all you needed to reduce your screen time, so maybe that was a positive?
Naturally, there’s a few texts from people you could hardly consider friends but would now act like you were with feigned sympathy, full nosiness. Among them, however, is a text from a number you hadn’t saved.
y/n?
who’s this?
I’d say the guy you hate the most but i think someone else might’ve taken that spot
Chan. It was almost impressive that he managed to sound annoying even through texts.
ha. and how’d you get my number…?
I asked someone for it. you think they’ll take the bait?
they’ll probably just think you’re a freak who goes for recently heartbroken girls.
Nah. that’s not really my type.
oh yeah? what’s your type then?
You watch as the typing bubble pops up and disappears a few moments later, and then nothing. Minutes pass and you assume he’s leaving you on read, and that’s fine. It’s late, anyway, and after such a thorough cleansing and crying session, you’re exhausted.
So it’s no surprise when your phone buzzes again just as you manage to get comfortable in bed.
Just because that’s not my type doesn’t mean i have a type
“Liar,” you mumble to yourself. Whatever, it’s not like you care who or what he’s into. In fact, you’re glad he didn’t answer. Who knows what kind of weird things he’d come up with, if not just to irritate you.
okay, boring
What about you then? what’s your type?
You’re torn between giving him a genuine answer or something along the lines of “basically the antithesis of you.” Then, you realize you can probably do both at once, since you don’t consider Chan to align with any of your dating criteria.
i like someone who’s warm, attentive, and can make me laugh. someone who notices the little things, too
Yeah, definitely not Chan. But then again….
That can’t be right. i mean, you ended up with jaehyun
Also not Jaehyun. That was something you could admit now, but it was different coming from someone else. Like you were the only one who couldn’t see the flaws, the incompatibility. You feel stupid all over again, trying to ignore the way your throat began to tighten once more.
i’m going to sleep.
Hahaha
Aw man. i was having fun.
goodnight, chan.
Goodnight princess
The nickname might’ve been a term of endearment from anyone else, but from Chan, it was a thinly veiled taunt. You save his contact with a very fitting eyeroll emoji just to spite him, finally drifting off to a surprisingly peaceful sleep soon after.
“What an asshole,” Jihyo hisses. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there, you know I would have ripped into him.”
With all the craziness of the night, you hadn’t even thought to text any of your friends. It was one of the rare times none of them could make it out with you, and now you were being inundated with questions over lunch.
You wave her off, poking at your plate idly. “It’s fine, I promise,” you sigh.
“Has he texted you today?” Mina asks, glancing down at your phone on the table. You look down too, half-expecting to see another flurry of messages from Jaehyun – he’d already sent about twenty since the morning, all going unanswered.
“Yes,” you groan, unlocking your phone and passing it to the two girls for them to read the same desperate pleas you’d been spammed with. They scroll through, mouths slightly agape. “Should I answer? I’m worried he’s gonna end up showing up at my dorm if I don’t.”
“Here, let me answer,” Jihyo says, and you reach over and snatch the phone out of her hands before she can type. It wasn’t that he didn’t deserve whatever insults she’d send his way, but that you worried any response would entice him at this point.
To satisfy her, you finally text him back, telling him to leave you alone and that you would let him know when you were ready to talk. You truly had no idea when that would be, but any more silence from your end would inevitably have him tracking you down on campus.
Then, you remembered the other half of the night, the part where you agreed to fake date the same man your friends had heard you complain about more than once. There was no way you were going to keep that from them, nor would you be able to, but you weren’t even sure how to approach the subject.
Hey, by the way, I’m pretending to date that guy I hate. For the revenge plot of course.
“There’s actually something else that happened last night,” you begin, studying their reactions. They wait expectantly, eyes wide with curiosity. “Chan heard us arguing and we…talked a little.”
“Yeah, well, that sounds like Chan. He basically feeds off of Jaehyun’s misery,” Jihyo chuckles.
Mina catches onto the end of your sentence, the words you had said just a little too quickly and quietly. Intentionally so. “What do you mean you talked? You can’t stand him.”
Now, both girls are staring at you, disbelief etched on their faces. You and Chan had never talked. You insulted, glared, and mocked. Talking? They weren’t even sure you two were capable of holding a conversation without spitting names at each other.
“It’s stupid…” you trail. “He had this idea, and…I don’t know, I guess I just agreed to it because I was so angry and emotional.”
You’re stalling, obviously, and they’re growing more impatient with each delayed sentence.
“He suggested we pretend to be together to get back at Jaehyun.”
It’s quiet for a few seconds, and then Jihyo laughs, a full-body laugh that has tears pooling at the corners of her eyes. Mina just blinks at you, unamused. “Y/N! You can’t make me laugh like that while I’m eating, you know,” Jihyo scolds, still releasing occasional giggles.
“You’re not joking,” Mina says flatly. “Are you?”
Realization strikes both their faces when you don’t answer, swirling your straw around absentmindedly. Next comes their looks of disapproval.
“Don’t look at me like that,” you groan. But what did you expect? You had just thrown into question a fact they knew more concretely than grass being green or the sky being blue: you hate Chan. So did your need for revenge trump your hatred, or was your hatred truly never that deep after all? They suspected the latter – they always did, especially when you would go on about how insufferable he was while eyeing him from across a room.
“Like what? Like you’re crazy? Because clearly, you’re crazy,” Jihyo whisper-shouts.
“And with Chan of all people, seriously?” Mina adds.
Okay, neither of them were wrong, but they’d also never been cheated on to understand all the complex thoughts and feelings you’re experiencing right now. And yes, with Chan, because the plan simply wouldn’t work with anyone else (nor would anyone else be stupid enough to go along with it). It just had to be your ex boyfriend’s worst enemy.
“I know it’s crazy and you know I’d never agree to something like this, but – ”
“ – but she just couldn’t resist me,” someone interjects from behind you. Then, he throws himself next to you, leaning back against the table on his elbows.
You aren’t sure how long he’s been there or how much he heard, though you guess not much since one of them definitely would have warned you. Either way, add his stupidly good timing to the list of things that piss you off about him.
He hadn’t texted you in the morning – not that he was supposed to, or that you expected him to – and it almost made you wonder if the whole night was a fever dream. Evidently not, seeing as he was sitting a few inches away with a wide grin plastered on his dumb face.
“Are you stalking me across campus?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.
He huffs out a hollow laugh. “You wish. You guys sit in the same spot almost every day.”
Is he right? Yes. Does it make sense for him to know that? Not really. Unless he’d been paying more attention to you than you thought, which also didn’t make sense.
“Okay, so you’re not stalking me,” you conclude. “Just watching me.”
“Why does it have to be you? There’s two other lovely ladies here.”
“Ew,” Mina says.
“Don’t be gross,” Jihyo adds.
Now it’s your turn to laugh, though Chan is unamused. You want to poke him further, to find out why he knows the specific time and place your friends typically eat lunch, but you decide to save it for another time. Especially since those two are sitting right across from you and would hang onto every stupid thing he says, pestering you about it later.
Chan spins forward, now facing Jihyo and Mina. “Do you girls mind if I steal Y/N for a bit?”
“I mind,” you scoff, but he ignores you entirely.
The two girls look at each other suspiciously, knowingly. Then, Mina shakes her head, basically sending you off to your demise (another uncomfortable walk with Chan – two in less than twenty-four hours has to be considered cruel and unusual punishment). “Sure,” she shrugs. “We were just finishing up, anyways.”
Were you, though? The conversation hadn’t shown any signs of slowing down until he arrived.
With the approval of your friends, not yours, he clasps his hand around yours and stands up, trying to bring you with him. You can’t move, you can’t function at all with his hand holding your own, and once it hits you, you yank it away from him.
And then you stand anyway, as if your body was betraying you and doing everything your brain said not to.
“I hope you don’t plan on hurting her, too,” Jihyo cautions, an unspoken threat behind her words.
Her intentions are sweet, but you can’t help but feel the need to chide her for making it seem like you two are actually together.
“I’m not going to cheat on her, if that’s what you’re implying,” he jeers, picking up your bag and slinging it over his shoulder. “Don’t worry, princess, you’re the only fake girlfriend in my life.”
He must think he’s so funny, putting on a show in front of your friends, but you’re not laughing. However, Mina and Jihyo are. Snickering under their breath, actually, and probably going to gush all about this odd interaction after you leave.
The three of you exchange goodbyes, Chan already walking away from the table. You have to take larger strides to catch up to him, and when you do, you reach for your bag, trying to pry it from his arm.
“Is it going to kill you if you let me be nice and carry your stuff?” he huffs, readjusting the strap.
“It might,” you glare, but you can tell he’s not budging, so you resign. You wait for him to speak, to offer an explanation. Instead, he scans your face like he’s looking for something beneath the surface. “Is there a reason you took me from my friends just now?”
“Are you okay?” he asks, answering your question with…a question? So. Annoying.
But it sounds sincere coming from him, unlike how everyone else had asked you since last night. You can tell the difference now between girls who asked because they wanted to know if they had a chance with Jaehyun, guys who asked because they wanted to know if they had a chance with you, the complete randoms who asked just to be in the know, and now…this. Someone who genuinely wanted to know if you were okay, nothing more, nothing less, no underlying motives.
“I’m alright,” you shrug, “just numb, I think.”
He swallows hard, then nods. And suddenly the Chan you recognize is back. “Well, you look good for someone who just got cheated on.”
Maybe the compliment would have felt good if he hadn’t tacked on the last part. You had enough reminders throughout the day, so much so that your phone had been on DND for hours. And the reminders came in other forms, too, like your lonely walk to your first class in the morning, the one Jaehyun would always accompany you on. Or the song that came on shuffle that you two had once added to a shared playlist (which you now had sole custody of).
“Do you know how to give an actual compliment?” you snap, already knowing the answer. Chan would probably drop dead before he complimented you.
“So you’d rather I just say you look good?” he questions.
Yes, yes you most certainly would. But there was no way in hell you would tell him that and make him think his words actually mean something to you. You can just picture his smug look of satisfaction already.
So you lie through your teeth.
“No.”
He chews the inside of his cheek, carefully mulling over what he says next. “You do though. Look good, I mean,” he states matter-of-factly. And to your surprise, he doesn’t drop dead afterwards.
What should you say in return? Thank you? No, that implies you’re appreciative, grateful he complimented you, which you aren’t. You look good too? Absolutely not, unless you want to have him use that against you for the foreseeable future. Ew, don’t say those things? You’re not even sure you can feign disgust like that.
You end up not saying anything at all, but your face says a lot. Too much. It heats up and your cheeks dust with red, a far worse response than any of the others you’d contemplated.
“Aw, you’re blushing,” Chan teases, bumping against your shoulder lightly. “Getting all shy on me, where’s that smart mouth?”
“Shut up,” you grumble, and then you realize you’ve been following him blindly for the past minutes. You see that he’s led you to the heart of campus, the vast field of green where couples, friends, and classmates alike all congregate. He heads straight for a bench, pulling you down next to him like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“When’s your next class?”
You don’t answer.
“You took me away from my friends to bring me here?” And then you look around, convincing yourself everyone’s eyes are on you. “People are staring.”
He looks over at you, your bag now acting as a barrier between your bodies, and quirks an eyebrow. “Is that a problem?”
“I just don’t want anyone to get the wrong idea.”
“Yeah, well, newsflash, princess. We’re doing this so they do get the wrong idea,” he reminds, tucking your bag by his side. With the new space, he hooks his arms around your thighs and shifts you towards him, pulling your legs onto the bench and draping them over his lap.
“Chan!” you hiss, trying to move, but he holds you there.
If you thought people were staring before, they must be drilling holes through you now. Realistically, you’re just being dramatic – everyone is too entrenched in their own problems, their own conversations, their own world to really notice you. But you know people will talk, because that’s what people do, especially when it involves two individuals who are quite well-known on campus.
“Relax. The more obvious we make this, the quicker people will see, the quicker Jaehyun will see. And then it can all be over, right?” he explains, and you huff in response. You sit there like that long enough that it becomes comfortable, his fingers tapping idly on your leg while he scrolls on his phone. At the same time, you trace mindless shapes onto the bench, pretending you weren’t melting into him slowly.
No.
Being like this with Chan shouldn’t feel this normal, and you refuse to accept that it does. So, naturally, you have to say something to ruin it. Almost like an innate reflex.
“I should’ve just stepped out in a revenge dress, but nooo, I had to agree to your stupidity,” you mumble. He laughs, and then his face contorts to something more serious.
“You have a revenge dress?”
He says it hopefully, a glimmer of interest in his eyes.
“If I do,” you begin, leaning in to whisper in his ear, “you’ll never get to see it.”
His entire body deflates, and you take the opportunity to pull yourself off of him. You had a class across campus to get to and also needed a serious mental debrief to process the last twenty minutes. He hands over your bag, lifting off the bench as well. “Do you want me to like, walk you to your classes and stuff?”
“Nope,” you decline easily. “Unless you’re willing to walk me to my 8:30 on Tuesdays.”
It’s supposed to be a joke, and he must know it because he scoffs, shaking his head like you’d just said the most egregious thing ever. You laugh and start in the direction of your class, the feeling of his body so close to yours still lingering.
The weekend comes and goes quickly, with you swearing off any more parties for the time being despite Mina and Jihyo’s pleas. They both mention something about alcohol and loud music being the perfect remedy for a break up. But you already only really went to parties to appease your friends (and Jaehyun, previously), who dubbed them an “essential part of the college experience.” Now, you had the perfect excuse not to. Even Chan texts you to ask if you’ll be going out, though he doesn’t have nearly the same level of disappointment as your friends when you say no.
Instead, you spend your days clearing your camera roll of pictures of your cheating ex boyfriend and boxing up all the things of his you no longer wanted to have in your possession. Maybe you could get Chan to burn it all for you (except for the teddy bear, of course).
And then Tuesday morning rolls around and there’s an incessant knocking on your door, which is not only irritating but unusual, given the time. You’re in the middle of getting dressed when you answer, top half still in a tank top, bottom half in jeans.
This person is about to feel all your morning wrath, until you blink a few times and register that it’s Chan of all people.
“What the hell?”
“8:30, right?” he confirms, leaning against the doorframe.
You fold your arms across your chest, resisting his charm as best as you can. “That was a joke,” you groan, opening the door wider. “I’m not done getting ready and it’s gonna look weird if you’re waiting outside.”
He steps inside happily, immediately noticing the now barren space on your dresser. You had gotten rid of the pictures, good. He also recognizes his jacket draped along the back of your chair in a way he knows you’ve worn it, or at least moved it recently. It hangs off a little unevenly, one of the sleeves wrinkled in on itself.
“Yeah, because it’ll look so much better if we come out of your dorm together at eight in the morning,” he chuckles while you walk into the bathroom to change shirts in peace.
“Don’t even think like that,” you shout. Then, you walk out, throwing the tank top at him (which he catches, unfortunately), feeling emboldened. “Everyone knows I wouldn’t fuck you.”
The smirk on your face is wiped away immediately when he grabs your wrist as you bend down to reach your bag. “Yeah? Do you know that?” he whispers. His whole demeanor shifts, gaze intense, grip strong but not painful. You attempt to force out a stammered reply, but admittedly, you’re flustered. Your own body is a traitor, clearly.
Thankfully, he releases your wrist and breaks the tension with a devilish laugh. “You’re so easy to fuck with,” he says, sounding completely like his usual irksome self.
Now that you had a glimpse of a different, enticing side of Chan, you craved more and hated yourself for it. After all, you had just said you would never fuck him. And you wouldn’t.
But can’t a girl just think about it?
You grabbed your bag successfully this time and slipped on a pair of shoes, heading out the door with him right behind.
“So why did you do this, exactly?” you question, still fighting off sleep yourself.
“When I commit to something, I go hard,” he explains, though it sounds like a double entendre. “So if we’re going to fake date, I’m gonna be the best damn fake boyfriend you ever had.”
How wonderful. You thought you were agreeing to get revenge against Jaehyun, not to fuel Chan’s ego. Maybe you’d need another fake boyfriend down the line just to knock him from the top spot.
“Well, good thing we probably won’t need to keep this up for very long. I’ve already had people text me asking what’s going on between us,” you click your tongue. “No Jaehyun though.”
“Poor guy’s probably losing his mind thinking his fuck-up made you realize you had repressed feelings for me all along.”
“Oh, I had feelings for you?”
“Well, yeah,” he shrugs. “That’s how my story goes, anyways.”
When you make it outside, he wraps his arm around your shoulder, pulling you just a little bit closer. And now that you understand there’s no reasoning with him, you let him. It’s too early to argue, anyways, but you still roll your eyes where he can’t see.
“God, you’re insufferable. Can’t even give me some dignity in our fake love story,” you sneer.
“Okay, fine, I had feelings for you,” he relents, and for a second, it sounds like a fact, not a fabrication. “That sound better?”
You hum in approval, satisfied with the change. Whether he would actually follow through with it, you weren’t sure.
“So, are you gonna stay cooped up in your dorm this weekend, or are you going out?” Chan wonders, seemingly forgetting why you didn’t want to go to another party in the first place. They were kind of ruined for you at the moment, especially when you never really enjoyed them to begin with.
“I’m put off of parties for a while,” you wave your hands. “And I need to study, anyway.”
He squeezes your shoulder, displeased with your answer. “C’mon, Y/N, don’t let him ruin your fun,” he urges.
It was too late for that, though; all “fun” had been sucked out the moment you caught your boyfriend sucking face, and you knew he would probably be there, too. Just because he was playing the regretful, devastated ex in your texts didn’t mean he was depriving himself of his favorite pastime. You wouldn’t even be surprised if one of his “please forgive me, I’m so sorry, I miss you so much” texts had come while he was balls-deep in another woman.
“I’ll have plenty of fun in the library, thank you,” you shoot back.
“Oh? In public? Wow, princess, I didn’t know you were into stuff like that,” he grins, and you shove his arm off of you, staring at him in disgust.
“Oh my god, you’re a fucking freak!”
“I’m the freak? You’re the one that’s going to – ”
“Chan. Stop talking.”
“Okay, okay,” he throws his hands up defensively. “But just so you know, I don’t judge, and if you want some company…”
Fuck this smug bastard, and more importantly, fuck the way he was starting to get into your head.
The rest of the walk is relatively normal, at least in the sense there’s no more talk about public sex, and you reach your class promptly at 8:28.
“Well, have a good day,” he says a little awkwardly. “Let me know when you’re planning on grabbing lunch?”
“Unlikely,” you scoff, leaving him open-mouthed as you head inside.
So how you end up with Mina, Jihyo, and Chan at your usual lunch spot, you’re not sure.
“You guys missed it. Then she goes ‘fuck you, Jaehyun!’ and he looked terrified,” Chan laughs, and your friends join in, loving the cheater lashings.
“He did not look terrified,” you correct.
“She’s being modest. Even I felt a little intimidated,” he draws in a sharp breath, “but it was kinda hot, too.”
You’re not sure where that came from, and you kick his foot under the table where Mina and Jihyo can’t see. In return, he places his hand on your thigh, squeezing.
“You guys sure you’re faking this?” Jihyo questions, her chin resting on her hand while her eyes flicker between the two of you. Like she would be able to figure you out if she just looked hard enough. Impossible, considering you couldn’t even figure out what was going on at this point. He was still annoying, painfully so, but he was also alluring, and the heat between your legs was starting to do most of the thinking.
“Yes,” you and Chan say simultaneously, almost rehearsed.
“Right,” Mina nods, drawing out the word. “As long as you believe that.”
His hand moves now, rubbing along your thigh softly, and you have to grit your teeth to not snap at him. “I do believe it, because it’s true,” you say harshly (but not convincingly). “I’d rather drink a jean jacket through a fucking straw than actually date him.”
Unfortunately, that doesn’t stop his wandering hand; in fact, it only pushes him further, now sliding lower until his fingertips brush along the inside of your thigh. You shift awkwardly, keeping your eyes locked on your friends. You wouldn’t let him see that he was undoing you.
“I’m not particularly fond of you either, but a jean jacket through a straw is insane,” he smirks, finding enjoyment in your fidgeting.
“Then I guess it does a good job of conveying how much I can’t stand you.”
This time, you do snap your head towards him, eyes shooting daggers into him. They gave a silent warning, a threat he didn’t quite think you truly meant. After all, your body had a different message with the way your thighs clenched and shoulders stiffened.
“So sweet, isn’t she?” Chan smiles sarcastically, drawing his hand back. And you’re grateful – at least, that’s what you tell yourself, ignoring the small voice that said you wanted more. He reads something on his phone before typing quickly and rising from his seat.
“Anyway, thanks for the invite Y/N, but Minho’s locked himself out of the apartment, so I’ve gotta swing by before class,” he sighs dramatically.
“I absolutely didn’t invite you.”
“Sure you didn’t,” he winks, already gone before you can argue.
Once he’s out of earshot, Jihyo groans, covering her face with her hands. “God, I think if I’m subjected to that level of sexual tension again, I’ll actually pass away,” she huffs, muffled.
Bad time to take a sip of your drink.
“Sexual tension?!” you repeat, nearly choking, completely stunned by her words.
“We weren’t sure of it when you were with Jaehyun, but now it practically radiates through the air whenever you’re around each other. It’s suffocating,” Mina agrees, only adding to your embarrassment. Your face is heating up quickly, and it makes it hard to deny their accusations.
“Can you just hate-fuck and get it over with? Maybe you’ll find out you actually do get along in some ways,” Jihyo adds, exasperated.
You laugh dryly. “Oh my god, do you guys hear yourselves? I’m not having sex with Chan, that’s disgusting.”
“Well then can you two at least not make lunch feel like the build-up of a porno?”
Needless to say you would be informing him he could not join you and your friends for lunch anymore, lest you get lectured again on your “radiating” sexual tension.
By the time Friday comes, things have quieted. Chan listens when you tell him Mina and Jihyo requested your lunches stay reserved for the three of you (it’s not quite true, but the best excuse you could come up with without mentioning that your friends think you two want to fuck each other). So, you don’t see him much, aside from the couple of times he shows up outside your classes.
His texts, however, are frequent. They’ve developed into something expected, a normal part of your days. You talk about mundane things like grades and annoying lab partners. You talk about personal things like favorite songs and future goals. Each conversation is still filled with sarcastic quips and quick insults, but they don’t hold the same edge they once did. It felt more like comfort – like if you kept up the hatred act, you could protect yourself from what it was becoming.
And at the same time, the texts from Jaehyun had resumed because, although he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes, he had heard that you and Chan were seen together. On multiple occasions. He had even shown up at your dorm finally (the week of freedom you’d had was far longer than you’d expected), and you had slammed the door in his face, telling him it wasn’t any of his business who you hung out with anymore.
After that encounter, you were grateful for some peace – which was becoming rare in your life – throwing yourself nose-deep in your notebook. With your headphones on and such intense focus, you don’t notice anyone else’s presence.
Until someone makes their presence impossible to ignore.
“Hey, princess,” Chan greets, a cup of coffee in hand. He slips into the seat in front of you, placing the cup down and sliding it over. You have to pull your headphones back to hear him, eyebrows knitted in confusion.
“What are you doing here?” you ask.
He shrugs. “You said you were studying, I thought I would bring you some coffee to help your brain.”
He says it so calmly, and you have to fight against the way your heart swells at the simple act of service. Though really, it wasn’t so simple, because this was Chan showing up to the library unannounced on a Friday night, when he would usually be far away from anything academic. For you.
“Well, thanks, because I feel like my brain has basically disintegrated,” you complain, taking a sip. It was your favorite, too – he must’ve asked Mina or Jihyo for your order. “Did you skip out on the party?”
“Yeah, I wasn’t feeling it. Kinda just wanted to chill tonight. I thought a library date might be fun,” he muses.
You scoff, watching his lips curl into a satisfied smile. “Date?”
Chan blinks at you like you’ve wounded him, although you know it’s all part of his (perfected) act to get into your head.
“You wouldn’t call it that?” he says, disappointedly, leaning his head against the palm of his hand.
“No, I’d call it me studying for hours and losing my mind and you showing up uninvited.”
He points behind him with his thumb, turning halfway in his seat, an empty threat. “So, should I leave then?” he challenges.
This is probably the part where you should say yes. You should demand it, actually. But he had brought you coffee, liquid gold for your overloaded brain, and the chances of him listening to your request were slim to none regardless.
“It’s fine,” you concede, hoping it sounded indifferent. You even shift your focus back to your laptop to play up the act, writing down “notes” that don’t quite make sense. Chan accepts this, tapping his fingers on the table obnoxiously, purposely so. After a few minutes, he straightens in his chair, leaning forward against the table.
“I must say,” he whispers, “I’m a little disappointed to find you actually studying. You had my hopes up the other day.”
It takes you a moment to recall that conversation, and once you do, the realization spreads across your face in red hues. “There is something seriously wrong with you,” you frown.
And there may have been something seriously wrong with you for enjoying it.
“Maybe. But I think you like it. You were basically writhing when I touched you at lunch.”
Now you know you definitely should have told him to leave. He pokes his tongue in his cheek, in that way that could drive you crazy if you let it (which you weren’t).
“No, I wasn’t,” you argue weakly.
He finds your denial cute, truly, since he remembers your body’s responsiveness so vividly. It was essentially engrained in his mind, spinning it in circles. He could elicit that reaction from just touching your clothed thigh, and it made him feel powerful. And curious.
“Oh, you weren’t?” he chuckles. “So if I come sit next to you now, that’d be fine? And if I touch you like that again, you wouldn’t start to melt under my fingers?”
“I did not melt under your fingers.”
“But you would have,” he says confidently. He drops his voice to a whisper again. “If your friends weren’t there, and I kept going, you would have.”
You’re staring at each other now, wondering who will break first, though his eyes shine with excitement and yours narrow with annoyance. Or rather, desire that you try to disguise as annoyance.
“You think too highly of yourself,” you snort, scribbling gibberish into the margin of your notebook.
He releases a small, humorless laugh. “I don’t need to think it,” he corrects. “You’ve shown me.”
You snap now, slamming your laptop shut a little too aggressively. Because you refused to allow him to continue talking with so much confidence, like he knew what you were thinking better than you did.
“I’m sorry, did you forget the part where none of this is real? All of your little touches and stupid remarks have nothing to do with what we agreed on.”
But your boldness only encourages him, biting his lip subconsciously. “No, they don’t. That’s just for my enjoyment. Like I said, you’re easy to fuck with.”
“That's why you decided to come see me in the library on a Friday night instead of going out? To ‘fuck with me?’” you say pointedly, to emphasize how unreasonable it sounded.
“Well, you didn’t tell me to leave.”
“I asked a question.”
Chan drags his hand along his face, suddenly far less arrogant. For once, he looked like he was struggling to conjure up a smart response. And he was. But you were refusing to back down, finally having a sense of control.
“I don’t know,” he finally says, and you glare at him. “Really, I don’t. I just wanted to see you.”
You scoff, shaking your head in disbelief. “Don’t be dumb.”
Because there was no way he meant it. Or maybe you had misheard him entirely. But his whole demeanor had changed, and you no longer recognized the Chan that sat before you without his smugness.
“Right. If I tease you, I’m ‘insufferable,’” he recites, “if I’m honest with you, I’m dumb. Tell me, princess, what can I do then?”
You swallow harshly, trying to ignore what his words entailed. Honest. He said that he wanted to see you and he meant it. The air around you had shifted now, thicker, heavier, falling on your chest in a way that almost made your voice get caught in your throat.
“Are you fucking with me again?” you grimace, waiting for him to laugh in your face. To snap back into the version of him you’re familiar with.
But he doesn’t laugh. “You tell me. Am I?”
“You can’t do that!” you groan, exasperated. “You can’t say these things and then act all cryptic after.”
You cross your arms across your chest, and he relents. “Okay. Yes, I wanted to see you. Is that bad?”
“Yes.”
Yes, it was bad. Very bad, actually. Because you were supposed to hate him, and you thought he hated you. Because none of this was supposed to be real, and once you’d gotten vengeance against your shitty ex boyfriend (however dramatic it may be), things would go on like nothing had ever happened.
But is that what you wanted? It should be. It had to be.
“Huh. I guess I don’t care,” he breathes. “Do you?”
He awaits your answer, though he already knows what it will be. You had become easy for him to read now; he had studied you like you were his favorite subject. The unsolved puzzle he had finally pieced together.
And though you try to force yourself to lie and say yes, you simply cannot. All your resolve has vanished since he made such an unexpected confession, leaving you dazed.
“No,” you mumble, and your breath hitches.
His smirk returns, though it’s different now. Less of an attempt to get under your skin, more of an acknowledgement that one day he’ll get to touch every inch of it.
“Didn’t think so,” he reaches across the table, trailing his fingers along your hand. You snatch it back, ignoring his snickers.
He would be the death of you, you were certain. And for some reason, you find yourself thinking that it may not be such a terrible way to go out.
Neither of you are sure how to proceed after that night in the library, an obvious tension lingering between the two of you. You knew you weren’t going to be the one to address it, but you were growing exhausted with pretending that it had never happened.
It seemed like Chan was perfectly content with that, however. He hadn’t even mentioned it once, continuing to text you and show up outside your dorm and classes like it was all still part of a plan. And maybe it was. Maybe he was a great liar, but that didn’t explain the rift that had settled between you two. If he had lied that night, why could he hardly meet your eyes now?
You didn’t ask, because you feared the answer – both possibilities. Though when you turned to Mina and Jihyo for advice, they were adamant. They were convinced they were right all along, that there was a budding romance beneath the hatred. So, it was quite hard to get any sort of unbiased guidance from them. This was something you’d have to navigate on your own.
And by navigate, you meant continuing to avoid it. Hopefully Chan would crack before you did.
After almost two weeks of letting the unspoken words nearly suffocate you, you had begun to believe you really would have to forget it had ever happened. If he wanted to speak on it, he would. Nevermind that he could say the same thing about you; it was him that had started it, so he had to be the one to acknowledge it. It was only fair.
Your phone rings in the middle of the afternoon, during your thirty minute interval between classes. It’s Chan, which isn’t the surprising part (he had learned your entire schedule by now).
“Let me take you to dinner tonight,” he says only a few seconds after you pick up.
You roll your eyes, hardly registering his proposal. “A ‘hello’ might be nice.”
“Hi,” he utters. “Let me take you to dinner.”
If you agree too easily, he’ll know you had been waiting for him to say something like this. And with how straightforwardly he had asked (or stated, rather), he clearly expected your agreement. You could make him grovel just a little bit.
“You wanna see me again?” you quip, the most you’d allude to the library incident.
But Chan could match your attitude ten times over, so he has a quick retort. “I just figured if we go to dinner you could post a picture on your story, really commit to the bit,” he explains flatly, and then laughs when you’re silent. “What? You wanted me to say I want to see you?”
“Fuck you.”
“You said you wouldn’t,” he reminds. “Remember?”
If he could see you, he would undoubtedly point out how flustered you were, then follow it up with a dumb joke about how the offer was always open. And you would have to hold back from taking him up on it.
“Really doing a good job of making me want to say yes,” you chide.
“Please let me take you to dinner. I’ve been thinking about our library date, and I wanna take you on a real one.”
You huff loud enough for him to hear over the phone. “That wasn’t a date,” you correct. “And I’m busy tonight.”
A lie, but he didn’t need to know that yet. There’s shuffling on his end, and then his voice comes out sharply.
“Busy with what?”
“That’s really none of your concern,” you can’t help but grin at your own mischief. “But if you must know, I’m seeing someone tonight.”
“Y/N,” he growls, and it’s hot. You try to imagine the look on his face (why couldn’t he have FaceTimed you?), and it makes you weak.
“So, what time are you picking me up?” you ask, voice syrupy sweet despite your antics. Like honey masking poison.
He exhales loudly, and you can hear all the unease release from his body. If he was going to be so wound up about you even potentially seeing someone else, why had he taken so long to address your ever-present tension?
Maybe he was just as confused as you.
“You don’t know what you do to me,” he groans. “I’ll be there at seven.”
He hangs up before you can hound him about the first half, not even sparing a second to confirm the time. No, you don’t know what you do to him, but it was inevitable that you would find out. And he would make sure that you understood to the fullest extent.
It’s difficult for you to decide on an outfit for dinner with Chan, one, because you’re still tossing with the idea internally and two, because you aren’t sure what’s an “appropriate” amount of dressed-up. If you look too good, he’ll think you’re trying too hard to impress him, and you’ll never hear the end of that.
Though, you had already agreed to going to dinner with him, so you probably wouldn’t hear the end of that, either.
Mina and Jihyo choose an outfit over FaceTime (and so kindly remind you to “at least make him wear a condom”), one that teeters right in the middle of simple and dressy, and you’ve fixed your hair at least a dozen times by the time he’s knocking on your door.
When you open it, he stares at you, and then tears his eyes away to roam all over your body. He draws in a sharp breath, shaking his head in disbelief.
“Wow,” he rasps. “You’re beautiful.”
The compliment comes with no snarky follow-up, and he doesn’t even tease you when you feel your face heating up. He takes your hand and holds it the whole way to his car, only letting go to open the door for you; you would have never taken him for such a gentleman.
He doesn’t tell you which restaurant he’s picked, but the drive isn’t long before you arrive and are seated, his hand finding its way back to yours while you walk through the aisles.
As you sit there scanning the menu, you can’t help but realize you’re at fucking dinner with Bang Christopher Chan. And he’s staring at you like you wouldn’t notice.
“What?” you question, and he drops his head, chuckling.
“Nothing,” he says. “Just can’t believe how much things have changed.”
“You’re still annoying, don’t get it twisted.”
“Yeah, well, you still agreed to get dinner with me,” he shrugs.
He thinks he’s won with that, turning his attention to the menu. But even if he’s right, you aren’t letting him shame you so easily. “You would’ve begged me if I didn’t,” you smirk.
His eyes snap back to yours, the mischievous glint forcing him to fight back the more impure thoughts. “You know, that mouth is going to get you in trouble one day.”
“Yeah? By who?”
“Careful, Y/N,” he warns, words coming out through clenched teeth.
You flash him an exaggerated smile, thanking the waitress when she returns with your drinks, and Chan curses himself for being turned on by how quickly you switch from a temptress to the sweetest angel. He stumbles over his words while giving his order, and you giggle softly without even knowing you’re the cause of it.
Considering Chan had brought you to dinner, you felt confident enough to bring up the subject of what the hell was going on between you two. Specifically the Friday night you’d left unaddressed. “So, is it finally time we talk about it?”
“Talk about what?”
“This,” you motion between the two of you.
He doesn’t even pause to think about it. “We’re having dinner,” he replies coyly.
You figure admonishing him for his feigned ignorance won’t bring you closer to an answer, so instead you push further.
“But why?”
“I told you, you can post it on your story or whatever. I’m sure Jaehyun still stalks your socials.”
You’d seen quite a few random spam names in your story viewers, so you knew it to be true, but you also knew that couldn’t be his reasoning.
“You also told me you wanted to take me on a ‘real date,’” you mention, and he throws his head back against the booth.
“Jesus, Y/N,” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Can we just have a nice dinner and worry about the semantics later?”
Obviously, the answer was a resounding no, which he should have expected since he understood your stubbornness better than anyone. “Oh, for you to pretend it never happened and leave me wondering for weeks? Sure thing, Chan,” you sneer.
You probably should have excluded the part where you admitted you’d still been thinking about that night, because he latches onto it and uses it to evade answering any more questions.
“I really get in that pretty little head of yours, huh?” he grins.
“Or maybe I get in yours,” you shoot back. “What did you say? Something about ‘I don’t know what I do to you’?”
He rubs his jaw, exhaling through his nose loudly. Because you really didn’t know what you do to him.
“Princess, you don’t get into my head. You’ve never fucking left it.”
Your food is brought over moments later, right on cue, leaving you sitting idly, stunned. Chan pretends not to notice, already moving past his previous admission.
“God, I am starving,” he groans. He takes a bite of his meal, and then blinks at you when you haven’t even slightly shifted. “What’s wrong? You wanna take that picture for your story now?”
If you heard the word “story” one more time, you were convinced you’d actually implode. And you’d take him with you, just to annoy him in the afterlife.
“Don’t do that,” you hiss. “Don’t act clueless.”
“Well sorry for trying to be a believable fake boyfriend.”
Nothing about this felt fake anymore, and when he says it, it feels like a harsh reminder. That vicious awakening from the middle of a good dream, pulled to the surface of reality when you’re in such a deep slumber.
“That’s all you are, right? My fake boyfriend? So why do you say and do all these things that make it feel so real?” you demand.
Your meals are all but forgotten now, and the booths around you are probably getting more of your argument than any of you would like. You swear you can see the lady in the booth to your right staring at you and then leaning over to whisper in her daughter’s ear. Hopefully she’d give her some advice to never get involved with idiotic men like Chan.
He rubs his temples, growing more exhausted by the minute. “I’m trying to figure that out. I came up with a stupid plan, and somewhere along the way the lines got blurred.”
“You blurred them!” you whisper-shout, eyes widening in disbelief.
“You let me,” he says simply, and you can’t deny it. Though he’s still far more culpable for your current situation. “Listen, we can talk about it more on the way home, yeah?”
It’s his cop-out, and you should know this, yet you relent anyway. You aren’t surprised when he refuses to discuss it further in the car, either, and when he tries to put his hand on your thigh, you push it away.
He deserves that, but it still makes him sulk internally. If he couldn’t offer you answers, you wouldn’t offer him any more of yourself. At least, you’d try your best not to (easy to say, harder to do).
When he drops you off, you hardly give him a goodbye, so he knows he’s fucked up. His chest tightens at the thought of not being able to make it right. Of letting you go without telling you everything he’s been thinking for the last month.
He isn’t even sure you’ll give him another chance, but he figures he needs to sort his mind out before he faces you again, for both of your sakes.
The texts slow and then stop altogether, and you don’t see him at all for another week. Maybe you had pushed him enough that he had been scared off (still, he could at least fake break up with you). Though you had never taken Chan for someone who could be scared of anything, especially with his constant arrogance.
“That’s just how men are. They run when shit gets too real,” Jihyo says, fixing her top.
The three of you were currently getting ready in your dorm, because the minute you had texted the groupchat stating that you were desperate for a night out, they were basically busting your door down. And you couldn’t blame them, because you were never the one to initiate, but right now, it seems like the only distraction you have left.
“I think he’s just a little confused,” Mina adds with more eloquence. “I mean, do you even know what you want?”
“Yes,” you grin. “I want to go out, have a good time, and forget about all of this.”
Mina rolls her eyes at your avoidance, and Jihyo clutches her heart dramatically. “My Y/N is so back, I could cry right now.”
You know very well that a party is not the magical cure for all your problems – in fact, it’s the indirect cause of nearly all of them – but your other option was to spend another weekend in your dorm preparing an internal monologue about Chan’s cowardice. So, yes, you were going to a party.
“You know they’re both probably going to be there, right?” Mina advises. Both of the banes of your existence, though for drastically different reasons.
“It’s fine,” you wave her off. “I won’t even notice that they’re there”
Between the three of you, there’s not a soul that believes your lie, but nobody questions it.
Though perhaps they should have, because maybe it would have made you reconsider before you ended up in your current situation. Which was searching through a sea of bodies for one particular person, even if you weren’t sure what you would do if you found him.
Mina notices, too, watching as your eyes sweep all along the room while nodding every once in a while, pretending to be engaged in the conversation. You really hadn’t caught a single word she’d said for the past three minutes.
And although there were plenty of people there, you were confident you’d be able to spot Chan out of a crowd. But so far, there was no sign of him, and you couldn’t decide if you were relieved or disappointed.
Unfortunately, however, you had spotted Jaehyun. In the back of the room, looking completely untouched, sipping on a drink with his friends on one side and a girl on the other. But he looked disinterested, not paying her any mind, nodding along indifferently. He looked like you, searching for someone amidst the chaos.
“Y/N!” Mina barks, and you turn to her immediately. “Are you even listening at all?”
“Uh, yeah,” you lie.
She throws her hands on her hips, eyebrows raised. “Really? So what do you think, should I go over there and talk to him?”
She points to the left of you, but there’s at least five guys in the general vicinity she could be referring to. Of course, you’d know who she meant if you hadn’t been so checked out while looking for Chan.
“Um, who?” you ask carefully, and she groans, frustrated. “I’m sorry! I think I need another drink. To clear my head.”
You take off for the kitchen before she can argue, the counters covered in discarded solo cups and half-empty bottles of alcohol. Tempting. Instead, you open the fridge, pulling out one of the remaining unopened cans.
When you turn around, you’re stuck in place, a firm chest blocking you from walking away. You’re about to complain, to remind whoever it is that there’s a thing called personal space, but one look up has the words refusing to come out. It’s Jaehyun, of course.
“Y/N,” he falters, studying your face as if he’d forgotten your features.
Your heart races, not from anything other than the discomfort of confronting someone who you once thought the world of.
“Leave me alone, Jaehyun,” you spit, and he steps back, granting you some space and the freedom to walk away if you so choose. But you don’t, not yet.
He takes note of your stillness, encouraging him to speak again. “I will,” he nods. “But you haven’t given me a chance to explain, and I need you to know how much I regret what I did.”
“Yeah, well, good for you.”
He sighs, and a quiet moment passes between you, one that makes you picture him kissing that girl all over again.
“Are you with him?” he asks, under his breath. You stare at him with feigned confusion, lips pressed in a taut line. This time, he speaks louder, intentionally. “Don’t play dumb, Y/N, please. Are you with Chan?”
“I don’t owe you anything.”
“You don’t. But I owe you an explanation, and if you’re with Chan…” he trails, and it sends you over the edge. You tell yourself your anger rises up solely because of Jaehyun, but it’s undeniable that half of it comes from all you’d bottled up during the days without Chan around.
“Then what? Then it doesn’t matter? You cheating on me just gets justified because I’m with Chan?” you snap, voice increasing in volume with each word. “Guess what, Jaehyun, your fuck-up is to blame for all of it.”
Even with the thumping music, your voice carries throughout the room, and a few people glance over, intrigued. Someone pushes through the crowd, entering the kitchen right as Jaehyun opens his mouth to argue back.
“Is everything okay over here?”
Both of you look over, though you don’t need to to recognize the voice. It had become your favorite, even when it was teasing you or whispering innuendos just to unnerve you.
“Chan,” you whisper, and he heads straight for you, ignoring Jaehyun’s unwavering glare.
In a few quick steps, he’s beside you, wrapping his arm around your shoulder and pulling you into him like he hadn’t ignored you for a week. “Hey, baby. Are you alright?” he asks, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.
Baby. That was a new one. He had called you princess more times than you could count, but it had started as a taunt and never really felt like anything more than that. Baby, however, had your heart pounding and mind racing.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” you swallow, finding more interest in the ground now. For a second, you forget all about Jaehyun in front of you, and it reminds you that Chan’s actions are probably directly correlated. After all, the original plan was to get back at Jaehyun, and what better moment than right now? The final act to your months-long play.
“So you two are together,” Jaehyun concludes, frowning.
“Don’t look so upset,” Chan grins wickedly. “I’ll treat her better than you ever could.”
Try not to take his words seriously, you remind yourself. He doesn’t mean it. This is all for show. But as always, he makes them sound real, adding a layer of intensity you can’t ignore.
“You’re not good enough for her.”
You’re about to chime in, to remind him he has no say in what or who is good enough for you, and that it was rich hearing that from him of all people.
“And you were?” Chan laughs humorlessly. “C’mon, baby, let’s get out of here, yeah?”
He squeezes your shoulder, looking down at you, waiting for your agreement. And as you glance between him and Jaehyun, something takes over you entirely. You pull his face towards yours, hesitating briefly to gauge his reaction. When he closes the final inches, your eyes flutter closed, his lips crashing onto yours.
It’s quick, soft, restrained, and not at all like what you expected (or wanted) kissing Chan to be, but it serves its purpose.
Jaehyun stands there, wordlessly, the most satisfying look of outrage plastered on his face. Chan sees it, too, a small chuckle leaving his parted lips. He’ll probably burn the image in his mind to remember it whenever he needs a pick-me-up.
And while you’re a blend of emotions between the kiss, facing Jaehyun, and Chan’s declaration, you keep yourself together for now, yanking Chan’s hand to lead him away. “Yeah, let’s go.”
You maneuver through bodies, making it to a noticeably more empty section of the house before you finally release his hand. If you’re lucky, he’ll go back to ignoring you, and you won’t have to discuss whatever just unfolded.
Unfortunately, you haven’t had much luck recently.
“Bold move there, baby,” he quips.
There it was again. Only this time, Jaehyun’s not around, so there’s no explaining away the pet name. Does that make it better or worse? You aren’t sure.
“Shut up,” you mumble, “I really don’t want to be here anymore.”
Your night out had been ruined, and you swore you’d be done with parties for good. At least in your dorm you could save yourself from running face to face with anyone who either cheated on you or refused to share their feelings.
“I’ll take you home,” Chan states, not offers.
“I’m not getting in a car with you. You’ve been drinking.”
It was an assumption, but a reasonable one. Though clearly incorrect, because he quirks an eyebrow and shakes his head immediately. “I haven’t had a drop of alcohol, actually,” he refutes, now pulling his keys out of his pocket and swinging them around his finger.
So much for that excuse.
“Whatever.”
He takes this as your reluctant surrender, now grabbing your hand and leading you to his car which was only a little ways down the street. And despite the kiss, you still had nothing to say to him – or rather, way too much to say to him, and no desire to say it if he wouldn’t talk first. So a thick silence falls between you, leaving you with just the lingering feeling of his lips on yours.
“Quiet today,” he comments, stealing a glance you don’t return. You keep your head pressed against the window, a dull headache already forming from the night’s events and the alcohol.
“I’m still mad at you,” you grumble.
His hands grip the steering wheel a little tighter, tongue swiping across his teeth. “I know,” he mutters.
“And I think I hate you again.”
“Well, the ‘again’ gives me some hope,” the corners of his lips tug upwards. “Means I had you on my side for a little, at least.”
“You did. Until you wouldn’t talk to me and ran like a coward,” you insult, watching his shoulders drop and smile fade as fast as it had come. You almost regret saying it. Because all your insults before had been quick, meaningless jabs that he could brush off. This one came with intent, a bitterness that wouldn’t be forgotten seconds later.
“Yeah, I deserve that,” he sighs. “We’ll talk soon, okay? When you’re not tipsy and overwhelmed.”
“I don’t believe you,” you say flatly, still not lifting your head from the glass.
He reaches across the console for your hand, rubbing his thumb against your skin. “I mean it this time. Because I’ve been going crazy without you. And that kiss just sealed the deal.”
“Please,” you scoff, forced. “It was hardly a kiss.” Hardly. Your minimization of it wasn’t wrong in a literal sense; it was short-lived, lacking the passion you knew you both had within. But regardless, it had completely hijacked your brain, so clearly it wasn’t hardly anything.
“I know. That’s the problem. I need more.”
Now, you turn towards him, trying to decipher his expression. It’s unreadable for once, devoid of that familiar smirk. You want to tell him if he needs more to take it, that he can have everything he wants if he just says the words. But those words don’t come, not tonight, and you close your eyes against the window once more.
Before you leave for your dorm, he reaches for your hand again, pulling it to his lips.
“Soon, I promise.”
You nod, trying to believe him, though you wonder if it would hurt less if you don’t.
You didn’t particularly like loose ends.
That’s why after weeks of dangling a fake relationship in Jaehyun’s face and the culmination of it all at the party the night prior, you decided to confront him fully and at least hear what he had to say before you closed the chapter for good. You didn’t owe that to him, certainly not, but you felt like you owed it to yourself. An explanation for why he did it to quell the thoughts that had never completely gone away. Which he also said he owed you, anyways.
And perhaps this was all amplified by the fact that most of the day had passed and there was no text, no call, no anything from Chan. He had only said “soon,” not “tomorrow,” but still. Some form of acknowledgement would be enough to placate you, but he hadn’t even spared you that.
So, with a final layer of lipgloss, you considered your makeup complete and mentally prepared yourself for the impending doom. You looked irresistible at least, everything Jaehyun could never have again.
But nothing could ever go to plan (once again, luck hadn’t exactly been on your side), so you aren’t shocked when a knock on your door disrupts your evening.
“Hi, princess,” Chan grins when you swing it open. Then, his eyes trail down your body, tugging his lip between his teeth subconsciously. “You look good.”
Well fuck. Why did he have to show up now? A text in advance might have saved you from unintentionally double-booking yourself, or maybe you’re at fault for assuming Chan was ghosting you again today.
“Thanks,” you smile half-heartedly, heading back to your mirror to look yourself over once more. It’s far too awkward to face Chan knowing you’re about to go see your ex, especially when you and Chan had almost established…something. Something real, beyond the pseudo-relationship.
He senses that you’re withholding something, watching you suspiciously. “Going out?” he questions, and you curse under your breath. Bracing for the storm.
“Something like that.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
His tone is already accusatory and you hadn’t even dropped the bomb yet, so you really had to prepare yourself for his reaction. At best, he would storm out and you could deal with it later, after you had dealt with Jaehyun. At worst, you’d have a full-blown argument in your dorm right before the other inevitable argument you’d have with Jaehyun.
“I’m going over to Jaehyun’s,” you say softly, guilt washing over you when his face drops instantly. But you didn’t need to feel guilty – you were allowed to seek closure, especially when Chan hadn’t yet granted you transparency. Still, you can’t help but wonder if you were making the right choice.
Chan’s blood runs cold, and he waits for you to laugh in his face, to tell him how dumb he looks when he’s angry. Something snarky, something annoying. Something. Anything. He doesn’t care, as long as it means you aren’t currently getting dolled up to go see your cheating fuck of an ex boyfriend.
Instead, you say nothing, shifting on your feet uncomfortably.
“Y/N, you can’t be serious.”
“I’m just hearing him out,” you say flatly. “I don’t think that’s a crime.”
“No, it’s not a crime, but Jesus fucking Christ, you’re looking like that to go ‘hear him out?’”
You look down at yourself, a lacy bodysuit and skirt adorning your body – not to appeal to him, not at all, but to remind him what he had lost. Was it a little melodramatic? Maybe. Were you allowed to be melodramatic when confronting someone who had made you question if you weren’t enough? Definitely.
“Yes! What’s wrong with that?!”
“Everything is wrong with that!”
“Oh my god, Chan, you got what you wanted,” you throw your hands up in frustration, “I’m sure you’ll never forget the look on his face when he saw us kiss last night.”
“You think his face is what I was thinking about after we kissed, Y/N?” he asks incredulously. “I was thinking about you, only you, and how right it felt.”
Was this his confession? It was beginning to feel like it. If only it hadn’t come at such a horrible time and in such a horrible way, maybe you would be happier. Now, the words sucked the air out of your lungs, leaving you speechless and uncertain.
“So fuck what I wanted back then. What I want right now is for you to realize you deserve better than someone who broke your heart and your trust in the worst way possible,” he finishes, holding himself back from pulling you into his arms and screaming that it’s him. He’s the one who will give you everything you deserve; he’ll make it his life’s purpose to do so.
“I’m just hearing him out,” you repeat again, emphatically, though no matter how true it was or how believable you made it sound, Chan refuses to accept it.
“Right,” he scoffs, running his hand through his hair. “Can’t wait to see you two all over each other in the corner of every party again.”
You open your mouth to argue, but he’s already heading for the door, unable to take another second of seeing your face and knowing you won’t be his.
“Hope it works out, Y/N.”
The door rattles as he slams it shut, and the room feels colder, emptier. And not just because of Chan’s physical absence, but because of what it entails. The same man who you hated - and who you swore hated you - had made you feel more seen and valued in not even two months than Jaehyun had in nine. He had put more effort into a fake relationship than Jaehyun had put in a real one. You were letting that go for some semblance of closure from someone who broke you.
Previously, you had tried to convince yourself your feelings had never become real. That of course your heart would beat a little faster when Chan would remember things about you, that of course you would like the way pet names fell from his lips, that of course you couldn’t stop thinking about him in every single way possible, from pure to downright filthy. This all made sense, of course, because he was the hot guy you were faking a relationship with. It had nothing to do with Chan, and everything to do with your body and mind being too receptive of what you’d been deprived of before.
But you simply couldn’t lie to yourself any longer. And that’s why, for once, you knew what you needed to do. You type out another message to Jaehyun, deliberating each word carefully. It would be the last you’d ever give him, at least in this capacity, where he still felt like he had a small chance at getting you back.
actually, i’m not coming over. i thought about it, and nothing you say can make me forget what you did…i didn’t deserve that, jaehyun.
i know what i deserve now.
i hope you learn from this and treat the next girl better.
His texts come in quick succession, frantic pleas and apologies and then the angry ones regarding Chan. You don’t answer him or even give him the solace of knowing you’d read them. Instead, you turn your phone on DND and throw it behind you, hoping it’ll get lost in your bed sheets.
And though you’ve done the right thing, there’s still the unavoidable grief over something that once was. The only person you want comfort from right now is Chan, but you know you should give yourself the space to reflect and process properly. He probably wants some time away from you, anyways.
So you don’t call or text him. You avoid all the spots you know he frequents. You make yourself as nonexistent to him as possible. And worst of all, he doesn’t even come searching.
There’s no way for you to know how badly he wants to see your name pop up at the top of his screen, or how he waits for you outside the library on days he knows you usually study. You don’t know that he stayed up late that first night, hoping you’d call him. Each notification made his heart jump, and after the eighth one that wasn’t from you, he finally turned his phone off completely.
He didn’t want space, nor time. He wanted you. And beyond that, he wanted you to know you deserved more - that he would give you more. But he can’t fault you for any of this; he can only blame himself for not telling you sooner.
When a week goes by and it’s still silence on your end, he figures you’d forgiven Jaehyun and taken him back. And that’s just something he’d have to live with.
The days pass by slowly, monotonously, and though you argue with Mina and Jihyo that it’s healing, they complain that you’re just wallowing in needless despair (“Girl, get your man,” had been the phrase of the week).
And you wanted to, but you weren’t sure how to face him after the way you’d left things. There was a gnawing worry that he wouldn’t answer your calls or texts, so you don’t even try. No, you decide you’ll just have to show up at his apartment, and yes at nine o’clock at night, because you couldn’t put it off any longer. The yearning was almost consuming you.
Though Chan had been to your dorm multiple times, you had never been to his apartment; it was way less convenient to go off-campus where he lived. You had to get Chan’s address from his roommate, Minho, who you had already known from a shared class last semester. And he had also texted you a few times begging you to do something about Chan’s moping, because it was “making his life miserable.”
While it was off-campus, it wasn’t far, and your determination was enough to ward off the apprehension of walking alone at night (though Chan would definitely not be pleased). Still, you kept Jihyo on the phone for the whole fifteen minutes, slight reassurance for both of you.
You can barely bring yourself to knock when you arrive, feeling much less composed now that you were actually there, separated from Chan by only a door and thin walls. Your fist meets the wood without you fully realizing it, and it swings open with ferocity moments later.
“Hi,” you choke out, all of your composure gone when he’s standing before you.
“Y/N?” he asks, blinking in awe to confirm that you’re real. He’d started to accept that your presence in his life was a thing of the past, a treasured memory he’d hold onto. “What are you – Jesus, it’s so dark out. Come on, get inside.”
He reaches for your arm and drags you inside, leading you all the way to his room; Minho’s home, and Chan doesn’t quite want him to hear the moment the girl he’s been losing his mind over ends things for good. Is “end things” even the right term, since there had never been a defined “thing” in the first place?
His room is not much different from any other college student’s room, with books and papers sprawled on the desk and empty energy drink cans filling the trashcan. But it’s his, and that makes your heart swell a little.
“I can’t believe you walked all the way here this late,” he scolds. He gestures for you to take a seat on his bed, and when he sits in his chair across from you, you deflate a little at the distance.
“I had to see you,” you whisper.
He clicks his tongue, trying not to melt at your words. Because to him, you’re with Jaehyun, and there’s probably some other rational explanation for why you’d shown up at his apartment at nine o’clock. He doesn’t know what it could be, but it exists, surely. “You know if you had texted me I would’ve been there in minutes,” he asserts.
“Actually, I didn’t know that,” you correct, folding your arms over your chest, “considering the way you stormed out last time we saw each other.” Which may have been justified, but still.
“Can you blame me? You told me you were going to see your ex boyfriend who cheated on you, by the way. And then you didn’t even bother to call or text, so what was I supposed to think?”
“You could’ve called or texted me!”
“I thought you went back to him!”
He stands, chest rising and falling heavily, and he looks so distraught your anger fades. “I didn’t,” you say, softer now. “I didn’t even see him that night. We haven’t even spoken since. Or I guess that’s not totally true, he’s spammed me and I’ve ignored him.”
His eyes soften, and he crosses those few feet to sit beside you, mattress dipping under the added weight. “Why?”
There’s a million ways to answer that question, and you aren’t sure which is the right one. So you go with what flows naturally, not giving it a second thought.
“Because I realized I need more too,” you confess. “No more pretending, no more lies.”
Though your chest feels lighter with the confession, the room feels smaller and your throat tighter because Chan doesn’t speak, or move, you don’t even think he blinks. He doesn’t mean to stare at you like this, but you’ve left him stunned with words he’d only ever heard in his dreams, and he worries if he speaks he’ll wake up and you’ll be gone again.
You start to rise from the bed, fighting back tears of rejection and humiliation. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come – ”
His hand latches around your wrist, gently yet firmly, and you fall back to the bed with a quiet gasp.
“I haven’t been pretending. Not for a while now,” he breathes, and now you’re the silent one. “You’re right, I was a coward. I’ve wanted you so badly and I didn’t know how to say it.” He cups your cheek, thumb brushing along the skin faintly, confirmation that you and this moment are very real. “I should’ve told you everything. How much I think about you, how much I hate it when you’re not here.”
There’s hardly any space between you now, foreheads nearly touching, breaths intertwining.
“How I can’t get that kiss out of my head,” he exhales. “How selfish I feel for wanting more.”
You shake your head. “You’re not selfish,” you whisper, and the corners of his lips twitch into a smile.
“I am, because I want you all to myself.”
“Then you have me,” you say simply, as though such a claim wouldn’t change everything. You’ve had me without even knowing.
He can’t hold back anymore – he’s done enough of that over the past month – because those words are his absolute undoing.
“Can I kiss you right this time?” His eyes drop to your lips, awaiting, begging for your permission.
You nod eagerly, and that’s all it takes for him to place his hand along your jaw and draw your face towards his. His lips melt into your own, this time with all the passion you’d both held back before.
And while the kiss starts soft, tender, moving against each other with the carefulness of a blooming love, it quickly plunges into desperate desire. Your fingers thread through his hair, delicately at first, until you tug at the roots and he groans into your mouth.
That sound. That devilish, sinful sound. It causes the heat within your core to grow tenfold, and you kiss him more fervently now, tongues swirling together. He sucks your bottom lip between his teeth, tugging gently, then drops his head to your neck.
And when your head tilts instinctively, offering him more skin to mark as his, he can’t help but smirk because he loves having this effect on you. He’d realized it that day at lunch, when he couldn’t do anything but skim your thigh under the table. But you were offering, so who was he not to take? He nips at the skin and runs his tongue along each spot afterwards, soothing, claiming.
“Mine,” he mumbles against your neck, and then he kisses his way back up to your lips, mouth hovering over your own.
“Chan,” you rasp, “I want you.”
His lips crash against yours once more, because he can’t help himself when you’ve just said you want him so desperately. “Yeah? You want me, baby?” he asks, breathless.
You shiver when his fingers slip under the hem of your shirt, tracing circles along your waist. “Yes,” you sigh, and then louder, “yes, God, I want you.”
He grips your waist, only sheer will keeping him from ripping off your clothes and fucking you right then and there. Because he wants to savor every last moment of this, but some small part of him is going feral – not a devil on his shoulder, but his throbbing cock trying to push through the seams of his boxers. So actually not a small part, because he’s big, you can see the imprint in his sweatpants.
“Are you sure?” he questions. “Because if you want me, that’s it. There’s no more Jaehyun, no more anyone else.”
Was he genuinely asking, or just trying to make you fall apart? You can’t tell, but you’re so needy, you answer regardless.
“I don’t want anyone else.”
His hands hook under your shirt while he guides you onto his lap, and you raise your arms for him to pull it off while you settle against him. He pauses, drinking in the sight – you haven’t even taken your bra off yet – and then his palms find your breasts, massaging through the fabric.
“You’re so beautiful,” he says, thumbs flicking over your covered nipples. The moan it elicits is so delicious that he does it again, and then again, cock twitching in his sweatpants.
“You only think that ‘cause I’m shirtless,” you quip, toying with the hem of his like you needed to make things even.
“No,” he says firmly. “Always thought you were the prettiest fucking girl ever.” He reaches behind his neck, yanking his tank top up and over his head, and you swear your breathing stops momentarily. This is what he’d hidden behind t-shirts and hoodies (and that jacket you still hadn’t given back to him), and honestly, how dare he?
But you can’t focus on that a moment longer, because he dips his head down to press his lips against the tops of your breasts hungrily, dragging wet kisses all the way to your sternum. “So fucking pretty,” he repeats, fingers unclasping your bra and tugging the straps down.
His mouth is on you again before it even hits the ground, like he’ll keel over and die if he isn’t tasting you, and right now, he really thinks he might. So, for survival, he wraps his lips around your perked nipple, tongue swirling around it, then flicking.
Each careful movement of his tongue causes your breath to hitch, hips rutting against him for any sort of friction, and he moans against you. His hands grip your waist, stilling your movements, and as a punishment – if you could call it that – he bites gently and tugs the sensitive bud between his teeth.
“Chan,” you moan, and when you feel the curl of that signature smirk, you become emboldened. “Who knew your mouth could actually be useful?”
Because although you definitely didn’t hate him now, you could at least reflect on that history, if not just to drive him a little wild. And hopefully he’d fuck you just a little bit harder.
He growls then, his hand sweeping along your side to squeeze your other breast, kneading the soft skin in his palm. And when you least expect it, his hand comes down, slapping your breast with enough force to make you gasp.
“Fuck, I’m gonna miss that smart mouth of yours. Always thought it was so hot the way you’d act like you actually hated me,” he chuckles, now massaging the skin.
“I did hate you,” you rasp. You aren’t even sure if that’s true anymore, because you can’t think. His cock pressing into you has your mind in a frenzy. One where your only thoughts are of having him inside you, stretching you open, filling you up.
When he lifts his head from your breasts, his eyes are dark, lidded, and boring right through you. Daring you to say it again. To lie and see where it gets you.
“You sure?” he whispers, tauntingly. “Because I always saw that look in your eyes.” His fingers dip lower, slipping into your panties, and he laughs when you shudder. “Deep down, you wanted to know all the filthy things I could do to this gorgeous body.”
Maybe you did. It matters little what you wanted back then, because you could only think of what you wanted right now, and his fingers were drifting dangerously close to it. But he was playing with you, not bringing them any further, waiting for your admission.
“You flatter yourself,” you whisper. The wrong answer, clearly, because he pulls his fingers away, gripping your chin now. Forcing you to look at him, because he knows you won’t be able to keep up the act if he’s staring at you so intensely.
“Say it’s not true then,” he orders.
You should be able to say it. You should be able to look him in the eyes and tell him he was once everything you wanted no part of. But he starts peppering open-mouthed kisses along your neck again, unfairly, and your voice betrays you. “It’s not true,” you mumble weakly.
Your fingers fly to his hair and tangle at the strands, but he won’t let you off that easily. Of course not. He grabs your face, squeezing your cheeks between his fingers.
“No,” he growls. “Say it like you mean it.”
His commands only add to the ache between your legs, and you accept that you can’t win. Your silence tells him everything, and he releases, hand patting your cheek like he pitied you. “That’s what I thought,” he hums, satisfied.
Your breathing becomes ragged when his hand trails down again, and this time you’re sure that he’ll relent and give you what your body was craving. Or maybe that was just you trying to convince yourself.
“You never hated me. You hated that you knew I was better than your boyfriend,” he smirks, slipping his fingers into your jeans. They drag down, slowly, finally stopping right at your core. “You hated that you wanted to know what it would feel like if I touched you here,” he taunts, rubbing your pussy through the soaked fabric of your panties.
“Shit, you’re this wet for me?” he groans, fingers gliding up and down, pressing harder when they pause at your clit. “I guess I was right, then.”
Any other time you would have been able to throw something sarcastic right back at him, but not now, not when he was teasing you like this. It was the closest he’d gotten to touching you where you so desperately needed him, and your hips buck unwittingly again. “Please, Chan. Need you,” you moan.
“Yeah, I know baby,” he coos. “Don’t worry. I’ll show you everything I’ve been dreaming about doing to you.”
And then you’re pushed off of him and onto the bed, hitting the sheets with a quiet squeal. The same fingers that had been rubbing your clothed pussy now hurriedly unbutton your jeans, and you lift off the bed slightly to help him drag them down along with your panties.
Once you’re completely naked before him, his movements lull, now taking in every inch of exposed skin.
You feel like you’re drowning under his eyes, because the last person to see you like this had betrayed you, had touched someone that wasn’t you. This was the reality of infidelity – the insecurity, the nagging, cruel insecurity that seeped into places it shouldn’t. Because Chan would never.
And he sees it, too. The way you begin to falter and drift elsewhere. Your head turning against the pillow, refusing to face him.
“Hey,” he whispers, cupping your jaw, pulling your face back towards him. “Where’d you go, baby? Don’t hide from me, please.”
You swallow harshly, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Not hiding. Just…worried I’m not enough,” you mumble, and the words break him. He hated Jaehyun before, but he despises him now, because he made you – who he considered the most beautiful girl to ever grace the earth, even when you were calling him an idiot – feel less than. And that’s something Chan would spend the rest of his life undoing if he had to.
His thumb strokes your skin now, trying to wipe away the remnants of anyone’s touch that wasn’t his. “No, stop that. You’re more than enough. You’re perfect,” he says.
Your cheeks heat up from the affirmations, and he kisses you to cement them. But it's short, subdued, as he moves further down, lips grazing your neck, your chest, then your navel. He sinks lower, hovering right above your cunt, spreading your legs apart.
“So perfect for me,” he breathes, and you can feel the air hitting against you. “You’re mine now. You won’t have to worry about anyone else ever again.”
The words can barely sink in before his tongue is on you, licking a slow, tantalizing stripe between your folds. It’s so sudden that your hips lift off the bed, and his hands come quick, wrapping around your thigh and pinning you down. He swipes his tongue again, and then he takes as much of your pussy into his mouth as he can, devouring what had been kept from him for too long.
“Fuck, Chan, please,” you moan, grabbing at his hair for something to ground you. He groans into you, both from your fingers tugging and the sound of you moaning his name like that.
“You taste so fucking good,” he rasps. His lips wrap around your clit, sucking the sensitive nub hard, tugging, releasing. Then, he swirls his tongue, creating a pattern that has your back arching, threatening to come undone.
You’d thought about this. Lonely nights in your dorm, touching yourself at the thought of how he would look between your legs, about how his tongue would feel against you. But there was no way to anticipate this. He lapped at your pussy like he was starved and you were the only meal he’d get again. He’d like that, truthfully.
Your body is trembling by the time he draws his head back, and the lack of his warm tongue causes you to whine. “Patience, princess,” he coos.
Before you can beg him to touch you again, he spits directly onto your cunt, letting his fingers spread it as if your slick wasn’t enough. And the action is so erotic, so filthy that your thighs clench involuntarily and he has to hold them open.
Two fingers push inside you, and his tongue is back, flicking your clit with urgency. He pumps them languidly, curling them against your g-spot and then pulling back until you’re almost empty. His name leaves your mouth through choked cries and it only drives him further, because he needs you to unravel just like this. His tongue circles your clit in rhythm with his fingers, hitting your sweet spot with each pump, and his pace quickens when he can tell you’re close.
“Chan, please don’t stop!” you pant. “Fuck, I’m so close.”
It’s all too much - his fingers, his tongue, the lewd noises of them bringing you to the edge. “Go on, baby, give it to me,” he coaxes. “Come on my tongue for me, just like that.”
With his permission (which was much more of a plea), you let go, throwing your head back against the pillow. Your whole body comes alive with the intensity of your orgasm, ripping through you in currents while he continues lapping at your pussy lazily. It’s only when he pulls his fingers out for the final time and sucks them clean that you come down, chest heaving.
“My mouth sure is useful, huh?” he teases, laughing when you roll your eyes.
His laughter is cut short when you sit up on your knees and tug at the waistband of his sweatpants, head lowering. Your intentions are clear, but he grips your shoulder, halting your movements.
“No, no, princess, it’s okay,” he huffs, using his last bit of self-restraint. He can’t believe he’s turning down head from you, but right now, being buried inside you is his priority.
You can’t believe it either, blinking up at him sweetly, eyes wide with confusion. “But I wanna return the favor,” you pout.
Jesus, were you an angel from above or a succubus from the depths of hell, he wonders?
“Fuck, I know, baby,” he groans. “But I need to be inside you, right now.”
He sounds so desperate that you feel like you’re in control now, and you reach for his cock through his sweatpants. Wrapping your fingers around it, stroking softly. “You wanna fuck me, Channie?” you purr.
“Yes,” he growls, grabbing your wrist – all your control, gone. “You want it too, don’t you baby?” He stands, ridding himself of his sweats and boxers at once. His cock springs free, precum beading on the tip, and he cages you against the bed. “Or can you not take it? Hm? Is one all this pretty pussy can give me?”
The flip switches in you instantly, arms slithering around his neck, yanking him to you. His lips crash onto yours, all teeth and tongue, both of you at your neediest. When your hand slips down to stroke him, thumb spreading precum along his length, he lets out a low guttural sound into your mouth.
“Baby, shit, you’re killing me,” he rasps.
“Can you die inside me, at least?”
That he could do. Happily. Willingly. He reaches over you, pulling open a drawer and rummaging inside. And though you shouldn’t, you bring your hand to his wrist, stopping him.
“I’m on the pill, if that helps,” you whisper. “I need to feel you, nothing else.” Your words are sinful but your eyes are so sweet, looking up at him like you’d break if he denied you.
“Fuck, princess, you’re trouble,” he groans, shoving the drawer closed and bringing his hand to your cheek instead. He swipes away a few strands of hair that had fallen, trying to soak in every inch of your perfect face.
“You love it,” you giggle.
“God, yes I do.”
He grasps his cock and fists it a few short times, then guides it along your pussy. Your slick coats his shaft immediately, slow drags making your head spin. And when he slaps the tip against your clit, you know he’s doing it just for that. To drive you crazy, to hear your whines, to see you writhing for it. For him. Would it be appropriate to call him a smug bastard again?
“Stop teasing,” you beg, your voice a strained whisper.
“But you’re so cute like this,” he says. “What’d you say again? ‘Everyone knows I wouldn’t fuck you?’”
You buck your hips against him, a poor retaliation, and he laughs, positioning himself at your entrance. “Well look at you now, princess.”
He presses into you just the smallest bit, enough for the tip to slip inside, still teasing when all you wanted was for him to plunge inside you and fuck you senseless. That small amount of pressure is gone in an instant, leaving you empty once more.
“Chan,” you whimper. “Please just fuck me, I can’t take it.”
You might cry if he keeps this up, still sensitive from your last orgasm but so desperate for another. And while he wouldn’t mind driving you to that point, his cock is painfully hard. Even he’s at his limit.
“Oh, baby, you’re gonna take it,” he taunts, thrusting forward in one swift motion. He bottoms out and stays there, immobile, reveling in your cunt stretching around him. “Fuck. Jesus Christ, you feel amazing.”
“Would feel more amazing if you would move,” you hiss, and he actually listens. His hips snap against you with a purpose, slow and deep, watching every inch sink further.
Each thrust reaches that sweet spot that has your back arching and nails digging into him. You can already feel the fire building inside you again, clenching around him in a way that has him wondering if you’re a dream. “Fuck, your pussy was made for me,” he groans, hips bucking faster now. Less restraining and savoring, more adhering to his primal urge to fill you up entirely.
“Funny. Jaehyun said the same thing,” you pant. You aren’t sure where the confidence comes from, especially when he’s the one pounding into you; maybe he’s fucking the attitude back into you. But you know it’ll get you into trouble, the good kind of trouble, the kind where Chan wrecks you mercilessly.
And oh, he does. He thrusts wilder, rougher, almost carelessly, the sound of skin slapping skin echoing throughout the room.
“Yeah? Well he fucking lied, baby,” he growls. “Because you feel that?” His hand presses down on your stomach. “That’s all me. My cock you’re squeezing like a fucking vice.”
His hand slides down, thumb rubbing tight circles against your clit. The added sensation brings you closer to the edge, and he’s nearly there as well. “Chan, oh my god,” you moan, nails dragging along his bicep.
“You’re so tight,” he grunts. “Did he ever fuck you right?” He won’t even say the name, because it holds no meaning now. You’re his, and he’ll fuck you enough times that you won’t remember anyone else.
Your walls clench harder around him, his thumb circling relentlessly. “No,” you cry. “Not like you. Not like this.” That answer satisfies him, and he pulls back all the way just to slam into you harder.
“I didn’t think so,” he muses. He leans down, nipping at your neck. “Forget about him. All you need to remember is me and my cock ruining you like this.”
You’d already forgotten, only able to think about how Chan was the one currently fucking into you like he had something to prove. You’re so close to release, strangled cries of his name escaping your lips while your thighs clench around him. “Ah, Chan, I’m gonna come!” you whimper.
“Fuck, me too, baby,” he grunts. “You want me to fill you up? Leave your pussy leaking with my cum?”
His words are your final propulsion, and he emphasizes them with each rut of his hips. Your back arches off the bed, face contorting in pure euphoria, and Chan commits the image to memory. It matters little that he knows he’ll see it many, many more times; he wants to watch you ride every single high until the end of time.
Your orgasm washes over you, setting every inch of your body aflame, and you want more. More of him. All of him. “Yes! Please fill me up, please,” you beg, voice breaking from the overstimulation.
He can’t deny you, doesn’t want to deny you, and he couldn’t anyways. You’ve basically sucked him in, legs keeping him held in place. He thrusts into you one final time, a low groan emitting from someplace deep within, hips jerking erratically as thick, white strings of cum spurt inside of you.
When you’ve milked every last drop from him, he pulls out from your spent heat and falls to the bed dramatically, limbs flopping as if he’s dead. And maybe he is, because that was definitely heaven.
You lay there side by side, chests rising and falling in sync, staring at the ceiling like it might offer an explanation for what just happened. How you ended up like this, his cum dripping from you, your scratches welting along his back, when just months ago you couldn’t stand each other. Supposedly.
Then comes a knock on the door, and you both are struck with the realization that you’d forgotten Minho was home, in another room, hearing everything. Or rather, Chan had forgotten, and you’d never known. Never even considered it.
“Are you two done in there?” he calls from outside. You lift your head and look at Chan with wide eyes, and he shrugs like he’s just as clueless.
“Uh, yeah,” Chan shouts back. You bury yourself under the sheets, expecting the door to swing open. Thankfully, it doesn’t. But the alternative might be worse.
“Y/N, when I asked you for help, I didn’t mean by moaning loud enough to wake the neighbors in my apartment.”
Minho’s footsteps pad away from the door, and you pull back the sheets, horrified. “Was I really that loud?!” you exclaim. He hadn’t said anything about your volume or even tried to quiet you, and you were far too consumed to notice.
“A little…” Chan rubs his neck sheepishly.
You wish you could melt into the bed and disappear forever, because how would you ever face Minho again? And their poor neighbors, no less. The walk of shame was going to be unbearable. “Oh my god, that’s so embarrassing!” you groan.
He shakes his head vehemently and kisses your forehead, a small reassurance. “No! No, baby, it was so hot,” he coos. And then it hits him. “Wait. Minho asked you for help?”
“I guess you were going crazy without me,” you smirk. This time he groans, and you laugh, nuzzling into his neck. “Don’t worry. You’re not getting rid of me now.”
“Like I’d ever want to,” he whispers.
His lips press into your hair, and you can’t help but sigh against him. Because any remnants of hatred, if they even truly existed, are gone, and you’re left only with the peaceful acceptance that this was a glimpse of countless days to come.
Tall Partner AU | 1k Words | affection, funny, friends to lovers |Seungmin x Reader
TW: repeated teasing about height and brief public attention to height difference
Summary: Seungmin's reaction to having a tall partner.
Seungmin had been tall first. That was important and something he made sure people were reminded of.
He'd known you for the longest time. Before height meant anything, since you'd met standing at the same bus stop for years. Back then, you were just...you. Loud. Annoying. Always daring him to race down the sidewalk, even though you both cheated and tried to trip the other the whole way down.
Then one summer, you didn't stop growing.
You grew so fast in height. His mom actually laughed in shock when she saw you for the first time in months. Seungmin, however, was not impressed and stayed the same height he had been for a while now.
The first time you'd teased him was when you were both walking home. "When did you shrink?"
That was the beginning.
"Careful," Seungmin warns in the present time, kneeling down to tie his shoes while you teasingly lean on his head as an arm rest. "I'm going to move."
"You wouldn't dare," you reply sweetly, ruffling his hair. "I'm resting."
"You're bullying me."
"You love it."
He paused. Then sighed. "I love you. Not the bullying."
"Same thing."
Seungmin shot you a glare but broke into a grin seconds later.
The teasing never stopped. It just evolved.
You teased him when he asked you to grab things from higher shelves, even though he could do it himself with a little effort. You teased him when you'd hold his belongings, like his keys, wallet, phone, etc., above your head and told him to reach for it.
And he wasted no time in teasing you right back- calling you names like giraffe legs, skyscraper, and human measuring stick.
But everyone who knew you knew one thing.
Seungmin chose this.
You'd followed him to a recording session one evening, sitting outside the booth with Chan while Seungmin recorded his vocals. During a short break, Chan left the room, and you leaned over to grab the mic. "You're doing great, but can I make a suggestion?"
"No." He smirks, twisting off the cap of his water bottle and taking a drink.
"Well, I'm going to anyway." You smirk back. "Did you know you'd almost be my height if you stood on that stool?"
He rolled his eyes and came up to the window between you. "Almost?"
"Yeah, almost as in not quite." You tease.
His eyes turned sharp but amused. "Keep talking, and I'm stealing your coat; it's freezing in here."
"It would swallow you whole."
"I don't care." He shrugs, moving back to the stool when Chan walks back in, clipboard in hand, ready to run it back.
You softened at him, admiring how seriously he took his job, propping your elbows up on the desk and resting your chin in your hands. "You never do."
He winks. "Why would I?"
Seungmin had never once been insecure about it.
You never teased him to make him smaller, you teased him out of love- because it was the love language you'd built together. And neither of you would have had it any other way.
Later, on the walk home, forgoing an Uber because both of you were too lazy to actually request one and sit and wait. You walked along the all too familiar path to your shared apartment, zoned out, enjoying the peaceful walk for once. This is the farthest you've gotten without being stopped for Seungmin to talk with someone.
"Slow down," he calls out.
You stopped, turning around to see him jogging to catch up. "Sorry."
He caught up, slipping his hand into yours without a second thought.
"You always forget."
"That I'm taller?"
"That my legs are shorter!" He corrects dryly.
You laugh. "My fault."
"As usual." He teases, laughing when you lightly shove your shoulder into him.
A stranger passing by glanced at you both, from you to him. Seungmin noticed- but didn't tense, didn't flinch. He just squeezed your hand a little tighter and pulled you closer. You looked down at him, taking in his features.
"You staring?" He asks, only loud enough for you to hear.
"Always."
"Good."
That night you layed together in your bed, legs tangled together. You wiggled down enough to rest your head on his chest, allowing him to lightly twist your hair up between his fingers.
"You know," you said thoughtfully, "if we stood back to back, it would be really obvious."
He hummed. "Mm."
"Wanna try it?"
"No."
You laughed, looking up at him, taking in his slight double chin. "Why not?"
"Because you'd probably say something annoying."
"I always say something annoying."
"So you're aware?" He jokes, taking the smack to his chest like a champ. He laughs short and then leaves a long kiss pressed to your head.
"You love me, though."
He sighs in contempt and nods. "I do."
You both settled in comfortably for the night, watching as tiny raindrops began to collect on your bedroom window, silently guessing which ones would make it to the sill first as they raced down. This was the life you'd dreamed of, the life you'd built together.
Seungmin and his favorite bully.
THE END
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Tall Partner AU | 1k Words | sweet, couple, height difference |Jeongin x Reader
TW: brief comments on appearance
Summary: Jeongin's reaction to having a tall partner.
Your height has never really crossed Jeongin's mind. Not in the way that it crossed others, that is.
He noticed that you were taller- like when you knelt down slightly to hear him in crowded places or when his chin hit your collarbone when he went to kiss you instead of your shoulder. But it never registered as something worth noticing. It was just...you!
What he did notice was how nicely his Instagram photos looked since you'd become his personal photographer.
"Oh, wait- don't move," you gasp, pulling out your phone and taking a few steps back. "The light is hitting your face so good right now."
He stopped immediately, balancing on his slightly bent foot since you two had been on an evening walk, and he wasn't expecting to be stopped for pictures. "Like this?"
"Exactly like that." You grinned, moving around to take as many pictures as you could to catch every one of his angles.
He relaxed, becoming a mannequin. This had become routine- walk, stop, smile, and let you do your thing. He trusted your artistic eye completely.
He had taken his own photos before, of course. Everyone has. But they never came out like yours. Too dark. Too awkward. Just not what he had expected them to look like. With you? They're effortless, like you could see the vision within his mind and bring it out in your pictures.
Click!
Jeongin walks over once he sees you're finished and leans over to peek at your phone screen. "That's...really good."
You smirked. "Tell me something I don't know."
Later, while he posted the photos, you sat with him on the couch with your legs tucked snuggly beneath you. He sighed in contempt and leaned back against you.
"How do you make me look so tall?"
You laughed and shrugged, reading the comments on his post as they flooded in quickly. Lots of hearts and kind words. "I don't do anything special."
He hummed and showed you a few of his favorite comments. "Everyone thinks it's Chan Hyung taking my pictures."
"Tell them it's not him, but your secret photographer."
"My secret photographer," he repeats, smiling to himself. It made him feel warm inside.
He takes a glance at you and chews happily on his bottom lip. "You know, I like that you can see so much from...up there." He gestures to your height.
"Up here?" You snort. He never brought up your height difference. It was like he didn't notice you were a head taller than him.
"Yeah." He answers vaguely. "Like...you notice the stuff I don't. You're so susceptible to good lighting, nice backgrounds...when my hair is flying around."
You blushed slightly, pushing his current flyaways down and smoothing them out. "Because I notice you."
He was at peace. He was exactly where he wanted to be, and he wished others could see the two of you the way he did. No matter the height difference, you two just fit.
It wasn't until a few weeks later when the two of you were out getting drinks with a few friends. The six of you sat around in a circular booth, drinking and laughing.
"Wow," one of them says, glancing between you and slumping back in the booth. "You're like really tall compared to him, huh?"
"Are they?" Jeongin blinked, turning to you. He knew you were taller than him, obviously, but he didn't think you were THAT much taller.
"Yeah," the friend laughs, "yeah. You're like-" they gesture upward.
"...Huh." He shrugs and then turns back to his drink, taking a sip. That was it. No embarrassment. No teasing. No awkwardness. It was as if your friend had pointed out to him that the sky was blue.
Later that night, you brought it up while standing side by side in the bathroom, brushing your teeth.
"You actually don't notice, do you?" He furrows his brows, toothbrush hanging out of his mouth in confusion. "Our height difference."
It was as if a lightbulb had clicked on. "Oh," He begins, spitting in the sink. "I guess not? I mean, I know you're tall, that's not news to me."
You nodded, taking in his answer.
"But no, I don't think about it." He rinses his mouth and wipes the excess with a towel. "Is that a bad thing?"
You shake your head and lean against the counter. "No, it's sweet."
He grins, wiping the towel across the mirror to avoid the toothpaste and water stains that like to form at the bottom. "Good."
He wraps his arms around your hips and leans his head against your upper chest. "You're just...you," he hums. "You take care of me. You make sure I drink enough water. You make sure I eat well. You take the best pictures for me."
"So I'm useful?" You laugh, peppering kisses on the crown of his hair.
"Hey," he says, pulling away and grabbing his phone from his pocket, holding it out to you. "Can you take another one?"
"Right now? Jeongin, you look a mess right now." You gesture to his pajamas and pre-bed hair.
"Yeah, I like the way you see me."
You couldn't help but grin, stepping back enough to catch him fully in the frame,
Click!
THE END
Please send requests if there's anything you'd like to see!
Tall Partner AU | 1k Words | fluff, couple, height difference |Felix x Reader
TW: light teasing over height, kitchen chaos, and sickeningly sweet domesticity.
Summary: Felix's reaction to having a tall partner.
You can't pinpoint the exact day or time that it happened, but somehow you had become Felix's human ladder.
It had started innocently enough- him asking you if you would please grab a mixing bowl off the top shelf, or a measuring cup from the back of the cabinet. You didn't think much of it at first; you were just happy to help. He's shorter than you for sure, but he could easily stretch and reach these things himself.
Except...he never does.
"Hello, lover," He grins, already elbow deep in some kind of dough for breakfast. "Do you mind grabbing the sugar for me?"
You look across the kitchen to where the sugar is usually housed and see it sitting right there in the pantry, easily accessible to him and most children. You raise a brow, "You can reach that."
He blinks at you sweetly, washing his hands off in the sink. "Yeah, I know. But it's cute when you do it."
"Lix-"
"Pretty please?" He puckers his bottom lip, moving on to grab a cup towel to dry his hands. "With a cherry and sprinkles on top?"
You fake a gasp and mutter a sarcastic, "sprinkles too?" But nonetheless, you grabbed it and brought it over, dropping it beside him on the countertop. He thanks you with a quick peck on your cheek and continues his creation.
Since then, it's become a constant thing.
You'd walk into the kitchen, and he's already calling out for you. "Lover, I need some of your tall magic," even if it's something barely four feet from the ground.
You eventually catch him in the act. He's standing in the pantry, poking at a jar of cocoa powder with a wooden mixing spoon, doing nothing but pushing it further back.
You sigh and come closer, leaning over his shoulder. "Lix, that's not how physics works."
"I was trying to get it closer for you." He says with a voice dripping with innocence.
You roll your eyes, laughing, and reach up to easily get it down. He grins once it's in his hands and stands on his toes to press a kiss to your temple. "Teamwork makes the dream work!"
"You're shameless."
He hums and shrugs. "You love it!"
You do. You won't admit it out loud, but you really do.
Because there's something about him needing you for those little things that makes him so happy, and you can't help but be happy too.
And for every favor you do for him, he has his own little thank-you kiss ready to go.
Then one evening, you both decided you needed something sweet, and what better than homemade brownies? He went to the restroom first, so you decided to start getting things out while he was gone. You leaned down to get a baking pan from under one of the cabinets when he walked in and stopped you.
"I got it," he says softly.
"Lix, it's fine-"
He shakes his head in disagreement and leans down to grab it. "Nope, you'll bump your head or hurt your knees or something."
"Felix, it's a pan."
He nods proudly. "Yep, and I'm your pan retriever."
You cracked up at that one, but he meant it. It became a constant after that; the bottom cabinets and shelves were strictly his, and the top ones were yours. No if, ands, or buts!
It's very sweet.
You two are a force to be reckoned with in the kitchen, especially when it comes to baking sweet treats. Whenever you two were together, there were flour clouds, music blasting, and the counters an absolute disaster of measuring cups and spoons. Baking was definitely both of your love languages.
His favorite thing to bake with you has to be cookies. He insists that your height gives you "better leverage" for mixing. You remind him that's not a real thing, and he just smiles. "Yeah, but it's cute when you argue about it."
He's just like sunlight- soft but insistent, filling every quiet space with warmth. He dances around the kitchen in his Pokémon socks, singing loudly while measuring out ingredients. He's a perfectionist when it comes to baking, but a menace when it's time for taste testing. You'll be mid-sentence when there's suddenly raw dough shoved into your mouth.
"Felix!" You say, although muffled.
"What?" But he knows what because he's grinning and eating handfuls of chocolate chips from the bag.
In the midst of his shenanigans, you turn back to mix the contents in the bowl, causing a puff of flour to cover you both.
Wiping white powder from his face, he gasps. "I cannot believe you just flour bombed my bakery."
"Your bakery?"
"Our bakery." He corrects, using his hands to make a heart.
You roll your eyes and grab a paper towel to wipe off some of the flour. He hums and wraps himself around you, kissing gently on your back.
"You know...I love when you grab things for me."
You pause, a little caught off guard, and lower the towel.
"Because you're lazy?" You tease.
He smiles small and shakes his head. "No. Because it makes me feel like we're a team. Like..even the smallest things, we get to do together."
The moment was so tender, and you couldn't help but gently coo at him.
"I like that you can reach higher than me. It makes my world seem bigger."
You're on the verge of tears now. "Lix..."
"What? It's true! You've got the top, I've got the bottom. Full coverage!" He grins, playful now.
You laugh, and he beams because it was the reaction he had been hoping for.
"You know what I think?"
"What's that?" You ask, now mixing the ingredients correctly.
"We should open a bakery someday."
"You'd eat all the profits." You gesture to him, still eating the chocolate chips.
He pauses and points at you. "Hurtful...but also true."
"What would we call it?" You muse, setting the mixer aside.
"Heights and Bites!" He grins as if he had been waiting for you to ask.
"That sounds awful." You snort, getting chunks of dough to roll into balls.
"Okay, yeah, it's bad. But it made you smile, and that's a win for me!"
You shake your head, placing the balls down on the baking sheet. "You're a dork."
"And you love me!"
"Unfortunately."
He nudges you and smiles, helping to make the rest of the cookies. You felt content in this moment, and there's truly nowhere else in the world you would rather be.
Some couples exchange gifts.
Some write letters.
You two bake cookies and have assigned shelves.
And it's perfect.
THE END
Please send requests if there's anything you'd like to see!
Day One: The Princess and the Pirate - Lee Know
⤷ summary: after escaping the palace and a wretched marriage from a vulgar man, you find yourself on a ship full of them. but the captain has taken a liking to you, and he would see to it that no one touches you again. of course, he is the only exception.
Day Two: The Princess and the Knight - Changbin
⤷ summary: you'd spent years trapped inside a tower, expecting a prince to one day rescue you. but prince after prince, none were able to. until the silver armoured man rode in, climbed your tower and saved you. but his oath prevents him from loving you, forcing you into marriage with another man. but can he work up the courage to take you away before it's too late?
Day Three: The Princess and the Hunter - Seungmin
⤷ summary: the skilled hunter saves you from certain death. his playful nature and teasing smile have you captured instantly. but with the threat of death still lingering and his promise of protection wrapped safely around you, you find yourself wishing more than ever that he will find your arms again.
Day Four: The Princess and the Nomad - Hyunjin
⤷ summary: bound by duty set by the powerful men in your kingdom, leads you to the strange men in the outskirts of town. When your heart tells you not to, you find yourself falling for him. But when the decision between desire and duty becomes fatal, you make a choice that sets the course of your life.
Day Five: The Princess and the Rebel - Bangchan
⤷ summary: when the conflicting rebel leader meets you in the woods, his threats seem a little too flirty for someone trying to take over the kingdom. his dark and dangerous demeanour pulls you in and has you carrying out dangerous tasks just for his approval. but his deeply rooted desire to care for you manifests into a dangerous desire to hurt anyone who touches you.
Day Six: The Princess and the Prince - Felix
⤷ summary: bound by a duty to form an alliance with another kingdom, you find yourself married to felix. unbelieving of love and soulmates, felix does all he can to prove to you that love is real. you may have married out of duty, but you stayed out of love.
Day Seven: The Princess and the Warlock - Han
⤷ summary: fate draws you to the strange magic user in the woods in search of a cure for your father. yet there is a fate that weaves together, one that keeps drawing you back to him. and no matter how hard you resist, it's him you want, and you'll give up everything to have him.
Day Eight: The Princess and the Statue - I.N
⤷ summary: fleeing from your waring nation, you find yourself in the midst of a strange castle. uncovering it's mysteries one by one, and finding yourself incredibly lonely. but you never really were, not really. not when the statue in the garden is not made of stone.
˗ˏˋ even though the heiress of the royal family is expected to find a suitor the only thing on her mind is her hot sworn knight ˎˊ˗
⤷ a/n : honestly this is just me simping a lot for chan, I wish he was real (cause he isn't, he's just a collective dream we all agreed on), anyway I could do another part tho '-' but only if I feel this has a great feedback <3 have fun reading it ;D
⤷ contains : knight! bang chan x princess! reader, medieval au, slight age gap (still legal), SMUT -> masturbation, virginity loss [ wc : 6.2k ]
⤷ now playing : the first time by damiano david
The ballroom shimmered in a whirl of gold and purple, where nobles glided across the marble floor in cascades of silk and velvet. Laughter mingled with the faint echo of violins as chandeliers dripped light over jewels and powdered faces. The scent of roasted pheasant and spiced wine lingered in the air after the grand feast held to honor the king and queen of the Velaria kingdom on their wedding anniversary, a union once forged for diplomacy, yet remembered now as the cornerstone of decades of peace.
Under their miraculous reign, the land prospered—no wars, fertile fields, flourishing trade. The people adored my parents and, to my fortune, me as well. But as my twenty-second spring approached, admiration began to twist into expectation.
Whispers grew louder with every passing season—when would the princess of Velaria finally choose a suitor? My parents, gracious as they were, did not press me into marriage. There were no treaties to seal, no bloodlines to mend, no desperate need for alliances. Yet the court—restless, gossipy, hungry for spectacle—counted the days as if my heart’s decision were a royal decree waiting to be signed.
Tonight was no different. As another nameless young lord murmured empty flattery at my ear, I slipped quietly away, leaving the laughter and candlelight behind. The music faded to a distant hum as I wandered through the quieter halls of the castle, where torchlight flickered across stone and the air still smelled faintly of lavender.
When, a sound, soft and breathless, broke the stillness. In the shadow of an alcove, a couple was entangled in a secret embrace. The woman’s jeweled hairpin glinted as she leaned into her lover’s arms, until the moment he noticed me watching. With a startled grunt, he shoved her back, his face blanching.
Lady Alyna merely sighed, annoyed, and cast me a knowing glance. “That’s just my cousin, you fool,” she scolded the man with airy disdain. “She knows about us. Go back to the ball before someone who doesn’t finds you.”
With a huff, she smoothed her gown and looped her arm through mine as though nothing had happened.
“Someone is going to catch you two one of these days,” I murmured, keeping my voice low. Only the faint howl of the hounds beyond the open window bore witness to our conversation.
“Let them,” a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. “My husband keeps a mistress of his own. We all play our parts in the court, dear cousin.”
“And people still say that marriage is a respectable union.” I mumbled, getting her to giggle under her breath.
She led me down the corridor toward the guest chambers she was occupying. As we entered, she turned to me with that same teasing grin that always seemed to promise trouble. “Lord Damian couldn’t take his eyes off you tonight.”
I nudged her shoulder and dropped into the cushioned seat beside the window, the winds of winter slipping chill and crisp against my skin. “I don’t like him,” I said, allowing a smirk to tug at my lips. “He’s an arrogant boy who thinks I should be grateful to breathe the same air he does simply because he owns half the southeastern lands.”
“So you did your homework.” Alyna stretched across the bed, her laughter lilting and light. “Indeed he is a bit insufferable,” she conceded, “but you’re always so sure about the ones you dislike. The way you talk, it almost sounds as though someone has already won your heart.”
Heat rushed to my cheeks before I could stop it. I opened my mouth to deny it, to conjure some witty retort, but no words came. Only a frustrated sigh escaped me as I turned toward the window, pouting like a scolded child.
“Oh, don’t sulk,” Alyna said, her tone softening, eyes gleaming with curiosity. “Tell me—who is this lucky man who’s managed to make the princess of Velaria lose her composure and reject every lord she ever met?”
I hesitated. My voice came barely above a whisper. “... Christopher.”
Her brows knit in confusion. “Christopher? I don’t recall any lord by that name.” Then her eyes widened, a wicked teasing grin spreading across her face. “Oh. Oh! Perhaps you mean your Sir Christopher?”
Sir Christopher had been my sworn knight since my eighteenth birthday, when old Sir Barristan—faithful and kind as a second father—had taken ill and retired from service. For years, Barristan had guarded me with steady devotion, teaching me the small graces of courage and restraint, his eyes ever gentle and familial. But when Christopher took his place, everything changed.
He was younger, stronger, his frame carved like the statues that stood in the Hall of Velaria, broad-shouldered and steady as oak. His voice carried that quiet gravity of command, and when he looked at me—gods, when he looked at me—it felt as if the world stilled for half a breath. He was perhaps six years my elder, just enough to make him impossibly unreachable and far too handsome for my peace of mind.
I told myself he was only a protector. A knight sworn to his oath. Yet whenever he brushed my arm in passing, or offered his hand as I dismounted my mare, the thought of him lingered long into the night and my mind wandered into my own dreams of living a chivalric romance.
Alyna laughed softly, breaking my reverie. “Ah, so that’s the storm in your head,” she teased. “Fair enough, cousin. I understand your struggle. He’s a man worthy of many sighs. But be warned—you’re hardly the only one enchanted by him. Half the ladies of court have already spun dreams of Sir Christopher, even the maids bat their lashes when he walks by. Tell me, dear Princess, would you even know what to do with a man like that?”
“Stop it.” I buried my burning face against a velvet cushion, clutching it to my chest as if it could smother both her laughter and my own flustered thoughts.
“Where are your manners, cousin?” Alyna laughed, still amused. “Don't fret, I have just the thing for you.”
She rummaged through one of her travel chests until she produced a small leather-bound book, its cover a deep, sultry red. No gilded title, no intricate embossing—only smooth, aged leather that seemed to hum with secrets.
“What’s this?” I asked, hesitating as I took it.
“Education,” she said slyly, eyes sparkling with mischief.
I mindlessly flipped through the yellowed pages and stopped cold at an illustration—a man, bare as the dawn, reclining upon a stone with a lyre in hand, his body shamelessly drawn in vivid detail, especially his stiff member that rested on his stomach like a sword. Hidden behind the painted trees, a nymph peeked out, her expression one of unholy curiosity.
My face flamed hot enough to rival the hearth. I snapped the book shut, holding it as though it might burn me. Alyna only burst into laughter, her voice echoing through the room.
“You’ve never seen one before?” she gasped between giggles. I shook my head mutely.
“Oh, you innocent creature,” she teased. “Take it to your room, then. Keep it hidden, mind you—no one must find it. But read it, learn from it. You’re clever enough to understand more than words can teach. And most of all—enjoy yourself. Curiosity is nothing to be ashamed of.”
I could hardly meet her gaze. My heart drummed so fast it seemed to flutter in my throat. Mumbling something unintelligible, I clutched the little red book and hurried out before her laughter faded into the night.
The corridors were dim, the air heavy with the scent of melted wax. My slippered feet brushed against the cool stone floors as I made my way toward my chambers, head spinning from the wine and Alyna’s wicked words.
Until my shoulder struck something firm, and I stumbled back, barely catching my balance. Two strong hands steadied me, their touch gentle yet unyielding. I looked up—straight into Christopher’s eyes.
Moonlight through the high window carved silver along his jaw and the edges of his armor. Concern flickered there, tender and sharp all at once.
“Are you hurt, Princess?” His voice was low, careful, as though the night itself might overhear. “Forgive me—I didn’t know it was you. I thought you’d already retired.”
“I was… speaking with Lady Alyna,” I managed, my words clumsy, my breath caught somewhere between embarrassment and awe.
He nodded, and his gaze dropped briefly to the floor, where the red book had fallen open.
My stomach lurched. Before he could even bend to retrieve it, I darted down and snatched it up, pressing it tightly to my chest.
He blinked, puzzled, a faint smile curving his mouth. “Another romance?” he asked, his tone light, teasing. “Will you read it to me, as you did the last one?”
“Maybe,” I said quickly, clutching it tighter still. “But only after I’ve finished it.”
He chuckled softly, and the sound was warm enough to melt through my nerves. “Then I’ll be waiting. Sleep well, Princess.”
He bowed slightly, his eyes lingering for one heartbeat longer than courtesy demanded, before turning down the corridor and vanishing into shadow. And I stood there alone, the echo of his footsteps fading, the little red book heavy in my arms like a secret I could never confess.
—
Days began to blur together beneath the hush of candlelight and ink. Each night I returned to that little red book like a sinner to confession—its pages heavy with secrets, its words tasting of honey and sin. One tale became two, then ten, until I knew every verse by heart. The stories grew roots inside me, twining through thought and breath alike, until even the gentle turn of parchment set my pulse racing.
It was becoming an addiction, those forbidden words adorned with images that painted my imagination in shades of heat and gold. I had read of knights and their ladies before, of gallantry and virtue, yet never had I seen passion rendered with such raw beauty, such perilous truth.
And now, when I looked upon my knight, I could no longer see him as I had before.
Sir Christopher—ever patient and kind. His smile came easily, his laughter softer than any man-at-arms I’d known. Yet now each time he took my hand to guide me down the stairway, each time he lifted me to my saddle or brushed a loose strand of hair from my shoulder, I felt those stories stirring to life beneath my skin. When the moonlight spilled across my sheets at night, I remembered every page I’d turned, every sin I’d dared to imagine—until my own sighs drowned in the silence of my room.
Every other afternoon I found an excuse to linger on the castle terrace that overlooked the training yard. Below, the clamor of steel on steel echoed like a song of past wars. The knights moved as one—blades flashing, boots grinding dust—but my eyes sought only him.
Christopher fought with the precision of a hawk, sharp and fluid, his dark hair plastered to his brow, the white of his shirt clinging to his chest. He laughed with his comrades after each bout, sweat tracing the strong lines of his throat. I should have turned away, but my gaze clung into him like ivy.
A maid passed nearby, a girl known for her charms and lack of subtlety. She carried a basket of linen, her bodice straining at the seams, and when she saw him she let out a teasing whistle.
“Getting sweaty again, Sir Christopher,” she called, voice lilting. “You’re giving me too much work with those shirts. Train without one next time, spare me the trouble!”
He chuckled, bashful and kind as ever, shaking his head as the others laughed, but something inside me burned.
Not the soft warmth I’d felt reading Alyna’s book, but a sharp, jealous fire—hot and merciless. It coiled in my chest, in my fingertips, even in the quickening of my breath. Before I realized what I was doing, I was walking down the steps into the training yard, the hem of my gown catching all kinds of dust and mud.
He was bent over a water barrel when I reached him, scooping a handful to his face, droplets slipping down his neck, catching the light before vanishing into the linen clinging to his chest. He straightened when he saw me, surprised.
“Your Highness,” he said with a quick bow, still breathless from the exertion.
I looked at the sword at his hip, the steel glinting faintly in the sun, and before thought could temper me, the words slipped out. “May I… touch it?”
His brows raised and knit in confusion. “The sword, Princess?” he asked, half-smiling. “It’s far too heavy for you. You might hurt yourself.”
“Can’t you help me hold it?” My voice betrayed me, softer than I intended.
A faint blush touched his cheek. “I don’t think I should get too close,” he murmured, glancing down at his sweat-soaked shirt.
“Please,” I said. Just one word, quiet, trembling.
He hesitated, only for a breath, then drew the blade and placed it in my hands.
The weight startled me. My fingers barely fit around the hilt, and before I could adjust, he stepped behind me, his arms encircling mine, large hands folding over my own. The scent of iron and his damp skin filled the space between us.
“Like this,” he said near my ear, guiding my wrists in a smooth arc through the air. The blade gleamed as it turned, and his chest pressed faintly to my back with each movement. His breath brushed my neck, slow and steady.
My heartbeat roared. Every muscle in my body was aware of his—the warmth of him, the steadiness, the strength. And then, in one fragile instant, I felt something else—firm, undeniable, the shape of a man standing too close.
I froze. He did too.
His grip faltered. The sword dipped slightly in my grasp. Silence fell heavy between us, broken only by the faint murmur of the wind and my own unsteady breath.
“I think…” he said at last, voice rougher than before, “that’s enough for today.”
He took the sword gently from my hands, careful not to meet my eyes, and turned away so quickly I might have imagined it. “Forgive me, Princess. I have duties to attend.”
Before I could speak, he was already walking toward the armory, his steps quick, the line of his shoulders tense. There I stood, alone in the yard, my pulse still racing, the cold sun pressing against my skin. The faint imprint of his hands lingered around mine—ghostly, electric. But beneath the calm facade I forced upon myself, a new, dangerous fire smoldered low within me, hotter and more alive than any dream could conjure.
—
Christopher sat alone in the washroom as most of the castle had gone still in supper time. The torches in the corridor outside hissed and guttered, throwing restless light across the floor. He removed his tunic, throwing it on a basket, damp with sweat from the day’s training, carrying the faint scent of dust and steel.
He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture sharp, almost angry, while he ran a bath before the shifts changed and he would stand his post through the night on the princess’ door. It should have been nothing. He’d trained noble's daughters before—taught them the grip, the stance, the balance. But never her. Not when she looked at him with those wide, uncertain eyes that seemed to see through every wall of restraint he’d built since swearing his oath.
“Fool,” he muttered under his breath. His own voice startled him. “Utter fool.”
He leaned forward, washing the tight knots of tension from his shoulder with warm water while staring at the narrow window where the moonlight pooled like silver milk on the stone. The night air carried the faint scent of lavender from the gardens around. It should have calmed him, instead it brought her to mind again—her perfume, that hint of sweetness when she leaned closer.
It was making him lose his mind, even though he could not allow himself to get distracted. He tried to focus on the higher results of his oath—protecting the royal family, securing the safety of the princess herself—what higher honor could exist? But she wasn't a shy eighteen years old girl anymore, without him even noticing the princess grew into a beautiful and kind young woman. With a smile that enchanted the entire kingdom, her grace made even the toughest knight get flustered behind his helmet, and he was doubting his own self control
He rose from the bath, wrapping a towel loosely about his waist, droplets still tracing the lines of his chest. For a moment he simply stood there, watching the moonlight slide across his armor, its cold silver gleam a reminder of everything he was supposed to be. A protector. A shield. Nothing more.
He sat lazily on a chair, muscles still damp, and stared up at the ceiling. Yet the darkness only made the images sharper—the way her breath had caught when he stood behind her, the slight tremor on her shoulders, the quiet gasp when she felt him growing behind her.
A slow, consuming warmth spread through him, the same fire that came every night now, as unstoppable as tide against stone. He pressed the heel of his palm against his brow, trying to wield it away, to think of anything but her voice, her scent, her touch. But the body is a creature that does not obey vows, as his palm was already wrapped around his throbbing length. Just once, he kept repeating inside, just this time, but with every thoughtful stroke, every sloppy movement of his hips, his hand gripped tighter, moved faster, when at last a broken moan quietly escaped his lips.
His chest rose erratically, sticky hands resting shamefully on his thigh. When at last he rose, the air felt colder against his skin. He washed himself again, dressed, and buckled on his armor piece by piece until every trace of weakness was hidden beneath iron and leather.
Yet as he walked the moonlit corridors toward her door, the echo of that forbidden heat lingered in him still, a pulse that refused to fade. He took his place outside her chamber, sword at his hip, eyes fixed on the dark hallway ahead. But the scent of lavender drifted from beneath her door, sweet and faint as memory, and he wondered how long he could endure guarding what his heart had already begun to betray.
—
The late winter air was crisp still, but few flowers were already getting ready to bloom. Lanterns hung warmly from wrought-iron hooks, their faint glow gilding the hedges and fountains in amber. Crickets trilled among the grass, and beyond the stone archway the castle slept, its towers lost in mist.
Caught in another sleepless night, where not even the strongest lavender scent could lure me into slumber. I then decided to take a walk in the gardens accompanied by Sir Christopher, after he thoroughly convinced me he ought to escort me. We walked along the narrow gravel path, our steps soft and uncertain. The wine from dinner still warmed my blood, but the quiet between us felt thicker than usual—full of something unspoken.
At last I broke it. “Have you ever…” My voice faltered, and I caught my breath before finishing. “Have you ever kissed a lady, Sir Christopher?”
He slowed, turning his head toward me, moonlight painting silver along the line of his jaw. “Like in your chivalric romances, Your Highness?” A faint smile ghosted across his lips. “Yes. A few times.”
My heart gave a strange flutter. “And have you ever…” I hesitated again, eyes fixed on the path ahead. “Been intimate with a lady before?”
He stopped. The night held its breath. “I beg your pardon?” His tone was polite, but his confusion was palpable. “As in—” He rubbed the back of his neck, voice dropping low. “Forgive me, Princess, I don’t think I quite follow. Where—how did you come to ask me such a thing?”
I looked away quickly, the heat in my cheeks betraying me. “Forget about it.”
But he took a step closer, his brow furrowing. “Is it from that book you carry everywhere now? The one I see you reading in the gardens, even during lessons? Where did you find it?”
“Nowhere,” I said too quickly, “it's none of your concern.”
“It is when it’s kept a secret.” His voice softened, a bit stern in tone, but still touched with concern. “You still haven’t told me what it’s about. Did someone give it to you?”
“Lady Alyna did.”
He groaned quietly, a bit of amusement and dread. “Lady Alyna—oh, by the gods.” He dragged a hand across his face, then muttered, “I can already imagine what kind of tales are bound between those covers.”
“I’m sorry,” I murmured, fingers twisting in the fabric of my gown. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I was only… curious.”
He exhaled slowly, as though steadying himself, a moment passed in silence before he finally said something. “Yes,” his voice came low and quiet, “I have been with women… before I took my oath.”
The admission hung between us, raw and simple. Women. The garden seemed to grow smaller around us. I swallowed hard, trying to bury down the envy that grew inside my chest. “How does it feel?”
His gaze darted to mine, then away again. “Princess…” he began, voice low and strained, “I really shouldn’t be having this conversation with you.” He stepped back, the gravel crunching beneath his boot. “When I swore my vow as your knight, I promised not only to protect you from harm, but to preserve your honor until a man worthy of you claims your hand.”
I tried to smile, though my heart pounded. “Will you tell my mother about this conversation?”
That drew a short laugh from him, breathless and helpless. “If I did, I’d lose my post before sunrise. And neither of us wants that, do we?” I shook my head, the smallest smile tugging at my lips.
He studied me for a long moment, his expression softening, then said quietly, “If you truly wish to know… imagine the moment a horse leaps a fence, and for a heartbeat you’re weightless—the world beneath you falls away, your stomach twists, and then you land again, full of adrenaline, out of breath. That… that’s what it feels like.”
I stood still, the air trembling between us. “It sounds… exciting.”
“It is,” he whispered, taking a step closer to me. Then, after a heartbeat “but dangerous too.”
The spell broke as a bell tolled faintly from the distant courtyard. He glanced toward the castle, his composure snapping back like armor sliding into place. “We must go back, Princess. It’s late.”
I nodded, though my feet felt heavy with reluctance. As we walked, the night pressed close around us, fragrant with lavender and secrets. Neither of us spoke again—but in the hush that followed, I could feel his restraint like a living thing, and beneath it, something even stronger that neither of us dared to name.
—
Like a breath of fresh air, spring began and with every passing day the world seemed to stir from slumber—buds unfurling, birds returning, sunlight lingering longer on the stone towers. Yet within me, the slow turning of seasons only made the ache more unbearable. What had begun as quiet admiration had grown into a fever that no prayer nor confession could quell. It climbed through me like ivy, delicate yet relentless, its roots sinking deeper with every glance and brush of his hand.
That morning dawned chill, the air still carrying winter’s last breath. Dew silvered the grass, and the first flowers trembled awake beneath it. But inside me, there was only heat—an unholy warmth coiling low, a hunger that left my skin flushed and my pulse too loud to ignore. The mirror betrayed me, my cheeks were pink, brow beaded with fine drops of sweat, fevered gaze glossing my eyes.
I needed the open air, the cool kiss of running water. Away from the castle, away from him, and from all the thoughts that made me burn.
I slipped quietly through the halls, hidden beneath the hood of my cloak, passing unnoticed through the guard post as the shifts changed. Sir Christopher should be elsewhere—training, perhaps, or tending to his reports. Finally my bare feet found the forest path, I could feel the grass between my toes, and something inside me broke loose. I ran, laughing softly to myself, through the veil of trees where no one called me princess or your highness, where I was no one but a girl set free for a single heartbeat of her life.
The stream waited at the edge of the woods, its voice gentle and cool. I stepped in, the chill biting at my skin, the mud curling lovingly between my toes. But even as the water lapped at my ankles, the fever within refused to fade. I shed my outer dress and waded deeper, the white of my chemise clinging to me like mist. The current curled around me, soothing and relentless, as I lowered myself onto the smooth rocks and let the stream flow over my shoulders.
The cold dulled my thoughts—but only for a breath. Soon, memory returned like a pulse under the skin. His face. His hands. The way his eyes softened when he looked at me, how his voice gentled when he said my name. Every moment became a spark against the rawness of my body. My fingers betrayed me, traveling all the way down my thighs, tracing small circles on my needy core, chasing that sweet ache that had haunted me every night.
“Christopher…” I breathed his name, not knowing if it was prayer or curse. My hips shifted, my legs trembled, the water rippled around me. The world spun as the sky above darkened to violet, my pulse loud as thunder in my ears—
“Your Highness!”
The voice struck through my reverie like lightning. I blinked, dazed, the world tilting in slow motion. A shadow loomed at the edge of the trees. Sir Christopher was there, his white horse pawing the grass behind him, his face a mixture of relief and horror.
“What are you doing out here at this hour?” he demanded, vaulting off his horse. His boots splashed through the stream as he came toward me. “And dressed like this?”
I looked down and realized the soaked silk clinging to every curve of me, the pale fabric turned to near transparency in the sunlight. He turned his face sharply aside, jaw tight, his ears flushed crimson. “By the gods, Princess—everyone is searching for you. Have you lost your senses?”
“I—I only needed air…” I managed, but the world was already dimming again, the trees melting into shadow. My knees buckled beneath me and the last thing I felt was the strength of his arms catching me before I hit the ground.
The rest came in fragments. The rhythm of hooves on the dirt road. The heavy thud of his heartbeat against my ear as he carried me. The warmth of his cloak wrapped around me, smelling of steel and pine.
Voices rose and fell when he brought me inside—my mother’s fretful tones, the stern murmur of the physician, the flutter of maids stripping away my drenched clothes and piling furs over me. The fever made the world swim in colors and whispers. I drifted in and out, my body shaking, until at last all I could feel was heat—his heat, his touch still ghosting over my skin—and I surrendered to sleep once again.
Hours later, the silver moonlight flooded the floor of my room, a glow bright as the warm sun, I tossed and turned, whimpering quietly at how sensitive my feverish skin still felt under the covers. It was all meaningless, my fingers ached to slide lower, tugging at the hem of my nightgown, spreading the growing wetness of my folds all over my inner thighs.
Soft moans and whimpers merged into the night and floated all the way through the other side of the door, where Sir Christopher’s alert senses noticed the strange noises coming from inside. Worried he knocked once, twice, and at last entered the room cautiously.
“Is everything all right, Princess? I heard noises from within.” The low timbre of his voice rippled through me, steady and deep, sending a shiver down my spine as my fingers hesitated.
“I—I’m fine. Truly,” I managed, though the tremor in my words betrayed me.
He stepped closer, the dim light catching the edge of his armor as he knelt beside my bed, his brow creased in concern. “Heavens—your skin’s burning. You’re drenched in sweat again. I’ll fetch the physician.”
He began to rise, but before he could take another step, my hand found his wrist. The touch was desperate, trembling, my gaze lifting to meet his with silent plea, my eyes bright as if on the verge of tears—or perhaps desire.
“Please Christopher… I need you.” His muscles tensed under my grasp, eyes widening upon the realization of what I meant. Every piece of this forbidden puzzle falling into place right before him. He faltered for a moment, a silent battle of duty and desire being fought inside him, until I slowly kneeled in the mattress and brushed my lips against his.
His rough hands trembled, hesitantly cradling the back of my head, tangling his fingers in my hair. He deepened the kiss, as if trying to drown any protest that might emerge from his own throat. My hand rested on the metal plates of his armor, and when we finally separated, breathless and flushed, he slowly peeled the armor away, laying his heavy burden gently to the side.
After he took off his linen shirt, I could finally see the carved muscles of his chest and the sculpted lines of his stomach, which trailed all the way down to the growing volume under the thin fabric. Wordlessly he lowered his underpants, which were already straining at the seams. His length hung heavy in the air, just like the ones in Alyna's book. My face quickly flushed, and a gasp caught in my throat.
“Is it going to…?” My voice was barely a whisper. I knew then that everything I understood was based only on a book, a concept vastly different from the reality before me.
“I’ll be gentle.” His soft touch lifted my face, making me gaze into his eyes. “If it becomes too much, just say the world.”
He positioned his body over mine and began to slowly slide himself into my wet folds. The stretching brought a sharp, intense discomfort, and my lungs seemed to empty of air as I gasped for breath. He paused to soothe me, caressing my inner thighs to open me, like a flower bulb blooming in spring. Then, he sank in again.
“It… hurts.” A small, pained moan escaped me.
“I know” He traced soft kisses all the way up from my neck to my lips. “You’re doing so well, Princess. Just a little bit more.”
I clung to his broad shoulder, feeling him completely take over me, a warmth that spread deep in my lower belly. The ache lingered, but with each thrust of his hips, each kiss planted on my neck, each suck of his mouth on my breasts, it began to dissolve. I felt his muscles tensing and releasing beneath my palm, his soft groans mixing with my moans, the way he seemed to fight his surrender yet still sink deeper into the act.
His touch burned like fire on my skin, the cool wind from outside made our sweat-covered bodies shiver. His movements grew less controlled, and I felt myself clenching tighter around him, until something broke in both of us—a powerful, heavenly release. With trembling bodies, we rode the high, wishing never to come down. Until I finally rested, breathless, with my head heavy on his chest while he drew absent patterns on my back, holding me close as if his duty had never truly left him.
“Do you ever wish,” I began slowly, “that you were not sworn to anyone? That you could just be… yourself?” He looked down, a faint smile ghosting his lips. “I think every man dreams of freedom. But vows are what make us who we are.”
“And what if those vows keep you from what your heart wants most?”
His eyes were still locked with mine, and for a heartbeat neither of us breathed. “Unfortunately,” he said softly, “a man must learn to live with his longings.”
The words struck something deep in me—a quiet, aching truth. I reached out to his face, brushing the edge of his jaw, still he leaned into my touch with a bittersweet gaze. My lips found his under the dark cloak of the night. The forbidden graze between two secret lovers, and this time he didn’t pull away.
—
The morning light crept softly through the silk curtains, spreading across my chamber walls in strokes of gold. My eyes fluttered open to the hush of birdsong and the pale warmth of dawn. For a moment I smiled, until my hand brushed against the sheets and found the cool vacant space where another body had been.
He was gone. Of course he was. A knight had his duties, dawn patrols and court summons, a world of discipline beyond the one night we had stolen. Still, the emptiness beside me ached in a quiet, foolish, almost naive way.
Yet something new lay on my bedside table, a small bundle of lavenders from the royal gardens, dew still caught in their petals. Their scent lingered in the room like a whisper, I reached toward them just as the door burst open.
Two maids entered hurriedly—one older, brisk as ever, and a younger one tripping at her heels. I gasped and clutched the fur coverlet to my bare chest.
“Princess!” the elder cried. “What are you doing under all those blankets? It’s boiling out there, you’ll melt! Are you still feeling feverish?”
“I—perhaps a little,” I stammered.
“Oh, heavens. You should have asked to see the physicians at night! Sir Christopher could have fetched them himself.” She came bustling forward, pulling at the covers. “Come, let me run a herb bath to draw out the heat.”
Before I could protest she had me half out of bed, still wrapped around the covers, steering me toward the washroom. The younger maid lingered behind, frowning at the tangled sheets. “Your Highness,” she said hesitantly, “there’s a white stain...”
“Leave it!” I called over my shoulder, but the elder only tightened her grip on my arm.
“You’re limping,” she said, voice full of concern. “This fever must have weakened you badly. I’ll summon the physician at once.”
“No!” I blurted, too quickly. “No need—I’m feeling perfectly fine.” The bathwater steamed as I slipped into it, thankful for the refuge of its clouded surface. I forced a calm smile while the elder fetched towels.
“How strange,” she mused. “I didn’t see Sir Christopher at his post this morning. He never leaves your door before you’ve broken your fast.”
“Perhaps he was called to the stables,” I mumbled shyly, keeping my eyes fixed on the rippling water.
She made a noncommittal hum and began to pour rosewater into the tub. “Let’s see that color in your cheeks.” Her gaze drifted downward, and suddenly her hands stilled. “What in the name of mercy—”
I followed her look and felt the blood drain from my face. Three small bruises bloomed like wine-colored petals against my breasts.
Before she could speak, the younger maid appeared at the doorway clutching the sheets to her chest, her expression caught between surprise and dawning understanding. The elder turned from her to me, back again, and realization slowly unfolded across her aged features.
“Please, don’t say anything.” I whispered, sinking my body in the water until it graced my chin. It was all I could manage as my mother suddenly swept into the washroom. “What is all this commotion? Why are there no sheets on her bed? Why is she in the bath?”
The elder maid recovered with the speed of a seasoned servant. “The Princess sweated through them, Your Majesty. Seems she’s broken her spring fever at last.”
Mother’s worried frown softened. “Ah, good. Still, no rides today, my dear. Rest, light reading—nothing demanding.”
“Yes, Mother,” I murmured.
She nodded, already satisfied, and left with the younger maid following close behind, sheets bundled like evidence. The door shut, leaving only the elder and me amid the rising scent of herbs and steam.
She laid a steady hand on my shoulder. “Oh, child,” she said softly, a trace of fondness hiding in her voice. “Time moves quicker than any of us reckon. I turned my back for a season and you’ve gone and become a young woman.”
Her touch lingered a moment longer, then she turned to fetch clean linens. I laid my head on the border of the tub, staring at the bouquet on the nightstand through the open door. The lavenders caught the morning sun, their lilac color glowing like a secret too beautiful—and too dangerous—to speak aloud.
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