Pairing: Poly!OT8SKZ x Fem!NinthMember!Reader
Universe: Standard/Slight SMAU
Summary: After being a shelved trainee under JYPE that turned producer for SKZ over the years, you forgot that your contract has a clause that you must debut before a certain date or the contract is void, not wanting to lose you JYP makes the strangest choice that no one expects: Introduce you as a new member in the group that you've been working with anyway.
Series info
Prologue
Chapter one
Chapter two
Chapter three
Chapter four
Chapter five (coming soon)
> Yn started training the same time Bang chan(2011) did but was added months after woojin left (late december-early january 2020)
> Yn was considered the Company's secret bomb since no one in the publish eye known about her and her training before the news that she was joining stray kids.
> Co write the Go Live album
> She is considered the honorary member of 3Racha
> Yn and Han has the same birthday with her being older by a couple hours. (Their not related)(I just need her to be in the middle of the age line for story propose and for individual ship)
>> That means she started training when she was 11 years old
> Yn is taller than Changbin (167cm/5'6) but shorter than Han (169cm/5'7) (again for story propose and i want changbin to still be the shortest)
> did i mention princess treatment?? (Duhh)
-----
*take this with a grain of salt or whatever they say.. (or don't i doesn't matter it's a fanfic)
i'll still make the description especially physical as inclusive as i can though!!
As always comments and suggestions are always appreciated ❤️
Summary: The start of the new show, who will be crowned royalty!?
Genre: idol!au, Stray kids 9th fem!member, fluff
A/n: Yn is used once, photos are found from pinterest, dividers from @pixopix , this is my first written fanfic so if you see any mistakes, no you didn't ❤️
You and Hyunjin are the first to set foot on the cold set.
“Whoa!” You squinted your eyes making you cover them with your hands. “That is so bright!!” You added as the both of you make your way towards the middle, Hyunjin laughs at your statement causing him to almost fall due to the slightly slippery floor.
~~~
One by one the group finally managed to set foot in the middle of the set with their flag on hand, “Okay, should we start filming now?” Chan spoke, looking at the members who are far too busy being loud to pay attention to him. He sighs looking back at the crew behind the camera signaling them to start recording, You are seen quietly giggling right next to Chan as you watch the chaos unfold.
~~~
“We’re picking the royalty, right?” Hyunjin asking the crew followed by Changbin and the rest of the members voices overlapping with each other, Seungmin trying to calm everyone meanwhile Lee Know, being himself is trying to torture the poor weasley that is sitting at the throne, making some of the member follow what he is doing. Hyunjin is pushed out of the throne and Changbin jumps to sit but immediately pushed by You who ends up sitting at the throne smirking at the dumbfounded dwaekki on the ground.
Once everyone calm down, Han ask if they should introduce themselves making the others to immediately sing,
“I am ground introduce yourself~”
“I am Hanratheon! You?~”
“I’m Greyleeknow.”
“I’m Christark.”
“I’m Ta.. Tarikara?” Hyunjin stumbles with his words causing the members to laugh. “Targarhyun.” You say with a distinct accent making Felix that was on your right to look at you while the rest repeat what you said.
“I’m Yenaterri~” You added.
“I’m Felly~” Felix said, causing confusion within the group but a gust of wind blew his flag towards his face making him hit it with annoyance.
“I’m Seortell!” Changbin said confidently, “White tongue?” Chan jumps in with a pun followed by a laughing Hyunjin asking if it’s way too dirty.
“I’m Minnister.”
“Ministop!?”
“I want a cup of noodles. Supersize.” Changbin asked. “Ohh~ I also want ramen!!” You excitedly added.
“Tell me what you want.” Seungmin jumped in with the joke.
“I’m Icell.” Jeongin happily said, “You are Irell.” Changbin spoke, making the maknae confused. “Irell?” Jeongin added.
~~~
Halfway through the first challenge, You are already tired from sabotaging the other member by the time your turn is up.
Taking a small break after the maknae’s turn Seungmin mumbled “I can still feel Noona’s snowball on my back..” recalling the event a couple rounds ago earning a chuckle from you “Did it really hit you that hard?” You ask, rubbing his back.
While getting ready for your turn Felix is seen picking up a block of snow with a mischievous look on his face, “Yah chick!! I haven’t done anything wrong to you!!” You claimed with a nervous chuckle while eyeing what's in his hands. Chan counts down “1 2 3 go!!”
You sprinted to the top impressively fast picking up the flag, you took a deep breath as you looked at scattered members, half of them attacking you with snow from afar and the other half is surrounding the point where you needed to go, almost looking like a wall with their arms linked together. You laugh at the sight as you go down the hill and snow is immediately thrown in your direction, Lee Know being in your way is pushed to the side by you who seems way too happy doing it. As you reach the point where the maknaes piled up blocking you, you ended up pretending to stab Hans back with the flag ending your round with 25.22 sec placing you in 2nd place.
“Time to swear allegiance to the king.”
“You need to kneel on one knee.” A crew from behind the camera spoke to them.
The members jokingly kneel but You just sit cross-legged on the ground looking up as Chan makes his speech about being the king and Han jumping in as usual as a joke followed by the others. “The King always fulfills his pledge!” Lee Know claims with Han backing him up “What I heard is that the king will buy a bucket of fried chicken for each and everyone!!” making everyone join their rambling.
“Breaking news! The king retires from old age that was bestowed upon him by his overly needy follower” You narrated with a comically deep voice with Seungmin and Jeongin laughing and joining you to mock the eldest.
~~~
The second round didn’t seem easier, sledding seems fun if you're not carrying 2 liters of water with it. You, the one who ended up holding the beaker as an example, are shocked by the idea of being soaked from the water while going full speed sledding but quickly recover after hearing Changbin is again going first.
While you wait for Changbin's turn, you hug Chan for warmth, causing him to gush over how adorable you are. “Awee, are you cold?” Chan asked giggling trying to warm you up, the statement made you hug him even tighter. Felix, seeing the opportunity, joins in the hug.
~~~
After Changbin gives the beaker back to the crew, he approaches us exhausted with you laughing in his face as he sits next to you. “Who wants to go next?” Chan asked, making Han and You respond “I want to!” “Me! Choose me!!”.
“Han will be the last player." Chan spoke followed by “YN will go next.” earning two different reactions from the mentioned name and the rest of the members laughing at mostly Han. You approach Chan to grab the helmet looking back smugly at Han who looks back defeated.
Once you reach the top of the hill with a filled beaker, you nervously sit on the sled “Aye yai yai.. Here I go!!” You calmly and slowly slide down at first but a bump on the snow causes you to lose your footing and end up sliding backwards losing half of the water leaving you drenched and slightly winded, the members hysterically laughing at your misfortune as you got up to bring what's left in the beaker for the crew to check. You ended up being tied with Changbin with your 1 liter. You made your way back with Chan meeting you halfway through to take off your helmet, “ohh.. you’re soaked!” He claims gingerly with you humming in response.
You sit back at your spot between Hyunjin and Changbin with the latter checking in on you.
The rest of the members finished up their turns and Han getting rejected and teased every time by Chan, with Lee Know trying to cheat by filling the beaker with ice only to be asked to remove it to Felix’s perfect execution with his almost full beaker and even Hyunjin’s pathetic attempt causing him to lose grip of his beaker placing him at last.
~~~
While taking a break after Han’s hint of water that finished the second challenge, Lee know seems to put you in soft head lock but the camera notices how calm you look with a hot cocoa in your hand likely showing how this is apparently a normal thing, right next to you is Jeongin taking photos of you and occasionally taking sips of your drink.
The third challenge involved a sword which got you grinning, Felix assigned the match but since you’re an odd number group the crew behind the camera decided that one of the winners of the first round get to fight you, and Chan is the chosen one. As the both of you take your positions Seungmin mentioned, “This match is very fitting.” making everyone realise what he meant, since you and Chan are considered the ParentRacha being the responsible ones most of the time.
“Prepare to lose?” Chan asked while smiling.
“There’s only one winning here, and it’s not gonna be you.” You confidently said followed by a fighting stance. You two started by charging at each other but ended up acting out a scene that resembled an awkward interaction getting a laugh out from the others, surprisingly you ended up winning, that leaves You, Hyunjin and Jeongin.
But nevertheless Jeongin wins overall making Chan kneel in front of him followed by you who jokingly kneel while acting defeated. “Long live the king..” You mumbled dramatically.
~~~
After filming you’re all given a couple minutes before going back to the van and you take that opportunity to sit next to Seungmin who is sitting at one of the provided seats with a phone in his hand. You dramatically lean your whole body weight to him catching him off guard yet still managing to catch you, you two spend looking at his phone until you were called making you two walk side by side with you latch on his arm.
Likes, Comments and suggestions are always appreciated ❤️❤️
summary: between practical workouts that make no sense to him, group chat chaos and questionable people-watching habits, what at first starts as curiosity soon shifts to something more.
pairing: OT8!skz (platonic) x f!reader; idol!changbin x f!reader
do you have any poly or ot8 or super long fic recs that are written? smau isn’t my vibe
eek i don't have many more anonnie ( ;´ - `;) i listed a couple of my favorites, but i haven't been reading too much lately with exams and all SO that being said if anyone has any more recs plsplspls drop them in my inbox. read their rules before interacting, and like/comment/reblog ♡
@kloversung ── the pleasure is all ours (written)
mdni on this one !! it's a smut but one word ok. minsung. MINSUNG and kysa is such an amazing writer and her smut has me drooling #confessions. everyone (18 and over) go read this fic RIGHT NOW
@whatdoyouwanttocallmefor ── don't push me away (written)
i love nothing more than a good hurt/comfort fic fr. my fav genre 4ever and this piece is so sweet and :( very enjoyable read !! deffo tugged on my heartstrings
@ihaveamassivegun ── masterlist (written)
pls be advised that these works are dark content !! her fics are so creative and genuinely have me fucking cracking up like i love all of it so much
these aren't the only talented authors out there, i promise there are so many more, but just like last time i just listed some of the first that i thought of (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)
Summary: You, Felix and Seungmin have fun simping over Changbin. Meanwhile, Changbin and Chan drop everything to make sure you're okay.
You were happily sitting on your bed. You had on your favourite, most comfy pair of pyjamas. You were snuggled into bed beside Felix. And had a hold of one of your Bbokari plushies, letting out a loud giggle as your boyfriend had one arm around you, holding you close to his side. Seungmin was sitting at the end of your bed, a small sigh left his lips as he listened to the two of you. The three of you had been awake for about an hour or two. It was a day off, and you decided to have a pyjama day.
Felix grinned. “Did you see him flex during dance practice yesterday? Oh my gosh, ahhh. I just wanted to bite him.” He pulled you closer to his body, moving your Cinnamoroll plush out of the way.
You smiled brightly. “I swear he did it on purpose. Did you see him carrying Hyunjin around? Like, dude just swept him off his feet. I just remember standing there, waiting for my turn.”
Seungmin shook his head at you both. “You know, if you just ask. He’d probably say yes.” He said in a very ‘duh’ tone.
Felix let out a small scoff. “Says the man who actively riles Changbinnie up every chance you get, just so he’ll manhandle you.”
Seungmin blushed slightly but shook his head. “That’s different.” He spoke confidently.
You let out a giggle. “Sometimes I think I'd like to join him at the gym, just so I can watch Binnie and Channie-Oppa work out.”
Seungmin chuckled at you. “But you hate the gym.” He commented as he poked the blanket.
You grinned. “Yeah, but I'd just go to watch GymRacha work out. Like, Changbin-oppa, Channie-oppa, Hannie-oppa, Minho-Oppa, Hyunjinnie-oppa…Jeonginnie. Like dude, I would say yes to working out if it means getting a glimpse at even one of them. Specifically, Changbin.”
Felix clapped his hands as he laughed. “I asked Changbin to help me with working out once and just…he’s handsy but in the most gentlemanly way possible.” He explained with a pout on his lips.
Seungmin clicked his fingers and pointed to Felix as he nodded in agreement. “Exactly. I wish he’d throw that out the window and just toss me around.”
You closed your eyes and nodded firmly. “See, that’s what I'm saying. Like my ass is right there. He can feel it. He’s just too damn respectful.”
Felix pulled you closer and kissed your cheek. “I need to bite his muscles. Like it’s a must in life.”
Seungmin slowly nodded his head with a grin on his face. “I want him here now, so we can bite him.”
You tapped your chin, trying to think. “But he’s at the gym. He won’t come back for anything.”
The three of you pouted for a while before Seungmin held his phone up to you after getting a text. “Do me a favour. Innie seems to think he’s the only person you’ll fake cry for. So I need you to cry on command for me.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Do I at least get ice cream for crying?” You asked curiously.
Seungmin chuckled lightly. “Yes, but you’ll need to actually look like you were crying, though.” He explained to you.
You slowly nodded. “Right. Well, good thing I can cry on cue.” You winked.
Felix shifted a little so he was sitting in a way like he was holding you as you cried.
Seungmin stood up and chuckled at the two of you as you got ready to cry. “Okay, Princess, it’s time to make some tears appear.” He nodded at you. “Show us what you’ve got.” He focused the phone on you.
So you did. You took a deep breath before thinking of your saddest memory. When you opened your eyes, they were glossy with tears, and your bottom lip trembled. Your eyes were beginning to sting as the tears built up.
Seungmin took the picture and blinked. You were so impressive. Sure, the Makane line had all seen and used your crying ability to their advantage before, but it was still impressive every time he saw it. “You should have been an actress.”
Felix kissed your cheek. “That’s my girl. So talented.” Though when he looked at your face, his heart broke. He knew it was fake, but your sad, crying face always hurt him.
Seungmin chuckled and sent the picture off. “So, wanna talk about Changbin some more?” He asked you both.
“Fuck yeah!” You and Felix replied as Felix grabbed some tissues to wipe your tears.
Changbin was at the gym with Chan. They had been spotting for each other, and of course, Binnie had helped Chan with his photos for bubble. They had both just sat down for a break to have some water and just breathe for a moment when Changbin’s phone pinged.
The man took out his phone and opened it. Seungmin had sent a picture. So, he opened it right there and then. But his heart was immediately broken, seeing your crying face, eyes red, cuddling up to Felix as he comforted you.
Chan looked over at Changbin’s phone and instantly froze. “What the hell? Did he say anything?”
Changbin shook his head and frowned deeply. “No, he just sent the picture. It must be serious. I need to make sure she’s okay.” Chan wasn’t surprised. Changbin had taken you under his wing since before you all debuted. Hell, Chan had met you through Changbin. So it was no surprise that Changbin wanted to go to you. The whole team knew he’d move the heavens and the earth if you asked him to.
Chan nodded and stood up with him. “I’ll come with you. And don’t even think of saying no. I’m not leaving one of my kids crying and not doing anything about it.”
The drug got their bags and collected the rest of their things. “She was my kid first.” Changbin replied. He needed to keep things light, or else he would probably cry himself.
He took out his phone and texted Seungmin back as he and Chan made their way to the doors so they could get to Chan’s car. He sent a simple text to Seungmin.
Manhandler💪🏻: Don’t worry. We’re on our way.
Changbin arrived pretty fast with Chan. He knocked on the door and waited somewhat patiently for it to open. Felix was the one to open the door was a look of pleasant shock.
“Binnie-Hyung? Channie-Hyung?? I thought you were at the gym? You’re actually here,” He was slightly panicked. The fact was, when you all realised Seungmin had accidentally sent the picture to Changbin and not to Jeongin, the three of you had panicked.
Felix moved to the side and let the two men inside. Changbin walked straight inside. “Where is she?” He asked quickly.
Seungmin’s head popped out from the living room. “In here.” He said slowly, like he wasn’t sure how to avoid all of this.
Changbin nodded and saw you sitting on the settee. Your eyes were still a little red and blotchy. He walked over to you, arms open. “Oh, Princess, what happened?” He asked as he rounded the settee and gently pulled you into his arms. “Tell Oppa, and I’ll make it better.” He rubbed your back gently.
You weren’t sure what to do at first. How were you supposed to tell him that the picture was fake? That it wasn’t meant for him? That the picture was a stupid maknae line thing. You hugged him back as you nuzzled close to him. “I just-I.” You pulled away and looked between Felix and Seungmin.
Then your eyes landed on Chan. “Channie-Oppa? You’re here too?” You had accidentally dragged them both away from the gym.
Chan nodded and came to sit at your side. “Of course, I am. Look, you don’t have to tell us what happened, but if it’s something serious, then we need to know.”
You shook your head quickly. “NO! I mean, I was just watching some of our rookie year performances and videos, and I got emotional is all.”
The two eldest men shared a look. They needed to get your mind off of it. Changbin took one of your hands in his. “How about we take you shopping?”
You thought for a moment before nodding. “Can Lixie and Minnie come? Please?” You asked hopefully.
The gym duo nodded. “Of course they can, baby girl.” Changbin said as he tucked a lock of hair behind your ear with his free hand.
Felix and Seungmin both gave you a thumbs up. It was quick thinking from you. It wouldn’t expose the stupid challenge, and it was something that was based on true events, as it had actually happened a few days ago.
“Let’s all get showered and changed, and then we can go.” Chan suggested. The rest of you nodded. You got up to go to your room with Felix. Seungmin went to his room. Changbin and Chan took turns to quickly use the shower and change into their usual clothes.
Once you all arrived at the store, you held onto Changbin’s right biceps whilst Seungmin and Felix kept nudging each other out of the way to get to Changbin’s left side. The duo were practically hissing at each other.
Chan trailed behind slightly, keeping the four of you in his sight at all times. Sometimes Felix or Seungmin would walk by his side. Chit-chatting and suggesting shops, asking about the gym before ultimately running back over to Changbin to shove the other out of the way.
Chan found it to be rather adorable, really. He couldn’t help but chuckle as Seungmin grabbed the back of Changbin’s shirt, walking behind the man. He shook his head and took out his phone, taking pictures and videos of the four of you. Your head lying on Changbin’s arms, Felix biting his bicep, and Seungmin patting his hand for attention.
Another cute one was of you holding Changbin’s hand, pointing to a ballet store. Felix stood in front of Changbin, big boba eyes pleading to go into a gaming store he had spotted. And Seungmin was tugging on his arm to try to pull him to the baseball store he had seen.
Chan knew who the favourite pseudo-parent here was, and it wasn’t him. But he didn’t mind. He sent the pictures to the group chat.
AlphaWolf🐺: Sent five images.
AlphaWolf🐺: Changbin has a fan club. 🥰
Drama Dumpling🎨: No, why is that actually so cute? That second picture is adorable. What shop did he decide on? 😍🥺
Pudding Devourier🐱: I'm placing my bet on the ballet shop. When has he ever not done what Princess wanted first?
Maknae on Top🍞: That’s such a fact. We all know who his favourite member is. Other than me, obviously. 🤪
Sleeping Quokka🐿: Why are you ignoring the last pic? That’s the most adorable picture I’ve ever seen. 🤭
AlphaWolf🐺: He chose the ballet shop, obviously. We’re heading there now. He told Princess she could get whatever she wanted.
Pudding Devourier🐱: Hahaha, famous last words. 😈
Maknae on Top🍞: This is why I never give her my credit card. 🙅🏻🚫
Sleeping Quokka🐿: Liar! You give in just as much as the rest of us do! 🫵
AlphaWolf🐺: I’m gonna post a couple on bubble.
Drama Dumpling🎨: Second, fourth and fifth. They are the cutest ones. They’re all looking at him like he’s the fucking sun. I need to paint one of these. 🤔
Pudding Devourier🐱: Make sure those three don’t spend all of Bin’s money.
AlphaWolf🐺: Honestly, I think he'd thank them if they did. They’re a hard trio to say no to.
DramaDumping🎨: That’s so true. I wasn’t ready to be called out like that.
SleepingQuokka🐿: I’m hard to say no to. 🥺
Makenae on Top🍞: You’re really not. 😑
Chan chuckled as he shook his head at Jeongin’s message and watched him and Jisung argue about whether Jisung was hard enough to say no to or not.
He walked around the store, keeping an eye on Felix and Seungmin as you had taken Changbin over to the point shoes.
It was cute, and honestly, seeing the smile on your face, it was all worth it. As was him and Changbin were arguing over who was buying what in nearly every store.
It was only when all five of you were in the car, you, Felix, and Seungmin in the back, eating ice cream, bags upon bags in the boot, driving home, that Chan posted the pictures on Bubble and Instagram with the same caption.
‘When you think you’re Changbin’s biggest fan, but Princess, Felix and Seungmin exist.’
A sheltered girl escapes her controlling family and finds refuge with eight wary boys in a quiet village. Though two offer kindness, the rest remain guarded due to past betrayal.
As she struggles to adapt to a simple life, her inexperience causes tension, leaving her desperate to prove she belongs—while their trust hangs by a thread.
Just as something soft begins to grow between them, the past comes crashing back in, dragging secrets and expectations with it. Misunderstandings cut deep, leaving words unsaid and hearts unguarded.
And when everything finally falls apart, one question lingers—was it love they lost, or trust they never truly had to begin with?
❛ ━━━━━━･❪skz❫･━━━━━━ ❜
“You’re not listening.”
Your father’s voice cut cleanly through the silence, sharp as the knife resting beside his plate.
You didn’t look up. “I am.”
“Then repeat what I said.”
Your grip tightened around your fork until your knuckles turned white.
Across from you, your mother sighed, already irritated, her perfectly manicured fingers tapping against the edge of her wine glass.
“Don’t make this difficult. We’re only asking what’s best for you.”
Best.
That word had always sounded like a threat wrapped in silk.
“You’ll attend the meeting next week,” your father continued, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You’ll be introduced properly this time. No excuses.”
“I said I don’t want to.”
The words slipped out before you could stop them, hanging in the air like smoke.
Silence. Heavy.
Your father set his glass down slowly, the soft clink echoing louder than it should have. “You don’t want to?”
Your heart pounded against your ribs, but something in you—something that had been building for years, cracking under the weight of endless expectations—finally pushed back.
“I don’t want to live like this.”
Your mother laughed, but there was no humor in it, only disbelief and thinly veiled annoyance. “Like what? Comfortable? Provided for? Everything handed to you on a silver platter?”
“Controlled,” you shot back, the word tasting bitter but freeing on your tongue.
The word landed harder than you expected.
Your father’s expression changed instantly. Cold. Final. Like a door slamming shut.
“You are not in a position to complain,” he said, each word deliberate and heavy with warning. “Everything you have is because of us.”
“And everything I am isn’t mine,” you shot back, voice trembling but steady enough to hold.
That did it.
The chair scraped loudly as he stood, towering over the table. “Enough.”
Your body went rigid, every muscle locking in place.
“You will follow what we planned,” he said, each word deliberate. “Or you will learn what it means to lose it.”
Lose it.
The house. The money. The life. The cage.
That night, you didn’t cry.
You packed.
Quietly. Efficiently.
Not the designer bags or the expensive luggage that screamed privilege.
Just practical clothes you could move in and the stack of cash you had withdrawn weeks ago—just in case you ever found the courage to actually leave.
You stared at your credit cards for a long moment, the sleek plastic feeling heavier than it should.
Then left them on the desk, right beside your phone.
Tracking devices disguised as privilege.
You didn’t want anything that could lead them back to you.
By the time the sun rose—
You were gone.
── ⟢ ・⸝⸝
The bus ride felt unreal, like stepping into someone else’s dream.
Each mile put more distance between you and everything you had ever known, the familiar weight of control slowly lifting from your shoulders.
Tall buildings faded into smaller ones, then into scattered houses.
Concrete gave way to open land, endless fields rolling under a wide sky.
Noise dissolved into quiet, the constant hum of the city replaced by the low rumble of the engine and the occasional chirp of birds outside.
By the time you stepped off at the last stop, the air felt unfamiliar in your lungs.
Cleaner.
Fresher.
But thinner somehow.
Like you didn’t quite belong in it yet.
The bus pulled away in a cloud of dust, leaving you alone on the side of a narrow road.
A small waiting shed stood nearby, paint slightly chipped, surrounded by fields that stretched endlessly toward the horizon.
No guards. No cameras. No expectations.
Just…Nothing.
Your chest tightened with a sudden wave of uncertainty.
For a second—you almost turned back, the old fear whispering that this was a mistake.
“Miss?”
You froze.
Slowly, you turned.
Two boys stood a few feet away.
One had soft blonde hair, his expression open and warm in a way that immediately made your guard falter just a little. The other stood beside him, observant but calm, his gaze scanning you carefully, taking in your simple bag and tired posture.
“You just got off that bus, right?” the blonde one asked gently, his voice carrying a kind lilt.
You nodded, instinctively clutching your bag tighter against your side.
“Do you… have somewhere to go?” the other asked, his tone polite but direct.
You hesitated, the truth sitting heavy on your tongue.
“No.”
They exchanged a quick look.
Silent.
A decision passing between them without words.
“I’m Felix,” the blonde said, offering a small, reassuring smile. “And this is Jeongin.”
Jeongin gave a slight nod, his eyes still cautious but not unkind. “There aren’t a lot of places around here. Not ones you can just walk into without any plans.”
You let out a quiet breath, the weight of your situation pressing down again. “I figured that out too late.”
Felix scratched the back of his neck, glancing at Jeongin before looking back at you with gentle concern.
“You can stay with us for now.”
Your head snapped up. “What?”
“Just until you figure things out,” he added quickly, hands raised in a placating gesture. “We couldn’t just leave you here all alone.”
You frowned, suspicion flickering through you. “You don’t even know me.”
Jeongin shrugged lightly, though his stance remained steady. “We know enough.”
“That you’re alone,” Felix said softly, his eyes meeting yours with quiet understanding.
That shouldn’t have hit as hard as it did, but it did—right in the center of your chest.
You looked away first, biting the inside of your cheek.
Every instinct screamed at you to refuse, to keep running.
But you had nowhere else to go, and the fields around you suddenly felt too vast and empty.
“…Just for a bit,” you said finally, voice barely above a whisper.
Felix smiled, bright and genuine.
Jeongin nodded, satisfied.
And just like that—
You followed them down the quiet path.
── ⟢ ・⸝⸝
Their house came into view after a short walk through the winding village road.
It wasn’t big.
Not impressive or luxurious in any way.
But it felt… alive.
Shoes scattered by the door. Open windows letting in the breeze. The faint sound of music playing somewhere inside, mixed with distant voices and laughter.
Felix stepped in first, calling out cheerfully, “We’re back!”
The noise inside stopped abruptly.
Footsteps approached quickly.
You barely had time to brace yourself before they appeared.
One by one.
Eyes landing on you.
Assessing.
Questioning.
Unwelcoming—but not cruel.
Just… careful. Wary. Like strangers walking into their safe space.
“…Who is she?” one asked, arms already crossed over his chest, brow furrowed.
Felix didn’t hesitate. “She needed help.”
“That’s not an answer,” another replied, tone flat.
Jeongin stepped forward slightly, his voice steady. “She doesn’t have anywhere to stay.”
A pause stretched out, thick with tension.
Then another voice, sharper—“So you brought her here? Just like that?”
Your fingers curled at your sides, tension coiling in your stomach.
“I can leave,” you said quickly, already taking a small step back. “I didn’t mean to—”
“No,” Felix cut in, firmer than before, his hand gently touching your arm to stop you.
It surprised everyone. Even you.
“She’s staying,” he said, his usual softness edged with resolve.
The room went still.
One of them—tall, serious—exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair in clear frustration. “You don’t know anything about her.”
Another spoke, quieter but colder, his eyes narrowing slightly. “People don’t just show up here with no story. No explanation.”
They weren’t wrong.
Your chest tightened, the weight of their suspicion pressing against you.
Jeongin’s voice softened, but there was an edge of protectiveness to it. “Not everyone has bad intentions.”
“Or maybe we’re just not stupid,” someone muttered under their breath, low but audible.
Silence stretched.
Uncomfortable.
Heavy.
You could feel every second of it pressing into your skin, making the air feel thicker.
Finally—
“…How long?” one asked, the question directed more at Felix than at you.
Felix didn’t look away from the group. “Until she figures things out.”
A long pause followed, filled with reluctant consideration.
Then a sigh.
“Fine.”
Not welcoming.
Not warm.
But not a outright refusal either.
“We’re watching you,” another added bluntly, his gaze lingering on you with clear caution.
You nodded slightly, swallowing the lump in your throat.
── ⟢ ・⸝⸝
The eight of them stood in the living room, the air thick with unspoken tension. The faint hum of the old ceiling fan did nothing to ease the stiffness that had settled over the group the moment you were shown to the small guest room at the end of the hallway. Felix and Jeongin had insisted on giving you some space to settle in, but the others weren’t ready to let the conversation drop.
As soon as the door clicked shut behind you, Chan crossed his arms, his usual calm leader demeanor cracking just enough to show the frustration underneath. “What the hell were you two thinking?”
Felix shifted his weight, blonde hair falling slightly over his eyes as he met Chan’s gaze without flinching. “She was alone at the bus stop. No plan, nothing. We couldn’t just leave her there.”
Jeongin nodded beside him, younger but steady. “It’s getting dark soon. The next bus won’t come until tomorrow afternoon. Where was she supposed to sleep? In the fields?”
Minho leaned against the wall, his sharp eyes narrowing. “So you bring her straight into our home?” His voice was low, controlled, but the edge was unmistakable. “We don’t know her. She could be anyone.”
Seungmin, sitting on the arm of the couch, let out a dry laugh that held no humor. “Exactly. People don’t just appear out of nowhere in a place like this without a reason. And you two decided to play heroes?”
Hyunjin paced a few steps, long fingers running through his hair. “We’ve talked about this. No outsiders. Not after what happened.”
The room grew heavier at the mention.
Two years ago, there had been nine of them.
Until she—the ninth—had quietly packed her things one night and left without a real goodbye. Later they found out she had been seeing someone else for months. The betrayal had cut deep, especially for the younger ones. Most of them had cried for days. Some had shut down completely, barely speaking for weeks. The rest had pieced themselves back together slowly, reinforcing the walls around their eight-person relationship with fierce protectiveness.
Chan exhaled slowly, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “We barely recovered from the last time. We can’t risk that again. Not when we finally feel stable.”
“We’re not asking you to date her,” Jeongin said quietly, but firmly. “We’re just giving her a roof for a couple of nights. She said she left a bad situation. She didn’t even want to tell us more than that.”
Felix stepped closer to the group, his voice soft but determined. “She looked scared, hyungs. Really scared. Like she was running from something heavy. I couldn’t ignore that. Neither could Innie.”
Minho’s jaw tightened. “And what if she’s lying? What if she’s here to take advantage? We worked too hard to build this life together—quiet, away from everything. Just us.”
Changbin, who had been listening with his arms folded, finally spoke up, his deep voice rumbling. “Hyung… they have a point though.” He glanced at Felix and Jeongin, then back at the older members. “It’s not like we have to be with her. She’s not moving in permanently. Just helping someone who’s clearly in trouble.”
Jisung, perched on the edge of the couch, nodded slowly, his usual playful energy tempered by thoughtfulness. “Felix and Jeongin are right. It’s just kindness. We don’t have to trust her with everything. We can keep our distance.”
Seungmin raised an eyebrow, still skeptical. “You’re serious?”
“I’m not saying we throw a welcome party,” Jisung replied, rubbing the back of his neck. “But kicking her out right now would make us the assholes. She can stay until she finds somewhere else. That’s all.”
Hyunjin stopped pacing, sighing as he dropped onto the couch beside Jisung. “Fine. But we watch her. Closely. No alone time with any of us until we know more. And the moment she gives us a reason to doubt her—”
“We’ll handle it,” Chan finished, his tone final but a touch less harsh. He looked at Felix and Jeongin, eyes softening just a fraction. “You two… your hearts are too big sometimes. We love you for it but we protect ourselves first. All of us. Together.”
Felix offered a small, grateful smile. “We know, hyung. We’re not trying to break anything. Just… help.”
Jeongin added quietly, “She can leave as soon as she’s ready. We promise.”
The group fell into a reluctant silence, the decision hanging in the air—cautious acceptance, layered with heavy layers of past hurt and fierce loyalty.
Outside the living room, in the quiet guest room, you sat on the edge of the narrow bed, unaware of the conversation unfolding about you. The voices were muffled, but the weight of their wariness still lingered like an invisible barrier.
For now, you were safe.
And that was more than you had dared to hope for when you stepped off that bus.
── ⟢ ・⸝⸝
The next morning arrived quietly, sunlight filtering through the thin curtains of the small guest room. You woke early, heart still racing from the unfamiliar silence—no maids knocking, no schedule waiting, no expectations pressing down on you.
You wandered the narrow village paths, the cool morning air carrying the scent of damp earth and distant cooking fires. The province felt even smaller in daylight—scattered houses, a modest market square with a few stalls, a tiny general store, and an old community bulletin board pinned with faded notices.
You asked around carefully, voice hesitant, about any room for rent or simple jobs available.
Most people were kind but practical. “Rooms are scarce this time of year,” an elderly woman at the market told you with a sympathetic tilt of her head. “And work… well, what can you do, dear?”
You had no answer.
Your life had been filled with private tutors, lavish events, and staff who handled every chore.
Cooking? Cleaning? Manual labor? You knew none of it.
The few inquiries for help—at the local café, the small farm stand, even the laundry service—ended the same way: polite rejections once they realized you had no skills, no references, and no idea how to start.
By midday, your feet ached and your hope had thinned. You returned to the house with empty hands and a heavier chest, the reality of your escape settling in like dust.
── ⟢ ・⸝⸝
At home, the tension only grew.
You tried to help. Desperately.
The first afternoon, you offered to wash the dishes after lunch. When they finished, you stood quickly, stacking plates with careful hands.
“I can do this,” you said softly, carrying them to the sink.
It started well enough. But the soap slipped through your fingers like oil. A glass tumbled, shattering against the tiled floor with a sharp crack. You froze, heart leaping into your throat as water splashed everywhere.
Minho appeared first, brow furrowed. “Careful—” He knelt to pick up the shards, voice tight. “Just… leave it. We’ll handle it.”
You tried again the next day with laundry.
Felix had shown you how to sort the clothes and use the old washing machine, his instructions patient and kind. But you overloaded it, forgot to check the pockets, and when the cycle ended, one of Seungmin’s favorite hoodies came out stained with ink from a forgotten pen. The fabric was ruined, the dark blotch spreading like an accusation.
Seungmin stared at it for a long moment, jaw clenched. “It’s fine,” he muttered, though his tone said otherwise. “Accidents happen.” But the way he folded it away carefully, almost protectively, made your stomach twist.
Cooking attempts fared no better.
On the third evening, you volunteered to peel vegetables while Changbin prepared dinner. The knife felt foreign in your grip—too heavy, too unfamiliar. You nicked your finger twice, blood mixing with the carrot peels, and then dropped the whole bowl of chopped onions, sending them scattering across the floor.
The sting in your eyes wasn’t just from the onions.
Hyunjin sighed, rubbing his temples as he helped clean up. “You don’t have to force yourself,” he said, not unkindly, but the frustration was clear beneath the surface. “We’ve been doing this for years without extra hands.”
Chan watched from the doorway, arms crossed, his leader instincts kicking in. He didn’t raise his voice, but his words carried weight. “Look, we get that you’re trying. But this house runs on routine. We can’t afford broken dishes or ruined clothes every day. It’s… stressful.”
The younger ones felt it too. Jeongin tried to smooth things over, offering quiet encouragement when he caught you looking defeated, but even he winced when you accidentally knocked over a potted plant while sweeping, dirt spilling across the wooden floor.
Over the next few days, the frustration built like storm clouds. The boys moved around you with careful distance—polite enough not to be cruel, but clearly on edge.
Conversations in the living room grew shorter when you entered.
Shared meals felt heavier, the clink of chopsticks louder in the awkward silences.
Jisung, who had started to soften, would still crack a small joke now and then, but even he retreated when another mishap occurred. Changbin would mutter under his breath about “one more broken thing” before catching himself and offering a half-hearted “It’s okay.”
You felt every glance, every sigh, every muttered comment like walking on eggshells. The house that had offered shelter now pressed in, reminding you how out of place you truly were.
Your luxurious past had left you unprepared for this simple life, and the gap showed in every clumsy movement, every failed attempt to prove you belonged—even temporarily.
At night, alone in the guest room, you stared at the ceiling, the muffled sounds of the eight of them talking in low voices filtering through the walls.
You knew they were discussing you again.
Protecting their tight-knit world. And part of you wondered how much longer you could stay before they asked you to leave.
But you had nowhere else.
Not yet.
So you kept trying, even as the tension thickened and the boys’ patience wore thinner with every passing day.
── ⟢ ・⸝⸝
The days blurred together in a quiet rhythm of small, unseen efforts.
You kept trying, even when the clumsiness lingered.
But you learned to do it when no one seemed to be watching—early mornings or late evenings when the house was still half-asleep or busy with their own routines.
One evening, after everyone had scattered to their rooms or the backyard, you slipped into the kitchen.
Using the last of the cash you had carefully counted from your dwindling stash, you had walked to the village market earlier that day and bought groceries.
Nothing fancy. Just more than enough to get by.
You followed a recipe torn from an old magazine you found in a drawer, moving slowly, deliberately. Your hands still trembled a little with the knife, but you didn’t drop anything this time.
The stew simmered gently, filling the kitchen with a warm, savory scent.
You set the table quietly—eight bowls, chopsticks arranged neatly—then retreated to the guest room before anyone noticed.
When they gathered for dinner, you heard the surprised murmurs through the thin walls.
“Who made this?” Changbin’s deep voice carried first, curious rather than suspicious.
“It’s… actually good,” Seungmin added after a moment, sounding almost reluctant.
Jeongin stayed quiet, but you caught the small smile in his tone when he said, “She must’ve done it while we weren’t looking.”
Over the following days, more small things piled up unnoticed at first.
You swept the porch at dawn. You folded laundry when they were out in the fields or running errands. You even managed to fix a loose cabinet handle with a screwdriver you found in a toolbox, though it took you nearly an hour of fumbling.
They noticed the changes gradually—the house a little tidier, meals occasionally appearing without anyone claiming responsibility, the grocery supply quietly replenished with your remaining money.
The skepticism didn’t vanish, but it softened around the edges for some of them. Changbin started leaving small notes of thanks on the counter. Jisung would hum approvingly when he found his favorite snacks restocked. Felix and Jeongin smiled at you more openly, their encouragement gentle and consistent.
Eventually, the house learned to exist with you in it—not as a central part, but as a quiet presence in the background. You moved like a shadow, helpful but unobtrusive. They stopped tensing every time you entered a room. Conversations flowed a little freer around you.
The frustration from your earlier clumsiness faded into tolerant acceptance.
You were there, and for now, that was… manageable.
── ⟢ ・⸝⸝
Then, you started noticing things.
Little moments that didn’t quite fit the “brothers” image you had assumed.
Hyunjin would lean into Seungmin’s side on the couch while they watched an old movie, fingers intertwined casually.
Changbin would pull Minho into a back hug in the kitchen, murmuring something low that made Minho’s ears turn pink.
Jeongin and Seungmin often shared the same blanket, heads resting close together, soft laughter passing between them like a secret.
At first, you told yourself it was just brotherly affection—deep bonds formed from living together in this isolated village life. Boys could be touchy. It didn’t mean anything more.
Until the kisses.
One afternoon, Jisung was heading into town for supplies. Chan walked him to the door, cupped his face gently, and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “Be safe. I love you,” Chan said, voice warm and easy.
Jisung grinned, kissing him back. “Love you too.”
You had frozen in the hallway, half-hidden, heart stuttering at the casual intimacy.
Another evening, you caught Felix and Hyunjin cuddling openly on the living room floor, legs tangled, exchanging lazy kisses while a drama played in the background. No one batted an eye. Changbin joined them later, pulling Felix closer with a fond rumble.
The pieces slowly clicked into place, but you kept silent, unsure how to react or whether you were even supposed to see any of it.
The moment it became undeniable came during a quiet afternoon in the kitchen.
Felix had asked for your help baking brownies—nothing complicated, just a simple recipe to use up some ingredients. You stood beside him at the counter, mixing the batter carefully under his patient guidance. His presence was warm and encouraging, the kind that made your shoulders relax just a fraction.
The front door creaked open.
Hyunjin stepped in, wiping his hands on his jeans after some outdoor work.
“Going into town for errands,” he announced, voice carrying easily. He crossed the kitchen in a few strides, stopping right beside Felix.
Felix turned with a bright smile. “Already?”
“Won’t be long.” Hyunjin leaned in naturally, pressing a soft kiss to Felix’s cheek, then another quick one to the corner of his mouth. “I love you. Text me if you need anything.”
“I love you too,” Felix replied, cheeks dimpling, completely at ease.
Hyunjin gave you a brief, polite nod before heading out, the door clicking shut behind him.
The kitchen fell into a sudden, heavy silence.
You stood there awkwardly, wooden spoon still in your hand, batter dripping slowly onto the counter.
Your face burned.
You didn’t know where to look—definitely not at Felix.
Felix cleared his throat after a long moment, his usual sunshine energy turning flustered and pink. He scratched the back of his neck, eyes darting to the mixing bowl then back to you.
“Um… about that,” he started slowly, voice softer than usual, almost shy. “I guess you’ve probably noticed some things by now.”
You swallowed, nodding once without meeting his gaze.
Felix let out a small, nervous laugh. “Yeah… all eight of us. We’re together. In a relationship. All of us.” He gestured vaguely toward the rest of the house. “We have been together for a long time now.”
He paused, watching your reaction carefully, the batter forgotten between you.
“We don’t usually explain it to others right away. After everything that happened before… we’re careful. But since you’re staying here and you’ve seen it…” He shrugged, a little helpless. “I didn’t want you to feel weird or confused. Or like you have to pretend you didn’t see anything.”
The air felt thicker, the scent of chocolate and sugar suddenly too sweet.
Felix tilted his head, voice gentle but honest. “You okay? You don’t have to say anything. Just… that’s us. All eight boyfriends, basically.”
He waited, the kitchen quiet except for the faint ticking of the old wall clock, giving you space to process the truth that had been unfolding right in front of you all along.
── ⟢ ・⸝⸝
The following days settled into a tentative routine, quiet mornings and shared evenings.
It had been more than a month since you stepped off that bus.
You had gotten the hang of village life in small, incremental ways. The narrow paths felt familiar under your feet. You could peel vegetables without nicking your fingers every time. The simple meals you prepared occasionally no longer tasted like experiments.
The house no longer felt like a cage of eggshells—you moved through it with quiet confidence, a background presence that had slowly become part of the scenery.
Sometimes, they invited you to join them.
It started small.
One evening, after dinner, Changbin pulled out an old deck of cards. “Yah, come play with us.”
You hesitated at first, but sat down on the floor beside them. The game was simple—something loud and competitive involving shouting and laughter.
You lost terribly the first few rounds, but the way Jisung dramatically accused Seungmin of cheating, and how Hyunjin dramatically flopped onto Felix’s lap in defeat, made you laugh despite yourself.
Real, unguarded laughter that surprised even you.
After that, the invitations came more often.
Board games on rainy afternoons.
Soccer in the backyard with a worn ball.
Even quiet movie nights where you ended up sandwiched between Jeongin and Jisung on the couch, sharing a blanket.
You found yourself actually enjoying it—the easy banter, the teasing, the way their personalities unfolded when they weren’t on edge. Minho’s dry humor, Chan’s steady warmth, Seungmin’s sharp but fond remarks.
It felt… light.
Normal.
Something you had never really experienced in your old, suffocating world.
Things had grown lighter overall.
Solo moments started happening naturally.
Chan would sit with you on the porch steps one morning, sharing a quiet cup of tea while the others were still asleep.
Minho let you help him in the garden one afternoon, showing you how to pull weeds properly. He was patient, correcting your technique without frustration, even cracking a small smile when you proudly showed him a perfectly straight row.
Hyunjin dragged you into an impromptu art session on the living room floor, handing you cheap crayons and paper. “Just draw whatever. No judgment.” His laughter when you produced a very questionable portrait of their house made your chest feel warm.
Jisung and Changbin pulled you into late-night kitchen raids for snacks, Jisung’s excited rambling filling the space while Changbin quietly made sure you had enough to eat.
Even Seungmin, the most reserved, started leaving small books on your bed with a casual “Thought you might like this” note.
Felix and Jeongin remained the easiest—movie nights turned into whispered conversations, their affection for you clear and uncomplicated. They never pushed, but they made space for you.
And you were genuinely enjoying their company. The way the house felt warmer with all of them in it. The laughter that now included you more often. The subtle protectiveness they showed each other that somehow extended, just a little, toward you.
For the first time since you had left that polished dining table behind, you felt something close to belonging—not fully inside their circle, but no longer entirely outside it either.
You were here, in the background of their world, and somehow, against all odds, it was starting to feel like home.
Even if it was only temporary.
Even if their hearts were already full with each other.
You were content with that.
For now.
── ⟢ ・⸝⸝
You were walking through the modest market square one afternoon, the sun warm on your shoulders, when a small handwritten sign caught your eye outside the local bakery-café.
“Hiring: Part-time help. No experience needed. Ask inside.”
Your heart gave a small, hopeful jump.
It wasn’t anything grand—no glamorous position or high pay—but it was steady work: helping with orders, cleaning tables, assisting in the kitchen with basic prep.
Enough to start saving again without touching the last of your emergency cash. You stepped inside, nerves fluttering, and spoke to the kind middle-aged owner. She asked a few simple questions, watched you handle a tray of empty cups without dropping them, and nodded.
“You’re hired,” she said with a gentle smile. “Start tomorrow morning, 7 a.m. sharp.”
You beamed, the first real, unfiltered smile you’d felt in weeks. “Thank you. Really.”
It wasn’t a place of your own yet, but landing the job felt like the first solid step forward since you’d stepped off that bus. Something you had earned on your own, without your family’s name or money behind you.
You practically floated back to the house, the small paper with your starting schedule clutched in your hand like a treasure.
The front door creaked open as you entered. Minho was in the living room, sorting through a basket of clean laundry with his usual precise movements. He glanced up at the sound of your footsteps, his sharp eyes immediately catching the way your face was lit up, practically glowing with quiet excitement.
“You look… different,” he said, one eyebrow raised, though his tone lacked its earlier edge. “What happened?”
You couldn’t hold it in. The words tumbled out, bright and breathless.
“I got a job. At the bakery-café in the market. It’s part-time, nothing big, but… they accepted me. I start tomorrow.”
For a moment, Minho just stared. Then the corner of his mouth twitched upward into a small, genuine smile—the kind that softened his usually sharp features. “That’s… good. Really good.”
Before you could overthink it, the happiness bubbling inside you pushed you forward. You stepped closer and wrapped your arms around him in a quick, impulsive hug, the kind born purely from relief and joy.
Minho stiffened at first, caught off guard, his body going rigid against yours. The hug felt awkward—your arms a little too tight, his hands hovering uncertainly at his sides. The warmth of him, the faint scent of laundry soap and something uniquely Minho, made the moment stretch strangely.
Then he composed himself. His hands came up to pat your back once, twice—firm but gentle—before he carefully pulled away, clearing his throat. His ears had turned a faint pink, and he avoided your eyes for a second, focusing instead on folding a shirt with sudden intensity.
“Congrats,” he muttered, voice a touch lower than usual. “That’s a solid start.”
You stepped back quickly, cheeks warming as the awkwardness settled in. “Sorry— I just… got excited. Thank you.”
He nodded once, still not quite meeting your gaze, but the small smile lingered. “No need to apologize. It’s fine.”
After that afternoon, the shift in the house became even more noticeable.
The boys started softening up in quieter, more intentional ways. They no longer just tolerated your presence in the background—they began seeking you out.
You continued to be yourself—quietly helpful, carefully open, genuinely enjoying the growing warmth of their company.
The relationship between the eight of them remained beautifully evident in stolen kisses, cuddles, and soft “I love you”s exchanged without shame, but they no longer felt the need to hide every moment from you.
Their guards were still there, raised just enough to protect what they had built together after the hurt of two years ago.
But the walls had developed windows.
Cracks of light.
Moments where they sought you out, included you, and let the house feel a little less like a temporary shelter and a little more like a shared home.
You smiled more these days.
And sometimes, when you caught one of them watching you with a softer gaze than before, you wondered if they were starting to smile a little more too—because of you.
Even if it was still careful.
Even if it was still new.
It was enough. For now.
── ⟢ ・⸝⸝
A few weeks had passed since you started your job at the bakery-café, and the new routine had begun to feel almost natural.
You left the house early each morning with a packed lunch one of the boys had quietly prepared the night before. Your shifts were simple but steady: wiping tables, arranging fresh bread in the display, helping with basic baking prep under the owner’s gentle guidance.
The work tired you in a good way, the kind that left your hands busy and your mind clearer than it had ever been in your old life.
When you returned home in the late afternoon, the house no longer felt like a place you were tiptoeing through. The boys had unconsciously started spending more time with you, their actions slipping into something warmer, more attentive. It was as if you had quietly become part of their orbit without anyone saying it out loud.
They took care of you in small, protective ways—making sure you rested, checking if you needed anything from the market, even walking you partway to work some mornings under the guise of “going the same direction.”
At first, none of them seemed to notice how deeply they had all been drawn to you.
But one quiet evening, after you had gone to bed, the eight of them gathered in the living room like they used to when something important needed discussing.
Chan spoke first, voice low and honest. “We need to talk. About her.”
The room was silent for a moment before Minho nodded. “I’ve seen it. All of us… we’re spending more time with her. Taking care of her like she’s already ours.”
Hyunjin ran a hand through his hair. “It’s not just one or two of us. It’s everyone.”
They didn’t hide anything from each other—that had always been their rule after the betrayal two years ago. They laid it all out: the way their hearts softened when you smiled after a long shift, the quiet pride they felt watching you adapt, the protective urge that had grown stronger than simple kindness.
Felix and Jeongin admitted they had felt it first, but now even the most guarded ones—Chan, Minho, Seungmin—couldn’t deny the pull.
“Maybe she is different,” Jisung said quietly, eyes sincere. “She never pushed. She’s been patient with all our walls. She tries so hard without asking for anything in return.”
Jeongin nodded slowly. “Fate crossed our paths for a reason. She showed up at that bus stop when she had nowhere else to go… and we couldn’t leave her. None of us could.”
Seungmin exhaled, leaning back. “I didn’t want to admit it, but… she feels right. Like she fits here. With us.”
Hyunjin smiled faintly. “She makes the house feel fuller. Warmer.”
Felix’s voice was soft but sure. “I think… we all feel it. We like her.”
Chan looked around at his boyfriends with quiet courage. “Then maybe we should stop fighting it. We’ve been honest with each other so far. We can figure this out together.”
The conversation stretched late into the night. Hesitation lingered with the older ones, the scars from their past relationship still tender. But the warmth, the genuine care they had all developed for you, won out in the end. They realized it together—she had become someone important. Someone they didn’t want to let slip away.
For the next several days, they continued as they had been, only now they stopped bothering to hide the depth of their feelings.
They still moved carefully, not wanting to overwhelm you with the sudden intensity. But the affection was clearer: lingering touches on your shoulder, soft smiles reserved just for you, the way they all seemed to gravitate toward you in the evenings.
Stolen glances turned warmer.
“Good morning” greetings carried extra gentleness. They never pressured, never rushed—just let the quiet pull between all nine of you grow naturally.
Until one night it all came to a head.
It was late, the house quiet after a simple dinner and a movie that had left everyone relaxed on the couch and floor. You were helping Felix tidy the kitchen, the two of you laughing softly over a spilled bit of sauce.
The others were scattered nearby, some still chatting in low voices.
Felix turned to you with that bright, dimpled smile, eyes shining with unguarded fondness. Without thinking, he blurted out, “God, I really love having you here with us. We all do. Like… we want you to be part of this. With all of us.”
The words hung in the air.
The rest of the boys froze where they were—Chan mid-sip of water, Minho’s hand still on the back of the couch, Hyunjin’s laugh cutting off sharply. Jeongin’s eyes widened. The kitchen suddenly felt very small.
Felix’s cheeks flushed deep red as he realized what he’d said. “Wait— I mean— I didn’t mean to just—”
But the dam had broken.
“Felix, it’s fine.”
Chan set his glass down slowly, stepping closer, his leader voice calm but sincere.
“We’ve been talking. All of us.” He glanced around at the others, who nodded one by one. “We care about you. A lot.”
Minho cleared his throat, ears pink, but his gaze steady. “We didn’t plan this. After what happened two years ago… we were scared. But you’re different. Patient. Kind. You fit here.”
Hyunjin stepped forward, voice soft. “We don’t want to hide it anymore. We like you. All eight of us. Romantically. As more than just someone staying in the house.”
Jisung rubbed the back of his neck, rambling nervously. “Yeah— and we’re not trying to pressure you or anything! Seriously. You can say no. Or take time. Or whatever you need. We just… wanted to be honest because hiding it felt wrong.”
Changbin nodded, his usual confidence tempered with gentleness. “You don’t have to decide anything tonight. We’re happy with how things are if that’s what you want. But… we had to tell you.”
Seungmin added quietly, “No rush. Really.”
Jeongin and Felix both looked at you with hopeful, slightly anxious eyes, the youngest murmuring, “We just… really like you.”
The eight of them stood there, a mix of nervousness and earnest affection on their faces, giving you space but finally laying their hearts open after weeks of quiet realization.
Your cheeks burned, heart pounding in your chest. The confession felt overwhelming but warm—nothing like the cold control of your old life.
You looked at each of them, the way they had slowly become important to you too, and shyly twisted your fingers together.
“It’s… okay,” you said softly, voice barely above a whisper but honest. “I feel something too. For all of you. I didn’t know how to say it… and I still don’t really know how this works. With eight of you. With me.” You gave a small, shy smile, glancing down.
“But… I like it here. With you. And I think I want to try… if you’ll be patient with me.”
The relief in the room was immediate—soft exhales, small smiles breaking across their faces, the tension easing into something lighter, sweeter.
Felix beamed, stepping closer but still careful. “We’ll be as patient as you need.”
Chan’s eyes were warm, full of quiet promise. “We’ll figure it out together. All of us.”
And just like that, the nine of you stood on the edge of something new—tentative, hopeful, and real.
── ⟢ ・⸝⸝
The days after the confession were warm and bright in a way you had never experienced before.
The boys were incredibly patient with you, never pushing boundaries or overwhelming you with the weight of their feelings.
But they were more open now—honest in the little ways that mattered.
Felix would greet you in the mornings with a soft “Good morning, beautiful” and a gentle kiss to your forehead if you let him.
Chan started leaving sweet notes in your lunch box for work, simple things like “You’re doing great today. We’re proud of you.”
Minho’s sharp edges had melted into quiet affection; he’d brush your hair behind your ear when it fell in your face while cooking together, murmuring “You look cute when you’re focused.”
Hyunjin drew you into his lap during movie nights, arms wrapped loosely around your waist.
Changbin’s hugs became longer and tighter, his deep voice rumbling “Missed you” even if you’d only been gone for a few hours.
Jisung would pull you into silly dances in the kitchen, spinning you until you were both laughing breathlessly.
Seungmin read to you softly at night sometimes, his voice low and soothing.
Jeongin shared shy, lingering glances and hand-holding that made your heart flutter.
They took care of you openly now—walking you to and from work, making sure you ate well, checking in on how you felt. The dynamic between all nine of you was still new and careful, but it felt right.
Safe. Happy.
You thought the peace might last.
You were wrong.
Unbeknownst to you, your parents had never stopped looking.
The moment you disappeared, they had sent private investigators, discreet teams, anyone who could track the missing heir to their empire.
Weeks of searching had finally paid off.
Someone in the village had recognized your face from old photos, tipped them off, and reported back immediately.
Your parents wasted no time.
The next day started like any other perfect one.
All of you were lounging in the living room after lunch, the house filled with laughter and playful chaos.
Chan and Changbin were wrestling lightly on the floor, Jisung cheering them on dramatically while Felix and Jeongin tried to pile on. Hyunjin was dramatically narrating the “epic battle” from the couch, Seungmin throwing popcorn at them, and Minho watching with an amused smirk, occasionally tossing in a dry comment.
You were curled up on the end of the couch, smiling so wide your cheeks hurt, watching the beautiful mess of your boyfriends.
A firm knock echoed through the house.
“I’ll get it!” you called out cheerfully, hopping up since the rest of them were tangled in their play fight. “You guys keep going.”
You padded to the door, still grinning, and pulled it open without a second thought.
Your smile died instantly.
Your father stood there in his perfectly tailored suit, expression cold and commanding as ever. Your mother beside him, lips pressed into a thin, disappointed line. Two tall, stone-faced guards flanked them—men you recognized from your old life, the kind who followed orders without question.
You froze, breath catching in your throat.
“No…”
You stumbled back a step, heart slamming against your ribs.
The noise in the living room stopped abruptly.
The boys looked up, playful energy vanishing in an instant.
One by one they stood—Chan first, then Minho, the rest following with sharp, protective tension radiating from them.
Your father didn’t waste time.
He stepped forward and grabbed your arm in a bruising grip.
“You’ve had your little runaway fantasy long enough,” he said flatly. “Time to come home.”
You yanked hard, trying to pull free. “Let go—!”
The boys moved instantly.
Chan’s voice was low and dangerous. “Get your hands off her.”
Minho was already stepping between you and your father. “She doesn’t want to go with you.”
Hyunjin and Changbin moved to flank you, while Jisung, Seungmin, Felix, and Jeongin closed in behind.
Protective. United.
But the guards moved as wel.
They intervened smoothly, strong hands pushing the boys back, creating a barrier.
One guard shoved Chan hard enough that he stumbled. Another blocked Minho’s path.
Your father’s eyes swept over the eight boys with pure disdain, lips curling in disgust.
“Look at this,” he spat. “My daughter, staying with eight men like some common whore. How much of a bitch have you become, running away just to spread your legs for a pack of village boys?”
Your mother’s voice was colder, sharper. “Your fiancé has been waiting patiently for your return. We’ve delayed the engagement party long enough because of your childish tantrum.”
Fiancé.
The word dropped like a stone.
You hadn’t even known about any arranged marriage when you left. They must have set it up right after you disappeared—or maybe it had been in the works longer, another piece of your life they controlled without telling you.
The boys went still.
Dumbfounded.
Chan’s face drained of color. Minho’s jaw clenched so tight it looked painful. Hyunjin took an involuntary step back. Changbin’s fists curled at his sides. Jisung’s usual brightness shattered. Seungmin’s eyes widened in quiet hurt. Felix and Jeongin looked heartbroken, the youngest’s lips parting in silent disbelief.
They had been played again.
Just like two years ago.
Another woman with secrets.
Another betrayal.
You whipped your head around, eyes wide and desperate as you looked at them. “It’s not true… please,” you begged, voice cracking. “I didn’t know about any fiancé—I swear. I never agreed to any of this. Please believe me—”
Your father’s grip tightened painfully on your arm, yanking you toward the door. “Enough of your lies. You’re coming home. Now.”
One of the guards moved to help drag you out when you resisted.
The boys stood frozen in the middle of the living room, watching as you were pulled away. None of them moved to stop it this time—the shock, the resurfaced pain from their past, the sudden doubt that you had been hiding something big all along, kept them rooted in place.
You looked back at them one last time, tears spilling down your cheeks. “Please… it’s not what you think. I love you— all of you—“
The door slammed shut behind you.
The house fell deathly silent.
Your father’s car disappeared down the village road, taking you with it.
Inside, the eight boys remained exactly where they were, the warmth and laughter from minutes ago shattered into cold, heavy betrayal.
Chan stared at the closed door, fists clenched, voice barely a whisper.
“…Again.”
Seungmin turned away sharply, shoulders rigid.
“We should’ve known better.”
The others didn’t speak. The doubt had already sunk its claws in deep.
They didn’t know the full story.
They only knew how it felt like history repeating itself—another woman they had let in, only to watch her get ripped away by a life full of secrets they had never been told about.
And this time… it hurt even worse.
Because they had truly started to believe you were different.
── ⟢ ・⸝⸝
The grand mansion felt colder than you remembered.
Marble floors echoed under every step.
Maids moved like silent shadows, eyes carefully averted.
Guards stood at every corridor, their presence a constant reminder that you were no longer free—you were back in the cage, polished and gleaming.
Your parents had dragged you here without mercy, ignoring your pleas the entire ride. The moment the heavy doors closed behind you, the lectures began: duty, family name, legacy. They wasted no time preparing you for the meeting.
Today was the day you were supposed to meet your fiancé.
You sat in the formal receiving room, dressed in something elegant and stifling, heart heavy with the image of eight boys frozen in betrayal. Their faces haunted you—the shock, the hurt, the way they had stepped back as if you had shattered them all over again.
The door opened.
A tall, handsome man walked in—sharp jawline, warm yet composed features, dressed impeccably but without arrogance.
Jaehyun.
He carried himself with quiet confidence, eyes scanning the room before landing on you with something surprisingly gentle.
Your parents left the two of you alone after stiff introductions, expecting compliance.
The silence stretched only a moment.
“I don’t want this either,” Jaehyun said quietly, voice smooth and low, cutting straight to the point. He sat across from you, posture relaxed but honest. “This arranged marriage… it’s been pushed on me for months too. Business merger disguised as romance. My family and yours—both desperate to secure power.”
You blinked, surprised by his candor.
No pretense.
No superiority.
He continued, a small, wry smile touching his lips. “I’ve had a plan ready for a while now. I’ve been gathering evidence—proof of the illegal activities your family and mine have been involved in. Tax evasion, shady contracts, bribes. Enough to force their hand without dragging innocents through the mud.”
Your breath caught. “You… planned this?”
He nodded. “I hoped it wouldn’t come to this, but here we are. If you’re willing to stand with me, we push through today. No engagement. No marriage. We expose just enough to make them back off. I’ll make sure your name stays clean—I’ll defend you publicly if needed.”
You stared at him, something like relief mixing with fear.
He wasn’t an enemy.
Just another person trapped in the same gilded web.
“…Okay,” you whispered.
── ⟢ ・⸝⸝
The meeting with both families was explosive.
Jaehyun pushed through exactly as he said—calm, efficient, presenting the documents with surgical precision.
Your parents’ faces twisted from shock to fury.
Accusations flew.
Threats.
But Jaehyun had prepared meticulously; the evidence was airtight on the illegal dealings, yet he carefully left you completely out of it, painting you as the unwilling daughter who had run away from an oppressive household.
Your father raged. Your mother’s disappointment cut deeper than any shout.
In the end, they disowned you on the spot—cutting you off from every account, every connection, every last thread of their empire.
But the authorities moved fast thanks to Jaehyun’s quiet preparations.
Your family was placed under house arrest, their movements restricted while investigations continued.
The business empire now fell to you—the only remaining heir willing to step up and take responsibility, whether you wanted it or not.
You stood your ground through every scream, every demand to reconsider. You loved them, in the complicated way children sometimes love flawed parents, but you refused to let them control you anymore.
The mansion felt even emptier after they were confined to certain wings.
You spent the following days buried in paperwork, meetings with lawyers, and trying to stabilize what was left of the family business.
Jaehyun stayed nearby as an ally, not a fiancé—offering advice without pressure, helping you navigate the chaos he had helped unleash. He was kind, down-to-earth despite his background, and never once made you feel trapped.
But every night, when the mansion grew quiet, your thoughts drifted back to the small village house.
To laughter echoing in a cramped living room.
To eight pairs of eyes that had looked at you with growing warmth.
To Felix’s dimpled smiles, Chan’s steady presence, Minho’s quiet care, and all the others who had slowly made you feel like you belonged.
You didn’t want any of this—the money, the power, the responsibility—if it meant losing them.
The empire could crumble for all you cared.
So, once the immediate legal storm settled and you had signed enough documents to keep things from collapsing entirely, you made your choice.
You packed a small bag—just like the first time.
You left detailed instructions with a trusted and now carefully vetted staff, ensuring the business would run under strict oversight while you were gone. Jaehyun gave you a quiet nod of understanding when you told him.
“You deserve to chase what actually makes you happy,” he said simply. “Good luck.”
And then you left.
The journey back to the village felt longer this time—bus rides, dusty roads, heart pounding with every mile.
You had no idea what you would find.
Whether the boys would even listen.
Whether the betrayal they felt had already closed the door forever.
But you had to try.
The narrow path to their house looked exactly the same.
The shoes by the door.
The open windows.
The faint sound of voices inside.
You stood there for a long moment, bag clutched tightly, before raising your hand and knocking.
The voices inside quieted.
Footsteps approached.
The door opened.
And there they were—eight pairs of eyes widening in shock, a mix of pain, confusion, and something fragile flickering beneath the surface.
You swallowed hard, voice trembling but clear.
“I’m back. Please… let me explain everything.”
The air hung heavy between all of you.
They didn’t stop you.
They simply moved to the living room in heavy silence, sitting down on the couch and chairs like they were bracing for impact.
You stood in front of them, bag still slung over your shoulder, and started talking.
You told them everything. You explained the arranged marriage you had known nothing about until the moment your father mentioned it at their door. You laid out the evidence gathered, the confrontation, the disownment, the house arrest on your family, and how the entire empire had suddenly fallen into your hands whether you wanted it or not.
“I never lied to you,” you whispered, tears slipping down your cheeks. “I didn’t know about the fiancé. I ran because I couldn’t breathe anymore. And when I got dragged back… all I could think about was you. All of you. The job at the café, the movie nights, the way you made me laugh, the way you looked at me like I mattered for the first time in my life. I gave it all up. For this. For us.”
Your voice broke completely on the last word.
“Please… forgive me. I know how it looked. I know it hurt you—especially after what happened two years ago. But I’m not her. I’m not leaving you for someone else. I chose you. I’m choosing you right now.”
Silence.
Heavy, suffocating silence.
None of them spoke.
Chan stared at the floor. Minho’s gaze was fixed on the wall. Hyunjin kept swallowing hard, eyes glassy but refusing to meet yours. Changbin’s fists were clenched on his knees. Jisung bit his lip until it turned white. Seungmin looked somewhere over your shoulder. Felix and Jeongin, the ones who had brought you here in the first place, seemed the most torn—hurt and longing mixing in their expressions, but still no words.
You tried again, voice smaller.
“Please… say something. Yell at me if you have to. Just… don’t shut me out.”
Still nothing.
The fear in their eyes was clear—they were terrified of letting you back in, of being hurt the same way again. The scars from the person who had betrayed them were still too raw, and your sudden disappearance had ripped them open.
Desperation clawed at your chest.
You slowly sank to your knees on the wooden floor right in front of the couch, hands trembling in your lap.
“I’m begging you,” you whispered, looking up at each of them even though most refused to meet your gaze. “I love you. All eight of you. I know it’s complicated and new and scary, but I want this. I want us. Please… don’t throw me away.”
The silence stretched unbearably.
Tears fell freely now, dripping onto your jeans. Your shoulders shook.
You felt defeated.
Completely and utterly broken.
After what felt like forever, you wiped your face with the back of your hand and slowly pushed yourself to your feet.
Your legs felt like lead.
“…Okay,” you breathed, voice barely audible. “I understand.”
Before you turned to leave, you reached into your bag and pulled out a small, folded envelope. You placed it gently on the low table in front of the couch—right where they could all see it.
Inside were the documents Jaehyun had helped you prepare: proof that you had officially distanced yourself from your family’s illegal dealings, a letter explaining every detail again in writing, and the simple silver necklace you had been wearing the day you met them at the bus stop—the only thing you had kept from your old life, now offered back as a symbol that you were willing to leave everything behind.
You looked at them one last time, each face that had become so dear to you.
“I love you,” you said softly, the words heavy with finality. “All of you. I’m sorry I hurt you. Goodbye.”
Then you turned and walked out the door, closing it quietly behind you.
The village air felt colder than before as you started down the path, shoulders slumped, heart in pieces.
Inside the house, the room remained deathly silent for a long minute after you left.
No one moved.
No one spoke.
Then Chan leaned forward slowly, his hand reaching out to pick up the envelope you had left. His fingers trembled slightly as he opened it, pulling out the documents and the necklace. The silver chain caught the light, delicate and familiar.
He stared at it for a long moment, thumb brushing over the small pendant.
The others finally shifted, eyes drawn to what he held.
Chan unfolded the letter, reading the neat handwriting that laid everything out once more—your fear, your choice, your love. Proof that you had truly walked away from the empire for them.
He swallowed hard, voice rough when he finally spoke, barely above a whisper.
“…She really left it all.”
The silence cracked just a little.
And for the first time since the door had closed, the eight of them looked at each other—fear, regret, and the undeniable pull toward you warring in every expression.
The envelope and necklace sat between them like a question none of them were ready to answer yet…
…but the ache of watching you walk away was already louder than their fear.
── ⟢ ・⸝⸝
The narrow dirt road leading to the village bus stop felt endless.
You stood under the chipped waiting shed, the same one where Felix and Jeongin had found you months ago. Your eyes stayed fixed on the ground, tears falling steadily onto the dry earth, creating small dark spots that disappeared almost as quickly as they formed.
Your chest ached with a pain so deep it felt physical—like something had been ripped out and left hollow.
You had nothing left.
No home except the one you had just been quietly rejected from.
The bus would come eventually, and you had no idea where you would go after that.
Anywhere but here, maybe.
Somewhere you could disappear again.
Footsteps approached from behind—soft but steady on the dirt path.
You didn’t look up. You couldn’t.
The hurt was too raw, too overwhelming.
Whoever it was could pass by.
You just wanted to be invisible.
The footsteps stopped right in front of you.
Eight pairs of familiar shoes came into view—worn sneakers, scuffed boots, the same ones you had seen scattered by the door every day.
Your breath hitched.
Slowly, painfully, you lifted your head.
There they were.
All eight of them.
Standing in a loose semicircle around you at the bus stop, breathing hard like they had run the entire way.
None of them spoke at first.
The only sounds were the distant rustle of fields and your own shaky breathing.
Chan took one small step closer, his voice rough and low, cracking on the first word.
“…Don’t go.”
It was barely more than a whisper, but it shattered the heavy quiet.
Hyunjin swallowed hard, stepping up beside Chan. “We were scared. After what happened before… seeing you get dragged away like that, hearing about a fiancé we knew nothing about—it felt like the past repeating. We should’ve done something.”
Minho’s voice was softer, trembling. “We let our fear win. I’m so sorry.”
Changbin exhaled shakily, his deep voice gentler than you had ever heard it. “You told us everything. You left all of that behind for us. The money, the family, everything. And we just sat there like idiots.”
Jisung stepped forward, eyes glistening. “We know you didn’t lie. We know you chose us. But we were too hurt and too scared to say it in time.”
Seungmin looked down for a second, then met your eyes. “We’re not perfect. But we love you more than anything.”
Felix moved closer, reaching out hesitantly before gently taking one of your hands. His touch was warm, trembling. “We ran the whole way here because the house felt wrong without you. Empty. We don’t want you to leave. Please… stay.”
Jeongin, voice small but determined, added, “We love you too. All of us. We were just too afraid to say it when it mattered most.”
Chan lifted the necklace in his other hand, the silver catching the fading light. “You really walked away from everything… for us.”
He took another step, close enough now that you could see the regret and longing clear in his eyes.
“We’re sorry we hurt you. We’re sorry we made you feel like you had to kneel and beg. We should’ve held you instead.” His free hand came up slowly, brushing a tear from your cheek with the gentlest touch.
“If you’ll still have us… if you can forgive us for not fighting for you sooner… come home.”
The other seven closed in slowly, surrounding you in a protective, warm circle—no longer distant, no longer silent.
Felix squeezed your hand tighter. “We want you. The real you. The one who tried so hard in the kitchen, who laughed at our dumb games, who made the house feel complete. Nine of us.”
Minho’s voice was quieter but sincere. “No more hiding. No more doubts. Just… us.”
They stood there, eight pairs of eyes fixed on you, waiting.
The bus stop felt smaller, the fields quieter.
Your tears kept falling, but this time they weren’t only from pain.
The ache in your heart was still there—but now it was mixed with something warmer, something hopeful.
You had come back for them.
And they had run after you.
“Please… don’t get on that bus.” Chan whispered again, voice thick.
And the rest of them echoed it in soft, desperate murmurs.
“Come home.”
“We love you.”
“Stay with us.”
You nodded, tears still streaming, and that was all it took.
All eight of them surged forward at once.
Strong arms wrapped around you from every direction.
Finally.
“I’ve got you,” Chan murmured into your hair, voice thick with relief.
“We’re not letting go again,” Seungmin whispered, smiles returning as he kissed your wet cheek.
“Never again,” Hyunjin added softly, his younger voice full of quiet promise.
They held you until your sobs turned into shaky breaths, until the sun dipped lower and the fields glowed golden around you.
Then they walked you home—hands linked, shoulders bumping, soft apologies and “I love you”s exchanged the entire way.
The nightmare was over.
You were home.
── ⟢ ・⸝⸝
The next few days were warmer than anything you had ever known.
The house felt brighter, laughter easier, touches bolder now that the fear had cracked open and let the light in. They spoiled you gently—extra cuddles after your café shifts, surprise picnics in the fields, late-night talks where they asked about your past without judgment and shared more of theirs in return.
You hadn’t been stupid when you left the mansion.
Before walking away completely, you had kept one credit card and arranged for a small, quiet percentage of the family business to be transferred into a separate account under your name only. It wasn’t enough to live luxuriously, but it gave you a safety net—enough to help with village expenses if needed, or to treat the boys to something nice without touching their hard-earned money.
You told them about it honestly one evening, and they accepted it with soft smiles and proud kisses, no suspicion, no walls.
── ⟢ ・⸝⸝ smut
And here you were, in the center, heart racing, surrounded by eight boyfriends who looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered in the world.
All nine of you were tangled together on the big, worn couch after dinner—legs draped over laps, heads resting on shoulders, the movie long forgotten on the screen. The air had grown thick with quiet tension for days, stolen kisses turning longer, hands wandering further under clothes during cuddles.
Tonight, the dam finally broke.
Clothes came off piece by piece, scattered across the living room floor.
The couch wasn’t big enough for all of you, but no one cared. You moved to the thick blankets they had laid out on the floor earlier, bodies pressing together in a heated, loving mess.
It was overwhelming in the most beautiful way.
They were patient at first—kissing every inch of you, whispering praises.
“So pretty for us,”
“We’ve wanted this,”
“Tell us if it’s too much”
Hands explored, mouths followed. They took turns between your thighs, their tongues gentle and eager, drawing soft moans from you while the others watched with dark, loving eyes.
Chan and Hyunjin claimed you first.
Chan laid you down gently on your back, his broad frame hovering over you as he kissed you slow and deep, tongue sliding against yours while his hand caressed your thigh. Hyunjin knelt beside your head, long fingers threading through your hair as he leaned down to kiss you too—messy, passionate, his pretty lips sucking on your bottom lip before moving to your neck.
While they focused on you, the others paired off naturally around you.
On your left, Minho and Seungmin were tangled together—Minho on his back, Seungmin straddling his lap, grinding slowly while they kissed like they were starving for each other. Soft, breathy moans escaped them as Minho’s hands gripped Seungmin’s hips.
On your right, Changbin and Jisung were already lost in each other—Changbin sitting up against the couch, Jisung in his lap facing him, riding him with eager little rolls of his hips while Changbin whispered filthy praises into his ear.
Felix and Jeongin stayed close, making out heatedly beside you—hands roaming, Jeongin whimpering softly as Felix stroked him slowly, both of them watching you with dark, loving eyes.
Chan slid into you first—thick and careful, stretching you open with a low groan. “Fuck… so tight for us, baby,” he breathed against your mouth, starting a deep, steady rhythm that had your back arching. Hyunjin leaned over you, kissing you through every thrust, his free hand pinching and rolling your nipples until you were moaning into his mouth.
They worked together beautifully—Chan fucking you with controlled power while Hyunjin kissed and touched every sensitive spot he could reach. When Chan’s pace grew faster and he came inside you with a deep, shaky groan, Hyunjin took his place almost immediately.
Hyunjin was longer, sliding in with a smooth thrust that made you gasp. He fucked you slower but deeper, hips rolling in that graceful way only he could manage, eyes locked on yours the entire time. “You’re so beautiful like this,” he whispered, voice husky.
Chan stayed close, kissing your neck and murmuring “Good girl… taking us so well” while his hand reached down to rub your clit in slow circles.
You came hard around Hyunjin, clenching and trembling, and he followed soon after, spilling deep inside you with a soft, pretty moan.
They kissed you through the aftershocks—Chan’s lips on your forehead, Hyunjin’s on your shoulder—before gently pulling back.
Then the switch happened.
Felix and Jeongin moved in next, the two youngest taking their turn with you while the others continued on the side, waiting for their turn.
Felix laid you on your side, spooning behind you. He entered you slowly from behind, one arm wrapped around your waist, the other hand holding your thigh up as he thrust gently but deeply. “Feels so good… love being inside you,” he whimpered against your neck, voice sweet and needy.
At the same time, Jeongin knelt in front of you, sliding his cock between your lips. You sucked him eagerly, tongue swirling while Felix fucked you from behind in perfect sync.
On the sides, the pairings shifted,
Chan was now with Minho—Chan on his knees, fucking Minho from behind while Minho stroked himself, both of them groaning low.
Hyunjin and Seungmin were making out heatedly, hands jerking each other off slowly as they watched you.
Changbin had Jisung bent over the arm of the couch, pounding into him with deep, powerful thrusts that made Jisung cry out beautifully.
The rhythm continued.
After Felix filled you with a soft, broken moan and Jeongin came down your throat with a shy whimper, you barely had time to catch your breath before the next pair switched in.
Changbin and Jisung took their turn with you.
Changbin was careful with his strength but intense— he pulled you onto his lap so you were riding him, his thick cock stretching you wide while his big hands guided your hips. “That’s it, ride me just like that,” he growled softly, eyes dark with lust.
Jisung knelt beside you, kissing you messily, then feeding you his cock while you bounced on Changbin. The two of them worked you between them until you were shaking and coming again, Changbin following with a deep grunt as he filled you, Jisung spilling across your tongue moments later.
Next came Minho and Seungmin.
Minho took you from behind on all fours—sharp, precise thrusts that hit every perfect spot while Seungmin knelt in front of you, letting you suck him while he praised you in that calm, slightly teasing voice. “Look at you… such a good girl for all of us.” Minho’s hand reached around to rub your clit until you came hard, clenching around him.
Both of them finished inside you and on your lips, leaving you dripping and glowing.
By the end, all of them had taken turns in different pairings—switching fluidly so every single one of your boyfriends fucked you at least once, sometimes more, while the others kissed, touched, or pleasured each other around you.
The final round was all nine of you in one messy, loving pile.
You were on your back again, legs spread as Chan slid back into you for a second round, slow and deep. Felix and Hyunjin were on either side of your head, letting you alternate sucking them. Jeongin and Minho were kissing down your chest and stomach. Changbin and Jisung were making out above you while their hands stroked wherever they could reach. Seungmin was behind Chan, slowly fucking him while Chan fucked you—creating a beautiful chain of pleasure.
Moans and whispered “I love you”s filled the room.
You came one last time—hard, shaking, tears of overwhelming pleasure in your eyes—triggering a domino effect as the rest of them followed, spilling inside you, on your skin, or down your throat.
When exhaustion finally crept in, you were a tangled, sweaty, glowing pile on the blankets.
Changbin had pulled extra pillows and a big comforter over all of you.
You lay in the center, surrounded by warm skin and soft kisses pressed to your shoulders, neck, and lips.
“I love you,” you whispered into the quiet, voice hoarse but full of happiness.
Eight voices answered back, sleepy and sincere:
“We love you too.”
Jisung nuzzled closer, dimples deep even in the dark. “Stay forever?”
You smiled, pressing a kiss to whoever’s chest was nearest.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
The nine of you drifted off like that—hearts full, bodies sated, the future stretching out warm and open in front of you.
pairing: Bang Chan x f!reader
wc: 22 ss
tags/warnings: enemies-to-lovers, cursing, angst/fluff, inaccurate depictions of the inner workings of kpop companies, chan is mean and unreasonable (for plot purposes!)
part one // part two // part three // part four
masterlist
Summary: The company hires Chan a personal assistant against his will, so he makes it his mission to make her leave.
a/n: New series! This one caused me a lot of grief trying to wrangle it into a form I was pleased with, but I think I finally got it there. Enjoy!
part two
perm. taglist: @virgopotterhead @sue-reads @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @1giss4swft3 @emmalabo @velvetmoonlght @ch3rry15pin @danielle143 @thisisnotjacinta @geni-627 @barbie-girl84 @clairementsolo @stvr-l0stt @bangchansbig-nose @chandlxa @flippedccc @astrayapple @my-neurodivergent-world @girlblogger-04 @book-mark @mladyluna @simpqueen2025 @kimberlydynamite @hunter-or-the-hunted @chuahuahua @kpopdiva89 @theboldandthebootyful @bi-and-panicking @smiileflower (to join the permanent taglist fill out this form; to join the series taglist let me know in a comment)
SUMMARY: A writer seeking realism for her upcoming novel finds far more than she bargained for when Felix—an enigmatic and magnetic inhabitant of the night—offers to be her 'source of information.' Between afternoon coffees and walks beneath the streetlights, the line between literary research and an irresistible attraction begins to blur. In the silence of the city, she will discover that Felix doesn't just know the secrets of the shadows; he has also learned, by heart, the exact rhythm of her heart.
The rain is falling so hard that your umbrella gives up by the third gust of wind. Google Maps has run out of battery, your headphones just died, and your only goal is: get home without catching pneumonia.
You turn down an alley you almost never use. Between pasted posters and graffiti, there’s a black door with no sign, only a strange metallic symbol glowing under a red neon light.
It’s ajar.
And you are soaking wet.
You push the door open.
Inside, the world changes:
Low music, a soft bass vibrating in your chest. Dim lights, shades of red and blue painting the tables. People way too dressed up for a random Tuesday. It smells like something expensive—a mix of perfume, wood, wine… and something metallic you can’t quite identify.
You stop near the entrance, a small puddle forming at your feet.
"You're drenched."
The voice comes from the bar.
You see him: sitting behind the counter, leaning against the bar with a tablet in front of him and headphones draped around his neck. His light hair shimmers under the neon, his black shirt only halfway buttoned, a silver chain resting against his skin. He smiles, and for a second, all the noise in the room seems to fade away.
"We don’t usually take in people running from the rain" he says, with a half-smile that leaves you wondering if he’s being mocking or kind. "But I’ll make an exception."
You don't answer right away. Your eyes scan the place, nervous.
"I’m sorry, I just… I need to wait for it to let up a bit. I didn’t even know what this place was."
He tilts his head, intrigued.
"You didn’t know" he repeats. "That’s… dangerous."
There’s something strange about the way he looks at you. It’s not the typical 'I like you' look you’ve seen a thousand times. It’s… focus. As if he’s hearing something you can’t.
Actually, he is. Your heart.
It’s too loud, standing out among all the others.
Felix straightens up, sets the tablet aside, and gestures to someone. A dark coat appears, and he holds it out to you.
"Stay until the rain stops" he says, his voice softer now. "Put this on, or you’ll get sick."
You take it, a bit wary.
"Thanks."
Felix leans against the bar, never taking his eyes off you.
"Just promise me one thing."
You look up.
"What?"
For a split second, under the red light, his eyes seem to have a strange amber glow.
"Don't accept any drink that doesn't come from me" he whispers. "And if anyone invites you upstairs… say no."
You bite your lip, uneasy.
"What is this place?"
He smiles, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes.
A neutral territory. A minefield. A sanctuary. A trap.
He thinks all those things, but simply answers:
"Just a club for people who don't fit in anywhere else."
Like you. Like him.
And as you wrap the coat around yourself, unaware that your hands have left a faint trace of light on the fabric, Felix feels something he hasn't felt in decades:
Hunger… and hope.
The coat Felix gave you is far too big. It envelopes you like a heavy blanket that smells of something expensive and warm, with a hint of sweet tobacco and… something else.
You sit on a barstool, trying not to draw attention to yourself. You check your phone: 3% battery. Great.
He places a bottle of water in front of you, on the house.
"Relax, it’s just water" he says, as if he’d read your mind. "We’re not that desperate."
You frown, confused.
"Desperate…?"
Felix chuckles—a low, raspy sound.
"For customers. I mean. It’s Tuesday. No one should be here."
You steal a glance at him. There’s something different about his mannerisms: he’s far too observant, as if every little move you make tells him a story.
"Is it a famous club?" you ask, idling with the bottle cap. "I’ve never seen it before."
"It’s not the kind of place you’d find on Google Maps" he replies. "Let’s just say… if you made it here, it’s because you were meant to."
A soft shiver runs down your spine.
"That sounds like a cult" you joke, trying to lighten the mood.
Felix smiles, tilting his head.
"And what if it were? Would you stay, or run back out into the rain?"
You think of the wind lashing against the windows, your mangled umbrella, your cold and empty apartment, the boxes still unopened. His eyes are fixed on you, a playful glint in them.
"I guess I’ll stay" you mutter. "Just for a bit."
"Good choice."
He turns to arrange some bottles, but you take the chance to get a better look at him. The contrast of his light hair against the black shirt, the chain shimmering under the red light, the rings on his long fingers.
Your eyes linger on his neck, where the chain brushes against his skin. Suddenly, you're aware of how intimate it feels to be looking right there. You look away.
"Are you new around here?" he asks, without fully turning around, as if he already knew the answer.
You sigh.
"Is it that obvious?"
"Yes. And that you’re lost, too" he adds, amused. "Most people don't end up here by accident."
"I haven't been in the city long" you confess. "I still get lost on my own street corner, so... yeah, I’m lost. I was looking for a bus stop, or something."
He nods slowly.
"That explains why you haven’t heard the rumors."
That catches your attention.
"What rumors?"
Felix turns his gaze back to you, resting his forearms on the bar. He leans in a little, drawing closer. Now he’s far too close. You can see the faint freckles on his skin, the shimmer in his eyes.
"Nothing you should believe" he says, lowering his voice. "Stories from people with overactive imaginations. Blood, monsters, that kind of thing."
You feel a slight knot in your stomach. You say it without thinking:
"I could actually use some stories like those."
He raises an eyebrow.
"Oh, really?"
"I’m a writer" you mutter, shrugging your shoulders. "Well… I’m trying to be. Novels, online stories, things like that. I guess a place like this should inspire me."
Felix’s smile shifts. It’s still sweet, but there’s something darker behind it now.
"A writer. Interesting."
His eyes scan you, but not in a lecherous way; rather, as if he’s evaluating what kind of character you’d be.
"And what do you write?" he asks. "Romance? Horror? Happy endings or tragedies?"
"A bit of everything" you answer, playing with the rim of your glass. "Though lately… dark romance."
"Of course" he murmurs, almost to himself. "It had to be that."
You lean in toward him a little.
"And what about you? What do you do? Besides saving drenched strangers."
Felix smiles with an almost feline confidence.
"Officially, I work here. DJ, host, sometimes behind the bar. Unofficially…"
He pauses. For a second, his gaze grows heavier, deeper.
"Unofficially, I make sure people like you… get out of here alive."
Your laughter dies halfway.
"That sounds like… a very bad joke" you reply, though your voice trembles just a bit.
"This is a place where people come to get lost" he adds. "And sometimes, some of them don't want to be found."
Before you can respond, someone approaches the bar.
A tall guy, dark hair, sharp features. He looks elegant in a white shirt and a blazer that fits him far too well. He leans against the bar, ignoring you at first.
"Felix" he greets him in a low voice. "Chan wants to talk to you upstairs."
Felix lets out an almost imperceptible sigh.
"Tell him I’m busy."
The newcomer looks at you then. His eyes travel from your still-damp hair to the coat you’re wearing. An eyebrow arches.
"You don’t usually lend out your coat, Lix" he remarks, a half-smile playing on his lips. "How special is she?"
You feel immediately scrutinized. Instinctively, you pull the coat tighter around yourself.
Felix tenses slightly.
"Hyunjin" he calls him with a dangerous calm. "Don't start."
Hyunjin ignores the warning, leaning in a bit closer, as if trying to catch your scent. His gaze darkens for a second.
"She smells… different" he murmurs.
You swallow hard.
"I'm sorry?"
Felix moves fast. He steps between you and Hyunjin, blocking his line of sight. His tone remains soft, but there is steel underneath.
"Go up first" he says. "Tell Chan I’ll be upstairs in five minutes."
Hyunjin looks at him, intrigued, then smiles like someone who has just uncovered a secret.
"Five minutes" he repeats. "Don't be late. You know how he gets when something… shines too brightly in his territory."
He shoots you one last curious look and walks away, disappearing into the crowd.
Your heart is racing. Felix closes his eyes for a second, as if the sound of it actually hurts him.
"I’m sorry" he says at last, looking back at you. "I shouldn't have talked to you like that."
"Like what?" you ask, confused.
"Like you’re already a part of this."
That does nothing to clear up your confusion.
"A part of what?"
Felix takes a deep breath, as if bracing himself to say something he shouldn't. On his wrist, one of the leather bands he wears, etched with strange symbols, vibrates slightly—as if reacting.
"Listen" he says, leaning toward you again. "You’re going to finish your water, you’re going to stay here for ten more minutes until the rain lets up, and then you’re going to go straight home."
"Are you kicking me out?" you ask, hurt without knowing why. You barely know him, but something in his tone stings.
"I’m protecting you" he corrects, his voice grave. "You shouldn’t be here."
"Because I’m 'new' or because I’m a 'writer'?" you try to joke.
Felix stares at you. This time, there is no smile.
"Because there are things in here that would eat you alive" he answers. "And some of them wouldn't even bother to make it quick."
Your throat goes dry.
"You’re very dramatic for a DJ" you mutter, hugging the coat closer. "Do you say that to every female customer who walks in alone?"
"Only to the ones whose hearts beat too loud" he answers, almost without thinking.
You freeze.
"What?"
He blinks, realizing what he just said, and looks away, visibly uncomfortable.
"Forget it. I’m talking too much."
Your brain switches into writer mode. You notice details that, on any other day, you would have ignored:
The way you haven't seen anyone else touch him. The strange shimmer in his eyes under the red lights. The way Hyunjin caught your scent as if you were something to be tasted. The symbols on his necklace, on his rings.
"Felix" you say slowly. "What kind of club is this, exactly?"
He hesitates. One second. Two. Three.
Then he leans in, bringing his face far too close to yours. You can feel his breath—cold, yet somehow pleasant. His eyes search yours, as if asking for permission without words.
"If I tell you" he whispers, "you won't be able to un-hear it."
Your pulse sky-rockets. He swallows, and for an instant, his fangs just barely brush against his lower lip. They don't look normal. They’re a bit longer, catching the light for a split second.
You could pull back. You could tell him he’s crazy, get up, and walk out into the rain.
But you don’t.
"Tell me" you whisper.
Felix looks at you as if he’s on the verge of making a colossal mistake.
"This place" he says, very slowly. "It’s not a regular club. It’s neutral ground."
He leans in a bit closer, his lips almost brushing your ear.
"And I’m not regular either" he continues. "I’m not like you."
A shiver runs down your entire spine. Your hands grip the edge of the barstool. His voice is low, deep—almost unintentionally seductive.
"You shouldn’t trust someone who’s hungry" he whispers.
His words make your skin crawl, yet you don’t pull away. There’s something magnetic about the way he looks at you, as if he’s caught between two opposing choices.
For a moment, neither of you says a word.
Felix is the first to break the silence. He pulls back just a few inches—enough for you to catch your breath, but not enough to stop his presence from being overwhelming.
"Look" he says with a sigh, running a hand through his hair. "I don’t want to scare you."
He is, but he’s also sparking a dangerous curiosity within you.
"Then stop speaking in riddles" you respond, trying to make your voice sound firm. "What does 'neutral ground' mean? And what does it mean that you aren't like me?"
On his wrist, the bracelet with strange symbols vibrates again. Felix looks down for a second, as if that detail confirms something for him.
"It means" he begins, weighing his words, "that people come here who… wouldn't fit in anywhere else. And that, if you don’t leave soon, they’re going to start looking at you even more than they already have."
You remember the way Hyunjin watched you. The feeling of being… food.
You swallow hard.
"Are they criminals?" you ask in a low voice. "Is that it? Because if it is, I can leave and pretend I didn’t see anything. I won’t go to the police or—"
Felix shakes his head, cutting you off.
"It’s not as simple as 'criminals' or 'innocent'" he says. "Believe me, the police wouldn’t even know how to write the report."
That doesn't reassure you.
"And you?" you insist. "What are you, Felix?"
Your eyes lock onto his, refusing to look away this time. Felix holds your gaze for a few seconds, then smiles… but it’s a sad smile.
"One of those who don't fit in" he answers. "That should be enough."
"It's not" you say, almost without realizing it. "Not after everything you’ve hinted at."
He stays quiet. There’s a clear conflict in his eyes: one part of him wants to keep talking to you, while the other wants to throw you out onto the street and lock the door behind you forever.
Finally, he leans toward you slightly, though this time he makes sure to maintain some distance.
"Do you trust your gut?" he asks.
"What?"
"Your gut instinct" he repeats. "That voice that tells you, 'This is wrong, run away,' or 'Stay a little longer.'"
You think about it. Of course, a part of you wants to get out of there, but there’s another part—stronger, curious—that beats to the rhythm of your racing heart.
"I don’t know if that’s instinct or stupidity" you mutter. "But… my gut tells me you wouldn’t hurt me."
Felix closes his eyes for an instant, as if that both pained and relieved him.
"You shouldn’t think that" he whispers. "You have no idea what I’m capable of if I’m hungry enough."
Before you can ask anything else, a deep voice breaks the tension.
"Felix."
You both turn around.
A man approaches from the hallway that leads, you assume, to the back or to the upstairs. Dark hair, loose, with a tired but firm gaze. He wears a simple T-shirt and a black jacket, but there’s something about his presence that fills the room. Authority.
"I called you ten minutes ago" he says. "We have a problem with the supplier."
His eyes move from Felix to you. They hold your gaze for a second, weighing, measuring, cataloging.
"And I see" he adds, "that you’ve found another one."
You stiffen without knowing why. The way he says it doesn’t exactly sound friendly.
Felix straightens up.
"She isn’t a problem" he answers, his voice serious. "She was just waiting for the rain to let up."
The man raises an eyebrow.
"The rain died down a while ago" he points out, glancing toward the glass door where now only a fine drizzle falls. "And you know we can't afford to draw attention this week."
You feel like they’re talking about something you don't understand, but that you’re already in way over your head.
"Sorry" you intervene, almost automatically. "I didn't mean to cause any trouble. I can leave."
Felix looks at you, and for a split second, he seems to want to say "no." But he bites his lip and keeps the words to himself.
"I'll walk you to the door" he finally says, stepping out from behind the bar.
The man watches him in silence, with a mix of curiosity and suspicion. Before you leave, he extends his hand toward you.
"Bang Chan" he introduces himself. "Owner of this place."
You shake his hand out of politeness. His skin is… cold. Just like Felix’s. Just like Hyunjin’s when he brushed against your shoulder earlier.
"Nice to meet you" Chan says. "I hope you don’t come back."
You blink, uncomfortable.
"How charming" you shoot back, a bit defensively.
Felix frowns.
"Chan."
Chan raises his hands, as if surrendering.
"I'm only saying what’s best for her" he murmurs. "Not for you."
He looks at you one last time, with a certain pity in his eyes, and turns around.
Felix nods for you to follow him toward the exit. You walk in silence. You notice he stays half a step ahead of you, as if shielding you from the stares of others.
When he pushes the door open, the cold street air hits your face. It smells of recent rain, wet asphalt, and distant taxis.
"I’m sorry" he says then, leaning his back against the doorframe. "Really. I didn't mean to drag you into a place like this."
"I walked in on my own" you respond, shrugging. "And I still don't understand what kind of place it is."
He gives a tired, lopsided smile.
"Believe me, it’s better that way. For now."
You step out into the alley. The rain is just a soft drizzle now. You’re still wearing his coat.
"And this?" you ask, tugging lightly at the hem. "I should give it back."
He watches you for a second and shakes his head.
"Keep it" he says. "That way I’ll have an excuse, if fate decides to bring you back."
You feel something strange in your chest. You don’t know if it’s nerves, curiosity, or… something you don't want to name just yet.
"You don’t believe in fate much for a DJ" you joke, trying to lighten the weight of the moment.
Felix looks up at the cloudy sky, then back at you.
"I’ve lived long enough to know that some things… aren't coincidences" he murmurs.
The phrase "I've lived long enough" keeps spinning in your head. How long is "long enough"? Why does he say it as if it’s been decades instead of years?
"Felix" you begin.
"Listen" he interrupts you gently. "Go home. Write. Do whatever makes you feel like tonight was just… a scene for your book."
His eyes shimmer for a second.
"And if you decide to come back" he adds, "do so knowing that nothing you see here will be fiction."
Your throat goes dry.
"Is that… an invitation or a warning?"
"Both" he answers.
You stand there looking at him for a second longer. You want to ask a thousand things, but something in his expression tells you that you aren't ready for the answers.
"Then… I guess I'll see you around" you mutter.
You turn to start walking toward the main avenue. You take a few steps, and then you hear it:
"Hey."
You stop and look back. Felix is still leaning against the door, hands in his pockets, the red neon of the club casting a halo around him.
"Don't walk through this alley at night" he says. "And if anyone offers to take you to an 'exclusive spot'… say no."
"Because it’s dangerous?"
He nods slowly.
"Because not all monsters take care not to break what they like."
You don’t know how to respond to that. So you just nod and walk away.
As you walk, hugging his coat, a part of you knows that any reasonable person would stay away from that place forever.
But you’re a writer. And writers rarely choose what is reasonable.
Once on the bus, with the hem of your pants slightly soaking the seat, you open the notes app on your phone—just before it dies from low battery—and write:
"Chapter 1: A boy with neon eyes and fangs that shouldn’t exist."
You aren’t sure if it’s a story… or an omen.
You reach your building with numb fingers and the oversized coat still draped over your shoulders. The glowing sign at the entrance flickers, half-dead, as always. It’s not a great place, but it’s your place.
You climb the stairs almost blindly, listening to the echo of your own footsteps in the narrow hallway. Every step creaks as if protesting the late hour.
The key scrapes a bit before it turns.
Inside, the apartment greets you with silence and gloom. A single room that serves as everything: bedroom, living room, study. A tiny kitchen in the back, a window with a view of another building just as gray. It’s modest, but your things are everywhere: stacked books, a forgotten mug, a notebook lying open on the floor, post-its stuck to the wall.
You hang Felix’s coat on the nearest hook and steal a sidelong glance at it. It’s far too expensive for the rest of the room. It looks out of place, as if it belonged to another life entirely.
Now that you’re still, the cold truly hits you. You feel your damp clothes clinging to your skin, a lingering shiver running down your arms. You’re exhausted, too, but it’s mixed with a strange electricity you can’t quite name.
You head straight for the bathroom.
You flick on the dim yellow light, and the mirror reflects a tired image: hair messy from the humidity, raindrops still trickling down your neck, faint dark circles under your eyes, and that look you already recognize—the look of someone who has seen something they don’t understand… and is becoming obsessed with it.
You turn on the shower. It takes a few seconds for the water to warm up, and in the meantime, you wrap your arms around yourself. When the steam finally rises, you undress with clumsy movements, leaving your wet clothes in a heap on the floor.
As soon as the hot water hits your skin, your body reacts with a sigh you didn’t know you were holding back.
The cold begins to give way, layer by layer. You feel the heat travel down your back, over your shoulders, mingling with the scent of cheap soap and the constant drumming of water against the tile. Closing your eyes, you lean your forehead against the damp wall.
And then, in that small pocket of calm, your mind is no longer in your apartment.
It’s back at the club.
To the red light bathing the bar.
To the deep voice whispering that you shouldn't trust someone who's hungry.
To the eyes that seemed to glow more than they should.
To the cold hands that, strangely enough, made you feel more present than anything else that day.
The scenes begin to arrange themselves in your head, as if you were reading a book someone else had written for you.
A drenched girl walking into a place where she doesn't belong.
A boy who doesn't fit in, smiling as if he’s been alive for far too long.
A club that is something more than just a club.
"Chapter one," a part of you thinks—almost professionally—even as the water runs down your back.
"Neutral ground," another part notes.
"Monsters that don't want to break what they like."
You realize you're beginning to construct dialogues, scenes, shots. How his laughter would sound on the page. How you would describe that strange shimmer in his eyes. How you would tell the moment he told you that nothing you see will be fiction.
You could write it almost exactly as it happened. Change names, tweak details, but leave the heartbeat intact.
The water starts to cool down. You open your eyes, blinking away the steam. The physical exhaustion is there, but the mental fatigue has been replaced by something else: urgency. A need to pour all of it into words before it fades like the mist on the mirror.
You turn off the faucet.
You wrap yourself in a towel, your skin still tight from the change in temperature. You step out into the main room, leaving a trail of moisture on the floor. You pull on something comfortable: baggy pants, an oversized T-shirt, thick socks. The kind of clothes only your laptop ever sees.
In the small kitchen, you put water on to boil. While the temperature rises, you pick out a mug—your favorite, the one with the tiny chip on the rim—and take out the jar of coffee. The bitter, familiar scent begins to fill the space as you pour the water and stir, watching the steam rise in spirals.
On your way to the desk, you light a candle on the low coffee table. The flame flickers for a second before settling. The sweet scent of vanilla mingles with the coffee, creating something you recognize as "home," even if you’re still not quite used to calling it that.
You pull your hair into a messy bun, damp strands still clinging to your neck. You sit at your desk and open your laptop, waiting through the eternal seconds until it fully powers up.
New document.
Blank page.
The cursor blinks, impatient.
You take a sip of your coffee—hot, almost too hot—and rest your fingers on the keyboard. You don’t have an outline, but you have feelings. And sometimes, for writing, that’s enough.
You start with something simple.
"The first time I saw him, he was behind a bar bathed in red neon, as if hell itself had decided to dress up."
You describe his eyes, his voice, the way he spoke of hunger and monsters as if he were giving you the instructions to a new game.
You describe the cold freezing your fingers… and how everything seemed to stop when he handed you the coat.
You write fast, barely breathing, jumping from scene to scene.
The nameless girl.
The hidden club.
The boy with fangs she can’t quite see yet, but you—as the narrator—can.
You’re surprised by how easy it is. It almost scares you. In less time than you expected, the document begins to fill up. Two pages. Three. Four.
And then, all at once, the flow is cut off.
You’re left hanging on a half-finished sentence:
"When he warned her not to trust someone who was hungry, she had to decide if…"
The cursor blinks at the end of the "if," waiting for the rest. It doesn’t come.
Your mind, so clear just moments ago, goes blank.
Because it isn't just "her"—it’s you. And you still don't have the answer.
You lean back in your chair, letting out a long sigh. You stare at the screen, rereading the last paragraph over and over again. You try to keep going: you delete words, rewrite them, change their order.
Nothing fits.
The coffee grows cold in the mug. The candle burns steadily, indifferent to your internal battle.
You rub your temples. You recognize it: that invisible wall that every writer eventually hits sooner or later. The moment when the story seems to need something you aren't yet able to give it.
You can't decide what "she" would do... because you don't know what you would do.
You get up from the chair and begin to pace slowly around the room, a small circuit from the desk to the window and back. Outside, the city shimmers with small, distant lights. Other people's lives.
Your gaze drifts, inevitably, toward the coat rack.
The coat is still there.
Black, elegant, heavy. Like a promise. Like a question mark hanging on your wall.
You should put it in a bag, take it to the dry cleaners, and return it some reasonable afternoon, at a reasonable hour, with a reasonable mindset.
Instead, you look at it and think:
"I can't write this sitting here. I need to go back to that place. Smell it again. See how he moves. Hear how they talk when they think no one is listening."
Your rational side insists: bad idea. You don't know what that place is, you don't know those people, you have no reason to put yourself at risk for a story.
But another part—the same part that made you cross the ocean to live in a new country and write—whispers something different:
"If you want to tell stories about monsters, you’re going to have to see them up close."
You go back to the computer. You read the unfinished sentence:
"…she had to decide if…"
You stare at the "if" for a long time.
You slam the laptop shut.
The click echoes louder than it should in the silent apartment.
The screen goes black a second after the click. Your faint reflection appears on the glass, distorted by the darkness.
The apartment is silent, save for the distant hum of the refrigerator and the occasional car passing on the street. The scent of cold coffee and melted wax still lingers in the air.
You could turn the laptop back on.
You could.
Instead, you let yourself fall onto the bed without even turning off the main light. Your body feels heavy all of a sudden, as if the shower water, the rain, the club, and its neons had all clung to your muscles.
You close your eyes for "just a minute."
You fall asleep with the unfinished sentence floating in your mind:
"she had to decide if..."
The following days feel far too much like one another.
You wake up, grab a quick breakfast, and head out to your responsibilities—classes, freelance work, errands, whatever needs doing. You get lost in the city a couple more times, but none of those detours lead you back to a black door with a metal symbol.
At night, you sit in front of your laptop.
You open the document.
You reread what you wrote.
You mutter a correction here and there, changing a word here, another one there.
But every time you reach that broken sentence, you get stuck.
"When he warned her not to trust someone who was hungry, she had to decide if…"
Your mind hits a wall right there, as if there were an invisible barrier keeping you from crossing over. You know why: you don't want to lie to yourself.
You don’t want to write that she left forever and never looked back.
You don’t want to write that she forgot him.
You don’t want to write that she brushed it off as just a weird anecdote from a rainy night.
It would be easy. Safe. Consistent.
But it would be a lie.
Every time you close your eyes, you remember the red neon clinging to his skin, eyes that seemed to see something beneath your own, the way he said, “not all monsters take care not to break what they like.”
It’s hard to feign indifference when a part of you still feels curiosity, attraction, fear, and something else you aren’t ready to name.
You add some fake scenes to the story: you invent another character, you swap the club for a café, you turn Felix into someone less dangerous. You try.
It doesn’t work.
You delete more than you write.
The file’s progress bar stays almost the same.
You snap the laptop shut with a bit more force than necessary. You run your hands over your face, frustrated, and look around.
The apartment is warm, the candle lit, a half-finished mug on the table. Everything should be enough: safety, calm, silence.
Your eyes drift, unintentionally, toward the coat rack.
The coat is still there.
You haven’t worn it. You haven’t returned it. It has hung there all these days like a silent reminder of something left undone.
You stand up slowly, almost as if you didn't want to startle the thought that is beginning to take shape. You walk over to it and brush your fingers against the fabric.
The scent is still there.
You hear his voice telling you that you shouldn't trust someone who is hungry… and, at the same time, handing you a coat so you wouldn't get sick.
You swallow hard.
Your rational side lists the arguments against it:
You don’t know those people.
You don’t know what that place is.
He himself told you that you shouldn't be there.
You aren't some teenager in search of cheap thrills; you’ve crossed half the world to build a life, not to throw it away for a mysterious boy.
The other part—the one that made you start writing, the one that brought you to another country, the one that looks at the city as if it were a massive book waiting to be read—responds with a single, clear, stubborn thought:
You can’t write about something you’ve only brushed against once.
You open your eyes.
You don’t decide to go that night.
Nor the next.
Nor the third.
You keep putting it off with excuses: you're tired, you have to wake up early tomorrow, it’s still cold, you ran out of coffee, you have laundry to do. But every day, without fail, your gaze ends up fixed on the same spot: the coat on the rack.
Until a night comes when you no longer have a single believable excuse left, even for yourself.
You’ve spent hours staring at the broken sentence on the screen. You’ve paced around the room, tried to distract yourself with videos, with music, with messages to people on the other side of the world. Nothing works.
You look at yourself in the bathroom mirror while washing your face.
You have that look again: the one you get when you’re about to make a decision that will change something, even if you don’t know what.
You go back to the room, to the desk. The laptop is still open to the same line.
"When he warned her not to trust someone who was hungry, she had to decide if…"
You read it under your breath:
"…if she’d go back," you whisper, "or not."
The word "back" carries weight.
You take a step toward the door.
You stop.
You turn your head toward the coat rack.
This time, you don’t hesitate as much.
You walk over, taking the coat down. As you put it on, something clicks in a strange way—as if you had been avoiding a gesture that was inevitable from the moment he first draped it over your shoulders.
You slip your phone and keys into the pocket. You double-check that you have everything, as if the routine could give you a false sense of control.
As you turn the doorknob, a thought forms, crystal clear, in your mind. You don't know if it’s your own voice, the narrator's, or the character's, but it sounds like this:
If you want to keep writing this story, you’re going to have to go back to where it started.
You don’t know if "the story" refers only to the file on your laptop… or to something bigger, something that includes you in ways you don’t yet understand.
You step out into the hallway.
You head down the stairs.
The city at night greets you with white lights and car headlamps. It’s not raining, but the air has that damp scent after several gray days.
You don't open the map on your phone. You don’t need to. The path has been burned into a corner of your memory: the subway stop, the wide street, the turn into the narrow, graffiti-covered alley.
With every step you take, a part of you repeats:
"Bad idea, bad idea, bad idea."
The other part only responds:
"Necessary."
When you stop in front of the black, unmarked door, with its metal symbol gleaming under a red neon light, your heart pounds against your chest even harder than the first time.
The door is closed tonight, but music can be heard behind it. A soft bass, something dark—already familiar, even though you’ve only heard it once.
You look at your fingers, gripping the fabric of the coat.
"It’s for the story," you mutter, almost laughing at yourself.
You know it’s not just for that.
You take a deep breath.
You push the door.
The door opens only a few inches.
A low, rasping voice comes from inside:
"Closed to humans."
The gap begins to close again, as if they were about to shut you out immediately.
"Wait" you protest, taking a step forward. "I'm here to see Felix. I have something of his."
Silence.
From your side, all you see is the dark metal of the symbol on the door, the glow of the red neon staining the alley. From the other side, someone hesitates.
The door opens again, this time just enough for you to see who is speaking.
He’s shorter than Felix but broader in the shoulders, with dark hair and his arms crossed over his chest. He’s wearing a fitted black T-shirt, a leather jacket, and a "don’t waste my time" expression. His eyes, however, are quick: they size you up from head to toe, lingering on the coat you’re wearing, his brow furrowing.
"That coat..." he mutters.
He doesn't look like the kind of person who is easily impressed, but something in his gaze shifts.
"It’s Felix’s, isn't it?" you ask, slightly defensive, gripping the edges.
He narrows his eyes.
"What's your name?"
You hesitate for a second. You don’t feel like giving too much information to a stranger who just called you "human" as if it were an insult.
"Just tell him I’ve come to give this back" you respond, tugging lightly at the coat. "And that… I need to speak with him."
The bouncer—because it’s clear that’s what he is—suppresses a grimace. He sighs, as if this were a total nuisance.
"Of course. A human in his coat. On a Friday night. Perfect."
He slams the door in your face.
You stand there staring at the black wood, your heart beating a little faster than it should.
One minute.
Two.
Just as you begin to think he’s not coming back, the door swings open.
"Get in," says the same voice as before, dryly, as he steps aside.
You look at him. He doesn't seem thrilled with the idea, but he’s not blocking your way anymore either.
"Did Felix tell you?" you ask, not moving yet.
"I'm the one telling you" he responds. "And believe me, I'm not usually this nice."
He turns inward, jerking his head for you to follow. You end up stepping inside almost by reflex.
The club is different tonight.
The music is louder; the bass vibrates more forcefully in your chest. Red and blue neon lights paint shadows across the walls. There are more people: crowded tables, laughter, glasses gleaming, bodies moving to a rhythm you can't quite place.
It’s not the same empty, silent Tuesday.
The air smells more intense: expensive perfume, alcohol… and that metallic undertone you’ve recognized since the first time.
"Stick to the bar" the bouncer grunts without looking at you. "And if anyone invites you upstairs, you say no."
"Upstairs where?" you ask.
"Exactly." As if that were the only answer.
He clears a path for you through the crowd without much delicacy. A few gazes light up as they see you—curious, perhaps lingering a bit too long—but as soon as they realize you’re glued to the bouncer’s side, they veer away.
You reach the bar. He leans in slightly, searching for someone among the bottles and the lights.
"Felix" he calls out, without raising his voice much.
You don't have to wait long.
Felix appears from the other side of the bar. He’s in black again, but this time his sleeves are rolled up, revealing wrists covered in rings and bracelets. The neon highlights his light hair; his eyes seem darker with the room so crowded.
When he sees you, he freezes.
Just for a second.
Then, the dimple in his cheek appears, but the smile isn't exactly calm. It’s something between relief, concern, and... something that looks a lot like "I knew it."
"I thought you wouldn't come back" he says, resting his tablet on the bar.
“I thought you wouldn't come back” but his eyes say: “I knew you would.”
"Me too" you mutter. "But here I am."
The bouncer snorts.
"Found her at the door" he explains bluntly. "With your coat. And smelling like a human all the way to the ceiling."
Felix shoots him a look.
"Changbin…"
"What?" Changbin raises his hands, looking far from apologetic. "I'm not the one bringing souvenirs home."
Felix sighs.
"Thanks, Bin. You can go back to scaring people who actually deserve it now."
Changbin looks at you one last time, as if memorizing your face out of pure distrust.
"If anyone bothers you, find m," he says curtly. "And if you get into trouble, find me too. Don't scream. Don't run. Don't accept weird drinks."
"I think I’ve heard something like that already" you respond, feeling a bit overwhelmed.
He nods, satisfied, and disappears into the crowd.
You’re left standing in front of Felix by the bar, not quite knowing what to do with your hands. Finally, you tug gently at the coat.
"I came to give this back" you say.
He leans his elbows on the bar, drawing a little closer.
"You didn’t have to come in person for that" he responds. "You could have thrown it away, sold it, burned it..."
His gaze softens a bit.
"...forgotten it."
"I didn't want to" you admit.
He studies you for a second, as if that confession seemed more dangerous to him than anything else.
"Is it just about the coat?" he asks, point-blank.
You could lie. Say yes, that was all. That you wanted to be polite, close the chapter, the end.
"No" you say.
Felix smiles with a sincerity that almost disarms you.
"I figured as much."
He leans in a little further, lowering his voice so you have to draw closer if you want to hear him over the music.
"Chan is busy right now" he remarks. "A meeting. Extra work. Boring stuff."
You translate mentally: other clans, other monsters, other decisions.
"So you’re... 'free'?" you ask, half-serious, half-joking.
"So I can talk to you without him dragging me upstairs" he corrects, amused. "Do you want something?"
The word makes you a little tense.
"Something… to drink?" you clarify.
"Water" he responds without hesitation. "Or coffee. Or whatever you ask for, as long as it comes from me."
You remember the first night, his warning. You feel a small prickle of nerves, but you nod.
"Water is fine."
As he turns to pour it, you realize something: deep down, a part of you believes he knew you’d come back. That maybe he has watched the door every night, waiting to see that coat you’re now holding out to him walk back in.
When he hands you the glass, his fingers brush yours. Cold, just like the last time. But you don’t flinch as much anymore.
"You took your time" he says, simply.
"I had… things to think about" you respond.
Felix tilts his head.
"About me?" he asks, cheeky, but with a shy glint in his eyes.
"About the story" you correct him. "But you’re the reason it exists, so..."
He laughs, low.
"The writer has returned to her field of research" he summarizes. "Dangerous."
You were about to say something when a familiar, sing-song voice interjects between the two of you.
"Look, look, look what we have here."
Hyunjin appears at your side, leaning against the bar with an almost theatrical elegance. He’s wearing a black shirt, a couple of long necklaces, and a blazer that looks like it’s fresh off a magazine cover. His hair falls perfectly over one side of his face, his lips curved into an intrigued smile.
His eyes take the same path they did the first time: from your face to the coat, from the coat to your neck.
"The girl from the rainy Tuesday" he says, as if it were a title. "I thought you’d be lost forever."
"She has a better sense of direction than it seems" Felix responds, without much enthusiasm. "Hyunjin, behave."
"When do I not?" Hyunjin laughs, ignoring the warning.
He turns toward you, resting his chin on the back of his hand, watching you with open curiosity.
"So, you came back" he remarks. "That’s… brave. Or reckless. Or both."
"I came to return something that isn't mine" you say, lifting the coat slightly. "And to talk."
Hyunjin clicks his tongue, as if your answer amused him.
"Oh, talk all you want, princess."
The word stings.
"Don’t call me that" you respond, instinctively.
His eyebrows arch, delighted.
"Of course, princess."
Felix snorts.
"Hyunjin."
"What? I’m just being polite."
Hyunjin leans a bit closer to you, as if Felix weren't right there. His cologne is intense—sweet, almost cloying. His hand reaches out calmly, long fingers brushing the edge of your chin, tilting it just enough so you’re looking directly at him.
Very, very close, his eyes shift slightly. There’s a glint that isn't human. His gaze drops to your neck for a split second—it's fast, but you notice.
Your heart skips a beat.
Hyunjin smiles as if he had heard that change in your pulse.
"You have a beautiful heartbeat" he whispers, bringing his lips dangerously close to yours—not to kiss you, but to murmur something. "And a scent that is driving half of this place crazy, in case you didn't know."
His breath brushes against your skin.
You tense your shoulders, not backing away but not quite knowing how to react.
Hyunjin’s hand is still holding your chin, his body far too close. You can feel his coldness too, though it’s different from Felix’s: where Felix reminds you of a cold but quiet night, Hyunjin is more like the icy edge of a knife.
"Hyunjin." Felix’s voice cuts through the air, harder this time.
Hyunjin doesn't pull away immediately.
"I’m just looking" he responds, with feigned innocence. "I haven't touched anything except—" he tightens his grip on your chin slightly, forcing you to maintain eye contact "—...her pride."
Your back stiffens.
"Let go of me" you say, clear and without trembling this time.
Hyunjin blinks, as if he didn't expect you to stand your ground so soon. His lips curve even further.
"Ah, she likes to speak up" he murmurs, amused. "I love that."
Felix has already moved.
He rounds the bar with a speed that makes the very air shift. He isn't human, and for a second, you feel it viscerally.
He steps to your side, one hand sliding down to your wrist—not to grip you tightly, but to anchor you to him. The other rests on Hyunjin’s forearm, pushing him away from you with controlled firmness.
"She said to let her go" he says, very slowly.
There is something in his voice you haven't heard before. It isn't his sweet side, or the playful one, or the guilty one. It’s something older, more authoritative, that makes even Hyunjin raise an eyebrow.
Hyunjin pulls his hand away from your chin.
"Easy, Lix" he taunts, though he steps back half a pace. "I was only playing."
"Find another toy" Felix responds, still not letting go of your wrist.
You feel the cold of his fingers, but also the intent behind the gesture: protection. And something else you aren't ready to name just yet.
Hyunjin chuckles under his breath.
"Fine, fine" he concedes, raising his hands. "I don't want Chan giving me another lecture about 'not scaring the special guests.'"
His gaze returns to you for one more second, appraising you.
"Anyway, princess..." he raises his hand, this time without touching you, vaguely pointing to your neck, your chest, as if marking an invisible aura. "Don’t get too comfortable. Down here, you aren't the only one looking for stories."
He winks and drifts away, melting into the crowd as if nothing had happened.
Felix lets out his breath slowly, as if he’d been holding it in. Then he realizes he’s still holding onto you.
He loosens his grip immediately, though he doesn't take a step back.
"I’m sorry" he murmurs. "I shouldn't have… touched you like that."
He shakes his head, frustrated.
"And he shouldn't have gotten that close."
"I can defend myself" you respond, though you’re grateful he stepped in.
"I know" he says. "But you shouldn't have to do it here."
His eyes scan the room. From his position, he seems to see dangers where you only see people laughing, dancing, drinking.
"It’s too crowded" he adds, turning his gaze back to you. "I can’t keep an eye on everything. And especially not… on everyone who has already noticed you."
You cross your arms, feeling stubbornness push its way through your nerves.
"I didn't come here for you to send me home" you respond. "I came to understand what you are, what this place is. To..." you hesitate for a second, but say it anyway, "...to be able to write it."
Felix looks at you, a mix of exasperation and fascination.
"You know that’s a terrible idea, right?"
"Yes" you admit.
"And you’re still here."
"Yes."
He runs a hand through his hair, surrendering just a little.
"You’re more stubborn than you look."
"I’ve been told."
He falls silent for a moment, torn.
The music seems to swell a bit. People approach the bar to order. A couple of gazes lock onto you, curious. A girl whispers something into her companion’s ear, never taking her eyes off you.
Felix turns back to the practical side of things.
"Stay here" he finally says. "On my side of the bar. If you want to talk, we’ll talk. If you want to watch, watch. But don't mingle with the crowd. Don't accept drinks. Don't go upstairs. If anyone gets too close to you, you say my name."
You think about it.
It’s not that you want to be treated like a lost puppy, but… something in his tone makes you realize he isn’t exaggerating for the sake of it.
"Why do you care so much?" you ask.
Felix holds your gaze. The answer flickers across his face before he says it in a low voice:
"Because a part of me knew you were going to come back." He pauses for a brief moment. "And because, since the first time you walked in, everything that beats in here sounds different."
His hand moves in a vague gesture, pointing to his own chest, the club, everything around you.
"I don’t know exactly what you are to them" he adds. "But I know you’re different. And in this world, that puts a target on your back."
The sincerity in his words runs through you like a chill.
"And you?" you ask. "What am I to you?"
Felix smiles, but there’s no mockery this time.
"A problem" he responds softly. "One I don’t know if I want to solve… or keep."
Behind those words lies something neither of you has named yet, but it’s beginning to take shape.
The night presses on. The club breathes, vibrates, roars all around you. Felix moves behind the bar, pouring drinks, exchanging a few words with others, returning to you at every opportunity. He tells you half-truths: jokes about "weird customers," stray facts about the music, fragments of a world he still hasn't fully revealed to you.
You observe. You take mental notes. Every gesture, every look, every detail. Not just of him, but of Hyunjin laughing with someone in the corner, of Changbin discreetly stopping a guy who’s being too pushy, of figures moving with a grace that isn’t human.
And the more you see, the clearer one thing becomes:
This story isn't just material for your pages. It’s starting to become something that is going to pierce right through you.
Jeongin appears behind the bar almost without you noticing.
He has dark hair, soft bangs falling over his forehead, and a shy smile that contrasts with the club's heavy atmosphere. He’s wearing a black T-shirt with the venue’s discreet logo and an apron, as if he’s just come from the back room.
"Hyung" he calls to Felix, leaning in toward him. "Chan told me to send you on a break before you drop dead."
Felix looks up from the drink he’s finishing. He sighs, but he looks grateful.
"Oh, so now he’s worried about my well-being?" he murmurs, half-joking.
"He’s worried you might kill someone from exhaustion" Jeongin responds, half-serious, half-laughing. "Besides, I can handle the bar for a while."
His eyes drift toward you. He watches you with open curiosity, but without the hunger you’ve seen in the others. More… human.
"Hi" he says, tilting his head slightly in greeting. "I’m Jeongin."
You return the greeting, giving your name. Jeongin nods, as if committing it to memory.
"She’s the 'coat girl,' isn't she?" he adds, looking at Felix with a small smile.
"The very one" Felix responds, without taking his eyes off you.
Jeongin slips behind the bar, taking Felix’s place with natural ease.
"Go" he insists. "Before Chan sees you're still down here and makes me cover two shifts."
Felix hesitates for a second. His eyes scan the room, then return to you.
"Do you want to… get out of here for a moment?" he asks. "There’s a quiet room upstairs. It’s not..." he searches for the word, "...it’s not 'for that.' It’s just for resting."
You realize he’s truly asking you. You could say no, stay at the bar, go home. But the noise, the stares, the feeling of being in the middle of too many things you don’t understand… they push you to nod.
"Okay" you respond. "If it’s no trouble."
"The trouble would be leaving you here alone" he says, bluntly.
He steps out from the side of the bar and gestures with his head for you to follow. As he passes, he gives Jeongin a soft pat on the shoulder.
"If anyone asks for me..."
"You're in your coffin" Jeongin responds, without losing his smile.
Felix rolls his eyes.
"We don't have coffins" he mutters, in a voice low enough that only you can hear.
"Yet" Jeongin whispers from behind, amused.
You walk beside Felix toward the back of the venue. You pass through a half-hidden hallway, an unmarked door, a staircase leading up. The music muffles as you ascend; the neon lights are left behind, replaced by a warmer, yellow glow.
The second floor is different. Fewer people. Closed doors on both sides of the hallway. You hear a distant laugh, a murmur, but nothing like the chaos downstairs.
Felix stops in front of a gray door.
He opens it with a small key he pulls from his pocket. He looks inside first, as if making sure of something, and then turns toward you.
"It's empty" he confirms. "Go on in."
You step inside.
It’s a simple room, but strangely cozy: a large sofa against the wall, a couple of armchairs, a low table with water bottles and glasses, a coat rack, a floor lamp casting a soft light. There’s a window with thick, drawn curtains and, on a shelf, a few phone chargers and an open box of cookies.
No coffins. No chains. No clichés.
Just a breakroom.
Felix closes the door behind you. He leaves the keys on the table and takes off his jacket, staying in a black short-sleeved T-shirt that reveals part of his arms. He looks more… normal like this. More like a guy your age, less like a creature of the neon.
He sits in one of the armchairs but doesn't lean back completely. He leaves the sofa for you, though you could sit wherever you liked.
"Make yourself comfortable" he says. "Or as comfortable as you can, considering everything."
You sit on the sofa, turning sideways to see him better.
There are a few seconds of strange silence. Not uncomfortable, just… full of things left unsaid.
Felix decides to break it.
"So," he starts. "Writer."
He looks at you with a small smile.
"What exactly are you writing?"
You toy with the edge of your sleeve for a moment before answering.
"Fantasy" you say. "With romance. Dark romance, I guess."
"That makes sense" he nods. "You come to a club full of elegant monsters. Field research."
"I’m starting to suspect that the 'monsters' part isn't just a metaphor," you respond.
Felix doesn't laugh this time. He simply tilts his head, inviting you to continue.
"You said this place isn't normal" you begin, sorting through your thoughts out loud. "That you aren't like me. There are people who look at me as if I were food. They’ve smelled me. You and Chan have skin that is just as cold. And Hyunjin…" you remember his eyes and his overly sharp smile. "There’s something about him that doesn't fit with anything human I’ve ever known."
You take a deep breath.
"And I’ve read. A lot. Things most people call fiction, but..." you shrug. "There’s always a pattern."
"And what do you think ours is?" Felix asks calmly.
He holds your gaze. He doesn't seem to be mocking you. He isn't trying to distract you, either.
He’s just waiting.
"I want you to tell me yourself" you respond. "But if you're asking what I believe..."
You hesitate for a second. Not because you don't have the word, but because you’re about to say it out loud, and that makes it more real.
"Vampires" you say at last.
The word hangs there between the two of you.
There is no immediate laughter. No "oh, how dramatic." No automatic denial.
Felix goes very still.
His eyes search yours, as if he’s checking how much you truly understand... and how much you can actually handle.
The silence in the room grows heavy.
For a moment, you doubt yourself. You wonder if you’re letting your imagination run away with you, if you’ve confused the details, if you’re projecting every book you’ve ever read onto one strange night.
"Say it" you mutter, almost defiantly. "Tell me I’m crazy. Or tell me I’m right. But don't just sit there in silence."
Felix exhales slowly.
And he doesn't deny it.
"You aren't crazy" he says.
He adds nothing more.
Your heart leaps, so hard you almost feel dizzy. It’s not that you hadn't suspected it, but it’s another thing entirely to hear it confirmed in such a simple way.
Vampires.
The part of you that has spent years reading about impossible creatures, romantic monsters, and hidden worlds, lights up. The other part—the one that has survived in the real world, in small apartments and underpaid jobs—feels… a bit out of place.
You look at your own hands, as if you expected to see something different in them. There isn't. You’re still the same person. Only now, you’re sitting in a breakroom with a vampire who offers you water and lends you coats.
You laugh nervously.
"Right" you mutter. "Great. Perfect. Vampires exist. Of course they do."
You run a hand over your face.
"I guess the next thing you'll tell me is that there are also werewolves, aliens, the Loch Ness Monster..."
"Werewolves are a logistical problem" Felix answers with total seriousness. "We don't like them very much. They’re noisy."
You look at him, narrowing your eyes.
"Are you pulling my leg?"
His half-smile finally appears.
"A little" he admits. "As for the others... I won’t tell you they don't exist. I’ll just say they aren't my specialty."
You shake your head, incredulous, but a genuine laugh escapes you.
"I’ve spent years writing about things like you" you confess. "Tragic, eternal, handsome, existentialist vampires." You point a hand at him. "And it turns out, when I finally meet one, he works in a club, uses a tablet, and makes bad jokes."
"It could be worse" he shoots back. "I could sparkle in the sun."
"Do you sparkle?" you ask, genuinely curious.
Felix leans back a bit in his armchair, crossing his arms.
"No. We don't explode, and we don't instantly burst into flames" he explains. "The sun is annoying, exhausting, but it doesn't kill us. The world changes. So do we."
"Do you show up in photos?" you insist.
"You show up better" he responds, quickly.
You feel the heat rise to your face, despite literally talking to someone who doesn't have normal circulation.
"And in mirrors?" you add, just to distract yourself.
"Yes. We aren't ghosts; we’re just half-dead."
He says it with a matter-of-factness that forces you to remember that, behind the joke, there is something dark.
You bite your lip.
"So..." you recap. "Vampires. In a club. In the middle of the 21st century, with smartphones and Spotify playlists."
"More or less" he nods. "We don't use Spotify much. It spies on us."
A laugh escapes you.
After the brief moment of humor, he looks at you again with more composure.
"You're taking this far too well" he observes. "Most humans panic when the word 'vampire' stops being a joke."
You shrug.
"Maybe I've spent so much time living in made-up worlds that a part of me... always wanted to believe there was something more," you respond. "I’ve always thought that if stories exist, it’s because somewhere, someone saw something they couldn't explain."
"And you want to be that 'someone'" he finishes for you.
"I want to tell it" you say. "But I don't want to die trying, either."
Felix nods, serious.
"That combination is… complicated, but not impossible."
He leans forward a bit, resting his forearms on his knees.
"Listen" he says. "What I’m about to tell you now is like making a deal. It won't be written on paper, but I want you to be clear on it."
You watch him, attentive.
"If you’re going to keep coming here," he continues, "if you’re going to keep writing about this, I need you to promise me something."
"What?"
"That if at any point I tell you to run—" his eyes lock onto yours, more serious than ever "—you run. Even if you don’t understand why. Even if you’re in the middle of a conversation, a perfect scene, a revelation. Even if you're with me."
You think about it. The writer inside you hates the idea of abandoning a good scene. The person inside you… understands that she isn't playing on her own turf.
You nod slowly.
"I promise."
Felix seems to relax a little.
"Good."
A softer silence settles in. You breathe more easily.
He watches you for a moment longer, as if there’s something he wants to say but hasn't quite decided yet.
"Do you want us… to not just exist in your novel?" he asks, finally. "I mean…" he clears his throat, and for the first time, you see him looking a bit nervous. "If we’re going to keep seeing each other, maybe it would be useful to be able to talk outside of this place. In a… setting with fewer fangs."
"Are you asking for my number?" you ask, with a small smile.
"I’m offering you mine" he corrects, pulling out his own phone. "For… emergencies. Or for when you want to ask me questions about 'modern life as the not-quite-dead.'"
"Or for coffee" you add.
"Or so you can watch me pretend to drink coffee" he admits, amused.
He dictates his number, and you save it. You show him the screen so he can see how you’ve listed him: just his name, nothing more.
He does the same with yours.
"I don't usually do this" he admits. "Not with humans."
"I don't usually give my number to vampires I meet in underground clubs, either" you respond. "But I guess we’re both trying new things."
Felix smiles, a genuine one.
"We can meet outside" he says. "In the daylight. Somewhere normal. So you can see that not all my settings are so… dangerous."
The idea makes your stomach do a strange somersault. It isn’t just scientific curiosity. It’s something else.
"I’d like that," you respond.
You imagine it for a second: him, sitting across from you in a bright café, no neons, no loud music. Talking about books, about music, about what it’s like to live too long in a world that keeps changing. And you, taking mental notes of everything—but not just for your novel.
You look at your phone again, then at him.
"Felix" you call out.
"Mm?"
"Did you know I was going to come back?" you ask.
He doesn't play dumb.
"I didn't know" he responds. "But…" he places a hand on his chest, right where his heart would be. "Something in here told me it hadn't ended on a rainy Tuesday."
You laugh softly.
"You and your metaphor," you mutter.
"You and your open endings" he counters.
At that moment, someone knocks softly on the door. A voice—Jeongin’s—drifts in from outside:
"Hyung, the place is filling up again. If you don't get down here, Hyunjin is going to start serving drinks with actual blood just for the hell of it."
Felix huffs.
"I'm coming" he calls back. "Give him a clip round the ear if you see him smiling too much."
Jeongin chuckles on the other side and walks away.
Felix stands up, looking a bit regretful.
"I have to head back to the elegant hell" he says. "But you can stay here for a while if you want. Rest. Process."
You stand up as well.
"I think I've done enough processing for one day" you admit.
He nods, moves toward the door… and stops for a moment to look at you.
"When you get home" he says softly. "Don't write down everything you've seen. Not yet."
"Why?"
"Because some things..." he smiles faintly. "They're better lived for a while before you put a period on them."
In your pocket, your phone feels heavier than usual, as if the number you just saved had altered more than just your contact list.
You have confirmation now: vampires, in a modern era, with clubs, phones, photos, and pretend coffees.
And above all, you have the beginning of something else that isn't just a story: a relationship you’re going to be able to write from the inside, beat by beat, look by look.
You leave almost at the same time as Felix.
When he opens the room's door to head back down, you follow him.
"I think… I’ll be going now, too" you say, smoothing out your coat.
Felix looks at you, as if wanting to make sure you aren't just saying it to follow his lead.
"Are you sure?" he asks. "I can ask Changbin to walk you to the street."
He shakes his head with a small smile.
"He doesn't bite unless he's ordered to."
"I’m fine" you respond, though you appreciate the offer. "Besides, I have a lot of things to write."
He laughs softly.
"That sounds like 'I need to run away before I process everything.'"
"That sounds like 'if I stay in this room alone, I’ll start imagining things even worse than they already are'" you admit.
Felix lowers his voice a bit.
"It’s okay to leave while you’re still the one in charge of the story" he says. "Don’t let this place steal it from you."
You step out into the hallway together. As you head down the stairs, the music begins to swell again bit by bit. It feels slightly less threatening than before, but even so, you feel a sense of relief as you spot the exit.
On the ground floor, Felix stops a few paces from the door leading to the alley.
"Do you know your way home?" he asks, half-joking, half-serious.
"More or less" you respond. "And if I get lost, I’ll send you a very dramatic text."
You lift your phone slightly. He does the same.
"Do it" he says. "Even if it’s just to tell me the coffee you’re drinking is better than the blood I’m stuck with this week."
He walks you to the door. Before you step out, he calls to you softly:
"Hey."
You turn around.
"Thanks for not running away that first night" he says. "Or tonight."
"Thanks for not biting me" you shot back.
He smiles, and for a fleeting moment, he looks like a normal guy at the door of any ordinary bar.
"Goodnight" he whispers.
"Goodnight, Felix."
You step out into the alley. The air outside, though cold, feels lighter. The door closes behind you with a dull click.
This time, as you walk toward the brightly lit avenue, the fear is mixed with something very different: an almost feverish motivation. You have confirmations, details, exact phrases. And, above all, you have his number.
You don't look at your phone that night. You don't write to him yet. You get home, kick off your shoes, pour yourself something hot, and open your novel's file. The words flow better now. You don't have to imagine as much anymore; you only have to remember.
A couple of days later, the need to see him outside of that environment becomes too strong.
You’ve made progress on the story, but you realize everything is still orbiting the club. The red lights, the bar, the contained danger. You’re missing another angle: him in the normal world.
You open the chat with his name.
You spend a moment staring at the blank screen.
"Hi" seems too simple for someone who revealed he’s a vampire.
You write:
Hey. I have an indecent proposal: coffee and books. On neutral-neutral ground.
You look at it, delete it, rewrite it without the emoji. You send it before you can talk yourself out of it.
The message goes through. The seconds of waiting feel like hours.
A short while later, the screen lights up.
That sounds like the best kind of dangerous proposal. When and where?
You smile to yourself.
You send him the address of a café-bookstore you discovered recently. Small, cozy, with packed bookshelves and wooden tables. One of those places you could stay in forever.
The day after tomorrow, 4:00 PM. Feel free to pretend you're drinking something.
He responds almost instantly:
Perfect. I’ll look as "human" as possible. I can't promise I won't scare a few books, though.
The day of the meeting dawns sunny.
The streets are filled with clear light and sharp, well-defined shadows. The kind of day that, until a week ago, you would have never associated with the word "vampire."
You arrive at the café-bookstore a little ahead of time. The interior smells of freshly ground coffee, old paper, and varnished wood. There are bookshelves reaching almost to the ceiling, small tables, and warm lamps. A thread of soft music plays in the background.
You order something for yourself, find a table by a bookshelf, and sit down. You take out a book and open it to the page where you last left off. You try to actually read, but every time the bell over the door chimes, your eyes look up.
The third or fourth time it rings, you feel him even before you see him.
The atmosphere shifts slightly, as if a colder draft has slipped in with the street air. The bell chimes, and when you look up, everything seems to move in slow motion.
There, in the entrance, stands Felix.
No red lights, no neons.
His light hair is pulled back into a messy low ponytail, with a few stray strands framing his face. Dark sunglasses hide his eyes, though you guess he’s wearing them more for protection from the light than for fashion. He’s dressed in a simple white T-shirt, a blue denim jacket, black trousers, and sneakers. A silver chain peeks out over the fabric; a few bracelets shimmer on his wrists.
He looks… normal. Too normal for what you know he is.
And yet, the air around him has that something different. A couple of people look at him as he enters without knowing why, as if something about him automatically draws the eye.
You’re completely spellbound.
You watch him take off his glasses for a moment so his eyes can adjust to the dim interior. As soon as he does, you see his pupils contract slightly from the light streaming through the windows. He blinks slowly, scanning the room.
He’s looking for you.
You raise a hand, hesitantly, to give him a small wave.
When his eyes find yours, time snaps back to its normal speed. A smile softens his face—the one you already recognize: the dimple, the corner of his mouth that lifts a bit more on one side.
He puts his glasses back on, but he’s already walking straight toward you.
With every step he takes, you become more aware of your own body. Of your hands on the book, of your breathing, of the absurd fact that you’ve gotten nervous to have coffee with someone who… technically doesn't need it.
He stops in front of the table.
"Hi" he says, and his deep voice fits strangely but perfectly in such a bright space.
"Hi" you respond, marking your page in the book without taking your eyes off him for long.
He gestures to the chair across from you.
"May I?"
"Of course."
He sits down, places his phone on the table, and leans his elbows forward with practiced casualness.
"This place..." He looks around with genuine interest. "It suits you perfectly."
"Because of the writer thing?" you ask, smiling.
"Because of the old soul thing" he responds. "A café, books, soft music, warm light... very 'don't talk to me, I'm reading, but actually I'm analyzing the world.'"
"I didn't know I was that transparent" you mutter.
"I’ve seen you observing at my club as if you were filming a documentary" he shrugs. "Here, you’ve simply changed the wildlife."
A waitress approaches. Felix looks up.
"Do you want anything?" you ask.
"I’ll order something just to blend in" he whispers. "I don't want to spook the staff by not touching a single cup."
In the end, he orders an Americano. The waitress scribbles it down without suspecting a thing, lingering a bit longer than usual as she smiles at him. You notice and roll your eyes to yourself.
"See" you mutter once she leaves. "Outside of your club, you look like… a normal person. If I didn't know what you were, I wouldn't suspect a thing."
Felix tilts his head.
"Is that a compliment or a complaint?" he asks.
"An observation" you respond. "A rather unfair one, by the way."
He raises an eyebrow.
"Why?"
"Because there are people much more dangerous than you with 'friendly neighbor' faces" you say. "And yet, you…" You take a good look at him. "You don't look like you’re going to kill anyone. Especially not with a coffee sitting in front of you."
"Coffee creates a good image" he nods. "Even if I can't appreciate its flavor as much as you do."
"Can't you eat anything?" you ask, curious.
Felix takes a second before answering.
"We can" he explains. "The body adapts. But it doesn't truly nourish us. It’s like…" He searches for a comparison. "Like if you were to eat cotton candy. Full of nothing. Pretty, sweet, but you can't live off it."
"And the..." You lower your voice, looking around out of habit even though no one is listening, "...blood would be the equivalent of a real meal."
"A heavy dinner, yeah" he says, maintaining his calm tone. "But we’re not going to talk about that while you’re trying to enjoy your latte."
The waitress returns with the drinks. She sets down your cup and, in front of Felix, the steaming black coffee. He gives her a polite smile.
"Thank you."
Once she leaves, he looks down at the cup.
"I can drink it" he says. "I just won’t... enjoy it as much as you do."
"I can help you fake it" you offer. "Make comments like, 'Oh, this is so good.'"
"That would just make me look like an even worse impostor" he laughs.
For a while, the conversation drifts toward lighter topics: the neighborhood, the café, books you love, the music he plays at the club. Slowly, the initial nervousness transforms into something warmer.
But even as you talk about seemingly normal things, you notice details.
Every time you get excited and start talking faster, his gaze loses focus for a split second. It’s very subtle, but it’s there.
"What is it?" you ask, noticing one of those moments.
He blinks, as if returning from somewhere else.
"Nothing" he smiles softly. "It’s just... when you get worked up, your heart does strange things."
You flush.
"Are you listening to it?" you whisper.
"It’s hard not to" he admits, without any predatory intent. "For us, it’s like… well, imagine trying to read in a place with a massive, blown-out speaker blaring right next to you. It’s just there. You can’t ignore it."
You look down at your cup, feeling the very blood beneath your skin.
"Does it bother you?" you ask, sincere.
"It distracts me" he responds. "But it isn’t… unpleasant."
He catches your gaze a second longer than necessary.
"It’s nice" he adds, almost in passing.
You bite the inside of your cheek to keep your smile from becoming too obvious.
Between sips, you realize something important: outside of the club, Felix looks younger. He talks about shows, apps, the kind of nonsense any guy might comment on. He jokes that social media filters are an insult to someone "who is already naturally pale." He shows you photos on his phone: the view from the rooftop where he lives, stray cats that seem to follow him, a screenshot of a playlist.
He’s a vampire, yes. But he’s also a guy who has learned to live in the 21st century.
And that, somehow, makes him more dangerous to you.
Because it’s no longer just a fascination with the supernatural. It’s attraction, plain and simple, for the person sitting in front of you: for the way he leans back in his chair, for how a stray lock of hair falls over his forehead, for the curve of his smile when you actually manage to make him laugh.
Your body can feel it.
The skin on your arms prickles as he leans a bit further over the table. Your stomach knots when his fingers brush yours as he passes the sugar, "just in case you want more." Every sentence he speaks, every gaze he holds for a second too long, stirs something in you that has nothing to do with research for your novel—and everything to do with the fact that you like him.
More than is reasonable for how little time you’ve known him.
In a quiet moment, while he distractedly stirs his nearly untouched coffee with a spoon, you find yourself saying it:
"It’s strange."
"What is?" he asks, looking up.
"Seeing you here" you respond. "With daylight streaming through the window, with normal people passing by behind you..." You wave a hand around. "And thinking that if I didn't know any better, I’d never imagine you’re a vampire."
Felix rests his cheek on his hand, watching you.
"And does that reassure you... or does it scare you more?" he wants to know.
You think about it.
"I think the idea of how many monsters can look normal scares me more in general" you say. "But you, here..." You take a good look at him. "You make me wonder if you’re a monster at all, or just someone with a strange kind of hunger."
He laughs, low and soft.
“I strive for it to be the latter” he says. “At least with you.”
His words touch you more than they should. You notice it in the way your heart starts doing “weird things” again, according to his criteria.
“I don’t know if that’s a good thing for me” you murmur.
“I don’t know if it is for me either” he responds with disarming honesty.
You both remain silent for a moment, looking at each other over your mugs. People around you are reading, talking in low voices, typing on their laptops. Nobody knows that, at this table, a human and a vampire are starting something that neither of them knows how to name yet.
But you do know one thing: every word, every gesture, every heartbeat you share with him in this “normal” environment feeds both your novel and that silent attraction growing—slowly but steadily—inside you.
The afternoon at the cafe ends with small details that stay etched in your mind.
Felix leans over the table more than once to read the title of the book in your hands, his shoulder brushing yours. When he shows you a photo on his phone, his fingers briefly graze yours as he turns the screen. Every contact is minimal, but in your body, it feels amplified.
You leave the place together.
Outside, the sun sets slowly, staining the buildings orange. Felix puts his sunglasses back on, adjusting them with an automatic gesture.
“Does it bother you that much?” you ask, pointing toward the sky.
“It’s not dramatic” he responds. “Just… uncomfortable. Like someone turning on all the stage lights when you don’t have a script.”
“You prefer the night” you state, more than ask.
“Always” he admits.
He walks you to the subway station. The goodbye is brief but charged: a smile, a “let me know when you get home,” a “don’t go into any weird alleys without me.” You walk away with the distinct feeling that the line between “research” and a “date” has begun to blur.
Days pass, and meeting up becomes a habit.
Sometimes it’s another afternoon of coffee and books.
Others, a quick visit to a small bookstore where he gets lost staring at antique spines while you pretend you aren't watching him more than the books.
Other times, it’s messages that stretch into the early hours of the morning.
How’s the novel going?
Your vampire character is unbearable.
Handsome?
Unfortunately.
Faithfully based on a true story.
You start saving screenshots of some conversations, like private scenes you don't want to lose.
And, little by little, a new routine settles in: on the nights you go to the club, he walks you afterward to the door of your building.
The streets at night belong to him.
It’s something you realize during one of those walks.
There aren't many people—just streetlights, a distant car, the sound of your footsteps. Felix walks beside you with his hands in his pockets, relaxed in a way you hadn't seen under the cafe lights.
He knows every corner, every shortcut, every alley you should avoid. He doesn’t check Google Maps; he doesn’t hesitate. And, above all, he seems to fit into the darkness as if it were his native language.
You turn slightly toward him as you walk.
“By day, you look... out of place” you say thoughtfully. “Like you’re on a borrowed stage. But at night...”
He looks at you sideways, an eyebrow raised.
“At night, what?”
You search for the words.
“It’s like you own the streets” you murmur. “You walk as if nothing could hurt you. As if all of this were… yours.”
Felix laughs softly.
“The night is the only thing that’s always been constant” he explains. “Everything else changes: the music, the clothes, the buildings, the languages… But the darkness has felt the same for centuries. It’s… familiar.”
You imagine him centuries ago, walking along cobblestone streets with that same calm, under lanterns instead of neon signs. That image sends a strange mix of fear and fascination through you.
“It suits you” you admit.
“The night?”
“Being a creature of the night” you clarify. “But…” you add, glancing at him, “afternoon coffee suits you, too.”
He smiles, showing that half-dimple you’ve come to know.
“You’re making me far too human in your notes” he jokes. “The other vampires are going to be offended.”
It’s during these walks that your body betrays you more and more.
You realize you tense up when he gets too close to dodge a group of people; that your breathing quickens when he leans toward you to speak closer because the street is noisy; that your skin catches fire when his hand brushes your lower back while crossing a street.
And he notices.
He always notices.
He doesn’t say it at first, but you see it in small gestures: the way he suddenly stands still, staring at a spot on the ground until your breathing calms down; how he makes a silly comment when he sees you’ve become too nervous, just to ease the tension.
Until one night, he decides not to hide it.
It’s late. You’re coming from the club; you didn't stay long, just enough to gather some information, watch Hyunjin try to be charming once again (and Felix set boundaries without a single word), and wave at Changbin and Jeongin from afar.
The temperature has dropped. A light mist of breath escapes every time you exhale. Felix walks beside you, as always, but he seems quieter than usual.
“You were distracted today” he remarks—not as an accusation, just an observation.
“Thoughtful” you correct him.
“It’s not the same thing.”
“And what was I thinking about, according to you?” you ask, half-amused.
He shrugs a shoulder.
“Many things at once. About me, about your novel, about whether you’re doing something dangerous, about whether you should stop coming… and about how you don't want to stop coming” he responds, as if reading from a list.
You bite your lip.
“You think a lot of yourself” you respond, but you don't deny it.
You turn the corner of your street. The streetlights create small circles of yellow light on the asphalt.
You reach the door of your building. You stop, as always, turning toward him.
“This is it” you say. “Thanks for walking me again.”
“Always” he answers, already automatic.
You usually say goodbye with a “goodnight” and a wave, but this time, as you’re about to take a step back toward your building's door, you feel something.
Felix pulls gently on the sleeve of your coat.
It’s not rough. It’s restrained. But it's enough to stop you.
You turn, puzzled.
“What is it?”
He takes a step toward you. The distance between you narrows—slowly, but clearly. You can smell his cologne, something faint that always smells like clean night and sweet metal.
Your pulse quickens instantly.
“Wait a moment” he asks in a low voice.
You swallow hard.
“Felix…” you whisper. “What are you doing?”
His eyes scan your face, focused.
“I just want to check something” he responds.
He takes another step. Now he is very close to you. Your back almost brushes the building's door. The street noise seems to fade away a little.
You notice every detail: the way his bangs fall over his forehead, the glint in his eyes under the streetlight, the slow rise and fall of his chest.
Your heart, on the other hand, is racing.
“Check what?” you ask, your voice barely a thread.
One corner of his mouth curves, but his eyes remain serious.
“This.”
He brings his hand closer, carefully, and rests it flat against your sternum, between your collarbones, without pressing. His palm is cold, but the spot where he touches you burns.
You have the feeling that if he leaned in just a little more, you could count his eyelashes.
“Every time I get close” he murmurs, “it beats faster.”
Your breath hitches. You don’t know where to put your hands; you end up gripping the edge of his coat slightly, as if your body were reaching for an anchor.
“That’s… normal” you try to say. “You’re… too close.”
“I’m just as close as I’ve been many other times at the club” he responds, without moving. “But there, there’s music, voices, other distractions. Here…” he looks around. “It’s just you. And me. And this.”
His hand remains on your chest, feeling every beat of your heart as if it were his own.
“And it’s not fear” he adds in a whisper. “It’s not the rhythm of someone who just wants to run away.”
You look at him, feeling the flush rise to your face. You are so close that you could almost notice the outline of his fangs if he spoke just a little louder.
“Then what is it?” you ask, challenging yourself.
His eyes drop to your mouth for a second, then flicker back up to yours.
“That’s the question I’m asking you” he says. “You.”
You swallow the words you were about to throw out as a joke. Because it’s not funny anymore. It’s no longer just fascination with a vampire.
You know it.
You’ve been knowing it for days, but in this moment—with his hand over your heart and the night closing in around you both—it becomes impossible to ignore.
You like him.
Not just as a character, not just as a source of inspiration, not just as a supernatural rarity. You like him as a guy. As a person. As something you want to have close, even if that means accepting everything else that comes with him.
And he knows it.
He feels it in every racing heartbeat beneath his fingers.
He stays quiet for a second longer, watching you as if he’s waiting for you to reach that conclusion out loud. You don’t say it yet. You can’t. You lack the breath, the courage, the time.
He notices the mix of things in your expression: nerves, attraction, a few too many stuck words.
He pulls his hand away slowly, as if it costs him.
He takes a half-step back, giving you back some of your personal space. He takes a deep breath, as if he also needs to compose himself.
“I’ll… check again another day” he says, with a faint smile that doesn’t quite hide the tension of the moment. “I don’t want you to think I’m abusing my heart-rate monitor powers.”
A nervous laugh escapes you.
“You’re worse than a smartwatch” you respond.
“Much more expensive,” he jokes, lightening the load.
Things slowly return to their usual tone. But nothing is exactly the same. That moment has left something suspended between you—something you both know is there, even if neither of you names it yet.
“Goodnight” he says, taking a definitive step back.
“Goodnight” you reply, your voice still a bit shaky.
You open the building door. Before going inside, you turn around one last time.
Felix is where he always is, on the sidewalk, hands in his pockets, his silhouette silhouetted against the darkness. But now you know he isn't just listening to the sounds of the night.
He has also learned, by heart, the rhythm of your heart.
And you are starting to accept that this rhythm, more and more, quickens because of him.
During the week, the club feels like a different place.
Felix texted you that morning:
We’re opening late today. If you want to see the club without the "social monsters," come around 6:00 PM. I promise a private tour and zero Hyunjin.
You accepted almost without thinking. The idea of seeing that place without the noise, without the people, without the mask of dark glamour… it intrigues you too much.
You finish what you have to do that day ahead of schedule, and you surprise yourself by arriving a bit earlier than planned. The sky is still bright; the street is quiet. The metallic symbol above the club door glows dull in the afternoon light.
You push the door open.
Inside, the dimness is softer. There is no music. The lights are in standby mode: a few lamps on, the bar tidy, the tables empty. The echo of your footsteps resonates more than usual.
And, amidst that relative silence, you hear something.
summary: you were perfectly capable to take care of yourself. but when you find out you're suddenly being hunted, you're sent Seo Changbin. you didn't except him to invade your life as much as he did, but you're thankful all the same.
wc: 5.3K
cw: blood, assault, murder, alcohol, drugs, guns, fighting
a/n: hehe my babyboy i love him
masterlist ... event masterlist
Changbin dropped his phone on the dashboard, retrieving his gun from it's holster to inspect it.
"How do we even know she's going to come with me?" Changbin asks.
Through the phone, Chris' voice rings through, "she's with us."
"What?" Changbin picks the phone back up.
"Yunho's been feeding us information for years. Y/N kept in contact with us after her brother died," Chris informs. There's movement on the other end, "My guess is that The Chois probably found out, so they're after her." He sighs deeply, "I've spoken to her. She's expecting you."
"Right," Changbin holsters his gun again and fishes his jacket from the passenger seat. "And I'm supposed to just walk into Seoul's busiest club and walk out with the owner?"
"Yep," Chris responds, "call me when it's done," and then the line goes dead.
Changbin sighs, sliding his gaze outside to the exterior of the club. A tall bouncer stands at the door, moving the rope to allow visitors and turning away others.
He adjusts his jacket to hide his weapons, taking long strides up to the door. He pulls a card from his pocket and hands it over to the bouncer, weaving his way through the door and into the club.
The music was loud as always, people filing in and buying drinks. You're sat in your office, massive window looking over the establishment.
There's piles of cash on your table, begging to be sorted through. Instead, there's a man sat in front of you.
"Remind me who you are?" You question.
"Humin." He responds.
"Ma'am," you still, "address me properly."
"My apologies ma'am," he bows his head.
"So I've been told that your business is no longer operating."
"We couldn't keep up the demand ma'am," he's quick to say, "we don't just supply to you any more."
"And why am I finding out now? You want me to believe this just..." you lean forward on the table, "happened?"
"It's a risky business ma'am-"
You laugh loud enough to miss the end of his sentence, "yes I'm aware. You're a dealer. A supplier." You stand from your desk and walk towards the window overlooking your club, "and those people down there... they rely on you."
"Ma'am-"
"We have a deal you and I," you turn back around, leaning your back against the glass, "you supply, I sell, both our incomes became untraceable and clean. I help you, you help me."
"I understand that." He tries.
"What is it you need? More men? A bigger warehouse? Name it Humin."
He's clearly taken aback. "I... I um... both ma'am. We're in need of both."
"Very well," you kick off from the glass and turn to one of your associates, "see to it that the downtown warehouse be emptied for Humin and his men," you sit at your desk again, "and as for more workers..." you kick your feet up on the table, "well there are a few here that are starting to piss me off... Sammy?" You tilt your head back to a different associate, "get me that employee list will you? I think it's time for transfers."
"Thank you ma'am," Humin bows his head.
"It's no trouble Humin." You take the glass from your desk and swallow the rest of your liquor down, "but let's make this clear. This is still my business. You may call the shots down at that warehouse, but at the end of the day, it's my patronage that keeps you there. You'll do well to remind your other clients of that too."
"Of course ma'am," he rises from his seat, "thank you for your time."
You finish the conversation with a wave of your hand, shoo-ing him out of your office.
Sammy returns shortly with your full employee list. Yes, for your main club Euphoria, but also for it's sister location Bliss in the town over. It also includes the names of the employees in the business you own as a silent investor.
You remove your feet from the table and swipe a highlighter from the desk.
"Ugh," you groan, highlighting the first few names, "they do nothing but complain..." your eyes travel down the list, reading each name and highlighting many. You mutter to yourself as you go, "don't know you... don't know you... you're an asshole..."
"Boss," a voice calls from the door, "The Kid is here."
You look up and nod your head, "well let him in."
You're back to highlighting, ignoring the footsteps that enter the room.
"Weapons on the table," you call, not looking up to greet him. He doesn't move. You look up.
The man before you was far from what you expected. All the bodyguards you had hired over the years were bald and brutish. But this man was sturdy and handsome. Slicked back hair, neat traditional suit. His eyes were dark and watching you closely, a stoic expression on his face. But there was one thing that caught your eye the most.
"You're short," you point out, head turned back down to the page.
"Excuse me?" His voice is deep and offended. It sends a chill down your spine.
"Most bodyguards are like giants," you glance back up, making a point to flick your gaze up and down his figure, "you're not exactly average." You turn back to highlighting.
"I'm average height," he protests, walking over to the table and placing his guns on the wood. He unsheathes three daggers which clatter down besides them. "And I'm perfectly capable of protecting you."
"I'd hope so," you laugh, "though I never said you couldn't."
"We need to be at the hotel in 3 hours," he points out, "are you packed?"
"Mmhm," you finishing highlighting a few lines, "just finishing a few things up. Take a seat, it won't be too long."
And he does. He seats in the chair across from your desk, back leaning hard against the fabric, legs naturally spreading apart. You have to fight to keep your eyes on the pages.
He looks around your office, surveying the area.
"What's your name again?" You ask, capping the highlighter.
"Changbin."
"Ah that's right," you rise and call for your associate, "how many people have you transferred?"
"What?"
It's Sammy that wanders over, large duffle in hand and places it on the desk. You turn and hand her the sheet, "see to it that these people are transferred to the new warehouse. Any of them that wish not to go can be fired." You start shoving the piles of money into the bag, looking back up to continue your conversation with Changbin, "I mean how many people have you travelled across the country to kidnap?"
"I'm not kidnapping you."
"Pretty much the same," you zip the back up, "the question still remains, how many jobs like this have you been hired for?"
He swallows and adjusts in his seat, "this is the first."
You stop moving, "well that's certainly comforting," you move across your office.
You reach the painting on the far wall, pulling it out and revealing a large safe behind it. You input the numbers, and the safe beeps.
"I can assure you I am more than able to carry out this mission," Changbin stands, "even though this is my first job of this nature I can assure you that I have had the adequate training for it."
"You use that word alot," you turn and face him, "you're 'assuring' me but the more you do it, the less faith I have. You shouldn't need to 'assure' me with that word, you just need to prove it to me."
"Boss," one of your men burst through the door and rush over to your window, "he's back."
"Who?" You rush over and look down.
In the crowd, a face you could pick out among many. Gorilla. The man has been after your businesses since you took over from your brother Yunho when he died.
He worked with your brother for years. They often co-owned businesses together. Never was a decision made by just one of them.
Yet Gorilla had bigger plans. He got greedy, as people often do in such businesses, and left Yunho next to nothing.
But the short of it is this. Your brothers business, Euphoria, thrived enough to open a second location and made it possible for him and now you to invest in other businesses. Gorillas have not done well. It bleeds his pockets more than it fills them.
Even though Yunho made his will very clear, that all his assets, including his businesses were to be given to you upon his death, Gorilla believe he is owed something.
"He won't try anything," you mention, watching him work his way up to the bar.
"Ma'am," the man turns to you, "that new client we picked up was his old one."
"What?" You turn to him, "why the fuck am I finding out about this now?"
You rush over to the corner of your office, swiping your packed bag from the couch.
"Sorry Boss we thought you knew."
"You think I would have stolen his clients if I knew they were his?" You breathe heavy, "anyone else is fine. We are big enough to fight them. But Gorilla..." you still, turning to Changbin who listens with a keen ear before flicking back over to the man, "he fights dirty. He's going to come at me with everything he's got."
At that, Changbin swipes all his weapons back up from the table, leaving one handgun tightly in place in his palm. "Alright," he commands, "time to go."
"Yes, I think that's wise," you turn back to Sammy, "you're in charge until I return. Only keep things running. No decisions made without me. Call if you need."
Sammy nods her head, "yes ma'am. Be safe."
"I will."
The hallway outside your office is more of a small metal staircase. It provides little cover for quiet escapes.
"Stay behind me," Changbin commands.
"No I was going to go see if he wanted a drink," you quip back.
Changbin stops and turns to shoot you a warning glare.
"Sorry," you mutter and he turns back around, "I talk a lot when I'm nervous," you admit.
"I gathered," he huffs, peaking around the corner at the bottom of the stairs. He turns his head back and forth. "You got a back door here somewhere?"
"To the right, leads into the back alley."
"Perfect," he steps out into the hallway, pointing his gun down the left side. He cocks his head back to beckon you further into the hallway. You step out, ducking slightly out of instinct, using Changbins wide frame to hide behind.
"Lead the way," he orders, gun still pointing in the opposite direction, "I've got your back."
His voice is soft when he says it, dripping in sweetness and genuine care. There's a wave that washes over your heart, making you feel safer and well-cared for. The nerves of being hunted, the fear you hide behind humour; it fades with just those four words. I've got your back.
You begin the walk towards the back door, Changbin a permanent presence behind you. You reach it in no time, hand extending towards the handle.
"Woah slow down Princess," he moves in front of you, hands on your shoulders to push you aside. He does it with such ease.
The combination of the nickname and the demonstration of his strength is a gesture that sends you reeling; heart flipping and stomach churning.
He reaches for the handle and peeks out.
"Stay here," he whispers, moving to leave.
"Where are you going?" You whisper back, panic dripping from your voice.
He chuckles slightly, "I'm going to pull the car around. I'll be right back. Nobody's going to hurt you okay?"
He looks at you straight on for the first time, eyes boring deep into yours, waiting for any indication of approval.
Despite just meeting this man, there is something that tells you to trust him. And you do. So you nod, and he disappears out of the door.
The hallway is silent, bar the distant bass of the club music playing. You keep your back against the wall and stay on high alert. Every foreign sound, every creak of a floorboard, you're tuned into and prepared to face.
The door opens and you jump, expecting your hunter to enter.
Instead, it's Changbin, who has noticed your demeanour change.
"What took you so long?" You ask, but allow yourself to be pulled away by his hand gripping your wrist.
"There's a lot of people around love," he chuckles, "but I'm here now."
He leads you towards the sleek black vehicle parked in the alleyway. He moves around you to open the door, trying quickly to usher you inside.
As you turn your body to step him, a shadowy figure behind Changbin catches your eye. You pause, squint and the outline is familiar. Gorilla.
"Watch out!" You shout, pushing Changbin away from you at the sound of a gunshot.
It takes him no time to regain his posture and shove you inside the car, slamming the door shut after you. He strips his jackets quickly.
His gun is pointed towards the man, firing shot after shot. Some he dodges and they ping off the brick wall. Others scrap his skin and embed themselves into the flesh.
You watch the scene unfold from the window of the car. Gorilla shoots, Changbin dodges. He lurches forward and swoops his legs. They tumble to the floor.
You try to maneuver yourself see what's happening but it's no use. It's too dark.
A gunshot rings out and your stomach drops.
Nothing happens for a minute. The fighting sounds seize, the alley remains quiet.
You crack the door slightly, considering leaving the car to check. It slams back shut with a bloody hand on the window. A moment later a body rises into view.
It's Changbin.
He swings the door open.
He's bloody and bruised, cuts along his face and into his shirt; now stained red with blood. His lip is bleeding, dripping down his jaw and ducking benneath his collar.
Still, he has the audacity to ask, "are you okay?"
You stare at him, unable to form words. So you nod.
He breathes out, "okay," he nods, "okay." He quietly shuts the door and rounds the car to the driver's seat. He climbs in, situates himself and turns on the car.
He coughs into his hand, a splattering of blood left there. He wipes it on his shirt before his elbow is bumped by your body climbing through into the passengers seat.
"What are you doing?" He looks to you, "it's safer in the back."
"Doesn't feel like it," you mutter, trying to gain some sense of composure. You reach over and buckle your seatbelt, "I'd rather be up front here with you," you look over to him. "You kicked ass out there... consider your skills proven. Now don't let me out of your sight please," you ask and turn back to the front, looking out into the dark alleyway.
He nods, eyes lingering over your form for a moment before buckling his own seatbelt and taking off.
It's nothing fancy. For a rich families like The Kids, it's clear they don't like to splurge on things like hotels.
But it's hidden. It's quaint. It has the necessary utilities.
Changbin insisted on taking your bag for you, which was nice of him. Except now you have nothing to keep your hands busy except the hem of your shirt.
He saunters towards the door labelled 319 and swipes the card. He pushes open the door and lets you in first.
"Thank you," you mutter. You enter the room and take it in. It's clean enough, an upgrade from most motels you're sure. The double bed looks inviting, the single armchair looks slightly less than comfortable and the bathroom looks useable. There's a small table with two chairs by the window. It's certainly not the luxury you're used to, but it will do.
Changbin places your bag on the bench at the bottom of the bed and looks up at you, "I'll be in the room over. 321. Don't leave until I come get you."
"What? When- when will you get me?"
"In the morning," he states, like the fact is obvious.
"Like hell you will!" You protest, "I... you're really going to leave me alone after that?"
He looks around as if someone else is watching this unfold before looking back at you, "you want me to sleep in here with you?"
"Yes." You state.
It's clear he's taken off-guard by the abruptness of it. Still, he fiddles with his own keycard. He nods. "Okay."
You breath out, like the confirmation alone makes you safe.
You watch him look around the room, like he's trying to figure out where exactly he fits into all of this.
You risk a few steps towards him, and the movement catches his eye. He watches you cross the room until you're right in front of him.
"I know basic first aid," you recall, scanning over his face and assessing the injuries more closer. Now that your mind is in the right headspace, you determine they're not major. The one on his cheek might scar. As for the other cuts, with the barrier of his shirt still in the way it's hard to tell.
"I'll be fine," he steps back a little.
"Let me help," you ask. You watch him consider it, shoulders drooping in a near-submissive fashion. Yet he still doesn't speak. "Please," you plead, "I only want to help. You saved me back there. Some of these... if they're not tended to... they could get infected."
He breathes out, "there's a kit in my bag," he nods towards it, "front pocket."
You smile and walk towards the door where he left it. You dig through and pull out the small kit. You take a moment to look inside, taking inventory of what's inside.
Satisfied, you stand and turn back into the room. The sight catches you off guard.
Changbin sits at the armchair, under the glowing sconce on the wall above. His white shirt unbuttoned and hanging open, revealing his torso to you. He's not overly defined, but he is toned. Even through all the blood you can tell his chest is large and you notice the way his breath picks up under your gaze.
You cough and look away, hoping he didn't notice how long you stared for.
You make your way over to the table, pulling one of the chairs over to him. You lay the kit on your lap and start with the alcohol wipes.
"It will sting," you whisper, looking over his injuries to assess which one to tackle first. You start with his face.
The whole time you try to focus on his wounds, you notice his eyes locked into yours. They move when you move, he blinks when you blink. It's like he doesn't want to miss anything.
You try to reach the one on his forehead, but the position you're contorted into is less than ideal.
He notices. Because of course he does. And instead of moving forward, or adjusting himself, he leans down and pulls the bottom of your chair towards him, "here," he whispers.
Your legs encase his. His thigh, large with the fabric pulled taught, rests between your legs like it belongs there.
It takes everything in you not to look down, not to see what position he's handled you into.
"Thank you," you murmur; voice shaky and whispered.
"You're welcome," he whispers back.
You make quick work of his face. He's cleaner now and well-taken care of, minus the few bruises that continue to expand and change colour.
You move to his torso, where thankfully there is only one large cut. Not too serious, but in need of attention.
You clean the area too, and this time he hisses and flinches.
"Sorry," you mutter, pulling away.
"Don't apologise Princess," he manages through clenched teeth, "you're just doing your job."
You dispose of the bloodied cloth and replace it with a bandage. When you look back at him, you try and figure out how to wrap the wound without inconveniencing him.
Instead, you ask, "could you sit up?"
"Mmhm," he hums, doing as you say. The motion pushes his leg further up your thighs. You have to hold in a whine.
"And um..." you feel awkward asking it, "your shirt is um.."
"Oh right," he quickly sheds it.
You struggled to compose yourself. His arms, big, beautiful, fucking massive. You're surprised he doesn't tear every shirt he wears.
Despite yourself you scooch forward and start to unravel the bandage. Out of courtesy he lifts his arms for you, and you mutter a thanks as you start to wrap the bandage around him. Everytime you lean forward to pass the bandage from one hand to another by his back, you're reminded of his size. You can barely pass yourself the bandage, he's so large.
It makes your stomach flutter.
In no time, much to your dismay, you're tucking in the end of the bandage, securing it tight to his body.
"Thank you," he mutters, sitting back on the chair.
"It's okay," you nod, packing up the kit in your lap.
"You should shower," he suggests after you've gotten up to drag the chair back to it's place.
"I stink that much huh?"
He laughs. Like a genuine, laugh, pronounced laugh. It makes you laugh too.
"No," he corrects, "just... it will help you relax. Go shower."
You hum, "okay."
And by the time you're finished, you exit the bathroom to see Changbin setting up to sleep on the armchair.
He's wearing a tight black t-shirt and dark gray sweats. It's far from the suit he wore before, and leaves very little to the imagination.
You crawl into bed before you do something irrational.
"You'll be safe here," he settles into the couch, "that's my job okay? You just get some rest Princess."
"Thanks Bin," you mutter.
The nickname cause a chill down his spine, but he plays it off so you don't notice.
"Night," he mutters.
"Night," you whisper back.
You've woken up to the sound of the tap running.
You blink awake, stretching out your limbs to hopefully rid yourself from the shitty hotel bed ache. When you turn your head, the bathroom door is slightly ajar.
The sight before you nearly makes you choke.
Changbin is stood in front of the mirror, towel hung low on his hips and water droplets sticking to his skin and dripping down. He dries himself the best he can, and wraps a new bandage around his wound the best he can.
You would help him, but you fear you're not strong enough.
He finishes and turns towards the door. On instinct and pur panic, to shut your eyes and pretend to still be asleep. But with nothing else to focus on, your heartbeat thuds loud enough in your ear that you're convinced he can hear it.
When you peek one eye open, you're met with the expanse of his back. Stray droplets fall from his hair and slide perfectly down his back, catching in every crevice of his muscle.
But it doesn't last. He flings a shirt around himself and begins to button it up, swiping his pants from his bag and walking back into the bathroom.
You take this time, with the bathroom door fully shut, to sit up and swing your legs over the bed.
"Morning," his voice is deep and smug. He's back out, tying his tie around his neck. He retrieves his harness and swings it around his chest, buckling himself in. The final touch, an expensive watch to top it off.
"We should get going soon," he's adjusting the strap of his watch, and the vision is heavenly, "don't want to lose too much sunlight."
When he looks up at you, you can see the bruises settled into his face. The cut on his lip drawing your attention there and reminding you how plump his lips are.
"Mmm," you hum, trying to tear your eyes away from him.
"Okay Princess," he smirks, holstering his guns next, "let's get a move on then?"
"Mmm."
The journey is longer than you expected, but his car is comfy enough. You'd kicked you feet up on the dash, head turned to watch the scenery outside.
The car had been relatively silent. Not uncomfortable, just quiet.
"Can I ask you something?" Changbin starts.
"Only if I get a question in return." You smirk.
He laughs, "deal."
"Shoot," you say.
"Ah," he sucks in a breath, "you can't say that word around me."
"Ah," you laugh, "right sorry. Go ahead." You smile.
He waits a moment, like he's crafting the perfect way to ask you.
"You and you're brother have some kind of alliance with us?"
Your smile drops. "You didn't know?"
"Not until I was assigned to you," he flicks his gaze over. His suit jacket sits in the backseat. One hand is up on the steering wheel, the other rests on the centre console.
You hum, "right. Well, yeah, we uh-" you think on how best to tell this story, "you know Choi Sieun?"
"Biggest family in Seoul? Course I do," he chuckles.
"I would argue that you guys are," you breathe out a laugh, "but that's besides the point," you sigh, "he hired my brother when he was 12.. 13? Basically trained him up to take over his business. He couldn't have sons of his own. Anyway, Sieun, by his... generosity," you spit sarcastically, "didn't want to break us up. So he took me in too. He was the furtherest thing from a father figure though," you turn back out of the window, "anyway. Yunho is kind of the only family I have-had," you correct quickly.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be," you shrug, "it's business."
"It's cruel."
You hum in response, choosing to continue your story, "anyway, Sieun got sick of me I guess and cut me off. Yunho didn't like that," you chuckle, "so he started feeding information about The Chois to you guys. It's probably what got him killed."
"Right," he sighs, "were you there?"
"No," you adjust in your seat, "I think it would have broken me."
"I was supposed to be there," he states, "but Chris sent me to Paris."
You laugh and look over to him, "what the fuck were you doing in Paris?"
He hums, "that's top secret Princess."
"You bought it up!" You laugh, "asshole."
He gasps, "I know you didn't just call me an asshole!"
"You heard me," you challenge.
He backs down, instead choosing to laugh it off.
"Still," he breathes, "I'm sorry for your loss."
"Yeah it sucks," you look back to the road, "but it made me who I am. I wouldn't be such a boss ass bitch if he was still here. Plus now i'm fucking loaded."
"You were cowering behind me just last night!" He points out.
You punch his arm slightly, "I was being hunted! Gorilla is a big guy! But I can fight?"
He looks over and quirks an eyebrow, "can you Princess?"
"I can," you nod.
A smirk works its way up at the corners of his mouth and you watch him carefully.
Then he swerves into the shoulder and slows down.
"What are you doing?" You ask.
He unbuckles his belt, "prove it," he opens the door.
He moves to stand in front of the car, staring at you through the windshield. He bounces back and forth on his feet, arms raised and fists clenched. "Come on!" He shouts.
"Unbelievable," you whisper, unbuckling your belt and opening your door.
You're quick to take your stance, fists raised and legs apart.
He's moved you over to the grassy area, watching every breath you take.
He moves closer to you, "just take me down."
You nod, "easy."
He chuckles.
Before you know it, your back hits the ground and Changbin is staring down at you, arms held tight against your body.
Your breath hitches. Yes, because you're caught off guard, but also because of the very handsome man hovering above you.
"Again," he says, and rolls off of you.
Three times in a row he's pinned you to the ground. You're starting to enjoy it, but you enjoy winning much more.
You tuck the strands of hair that have fallen out behind your ears, trying your best to focus in.
He moves, but you move quicker. You grab his wrists and twist.
"Ah!" He shouts out, trying to regain the upper hand.
You take that moment to kick at his knees, and collapse on top of him.
You have him pinned under you, your legs bracketing his torso. You breathe heavy, laughing in his face at your victory.
But his mouth doesn't move. He's staring up at you with eyes that sparkle and a glow on his skin. His breath is heavy.
You feel his hands come up to meet your legs, holding you in place.
"You're beautiful," he mutters.
You swallow.
You can't resist anymore.
You lean down and kiss him. It's sweet like you imagined, but rough where your lips meet his wounds. He cranes his neck up to catch your taste, groaning slightly as you try to pull away.
You manage, immediately spilling over with "I'm sorry. I'm sorry- I shouldn't have-"
The loud popping of a car's engine echoes into the street. Changbin cranes his neck back, catching the sight of the black car. The window rolls down and an arm extends out of it, gun in hand.
"Fuck!" Changbin calls, tossing you off of him quickly. He shields you with his body as the sound of a gunshot rings out. He flinches back. He draws his gun, rising to his feet and shooting at the tires. "In the car," he demands.
"Bin!"
"In the fucking car Y/N!" He yells, walking confidently towards the direction of the car, continuing to shoot at it's tires.
You crawl back over to his car, climbing into the driver's seat and watching, as you did the first night, as Changbin shoots at what you now see is two figures.
He shoots until he can't anymore. Unsheathing a dagger and rushing the larger figure. He tackles him to the ground, slashing at his neck until he's ripped away by the other figure.
You panic. You watch as Changbin fights and struggles against who you now recognise is Gorilla.
You reach over to the glovebox, opening it to hopefully find something. Anything.
Changbin kicks back at the Gorillas legs, causing enough damage to loosen his grip and allow Changbin a moment to escape. He turns and slices at his arm, but is immediately drawn back into a headlock.
Gorilla had swiped his knife, and was pushing into his side. Changbin screams in pain, feeling the sharp end of his own dagger tearing at the flesh between his ribs.
"Drop him," you shout over the chaos. Gun extended out and pointed towards Gorilla.
He laughs, "so the little girl joins us."
"That's your mistake Gorilla," you speak, "you've underestimated me."
Your finger squeezes the trigger and you shoot his shoulder, enough to drop Changbin and fall to the ground.
You rush over, squeezing the trigger again, but nothing fires.
"Shit," you drop the gun and rush to Changbin.
You hoist him up quickly, and he groans under the pain. You start to drag him towards the car, but his legs give out and he grabs at his ribs.
He collapses, and you fall beside him. Hands pressing into the wound on instinct, trying to stop the bleeding. You loosen his harness and start babbling, "it's okay, it's okay, you're going to be okay."
"Princess," he chokes out, hand reaching for yours, "get back in the car. You have to go."
"No," you're pressing harder into his wound, tears brimming at your eyes, "no I'm not leaving you."
"Princess," he chokes again, "please."
You take this moment to look at him properly. His face is have covered in blood, most of it trickling from his mouth. His eyes, bloodshot and watery, pleade with you where his words fall short.
"Fuck," you mutter, bringing a hand up to caress his face, trying to clean the blood away. "Fuck."
"It's okay," he tells you, hand clasping in yours.
You lean down and press a kiss into his lips. His eyes flutter shut.
You take the gun in his holster. You turn and shoot.
You're gripping his hand tightly, not wanting to let go even now.
He's hooked up to too many machines, fluids being pumped into him. A respirator covers his half his face.
Chris sits cross-legged in the armchair across from you.
There's two other men. One scratching at a notepad based on the descriptions you had given. The other, tall and blonde, waiting by the shadowy entrance of the hospital room.
"This," he turns the notepad. You're met with the face of the second attacker. Whoever Gorilla had with him.
You nod.
He shows Chris, "for fucks sake," he shakes his head. "That's Kwan."
"I don't care who he is I want him dead," you state.
"You and me both," Chris stands, "Hyunjin."
The tall man emerges from the shadow, long coat hiding his figure.
Chris takes the notepad and hands it over to the man, "see to it."
Hyunjin takes the pad and looks briefly up at Changbin.
Chris, one hand on the door, looks back, "tell him The Kids send their regards."
hello ! this list contains some of my favourite changbin (stray kids) fanfictions. love love to all the wonderful authors who have created these masterpieces, i'm a fan (seriously). all of them are nsfw so MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.
┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈
⤷ admiration by @bugeater101
⤷ truths are for pussies by @leriexoxo
⤷ hate sex by @dreaming-medium
⤷ gravity between us by @lovecvrexx
⤷ playing dangerous (ft. seungmin) by @ysljoon
⤷ numbing surprise by @seo--changbin
⤷ aniversary treat by @seo--changbin
⤷ mind break by @seo--changbin
⤷ just one more by @ghostlyscripture
⤷ heat waves by @ysljoon
⤷ manhandling by @v3lv3t-th1rst
⤷ dolly vi by @jeonginsleftcheek
⤷ arms by @skzophreniic
⤷ marking by @minniesmutt
⤷ the boy is mine by @ybklix
⤷ work it out by @secretneverland
⤷ hands behind your back by @hwangyeonjun
⤷ hair pulling by @hwangyeonjun
⤷ roommate by @cookiewrites
⤷ say sorry by @cookiewrites
⤷ tighter by @cookiewrites
⤷ needy by @cookiewrites
author's note: please show some love and support to these wonderful authors!
After accidentally walking away with the phone of world famous idol Christopher Bang, you expect a quick return - until distance, bad timing, and unexpected meddling from the other members turn it into a globe-spanning game of phone tag.
Chan x Reader
Strangers to Friends to Lovers, SMAU, Crack, Cursing, slightly suggestive phrasing/names used
✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️
Prologue
(please ignore the mistakes it’s past 1am here and i’m running low so this was not proofread 😭 💔)
Updates on this series might be a bit more leisurely, as i am still also releasing AotL, and Authors Note. I just wanted to get this out as I haven’t posted in a while, nor have I posted a quick and easy read in a minute either. I needed a bit of an escape tonight too so I thought releasing this would be fun. I hope you guys enjoy!
WARNINGS: smut, obsessive intimacy, soft sex (I tried), bin is such a babe, mentions of alcohol, oral (m receiving), dirty talk, fingering, pet names, (hmu if there's more!)
SUMMARY: years of unspoken tension between you and changbin finally crack one quiet night in the studio. almosts, lingering touches, and stolen glances give way to a walk home, a confession, and a night of raw, passionate intimacy- where friendship finally becomes something more.
author’s note ♡ okay, first of all- hi!💗 sooo… this whole thing was actually a request (shoutout to the absolute legend who made me write this), and ngl, I am tired. like, sleep-deprived-but-still-hype tired. so yes, this might be a little rushed in places. maybe there’s a sentence that’s too long, maybe changbin’s feelings are, like… literally exploding everywhere, maybe I cried a little while writing it (don’t judge). basically, please go easy on me, okay? 🥹 but I had so much fun writing this! honestly, the activity itself was such a vibe, and I’m super grateful for the chance to dive into this chaotic, smol, emotional, messy, heart-fluttering world with you all!! anyway, enjoy, blush, maybe scream internally a little- totally valid reactions. thank you for reading, and for letting me make this weird little love chaos happen. you all are the real MVPs.
READ UNDER THE CUT!
it had always been like this with changbin- quiet moments stretched thin until they felt dangerous.
you’d known him for years now, long enough that the comfort was second nature, long enough that the tension shouldn’t have surprised you anymore. and yet, every time you were alone together, it did.
the studio lights were dimmer than usual, the hum of equipment filling the silence the others left behind. you sat on the couch near the mixing desk, legs tucked beneath you, scrolling through lyrics you’d already memorized. changbin stood nearby, arms crossed, watching the screen- but you could tell his focus wasn’t really there.
“you’re staring,” you said lightly, not looking up.
he huffed out a laugh. “you noticed?”
you finally met his eyes, and something shifted. his expression softened, the teasing edge dropping away, replaced by something heavier. the kind of look he only ever gave you when no one else was around. the room felt smaller suddenly, like the air had thickened.
you stood without thinking, closing the distance just enough to feel his warmth. too close to be casual. not close enough to be anything else.
“you ever feel like…” he started, then stopped, jaw tightening. “like there’s stuff we never say?”
your heart kicked hard against your ribs. “all the time.”
the silence that followed was unbearable. his hand lifted slightly, hesitating midair, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to touch you. you could see the internal battle playing out on his face, years of friendship, lines neither of you had crossed, all pressing down at once.
your fingers brushed his wrist. just barely.
he froze.
for a split second, neither of you breathed. his thumb twitched, almost curling around your hand, his gaze flicking down to your lips before snapping back up to your eyes. you leaned in without realizing, drawn by instinct more than intention.
then-
the studio door flew open.
“BRO, YOU WILL NOT BELIEVE- ” felix’s voice cut through the moment like a knife.
you and changbin jumped apart instantly, heat rushing to your face as you turned away far too quickly. changbin cleared his throat, suddenly very interested in the soundboard.
the rest of the boys piled in, loud and chaotic, filling the space with noise and laughter. felix glanced between you and changbin, brow furrowing just slightly- but if he noticed anything, he didn’t say it.
you sank back onto the couch, pulse still racing, replaying that almost in your head.
changbin didn’t look at you again for the rest of the night.
but when everyone finally settled in, you felt it, his knee brushing yours, just once. not an accident.
not a mistake.
it was always like this.
it never happened in big, obvious ways. it was always the quiet moments, the almosts. the way you and changbin would drift toward each other when no one was paying attention, like gravity did the thinking for you. a look held too long. a laugh that softened into something warmer. a conversation that dropped into a hush without either of you meaning it to.
and every single time something pulled you back.
a door swinging open. someone yelling from the hallway. felix bursting in with a grin and zero sense of timing. hyunjin asking a random question. han making noise just to make noise. the spell would break, and you’d both retreat like nothing had happened, slipping back into the safety of friendship.
you’d gotten good at it, too. too good.
you’d laugh it off, take a step back, pretend your heart wasn’t racing. changbin would shove his hands into his pockets, jaw tight, eyes deliberately looking anywhere but at you. and the boys never noticed- not really. or maybe they did, but not enough to say anything.
still, later, when things quieted again, you’d feel it lingering. that unfinished moment hanging between you, heavier each time it got interrupted. like the universe was teasing you both- letting you get close enough to feel it, but never close enough to act on it.
and the worst part?
you were starting to wonder how long you could keep pretending those moments didn’t mean something.
felix dropped down beside you on the couch, the cushions dipping under his weight. without thinking, he slung an arm around your shoulders, pulling you in the easy, familiar way he always did. it felt safe. grounding.
like home.
you barely had time to react before he leaned in, voice low, almost swallowed by the noise in the room.
“you and changbin hyung,” he mumbled, eyes still fixed forward like he wasn’t talking about anything important at all. “you guys do that thing again?”
your stomach flipped.
you felt heat rush straight to your cheeks, and you shifted slightly under his arm, letting out a small, awkward laugh. “what thing?” you asked, even though you knew exactly what he meant.
felix hummed, unconvinced. his grip tightened just a little, protective, teasing. “the look,” he said quietly. “the quiet talking. the weird vibe that happens when everyone leaves.”
you shrugged, playing it off, eyes dropping to your hands. “we were just talking. you’re reading too much into it.”
he finally turned to look at you then, head tilted, that knowing smile tugging at his lips. felix had always been like this- observant in a way that felt almost unfair. he didn’t push, though. he never did.
“mm,” he said softly, clearly not buying it. “if you say so.”
from across the room, changbin laughed at something han said, loud and normal and fine. but for just a second, his eyes flicked over to where you and felix were sitting- felix’s arm still around you, your cheeks still warm.
something unreadable crossed changbin’s face before he looked away again.
felix noticed that too.
he didn’t say anything else, just rested his chin briefly on top of your head, like an older brother who already knew how the story was going to end.
you and felix had always been like this.
from the very beginning, before the group chats, before the late nights in the studio, before everything got complicated, you and felix had found each other first. it was effortless. comfortable in a way that never needed explaining. he was the brother you chose, the one who knew how to read you even when you didn’t say a word.
so when he sat like this, arm loose around your shoulders, it didn’t feel strange at all. it felt normal. it felt safe.
but felix had always known. maybe not from the start, but early enough. he’d noticed the way your attention shifted when changbin walked into a room, the way your voice softened around him without you realizing. he never called you out on it. never teased. never pushed.
instead, he gave you that look.
the quiet one. the I see you look.
the if you ever want to talk about it, I’m here look.
he gave it to you now, just briefly, eyes warm and understanding, before looking away like he hadn’t just cracked you open a little. no pressure. no expectations. just space.
you leaned into him slightly, letting yourself breathe.
across the room, changbin laughed again, but this time, the sound didn’t feel as distant.
and for the first time, you wondered if felix wasn’t just noticing… but waiting.
you stretched your arms up over your head, muscles finally protesting after hours of sitting around. the movement was absentminded, familiar—until you felt the cool air brush your skin as your shirt rode up just a little.
you didn’t need to look to know.
you could feel changbin’s eyes on you, steady and unmistakable. not careless. not obvious. just… there. like he’d been caught off guard and didn’t quite know how to look away fast enough.
the corner of your mouth lifted before you could stop it.
you let your arms fall back down slowly, deliberately unhurried, then glanced over at him. his expression shifted when your eyes met- something soft, something unreadable, before he cleared his throat and looked away like he’d been caught thinking too loudly.
you stood, grabbing your bag. “i think I’m gonna head home,” you said lightly, breaking the moment before it could tip into something dangerous. “you guys should too. it’s late.”
a few groans echoed around the room, half-hearted complaints about five more minutes, but no one really argued.
changbin nodded, still not quite meeting your eyes. “yeah,” he said quietly. “probably a good idea.”
you slung your bag over your shoulder, giving them all a small smile- easy, practiced, hiding everything you didn’t say. as you turned toward the door, you felt it again.
his gaze.
lingering.
like he wanted to say something.
like he almost did.
but you just smiled to yourself and kept walking.
the cold hit you the second you stepped outside. it slipped under your jacket, sharp and biting, making you hunch your shoulders as you started down the sidewalk. the street was quiet at this hour, lights humming softly above you, your breath puffing out in little clouds.
you hadn’t gone more than a few steps when-
“hey- wait!”
your name cut through the night.
you turned just in time to see changbin jogging up behind you, hands shoved into his pockets, breath a little unsteady like he’d rushed out without thinking. the studio door swung shut behind him, the noise from inside fading away.
“it’s freezing,” he said, nodding toward the street like that explained everything. “i can walk you home. if that’s okay.”
there it was. the offer he’d probably been debating all night.
warmth spread through you that had nothing to do with the cold. you smiled, genuine and a little relieved. “yeah,” you said easily. “i’d like that.”
he smiled back—small, but real—and fell into step beside you. your shoulders brushed as you walked, close enough to feel his presence without touching fully. the silence between you wasn’t awkward this time. It felt intentional. like both of you knew this was different from all the other almosts.
the cold no longer bothered you.
and for the first time that night, it felt like no one was going to interrupt.
but the cold only seemed to get worse as you walked, the wind slipping between buildings and biting at your fingers. changbin noticed before you said anything. he slowed a little, then- after a brief hesitation, shifted closer.
“cold?” he asked, already knowing the answer.
“yeah, a bit,” you admitted, rubbing your hands together.
he didn’t say anything else. just quietly reached out and tugged you toward him, draping his arm around your shoulders like it was the most natural thing in the world. his warmth seeped into you instantly, grounding, familiar… different now that it was just the two of you.
you leaned into him without thinking.
the streetlights passed overhead one by one, casting soft shadows across his face. you caught him glancing down at you every so often, like he wanted to say something but didn’t know where to start.
“it’s weird,” he finally said, voice low. “how quiet it gets this late.”
you smiled faintly. “yeah. kinda nice though.”
he hummed in agreement. his thumb shifted slightly against your shoulder, barely a movement, but it sent a spark through you anyway.
you both felt it. you could tell by the way his arm stiffened for half a second before relaxing again.
the rest of the walk home passed more easily than you expected. you laughed along the way, soft and unguarded, trading stories that didn’t really matter just for the excuse to keep talking. changbin teased you about how you always walked too fast when it was cold; you shot back that he complained too much for someone who insisted on coming along. it felt normal. comfortable. like slipping back into an old rhythm that had always been there.
by the time you reached your place, your cheeks hurt from smiling.
you stopped in front of the building, hands tucked into your sleeves, and looked up at him. “um,” you said, a little casually, like it hadn’t taken you all night to decide. “if you’re not busy… you could come in for a bit.”
just the slightest pause.
then changbin smiled- soft, almost relieved. “yeah,” he said easily.
“i’d like that.”
he followed you inside, the door closing behind you with a quiet click that felt louder than it should have.
and suddenly, it was just the two of you again.
you ended up curled together on the couch, close enough that your knees brushed, close enough that moving away would’ve felt intentional. the lights were low, the room warm, the outside cold forgotten. you laughed easily, talking about nothing and everything- old memories, inside jokes, things you’d never quite said out loud before.
you each held a glass of wine, slowly sipping, the conversation drifting in that comfortable way it always did with him. changbin leaned back against the cushions, relaxed, sleeves pushed up, eyes softer than you’d ever seen them. every now and then, his shoulder would bump yours, and neither of you moved to fix it.
at some point, the laughter faded into a quieter calm.
changbin shifted beside you, setting his glass down on the coffee table. he turned toward you, really looked at you this time, like he was weighing something in his head. his arm rested along the back of the couch behind you- not touching, but close enough to feel.
“hey,” he said suddenly, voice lower now, more careful. “can I ask you something?”
your heart skipped, the room feeling very still all at once. “yeah?” you said, barely above a breath.
he angled his body toward you fully, attention completely on you now, eyes searching your face like he was bracing himself for whatever came next. whatever he was about to say mattered- you could feel it in the way the air between you tightened, charged and fragile.
he hesitated for a second, jaw tightening like he almost changed his mind. Then he let out a slow breath.
“there’s nothing between you and felix… right?”
the question landed softly, but it hit hard.
you blinked, surprised- not offended, just caught off guard by how earnest he sounded. changbin didn’t look defensive or jealous exactly… just uncertain. like he needed to hear it out loud to steady himself.
you laughed, the sound light, almost nervous. “what makes you say that?”
changbin shrugged, casual, but there was a glint in his eyes you couldn’t quite ignore. “i don’t know,” he said slowly, voice low. “you and felix… you’re always close. like, too close sometimes.”
you rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide the smile tugging at your lips.
he smirked back, that little half-grin that always made your stomach flip. neither of you said anything for a beat, just letting the warmth of the moment settle between you.
then, after a pause, his expression softened completely, and he leaned just a little closer. “but… also because i wanted to do this.”
before you could even react, he pressed his lips to yours- gentle, tentative at first, like he was checking to see if it was okay. sweet, soft, and careful, but full of all the feelings neither of you had said out loud until now. your heart raced, warmth flooding through you, and all the tension you’d been holding back finally melted in that quiet, perfect moment.
he pulled back just slightly, forehead resting against yours, eyes searching yours for any sign, and all you could do was smile, breathless, feeling closer to him than ever.
his gaze shifted from your eyes to your lips and back to your eyes again. It looked like he was holding back from doing anything else.
you nodded as changbin pressed his lips against yours. he was sure he could feel you smiling against his lips as he kissed you passionately. the both of you taking things slowly, savoring each other. changbin gently pushed you down onto the couch, not breaking the kiss. he kept peppering small kisses from your neck to your collarbone.
you tugged onto his shirt, desperate to get it off him. he complied, slowly pulling his shirt off revealing his toned upper body.
his one hand now slowly unbuttoned the shirt that you had on while kissing your neck. he continued placing wet kisses along your shoulder as he pulled the shirt down to your waist, exposing your bare chest to him. your body shivering a little as the cool air hit your exposed skin. his eyes roamed across your torso, taking everything in. You suddenly felt shy, feeling exposed under him.
the man noticed your nervousness and leaned in, brushing your hair out of your face.
“baby, you look so beautiful" he whispered in your ears before pecking you on the lips again.
he slowly trailed kisses down to your chest as if he was savouring even single inch of you. a small moan leaving your mouth as he trails his tongue over your skin, lightly sucking on your sensitive nubs, eliciting another moan. he looks up briefly, seeing your flushed cheeks before diving in to continue teasing you. you felt more sensitive as changbin continued, kissing and sucking on you, causing you to arch your back and squirm under him. a few moans leaving your mouth as you try to control yourself.
"let me hear you, princess" he says before slipping the rest of the material off your body and tossing it somewhere in the room.
"ah" you gasp at the sudden coldness of his fingers pressing against your heat.
“you sure?” he asked and you nodded eagerly, feeling needy.
changbin chuckled at your reaction before pushing in. he took his time, moving slowly, giving you time to adjust. your legs wrapped around his waist as he pushed in deeper while maintaining eye contact with you.
“f-fuck, baby, you feel so good,” he whispers, a whine sneaking into the emotional rasp of his voice.
the bed creaks slightly with each slow, deep roll of his hips into yours. a gentle roll, filled with so much devotion and affection. pumping every ounce of love he has for you. he moans your name like a prayer, a sacred prayer, like you’re his one and only solace.
his long, trembly fingers are intertwined with yours, held against the mattress, clammy palms fused together. his tensing stomach glides against your stomach with each rock of his body against yours, smothering you but pleasantly. comforting. safe.
in the intimate atmosphere of your now bedroom, there’s only the sound of your hushed moans mingling together and your wet heat engulfing his length, walls clinging to him.
then, there’s a shaky breath, and moisture hits the skin of your neck.
“bin?” you whisper softly, letting go of one of his hands to run your fingers through his dampened locks.
“mm,” he hums, never halting the movement of his hips. “i’m okay. just- oh, fuck, squeeze me like that… just love you so much.”
a soft smile adorns your lips and you whisper against his temple. you let out a shaky breath, fingers digging lightly into his shoulders.
“binnie… I love you too,” you whisper, voice trembling with need and heat. Your hips press instinctively against his, matching his movements as your chest rises and falls. “so much… don’t stop.”
another quiet sound escapes him, seemingly not of pleasure, but something vulnerable and broken. a reflection of his overwhelming emotions; he can barely handle it. his hips stutter in their gentle push and pull, his breath becoming shakier against your neck.
carefully yet swiftly, you switch your positions so that his back is against the mattress and you’re straddling his lap, his dick still sheathed within you, crying pearly tears from his blushing tip.
and crystal tears from his eyes, wetting his flushed cheeks, blurring his vision slightly as he stares up at you with those beautiful eyes, more special than any diamond or jewel. the raw emotion woven into his expression makes your breath hitch. the way he looks up at you like you hung the moon and the stars.
he looks stunningly ethereal. and all yours.
“hi, bin,” you coo with a smile, cradling his cheeks gingerly in your palms as you wipe his precious tears away.
he immediately leans into your touch, yearning and craving. he could never have enough of your touch, he needs it like he needs air to breathe.
“do you want me to stop?” you hum, slowing the tender sway of your hips.
he shakes his head vigorously, his eyes still locked onto yours, almost pleadingly. “please don’t. keep- shit… keep going, sweetheart. i love you so much.”
you bend to his every wish, continuing your shallow bounces, burning with unfathomable intimacy rather than pure sexual desire. you brace yourself with your hands grounded on his chest and he moves one of your hands to rest atop his racing heart.
“this is all for you. it’s yours. every beat. god, i love you. i love you, i love you. it feels like i’m gonna die.” he sniffles out a laugh, his eyes glassy and his trembling lips curling up into a soft, affectionate smile.
you laugh and lean down to brush your lips against his, featherlight and tender. “yeah?”
“yeah,” he breathes, like you just gave him life. “it’s overwhelming how much i love you. my heart is gonna explode.”
“mm, i won’t let it explode. it’s too precious to me,” you hum, blessing him with a smile and he swears his heart skipped several beats it’s a wonder how he’s still alive.
“you’re so pretty. and the sweetest person i’ve ever met. and the way you smile. i feel like i don’t know what to do with myself when you smile at me like that. i just-” he cuts himself off with another moan, his head tipping back slightly.
your other hand reaches up to brush his messy strands of pearls back from his forehead. he whimpers when you clench with devotion around his weeping cock, eagerly accepting everything that you could ever give him.
you continue the rock of your hips into his, moaning his name softly when his bulbous tip kisses your sweet spot so intimately. smothering kisses against it with each movement of your hip.
“‘m so close, sweetheart,” he whispers, voice cracking as your tender walls massage his cock lovingly, melting him into an emotional puddle beneath you.
leaning down, your chest presses against his and you kiss him slowly. he eagerly reciprocates, like it’s the only thing he needs in this moment.
“let go for me, my love, i’ve got you,” you murmur against his mouth, sliding a hand from his chest back up to his cheek.
he lets out a shuddering breath, staring up at you like he can’t believe you’re real. his soft pants become ragged and faster as he edges closer and closer to that peak. he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against him, wanting to stay tethered to you through every second of his high.
his hips buck up violently into yours, involuntarily but triggering both of your releases with a suddenness that wracks your bodies. you cling onto each other, reverent moans of each other’s names mingling and getting lost somewhere between your sweaty bodies.
a string of ‘i love you’s tumble from his mouth as he comes apart. the only thing he can manage to utter, despite the stuttering and trailing off into weak whimpers.
neither of you move an inch even after coming down from your highs, simply basking in the moment and melding your bodies together until you become one, hearts thumping in sync.
⤷ lizzie saintclair is beggining her last year at hogwarts, but with voldemort’s ideals creeping through the halls and slytherin growing darker by the day, she knows this won’t be an easy year. still, even in the middle of all the tension and fear, eight boys manage to turn her world upside down and make her heart shine a little brighter
⤷ stray kids ot8 x fem! slytherin! oc — harry potter and skz crossover
⤷ WARNINGS : no smut! [ oc and the boys are around 18/19 ] set during the first wizarding war on the marauders era, violence and blood mention, fanatic and purist beliefs are mentioned
"Tell me about your pack?" You're stretched out in front of the fire Chris just built up.
"Well, you have met Felix and Changbin."
"Kind of met Changbin."
Chris chuckles and slides his fingers down your bare back, watching the way you react, the goosebumps rising in the wake of his touch. "Changbin is the muscle of the group. If anyone is messing with the pack that we don't want around, he makes sure they find their way."
"Does he have a mate?"
Chris shakes his head. "None of the other guys have mates. Changbin likes leaving his options open."
You nod slowly, "hence the fitness retreat he was talking about?"
"Don't judge us too harshly. They're doing the best they can with their current situation."
"I'm not judging. I just hope that he finds someone."
"Seo Changbin?"
Setting the dumbbells back in their proper places, Changbin walks around the equipment to see you standing there. Confusion crosses his features as he takes you in. Accidentally he scents you as he crosses his arms over his broad chest.
Human.
A human female in the middle of a shifter gym.
You either knew what you were doing or you were blissfully ignorant.
"Can I help you?" His voice is soft as he steps closer, letting most of the gym see him with you, marking you safe for the time being.
"My coworker said you were his trainer and that you were taking clients? He told me he asked you about me." You tell him your name and watch the realization dawn on him.
"Right, you work with Han." He mentioned his pack member, his fingers flexing and relaxing as he pieces together your scent.
"Yeah!" Your smile is radiant at the mention of the younger wolf."He sits right next to me and won't shut up about how good you are."
"And you're looking for a trainer?" His eyes take you in, all curves and long limbs. Changbin tries not to focus on good your legs would look wrapped around him.
Nodding you shift on your feet, adjusting the bag you brought with you. "I'm recovering from a pretty bad injury and want to gain some strength along the way."
"What kind of injury?"
You move your hair so he can see the three gashes down your left shoulder, through the mirror behind you. They are mostly healed on the surface but he knows instantly what caused them. He also knows that there are rogue wolves running around Horizon Forest, attacking hikers in hopes of causing enough damange to change the human. While your wounds are grusome, turning only happens if an alpha bites a human.
Circling around you, Changbin exhales sharply through his nose, making a metal note to tell Chan, Chris, about this. His eyes meet yours through the mirror and he notices how intently you're watching him. You're not nervous or afraid of him, but you are apprehensive.
Good. While he thinks you are stunning for a human, you are just a human.
His tastes are too primal for a human woman.
"Have you been cleared for workouts?"
You nod and rotate your shoulder before turning to face him once again, "last week."
Nodding slowly, he motions for you to follow him to the front desk before he pulls out his clipboard from under the desk and grabs a pencil. "When works for you?"
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?
a/n: this is supper not proofread so I apologise for any mistakes! I have been so busy!
You heard clattering at the bottom of your tower. Peering down, you find yet another Prince beckoning up to you, promising to free you from this tower. You smile sweetly down to him, knowing his life will end soon. When you pull back from the window, you roll your eyes.
Arrogant, self-entitled prick.
They all were. Because all of them travelled far, all of them brute-forcing their way passed the various trials your parents had set up. They all waded through the bones of the princes before them and still believed they would be the one to free the Princess from the tower.
It was nothing but a test, your imprisonment here. Set up by your parents so that your future husband could prove himself worthy of you.
What a load of bullshit, you thought.
Why couldn't they prove it some other way? Why did they have to climb the tower and save you here? You've been here long enough that you believe your parents did this to get you far away from them. Set up impossible trials so that no one may reach you.
The familiar flapping of dragons wings swoop passed the tower and you try your best to ignore the screeching from the poor Prince.
You wonder why they continue to send them, their sons to your impossible to climb tower.
You peek back over the edge of the small window and watch as his bones clatter to the ground, "useless," you mutter before wandering back into your tower.
It was too soon to be hearing clattering again. Awfully too soon to for there to be another prince.
You dropped the book you were reading and marched over to the window. You peered down and noticed immediately the bright shining iron armour rested upon a jet black horse.
"Princess!" A loud voice bellowed up to you, "I've come to save you!"
Usually, the princes would rock up with a chest plate at most. So whoever was under the armour was certainly different from the rest. But the arrogance in his voice remained the same. You smile sweetly before moving away from the window. You roll your eyes and walk back over to your chair, picking your book back up.
The familiar sound of dragons wings flap for a moment, before a thunderous crash echoes into the mountains surrounding your tower. You quirk your head towards the window, your whole body in shock from the new noise.
The sounds of metal clanging against itself nears closer and closer. Your curiosity wins and you make your way over to the window. Peering down, at the bottom of the tower is the armoured figure. He lifts his head to assess the next rock to place his hand.
The dragon that once protected your prison lays dead, spread wide over the ground beneath your tower. Gone without a fight. You blink at the sight. The dragon, which had been the last impossible trial, lifelessly slumped over.
You peer back to the armoured figure, who has made it about half-way up now. "How did you do that?" You yell out.
His head jolts up, clearly startled by the sound of your voice, "sword!" He calls back before refocusing on the climb.
You blink back more confusion, eyes drifting back to the dragon. A small silver sword sits idly, wedged into the eye of the dragon.
He couldn't have killed it just like that. He couldn't have- he-
The metal clanging grew too close for comfort, so you step back into the small room, eyes remaining on the window.
Soon, the shiny silver helmet of the figure pokes over the window sill. His hands, dressed in gauntlets, grip the inside of the opening and pull himself up. He climbs through the window and clatters to the floor.
He quickly rises and clears his throat. There is a small slit in his helmet that allows him to see you. But the only thing you can decipher, due to the heavy suit of armour that rests on his body, is that he's big.
Big as in bulky. Built like a brick, surely an intimidating foe to be faced off with in battle.
You watch as he wretches the gauntlets from his hands and once free, he removes his helmet.
His head is bent back as he does so and he shakes his deep red hair out of his face. His round, handsome face. Soft brown eyes watched you carefully under a strong brow bone. His jaw is set, lips quirking up in a slight smirk. His face is covered in sweat, dirt, grime.
This is perhaps the first time you've been so close to another human, but you're pretty sure this is the most handsome man you've ever seen.
He kneels before you, resting his helmet on his knee and bowing his head, "Sir Seo Changbin, at your service Your Highness."
"You're not a Prince?" the questions holds a double meaning. Yes, you're surprised that someone other than a prince had attempted to rescue you. But you're always shocked, that given how handsome he is, that he is not from a royal blood line.
He laughs a little, something closer to a giggle, "No Your Highness, I am just a knight."
"I wouldn't say just a knight." You don't exactly know how to interact with people. Being cooped up in here most of your life has taken away any social development you required. But given the way he raises his head, an unfamiliar emotion evident on his face, you're sure you've said the wrong thing. You try to explain, "you are the one who defeated the dragon no?"
"Yes Your Highness."
"That makes you more than a knight to me," you admit. You watch his face turn red.
"Thank you Your Highness."
You eye him, still on the floor and remembering suddenly the boring piece of literature you'd been forced to read over and over again out of sheer boredom. Any person of lower status than a Princess must bow upon greeting them. They only rise when told so.
"You can stand up," you call meekly, not really sure how to properly dismiss him.
He smiles and stands up, "thank you Your Highness."
"You don't have to call me that."
"Yes, Your Highness I do."
You clear your throat, "I'd prefer that you didn't."
"Your wish is my command. What shall I call you instead?"
You think for a moment, not to conjure a better title, but out of sheer confusion, "you can call me by my name." You smooth over your dress with your hands, "Y/N."
"Y/N," he almost breathes out, "it is an honour to meet your acquaintance," he bows his head but this time does not wait for your dismissal before lifting it again.
"What now?"
"Pardon me?"
"What do we do now?" You repeat, "are we supposed to climb down the tower?"
"Oh," the realisation hits him. He moves to the back of the room, just passed where you were standing. He looks around closely at the walls. He clearly finds something that you'd miss. He pushes the bookcase aside with ease. He must be quite muscular, as they poke out from under the plates of his armour. The chainmail that covers what the heavy plates cannot, bulges out, defining what little muscle you can see.
But your eyes are drawn then to the doorway, hidden behind the bookcase this whole time. You felt embarrassed, having lived in this tower all your life, with no escape. And the moment this man steps in, he reveals you had an escape route this whole time.
But it washes away slightly as he pulls out a key. He pushes it into the lock on the door, twists it and tries the door. The stone is not easy to move, but he makes it look effortless.
He turns back to you, gesturing to the doorway, "after you Your-" he stops himself, "after you Y/N."
"How did you know?" You stay frozen in place, "how do you have a key?"
He lets out that same giggle he did before. It's nearly jarring. His intimidating figure dulls it's effect the moment with the gentleness of his actions. "I'll explain momentarily. I need to make sure you're safe first. We need to leave now Y/N."
Maybe it was the lack of social interaction, or the fact that this man had done the impossible. Or maybe, you were so taken by him, his visual, his demeanour. Which ever it was, it had you listening to his word. You quickly slip on some form of slipper before making your way to the doorway.
Gazing down, a staircase began, but you could not see where it ended as the staircase winds to the right and out of view. You imagine the staircase was built into the very walls. It was dark and formidable and you hesitated.
Changbin lifted a burning torch from the wall and stepped cautiously in front of you. "Right this way Princess." He speaks before descending down the stairs, with you hot on his tail.
There was no door at the bottom of the staircase, only a frame where one should be. He turned to you, "may you hold this for me?" He asks sweetly.
You take the torch and watch as he adorns his gauntlets again. He wastes no time and hits his fist agains the stone. He punches again, the sound reverberating in the empty staircase. Soon, a hole is made.
You stand in awe. You were deprived of a lot of knowledge, but there was one thing you knew. Humans should not be able to punch a hole through solid stone.
Changbin tore apart the bricks, careful not to get any dust on you. And soon, the hole was big enough that you were able to step through.
But still, you hesitated. You stare down at the plush green that stood tall just beyond the threshold. You'd never been outside.
Changbin notices your hesitancy and reaches out a hand, "Princess. It's okay. Nothing out here can harm you. Not while I'm around."
You look into his eyes and see no falsities. So you take his hand and step outside.
"Excuse me?" You ask, astounded by the information.
Changbin pats down the mane of his horse, "I have been sent by Prince Stefan." He repeats, "he intends to marry you."
"And if I don't intend to marry him?"
Changbin whips his head to you, "I think you misunderstand me Princess-"
"Y/N."
He sighs, "Prince Stefan is a good man."
"Why didn't he come save me then?"
Changbin opens his mouth to speak, but comes up empty. He sighs, "will you at least meet with him? If he is really as horrid as you're making him out to be, I will escort you home."
"Home?"
"Your Kingdom."
Your Kingdom? As far as you're aware, you have no kingdom. The most you had ruled over was a patch of grass and a tower guarded by a dragon.
"Right," you nod, trying to seem put together, "very well."
You approach the horse and Changbin kneels down, offering his leg as a step. You look down to him, searching for reassurance that it was in fact, okay to step on him. He smiles sweetly, the kind of smile that melts your heart. The ghost of dimples grace his cheeks and you swear, for a moment, his eyes genuinely sparkle.
Once you're settled on the saddle of his horse, he adorns his helmet once more. He swings himself, effortless onto the horse, your back pressing against to the cool metal armour. It sends a shiver down your spine at the contact. But your stomach drops when he leans forward to pick up the reigns, pushing even further into your body.
With his covered face close to your ear, his whisper echoes through the helmet, "is this okay Princess?"
You can do nothing but nod and hope with everything that he hadn't heard how loudly you swallowed.
He nods too and is soon commanding the horse to move.
The tower, the dragon, the hillside, all fade into the distance as you ride off towards a fate you're certain will doom you.
You're currently perched on a rock, watching as Changbin gathers sticks for a fire. You watch intently, his helmet and gauntlets abandoned elsewhere.
The forest is still light and warm, the cool air of night threatens to fall. You watch as he struggles to bend and manoeuvre with the heavy set of armour weighing on his shoulders.
"Would you not be more comfortable with less... armour?" You call out.
A wave of red rushes over his face. He clears his throat, "uh-um perhaps... but it is improper Princess."
"There's no one else here..." you point out, "you are wearing something underneath no?"
"Yes!" He yells, his face burning a deeper shade of red. He's flustered about your implication, but even more flustered how how improperly he spoke, "I mean- yes Princess, I am wearing something underneath."
"I don't see the issue then."
He thinks about it for a moment before he admits, "it's difficult to take off myself..."
"Oh," you rise immediately, "let me help."
"Princess.." he coos, half warning, half flustered.
"It is okay Sir Changbin," you smile at him and you watch his facade melt away a little, "let me help you."
He simply nods and stands. He moves in front of you, eyeing you closely as you figure out how to remove his armour. You spot a small leather strap buckled tightly by his shoulder. You reach up and slide it out, allowing the shoulder piece to fall. You catch it before it lands and place it on the floor. You repeat the same on the other shoulder.
You grab hold of his arm, twisting it slightly to reveal the strap that holds metal to his forearm. His eyes have never left your face. Your gentle touches, your heavy breathing, it all has his head reeling.
He can't think like this. He made an oath. He would never wed. He would never fall in love. He would never bear children.
He had no issue taking that oath and no issue keeping it. Until now. Until you.
The Princess who so gently removed his armour. Whose hands are on him again, unbuckling the sides of his breastplate and beckoning for him to lift his arms. The Princess, whose eyes meet his as she slides the piece over his head, and abandons it on the forest floor.
He felt bare, exposed, taken.
He blinked quickly, hoping his moment of weakness was just that. A moment.
But it wasn't. It was a series of moments.
The journey was torturously slow for Changbin. He practically embraced you each time you rode, avoided eye contact with you every time you caught him looking.
But he knew that this day would come. When you would both stand before the gates of the kingdom he was sworn to and would have to enter like your hearts were tied to each others.
He is fully suited when you turn to him. His head is trained forward in a type of obedience he had not yet exhibited to you. He felt cold and distant. You felt like you had already lost him.
Prince Stefan steps out of the guards, arms wide open in greeting, "Princess Y/N, what an honour it is to finally be acquainted." He pauses just in front of you to bow. You curtsy in response. He rises and turns to Changbin, "thank you Sir. You have done well. You are dismissed."
Changbin nods and without another glance to you, takes hold of the reigns of his horse and wanders into the gates of the kingdom.
Stefan extends an arm to you and without much else to do, you take it.
You decide that marrying Stefan isn't the worst fate. Being trapped in that tower had made you appreciative of the small things.
You weren't used to being tended to so closely. In fact, you kind of hated the company. Sometimes you miss the solitude your tower bought.
But being here, where Sir Changbin was, where you were able to steal glances at him, made it all worth it.
Your lady maid explains the event to you again, "it's quite brutal Your Highness. They sit on horses and race toward one another with lances. Many knights have died or been seriously injured in doing so."
"And Sir Changbin..." you start, hoping not to draw too much attention to yourself, "will he be competing?"
"Yes dear, he competes every year." She moves in front of you to stop you from walking, "the important thing to remember is this. All the knights will ask for your favour, but you may only give it to one."
"To any of them?" You try to hide your excitement.
"Yes Your Highness."
You held the woven, floral wreath on your lap, careful not to squish it. Many of the knights had been waiting for you to give your favour. But you knew who it would go to. Your heart was set already.
And when you saw him, helmet tucked under his arm, smiling up at the thunderous crowd, your heart skipped a beat. He rode along the stands and slowed when he reached below your seat.
He looked up at you and for the first time in weeks, his smile did not falter. You sense he had been avoiding you, allowing you space to be with your betrothed.
You stood and smiled back down to him. Your mind flashes a glimpse of the moment you'd caught sight of him outside your window, beckoning up to assure you that he would save you.
He smiles wider as you approach, "Princess," he greets and bows his head slightly.
"Sir.." you call back, before sliding the wreath down the lance he held towards you. He nods again and rides away, going to prepare for the competition.
You'd grown quite bored at this point. Watching men jab each other with sticks was fun for the first two times you'd seen it. But you were nearly the 25th round and there wasn't much else standing out to you.
That was, of course, until Sir Changbin readied himself on the left side of the arena. Cheers erupted at the sight of him. You'd been told he was a fan-favourite, but seeing it for yourself was another story.
He lifts his hand, waves politely to his fans and then straightens himself out to prepare the for the fight.
His opponent seemed unfazed by Changbin. Granted, he was hard to read under that heavy armour. But the knight sat straight and his lance was held tight.
It began before you could comprehend. They were charging before you could think. But it was over in a flash when you watched Changbin fall from his horse.
Half of the crowd erupted in cheers and the other half went silent. But over it all, you could hear Changbin's gut wrenching scream of pain.
And the worst part was that you were ordered to do nothing. You had to keep up appearances. You had to sit pretty and smile for the audience.
You'd found him that night in the stables, gentle hands grooming his horse.
It was clear to you that he thought he was alone, given his shirt was forgotten somewhere. His skin was still half-covered, a large set of bandages wrapped around his torso. His back, which was turned to you, was muscular but covered in purple bruises.
Without thinking, your hand reached out to soothe them over. Having not heard anyone come in, he jolts, a loud shout escaping his mouth before he sees you. He immediately tries to cover himself, "P-Princess! You should- you should be in bed! You should-"
"Please don't hide from me Bin." You whisper and he stills. "You do not have to hide from me."
"Princess," he tries, "you should not see me like this. It's impr-"
"It's improper I know," you finish. You haven't been able to tear your eyes away from his exposed skin. His arms, that you knew were muscular, appeared ten times bigger than you imagined. Maybe it was the way he hugged himself to escape your gaze, or maybe it was just from his training. "If it is so improper... then why..." you gaze back into his eyes, your voice dropping to a whisper, "why does this always feel like exactly where I'm meant to be?"
The question hangs in the air for a moment before Changbins breathy voice cuts through it, "Princess..."
"Don't call me that." You stern, "please don't call me that. It makes you feel so far away from me."
"What should I call you then?"
You sigh, "I told you this. I want you to call me by my name."
"That is a right reserved for your husband." He states, a air of gloom circling desperately around him.
"I know." There's a another moment of pause. It's not uncomfortable, just tense, built, like any moment could break. Your hand traces over a deepening bruise on his chest. He doesn't pull away. His breathing stills, like he could stop time if he did. Your eyes glaze over at the thought of his injured body, "you scared me today... when I-" a fear tears fall, "when I saw you there... it felt like my world had been taken away from me..."
"Y/N..." he breathes out, moving to swipe his thumb under your eye to wipe your tears. He held you there and you winced your eyes closed. His skin burned hot against yours, your tears seizing to spill. His hand moved to push your chin up, coaxing you to look at him. "Y/N..." he repeats.
You open your eyes and stare into his, "do you know why I'm still here?"
"Don't." He warns.
You don't listen, "because of you. Because if marrying the Prince means your presence is still known to me, than I shall do it without hesitation."
"I cannot give you the life you deserve."
"I didn't choose this life." The admission echoes through the barn. He's unsure of what to say to it.
You step in closer, hands gliding up his chest to rest on his broad shoulders. "Y/N..."
"Kiss me." You risk.
All his self-control snaps at the request.
Sooner than you can think, your back is pressed against the post behind you, and your lips are captured in his. His hands are pulling your face closer to his in a desperate attempt to claim you. You take a moment to drink it in before allowing your hands to work up his side.
But the second your skin touches his, he's reeling away from you. He stumbles back, staring at you like he's wounded. And he is, but now his face is drenched in guilt. "We- we can't."
"Bin-"
"No!" He shouts. And then quieter, "no. You are betrothed to another man. A man I swore an oath to. I- I can't do this."
"Changbin-"
"I cannot allow you to give up this life for me."
"I don't want this life!" You yell back.
"I do not care what you wish Princess. This is what is best for you!"
"Who are you to decide that?"
"I'm the man that's in love with you!" The confession shocks even himself. It was true but he had sworn to himself never to admit it. But where he could deny himself, he could never deny you.
"Then why can't you let me love you too?" Tears were streaming down your face now. He wanted nothing more than to wipe them away, to comfort you, hold you close and keep you from the world.
But instead, he chose to say, "because I do not wish to love you..."
You breath deep, unable to comprehend the weight of his words. You huff, turn on your heels and storm away.
"How about these Your Highness?" an unfamiliar voice calls to you. You're stood in the garden, deciding which flower bush to destroy for decorations for a wedding you wish did not have to take place.
You were not paying attention to the lady. Your eyes were drawn across the field, where the Prince stood, playing some outdoor game. But stood behind him, was Sir Changbin. Armoured, still, distant.
"Your Highness?" She asks.
You turn your head back to her and hum. She points to the flowers, waiting your approval. "Oh yes, they're fine."
She nods and gets to work arranging their removal. When you look back to where your prince stood, he had vanished.
You worked your way back into the castle. It was quiet and vast. Many had told you how lucky you were to be the future Queen, the lady of this palace. But you hated it here. You hated it more than that stupid tower.
Because here, you were so close to having who you truly wanted, but every ornate detail in the palace reminded you of why you can't. Because duty outweighs the heart. Sworn oaths cannot be broken easily.
Your heart is torn between staying in a place in which you know your presence torments another. But his spirit is around every corner, and the selfish part of your heart begs you to stay.
So you're not surprised when you're stood a top a podium with several maids adjusting every crease and detail of your dress.
You tried to hate the dress. The white lace intertwining with sparkly jewels that hung gracefully from the detailed bodice. The train was long and precious, detailed with floral patterns. The skirt, puffed out and elegant. You hated how much you loved it. Because everything else was perfect. The hair, the dress, the flowers, even the candle holders were perfect.
But the man was not who you had wished. You would be forced to endure through the perfect wedding when your heart was being held by another man.
Soon, you would swear an oath to a man that means nothing to you. The kingdom will watch as you lie to each and every one of them. You'll force a smile and keep appearances.
You step off the podium and smile a 'thank you' to those who helped. You sighed deeply, clearing your head before adorning a smile.
The walk to the wedding hall was torturous. A million thoughts ran through your mind, but each of them led back to him.
You could hear muffled voices from inside the closed doors. You stood just outside, holding tight to a bouquet of flowers, burning a hole in the back of the doors.
It wasn't guarded. In fact, there was no one in this hall with you. It was odd. Prince Stefan always ensured you had a personal guard. But now, on the most important day of your life, you were left alone.
But there was no time to think. Because something broke the silence.
"Don't marry him." A voice echoes through the hall.
Turning your head to the left, you saw him. Helmet tucked beneath his arm, eyebrows knit together, eyes pleading. "Changbin?"
"Don't marry him." He took a step forward, his hand twitching by his side, begging to reach out and touch you. He took a moment to drink you all in. The sight of you in that wedding dress clouded his mind and judgement. The idea that you had worn such a lovely piece for another man would haunt him forever. But he would be dammed if he didn't risk this all for you. "Run away with me?"
He was saying everything you'd ever hoped he would. But as the organ began to play from inside the hall, it all suddenly felt wrong. "What?"
"Run away with me." He took another step, "there's this island where no one would know our names. No one would know the oaths we've taken. We could just be us. We could exist together there."
"Changbin-"
"Please Y/N," he was so close now, you knew if he really wanted to, he could take you without much protest. But he wouldn't. He wouldn't take you away unless you told him. Unless you wanted him. "Come with me. Wed yourself to me."
"Changbin, I-" the sounds of the organ inside cut you off. Because it was mere moments before the doors would be opened to let you inside.
And when they did, the doorway was empty.
And for anyone who dared a glance down the hallway, they would catch a streak of white and silver, hand-in-hand.
Two big arms wrap around your waist and a head nuzzles into your shoulder. You are stood peeling fruit in the small kitchen.
Changbin hums behind you, "good morning my love."
"Good morning Binnie," you smile, "want some?" You offer a piece to him and he takes it gladly.
"How did my wife sleep last night?" He speaks, mouth full of fruit.
"She slept well," you laugh, "she always does when her husband is asleep next to her."
"Mmm..." he hums again, pulling you further into himself. Without another word, he spins to around and cages you against the table. He smiles down at you as you wrapped your arms around his neck.
"How may I help you Sir?" You tease.
"Perhaps a kiss Princess?" He teases back.
You hum, "that could be arranged..."
You pull his face down to yours and connect your lips in an all-compassing kiss. Life with Changbin was never dull. He always kissed you like it would be the last time. There was still a part of him that believes that.
But all those fears wash away at the feeling of your hands weaving into his hair and your soft lips pushing further into his.
Your heart swelled. Finally, after years of solitude and waiting for a prince to save you, your fate was sealed by a knight in shining armour. Your future was held by Changbin, the man you loved.
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